life of lord byron: with his letters and journals. by thomas moore, esq. in six volumes.--vol. ii. new edition. london: john murray, albemarle street. . contents of vol. ii. letters and journals of lord byron, with notices of his life, from the period of his return from the continent, july, , to january, . notices of the life of lord byron. having landed the young pilgrim once more in england, it may be worth while, before we accompany him into the scenes that awaited him at home, to consider how far the general character of his mind and disposition may have been affected by the course of travel and adventure, in which he had been, for the last two years, engaged. a life less savouring of poetry and romance than that which he had pursued previously to his departure on his travels, it would be difficult to imagine. in his childhood, it is true, he had been a dweller and wanderer among scenes well calculated, according to the ordinary notion, to implant the first rudiments of poetic feeling. but, though the poet may afterwards feed on the recollection of such scenes, it is more than questionable, as has been already observed, whether he ever has been formed by them. if a childhood, indeed, passed among mountainous scenery were so favourable to the awakening of the imaginative power, both the welsh, among ourselves, and the swiss, abroad, ought to rank much higher on the scale of poetic excellence than they do at present. but, even allowing the picturesqueness of his early haunts to have had some share in giving a direction to the fancy of byron, the actual operation of this influence, whatever it may have been, ceased with his childhood; and the life which he led afterwards during his school-days at harrow, was,--as naturally the life of so idle and daring a schoolboy must be,--the very reverse of poetical. for a soldier or an adventurer, the course of training through which he then passed would have been perfect;--his athletic sports, his battles, his love of dangerous enterprise, gave every promise of a spirit fit for the most stormy career. but to the meditative pursuits of poesy, these dispositions seemed, of all others, the least friendly; and, however they might promise to render him, at some future time, a subject for bards, gave, assuredly, but little hope of his shining first among bards himself. the habits of his life at the university were even still less intellectual and literary. while a schoolboy, he had read abundantly and eagerly, though desultorily; but even this discipline of his mind, irregular and undirected as it was, he had, in a great measure, given up, after leaving harrow; and among the pursuits that occupied his academic hours, those of playing at hazard, sparring, and keeping a bear and bull-dogs, were, if not the most favourite, at least, perhaps, the most innocent. his time in london passed equally unmarked either by mental cultivation or refined amusement. having no resources in private society, from his total want of friends and connections, he was left to live loosely about town among the loungers in coffee-houses; and to those who remember what his two favourite haunts, limmer's and stevens's, were at that period, it is needless to say that, whatever else may have been the merits of these establishments, they were anything but fit schools for the formation of poetic character. but however incompatible such a life must have been with those habits of contemplation, by which, and which only, the faculties he had already displayed could be ripened, or those that were still latent could be unfolded, yet, in another point of view, the time now apparently squandered by him, was, in after-days, turned most invaluably to account. by thus initiating him into a knowledge of the varieties of human character,--by giving him an insight into the details of society, in their least artificial form,--in short, by mixing him up, thus early, with the world, its business and its pleasures, his london life but contributed its share in forming that wonderful combination which his mind afterwards exhibited, of the imaginative and the practical--the heroic and the humorous--of the keenest and most dissecting views of real life, with the grandest and most spiritualised conceptions of ideal grandeur. to the same period, perhaps, another predominant characteristic of his maturer mind and writings may be traced. in this anticipated experience of the world which his early mixture with its crowd gave him, it is but little probable that many of the more favourable specimens of human kind should have fallen under his notice. on the contrary, it is but too likely that some of the lightest and least estimable of both sexes may have been among the models, on which, at an age when impressions sink deepest, his earliest judgments of human nature were formed. hence, probably, those contemptuous and debasing views of humanity with which he was so often led to alloy his noblest tributes to the loveliness and majesty of general nature. hence the contrast that appeared between the fruits of his imagination and of his experience,--between those dreams, full of beauty and kindliness, with which the one teemed at his bidding, and the dark, desolating bitterness that overflowed when he drew from the other. unpromising, however, as was his youth of the high destiny that awaited him, there was one unfailing characteristic of the imaginative order of minds--his love of solitude--which very early gave signs of those habits of self-study and introspection by which alone the "diamond quarries" of genius are worked and brought to light. when but a boy, at harrow, he had shown this disposition strongly,--being often known, as i have already mentioned, to withdraw himself from his playmates, and sitting alone upon a tomb in the churchyard, give himself up, for hours, to thought. as his mind began to disclose its resources, this feeling grew upon him; and, had his foreign travel done no more than, by detaching him from the distractions of society, to enable him, solitarily and freely, to commune with his own spirit, it would have been an all-important step gained towards the full expansion of his faculties. it was only then, indeed, that he began to feel himself capable of the abstraction which self-study requires, or to enjoy that freedom from the intrusion of others' thoughts, which alone leaves the contemplative mind master of its own. in the solitude of his nights at sea, in his lone wanderings through greece, he had sufficient leisure and seclusion to look within himself, and there catch the first "glimpses of his glorious mind." one of his chief delights, as he mentioned in his "memoranda," was, when bathing in some retired spot, to seat himself on a high rock above the sea, and there remain for hours, gazing upon the sky and the waters[ ], and lost in that sort of vague reverie, which, however formless and indistinct at the moment, settled afterwards on his pages, into those clear, bright pictures which will endure for ever. were it not for the doubt and diffidence that hang round the first steps of genius, this growing consciousness of his own power, these openings into a new domain of intellect, where he was to reign supreme, must have made the solitary hours of the young traveller one dream of happiness. but it will be seen that, even yet, he distrusted his own strength, nor was at all aware of the height to which the spirit he was now calling up would grow. so enamoured, nevertheless, had he become of these lonely musings, that even the society of his fellow-traveller, though with pursuits so congenial to his own, grew at last to be a chain and a burden on him; and it was not till he stood, companionless, on the shore of the little island in the aegean, that he found his spirit breathe freely. if any stronger proof were wanting of his deep passion for solitude, we shall find it, not many years after, in his own written avowal, that, even when in the company of the woman he most loved, he not unfrequently found himself sighing to be alone. it was not only, however, by affording him the concentration necessary for this silent drawing out of his feelings and powers, that travel conduced so essentially to the formation of his poetical character. to the east he had looked, with the eyes of romance, from his very childhood. before he was ten years of age, the perusal of rycaut's history of the turks had taken a strong hold of his imagination, and he read eagerly, in consequence, every book concerning the east he could find.[ ] in visiting, therefore, those countries, he was but realising the dreams of his childhood; and this return of his thoughts to that innocent time, gave a freshness and purity to their current which they had long wanted. under the spell of such recollections, the attraction of novelty was among the least that the scenes, through which he wandered, presented. fond traces of the past--and few have ever retained them so vividly--mingled themselves with the impressions of the objects before him; and as, among the highlands, he had often traversed, in fancy, the land of the moslem, so memory, from the wild hills of albania, now "carried him back to morven." while such sources of poetic feeling were stirred at every step, there was also in his quick change of place and scene--in the diversity of men and manners surveyed by him--in the perpetual hope of adventure and thirst of enterprise, such a succession and variety of ever fresh excitement as not only brought into play, but invigorated, all the energies of his character: as he, himself, describes his mode of living, it was "to-day in a palace, to-morrow in a cow-house--this day with the pacha, the next with a shepherd." thus were his powers of observation quickened, and the impressions on his imagination multiplied. thus schooled, too, in some of the roughnesses and privations of life, and, so far, made acquainted with the flavour of adversity, he learned to enlarge, more than is common in his high station, the circle of his sympathies, and became inured to that manly and vigorous cast of thought which is so impressed on all his writings. nor must we forget, among these strengthening and animating effects of travel, the ennobling excitement of danger, which he more than once experienced,--having been placed in situations, both on land and sea, well calculated to call forth that pleasurable sense of energy, which perils, calmly confronted, never fail to inspire. the strong interest which--in spite of his assumed philosophy on this subject in childe harold--he took in every thing connected with a life of warfare, found frequent opportunities of gratification, not only on board the english ships of war in which he sailed, but in his occasional intercourse with the soldiers of the country. at salora, a solitary place on the gulf of arta, he once passed two or three days, lodged in a small miserable barrack. here, he lived the whole time, familiarly, among the soldiers; and a picture of the singular scene which their evenings presented--of those wild, half-bandit warriors, seated round the young poet, and examining with savage admiration his fine manton gun[ ] and english sword--might be contrasted, but too touchingly, with another and a later picture of the same poet, dying, as a chieftain, on the same land, with suliotes for his guards, and all greece for his mourners. it is true, amidst all this stimulating variety of objects, the melancholy which he had brought from home still lingered around his mind. to mr. adair and mr. bruce, as i have before mentioned, he gave the idea of a person labouring under deep dejection; and colonel leake, who was, at that time, resident at ioannina, conceived very much the same impression of the state of his mind.[ ] but, assuredly, even this melancholy, habitually as it still clung to him, must, under the stirring and healthful influences of his roving life, have become a far more elevated and abstract feeling than it ever could have expanded to within reach of those annoyances, whose tendency was to keep it wholly concentrated round self. had he remained idly at home, he would have sunk, perhaps, into a querulous satirist. but, as his views opened on a freer and wider horizon, every feeling of his nature kept pace with their enlargement; and this inborn sadness, mingling itself with the effusions of his genius, became one of the chief constituent charms not only of their pathos, but their grandeur. for, when did ever a sublime thought spring up in the soul, that melancholy was not to be found, however latent, in its neighbourhood? we have seen, from the letters written by him on his passage homeward, how far from cheerful or happy was the state of mind in which he returned. in truth, even for a disposition of the most sanguine cast, there was quite enough in the discomforts that now awaited him in england, to sadden its hopes, and check its buoyancy. "to be happy at home," says johnson, "is the ultimate result of all ambition, the end to which every enterprise and labour tends." but lord byron had no home,--at least none that deserved this endearing name. a fond family circle, to accompany him with its prayers, while away, and draw round him, with listening eagerness, on his return, was what, unluckily, he never knew, though with a heart, as we have seen, by nature formed for it. in the absence, too, of all that might cheer and sustain, he had every thing to encounter that could distress and humiliate. to the dreariness of a home without affection, was added the burden of an establishment without means; and he had thus all the embarrassments of domestic life, without its charms. his affairs had, during his absence, been suffered to fall into confusion, even greater than their inherent tendency to such a state warranted. there had been, the preceding year, an execution on newstead, for a debt of _l._ owing to the messrs. brothers, upholsterers; and a circumstance told of the veteran, joe murray, on this occasion, well deserves to be mentioned. to this faithful old servant, jealous of the ancient honour of the byrons, the sight of the notice of sale, pasted up on the abbey-door, could not be otherwise than an unsightly and intolerable nuisance. having enough, however, of the fear of the law before his eyes, not to tear the writing down, he was at last forced, as his only consolatory expedient, to paste a large piece of brown paper over it. notwithstanding the resolution, so recently expressed by lord byron, to abandon for ever the vocation of authorship, and leave "the whole castalian state" to others, he was hardly landed in england when we find him busily engaged in preparations for the publication of some of the poems which he had produced abroad. so eager was he, indeed, to print, that he had already, in a letter written at sea, announced himself to mr. dallas, as ready for the press. of this letter, which, from its date, ought to have preceded some of the others that have been given, i shall here lay before the reader the most material parts. [footnote : to this he alludes in those beautiful stanzas, "to sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell," &c. alfieri, before his dramatic genius had yet unfolded itself, used to pass hours, as he tells us, in this sort of dreaming state, gazing upon the ocean:--"après le spectacle un de mes amusemens, à marseille, était de me baigner presque tous les soirs dans la mer. j'avais trouvé un petit endroit fort agréable, sur une langue de terre placée à droite hors du port, où, en m'asseyant sur le sable, le dos appuyé contre un petit rocher qui empêchait qu'on ne pût me voir du côté de la terre, je n'avais plus devant moi que le ciel et la mer. entre ces deux immensités qu'embellissaient les rayons d'un soleil couchant, je passai en rêvant des heures délicieuses; et là, je serais devenu poëte, si j'avais su écrire dans une langue quelconque."] [footnote : but a few months before he died, in a conversation with maurocordato at missolonghi, lord byron said--"the turkish history was one of the first books that gave me pleasure when a child; and i believe it had much influence on my subsequent wishes to visit the levant, and gave perhaps the oriental colouring which is observed in my poetry."--count gamba's _narrative_. in the last edition of mr. d'israeli's work on "the literary character," that gentleman has given some curious marginal notes, which he found written by lord byron in a copy of this work that belonged to him. among them is the following enumeration of the writers that, besides rycaut, had drawn his attention so early to the east:-- "knolles, cantemir, de tott, lady m.w. montague, hawkins's translation from mignot's history of the turks, the arabian nights, all travels, or histories, or books upon the east i could meet with, i had read, as well as rycaut, before i was _ten years old_. i think the arabian nights first. after these, i preferred the history of naval actions, don quixote, and smollett's novels, particularly roderick random, and i was passionate for the roman history. when a boy, i could never bear to read any poetry whatever without disgust and reluctance."] [footnote : "it rained hard the next day, and we spent another evening with our soldiers. the captain, elmas, tried a fine manton gun belonging to my friend, and hitting his mark every time was highly delighted."--hobhouse'_s_ _journey_, &c.] [footnote : it must be recollected that by two of these gentlemen he was seen chiefly under the restraints of presentation and etiquette, when whatever gloom there was on his spirits would, in a shy nature like his, most show itself. the account which his fellow-traveller gives of him is altogether different. in introducing the narration of a short tour to negroponte, in which his noble friend was unable to accompany him, mr. hobhouse expresses strongly the deficiency of which he is sensible, from the absence, on this occasion, of "a companion, who, to quickness of observation and ingenuity of remark, united that gay good-humour which keeps alive the attention under the pressure of fatigue, and softens the aspect of every difficulty and danger." in some lines, too, of the "hints from horace," addressed evidently to mr. hobhouse, lord byron not only renders the same justice to his own social cheerfulness, but gives a somewhat more distinct idea of the frame of mind out of which it rose;-- "moschus! with whom i hope once more to sit, and smile at folly, if we can't at wit; yes, friend, for thee i'll quit my cynic cell, and bear swift's motto, "vive la bagatelle!" which charm'd our days in each Ægean clime, and oft at home with revelry and rhyme." ] * * * * * letter . to mr. dallas. _"volage frigate, at sea, june . _. "after two years' absence, (to a day, on the d of july, before which we shall not arrive at portsmouth,) i am retracing my way to england. "i am coming back with little prospect of pleasure at home, and with a body a little shaken by one or two smart fevers, but a spirit i hope yet unbroken. my affairs, it seems, are considerably involved, and much business must be done with lawyers, colliers, farmers, and creditors. now this, to a man who hates bustle as he hates a bishop, is a serious concern. but enough of my home department. "my satire, it seems, is in a fourth edition, a success rather above the middling run, but not much for a production which, from its topics, must be temporary, and of course be successful at first, or not at all. at this period, when i can think and act more coolly, i regret that i have written it, though i shall probably find it forgotten by all except those whom it has offended. "yours and pratt's _protégé_, blackett, the cobbler, is dead, in spite of his rhymes, and is probably one of the instances where death has saved a man from damnation. you were the ruin of that poor fellow amongst you: had it not been for his patrons, he might now have been in very good plight, shoe-(not verse-) making: but you have made him immortal with a vengeance. i write this, supposing poetry, patronage, and strong waters, to have been the death of him. if you are in town in or about the beginning of july, you will find me at dorant's, in albemarle street, glad to see you. i have an imitation of horace's art of poetry ready for cawthorn, but don't let that deter you, for i sha'n't inflict it upon you. you know i never read my rhymes to visitors. i shall quit town in a few days for notts., and thence to rochdale. "yours, &c." * * * * * immediately, on lord byron's arrival in london, mr. dallas called upon him. "on the th of july," says this gentleman, "i had the pleasure of shaking hands with him at reddish's hotel in st. james's street. i thought his looks belied the report he had given me of his bodily health, and his countenance did not betoken melancholy, or displeasure at his return. he was very animated in the account of his travels, but assured me he had never had the least idea of writing them. he said he believed satire to be his _forte_, and to that he had adhered, having written, during his stay at different places abroad, a paraphrase of horace's art of poetry, which would be a good finish to english bards and scotch reviewers. he seemed to promise himself additional fame from it, and i undertook to superintend its publication, as i had done that of the satire. i had chosen the time ill for my visit, and we had hardly any time to converse uninterruptedly, he therefore engaged me to breakfast with him next morning." in the interval mr. dallas looked over this paraphrase, which he had been permitted by lord byron to take home with him for the purpose, and his disappointment was, as he himself describes it, "grievous," on finding, that a pilgrimage of two years to the inspiring lands of the east had been attended with no richer poetical result. on their meeting again next morning, though unwilling to speak disparagingly of the work, he could not refrain, as he informs us, from expressing some surprise that his noble friend should have produced nothing else during his absence.--"upon this," he continues, "lord byron told me that he had occasionally written short poems, besides a great many stanzas in spenser's measure, relative to the countries he had visited. 'they are not worth troubling you with, but you shall have them all with you if you like.' so came i by childe harold's pilgrimage. he took it from a small trunk, with a number of verses. he said they had been read but by one person, who had found very little to commend and much to condemn: that he himself was of that opinion, and he was sure i should be so too. such as it was, however, it was at my service; but he was urgent that 'the hints from horace' should be immediately put in train, which i promised to have done." the value of the treasure thus presented to him, mr. dallas was not slow in discovering. that very evening he despatched a letter to his noble friend, saying--"you have written one of the most delightful poems i ever read. if i wrote this in flattery, i should deserve your contempt rather than your friendship. i have been so fascinated with childe harold that i have not been able to lay it down. i would almost pledge my life on its advancing the reputation of your poetical powers, and on its gaining you great honour and regard, if you will do me the credit and favour of attending to my suggestions respecting," &c.&c.&c. notwithstanding this just praise, and the secret echo it must have found in a heart so awake to the slightest whisper of fame, it was some time before lord byron's obstinate repugnance to the idea of publishing childe harold could be removed. "attentive," says mr. dallas, "as he had hitherto been to my opinions and suggestions, and natural as it was that he should be swayed by such decided praise, i was surprised to find that i could not at first obtain credit with him for my judgment on childe harold's pilgrimage. 'it was any thing but poetry--it had been condemned by a good critic--had i not myself seen the sentences on the margins of the manuscripts?' he dwelt upon the paraphrase of the art of poetry with pleasure, and the manuscript of that was given to cawthorn, the publisher of the satire, to be brought forth without delay. i did not, however, leave him so: before i quitted him i returned to the charge, and told him that i was so convinced of the merit of childe harold's pilgrimage, that, as he had given it to me, i should certainly publish it, if he would have the kindness to attend to some corrections and alterations." among the many instances, recorded in literary history, of the false judgments of authors respecting their own productions, the preference given by lord byron to a work so little worthy of his genius, over a poem of such rare and original beauty as the first cantos of childe harold, may be accounted, perhaps, one of the most extraordinary and inexplicable.[ ] "it is in men as in soils," says swift, "where sometimes there is a vein of gold which the owner knows not of." but lord byron had made the discovery of the vein, without, as it would seem, being aware of its value. i have already had occasion to observe that, even while occupied with the composition of childe harold, it is questionable whether he himself was yet fully conscious of the new powers, both of thought and feeling, that had been awakened in him; and the strange estimate we now find him forming of his own production appears to warrant the remark. it would seem, indeed, as if, while the imaginative powers of his mind had received such an impulse forward, the faculty of judgment, slower in its developement, was still immature, and that of _self_-judgment, the most difficult of all, still unattained. on the other hand, from the deference which, particularly at this period of his life, he was inclined to pay to the opinions of those with whom he associated, it would be fairer, perhaps, to conclude that this erroneous valuation arose rather from a diffidence in his own judgment than from any deficiency of it. to his college companions, almost all of whom were his superiors in scholarship, and some of them even, at this time, his competitors in poetry, he looked up with a degree of fond and admiring deference, for which his ignorance of his own intellectual strength alone could account; and the example, as well as tastes, of these young writers being mostly on the side of established models, their authority, as long as it influenced him, would, to a certain degree, interfere with his striking confidently into any new or original path. that some remains of this bias, with a little leaning, perhaps, towards school recollections[ ], may have had a share in prompting his preference of the horatian paraphrase, is by no means improbable;--at least, that it was enough to lead him, untried as he had yet been in the new path, to content himself, for the present, with following up his success in the old. we have seen, indeed, that the manuscript of the two cantos of childe harold had, previously to its being placed in the hands of mr. dallas, been submitted by the noble author to the perusal of some friend--the first and only one, it appears, who at that time had seen them. who this fastidious critic was, mr. dallas has not mentioned; but the sweeping tone of censure in which he conveyed his remarks was such as, at any period of his career, would have disconcerted the judgment of one, who, years after, in all the plenitude of his fame, confessed, that "the depreciation of the lowest of mankind was more painful to him than the applause of the highest was pleasing."[ ] though on every thing that, after his arrival at the age of manhood, he produced, some mark or other of the master-hand may be traced; yet, to print the whole of his paraphrase of horace, which extends to nearly lines, would be, at the best, but a questionable compliment to his memory. that the reader, however, may be enabled to form some opinion of a performance, which--by an error or caprice of judgment, unexampled, perhaps, in the annals of literature--its author, for a time, preferred to the sublime musings of childe harold, i shall here select a few such passages from the paraphrase as may seem calculated to give an idea as well of its merits as its defects. the opening of the poem is, with reference to the original, ingenious:-- "who would not laugh, if lawrence, hired to grace his costly canvass with each flatter'd face, abused his art, till nature, with a blush, saw cits grow centaurs underneath his brush? or should some limner join, for show or sale, a maid of honour to a mermaid's tail? or low dubost (as once the world has seen) degrade god's creatures in his graphic spleen? not all that forced politeness, which defends fools in their faults, could gag his grinning friends. believe me, moschus, like that picture seems the book, which, sillier than a sick man's dreams, displays a crowd of figures incomplete, poetic nightmares, without head or feet." the following is pointed, and felicitously expressed:-- "then glide down grub street, fasting and forgot, laugh'd into lethe by some quaint review, whose wit is never troublesome till--true." of the graver parts, the annexed is a favourable specimen:-- "new words find credit in these latter days, if neatly grafted on a gallic phrase: what chaucer, spenser, did, we scarce refuse to dryden's or to pope's maturer muse. if you can add a little, say why not, as well as william pitt and walter scott, since they, by force of rhyme, and force of lungs, enrich'd our island's ill-united tongues? 'tis then, and shall be, lawful to present reforms in writing as in parliament. "as forests shed their foliage by degrees, so fade expressions which in season please; and we and ours, alas! are due to fate, and works and words but dwindle to a date. though, as a monarch nods and commerce calls, impetuous rivers stagnate in canals; though swamps subdued, and marshes drain'd sustain the heavy ploughshare and the yellow grain; and rising ports along the busy shore protect the vessel from old ocean's roar-- all, all must perish. but, surviving last, the love of letters half preserves the past: true,--some decay, yet not a few survive, though those shall sink which now appear to thrive, as custom arbitrates, whose shifting sway our life and language must alike obey." i quote what follows chiefly for the sake of the note attached to it:-- "satiric rhyme first sprang from selfish spleen. you doubt?--see dryden, pope, st. patrick's dean.[ ] "blank verse is now with one consent allied to tragedy, and rarely quits her side; though mad almanzor rhymed in dryden's days, no sing-song hero rants in modern plays;-- while modest comedy her verse foregoes for jest and pun in very middling prose. not that our bens or beaumonts show the worse, or lose one point because they wrote in verse; but so thalia pleases to appear,-- poor virgin!--damn'd some twenty times a year!" there is more of poetry in the following verses upon milton than in any other passage throughout the paraphrase:-- "'awake a louder and a loftier strain,' and, pray, what follows from his boiling brain? he sinks to s * *'s level in a trice, whose epic mountains never fail in mice! not so of yore awoke your mighty sire the tempered warblings of his master lyre; soft as the gentler breathing of the lute, 'of man's first disobedience and the fruit' he speaks; but, as his subject swells along, earth, heaven, and hades, echo with the song." the annexed sketch contains some lively touches:-- "behold him, freshman!--forced no more to groan o'er virgil's devilish verses[ ], and--his own; prayers are too tedious, lectures too abstruse, he flies from t----ll's frown to 'fordham's mews;' (unlucky t----ll, doom'd to daily cares by pugilistic pupils and by bears!) fines, tutors, tasks, conventions, threat in vain, before hounds, hunters, and newmarket plain: rough with his elders; with his equals rash; civil to sharpers; prodigal of cash. fool'd, pillaged, dunn'd, he wastes his terms away; and, unexpell'd perhaps, retires m.a.:-- master of arts!--as hells and clubs[ ] proclaim, where scarce a black-leg bears a brighter name. "launch'd into life, extinct his early fire, he apes the selfish prudence of his sire; marries for money; chooses friends for rank; buys land, and shrewdly trusts not to the bank; sits in the senate; gets a son and heir; sends him to harrow--for himself was there; mute though he votes, unless when call'd to cheer, his son's so sharp--he'll see the dog a peer! "manhood declines; age palsies every limb; he quits the scene, or else the scene quits him; scrapes wealth, o'er each departing penny grieves, and avarice seizes all ambition leaves; counts cent. per cent., and smiles, or vainly frets o'er hoards diminish'd by young hopeful's debts; weighs well and wisely what to sell or buy, complete in all life's lessons--but to die; peevish and spiteful, doting, hard to please, commending every time save times like these; crazed, querulous, forsaken, half forgot, expires unwept, is buried--let him rot!" in speaking of the opera, he says:-- "hence the pert shopkeeper, whose throbbing ear aches with orchestras which he pays to hear, whom shame, not sympathy, forbids to snore, his anguish doubled by his own 'encore!' squeezed in 'fop's alley,' jostled by the beaux, teased with his hat, and trembling for his toes, scarce wrestles through the night, nor tastes of ease till the dropp'd curtain gives a glad release: why this and more he suffers, can ye guess?-- because it costs him dear, and makes him dress!" the concluding couplet of the following lines is amusingly characteristic of that mixture of fun and bitterness with which their author sometimes spoke in conversation;--so much so, that those who knew him might almost fancy they hear him utter the words:-- "but every thing has faults, nor is't unknown that harps and fiddles often lose their tone, and wayward voices at their owner's call, with all his best endeavours, only squall; dogs blink their covey, flints withhold the spark, and double barrels (damn them) miss their mark!"[ ] one more passage, with the humorous note appended to it, will complete the whole amount of my favourable specimens:-- "and that's enough--then write and print so fast,-- if satan take the hindmost, who'd be last? they storm the types, they publish one and all, they leap the counter, and they leave the stall:-- provincial maidens, men of high command, yea, baronets, have ink'd the bloody hand! cash cannot quell them--pollio play'd this prank: (then phoebus first found credit in a bank;) not all the living only, but the dead fool on, as fluent as an orpheus' head! damn'd all their days, they posthumously thrive, dug up from dust, though buried when alive! reviews record this epidemic crime, those books of martyrs to the rage for rhyme alas! woe worth the scribbler, often seen in morning post or monthly magazine! there lurk his earlier lays, but soon, hot-press'd, behold a quarto!--tarts must tell the rest! then leave, ye wise, the lyre's precarious chords to muse-mad baronets or madder lords, or country crispins, now grown somewhat stale, twin doric minstrels, drunk with doric ale! hark to those notes, narcotically soft, the cobbler-laureates sing to capel lofft!"[ ] from these select specimens, which comprise, altogether, little more than an eighth of the whole poem, the reader may be enabled to form some notion of the remainder, which is, for the most part, of a very inferior quality, and, in some parts, descending to the depths of doggerel. who, for instance, could trace the hand of byron in such "prose, fringed with rhyme," as the following?-- "peace to swift's faults! his wit hath made them pass unmatch'd by all, save matchless hudibras, whose author is perhaps the first we meet who from our couplet lopp'd two final feet; nor less in merit than the longer line this measure moves, a favourite of the nine. "though at first view, eight feet may seem in vain form'd, save in odes, to bear a serious strain, yet scott has shown our wondering isle of late this measure shrinks not from a theme of weight, and, varied skilfully, surpasses far heroic rhyme, but most in love or war, whose fluctuations, tender or sublime, are curb'd too much by long recurring rhyme. "in sooth, i do not know, or greatly care to learn who our first english strollers were, or if--till roofs received the vagrant art-- our muse--like that of thespis--kept a cart. but this is certain, since our shakspeare's days, there's pomp enough, if little else, in plays; nor will melpomene ascend her throne without high heels, white plume, and bristol stone. "where is that living language which could claim poetic more, as philosophic fame, if all our bards, more patient of delay, would stop like pope to polish by the way?" in tracing the fortunes of men, it is not a little curious to observe, how often the course of a whole life has depended on one single step. had lord byron now persisted in his original purpose of giving this poem to the press, instead of childe harold, it is more than probable that he would have been lost, as a great poet, to the world.[ ] inferior as the paraphrase is, in every respect, to his former satire, and, in some places, even descending below the level of under-graduate versifiers, its failure, there can be little doubt, would have been certain and signal;--his former assailants would have resumed their advantage over him, and either, in the bitterness of his mortification, he would have flung childe harold into the fire; or, had he summoned up sufficient confidence to publish that poem, its reception, even if sufficient to retrieve him in the eyes of the public and his own, could never have, at all, resembled that explosion of success,--that instantaneous and universal acclaim of admiration into which, coming, as it were, fresh from the land of song, he now surprised the world, and in the midst of which he was borne, buoyant and self-assured, along, through a succession of new triumphs, each more splendid than the last. happily, the better judgment of his friends averted such a risk; and he at length consented to the immediate publication of childe harold,--still, however, to the last, expressing his doubts of its merits, and his alarm at the sort of reception it might meet with in the world. "i did all i could," says his adviser, "to raise his opinion of this composition, and i succeeded; but he varied much in his feelings about it, nor was he, as will appear, at his ease until the world decided on its merit. he said again and again that i was going to get him into a scrape with his old enemies, and that none of them would rejoice more than the edinburgh reviewers at an opportunity to humble him. he said i must not put his name to it. i entreated him to leave it to me, and that i would answer for this poem silencing all his enemies." the publication being now determined upon, there arose some doubts and difficulty as to a publisher. though lord byron had intrusted cawthorn with what he considered to be his surer card, the "hints from horace," he did not, it seems, think him of sufficient station in the trade to give a sanction or fashion to his more hazardous experiment. the former refusal of the messrs. longman[ ] to publish his "english bards and scotch reviewers" was not forgotten; and he expressly stipulated with mr. dallas that the manuscript should not be offered to that house. an application was, at first, made to mr. miller, of albemarle street; but, in consequence of the severity with which lord elgin was treated in the poem, mr. miller (already the publisher and bookseller of this latter nobleman) declined the work. even this circumstance,--so apprehensive was the poet for his fame,--began to re-awaken all the qualms and terrors he had, at first, felt; and, had any further difficulties or objections arisen, it is more than probable he might have relapsed into his original intention. it was not long, however, before a person was found willing and proud to undertake the publication. mr. murray, who, at this period, resided in fleet street, having, some time before, expressed a desire to be allowed to publish some work of lord byron, it was in his hands that mr. dallas now placed the manuscript of childe harold;--and thus was laid the first foundation of that connection between this gentleman and the noble poet, which continued, with but a temporary interruption, throughout the lifetime of the one, and has proved an abundant source of honour, as well as emolument, to the other. while thus busily engaged in his literary projects, and having, besides, some law affairs to transact with his agent, he was called suddenly away to newstead by the intelligence of an event which seems to have affected his mind far more deeply than, considering all the circumstances of the case, could have been expected. mrs. byron, whose excessive corpulence rendered her, at all times, rather a perilous subject for illness, had been of late indisposed, but not to any alarming degree; nor does it appear that, when the following note was written, there existed any grounds for apprehension as to her state. [footnote : it is, however, less wonderful that authors should thus misjudge their productions, when whole generations have sometimes fallen into the same sort of error. the sonnets of petrarch were, by the learned of his day, considered only worthy of the ballad-singers by whom they were chanted about the streets; while his epic poem, "africa," of which few now even know the existence, was sought for on all sides, and the smallest fragment of it begged from the author, for the libraries of the learned.] [footnote : gray, under the influence of a similar predilection, preferred, for a long time, his latin poems to those by which he has gained such a station in english literature. "shall we attribute this," says mason, "to his having been educated at eton, or to what other cause? certain it is, that when i first knew him, he seemed to set a greater value on his latin poetry than on that which he had composed in his native language."] [footnote : one of the manuscript notes of lord byron on mr. d'israeli's work, already referred to.--vol. i. p. .] [footnote : "mac flecknoe, the dunciad, and all swift's lampooning ballads.--whatever their other works may be, these originated in personal feelings and angry retort on unworthy rivals; and though the ability of these satires elevates the poetical, their poignancy detracts from the personal, character of the writers."] [footnote : "harvey, the _circulator_ of the _circulation_ of the blood, used to fling away virgil in his ecstasy of admiration, and say 'the book had a devil.' now, such a character as i am copying would probably fling it away also, but rather wish that the devil had the book; not from a dislike to the poet, but a well-founded horror of hexameters. indeed, the public-school penance of 'long and short' is enough to beget an antipathy to poetry for the residue of a man's life, and perhaps so far may be an advantage."] [footnote : "'hell,' a gaming-house so called, where you risk little, and are cheated a good deal: 'club,' a pleasant purgatory, where you lose more, and are not supposed to be cheated at all."] [footnote : "as mr. pope took the liberty of damning homer, to whom he was under great obligations--'and homer (damn him) calls'--it may be presumed that any body or any thing may be damned in verse by poetical license; and in case of accident, i beg leave to plead so illustrious a precedent."] [footnote : "this well-meaning gentleman has spoilt some excellent shoemakers, and been accessary to the poetical undoing of many of the industrious poor. nathaniel bloomfield and his brother bobby have set all somersetshire singing. nor has the malady confined itself to one county. pratt, too (who once was wiser), has caught the contagion of patronage, and decoyed a poor fellow, named blackett, into poetry; but he died during the operation, leaving one child and two volumes of 'remains' utterly destitute. the girl, if she don't take a poetical twist, and come forth as a shoemaking sappho, may do well, but the 'tragedies' are as rickety as if they had been the offspring of an earl or a seatonian prize-poet. the patrons of this poor lad are certainly answerable for his end, and it ought to be an indictable offence. but this is the least they have done; for, by a refinement of barbarity, they have made the (late) man posthumously ridiculous, by printing what he would have had sense enough never to print himself. certes, these rakers of 'remains' come under the statute against resurrection-men. what does it signify whether a poor dear dead dunce is to be stuck up in surgeons' or in stationers' hall? is it so bad to unearth his bones as his blunders? is it not better to gibbet his body on a heath than his soul in an octavo? 'we know what we are, but we know not what we may be,' and it is to be hoped we never shall know, if a man who has passed through life with a sort of éclat is to find himself a mountebank on the other side of styx, and made, like poor joe blackett, the laughing-stock of purgatory. the plea of publication is to provide for the child. now, might not some of this 'sutor ultra crepidam's' friends and seducers have done a decent action without inveigling pratt into biography? and then, his inscriptions split into so many modicums! 'to the duchess of so much, the right honble. so-and-so, and mrs. and miss somebody, these volumes are,' &c. &c. why, this is doling out the 'soft milk of dedication' in gills; there is but a quart, and he divides it among a dozen. why, pratt! hadst thou not a puff left? dost thou think six families of distinction can share this in quiet? there is a child, a book, and a dedication: send the girl to her grace, the volumes to the grocer, and the dedication to the d-v-l."] [footnote : that he himself attributed every thing to fortune, appears from the following passage in one of his journals: "like sylla, i have always believed that all things depend upon fortune, and nothing upon ourselves. i am not aware of any one thought or action worthy of being called good to myself or others, which is not to be attributed to the good goddess, fortune!"] [footnote : the grounds on which the messrs. longman refused to publish his lordship's satire, were the severe attacks it contained upon mr. southey and others of their literary friends.] * * * * * "reddish's hotel, st. james's street, london, july . . "my dear madam, "i am only detained by mr. h * * to sign some copyhold papers, and will give you timely notice of my approach. it is with great reluctance i remain in town. i shall pay a short visit as we go on to lancashire on rochdale business. i shall attend to your directions, of course, and am, "with great respect, yours ever," "byron. "p.s.--you will consider newstead as your house, not mine; and me only as a visitor." * * * * * on his going abroad, she had conceived a sort of superstitious fancy that she should never see him again; and when he returned, safe and well, and wrote to inform her that he should soon see her at newstead, she said to her waiting-woman, "if i should be dead before byron comes down, what a strange thing it would be!"--and so, in fact, it happened. at the end of july, her illness took a new and fatal turn; and, so sadly characteristic was the close of the poor lady's life, that a fit of rage, brought on, it is said, by reading over the upholsterer's bills, was the ultimate cause of her death. lord byron had, of course, prompt intelligence of the attack. but, though he started instantly from town, he was too late,--she had breathed her last. the following letter, it will be perceived, was written on his way to newstead. letter . to dr. pigot. "newport pagnell, august . . "my dear doctor, "my poor mother died yesterday! and i am on my way from town to attend her to the family vault. i heard _one_ day of her illness, the _next_ of her death. thank god her last moments were most tranquil. i am told she was in little pain, and not aware of her situation. i now feel the truth of mr. gray's observation, 'that we can only have _one_ mother.' peace be with her! i have to thank you for your expressions of regard; and as in six weeks i shall be in lancashire on business, i may extend to liverpool and chester,--at least i shall endeavour. "if it will be any satisfaction, i have to inform you that in november next the editor of the scourge will be tried for two different libels on the late mrs. b. and myself (the decease of mrs. b. makes no difference in the proceedings); and as he is guilty, by his very foolish and unfounded assertion, of a breach of privilege, he will be prosecuted with the utmost rigour. "i inform you of this as you seem interested in the affair, which is now in the hands of the attorney-general. "i shall remain at newstead the greater part of this month, where i shall be happy to hear from you, after my two years' absence in the east. "i am, dear pigot, yours very truly, "byron." * * * * * it can hardly have escaped the observation of the reader, that the general tone of the noble poet's correspondence with his mother is that of a son, performing, strictly and conscientiously, what he deems to be his duty, without the intermixture of any sentiment of cordiality to sweeten the task. the very title of "madam," by which he addresses her,--and which he but seldom exchanges for the endearing name of "mother[ ],"--is, of itself, a sufficient proof of the sentiments he entertained for her. that such should have been his dispositions towards such a parent, can be matter neither of surprise or blame,--but that, notwithstanding this alienation, which her own unfortunate temper produced, he should have continued to consult her wishes, and minister to her comforts, with such unfailing thoughtfulness as is evinced not only in the frequency of his letters, but in the almost exclusive appropriation of newstead to her use, redounds, assuredly, in no ordinary degree, to his honour; and was even the more strikingly meritorious from the absence of that affection which renders kindnesses to a beloved object little more than an indulgence of self. but, however estranged from her his feelings must be allowed to have been while she lived, her death seems to have restored them into their natural channel. whether from a return of early fondness and the all-atoning power of the grave, or from the prospect of that void in his future life which this loss of his only link with the past would leave, it is certain that he felt the death of his mother acutely, if not deeply. on the night after his arrival at newstead, the waiting-woman of mrs. byron, in passing the door of the room where the deceased lady lay, heard a sound as of some one sighing heavily from within; and, on entering the chamber, found, to her surprise, lord byron, sitting in the dark, beside the bed. on her representing to him the weakness of thus giving way to grief, he burst into tears, and exclaimed, "oh, mrs. by, i had but one friend in the world, and she is gone!" while his real thoughts were thus confided to silence and darkness, there was, in other parts of his conduct more open to observation, a degree of eccentricity and indecorum which, with superficial observers, might well bring the sensibility of his nature into question. on the morning of the funeral, having declined following the remains himself, he stood looking, from the abbey door, at the procession, till the whole had moved off;--then, turning to young rushton, who was the only person left besides himself, he desired him to fetch the sparring-gloves, and proceeded to his usual exercise with the boy. he was silent and abstracted all the time, and, as if from an effort to get the better of his feelings, threw more violence, rushton thought, into his blows than was his habit; but, at last,--the struggle seeming too much for him,--he flung away the gloves, and retired to his room. of mrs. byron, sufficient, perhaps, has been related in these pages to enable the reader to form fully his own opinion, as well with respect to the character of this lady herself, as to the degree of influence her temper and conduct may have exercised on those of her son. it was said by one of the most extraordinary of men[ ],--who was himself, as he avowed, principally indebted to maternal culture for the unexampled elevation to which he subsequently rose,--that "the future good or bad conduct of a child depends entirely on the mother." how far the leaven that sometimes mixed itself with the better nature of byron,--his uncertain and wayward impulses,--his defiance of restraint,--the occasional bitterness of his hate, and the precipitance of his resentments,--may have had their origin in his early collisions with maternal caprice and violence, is an enquiry for which sufficient materials have been, perhaps, furnished in these pages, but which every one will decide upon, according to the more or less weight he may attribute to the influence of such causes on the formation of character. that, notwithstanding her injudicious and coarse treatment of him, mrs. byron loved her son, with that sort of fitful fondness of which alone such a nature is capable, there can be little doubt,--and still less, that she was ambitiously proud of him. her anxiety for the success of his first literary essays may be collected from the pains which he so considerately took to tranquillise her on the appearance of the hostile article in the review. as his fame began to brighten, that notion of his future greatness and glory, which, by a singular forecast of superstition, she had entertained from his very childhood, became proportionably confirmed. every mention of him in print was watched by her with eagerness; and she had got bound together in a volume, which a friend of mine once saw, a collection of all the literary notices, that had then appeared, of his early poems and satire,--written over on the margin, with observations of her own, which to my informant appeared indicative of much more sense and ability than, from her general character, we should be inclined to attribute to her. among those lesser traits of his conduct through which an observer can trace a filial wish to uphold, and throw respect around, the station of his mother, may be mentioned his insisting, while a boy, on being called "george byron gordon"--giving thereby precedence to the maternal name,--and his continuing, to the last, to address her as "the honourable mrs. byron,"--a mark of rank to which, he must have been aware, she had no claim whatever. neither does it appear that, in his habitual manner towards her, there was any thing denoting a want of either affection or deference,--with the exception, perhaps, occasionally, of a somewhat greater degree of familiarity than comports with the ordinary notions of filial respect. thus, the usual name he called her by, when they were on good-humoured terms together, was "kitty gordon;" and i have heard an eye-witness of the scene describe the look of arch, dramatic humour, with which, one day, at southwell, when they were in the height of their theatrical rage, he threw open the door of the drawing-room, to admit his mother, saying, at the same time, "enter the honourable kitty." the pride of birth was a feeling common alike to mother and son, and, at times, even became a point of rivalry between them, from their respective claims, english and scotch, to high lineage. in a letter written by him from italy, referring to some anecdote which his mother had told him, he says,--"my mother, who was as haughty as lucifer with her descent from the stuarts, and her right line from the _old gordons_,--_not_ the _seyton gordons_, as she disdainfully termed the ducal branch,--told me the story, always reminding me how superior _her_ gordons were to the southern byrons, notwithstanding our norman, and always masculine, descent, which has never lapsed into a female, as my mother's gordons had done in her own person." if, to be able to depict powerfully the painful emotions, it is necessary first to have experienced them, or, in other words, if, for the poet to be great, the man must suffer, lord byron, it must be owned, paid early this dear price of mastery. few as were the ties by which his affections held, whether within or without the circle of relationship, he was now doomed, within a short space, to see the most of them swept away by death.[ ] besides the loss of his mother, he had to mourn over, in quick succession, the untimely fatalities that carried off, within a few weeks of each other, two or three of his most loved and valued friends. "in the short space of one month," he says, in a note on childe harold, "i have lost _her_ who gave me being, and most of those who made that being tolerable."[ ] of these young wingfield, whom we have seen high on the list of his harrow favourites, died of a fever at coimbra; and matthews, the idol of his admiration at college, was drowned while bathing in the waters of the cam. the following letter, written immediately after the latter event, bears the impress of strong and even agonised feeling, to such a degree as renders it almost painful to read it:-- letter . to mr. scrope davies. "newstead abbey, august . . "my dearest davies, "some curse hangs over me and mine. my mother lies a corpse in this house; one of my best friends is drowned in a ditch. what can i say, or think, or do? i received a letter from him the day before yesterday. my dear scrope, if you can spare a moment, do come down to me--i want a friend. matthews's last letter was written on _friday_,--on saturday he was not. in ability, who was like matthews? how did we all shrink before him? you do me but justice in saying, i would have risked my paltry existence to have preserved his. this very evening did i mean to write, inviting him, as i invite you, my very dear friend, to visit me. god forgive * * * for his apathy! what will our poor hobhouse feel? his letters breathe but or matthews. come to me, scrope, i am almost desolate--left almost alone in the world--i had but you, and h., and m., and let me enjoy the survivors whilst i can. poor m., in his letter of friday, speaks of his intended contest for cambridge[ ], and a speedy journey to london. write or come, but come if you can, or one or both. "yours ever." [footnote : in many instances the mothers of illustrious poets have had reason to be proud no less of the affection than of the glory of their sons; and tasso, pope, gray, and cowper, are among these memorable examples of filial tenderness. in the lesser poems of tasso, there are few things so beautiful as his description, in the canzone to the metauro, of his first parting with his mother:-- "me dal sen della madre empia fortuna pargoletto divelse," &c. ] [footnote : napoleon.] [footnote : in a letter, written between two and three months after his mother's death, he states no less a number than six persons, all friends or relatives, who had been snatched away from him by death between may and the end of august.] [footnote : in continuation of the note quoted in the text, he says of matthews--"his powers of mind, shown in the attainment of greater honours, against the _ablest candidates_, than those of any graduate on record at cambridge, have sufficiently established his fame on the spot where it was acquired." one of the candidates, thus described, was mr. thomas barnes, a gentleman whose career since has kept fully the promise of his youth, though, from the nature of the channels through which his literary labours have been directed, his great talents are far more extensively known than his name.] [footnote : it had been the intention of mr. matthews to offer himself, at the ensuing election, for the university. in reference to this purpose, a manuscript memoir of him, now lying before me, says--"if acknowledged and successful talents--if principles of the strictest honour--if the devotion of many friends could have secured the success of an 'independent pauper' (as he jocularly called himself in a letter on the subject), the vision would have been realised."] * * * * * of this remarkable young man, charles skinner matthews[ ], i have already had occasion to speak; but the high station which he held in lord byron's affection and admiration may justify a somewhat ampler tribute to his memory. there have seldom, perhaps, started together in life so many youths of high promise and hope as were to be found among the society of which lord byron formed a part at cambridge. of some of these, the names have since eminently distinguished themselves in the world, as the mere mention of mr. hobhouse and mr. william bankes is sufficient to testify; while in the instance of another of this lively circle, mr. scrope davies[ ], the only regret of his friends is, that the social wit of which he is such a master should in the memories of his hearers alone be like to leave any record of its brilliancy. among all these young men of learning and talent, (including byron himself, whose genius was, however, as yet, "an undiscovered world,") the superiority, in almost every department of intellect, seems to have been, by the ready consent of all, awarded to matthews;--a concurrence of homage which, considering the persons from whom it came, gives such a high notion of the powers of his mind at that period, as renders the thought of what he might have been, if spared, a matter of interesting, though vain and mournful, speculation. to mere mental pre-eminence, unaccompanied by the kindlier qualities of the heart, such a tribute, however deserved, might not, perhaps, have been so uncontestedly paid. but young matthews appears,--in spite of some little asperities of temper and manner, which he was already beginning to soften down when snatched away,--to have been one of those rare individuals who, while they command deference, can, at the same time, win regard, and who, as it were, relieve the intense feeling of admiration which they excite by blending it with love. to his religious opinions, and their unfortunate coincidence with those of lord byron, i have before adverted. like his noble friend, ardent in the pursuit of truth, he, like him too, unluckily lost his way in seeking her,--"the light that led astray" being by both friends mistaken for hers. that in his scepticism he proceeded any farther than lord byron, or ever suffered his doubting, but still ingenuous, mind to persuade itself into the "incredible creed" of atheism, is, i find (notwithstanding an assertion in a letter of the noble poet to this effect), disproved by the testimony of those among his relations and friends, who are the most ready to admit and, of course, lament his other heresies;--nor should i have felt that i had any right to allude thus to the religious opinions of one who had never, by promulgating his heterodoxy, brought himself within the jurisdiction of the public, had not the wrong impression, as it appears, given of those opinions, on the authority of lord byron, rendered it an act of justice to both friends to remove the imputation. in the letters to mrs. byron, written previously to the departure of her son on his travels, there occurs, it will be recollected, some mention of a will, which it was his intention to leave behind him in the hands of his trustees. whatever may have been the contents of this former instrument, we find that, in about a fortnight after his mother's death, he thought it right to have a new form of will drawn up; and the following letter, enclosing his instructions for that purpose, was addressed to the late mr. bolton, a solicitor of nottingham. of the existence, in any serious or formal shape, of the strange directions here given, respecting his own interment, i was, for some time, i confess, much inclined to doubt; but the curious documents here annexed put this remarkable instance of his eccentricity beyond all question. [footnote : he was the third son of the late john matthews, esq. of belmont, herefordshire, representative of that county in the parliament of - . the author of "the diary of an invalid," also untimely snatched away, was another son of the same gentleman, as is likewise the present prebendary of hereford, the reverend arthur matthews, who, by his ability and attainments, sustains worthily the reputation of the name. the father of this accomplished family was himself a man of considerable talent, and the author of several unavowed poetical pieces; one of which, a parody of pope's eloisa, written in early youth, has been erroneously ascribed to the late professor porson, who was in the habit of reciting it, and even printed an edition of the verses.] [footnote : "one of the cleverest men i ever knew, in conversation, was scrope berdmore davies. hobhouse is also very good in that line, though it is of less consequence to a man who has other ways of showing his talents than in company. scrope was always ready and often witty--hobhouse as witty, but not always so ready, being more diffident."--_ms. journal of lord byron._] * * * * * to ---- bolton, esq. "newstead abbey, august . . "sir, "i enclose a rough draught of my intended will, which i beg to have drawn up as soon as possible, in the firmest manner. the alterations are principally made in consequence of the death of mrs. byron. i have only to request that it may be got ready in a short time, and have the honour, to be, "your most obedient, humble servant, "byron." * * * * * "newstead abbey, august . . "directions for, the contents of a will to be drawn up immediately. "the estate of newstead to be entailed (subject to certain deductions) on george anson byron, heir-at-law, or whoever may be the heir-at-law on the death of lord b. the rochdale property to be sold in part or the whole, according to the debts and legacies of the present lord b. "to nicolo giraud of athens, subject of france, but born in greece, the sum of seven thousand pounds sterling, to be paid from the sale of such parts of rochdale, newstead, or elsewhere, as may enable the said nicolo giraud (resident at athens and malta in the year ) to receive the above sum on his attaining the age of twenty-one years. "to william fletcher, joseph murray, and demetrius zograffo[ ] (native of greece), servants, the sum of fifty pounds pr. ann. each, for their natural lives. to wm. fletcher, the mill at newstead, on condition that he payeth rent, but not subject to the caprice of the landlord. to rt. rushton the sum of fifty pounds per ann. for life, and a further sum of one thousand pounds on attaining the age of twenty-five years. "to jn. hanson, esq. the sum of two thousand pounds sterling. "the claims of s.b. davies, esq. to be satisfied on proving the amount of the same. "the body of lord b. to be buried in the vault of the garden of newstead, without any ceremony or burial-service whatever, or any inscription, save his name and age. his dog not to be removed from the said vault. "my library and furniture of every description to my friends jn. cam hobhouse, esq., and s.b. davies, esq. my executors. in case of their decease, the rev. j. becher, of southwell, notts., and r.c. dallas, esq., of mortlake, surrey, to be executors. "the produce of the sale of wymondham in norfolk, and the late mrs. b.'s scotch property[ ], to be appropriated in aid of the payment of debts and legacies." [footnote : "if the papers lie not (which they generally do), demetrius zograffo of athens is at the head of the athenian part of the greek insurrection. he was my servant in , , , , at different intervals of those years (for i left him in greece when i went to constantinople), and accompanied me to england in : he returned to greece, spring, . he was a clever, but not _apparently_ an enterprising man; but circumstances make men. his two sons (_then_ infants) were named miltiades and alcibiades: may the omen be happy!" --_ms. journal._] [footnote : on the death of his mother, a considerable sum of money, the remains of the price of the estate of gight, was paid into his hands by her trustee, baron clerk.] * * * * * in sending a copy of the will, framed on these instructions, to lord byron, the solicitor accompanied some of the clauses with marginal queries, calling the attention of his noble client to points which he considered inexpedient or questionable; and as the short pithy answers to these suggestions are strongly characteristic of their writer, i shall here give one or two of the clauses in full, with the respective queries and answers annexed. "this is the last will and testament of me, the rt. honble george gordon lord byron, baron byron of rochdale, in the county of lancaster.--i desire that my body may be buried in the vault of the garden of newstead, without any ceremony or burial-service whatever, and that no inscription, save my name and age, be written on the tomb or tablet; and it is my will that my faithful dog may not be removed from the said vault. to the performance of this my particular desire, i rely on the attention of my executors hereinafter named." _"it is submitted to lord byron whether this clause relative to the funeral had not better be omitted. the substance of it can be given in a letter from his lordship to the executors, and accompany the will; and the will may state that the funeral shall be performed in such manner as his lordship may by letter direct, and, in default of any such letter, then at the discretion of his executors."_ "it must stand. b." "i do hereby specifically order and direct that all the claims of the said s.b. davies upon me shall be fully paid and satisfied as soon as conveniently may be after my decease, on his proving [by vouchers, or otherwise, to the satisfaction of my executors hereinafter named][ ] the amount thereof, and the correctness of the same." _"if mr. davies has any unsettled claims upon lord byron, that circumstance is a reason for his not being appointed executor; each executor having an opportunity of paying himself his own debt without consulting his co-executors."_ "so much the better--if possible, let him be an executor. b." [footnote : over the words which i have here placed between brackets, lord byron drew his pen.] * * * * * the two following letters contain further instructions on the same subject:-- letter . to mr. bolton. "newstead abbey, august . . "sir, "i have answered the queries on the margin.[ ] i wish mr. davies's claims to be most fully allowed, and, further, that he be one of my executors. i wish the will to be made in a manner to prevent all discussion, if possible, after my decease; and this i leave to you as a professional gentleman. "with regard to the few and simple directions for the disposal of my _carcass_, i must have them implicitly fulfilled, as they will, at least, prevent trouble and expense;--and (what would be of little consequence to me, but may quiet the conscience of the survivors) the garden is _consecrated_ ground. these directions are copied verbatim from my former will; the alterations in other parts have arisen from the death of mrs. b. i have the honour to be "your most obedient, humble servant, "byron." [footnote : in the clause enumerating the names and places of abode of the executors, the solicitor had left blanks for the christian names of these gentlemen, and lord byron, having filled up all but that of dallas, writes in the margin--"i forget the christian name of dallas--cut him out."] * * * * * letter to mr. bolton. "newstead abbey, august . . "sir, "the witnesses shall be provided from amongst my tenants, and i shall be happy to see you on any day most convenient to yourself. i forgot to mention, that it must be specified by codicil, or otherwise, that my body is on no account to be removed from the vault where i have directed it to be placed; and in case any of my successors within the entail (from bigotry, or otherwise) might think proper to remove the carcass, such proceeding shall be attended by forfeiture of the estate, which in such case shall go to my sister, the honble augusta leigh and her heirs on similar conditions. i have the honour to be, sir, "your very obedient, humble servant, "byron." * * * * * in consequence of this last letter, a proviso and declaration, in conformity with its instructions, were inserted in the will. he also executed, on the th of this month, a codicil, by which he revoked the bequest of his "household goods and furniture, library, pictures, sabres, watches, plate, linen, trinkets, and other personal estate (except money and securities) situate within the walls of the mansion-house and premises at his decease--and bequeathed the same (except his wine and spirituous liquors) to his friends, the said j.c. hobhouse, s.b. davies, and francis hodgson, their executors, &c., to be equally divided between them for their own use;--and he bequeathed his wine and spirituous liquors, which should be in the cellars and premises at newstead, unto his friend, the said j. becher, for his own use, and requested the said j.c. hobhouse, s.b. davies, f. hodgson, and j. becher, respectively, to accept the bequest therein contained, to them respectively, as a token of his friendship." the following letters, written while his late losses were fresh in his mind, will be read with painful interest:-- letter . to mr. dallas. "newstead abbey, notts., august . . "peace be with the dead! regret cannot wake them. with a sigh to the departed, let us resume the dull business of life, in the certainty that we also shall have our repose. besides her who gave me being, i have lost more than one who made that being tolerable--the best friend of my friend hobhouse, matthews, a man of the first talents, and also not the worst of my narrow circle, has perished miserably in the muddy waves of the cam, always fatal to genius:--my poor school-fellow, wingfield, at coimbra--within a month; and whilst i had heard from _all three_, but not seen _one_. matthews wrote to me the very day before his death; and though i feel for his fate, i am still more anxious for hobhouse, who, i very much fear, will hardly retain his senses: his letters to me since the event have been most incoherent. but let this pass; we shall all one day pass along with the rest--the world is too full of such things, and our very sorrow is selfish. "i received a letter from you, which my late occupations prevented me from duly noticing.--i hope your friends and family will long hold together. i shall be glad to hear from you, on business, on common-place, or any thing, or nothing--but death--i am already too familiar with the dead. it is strange that i look on the skulls which stand beside me (i have always had _four_ in my study) without emotion, but i cannot strip the features of those i have known of their fleshy covering, even in idea, without a hideous sensation; but the worms are less ceremonious.--surely, the romans did well when they burned the dead.--i shall be happy to hear from you, and am yours," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. hodgson. "newstead abbey, august . . "you may have heard of the sudden death of my mother, and poor matthews, which, with that of wingfield, (of which i was not fully aware till just before i left town, and indeed hardly believed it,) has made a sad chasm in my connections. indeed the blows followed each other so rapidly that i am yet stupid from the shock; and though i do eat, and drink, and talk, and even laugh, at times, yet i can hardly persuade myself that i am awake, did not every morning convince me mournfully to the contrary.--i shall now wave the subject,--the dead are at rest, and none but the dead can be so. "you will feel for poor hobhouse,--matthews was the 'god of his idolatry;' and if intellect could exalt a man above his fellows, no one could refuse him pre-eminence. i knew him most intimately, and valued him proportionably; but i am recurring--so let us talk of life and the living. "if you should feel a disposition to come here, you will find 'beef and a sea-coal fire,' and not ungenerous wine. whether otway's two other requisites for an englishman or not, i cannot tell, but probably one of them.--let me know when i may expect you, that i may tell you when i go and when return. i have not yet been to lanes. davies has been here, and has invited me to cambridge for a week in october, so that, peradventure, we may encounter glass to glass. his gaiety (death cannot mar it) has done me service; but, after all, ours was a hollow laughter. "you will write to me? i am solitary, and i never felt solitude irksome before. your anxiety about the critique on * *'s book is amusing; as it was anonymous, certes it was of little consequence: i wish it had produced a little more confusion, being a lover of literary malice. are you doing nothing? writing nothing? printing nothing? why not your satire on methodism? the subject (supposing the public to be blind to merit) would do wonders. besides, it would be as well for a destined deacon to prove his orthodoxy.--it really would give me pleasure to see you properly appreciated. i say _really_, as, being an author, my humanity might be suspected. believe me, dear h., yours always." * * * * * letter . to mr. dallas. "newstead, august . . "your letter gives me credit for more acute feelings than i possess; for though i feel tolerably miserable, yet i am at the same time subject to a kind of hysterical merriment, or rather laughter without merriment, which i can neither account for nor conquer, and yet i do not feel relieved by it; but an indifferent person would think me in excellent spirits. 'we must forget these things,' and have recourse to our old selfish comforts, or rather comfortable selfishness. i do not think i shall return to london immediately, and shall therefore accept freely what is offered courteously--your mediation between me and murray. i don't think my name will answer the purpose, and you must be aware that my plaguy satire will bring the north and south grub streets down upon the 'pilgrimage;'--but, nevertheless, if murray makes a point of it, and you coincide with him, i will do it daringly; so let it be entitled 'by the author of english bards and scotch reviewers.' my remarks on the romaic, &c., once intended to accompany the 'hints from horace,' shall go along with the other, as being indeed more appropriate; also the smaller poems now in my possession, with a few selected from those published in * *'s miscellany. i have found amongst my poor mother's papers all my letters from the east, and one in particular of some length from albania. from this, if necessary, i can work up a note or two on that subject. as i kept no journal, the letters written on the spot are the best. but of this anon, when we have definitively arranged. "has murray shown the work to any one? he may--but i will have no traps for applause. of course there are little things i would wish to alter, and perhaps the two stanzas of a buffooning cast on london's sunday are as well left out. i much wish to avoid identifying childe harold's character with mine, and that, in sooth, is my second objection to my name appearing in the title-page. when you have made arrangements as to time, size, type, &c. favour me with a reply. i am giving you an universe of trouble, which thanks cannot atone for. i made a kind of prose apology for my scepticism at the head of the ms., which, on recollection, is so much more like an attack than a defence, that, haply, it might better be omitted:--perpend, pronounce. after all, i fear murray will be in a scrape with the orthodox; but i cannot help it, though i wish him well through it. as for me, 'i have supped full of criticism,' and i don't think that the 'most dismal treatise' will stir and rouse my fell of hair' till 'birnam wood do come to dunsinane.' "i shall continue to write at intervals, and hope you will pay me in kind. how does pratt get on, or rather get off, joe blackett's posthumous stock? you killed that poor man amongst you, in spite of your ionian friend and myself, who would have saved him from pratt, poetry, present poverty, and posthumous oblivion. cruel patronage! to ruin a man at his calling; but then he is a divine subject for subscription and biography; and pratt, who makes the most of his dedications, has inscribed the volume to no less than five families of distinction. "i am sorry you don't like harry white: with a great deal of cant, which in him was sincere (indeed it killed him as you killed joe blackett), certes there is poesy and genius. i don't say this on account of my simile and rhymes; but surely he was beyond all the bloomfields and blacketts, and their collateral cobblers, whom lofft and pratt have or may kidnap from their calling into the service of the trade. you must excuse my flippancy, for i am writing i know not what, to escape from myself. hobhouse is gone to ireland. mr. davies has been here on his way to harrowgate. "you did not know m.: he was a man of the most astonishing powers, as he sufficiently proved at cambridge, by carrying off more prizes and fellow-ships, against the ablest candidates, than any other graduate on record; but a most decided atheist, indeed noxiously so, for he proclaimed his principles in all societies. i knew him well, and feel a loss not easily to be supplied to myself--to hobhouse never. let me hear from you, and believe me," &c. * * * * * the progress towards publication of his two forthcoming works will be best traced in his letters to mr. murray and mr. dallas. letter . to mr. murray. "newstead abbey, notts., august . . "sir, "a domestic calamity in the death of a near relation has hitherto prevented my addressing you on the subject of this letter.--my friend, mr. dallas, has placed in your hands a manuscript poem written by me in greece, which he tells me you do not object to publishing. but he also informed me in london that you wished to send the ms. to mr. gifford. now, though no one would feel more gratified by the chance of obtaining his observations on a work than myself, there is in such a proceeding a kind of petition for praise, that neither my pride--or whatever you please to call it--will admit. mr. g. is not only the first satirist of the day, but editor of one of the principal reviews. as such, he is the last man whose censure (however eager to avoid it) i would deprecate by clandestine means. you will therefore retain the manuscript in your own care, or, if it must needs be shown, send it to another. though not very patient of censure, i would fain obtain fairly any little praise my rhymes might deserve, at all events not by extortion, and the humble solicitations of a bandied about ms. i am sure a little consideration will convince you it would be wrong. "if you determine on publication, i have some smaller poems (never published), a few notes, and a short dissertation on the literature of the modern greeks (written at athens), which will come in at the end of the volume.--and, if the present poem should succeed, it is my intention, at some subsequent period, to publish some selections from my first work,--my satire,--another nearly the same length, and a few other things, with the ms. now in your hands, in two volumes.--but of these hereafter. you will apprize me of your determination. i am, sir, your very obedient," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. dallas. "newstead abbey, august . . "being fortunately enabled to frank, i do not spare scribbling, having sent you packets within the last ten days. i am passing solitary, and do not expect my agent to accompany me to rochdale before the second week in september; a delay which perplexes me, as i wish the business over, and should at present welcome employment. i sent you exordiums, annotations, &c. for the forthcoming quarto, if quarto it is to be: and i also have written to mr. murray my objection to sending the ms. to juvenal, but allowing him to show it to any others of the calling. hobhouse is amongst the types already: so, between his prose and my verse, the world will be decently drawn upon for its paper-money and patience. besides all this, my 'imitation of horace' is gasping for the press at cawthorn's, but i am hesitating as to the _how_ and the _when_, the single or the double, the present or the future. you must excuse all this, for i have nothing to say in this lone mansion but of myself, and yet i would willingly talk or think of aught else. "what are you about to do? do you think of perching in cumberland, as you opined when i was in the metropolis? if you mean to retire, why not occupy miss * * *'s 'cottage of friendship,' late the seat of cobbler joe, for whose death you and others are answerable? his 'orphan daughter' (pathetic pratt!) will, certes, turn out a shoemaking sappho. have you no remorse? i think that elegant address to miss dallas should be inscribed on the cenotaph which miss * * * means to stitch to his memory. "the newspapers seem much disappointed at his majesty's not dying, or doing something better. i presume it is almost over. if parliament meets in october, i shall be in town to attend. i am also invited to cambridge for the beginning of that month, but am first to jaunt to rochdale. now matthews is gone, and hobhouse in ireland, i have hardly one left there to bid me welcome, except my inviter. at three-and-twenty i am left alone, and what more can we be at seventy? it is true i am young enough to begin again, but with whom can i retrace the laughing part of life? it is odd how few of my friends have died a quiet death,--i mean, in their beds. but a quiet life is of more consequence. yet one loves squabbling and jostling better than yawning. this _last word_ admonishes me to relieve you from yours very truly," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. dallas. "newstead abbey, august . . "i was so sincere in my note on the late charles matthews, and do feel myself so totally unable to do justice to his talents, that the passage must stand for the very reason you bring against it. to him all the men i ever knew were pigmies. he was an intellectual giant. it is true i loved w. better; he was the earliest and the dearest, and one of the few one could never repent of having loved: but in ability--ah! you did not know matthews! "'childe harold' may wait and welcome--books are never the worse for delay in the publication. so you have got our heir, george anson byron, and his sister, with you. "you may say what you please, but you are one of the _murderers_ of blackett, and yet you won't allow harry white's genius. setting aside his bigotry, he surely ranks next chatterton. it is astonishing how little he was known; and at cambridge no one thought or heard of such a man till his death rendered all notice useless. for my own part, i should have been most proud of such an acquaintance: his very prejudices were respectable. there is a sucking epic poet at granta, a mr. townsend, _protégé_ of the late cumberland. did you ever hear of him and his 'armageddon?' i think his plan (the man i don't know) borders on the sublime: though, perhaps, the anticipation of the 'last day' (according to you nazarenes) is a little too daring: at least, it looks like telling the lord what he is to do, and might remind an ill-natured person of the line, 'and fools rush in where angels fear to tread.' but i don't mean to cavil, only other folks will, and he may bring all the lambs of jacob behmen about his ears. however, i hope he will bring it to a conclusion, though milton is in his way. "write to me--i dote on gossip--and make a bow to ju--, and shake george by the hand for me; but, take care, for he has a sad sea paw. "p.s. i would ask george here, but i don't know how to amuse him--all my horses were sold when i left england, and i have not had time to replace them. nevertheless, if he will come down and shoot in september, he will be very welcome: but he must bring a gun, for i gave away all mine to ali pacha, and other turks. dogs, a keeper, and plenty of game, with a very large manor, i have--a lake, a boat, house-room, and _neat wines_." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "newstead abbey, notts., sept. . . "sir, "the time seems to be past when (as dr. johnson said) a man was certain to 'hear the truth from his bookseller,' for you have paid me so many compliments, that, if i was not the veriest scribbler on earth, i should feel affronted. as i accept your compliments, it is but fair i should give equal or greater credit to your objections, the more so, as i believe them to be well founded. with regard to the political and metaphysical parts, i am afraid i can alter nothing; but i have high authority for my errors in that point, for even the _Æneid_ was a _political_ poem, and written for a _political_ purpose; and as to my unlucky opinions on subjects of more importance, i am too sincere in them for recantation. on spanish affairs i have said what i saw, and every day confirms me in that notion of the result formed on the spot; and i rather think honest john bull is beginning to come round again to that sobriety which massena's retreat had begun to reel from its centre--the usual consequence of _un_usual success. so you perceive i cannot alter the sentiments; but if there are any alterations in the structure of the versification you would wish to be made, i will tag rhymes and turn stanzas as much as you please. as for the '_orthodox_,' let us hope they will buy, on purpose to abuse--you will forgive the one, if they will do the other. you are aware that any thing from my pen must expect no quarter, on many accounts; and as the present publication is of a nature very different from the former, we must not be sanguine. "you have given me no answer to my question--tell me fairly, did you show the ms. to some of your corps?--i sent an introductory stanza to mr. dallas, to be forwarded to you; the poem else will open too abruptly. the stanzas had better be numbered in roman characters. there is a disquisition on the literature of the modern greeks and some smaller poems to come in at the close. these are now at newstead, but will be sent in time. if mr. d. has lost the stanza and note annexed to it, write, and i will send it myself.--you tell me to add two cantos, but i am about to visit my _collieries_ in lancashire on the th instant, which is so unpoetical an employment that i need say no more. i am, sir, your most obedient," &c. the manuscripts of both his poems having been shown, much against his own will, to mr. gifford, the opinion of that gentleman was thus reported to him by mr. dallas:--"of your satire he spoke highly; but this poem (childe harold) he pronounced not only the best you have written, but equal to any of the present age." * * * * * letter . to mr. dallas. "newstead abbey, september . . "as gifford has been ever my 'magnus apollo.' any approbation, such as you mention, would, of course, be more welcome than 'all bokara's vaunted gold, than all the gems of samarkand.' but i am sorry the ms. was shown to him in such a manner, and i had written to murray to say as much, before i was aware that it was too late. "your objection to the expression 'central line' i can only meet by saying that, before childe harold left england, it was his full intention to traverse persia, and return by india, which he could not have done without passing the equinoctial. "the other errors you mention, i must correct in the progress through the press. i feel honoured by the wish of such men that the poem should be continued, but to do that, i must return to greece and asia; i must have a warm sun and a blue sky; i cannot describe scenes so dear to me by a sea-coal fire. i had projected an additional canto when i was in the troad and constantinople, and if i saw them again, it would go on; but under existing circumstances and _sensations_, i have neither harp, 'heart, nor voice' to proceed. i feel that _you are all right_ as to the metaphysical part; but i also feel that i am sincere, and that if i am only to write '_ad captandum vulgus_,' i might as well edit a magazine at once, or spin canzonettas for vauxhall. * * * "my work must make its way as well as it can; i know i have every thing against me, angry poets and prejudices; but if the poem is a _poem_, it will surmount these obstacles, and if _not_, it deserves its fate. your friend's ode i have read--it is no great compliment to pronounce it far superior to s * *'s on the same subject, or to the merits of the new chancellor. it is evidently the production of a man of taste, and a poet, though i should not be willing to say it was fully equal to what might be expected from the author of '_horæ ionicæ_.' i thank you for it, and that is more than i would do for any other ode of the present day. "i am very sensible of your good wishes, and, indeed, i have need of them. my whole life has been at variance with propriety, not to say decency; my circumstances are become involved; my friends are dead or estranged, and my existence a dreary void. in matthews i have lost my 'guide, philosopher, and friend;' in wingfield a friend only, but one whom i could have wished to have preceded in his long journey. "matthews was indeed an extraordinary man; it has not entered into the heart of a stranger to conceive such a man: there was the stamp of immortality in all he said or did;--and now what is he? when we see such men pass away and be no more--men, who seem created to display what the creator _could make_ his creatures, gathered into corruption, before the maturity of minds that might have been the pride of posterity, what are we to conclude? for my own part, i am bewildered. to me he was much, to hobhouse every thing.--my poor hobhouse doted on matthews. for me, i did not love quite so much as i honoured him; i was indeed so sensible of his infinite superiority, that though i did not envy, i stood in awe of it. he, hobhouse, davies, and myself, formed a coterie of our own at cambridge and elsewhere. davies is a wit and man of the world, and feels as much as such a character can do; but not as hobhouse has been affected. davies, who is not a scribbler, has always beaten us all in the war of words, and by his colloquial powers at once delighted and kept us in order. h. and myself always had the worst of it with the other two; and even m. yielded to the dashing vivacity of s.d. but i am talking to you of men, or boys, as if you cared about such beings. "i expect mine agent down on the th to proceed to lancashire, where i hear from all quarters that i have a very valuable property in coals, &c. i then intend to accept an invitation to cambridge in october, and shall, perhaps, run up to town. i have four invitations--to wales, dorset, cambridge, and chester; but i must be a man of business. i am quite alone, as these long letters sadly testify. i perceive, by referring to your letter, that the ode is from the author; make my thanks acceptable to him. his muse is worthy a nobler theme. you will write as usual, i hope. i wish you good evening, and am," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "newstead abbey, notts., sept. . . "sir, "since your former letter, mr. dallas informs me that the ms. has been submitted to the perusal of mr. gifford, most contrary to my wishes, as mr. d. could have explained, and as my own letter to you did, in fact, explain, with my motives for objecting to such a proceeding. some late domestic events, of which you are probably aware, prevented my letter from being sent before; indeed, i hardly conceived you would so hastily thrust my productions into the hands of a stranger, who could be as little pleased by receiving them, as their author is at their being offered, in such a manner, and to such a man. "my address, when i leave newstead, will be to 'rochdale, lancashire;' but i have not yet fixed the day of departure, and i will apprise you when ready to set off. "you have placed me in a very ridiculous situation, but it is past, and nothing more is to be said on the subject. you hinted to me that you wished some alterations to be made; if they have nothing to do with politics or religion, i will make them with great readiness. i am, sir," &c.&c. * * * * * to mr. murray. "newstead abbey, sept. . .[ ] "i return the proof, which i should wish to be shown to mr. dallas, who understands typographical arrangements much better than i can pretend to do. the printer may place the notes in his _own way_, or any _way_ so that they are out of _my way_; i care nothing about types or margins. "if you have any communication to make, i shall be here at least a week or ten days longer. "i am, sir," &c. &c. [footnote : on a leaf of one of his paper-books i find an epigram written at this time, which, though not perhaps particularly good, i consider myself bound to insert:-- "on moore's last operatic farce, or farcical opera. "good plays are scarce, so moore writes farce: the poet's fame grows brittle-- we knew before that _little's_ moore, but now 'tis _moore_ that's _little_. sept. . ." ] * * * * * letter . to mr. dallas. "newstead abbey, sept. . . "i can easily excuse your not writing, as you have, i hope, something better to do, and you must pardon my frequent invasions on your attention, because i have at this moment nothing to interpose between you and my epistles. "i cannot settle to any thing, and my days pass, with the exception of bodily exercise to some extent, with uniform indolence, and idle insipidity. i have been expecting, and still expect, my agent, when i shall have enough to occupy my reflections in business of no very pleasant aspect. before my journey to rochdale, you shall have due notice where to address me--i believe at the post-office of that township. from murray i received a second proof of the same pages, which i requested him to show you, that any thing which may have escaped my observation may be detected before the printer lays the corner-stone of an _errata_ column. "i am now not quite alone, having an old acquaintance and school-fellow with me, so _old_, indeed, that we have nothing _new_ to say on any subject, and yawn at each other in a sort of _quiet inquietude_. i hear nothing from cawthorn, or captain hobhouse; and _their quarto_--lord have mercy on mankind! we come on like cerberus with our triple publications. as for _myself_, by _myself_, i must be satisfied with a comparison to _janus_. "i am not at all pleased with murray for showing the ms.; and i am certain gifford must see it in the same light that i do. his praise is nothing to the purpose: what could he say? he could not spit in the face of one who had praised him in every possible way. i must own that i wish to have the impression removed from his mind, that i had any concern in such a paltry transaction. the more i think, the more it disquiets me; so i will say no more about it. it is bad enough to be a scribbler, without having recourse to such shifts to extort praise, or deprecate censure. it is anticipating, it is begging, kneeling, adulating,--the devil! the devil! the devil! and all without my wish, and contrary to my express desire. i wish murray had been tied to _payne_'s neck when he jumped into the paddington canal[ ], and so tell him,--_that_ is the proper receptacle for publishers. you have thoughts of settling in the country, why not try notts.? i think there are places which would suit you in all points, and then you are nearer the metropolis. but of this anon. i am, yours," &c. [footnote : in a note on his "hints from horace," he thus humorously applies this incident:-- "a literary friend of mine walking out one lovely evening last summer on the eleventh bridge of the paddington canal, was alarmed by the cry of 'one in jeopardy!' he rushed along, collected a body of irish haymakers (supping on buttermilk in an adjoining paddock), procured three rakes, one eel spear, and a landing-net, and at last (_horresco referens_) pulled out--his own publisher. the unfortunate man was gone for ever, and so was a large quarto wherewith he had taken the leap, which proved, on enquiry, to have been mr. s----'s last work. its 'alacrity of sinking' was so great, that it has never since been heard of, though some maintain that it is at this moment concealed at alderman birch's pastry-premises, cornhill. be this as it may, the coroner's inquest brought in a verdict of 'felo de bibliopolâ' against a 'quarto unknown,' and circumstantial evidence being since strong against the 'curse of kehama' (of which the above words are an exact description), it will be tried by its peers next session in grub street. arthur, alfred, davideis, richard coeur de lion, exodus, exodiad, epigoniad, calvary, fall of cambria, siege of acre, don roderick, and tom thumb the great, are the names of the twelve jurors. the judges are pye, * * *, and the bellman of st. sepulchre's."] * * * * * letter . to mr. dallas. "newstead abbey, sept. . . "i have shown my respect for your suggestions by adopting them; but i have made many alterations in the first proof, over and above; as, for example: "oh thou, in _hellas_ deem'd of heavenly birth, &c. &c. "since _shamed full oft_ by _later lyres_ on earth, mine, &c. "yet there _i've wander'd_ by the vaunted rill; and so on. so i have got rid of dr. lowth and 'drunk' to boot, and very glad i am to say so. i have also sullenised the line as heretofore, and in short have been quite conformable. "pray write; you shall hear when i remove to lancs. i have brought you and my friend juvenal hodgson upon my back, on the score of revelation. you are fervent, but he is quite _glowing_; and if he take half the pains to save his own soul, which he volunteers to redeem mine, great will be his reward hereafter. i honour and thank you both, but am convinced by neither. now for notes. besides those i have sent, i shall send the observations on the edinburgh reviewer's remarks on the modern greek, an albanian song in the albanian (_not greek_) language, specimens of modern greek from their new testament, a comedy of goldoni's translated, _one scene_, a prospectus of a friend's book, and perhaps a song or two, _all_ in romaic, besides their pater noster; so there will be enough, if not too much, with what i have already sent. have you received the 'noetes atticæ?' i sent also an annotation on portugal. hobhouse is also forthcoming." * * * * * letter . to mr. dallas. "newstead abbey, sept. . . "_lisboa_ is the portuguese word, consequently the very best. ulissipont is pedantic; and as i have _hellas_ and _eros_ not long before, there would be something like an affectation of greek terms, which i wish to avoid, since i shall have a perilous quantity of _modern_ greek in my notes, as specimens of the tongue; therefore lisboa may keep its place. you are right about the 'hints;' they must not precede the 'romaunt;' but cawthorn will be savage if they don't; however, keep _them_ back, and _him_ in _good humour_, if we can, but do not let him publish. "i have adopted, i believe, most of your suggestions, but 'lisboa' will be an exception to prove the rule. i have sent a quantity of notes, and shall continue; but pray let them be copied; no devil can read my hand. by the by, i do not mean to exchange the ninth verse of the 'good night.' i have no reason to suppose my dog better than his brother brutes, mankind; and _argus_ we know to be a fable. the 'cosmopolite' was an acquisition abroad. i do not believe it is to be found in england. it is an amusing little volume, and full of french flippancy. i read, though i do not speak the language. "i _will_ be angry with murray. it was a book-selling, back shop, paternoster-row, paltry proceeding, and if the experiment had turned out as it deserved, i would have raised all fleet street, and borrowed the giant's staff from st. dunstan's church, to immolate the betrayer of trust. i have written to him as he never was written to before by an author, i'll be sworn, and i hope you will amplify my wrath, till it has an effect upon him. you tell me always you have much to write about. write it, but let us drop metaphysics;--on that point we shall never agree. i am dull and drowsy, as usual. i do nothing, and even that nothing fatigues me. adieu." * * * * * letter . to mr. dallas. "newstead abbey, oct. . . "i have returned from lancs., and ascertained that my property there may be made very valuable, but various circumstances very much circumscribe my exertions at present. i shall be in town on business in the beginning of november, and perhaps at cambridge before the end of this month; but of my movements you shall be regularly apprised. your objections i have in part done away by alterations, which i hope will suffice; and i have sent two or three additional stanzas for both '_fyttas_' i have been again shocked with a death, and have lost one very dear to me in happier times; but 'i have almost forgot the taste of grief,' and 'supped full of horrors' till i have become callous, nor have i a tear left for an event which, five years ago, would have bowed down my head to the earth. it seems as though i were to experience in my youth the greatest misery of age. my friends fall around me, and i shall be left a lonely tree before i am withered. other men can always take refuge in their families; i have no resource but my own reflections, and they present no prospect here or hereafter, except the selfish satisfaction of surviving my betters. i am indeed very wretched, and you will excuse my saying so, as you know i am not apt to cant of sensibility. "instead of tiring yourself with _my_ concerns, i should be glad to hear _your_ plans of retirement. i suppose you would not like to be wholly shut out of society? now i know a large village, or small town, about twelve miles off, where your family would have the advantage of very genteel society, without the hazard of being annoyed by mercantile affluence; where _you_ would meet with men of information and independence; and where i have friends to whom i should be proud to introduce you. there are, besides, a coffee-room, assemblies, &c. &c., which bring people together. my mother had a house there some years, and i am well acquainted with the economy of southwell, the name of this little commonwealth. lastly, you will not be very remote from me; and though i am the very worst companion for young people in the world, this objection would not apply to _you_, whom i could see frequently. your expenses, too, would be such as best suit your inclinations, more or less, as you thought proper; but very little would be requisite to enable you to enter into all the gaieties of a country life. you could be as quiet or bustling as you liked, and certainly as well situated as on the lakes of cumberland, unless you have a particular wish to be _picturesque_. "pray, is your ionian friend in town? you have promised me an introduction.--you mention having consulted some friend on the mss.--is not this contrary to our usual way? instruct mr. murray not to allow his shopman to call the work 'child of harrow's pilgrimage!!!!!' as he has done to some of my astonished friends, who wrote to enquire after my sanity on the occasion, as well they might. i have heard nothing of murray, whom i scolded heartily. must i write more notes?--are there not enough?--cawthorn must be kept back with the 'hints.'--i hope he is getting on with hobhouse's quarto. good evening. yours ever," &c. * * * * * of the same date with this melancholy letter are the following verses, never before printed, which he wrote in answer to some lines received from a friend, exhorting him to be cheerful, and to "banish care." they will show with what gloomy fidelity, even while under the pressure of recent sorrow, he reverted to the disappointment of his early affection, as the chief source of all his sufferings and errors, present and to come. "newstead abbey, october . . "'oh! banish care'--such ever be the motto of _thy_ revelry! perchance of _mine_, when wassail nights renew those riotous delights, wherewith the children of despair lull the lone heart, and 'banish care.' but not in morn's reflecting hour, when present, past, and future lower, when all i loved is changed or gone, mock with such taunts the woes of one, whose every thought--but let them pass-- thou know'st i am not what i was. but, above all, if thou wouldst hold place in a heart that ne'er was cold, by all the powers that men revere, by all unto thy bosom dear, thy joys below, thy hopes above, speak--speak of any thing but love. "'twere long to tell, and vain to hear the tale of one who scorns a tear; and there is little in that tale which better bosoms would bewail. but mine has suffer'd more than well 'twould suit philosophy to tell. i've seen my bride another's bride,-- have seen her seated by his side,-- have seen the infant which she bore, wear the sweet smile the mother wore, when she and i in youth have smiled as fond and faultless as her child;-- have seen her eyes, in cold disdain, ask if i felt no secret pain. and i have acted well my part, and made my cheek belie my heart, return'd the freezing glance she gave, yet felt the while _that_ woman's slave;-- have kiss'd, as if without design, the babe which ought to have been mine, and show'd, alas! in each caress time had not made me love the less. "but let this pass--i'll whine no more. nor seek again an eastern shore; the world befits a busy brain,-- i'll hie me to its haunts again. but if, in some succeeding year, when britain's 'may is in the sere,' thou hear'st of one, whose deepening crimes suit with the sablest of the times, of one, whom love nor pity sways, nor hope of fame, nor good men's praise, one, who in stern ambition's pride, perchance not blood shall turn aside, one rank'd in some recording page with the worst anarchs of the age, him wilt thou _know_--and, _knowing_, pause, nor with the _effect_ forget the cause." * * * * * the anticipations of his own future career in these concluding lines are of a nature, it must be owned, to awaken more of horror than of interest, were we not prepared, by so many instances of his exaggeration in this respect, not to be startled at any lengths to which the spirit of self-libelling would carry him. it seemed as if, with the power of painting fierce and gloomy personages, he had also the ambition to be, himself, the dark "sublime he drew," and that, in his fondness for the delineation of heroic crime, he endeavoured to fancy, where he could not find, in his own character, fit subjects for his pencil. it was about the time when he was thus bitterly feeling and expressing the blight which his heart had suffered from a _real_ object of affection, that his poems on the death of an _imaginary_ one, "thyrza," were written;--nor is it any wonder, when we consider the peculiar circumstances under which these beautiful effusions flowed from his fancy, that of all his strains of pathos, they should be the most touching and most pure. they were, indeed, the essence, the abstract spirit, as it were, of many griefs;--a confluence of sad thoughts from many sources of sorrow, refined and warmed in their passage through his fancy, and forming thus one deep reservoir of mournful feeling. in retracing the happy hours he had known with the friends now lost, all the ardent tenderness of his youth came back upon him. his school-sports with the favourites of his boyhood, wingfield and tattersall,--his summer days with long[ ], and those evenings of music and romance which he had dreamed away in the society of his adopted brother, eddlestone,--all these recollections of the young and dead now came to mingle themselves in his mind with the image of her who, though living, was, for him, as much lost as they, and diffused that general feeling of sadness and fondness through his soul, which found a vent in these poems. no friendship, however warm, could have inspired sorrow so passionate; as no love, however pure, could have kept passion so chastened. it was the blending of the two affections, in his memory and imagination, that thus gave birth to an ideal object combining the best features of both, and drew from him these saddest and tenderest of love-poems, in which we find all the depth and intensity of real feeling touched over with such a light as no reality ever wore. the following letter gives some further account of the course of his thoughts and pursuits at this period:-- letter . to mr. hodgson. "newstead abbey, oct. . . "you will begin to deem me a most liberal correspondent; but as my letters are free, you will overlook their frequency. i have sent you answers in prose and verse[ ] to all your late communications, and though i am invading your ease again, i don't know why, or what to put down that you are not acquainted with already. i am growing nervous (how you will laugh!)--but it is true,--really, wretchedly, ridiculously, fine-ladically _nervous_. your climate kills me; i can neither read, write, nor amuse myself, or any one else. my days are listless, and my nights restless; i have very seldom any society, and when i have, i run out of it. at 'this present writing,' there are in the next room three ladies, and i have stolen away to write this grumbling letter.--i don't know that i sha'n't end with insanity, for i find a want of method in arranging my thoughts that perplexes me strangely; but this looks more like silliness than madness, as scrope davies would facetiously remark in his consoling manner. i must try the hartshorn of your company; and a session of parliament would suit me well,--any thing to cure me of conjugating the accursed verb '_ennuyer_.' "when shall you be at cambridge? you have hinted, i think, that your friend bland is returned from holland. i have always had a great respect for his talents, and for all that i have heard of his character; but of me, i believe he knows nothing, except that he heard my sixth form repetitions ten months together, at the average of two lines a morning, and those never perfect. i remembered him and his 'slaves' as i passed between capes matapan, st. angelo, and his isle of ceriga, and i always bewailed the absence of the anthology. i suppose he will now translate vondel, the dutch shakspeare, and 'gysbert van amstel' will easily be accommodated to our stage in its present state; and i presume he saw the dutch poem, where the love of pyramus and thisbe is compared to the _passion_ of _christ_; also the love of _lucifer_ for eve, and other varieties of low country literature. no doubt you will think me crazed to talk of such things, but they are all in black and white and good repute on the banks of every canal from amsterdam to alkmaar. "yours ever, b." [footnote : see the extract from one of his journals, vol. i. p. .] [footnote : the verses in vol. ii. p. .] * * * * * "my poesy is in the hands of its various publishers; but the 'hints from horace,' (to which i have subjoined some savage lines on methodism, and ferocious notes on the vanity of the triple editory of the edin. annual register,) my '_hints_,' i say, stand still, and why?--i have not a friend in the world (but you and drury) who can construe horace's latin or my english well enough to adjust them for the press, or to correct the proofs in a grammatical way. so that, unless you have bowels when you return to town (i am too far off to do it for myself), this ineffable work will be lost to the world for--i don't know how many _weeks._ "'childe harold's pilgrimage' must wait till _murray's_ is finished. he is making a tour in middlesex, and is to return soon, when high matter may be expected. he wants to have it in quarto, which is a cursed unsaleable size; but it is pestilent long, and one must obey one's bookseller. i trust murray will pass the paddington canal without being seduced by payne and mackinlay's example,--i say payne and mackinlay, supposing that the partnership held good. drury, the villain, has not written to me; 'i am never (as mrs. lumpkin says to tony) to be gratified with the monster's dear wild notes.' "so you are going (going indeed!) into orders. you must make your peace with the eclectic reviewers--they accuse you of impiety, i fear, with injustice. demetrius, the 'sieger of cities,' is here, with 'gilpin homer.' the painter[ ] is not necessary, as the portraits he already painted are (by anticipation) very like the new animals.--write, and send me your 'love song'--but i want 'paulo majora' from you. make a dash before you are a deacon, and try a _dry_ publisher. "yours always, b." [footnote : barber, whom he had brought down to newstead to paint his wolf and his bear.] * * * * * it was at this period that i first had the happiness of seeing and becoming acquainted with lord byron. the correspondence in which our acquaintance originated is, in a high degree, illustrative of the frank manliness of his character; and as it was begun on my side, some egotism must be tolerated in the detail which i have to give of the circumstances that led to it. so far back as the year , on the occasion of a meeting which took place at chalk farm between mr. jeffrey and myself, a good deal of ridicule and raillery, founded on a false representation of what occurred before the magistrates at bow street, appeared in almost all the public prints. in consequence of this, i was induced to address a letter to the editor of one of the journals, contradicting the falsehood that had been circulated, and stating briefly the real circumstances of the case. for some time my letter seemed to produce the intended effect,--but, unluckily, the original story was too tempting a theme for humour and sarcasm to be so easily superseded by mere matter of fact. accordingly, after a little time, whenever the subject was publicly alluded to,--more especially by those who were at all "willing to wound,"--the old falsehood was, for the sake of its ready sting, revived. in the year , on the first appearance of "english bards and scotch reviewers," i found the author, who was then generally understood to be lord byron, not only jesting on the subject--and with sufficiently provoking pleasantry and cleverness--in his verse, but giving also, in the more responsible form of a note, an outline of the transaction in accordance with the original misreport, and, therefore, in direct contradiction to my published statement. still, as the satire was anonymous and unacknowledged, i did not feel that i was, in any way, called upon to notice it, and therefore dismissed the matter entirely from my mind. in the summer of the same year appeared the second edition of the work, with lord byron's name prefixed to it. i was, at the time, in ireland, and but little in the way of literary society; and it so happened that some months passed away before the appearance of this new edition was known to me. immediately on being apprised of it,--the offence now assuming a different form,--i addressed the following letter to lord byron, and, transmitting it to a friend in london, requested that he would have it delivered into his lordship's hands.[ ] "dublin, january . . "my lord, "having just seen the name of 'lord byron' prefixed to a work entitled 'english bards and scotch reviewers,' in which, as it appears to me, _the lie is given_ to a public statement of mine, respecting an affair with mr. jeffrey some years since, i beg you will have the goodness to inform me whether i may consider your lordship as the author of this publication. "i shall not, i fear, be able to return to london for a week or two; but, in the mean time, i trust your lordship will not deny me the satisfaction of knowing whether you avow the insult contained in the passages alluded to. "it is needless to suggest to your lordship the propriety of keeping our correspondence secret. "i have the honour to be "your lordship's very humble servant, "thomas moore. " . molesworth street." [footnote : this is the only entire letter of my own that, in the course of this work, i mean to obtrude upon my readers. being short, and in terms more explanatory of the feeling on which i acted than any others that could be substituted, it might be suffered, i thought, to form the single exception to my general rule. in all other cases, i shall merely give such extracts from my own letters as may be necessary to elucidate those of my correspondent.] * * * * * in the course of a week, the friend to whom i intrusted this letter wrote to inform me that lord byron had, as he learned on enquiring of his publisher, gone abroad immediately on the publication of his second edition; but that my letter had been placed in the hands of a gentleman, named hodgson, who had undertaken to forward it carefully to his lordship. though the latter step was not exactly what i could have wished, i thought it as well, on the whole, to let my letter take its chance, and again postponed all consideration of the matter. during the interval of a year and a half which elapsed before lord byron's return, i had taken upon myself obligations, both as husband and father, which make most men,--and especially those who have nothing to bequeath,--less willing to expose themselves unnecessarily to danger. on hearing, therefore, of the arrival of the noble traveller from greece, though still thinking it due to myself to follow up my first request of an explanation, i resolved, in prosecuting that object, to adopt such a tone of conciliation as should not only prove my sincere desire of a pacific result, but show the entire freedom from any angry or resentful feeling with which i took the step. the death of mrs. byron, for some time, delayed my purpose. but as soon after that event as was consistent with decorum, i addressed a letter to lord byron, in which, referring to my former communication, and expressing some doubts as to its having ever reached him, i re-stated, in pretty nearly the same words, the nature of the insult, which, as it appeared to me, the passage in his note was calculated to convey. "it is now useless," i continued, "to speak of the steps with which it was my intention to follow up that letter. the time which has elapsed since then, though it has done away neither the injury nor the feeling of it, has, in many respects, materially altered my situation; and the only object which i have now in writing to your lordship is to preserve some consistency with that former letter, and to prove to you that the injured feeling still exists, however circumstances may compel me to be deaf to its dictates, at present. when i say 'injured feeling,' let me assure your lordship, that there is not a single vindictive sentiment in my mind towards you. i mean but to express that uneasiness, under (what i consider to be) a charge of falsehood, which must haunt a man of any feeling to his grave, unless the insult be retracted or atoned for; and which, if i did _not_ feel, i should, indeed, deserve far worse than your lordship's satire could inflict upon me." in conclusion i added, that so far from being influenced by any angry or resentful feeling towards him, it would give me sincere pleasure if, by any satisfactory explanation, he would enable me to seek the honour of being henceforward ranked among his acquaintance.[ ] to this letter, lord byron returned the following answer:-- letter . to mr. moore. "cambridge, october . . "sir, "your letter followed me from notts, to this place, which will account for the delay of my reply. your former letter i never had the honour to receive;--be assured, in whatever part of the world it had found me, i should have deemed it my duty to return and answer it in person. "the advertisement you mention, i know nothing of.--at the time of your meeting with mr. jeffrey, i had recently entered college, and remember to have heard and read a number of squibs on the occasion; and from the recollection of these i derived all my knowledge on the subject, without the slightest idea of 'giving the lie' to an address which i never beheld. when i put my name to the production, which has occasioned this correspondence, i became responsible to all whom it might concern,--to explain where it requires explanation, and, where insufficiently, or too sufficiently explicit, at all events to satisfy. my situation leaves me no choice; it rests with the injured and the angry to obtain reparation in their own way. "with regard to the passage in question, _you_ were certainly _not_ the person towards whom i felt personally hostile. on the contrary, my whole thoughts were engrossed by one, whom i had reason to consider as my worst literary enemy, nor could i foresee that his former antagonist was about to become his champion. you do not specify what you would wish to have done: i can neither retract nor apologise for a charge of falsehood which i never advanced. "in the beginning of the week, i shall be at no. . st. james's street.--neither the letter nor the friend to whom you stated your intention ever made their appearance. "your friend, mr. rogers, or any other gentleman delegated by you, will find me most ready to adopt any conciliatory proposition which shall not compromise my own honour,--or, failing in that, to make the atonement you deem it necessary to require. "i have the honour to be, sir, "your most obedient, humble servant, "byron." [footnote : finding two different draughts of this letter among my papers, i cannot be quite certain as to some of the terms employed; but have little doubt that they are here given correctly.] * * * * * in my reply to this, i commenced by saying that his lordship's letter was, upon the whole, as satisfactory as i could expect. it contained all that, in the strict _diplomatique_ of explanation, could be required, namely,--that he had never seen the statement which i supposed him wilfully to have contradicted,--that he had no intention of bringing against me any charge of falsehood, and that the objectionable passage of his work was not levelled personally at _me_. this, i added, was all the explanation i had a right to expect, and i was, of course, satisfied with it. i then entered into some detail relative to the transmission of my first letter from dublin,--giving, as my reason for descending to these minute particulars, that i did not, i must confess, feel quite easy under the manner in which his lordship had noticed the miscarriage of that first application to him. my reply concluded thus:--"as your lordship does not show any wish to proceed beyond the rigid formulary of explanation, it is not for me to make any further advances. we irishmen, in businesses of this kind, seldom know any medium between decided hostility and decided friendship;--but, as any approaches towards the latter alternative must now depend entirely on your lordship, i have only to repeat that i am satisfied with your letter, and that i have the honour to be," &c. &c. on the following day i received the annexed rejoinder from lord byron:-- letter . to mr. moore. " . st. james's street, october . . "sir, "soon after my return to england, my friend, mr. hodgson, apprised me that a letter for me was in his possession; but a domestic event hurrying me from london, immediately after, the letter (which may most probably be your own) is still _unopened in his keeping_. if, on examination of the address, the similarity of the handwriting should lead to such a conclusion, it shall be opened in your presence, for the satisfaction of all parties. mr. h. is at present out of town;--on friday i shall see him, and request him to forward it to my address. "with regard to the latter part of both your letters, until the principal point was discussed between us, i felt myself at a loss in what manner to reply. was i to anticipate friendship from one, who conceived me to have charged him with falsehood? were not _advances_, under such circumstances, to be misconstrued,--not, perhaps, by the person to whom they were addressed, but by others? in _my_ case, such a step was impracticable. if you, who conceived yourself to be the offended person, are satisfied that you had no cause for offence, it will not be difficult to convince me of it. my situation, as i have before stated, leaves me no choice. i should have felt proud of your acquaintance, had it commenced under other circumstances; but it must rest with you to determine how far it may proceed after so _auspicious_ a beginning. i have the honour to be," &c. * * * * * somewhat piqued, i own, at the manner in which my efforts towards a more friendly understanding,--ill-timed as i confess them to have been,--were received, i hastened to close our correspondence by a short note, saying, that his lordship had made me feel the imprudence i was guilty of, in wandering from the point immediately in discussion between us; and i should now, therefore, only add, that if, in my last letter, i had correctly stated the substance of his explanation, our correspondence might, from this moment, cease for ever, as with that explanation i declared myself satisfied. this brief note drew immediately from lord byron the following frank and open-hearted reply:-- letter . to mr. moore. " . st. james's street, october . . "sir, "you must excuse my troubling you once more upon this very unpleasant subject. it would be a satisfaction to me, and i should think, to yourself, that the unopened letter in mr. hodgson's possession (supposing it to prove your own) should be returned 'in statu quo' to the writer; particularly as you expressed yourself 'not quite easy under the manner in which i had dwelt on its miscarriage.' "a few words more, and i shall not trouble you further. i felt, and still feel, very much flattered by those parts of your correspondence, which held out the prospect of our becoming acquainted. if i did not meet them in the first instance as perhaps i ought, let the situation i was placed in be my defence. you have _now_ declared yourself _satisfied_, and on that point we are no longer at issue. if, therefore, you still retain any wish to do me the honour you hinted at, i shall be most happy to meet you, when, where, and how you please, and i presume you will not attribute my saying thus much to any unworthy motive. i have the honour to remain," &c. * * * * * on receiving this letter, i went instantly to my friend, mr. rogers, who was, at that time, on a visit at holland house, and, for the first time, informed him of the correspondence in which i had been engaged. with his usual readiness to oblige and serve, he proposed that the meeting between lord byron and myself should take place at his table, and requested of me to convey to the noble lord his wish, that he would do him the honour of naming some day for that purpose. the following is lord byron's answer to the note which i then wrote:-- letter . to mr. moore. " . st. james's street, november , . "sir, "as i should be very sorry to interrupt your sunday's engagement, if monday, or any other day of the ensuing week, would be equally convenient to yourself and friend, i will then have the honour of accepting his invitation. of the professions of esteem with which mr. rogers has honoured me, i cannot but feel proud, though undeserving. i should be wanting to myself, if insensible to the praise of such a man; and, should my approaching interview with him and his friend lead to any degree of intimacy with both or either, i shall regard our past correspondence as one of the happiest events of my life. i have the honour to be, "your very sincere and obedient servant, "byron." * * * * * it can hardly, i think, be necessary to call the reader's attention to the good sense, self-possession, and frankness, of these letters of lord byron. i had placed him,--by the somewhat national confusion which i had made of the boundaries of peace and war, of hostility and friendship,--in a position which, ignorant as he was of the character of the person who addressed him, it required all the watchfulness of his sense of honour to guard from surprise or snare. hence, the judicious reserve with which he abstained from noticing my advances towards acquaintance, till he should have ascertained exactly whether the explanation which he was willing to give would be such as his correspondent would be satisfied to receive. the moment he was set at rest on this point, the frankness of his nature displayed itself; and the disregard of all further mediation or etiquette with which he at once professed himself ready to meet me, "when, where, and how" i pleased, showed that he could be as pliant and confiding _after_ such an understanding, as he had been judiciously reserved and punctilious _before_ it. such did i find lord byron, on my first experience of him; and such,--so open and manly-minded,--did i find him to the last. it was, at first, intended by mr. rogers that his company at dinner should not extend beyond lord byron and myself; but mr. thomas campbell, having called upon our host that morning, was invited to join the party, and consented. such a meeting could not be otherwise than interesting to us all. it was the first time that lord byron was ever seen by any of his three companions; while he, on his side, for the first time, found himself in the society of persons, whose names had been associated with his first literary dreams, and to _two_[ ] of whom he looked up with that tributary admiration which youthful genius is ever ready to pay its precursors. among the impressions which this meeting left upon me, what i chiefly remember to have remarked was the nobleness of his air, his beauty, the gentleness of his voice and manners, and--what was, naturally, not the least attraction--his marked kindness to myself. being in mourning for his mother, the colour, as well of his dress, as of his glossy, curling, and picturesque hair, gave more effect to the pure, spiritual paleness of his features, in the expression of which, when he spoke, there was a perpetual play of lively thought, though melancholy was their habitual character when in repose. as we had none of us been apprised of his peculiarities with respect to food, the embarrassment of our host was not a little, on discovering that there was nothing upon the table which his noble guest could eat or drink. neither meat, fish, nor wine, would lord byron touch; and of biscuits and soda-water, which he asked for, there had been, unluckily, no provision. he professed, however, to be equally well pleased with potatoes and vinegar; and of these meagre materials contrived to make rather a hearty dinner. i shall now resume the series of his correspondence with other friends. [footnote : in speaking thus, i beg to disclaim all affected modesty, lord byron had already made the same distinction himself in the opinions which he expressed of the living poets; and i cannot but be aware that, for the praises which he afterwards bestowed on my writings, i was, in a great degree, indebted to his partiality to myself.] * * * * * letter . to mr. harness. " . st. james's street, dec. . . "my dear harness, "i write again, but don't suppose i mean to lay such a tax on your pen and patience as to expect regular replies. when you are inclined, write; when silent, i shall have the consolation of knowing that you are much better employed. yesterday, bland and i called on mr. miller, who, being then out, will call on bland[ ] to-day or to-morrow. i shall certainly endeavour to bring them together.--you are censorious, child; when you are a little older, you will learn to dislike every body, but abuse nobody. "with regard to the person of whom you speak, your own good sense must direct you. i never pretend to advise, being an implicit believer in the old proverb. this present frost is detestable. it is the first i have felt for these three years, though i longed for one in the oriental summer, when no such thing is to be had, unless i had gone to the top of hymettus for it. "i thank you most truly for the concluding part of your letter. i have been of late not much accustomed to kindness from any quarter, and am not the less pleased to meet with it again from one where i had known it earliest. i have not changed in all my ramblings,--harrow, and, of course, yourself never left me, and the "'dulces reminiscitur argos' attended me to the very spot to which that sentence alludes in the mind of the fallen argive--our intimacy began before we began to date at all, and it rests with you to continue it till the hour which must number it and me with the things that _were_. "do read mathematics.--i should think _x plus y_ at least as amusing as the curse of kehama, and much more intelligible. master s.'s poems _are_, in fact, what parallel lines might be--viz. prolonged _ad infinitum_ without meeting any thing half so absurd as themselves. "what news, what news? queen oreaca, what news of scribblers five? s----, w----, c----e, l----d, and l----e?-- all damn'd, though yet alive. c----e is lecturing. 'many an old fool,' said hannibal to some such lecturer, 'but such as this, never.' "ever yours, &c." [footnote : the rev. robert bland, one of the authors of "collections from the greek anthology." lord byron was, at this time, endeavouring to secure for mr. bland the task of translating lucien buonaparte's poem.] * * * * * letter . to mr. harness. "st. james's street, dec. . . "behold a most formidable sheet, without gilt or black edging, and consequently very vulgar and indecorous, particularly to one of your precision; but this being sunday, i can procure no better, and will atone for its length by not filling it. bland i have not seen since my last letter; but on tuesday he dines with me, and will meet m * * e, the epitome of all that is exquisite in poetical or personal accomplishments. how bland has settled with miller, i know not. i have very little interest with either, and they must arrange their concerns according to their own gusto. i have done my endeavours, _at your request_, to bring them together, and hope they may agree to their mutual advantage. "coleridge has been lecturing against campbell. rogers was present, and from him i derive the information. we are going to make a party to hear this manichean of poesy. pole is to marry miss long, and will be a very miserable dog for all that. the present ministers are to continue, and his majesty _does_ continue in the same state; so there's folly and madness for you, both in a breath. "i never heard but of one man truly fortunate, and he was beaumarchais, the author of figaro, who buried two wives and gained three law-suits before he was thirty. "and now, child, what art thou doing? _reading, i trust._ i want to see you take a degree. remember, this is the most important period of your life; and don't disappoint your papa and your aunt, and all your kin--besides myself. don't you know that all male children are begotten for the express purpose of being graduates? and that even i am an a.m., though how i became so, the public orator only can resolve. besides, you are to be a priest: and to confute sir william drummond's late book about the bible, (printed, but not published,) and all other infidels whatever. now leave master h.'s gig, and master s.'s sapphics, and become as immortal as cambridge can make you. "you see, mio carissimo, what a pestilent correspondent i am likely to become; but then you shall be as quiet at newstead as you please, and i won't disturb your studies as i do now. when do you fix the day, that i may take you up according to contract? hodgson talks of making a third in our journey; but we can't stow him, inside at least. positively you shall go with me as was agreed, and don't let me have any of your _politesse_ to h. on the occasion. i shall manage to arrange for both with a little contrivance. i wish h. was not quite so fat, and we should pack better. you will want to know what i am doing--chewing tobacco. "you see nothing of my allies, scrope davies and matthews[ ]--they don't suit you; and how does it happen that i--who am a pipkin of the same pottery--continue in your good graces? good night,--i will go on in the morning. "dec. th. in a morning, i'm always sullen, and to-day is as sombre as myself. rain and mist are worse than a sirocco, particularly in a beef-eating and beer-drinking country. my bookseller, cawthorne, has just left me, and tells me, with a most important face, that he is in treaty for a novel of madame d'arblay's, for which guineas are asked! he wants me to read the ms. (if he obtains it), which i shall do with pleasure; but i should be very cautious in venturing an opinion on her whose cecilia dr. johnson superintended.[ ] if he lends it to me, i shall put it into the hands of rogers and m * * e, who are truly men of taste. i have filled the sheet, and beg your pardon; i will not do it again. i shall, perhaps, write again, but if not, believe, silent or scribbling, that i am, my dearest william, ever," &c. [footnote : the brother of his late friend, charles skinner matthews.] [footnote : lord byron is here mistaken. dr. johnson never saw cecilia till it was in print. a day or two before publication, the young authoress, as i understand, sent three copies to the three persons who had the best claim to them,--her father, mrs. thrale, and dr. johnson.--_second edition_.] * * * * * letter . to mr. hodgson. "london, dec. . . "i sent you a sad tale of three friars the other day, and now take a dose in another style. i wrote it a day or two ago, on hearing a song of former days. "away, away, ye notes of woe[ ], &c. &c. "i have gotten a book by sir w. drummond, (printed, but not published,) entitled oedipus judaicus, in which he attempts to prove the greater part of the old testament an allegory, particularly genesis and joshua. he professes himself a theist in the preface, and handles the literal interpretation very roughly. i wish you could see it. mr. w * * has lent it me, and i confess, to me it is worth fifty watsons. "you and harness must fix on the time for your visit to newstead; i can command mine at your wish, unless any thing particular occurs in the interim. bland dines with me on tuesday to meet moore. coleridge has attacked the 'pleasures of hope,' and all other pleasures whatsoever. mr. rogers was present, and heard himself indirectly _rowed_ by the lecturer. we are going in a party to hear the new art of poetry by this reformed schismatic; and were i one of these poetical luminaries, or of sufficient consequence to be noticed by the man of lectures, i should not hear him without an answer. for you know, 'an' a man will be beaten with brains, he shall never keep a clean doublet.' c * * will be desperately annoyed. i never saw a man (and of him i have seen very little) so sensitive;--what a happy temperament! i am sorry for it; what can _he_ fear from criticism? i don't know if bland has seen miller, who was to call on him yesterday. "to-day is the sabbath,--a day i never pass pleasantly, but at cambridge; and, even there, the organ is a sad remembrancer. things are stagnant enough in town,--as long as they don't retrograde, 'tis all very well. h * * writes and writes and writes, and is an author. i do nothing but eschew tobacco. i wish parliament were assembled, that i may hear, and perhaps some day be heard;--but on this point i am not very sanguine. i have many plans;--sometimes i think of the east again, and dearly beloved greece. i am well, but weakly.--yesterday kinnaird told me i looked very ill, and sent me home happy. * * * * * "is scrope still interesting and invalid? and how does hinde with his cursed chemistry? to harness i have written, and he has written, and we have all written, and have nothing now to do but write again, till death splits up the pen and the scribbler. "the alfred has three hundred and fifty-four candidates for six vacancies. the cook has run away and left us liable, which makes our committee very plaintive. master brook, our head serving-man, has the gout, and our new cook is none of the best. i speak from report,--for what is cookery to a leguminous-eating ascetic? so now you know as much of the matter as i do. books and quiet are still there, and they may dress their dishes in their own way for me. let me know your determination as to newstead, and believe me, "yours ever, [greek: mpairôn]." [footnote : this poem is now printed in lord byron's works.] * * * * * letter . to mr. hodgson. " . st. james's street, dec. . . "why, hodgson! i fear you have left off wine and me at the same time,--i have written and written and written, and no answer! my dear sir edgar, water disagrees with you,--drink sack and write. bland did not come to his appointment, being unwell, but m * * e supplied all other vacancies most delectably. i have hopes of his joining us at newstead. i am sure you would like him more and more as he developes,--at least i do. "how miller and bland go on, i don't know. cawthorne talks of being in treaty for a novel of me. d'arblay's, and if he obtains it (at gs.!!) wishes me to see the ms. this i should read with pleasure,--not that i should ever dare to venture a criticism on her whose writings dr. johnson once revised, but for the pleasure of the thing. if my worthy publisher wanted a sound opinion, i should send the ms. to rogers and m * * e, as men most alive to true taste. i have had frequent letters from wm. harness, and _you_ are silent; certes, you are not a schoolboy. however, i have the consolation of knowing that you are better employed, viz. reviewing. you don't deserve that i should add another syllable, and i won't. yours, &c. "p.s.--i only wait for your answer to fix our meeting." * * * * * letter . to mr. harness. " . st. james's street, dec. . . "i wrote you an answer to your last, which, on reflection, pleases me as little as it probably has pleased yourself. i will not wait for your rejoinder; but proceed to tell you, that i had just then been greeted with an epistle of * *'s, full of his petty grievances, and this at the moment when (from circumstances it is not necessary to enter upon) i was bearing up against recollections to which _his_ imaginary sufferings are as a scratch to a cancer. these things combined, put me out of humour with him and all mankind. the latter part of my life has been a perpetual struggle against affections which embittered the earliest portion; and though i flatter myself i have in a great measure conquered them, yet there are moments (and this was one) when i am as foolish as formerly. i never said so much before, nor had i said this now, if i did not suspect myself of having been rather savage in my letter, and wish to inform you thus much of the cause. you know i am not one of your dolorous gentlemen: so now let us laugh again. "yesterday i went with moore to sydenham to visit campbell.[ ] he was not visible, so we jogged homeward, merrily enough. to-morrow i dine with rogers, and am to hear coleridge, who is a kind of rage at present. last night i saw kemble in coriolanus;--he _was glorious_, and exerted himself wonderfully. by good luck i got an excellent place in the best part of the house, which was more than overflowing. clare and delawarre, who were there on the same speculation, were less fortunate. i saw them by accident,--we were not together. i wished for you, to gratify your love of shakspeare and of fine acting to its fullest extent. last week i saw an exhibition of a different kind in a mr. coates, at the haymarket, who performed lothario in a _damned_ and damnable manner. "i told you the fate of b. and h. in my last. so much for these sentimentalists, who console themselves in their stews for the loss--the never to be recovered loss--the despair of the refined attachment of a couple of drabs! you censure _my_ life, harness,--when i compare myself with these men, my elders and my betters, i really begin to conceive myself a monument of prudence--a walking statue--without feeling or failing; and yet the world in general hath given me a proud pre-eminence over them in profligacy. yet i like the men, and, god knows, ought not to condemn their aberrations. but i own i feel provoked when they dignify all this by the name of _love_--romantic attachments for things marketable for a dollar! "dec. th.--i have just received your letter;--i feel your kindness very deeply. the foregoing part of my letter, written yesterday, will, i hope, account for the tone of the former, though it cannot excuse it. i do _like_ to hear from you--more than _like_. next to seeing you, i have no greater satisfaction. but you have other duties, and greater pleasures, and i should regret to take a moment from either. h * * was to call to-day, but i have not seen him. the circumstances you mention at the close of your letter is another proof in favour of my opinion of mankind. such you will always find them--selfish and distrustful. i except none. the cause of this is the state of society. in the world, every one is to stir for himself--it is useless, perhaps selfish, to expect any thing from his neighbour. but i do not think we are born of this disposition; for you find _friendship_ as a schoolboy, and _love_ enough before twenty. "i went to see * *; he keeps me in town, where i don't wish to be at present. he is a good man, but totally without conduct. and now, my dearest william, i must wish you good morrow, and remain ever, most sincerely and affectionately yours," &c. [footnote : on this occasion, another of the noble poet's peculiarities was, somewhat startlingly, introduced to my notice. when we were on the point of setting out from his lodgings in st. james's street, it being then about mid-day, he said to the servant, who was shutting the door of the vis-à-vis, "have you put in the pistols?" and was answered in the affirmative. it was difficult,--more especially, taking into account the circumstances under which we had just become acquainted,--to keep from smiling at this singular noon-day precaution.] * * * * * from the time of our first meeting, there seldom elapsed a day that lord byron and i did not see each other; and our acquaintance ripened into intimacy and friendship with a rapidity of which i have seldom known an example. i was, indeed, lucky in all the circumstances that attended my first introduction to him. in a generous nature like his, the pleasure of repairing an injustice would naturally give a zest to any partiality i might have inspired in his mind; while the manner in which i had sought this reparation, free as it was from resentment or defiance, left nothing painful to remember in the transaction between us,--no compromise or concession that could wound self-love, or take away from the grace of that frank friendship to which he at once, so cordially and so unhesitatingly, admitted me. i was also not a little fortunate in forming my acquaintance with him, before his success had yet reached its meridian burst,--before the triumphs that were in store for him had brought the world all in homage at his feet, and, among the splendid crowds that courted his society, even claims less humble than mine had but a feeble chance of fixing his regard. as it was, the new scene of life that opened upon him with his success, instead of detaching us from each other, only multiplied our opportunities of meeting, and increased our intimacy. in that society where his birth entitled him to move, circumstances had already placed me, notwithstanding mine; and when, after the appearance of "childe harold," he began to mingle with the world, the same persons, who had long been _my_ intimates and friends, became his; our visits were mostly to the same places, and, in the gay and giddy round of a london spring, we were generally (as in one of his own letters he expresses it) "embarked in the same ship of fools together." but, at the time when we first met, his position in the world was most solitary. even those coffee-house companions who, before his departure from england, had served him as a sort of substitute for more worthy society, were either relinquished or had dispersed; and, with the exception of three or four associates of his college days (to whom he appeared strongly attached), mr. dallas and his solicitor seemed to be the only persons whom, even in their very questionable degree, he could boast of as friends. though too proud to complain of this loneliness, it was evident that he felt it; and that the state of cheerless isolation, "unguided and unfriended," to which, on entering into manhood, he had found himself abandoned, was one of the chief sources of that resentful disdain of mankind, which even their subsequent worship of him came too late to remove. the effect, indeed, which his subsequent commerce with society had, for the short period it lasted, in softening and exhilarating his temper, showed how fit a soil his heart would have been for the growth of all the kindlier feelings, had but a portion of this sunshine of the world's smiles shone on him earlier. at the same time, in all such speculations and conjectures as to what _might_ have been, under more favourable circumstances, his character, it is invariably to be borne in mind, that his very defects were among the elements of his greatness, and that it was out of the struggle between the good and evil principles of his nature that his mighty genius drew its strength. a more genial and fostering introduction into life, while it would doubtless have softened and disciplined his mind, might have impaired its vigour; and the same influences that would have diffused smoothness and happiness over his life might have been fatal to its glory. in a short poem of his[ ], which appears to have been produced at athens, (as i find it written on a leaf of the original ms. of childe harold, and dated "athens, ,") there are two lines which, though hardly intelligible as connected with the rest of the poem, may, taken separately, be interpreted as implying a sort of prophetic consciousness that it was out of the wreck and ruin of all his hopes the immortality of his name was to arise. "dear object of defeated care, though now of love and thee bereft, to reconcile me with despair, thine image and my tears are left. 'tis said with sorrow time can cope, but this, i feel, can ne'er be true; for, _by the death-blow of my hope, my memory immortal grew!_" we frequently, during the first months of our acquaintance, dined together alone; and as we had no club, in common, to resort to,--the alfred being the only one to which he, at that period, belonged, and i being then a member of none but watier's,--our dinners used to be either at the st. alban's, or at his old haunt, stevens's. though at times he would drink freely enough of claret, he still adhered to his system of abstinence in food. he appeared, indeed, to have conceived a notion that animal food has some peculiar influence on the character; and i remember, one day, as i sat opposite to him, employed, i suppose, rather earnestly over a beef-steak, after watching me for a few seconds, he said, in a grave tone of enquiry,--"moore, don't you find eating beef-steak makes you ferocious?" understanding me to have expressed a wish to become a member of the alfred, he very good-naturedly lost no time in proposing me as a candidate; but as the resolution which i had then nearly formed of betaking myself to a country life rendered an additional club in london superfluous, i wrote to beg that he would, for the present, at least, withdraw my name: and his answer, though containing little, being the first familiar note he ever honoured me with, i may be excused for feeling a peculiar pleasure in inserting it. [footnote : "written beneath the picture of ----"] * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "december . . "my dear moore, "if you please, we will drop our former monosyllables, and adhere to the appellations sanctioned by our godfathers and godmothers. if you make it a point, i will withdraw your name; at the same time there is no occasion, as i have this day postponed your election 'sine die,' till it shall suit your wishes to be amongst us. i do not say this from any awkwardness the erasure of your proposal would occasion to _me_, but simply such is the state of the case; and, indeed, the longer your name is up, the stronger will become the probability of success, and your voters more numerous. of course you will decide--your wish shall be my law. if my zeal has already outrun discretion, pardon me, and attribute my officiousness to an excusable motive. "i wish you would go down with me to newstead. hodgson will be there, and a young friend, named harness, the earliest and dearest i ever had from the third form at harrow to this hour. i can promise you good wine, and, if you like shooting, a manor of acres, fires, books, your own free will, and my own very indifferent company. 'balnea, vina * *.' "hodgson will plague you, i fear, with verse;--for my own part i will conclude, with martial, 'nil recitabo tibi;' and surely the last inducement is not the least. ponder on my proposition, and believe me, my dear moore, yours ever, "byron." * * * * * among those acts of generosity and friendship by which every year of lord byron's life was signalised, there is none, perhaps, that, for its own peculiar seasonableness and delicacy, as well as for the perfect worthiness of the person who was the object of it, deserves more honourable mention than that which i am now about to record, and which took place nearly at the period of which i am speaking. the friend, whose good fortune it was to inspire the feeling thus testified, was mr. hodgson, the gentleman to whom so many of the preceding letters are addressed; and as it would be unjust to rob him of the grace and honour of being, himself, the testimony of obligations so signal, i shall here lay before my readers an extract from the letter with which, in reference to a passage in one of his noble friend's journals, he has favoured me. "i feel it incumbent upon me to explain the circumstances to which this passage alludes, however private their nature. they are, indeed, calculated to do honour to the memory of my lamented friend. having become involved, unfortunately, in difficulties and embarrassments, i received from lord byron (besides former pecuniary obligations) assistance, at the time in question, to the amount of a thousand pounds. aid of such magnitude was equally unsolicited and unexpected on my part; but it was a long-cherished, though secret, purpose of my friend to afford that aid; and he only waited for the period when he thought it would be of most service. his own words were, on the occasion of conferring this overwhelming favour, '_i always intended to do it_.'" during all this time, and through the months of january and february, his poem of "childe harold" was in its progress through the press; and to the changes and additions which he made in the course of printing, some of the most beautiful passages of the work owe their existence. on comparing, indeed, his rough draft of the two cantos with the finished form in which they exist at present, we are made sensible of the power which the man of genius possesses, not only of surpassing others, but of improving on himself. originally, the "little page" and "yeoman" of the childe were introduced to the reader's notice in the following tame stanzas, by expanding the substance of which into their present light, lyric shape, it is almost needless to remark how much the poet has gained in variety and dramatic effect:-- "and of his train there was a henchman page, a peasant boy, who serv'd his master well; and often would his pranksome prate engage childe burun's[ ] ear, when his proud heart did swell with sullen thoughts that he disdain'd to tell. then would he smile on him, and alwin[ ] smiled, when aught that from his young lips archly fell, the gloomy film from harold's eye beguiled.... "him and one yeoman only did he take to travel eastward to a far countrie; and, though the boy was grieved to leave the lake, on whose fair banks he grew from infancy, eftsoons his little heart beat merrily, with hope of foreign nations to behold, and many things right marvellous to see, of which our vaunting travellers oft have told, from mandeville....[ ]" in place of that mournful song "to ines," in the first canto, which contains some of the dreariest touches of sadness that even his pen ever let fall, he had, in the original construction of the poem, been so little fastidious as to content himself with such ordinary sing-song as the following:-- "oh never tell again to me of northern climes and british ladies, it has not been your lot to see, like me, the lovely girl of cadiz, although her eye be not of blue, nor fair her locks, like english lasses," &c. &c. there were also, originally, several stanzas full of direct personality, and some that degenerated into a style still more familiar and ludicrous than that of the description of a london sunday, which still disfigures the poem. in thus mixing up the light with the solemn, it was the intention of the poet to imitate ariosto. but it is far easier to rise, with grace, from the level of a strain generally familiar, into an occasional short burst of pathos or splendour, than to interrupt thus a prolonged tone of solemnity by any descent into the ludicrous or burlesque.[ ] in the former case, the transition may have the effect of softening or elevating, while, in the latter, it almost invariably shocks;--for the same reason, perhaps, that a trait of pathos or high feeling, in comedy, has a peculiar charm; while the intrusion of comic scenes into tragedy, however sanctioned among us by habit and authority, rarely fails to offend. the noble poet was, himself, convinced of the failure of the experiment, and in none of the succeeding cantos of childe harold repeated it. of the satiric parts, some verses on the well-known traveller, sir john carr, may supply us with, at least, a harmless specimen:-- "ye, who would more of spain and spaniards know, sights, saints, antiques, arts, anecdotes, and war, go, hie ye hence to paternoster row,-- are they not written in the boke of carr? green erin's knight, and europe's wandering star. then listen, readers, to the man of ink, hear what he did, and sought, and wrote afar: all these are coop'd within one quarto's brink, this borrow, steal (don't buy), and tell us what you think." among those passages which, in the course of revisal, he introduced, like pieces of "rich inlay," into the poem, was that fine stanza-- "yet if, as holiest men have deem'd, there be a land of souls beyond that sable shore," &c. through which lines, though, it must be confessed, a tone of scepticism breathes, (as well as in those tender verses-- "yes,--i will dream that we may meet again,") it is a scepticism whose sadness calls far more for pity than blame; there being discoverable, even through its very doubts, an innate warmth of piety, which they had been able to obscure, but not to chill. to use the words of the poet himself, in a note which it was once his intention to affix to these stanzas, "let it be remembered that the spirit they breathe is desponding, not sneering, scepticism,"--a distinction never to be lost sight of; as, however hopeless may be the conversion of the scoffing infidel, he who feels pain in doubting has still alive within him the seeds of belief. at the same time with childe harold, he had three other works in the press,--his "hints from horace," "the curse of minerva," and a fifth edition of "english bards and scotch reviewers." the note upon the latter poem, which had been the lucky origin of our acquaintance, was withdrawn in this edition, and a few words of explanation, which he had the kindness to submit to my perusal, substituted in its place. in the month of january, the whole of the two cantos being printed off, some of the poet's friends, and, among others, mr. rogers and myself, were so far favoured as to be indulged with a perusal of the sheets. in adverting to this period in his "memoranda," lord byron, i remember, mentioned,--as one of the ill omens which preceded the publication of the poem,--that some of the literary friends to whom it was shown expressed doubts of its success, and that one among them had told him "it was too good for the age." whoever may have pronounced this opinion,--and i have some suspicion that i am myself the guilty person,--the age has, it must be owned, most triumphantly refuted the calumny upon its taste which the remark implied. it was in the hands of mr. rogers i first saw the sheets of the poem, and glanced hastily over a few of the stanzas which he pointed out to me as beautiful. having occasion, the same morning, to write a note to lord byron, i expressed strongly the admiration which this foretaste of his work had excited in me; and the following is--as far as relates to literary matters--the answer i received from him. [footnote : if there could be any doubt as to his intention of delineating himself in his hero, this adoption of the old norman name of his family, which he seems to have at first contemplated, would be sufficient to remove it.] [footnote : in the ms. the names "robin" and "rupert" had been successively inserted here and scratched out again.] [footnote : here the manuscript is illegible.] [footnote : among the acknowledged blemishes of milton's great poem, is his abrupt transition, in this manner, into an imitation of ariosto's style, in the "paradise of fools."] * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "january . . "my dear moore, "i wish very much i could have seen you; i am in a state of ludicrous tribulation. * * * "why do you say that i dislike your poesy? i have expressed no such opinion, either in _print_ or elsewhere. in scribbling myself, it was necessary for me to find fault, and i fixed upon the trite charge of immorality, because i could discover no other, and was so perfectly qualified in the innocence of my heart, to 'pluck that mote from my neighbour's eye.' "i feel very, very much obliged by your approbation; but, at _this moment_, praise, even _your_ praise, passes by me like 'the idle wind.' i meant and mean to send you a copy the moment of publication; but now i can think of nothing but damned, deceitful,--delightful woman, as mr. liston says in the knight of snowdon. believe me, my dear moore, "ever yours, most affectionately, "byron." * * * * * the passages here omitted contain rather _too_ amusing an account of a disturbance that had just occurred in the establishment at newstead, in consequence of the detected misconduct of one of the maid-servants, who had been supposed to stand rather too high in the favour of her master, and, by the airs of authority which she thereupon assumed, had disposed all the rest of the household to regard her with no very charitable eyes. the chief actors in the strife were this sultana and young rushton; and the first point in dispute that came to lord byron's knowledge (though circumstances, far from creditable to the damsel, afterwards transpired) was, whether rushton was bound to carry letters to "the hut" at the bidding of this female. to an episode of such a nature i should not have thought of alluding, were it not for the two rather curious letters that follow, which show how gravely and coolly the young lord could arbitrate on such an occasion, and with what considerate leaning towards the servant whose fidelity he had proved, in preference to any new liking or fancy by which it might be suspected he was actuated towards the other. * * * * * letter . to robert rushton. " . st. james's street, jan. . . "though i have no objection to your refusal to carry _letters_ to mealey's, you will take care that the letters are taken by _spero_ at the proper time. i have also to observe, that susan is to be treated with civility, and not _insulted_ by any person over whom i have the smallest control, or, indeed, by any one whatever, while i have the power to protect her. i am truly sorry to have any subject of complaint against _you_; i have too good an opinion of you to think i shall have occasion to repeat it, after the care i have taken of you, and my favourable intentions in your behalf. i see no occasion for any communication whatever between _you_ and the _women_, and wish you to occupy yourself in preparing for the situation in which you will be placed. if a common sense of decency cannot prevent you from conducting yourself towards them with rudeness, i should at least hope that your _own interest_, and regard for a master who has _never_ treated you with unkindness, will have some weight. yours, &c. "byron. "p.s.--i wish you to attend to your arithmetic, to occupy yourself in surveying, measuring, and making yourself acquainted with every particular relative to the _land_ of newstead, and you will _write_ to me _one letter every week_, that i may know how you go on." * * * * * letter . to robert rushton. " . st. james's street, january . . "your refusal to carry the letter was not a subject of remonstrance; it was not a part of your business; but the language you used to the girl was (as _she_ stated it) highly improper. "you say that you also have something to complain of; then state it to me immediately; it would be very unfair, and very contrary to my disposition, not to hear both sides of the question. "if any thing has passed between you _before_ or since my last visit to newstead, do not be afraid to mention it. i am sure _you_ would not deceive me, though _she_ would. whatever it is, _you_ shall be forgiven. i have not been without some suspicions on the subject, and am certain that, at your time of life, the blame could not attach to you. you will not _consult_ any one as to your answer, but write to me immediately. i shall be more ready to hear what you have to advance, as i do not remember ever to have heard a word from you before _against_ any human being, which convinces me you would not maliciously assert an untruth. there is not any one who can do the least injury to you while you conduct yourself properly. i shall expect your answer immediately. yours, &c. "byron." * * * * * it was after writing these letters that he came to the knowledge of some improper levities on the part of the girl, in consequence of which he dismissed her and another female servant from newstead; and how strongly he allowed this discovery to affect his mind, will be seen in a subsequent letter to mr. hodgson. letter . to mr. hodgson. " . st. james's street, february . . "dear hodgson, "i send you a proof. last week i was very ill and confined to bed with stone in the kidney, but i am now quite recovered. if the stone had got into my heart instead of my kidneys, it would have been all the better. the women are gone to their relatives, after many attempts to explain what was already too clear. however, i have quite recovered _that_ also, and only wonder at my folly in excepting my own strumpets from the general corruption,--albeit a two months' weakness is better than ten years. i have one request to make, which is, never mention a woman again in any letter to me, or even allude to the existence of the sex. i won't even read a word of the feminine gender;--it must all be 'propria quæ maribus.' "in the spring of i shall leave england for ever. every thing in my affairs tends to this, and my inclinations and health do not discourage it. neither my habits nor constitution are improved by your customs or your climate. i shall find employment in making myself a good oriental scholar. i shall retain a mansion in one of the fairest islands, and retrace, at intervals, the most interesting portions of the east. in the mean time, i am adjusting my concerns, which will (when arranged) leave me with wealth sufficient even for home, but enough for a principality in turkey. at present they are involved, but i hope, by taking some necessary but unpleasant steps, to clear every thing. hobhouse is expected daily in london; we shall be very glad to see him; and, perhaps, you will come up and 'drink deep ere he depart,' if not, 'mahomet must go to the mountain;'--but cambridge will bring sad recollections to him, and worse to me, though for very different reasons. i believe the only human being that ever loved me in truth and entirely was of, or belonging to, cambridge, and, in that, no change can now take place. there is one consolation in death--where he sets his seal, the impression can neither be melted nor broken, but endureth for ever. "yours always, b." * * * * * among those lesser memorials of his good nature and mindfulness, which, while they are precious to those who possess them, are not unworthy of admiration from others, may be reckoned such letters as the following, to a youth at eton, recommending another, who was about to be entered at that school, to his care. letter . to master john cowell. " . st. james's street, february . . "my dear john, "you have probably long ago forgotten the writer of these lines, who would, perhaps, be unable to recognise _yourself_, from the difference which must naturally have taken place in your stature and appearance since he saw you last. i have been rambling through portugal, spain, greece, &c. &c. for some years, and have found so many changes on my return, that it would be very unfair not to expect that you should have had your share of alteration and improvement with the rest. i write to request a favour of you: a little boy of eleven years, the son of mr. * *, my particular friend, is about to become an etonian, and i should esteem any act of protection or kindness to him as an obligation to myself; let me beg of you then to take some little notice of him at first, till he is able to shift for himself. "i was happy to hear a very favourable account of you from a schoolfellow a few weeks ago, and should be glad to learn that your family are as well as i wish them to be. i presume you are in the upper school;--as an _etonian_, you will look down upon a _harrow_ man; but i never, even in my boyish days, disputed your superiority, which i once experienced in a cricket match, where i had the honour of making one of eleven, who were beaten to their hearts' content by your college in _one innings_. "believe me to be, with great truth," &c. &c. * * * * * on the th of february, a day or two before the appearance of childe harold, he made the first trial of his eloquence in the house of lords; and it was on this occasion he had the good fortune to become acquainted with lord holland,--an acquaintance no less honourable than gratifying to both, as having originated in feelings the most generous, perhaps, of our nature, a ready forgiveness of injuries, on the one side, and a frank and unqualified atonement for them, on the other. the subject of debate was the nottingham frame-breaking bill, and, lord byron having mentioned to mr. rogers his intention to take a part in the discussion, a communication was, by the intervention of that gentleman, opened between the noble poet and lord holland, who, with his usual courtesy, professed himself ready to afford all the information and advice in his power. the following letters, however, will best explain their first advances towards acquaintance. letter . to mr. rogers. "february . . "my dear sir, "with my best acknowledgments to lord holland, i have to offer my perfect concurrence in the propriety of the question previously to be put to ministers. if their answer is in the negative, i shall, with his lordship's approbation, give notice of a motion for a committee of enquiry. i would also gladly avail myself of his most able advice, and any information or documents with which he might be pleased to intrust me, to bear me out in the statement of facts it may be necessary to submit to the house. "from all that fell under my own observation during my christmas visit to newstead, i feel convinced that, if _conciliatory_ measures are not very soon adopted, the most unhappy consequences may be apprehended. nightly outrage and daily depredation are already at their height, and not only the masters of frames, who are obnoxious on account of their occupation, but persons in no degree connected with the malecontents or their oppressors, are liable to insult and pillage. "i am very much obliged to you for the trouble you have taken on my account, and beg you to believe me ever your obliged and sincere," &c. * * * * * letter . to lord holland. " . st. james's street, february . . "my lord, "with my best thanks, i have the honour to return the notts, letter to your lordship. i have read it with attention, but do not think i shall venture to avail myself of its contents, as my view of the question differs in some measure from mr. coldham's. i hope i do not wrong him, but _his_ objections to the bill appear to me to be founded on certain apprehensions that he and his coadjutors might be mistaken for the '_original advisers_' (to quote him) of the measure. for my own part, i consider the manufacturers as a much injured body of men, sacrificed to the views of certain individuals who have enriched themselves by those practices which have deprived the frame-workers of employment. for instance;--by the adoption of a certain kind of frame, one man performs the work of seven--six are thus thrown out of business. but it is to be observed that the work thus done is far inferior in quality, hardly marketable at home, and hurried over with a view to exportation. surely, my lord, however we may rejoice in any improvement in the arts which may be beneficial to mankind, we must not allow mankind to be sacrificed to improvements in mechanism. the maintenance and well-doing of the industrious poor is an object of greater consequence to the community than the enrichment of a few monopolists by any improvement in the implements of trade, which deprives the workman of his bread, and renders the, labourer "unworthy of his hire." my own motive for opposing the bill is founded on its palpable injustice, and its certain inefficacy. i have seen the state of these miserable men, and it is a disgrace to a civilised country. their excesses may be condemned, but cannot be subject of wonder. the effect of the present bill would be to drive them into actual rebellion. the few words i shall venture to offer on thursday will be founded upon these opinions formed from my own observations on the spot. by previous enquiry, i am convinced these men would have been restored to employment, and the county to tranquillity. it is, perhaps, not yet too late, and is surely worth the trial. it can never be too late to employ force in such circumstances. i believe your lordship does not coincide with me entirely on this subject, and most cheerfully and sincerely shall i submit to your superior judgment and experience, and take some other line of argument against the bill, or be silent altogether, should you deem it more advisable. condemning, as every one must condemn, the conduct of these wretches, i believe in the existence of grievances which call rather for pity than punishment. i have the honour to be, with great respect, my lord, your lordship's "most obedient and obliged servant, "byron. "p.s. i am a little apprehensive that your lordship will think me too lenient towards these men, and half a _framebreaker myself_." * * * * * it would have been, no doubt, the ambition of lord byron to acquire distinction as well in oratory as in poesy; but nature seems to set herself against pluralities in fame. he had prepared himself for this debate,--as most of the best orators have done, in their first essays,--not only by composing, but writing down, the whole of his speech beforehand. the reception he met with was flattering; some of the noble speakers on his own side complimented him very warmly; and that he was himself highly pleased with his success, appears from the annexed account of mr. dallas, which gives a lively notion of his boyish elation on the occasion. "when he left the great chamber, i went and met him in the passage; he was glowing with success, and much agitated. i had an umbrella in my right hand, not expecting that he would put out his hand to me;--in my haste to take it when offered, i had advanced my left hand--'what!' said he, 'give your friend your left hand upon such an occasion?' i showed the cause, and immediately changing the umbrella to the other hand, i gave him my right hand, which he shook and pressed warmly. he was greatly elated, and repeated some of the compliments which had been paid him, and mentioned one or two of the peers who had desired to be introduced to him. he concluded with saying, that he had, by his speech, given me the best advertisement for childe harold's pilgrimage." the speech itself, as given by mr. dallas from the noble speaker's own manuscript, is pointed and vigorous; and the same sort of interest that is felt in reading the poetry of a burke, may be gratified, perhaps, by a few specimens of the oratory of a byron. in the very opening of his speech, he thus introduces himself by the melancholy avowal, that in that assembly of his brother nobles he stood almost a stranger. "as a person in some degree connected with the suffering county, though a stranger not only to this house in general, but to almost every individual whose attention i presume to solicit, i must claim some portion of your lordships' indulgence." the following extracts comprise, i think, the passages of most spirit:-- "when we are told that these men are leagued together, not only for the destruction of their own comfort, but of their very means of subsistence, can we forget that it is the bitter policy, the destructive warfare, of the last eighteen years which has destroyed their comfort, your comfort, all men's comfort;--that policy which, originating with 'great statesmen now no more,' has survived the dead to become a curse on the living, unto the third and fourth generation! these men never destroyed their looms till they were become useless,--worse than useless; till they were become actual impediments to their exertions in obtaining their daily bread. can you then wonder that, in times like these, when bankruptcy, convicted fraud, and imputed felony, are found in a station not far beneath that of your lordships, the lowest, though once most useful, portion of the people should forget their duty in their distresses, and become only less guilty than one of their representatives? but while the exalted offender can find means to baffle the law, new capital punishments must be devised, new snares of death must be spread for the wretched mechanic who is famished into guilt. these men were willing to dig, but the spade was in other hands: they were not ashamed to beg, but there was none to relieve them. their own means of subsistence were cut off; all other employments pre-occupied; and their excesses, however to be deplored or condemned, can hardly be the subject of surprise. "i have traversed the seat of war in the peninsula i have been in some of the most oppressed provinces of turkey; but never, under the most despotic of infidel governments, did i behold such squalid wretchedness as i have seen since my return, in the very heart of a christian country. and what are your remedies? after months of inaction, and months of action worse than inactivity, at length comes forth the grand specific, the never-failing nostrum of all state physicians from the days of draco to the present time. after feeling the pulse, and shaking the head over the patient, prescribing the usual course of warm water and bleeding--the warm water of your mawkish police, and the lancets of your military--these convulsions must terminate in death, the sure consummation of the prescriptions of all political sangrados. setting aside the palpable injustice and the certain inefficiency of the bill, are there not capital punishments sufficient on your statutes? is there not blood enough upon your penal code, that more must be poured forth to ascend to heaven and testify against you? how will you carry this bill into effect? can you commit a whole county to their own prisons? will you erect a gibbet in every field, and hang up men like scare-crows? or will you proceed (as you must, to bring this measure into effect,) by decimation; place the country under martial law; depopulate and lay waste all around you, and restore sherwood forest as an acceptable gift to the crown in its former condition of a royal chase, and an asylum for outlaws? are these the remedies for a starving and desperate populace? will the famished wretch who has braved your bayonets be appalled by your gibbets? when death is a relief, and the only relief it appears that you will afford him, will he be dragooned into tranquillity? will that which could not be effected by your grenadiers, be accomplished by your executioners? if you proceed by the forms of law, where is your evidence? those who refused to impeach their accomplices, when transportation only was the punishment, will hardly be tempted to witness against them when death is the penalty. with all due deference to the noble lords opposite, i think a little investigation, some previous enquiry, would induce even them to change their purpose. that most favourite state measure, so marvellously efficacious in many and recent instances, _temporising_, would not be without its advantage in this. when a proposal is made to emancipate or relieve, you hesitate, you deliberate for years, you temporise and tamper with the minds of men; but a death-bill must be passed off hand, without a thought of the consequences." in reference to his own parliamentary displays, and to this maiden speech in particular, i find the following remarks in one of his journals:-- "sheridan's liking for me (whether he was not mystifying me, i do not know, but lady caroline lamb and others told me that he said the same both before and after he knew me,) was founded upon 'english bards and scotch reviewers.' he told me that he did not care about poetry, (or about mine--at least, any but that poem of mine,) but he was sure, from that and other symptoms, i should make an orator, if i would but take to speaking, and grow a parliament man. he never ceased harping upon this to me to the last; and i remember my old tutor, dr. drury, had the same notion when i was a _boy_; but it never was my turn of inclination to try. i spoke once or twice, as all young peers do, as a kind of introduction into public life; but dissipation, shyness, haughty and reserved opinions, together with the short time i lived in england after my majority (only about five years in all), prevented me from resuming the experiment. as far as it went, it was not discouraging, particularly my _first_ speech (i spoke three or four times in all); but just after it, my poem of childe harold was published, and nobody ever thought about my _prose_ afterwards, nor indeed did i; it became to me a secondary and neglected object, though i sometimes wonder to myself if i should have succeeded." * * * * * his immediate impressions with respect to the success of his first speech may be collected from a letter addressed soon after to mr. hodgson. letter . to mr. hodgson. " . st. james's street, march . . "my dear hodgson, "_we_ are not answerable for reports of speeches in the papers; they are always given incorrectly, and on this occasion more so than usual, from the debate in the commons on the same night. the morning post should have said _eighteen years_. however, you will find the speech, as spoken, in the parliamentary register, when it comes out. lords holland and grenville, particularly the latter, paid me some high compliments in the course of their speeches, as you may have seen in the papers, and lords eldon and harrowby answered me. i have had many marvellous eulogies repeated to me since, in person and by proxy, from divers persons _ministerial_--yea, _ministerial!_--as well as oppositionists; of them i shall only mention sir f. burdett. _he_ says it is the best speech by a _lord_ since the '_lord_ knows when,' probably from a fellow-feeling in the sentiments. lord h. tells me i shall beat them all if i persevere; and lord g. remarked that the construction of some of my periods are very like _burke's_! and so much for vanity. i spoke very violent sentences with a sort of modest impudence, abused every thing and every body, and put the lord chancellor very much out of humour; and if i may believe what i hear, have not lost any character by the experiment. as to my delivery, loud and fluent enough, perhaps a little theatrical. i could not recognise myself or any one else in the newspapers. "my poesy comes out on saturday. hobhouse is here; i shall tell him to write. my stone is gone for the present, but i fear is part of my habit. we _all_ talk of a visit to cambridge. "yours ever, b." * * * * * of the same date as the above is the following letter to lord holland, accompanying a copy of his new publication, and written in a tone that cannot fail to give a high idea of his good feeling and candour. letter . to lord holland. "st. james's street, march . . "my lord, "may i request your lordship to accept a copy of the thing which accompanies this note? you have already so fully proved the truth of the first line of pope's couplet, "'_forgiveness to the injured doth belong,_' that i long for an opportunity to give the lie to the verse that follows. if i were not perfectly convinced that any thing i may have formerly uttered in the boyish rashness of my misplaced resentment had made as little impression as it deserved to make, i should hardly have the confidence--perhaps your lordship may give it a stronger and more appropriate appellation--to send you a quarto of the same scribbler. but your lordship, i am sorry to observe to-day, is troubled with the gout; if my book can produce a _laugh_ against itself or the author, it will be of some service. if it can set you to _sleep_, the benefit will be yet greater; and as some facetious personage observed half a century ago, that 'poetry is a mere drug,' i offer you mine as a humble assistant to the 'eau médicinale.' i trust you will forgive this and all my other buffooneries, and believe me to be, with great respect, "your lordship's obliged and "sincere servant, "byron." * * * * * it was within two days after his speech in the house of lords that childe harold appeared[ ];--and the impression which it produced upon the public was as instantaneous as it has proved deep and lasting. the permanence of such success genius alone could secure, but to its instant and enthusiastic burst, other causes, besides the merit of the work, concurred. there are those who trace in the peculiar character of lord byron's genius strong features of relationship to the times in which he lived; who think that the great events which marked the close of the last century, by giving a new impulse to men's minds, by habituating them to the daring and the free, and allowing full vent to "the flash and outbreak of fiery spirits," had led naturally to the production of such a poet as byron; and that he was, in short, as much the child and representative of the revolution, in poesy, as another great man of the age, napoleon, was in statesmanship and warfare. without going the full length of this notion, it will, at least, be conceded, that the free loose which had been given to all the passions and energies of the human mind, in the great struggle of that period, together with the constant spectacle of such astounding vicissitudes as were passing, almost daily, on the theatre of the world, had created, in all minds, and in every walk of intellect, a taste for strong excitement, which the stimulants supplied from ordinary sources were insufficient to gratify;--that a tame deference to established authorities had fallen into disrepute, no less in literature than in politics, and that the poet who should breathe into his songs the fierce and passionate spirit of the age, and assert, untrammelled and unawed, the high dominion of genius, would be the most sure of an audience toned in sympathy with his strains. it is true that, to the licence on religious subjects, which revelled through the first acts of that tremendous drama, a disposition of an opposite tendency had, for some time, succeeded. against the wit of the scoffer, not only piety, but a better taste, revolted; and had lord byron, in touching on such themes in childe harold, adopted a tone of levity or derision, (such as, unluckily, he sometimes afterwards descended to,) not all the originality and beauty of his work would have secured for it a prompt or uncontested triumph. as it was, however, the few dashes of scepticism with which he darkened his strain, far from checking his popularity, were among those attractions which, as i have said, independent of all the charms of the poetry, accelerated and heightened its success. the religious feeling that has sprung up through europe since the french revolution--like the political principles that have emerged out of the same event--in rejecting all the licentiousness of that period, have preserved much of its spirit of freedom and enquiry; and, among the best fruits of this enlarged and enlightened piety is the liberty which it disposes men to accord to the opinions, and even heresies, of others. to persons thus sincerely, and, at the same time, tolerantly, devout, the spectacle of a great mind, like that of byron, labouring in the eclipse of scepticism, could not be otherwise than an object of deep and solemn interest. if they had already known what it was to doubt, themselves, they would enter into his fate with mournful sympathy; while, if safe in the tranquil haven of faith, they would look with pity on one who was still a wanderer. besides, erring and dark as might be his views at that moment, there were circumstances in his character and fate that gave a hope of better thoughts yet dawning upon him. from his temperament and youth, there could be little fear that he was yet hardened in his heresies, and as, for a heart wounded like his, there was, they knew, but one true source of consolation, so it was hoped that the love of truth, so apparent in all he wrote, would, one day, enable him to find it. another, and not the least of those causes which concurred with the intrinsic claims of his genius to give an impulse to the tide of success that now flowed upon him, was, unquestionably, the peculiarity of his personal history and character. there had been, in his very first introduction of himself to the public, a sufficient portion of singularity to excite strong attention and interest. while all other youths of talent, in his high station, are heralded into life by the applauses and anticipations of a host of friends, young byron stood forth alone, unannounced by either praise or promise,--the representative of an ancient house, whose name, long lost in the gloomy solitudes of newstead, seemed to have just awakened from the sleep of half a century in his person. the circumstances that, in succession, followed,--the prompt vigour of his reprisals upon the assailants of his fame,--his disappearance, after this achievement, from the scene of his triumph, without deigning even to wait for the laurels which he had earned, and his departure on a far pilgrimage, whose limits he left to chance and fancy,--all these successive incidents had thrown an air of adventure round the character of the young poet, which prepared his readers to meet half-way the impressions of his genius. instead of finding him, on a nearer view, fall short of their imaginations, the new features of his disposition now disclosed to them far outwent, in peculiarity and interest, whatever they might have preconceived; while the curiosity and sympathy, awakened by what he suffered to transpire of his history, were still more heightened by the mystery of his allusions to much that yet remained untold. the late losses by death which he had sustained, and which, it was manifest, he most deeply mourned, gave a reality to the notion formed of him by his admirers which seemed to authorise them in imagining still more; and what has been said of the poet young, that he found out the art of "making the public a party to his private sorrows," may be, with infinitely more force and truth, applied to lord byron. on that circle of society with whom he came immediately in contact, these personal influences acted with increased force, from being assisted by others, which, to female imaginations especially, would have presented a sufficiency of attraction, even without the great qualities joined with them. his youth,--the noble beauty of his countenance, and its constant play of lights and shadows,--the gentleness of his voice and manner to women, and his occasional haughtiness to men,--the alleged singularities of his mode of life, which kept curiosity alive and inquisitive,--all these lesser traits and habitudes concurred towards the quick spread of his fame; nor can it be denied that, among many purer sources of interest in his poem, the allusions which he makes to instances of "_successful_ passion" in his career[ ] were not without their influence on the fancies of that sex, whose weakness it is to be most easily won by those who come recommended by the greatest number of triumphs over others. that his rank was also to be numbered among these extrinsic advantages appears to have been--partly, perhaps, from a feeling of modesty at the time--his own persuasion. "i may place a great deal of it," said he to mr. dallas, "to my being a lord." it might be supposed that it is only on a rank inferior to his own such a charm could operate; but this very speech is, in itself, a proof, that in no class whatever is the advantage of being noble more felt and appreciated than among nobles themselves. it was, also, natural that, in that circle, the admiration of the new poet should be, at least, quickened by the consideration that he had sprung up among themselves, and that their order had, at length, produced a man of genius, by whom the arrears of contribution, long due from them to the treasury of english literature, would be at once fully and splendidly discharged. altogether, taking into consideration the various points i have here enumerated, it may be asserted, that never did there exist before, and it is most probable never will exist again, a combination of such vast mental power and surpassing genius, with so many other of those advantages and attractions, by which the world is, in general, dazzled and captivated. the effect was, accordingly, electric;--his fame had not to wait for any of the ordinary gradations, but seemed to spring up, like the palace of a fairy tale, in a night. as he himself briefly described it in his memoranda,--"i awoke one morning and found myself famous." the first edition of his work was disposed of instantly; and, as the echoes of its reputation multiplied on all sides, "childe harold" and "lord byron" became the theme of every tongue. at his door, most of the leading names of the day presented themselves,--some of them persons whom he had much wronged in his satire, but who now forgot their resentment in generous admiration. from morning till night the most flattering testimonies of his success crowded his table,--from the grave tributes of the statesman and the philosopher down to (what flattered him still more) the romantic billet of some _incognita,_ or the pressing note of invitation from some fair leader of fashion; and, in place of the desert which london had been to him but a few weeks before, he now not only saw the whole splendid interior of high life thrown open to receive him, but found himself, among its illustrious crowds, the most distinguished object. the copyright of the poem, which was purchased by mr. murray for _l._, he presented, in the most delicate and unostentatious manner, to mr. dallas[ ], saying, at the same time, that he "never would receive money for his writings;"--a resolution, the mixed result of generosity and pride, which he afterwards wisely abandoned, though borne out by the example of swift[ ] and voltaire, the latter of whom gave away most of his copyrights to prault and other booksellers, and received books, not money, for those he disposed of otherwise. to his young friend, mr. harness, it had been his intention, at first, to dedicate the work, but, on further consideration, he relinquished his design; and in a letter to that gentleman (which, with some others, is unfortunately lost) alleged, as his reason for this change, the prejudice which, he foresaw, some parts of the poem would raise against himself, and his fear lest, by any possibility, a share of the odium might so far extend itself to his friend, as to injure him in the profession to which he was about to devote himself. not long after the publication of childe harold, the noble author paid me a visit, one morning, and, putting a letter into my hands, which he had just received, requested that i would undertake to manage for him whatever proceedings it might render necessary. this letter, i found, had been delivered to him by mr. leckie (a gentleman well known by a work on sicilian affairs), and came from a once active and popular member of the fashionable world, colonel greville,--its purport being to require of his lordship, as author of "english bards," &c., such reparation as it was in his power to make for the injury which, as colonel greville conceived, certain passages in that satire, reflecting upon his conduct as manager of the argyle institution, were calculated to inflict upon his character. in the appeal of the gallant colonel, there were some expressions of rather an angry cast, which lord byron, though fully conscious of the length to which he himself had gone, was but little inclined to brook, and, on my returning the letter into his hands, he said, "to such a letter as that there can be but one sort of answer." he agreed, however, to trust the matter entirely to my discretion, and i had, shortly after, an interview with the friend of colonel greville. by this gentleman, who was then an utter stranger to me, i was received with much courtesy, and with every disposition to bring the affair intrusted to us to an amicable issue. on my premising that the tone of his friend's letter stood in the way of negotiation, and that some obnoxious expressions which it contained must be removed before i could proceed a single step towards explanation, he most readily consented to remove this obstacle. at his request i drew a pen across the parts i considered objectionable, and he undertook to send me the letter re-written, next morning. in the mean time i received from lord byron the following paper for my guidance:-- "with regard to the passage on mr. way's loss, no unfair play was hinted at, as may be seen by referring to the book; and it is expressly added that the _managers were ignorant_ of that transaction. as to the prevalence of play at the argyle, it cannot be denied that there were _billiards_ and _dice_;--lord b. has been a witness to the use of both at the argyle rooms. these, it is presumed, come under the denomination of play. if play be allowed, the president of the institution can hardly complain of being termed the 'arbiter of play,'--or what becomes of his authority? "lord b. has no personal animosity to colonel greville. a public institution, to which he himself was a subscriber, he considered himself to have a right to notice _publicly_. of that institution colonel greville was the avowed director;--it is too late to enter into the discussion of its merits or demerits. "lord b. must leave the discussion of the reparation, for the real or supposed injury, to colonel g.'s friend, and mr. moore, the friend of lord b.--begging them to recollect that, while they consider colonel g.'s honour, lord b. must also maintain his own. if the business can be settled amicably, lord b. will do as much as can and ought to be done by a man of honour towards conciliation;--if not, he must satisfy colonel g. in the manner most conducive to his further wishes." [footnote : to his sister, mrs. leigh, one of the first presentation copies was sent, with the following inscription in it:-- "to augusta, my dearest sister, and my best friend, who has ever loved me much better than i deserved, this volume is presented by her father's son, and most affectionate brother, "b." ] [footnote : "little knew she, that seeming marble heart, now mask'd in silence, or withheld by pride, was not unskilful in the spoiler's art, and spread its snares licentious far and wide." _childe harold, canto ii._ we have here another instance of his propensity to self-misrepresentation. however great might have been the irregularities of his college life, such phrases as the "art of the spoiler" and "spreading snares" were in nowise applicable to them.] [footnote : "after speaking to him of the sale, and settling the new edition, i said, 'how can i possibly think of this rapid sale, and the profits likely to ensue, without recollecting--'--'what?'--'think what sum your work may produce.'--'i shall be rejoiced, and wish it doubled and trebled; but do not talk to me of money. i never will receive money for my writings.'"--dallas's _recollections_.] [footnote : in a letter to pulteney, th may, , swift says, "i never got a farthing for any thing i writ, except once."] * * * * * in the morning i received the letter, in its new form, from mr. leckie, with the annexed note. "my dear sir, "i found my friend very ill in bed; he has, however, managed to copy the enclosed, with the alterations proposed. perhaps you may wish to see me in the morning; i shall therefore be glad to see you any time till twelve o'clock. if you rather wish me to call on you, tell me, and i shall obey your summons. yours, very truly, "g.t. leckie." with such facilities towards pacification, it is almost needless to add that there was but little delay in settling the matter amicably. while upon this subject, i shall avail myself of the opportunity which it affords of extracting an amusing account given by lord byron himself of some affairs of this description, in which he was, at different times, employed as mediator. "i have been called in as mediator, or second, at least twenty times, in violent quarrels, and have always contrived to settle the business without compromising the honour of the parties, or leading them to mortal consequences, and this, too, sometimes in very difficult and delicate circumstances, and having to deal with very hot and haughty spirits,--irishmen, gamesters, guardsmen, captains, and cornets of horse, and the like. this was, of course, in my youth, when i lived in hot-headed company. i have had to carry challenges from gentlemen to noblemen, from captains to captains, from lawyers to counsellors, and once from a clergyman to an officer in the life guards; but i found the latter by far the most difficult,-- "'to compose the bloody duel without blows,'-- the business being about a woman: i must add, too, that i never saw a _woman_ behave so ill, like a cold-blooded, heartless b---- as she was,--but very handsome for all that. a certain susan c * * was she called. i never saw her but once; and that was to induce her but to say two words (which in no degree compromised herself), and which would have had the effect of saving a priest or a lieutenant of cavalry. she would not say them, and neither n * * nor myself (the son of sir e. n * *, and a friend to one of the parties,) could prevail upon her to say them, though both of us used to deal in some sort with womankind. at last i managed to quiet the combatants without her talisman, and, i believe, to her great disappointment: she was the damnedest b---- that i ever saw, and i have seen a great many. though my clergyman was sure to lose either his life or his living, he was as warlike as the bishop of beauvais, and would hardly be pacified; but then he was in love, and that is a martial passion." however disagreeable it was to find the consequences of his satire thus rising up against him in a hostile shape, he was far more embarrassed in those cases where the retribution took a friendly form. being now daily in the habit of meeting and receiving kindnesses from persons who, either in themselves, or through their relatives, had been wounded by his pen, he felt every fresh instance of courtesy from such quarters to be, (as he sometimes, in the strong language of scripture, expressed it,) like "heaping coals of fire upon his head." he was, indeed, in a remarkable degree, sensitive to the kindness or displeasure of those he lived with; and had he passed a life subject to the immediate influence of society, it may be doubted whether he ever would have ventured upon those unbridled bursts of energy in which he at once demonstrated and abused his power. at the period when he ran riot in his satire, society had not yet caught him within its pale; and in the time of his cains and don juans, he had again broken loose from it. hence, his instinct towards a life of solitude and independence, as the true element of his strength. in his own domain of imagination he could defy the whole world; while, in real life, a frown or smile could rule him. the facility with which he sacrificed his first volume, at the mere suggestion of his friend, mr. becher, is a strong proof of this pliableness; and in the instance of childe harold, such influence had the opinions of mr. gifford and mr. dallas on his mind, that he not only shrunk from his original design of identifying himself with his hero, but surrendered to them one of his most favourite stanzas, whose heterodoxy they had objected to; nor is it too much, perhaps, to conclude, that had a more extended force of such influence then acted upon him, he would have consented to omit the sceptical parts of his poem altogether. certain it is that, during the remainder of his stay in england, no such doctrines were ever again obtruded on his readers; and in all those beautiful creations of his fancy, with which he brightened that whole period, keeping the public eye in one prolonged gaze of admiration, both the bitterness and the licence of his impetuous spirit were kept effectually under control. the world, indeed, had yet to witness what he was capable of, when emancipated from this restraint. for, graceful and powerful as were his flights while society had still a hold of him, it was not till let loose from the leash that he rose into the true region of his strength; and though almost in proportion to that strength was, too frequently, his abuse of it, yet so magnificent are the very excesses of such energy, that it is impossible, even while we condemn, not to admire. the occasion by which i have been led into these remarks,--namely, his sensitiveness on the subject of his satire,--is one of those instances that show how easily his gigantic spirit could be, if not held down, at least entangled, by the small ties of society. the aggression of which he had been guilty was not only past, but, by many of those most injured, forgiven; and yet,--highly, it must be allowed, to the credit of his social feelings,--the idea of living familiarly and friendlily with persons, respecting whose character or talents there were such opinions of his on record, became, at length, insupportable to him; and, though far advanced in a fifth edition of "english bards," &c., he came to the resolution of suppressing the satire altogether; and orders were sent to cawthorn, the publisher, to commit the whole impression to the flames. at the same time, and from similar motives,--aided, i rather think, by a friendly remonstrance from lord elgin, or some of his connections,--the "curse of minerva," a poem levelled against that nobleman, and already in progress towards publication, was also sacrificed; while the "hints from horace," though containing far less personal satire than either of the others, shared their fate. to exemplify what i have said of his extreme sensibility, to the passing sunshine or clouds of the society in which he lived, i need but cite the following notes, addressed by him to his friend mr. william bankes, under the apprehension that this gentleman was, for some reason or other, displeased with him. * * * * * letter . to mr. william bankes. "april . . "my dear bankes, "i feel rather hurt (not savagely) at the speech you made to me last night, and my hope is, that it was only one of your _profane_ jests. i should be very sorry that any part of my behaviour should give you cause to suppose that i think higher of myself, or otherwise of you than i have always done. i can assure you that i am as much the humblest of your servants as at trin. coll.; and if i have not been at home when you favoured me with a call, the loss was more mine than yours. in the bustle of buzzing parties, there is, there can be, no rational conversation; but when i can enjoy it, there is nobody's i can prefer to your own. believe me ever faithfully and most affectionately yours, "byron." * * * * * letter . to mr. william bankes. "my dear bankes, "my eagerness to come to an explanation has, i trust, convinced you that whatever my unlucky manner might inadvertently be, the change was as unintentional as (if intended) it would have been ungrateful. i really was not aware that, while we were together, i had evinced such caprices; that we were not so much in each other's company as i could have wished, i well know, but i think so _acute_ an _observer_ as yourself must have perceived enough to _explain this_, without supposing any slight to one in whose society i have pride and pleasure. recollect that i do not allude here to 'extended' or 'extending' acquaintances, but to circumstances you will understand, i think, on a little reflection. "and now, my dear bankes, do not distress me by supposing that i can think of you, or you of me, otherwise than i trust we have long thought. you told me not long ago that my temper was improved, and i should be sorry that opinion should be revoked. believe me, your friendship is of more account to me than all those absurd vanities in which, i fear, you conceive me to take too much interest. i have never disputed your superiority, or doubted (seriously) your good will, and no one shall ever 'make mischief between us' without the sincere regret on the part of your ever affectionate, &c. "p.s. i shall see you, i hope, at lady jersey's. hobhouse goes also." * * * * * in the month of april he was again tempted to try his success in the house of lords; and, on the motion of lord donoughmore for taking into consideration the claims of the irish catholics, delivered his sentiments strongly in favour of the proposition. his display, on this occasion, seems to have been less promising than in his first essay. his delivery was thought mouthing and theatrical, being infected, i take for granted (having never heard him speak in parliament), with the same chanting tone that disfigured his recitation of poetry,--a tone contracted at most of the public schools, but more particularly, perhaps, at harrow, and encroaching just enough on the boundaries of song to offend those ears most by which song is best enjoyed and understood. on the subject of the negotiations for a change of ministry which took place during this session, i find the following anecdotes recorded in his notebook:-- "at the opposition meeting of the peers in , at lord grenville's, when lord grey and he read to us the correspondence upon moira's negotiation, i sate next to the present duke of grafton, and said, 'what is to be done next?'--'wake the duke of norfolk' (who was snoring away near us), replied he: 'i don't think the negotiators have left any thing else for us to do this turn.' "in the debate, or rather discussion, afterwards in the house of lords upon that very question, i sate immediately behind lord moira, who was extremely annoyed at grey's speech upon the subject; and, while grey was speaking, turned round to me repeatedly, and asked me whether i agreed with him. it was an awkward question to me who had not heard both sides. moira kept repeating to me, 'it was _not so_, it was so and so,' &c. i did not know very well what to think, but i sympathised with the acuteness of his feelings upon the subject." the subject of the catholic claims was, it is well known, brought forward a second time this session by lord wellesley, whose motion for a future consideration of the question was carried by a majority of one. in reference to this division, another rather amusing anecdote is thus related. "lord * * affects an imitation of two very different chancellors, thurlow and loughborough, and can indulge in an oath now and then. on one of the debates on the catholic question, when we were either equal or within one (i forget which), i had been sent for in great haste to a ball, which i quitted, i confess, somewhat reluctantly, to emancipate five millions of people. i came in late, and did not go immediately into the body of the house, but stood just behind the woolsack. * * turned round, and, catching my eye, immediately said to a peer, (who had come to him for a few minutes on the woolsack, as is the custom of his friends,) 'damn them! they'll have it now,--by g----d! the vote that is just come in will give it them.'" during all this time, the impression which he had produced in society, both as a poet and a man, went on daily increasing; and the facility with which he gave himself up to the current of fashionable life, and mingled in all the gay scenes through which it led, showed that the novelty, at least, of this mode of existence had charms for him, however he might estimate its pleasures. that sort of vanity which is almost inseparable from genius, and which consists in an extreme sensitiveness on the subject of self, lord byron, i need not say, possessed in no ordinary degree; and never was there a career in which this sensibility to the opinions of others was exposed to more constant and various excitement than that on which he was now entered. i find in a note of my own to him, written at this period, some jesting allusions to the "circle of star-gazers" whom i had left around him at some party on the preceding night;--and such, in fact, was the flattering ordeal he had to undergo wherever he went. on these occasions,--particularly before the range of his acquaintance had become sufficiently extended to set him wholly at his ease,--his air and port were those of one whose better thoughts were elsewhere, and who looked with melancholy abstraction on the gay crowd around him. this deportment, so rare in such scenes, and so accordant with the romantic notions entertained of him, was the result partly of shyness, and partly, perhaps, of that love of effect and impression to which the poetical character of his mind naturally led. nothing, indeed, could be more amusing and delightful than the contrast which his manners afterwards, when we were alone, presented to his proud reserve in the brilliant circle we had just left. it was like the bursting gaiety of a boy let loose from school, and seemed as if there was no extent of fun or tricks of which he was not capable. finding him invariably thus lively when we were together, i often rallied him on the gloomy tone of his poetry, as assumed; but his constant answer was (and i soon ceased to doubt of its truth), that, though thus merry and full of laughter with those he liked, he was, at heart, one of the most melancholy wretches in existence. among the numerous notes which i received from him at this time,--some of them relating to our joint engagements in society, and others to matters now better forgotten,--i shall select a few that (as showing his haunts and habits) may not, perhaps, be uninteresting. "march . . "know all men by these presents, that you, thomas moore, stand indicted--no--invited, by special and particular solicitation, to lady c. l * *'s to-morrow evening, at half-past nine o'clock, where you will meet with a civil reception and decent entertainment. pray, come--i was so examined after you this morning, that i entreat you to answer in person. "believe me," &c. * * * * * "friday noon. "i should have answered your note yesterday, but i hoped to have seen you this morning. i must consult with you about the day we dine with sir francis. i suppose we shall meet at lady spencer's to-night. i did not know that you were at miss berry's the other night, or i should have certainly gone there. "as usual, i am in all sorts of scrapes, though none, at present, of a martial description. "believe me," &c. * * * * * "may . . "i am too proud of being your friend to care with whom i am linked in your estimation, and, god knows, i want friends more at this time than at any other. i am 'taking care of myself' to no great purpose. if you knew my situation in every point of view you would excuse apparent and unintentional neglect. i shall leave town, i think; but do not you leave it without seeing me. i wish you, from my soul, every happiness you can wish yourself; and i think you have taken the road to secure it. peace be with you! i fear she has abandoned me. "ever," &c. * * * * * "may . . "on monday, after sitting up all night, i saw bellingham launched into eternity[ ], and at three the same day i saw * * * launched into the country. "i believe, in the beginning of june, i shall be down for a few days in notts. if so, i shall beat you up 'en passant' with hobhouse, who is endeavouring, like you and every body else, to keep me out of scrapes. "i meant to have written you a long letter, but i find i cannot. if any thing remarkable occurs, you will hear it from me--if good; if _bad_, there are plenty to tell it. in the mean time, do you be happy. "ever yours, &c. "p.s.--my best wishes and respects to mrs. * *;--she is beautiful. i may say so even to you, for i never was more struck with a countenance." [footnote : he had taken a window opposite for the purpose, and was accompanied on the occasion by his old schoolfellows, mr. bailey and mr. john madocks. they went together from some assembly, and, on their arriving at the spot, about three o'clock in the morning, not finding the house that was to receive them open, mr. madocks undertook to rouse the inmates, while lord byron and mr. bailey sauntered, arm in arm, up the street. during this interval, rather a painful scene occurred. seeing an unfortunate woman lying on the steps of a door, lord byron, with some expression of compassion, offered her a few shillings: but, instead of accepting them, she violently pushed away his hand, and, starting up with a yell of laughter, began to mimic the lameness of his gait. he did not utter a word; but "i could feel," said mr. bailey, "his arm trembling within mine, as we left her." i may take this opportunity of mentioning another anecdote connected with his lameness. in coming out, one night, from a ball, with mr. rogers, as they were on their way to their carriage, one of the link-boys ran on before lord byron, crying, "this way, my lord."--"he seems to know you," said mr. rogers.--"know me!" answered lord byron, with some degree of bitterness in his tone--"every one knows me,--i am deformed."] * * * * * among the tributes to his fame, this spring, it should have been mentioned that, at some evening party, he had the honour of being presented, at that royal personage's own desire, to the prince regent. "the regent," says mr. dallas, "expressed his admiration of childe harold's pilgrimage, and continued a conversation, which so fascinated the poet, that had it not been for an accidental deferring of the next levee, he bade fair to become a visiter at carlton house, if not a complete courtier." after this wise prognostic, the writer adds,--"i called on him on the morning for which the levee had been appointed, and found him in a full dress court suit of clothes, with his fine black hair in powder, which by no means suited his countenance. i was surprised, as he had not told me that he should go to court; and it seemed to me as if he thought it necessary to apologise for his intention, by his observing that he could not in decency but do it, as the regent had done him the honour to say that he hoped to see him soon at carlton house." in the two letters that follow we find his own account of the introduction. letter . to lord holland. "june . . "my dear lord, "i must appear very ungrateful, and have, indeed, been very negligent, but till last night i was not apprised of lady holland's restoration, and i shall call to-morrow to have the satisfaction, i trust, of hearing that she is well--i hope that neither politics nor gout have assailed your lordship since i last saw you, and that you also are 'as well as could be expected.' "the other night, at a ball, i was presented by order to our gracious regent, who honoured me with some conversation, and professed a predilection for poetry.--i confess it was a most unexpected honour, and i thought of poor b-----s's adventure, with some apprehension of a similar blunder, i have now great hope, in the event of mr. pye's decease, of 'warbling truth at court,' like mr. mallet of indifferent memory.--consider, one hundred marks a year! besides the wine and the disgrace; but then remorse would make me drown myself in my own butt before the year's end, or the finishing of my first dithyrambic.--so that, after all, i shall not meditate our laureate's death by pen or poison. "will you present my best respects to lady holland? and believe me hers and yours very sincerely." * * * * * the second letter, entering much more fully into the particulars of this interview with royalty, was in answer, it will be perceived, to some enquiries which sir walter scott (then mr. scott) had addressed to him on the subject; and the whole account reflects even still more honour on the sovereign himself than on the two poets. letter . to sir walter scott, bart. "st. james's street, july . . "sir, "i have just been honoured with your letter.--i feel sorry that you should have thought it worth while to notice the 'evil works of my nonage,' as the thing is suppressed voluntarily, and your explanation is too kind not to give me pain. the satire was written when i was very young and very angry, and fully bent on displaying my wrath and my wit, and now i am haunted by the ghosts of my wholesale assertions. i cannot sufficiently thank you for your praise; and now, waving myself, let me talk to you of the prince regent. he ordered me to be presented to him at a ball; and after some sayings peculiarly pleasing from royal lips, as to my own attempts, he talked to me of you and your immortalities: he preferred you to every bard past and present, and asked which of your works pleased me most. it was a difficult question. i answered, i thought the "lay." he said his own opinion was nearly similar. in speaking of the others, i told him that i thought you more particularly the poet of _princes_, as _they_ never appeared more fascinating than in 'marmion' and the 'lady of the lake.' he was pleased to coincide, and to dwell on the description of your jameses as no less royal than poetical. he spoke alternately of homer and yourself, and seemed well acquainted with both; so that (with the exception of the turks and your humble servant) you were in very good company. i defy murray to have exaggerated his royal highness's opinion of your powers, nor can i pretend to enumerate all he said on the subject; but it may give you pleasure to hear that it was conveyed in language which would only suffer by my attempting to transcribe it, and with a tone and taste which gave me a very high idea of his abilities and accomplishments, which i had hitherto considered as confined to _manners_, certainly superior to those of any living _gentleman_. "this interview was accidental. i never went to the levee; for having seen the courts of mussulman and catholic sovereigns, my curiosity was sufficiently allayed; and my politics being as perverse as my rhymes, i had, in fact, 'no business there.' to be thus praised by your sovereign must be gratifying to you; and if that gratification is not alloyed by the communication being made through me, the bearer of it will consider himself very fortunately and sincerely, "your obliged and obedient servant, "byron. "p.s.--excuse this scrawl, scratched in a great hurry, and just after a journey." * * * * * during the summer of this year, he paid visits to some of his noble friends, and, among others, to the earl of jersey and the marquis of lansdowne. "in ," he says, "at middleton (lord jersey's), amongst a goodly company of lords, ladies, and wits, &c., there was (* * *.) [ ] "erskine, too! erskine was there; good, but intolerable. he jested, he talked, he did every thing admirably, but then he would be applauded for the same thing twice over. he would read his own verses, his own paragraph, and tell his own story again and again; and then the 'trial by jury!!!' i almost wished it abolished, for i sat next him at dinner. as i had read his published speeches, there was no occasion to repeat them to me. "c * * (the fox-hunter), nicknamed '_cheek_ c * *,' and i, sweated the claret, being the only two who did so. c * *, who loves his bottle, and had no notion of meeting with a 'bon-vivant' in a scribbler[ ], in making my eulogy to somebody one evening, summed it up in--'by g----d he drinks like a man.' "nobody drank, however, but c * * and i. to be sure, there was little occasion, for we swept off what was on the table (a most splendid board, as may be supposed, at jersey's) very sufficiently. however, we carried our liquor discreetly, like the baron of bradwardine." [footnote : a review, somewhat too critical, of some of the guests is here omitted.] [footnote : for the first day or two, at middleton, he did not join his noble host's party till after dinner, but took his scanty repast of biscuits and soda water in his own room. being told by somebody that the gentleman above mentioned had pronounced such habits to be "effeminate," he resolved to show the "fox-hunter" that he could be, on occasion, as good a _bon-vivant_ as himself, and, by his prowess at the claret next day, after dinner, drew forth from mr. c * * the eulogium here recorded.] * * * * * in the month of august this year, on the completion of the new theatre royal, drury lane, the committee of management, desirous of procuring an address for the opening of the theatre, took the rather novel mode of inviting, by an advertisement in the newspapers, the competition of all the poets of the day towards this object. though the contributions that ensued were sufficiently numerous, it did not appear to the committee that there was any one among the number worthy of selection. in this difficulty it occurred to lord holland that they could not do better than have recourse to lord byron, whose popularity would give additional vogue to the solemnity of their opening, and to whose transcendant claims, as a poet, it was taken for granted, (though without sufficient allowance, as it proved, for the irritability of the brotherhood,) even the rejected candidates themselves would bow without a murmur. the first result of this application to the noble poet will be learned from what follows. letter . to lord holland. "cheltenham, september . . "my dear lord, "the lines which i sketched off on your hint are still, or rather _were_, in an unfinished state, for i have just committed them to a flame more decisive than that of drury. under all the circumstances, i should hardly wish a contest with philo-drama--philo-drury--asbestos, h * *, and all the anonymes and synonymes of committee candidates. seriously, i think you have a chance of something much better; for prologuising is not my forte, and, at all events, either my pride or my modesty won't let me incur the hazard of having my rhymes buried in next month's magazine, under 'essays on the murder of mr. perceval,' and 'cures for the bite of a mad dog,' as poor goldsmith complained of the fate of far superior performances. "i am still sufficiently interested to wish to know the successful candidate; and, amongst so many, i have no doubt some will be excellent, particularly in an age when writing verse is the easiest of all attainments. "i cannot answer your intelligence with the 'like comfort,' unless, as you are deeply theatrical, you may wish to hear of mr. * *, whose acting is, i fear, utterly inadequate to the london engagement into which the managers of covent garden have lately entered. his figure is fat, his features flat, his voice unmanageable, his action ungraceful, and, as diggory says, 'i defy him to _ex_tort that d----d muffin face of his into madness.' i was very sorry to see him in the character of the 'elephant on the slack rope;' for, when i last saw him, i was in raptures with his performance. but then i was sixteen--an age to which all london condescended to subside. after all, much better judges have admired, and may again; but i venture to 'prognosticate a prophecy' (see the courier) that he will not succeed. "so, poor dear rogers has stuck fast on 'the brow of the mighty helvellyn'--i hope not for ever. my best respects to lady h.:--her departure, with that of my other friends, was a sad event for me, now reduced to a state of the most cynical solitude. 'by the waters of cheltenham i sat down and _drank_, when i remembered thee, oh georgiana cottage! as for our _harps_, we hanged them up upon the willows that grew thereby. then they said, sing us a song of drury lane,' &c.;--but i am dumb and dreary as the israelites. the waters have disordered me to my heart's content--you _were_ right, as you always are. believe me ever your obliged and affectionate servant, "byron." * * * * * the request of the committee for his aid having been, still more urgently, repeated, he, at length, notwithstanding the difficulty and invidiousness of the task, from his strong wish to oblige lord holland, consented to undertake it; and the quick succeeding notes and letters, which he addressed, during the completion of the address, to his noble friend, afford a proof (in conjunction with others of still more interest, yet to be cited) of the pains he, at this time, took in improving and polishing his first conceptions, and the importance he wisely attached to a judicious choice of epithets as a means of enriching both the music and the meaning of his verse. they also show,--what, as an illustration of his character, is even still more valuable,--the exceeding pliancy and good humour with which he could yield to friendly suggestions and criticisms; nor can it be questioned, i think, but that the docility thus invariably exhibited by him, on points where most poets are found to be tenacious and irritable, was a quality natural to his disposition, and such as might have been turned to account in far more important matters, had he been fortunate enough to meet with persons capable of understanding and guiding him. the following are a few of those hasty notes, on the subject of the address, which i allude to:-- to lord holland. "september . . "my dear lord, "in a day or two i will send you something which you will still have the liberty to reject if you dislike it. i should like to have had more time, but will do my best,--but too happy if i can oblige _you_, though i may offend a hundred scribblers and the discerning public. ever yours. "keep _my name_ a _secret_; or i shall be beset by all the rejected, and, perhaps, damned by a party." * * * * * letter . to lord holland. "cheltenham, september . . "ecco!--i have marked some passages with _double_ readings--choose between them--_cut_--_add_--_reject_--or _destroy_--do with them as you will--i leave it to you and the committee--you cannot say so called 'a _non committendo_.' what will _they_ do (and i do) with the hundred and one rejected troubadours? 'with trumpets, yea, and with shawms,' will you be assailed in the most diabolical doggerel. i wish my name not to transpire till the day is decided. i shall not be in town, so it won't much matter; but let us have a good _deliverer_. i think elliston should be the man, or pope; _not_ raymond, i implore you, by the love of rhythmus! "the passages marked thus ==, above and below, are for you to choose between epithets, and such like poetical furniture. pray write me a line, and believe me ever, &c. "my best remembrances to lady h. will you be good enough to decide between the various readings marked, and erase the other; or our deliverer may be as puzzled as a commentator, and belike repeat both. if these _versicles_ won't do, i will hammer out some more endecasyllables. "p.s.--tell lady h. i have had sad work to keep out the phoenix--i mean the fire office of that name. it has insured the theatre, and why not the address?" * * * * * to lord holland. "september . "i send a recast of the four first lines of the concluding paragraph. "this greeting o'er, the ancient rule obey'd, the drama's homage by her herald paid, receive _our welcome too_, whose every tone springs from our hearts, and fain would win your own. the curtain rises, &c. &c. and do forgive all this trouble. see what it is to have to do even with the _genteelest_ of us. ever," &c. * * * * * letter . to lord holland. "september . . "you will think there is no end to my villanous emendations. the fifth and sixth lines i think to alter thus:-- "ye who beheld--oh sight admired and mourn'd, whose radiance mock'd the ruin it adorn'd; because 'night' is repeated the next line but one; and, as it now stands, the conclusion of the paragraph, 'worthy him (shakspeare) and _you_,' appears to apply the '_you_' to those only who were out of bed and in covent garden market on the night of conflagration, instead of the audience or the discerning public at large, all of whom are intended to be comprised in that comprehensive and, i hope, comprehensible pronoun. "by the by, one of my corrections in the fair copy sent yesterday has dived into the bathos some sixty fathom-- "when garrick died, and brinsley ceased to write. ceasing to _live_ is a much more serious concern, and ought not to be first; therefore i will let the old couplet stand, with its half rhymes 'sought' and 'wrote.'[ ] second thoughts in every thing are best, but, in rhyme, third and fourth don't come amiss. i am very anxious on this business, and i do hope that the very trouble i occasion you will plead its own excuse, and that it will tend to show my endeavour to make the most of the time allotted. i wish i had known it months ago, for in that case i had not left one line standing on another. i always scrawl in this way, and smooth as much as i can, but never sufficiently; and, latterly, i can weave a nine-line stanza faster than a couplet, for which measure i have not the cunning. when i began 'childe harold,' i had never tried spenser's measure, and now i cannot scribble in any other. "after all, my dear lord, if you can get a decent address elsewhere, don't hesitate to put this aside. why did you not trust your own muse? i am very sure she would have been triumphant, and saved the committee their trouble--''tis a joyful one' to me, but i fear i shall not satisfy even myself. after the account you sent me, 'tis no compliment to say you would have beaten your candidates; but i mean that, in _that_ case, there would have been no occasion for their being beaten at all. "there are but two decent prologues in our tongue--pope's to cato--johnson's to drury lane. these, with the epilogue to the 'distrest mother,' and, i think, one of goldsmith's, and a prologue of old colman's to beaumont and fletcher's philaster, are the best things of the kind we have. "p.s.--i am diluted to the throat with medicine for the stone; and boisragon wants me to try a warm climate for the winter--but i won't." [footnote : "such are the names that here your plaudits sought, when garrick acted, and when brinsley wrote." at present the couplet stands thus:-- "dear are the days that made our annals bright, ere garrick fled, or brinsley ceased to write." ] * * * * * letter . to lord holland. "september . . "i have just received your very kind letter, and hope you have met with a second copy corrected and addressed to holland house, with some omissions and this new couplet, "as glared each rising flash[ ], and ghastly shone the skies with lightnings awful as their own. as to remarks, i can only say i will alter and acquiesce in any thing. with regard to the part which whitbread wishes to omit, i believe the address will go off _quicker_ without it, though, like the agility of the hottentot, at the expense of its vigour. i leave to your choice entirely the different specimens of stucco-work; and a _brick_ of your own will also much improve my babylonish turret. i should like elliston to have it, with your leave. 'adorn' and 'mourn' are lawful rhymes in pope's death of the unfortunate lady.--gray has 'forlorn' and 'mourn;'--and 'torn' and 'mourn' are in smollet's famous tears of scotland. "as there will probably be an outcry amongst the rejected, i hope the committee will testify (if it be needful) that i sent in nothing to the congress whatever, with or without a name, as your lordship well knows. all i have to do with it is with and through you; and though i, of course, wish to satisfy the audience, i do assure you my first object is to comply with your request, and in so doing to show the sense i have of the many obligations you have conferred upon me. yours ever, b." [footnote : at present, "as glared the volumed blaze."] * * * * * letter . to lord holland. "september . . "shakspeare certainly ceased to reign in _one_ of his kingdoms, as george iii. did in america, and george iv. may in ireland.[ ] now, we have nothing to do out of our own realms, and when the monarchy was gone, his majesty had but a barren sceptre. i have _cut away_, you will see, and altered, but make it what you please; only i do implore, for my _own_ gratification, one lash on those accursed quadrupeds--'a long shot, sir lucius, if you love me.' i have altered 'wave,' &c., and the 'fire,' and so forth for the timid. "let me hear from you when convenient, and believe me, &c. "p.s.--do let _that_ stand, and cut out elsewhere. i shall choke, if we must overlook their d----d menagerie." [footnote : some objection, it appears from this, had been made to the passage, "and shakspeare _ceased to reign_."] * * * * * letter . to lord holland. "far be from him that hour which asks in vain tears such as flow for garrick in his strain; _or_, "far be that hour that vainly asks in turn {_crown'd his_} such verse for him as { wept o'er } garrick's urn. "september . . "will you choose between these added to the lines on sheridan?[ ] i think they will wind up the panegyric, and agree with the train of thought preceding them. "now, one word as to the committee--how could they resolve on a rough copy of an address never sent in, unless you had been good enough to retain in memory, or on paper, the thing they have been good enough to adopt? by the by, the circumstances of the case should make the committee less 'avidus glorias,' for all praise of them would look plaguy suspicious. if necessary to be stated at all, the simple facts bear them out. they surely had a right to act as they pleased. my sole object is one which, i trust, my whole conduct has shown; viz. that i did nothing insidious--sent in no address _whatever_--but, when applied to, did my best for them and myself; but, above all, that there was no undue partiality, which will be what the rejected will endeavour to make out. fortunately--most fortunately--i sent in no lines on the occasion. for i am sure that had they, in that case, been preferred, it would have been asserted that _i_ was known, and owed the preference to private friendship. this is what we shall probably have to encounter; but, if once spoken and approved, we sha'n't be much embarrassed by their brilliant conjectures; and, as to criticism, an _old_ author, like an old bull, grows cooler (or ought) at every baiting. "the only thing would be to avoid a party on the night of delivery--afterwards, the more the better, and the whole transaction inevitably tends to a good deal of discussion. murray tells me there are myriads of ironical addresses ready--_some_, in imitation of what is called _my style_. if they are as good as the probationary odes, or hawkins's pipe of tobacco, it will not be bad fun for the imitated. "ever," &c. [footnote : these added lines, as may be seen by reference to the printed address, were not retained.] * * * * * the time comprised in the series of letters to lord holland, of which the above are specimens, lord byron passed, for the most part, at cheltenham; and during the same period, the following letters to other correspondents were written. letter . to mr. murray. "high street, cheltenham, sept. . . "pray have the goodness to send those despatches, and a no. of the edinburgh review with the rest. i hope you have written to mr. thompson, thanked him in my name for his present, and told him that i shall be truly happy to comply with his request.--how do you go on? and when is the graven image, 'with _bays and wicked rhyme upon 't,'_ to grace, or disgrace, some of our tardy editions? "send me '_rokeby_.' who the devil is he?--no matter, he has good connections, and will be well introduced. i thank you for your enquiries: i am so so, but my thermometer is sadly below the poetical point. what will you give _me_ or _mine_ for a poem of six cantos, (_when complete_--_no_ rhyme, _no_ recompense,) as like the last two as i can make them? i have some ideas that one day may be embodied, and till winter i shall have much leisure. "p.s.--my last question is in the true style of grub street; but, like jeremy diddler, i only 'ask for information.'--send me adair on diet and regimen, just republished by ridgway." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "cheltenham, sept. . . "the parcels contained some letters and verses, all but one anonymous and complimentary, and very anxious for my conversion from certain infidelities into which my good-natured correspondents conceive me to have fallen. the books were presents of a _convertible_ kind. also, 'christian knowledge' and the 'bioscope,' a religious dial of life explained;--and to the author of the former (cadell, publisher,) i beg you will forward my best thanks for his letter, his present, and, above all, his good intentions. the 'bioscope' contained a ms. copy of very excellent verses, from whom i know not, but evidently the composition of some one in the habit of writing, and of writing well. i do not know if he be the author of the 'bioscope' which accompanied them; but whoever he is, if you can discover him, thank him from me most heartily. the other letters were from ladies, who are welcome to convert me when they please; and if i can discover them, and they be young, as they say they are, i could convince them perhaps of my devotion. i had also a letter from mr. walpole on matters of this world, which i have answered. "so you are lucien's publisher? i am promised an interview with him, and think i shall ask _you_ for a letter of introduction, as 'the gods have made him poetical.' from whom could it come with a better grace than from _his_ publisher and mine? is it not somewhat treasonable in you to have to do with a relative of the 'direful foe,' as the morning post calls his brother? "but my book on 'diet and regimen,' where is it? i thirst for scott's rokeby; let me have your first-begotten copy. the anti-jacobin review is all very well, and not a bit worse than the quarterly, and at least less harmless. by the by, have you secured my books? i want all the reviews, at least the critiques, quarterly, monthly, &c., portuguese and english, extracted, and bound up in one volume for my _old age_; and pray, sort my romaic books, and get the volumes lent to mr. hobhouse--he has had them now a long time. if any thing occurs, you will favour me with a line, and in winter we shall be nearer neighbours. "p.s.--i was applied to, to write the address for drury lane, but the moment i heard of the contest, i gave up the idea of contending against all grub street, and threw a few thoughts on the subject into the fire. i did this out of respect to you, being sure you would have turned off any of your authors who had entered the lists with such scurvy competitors. to triumph would have been no glory; and to have been defeated--'sdeath!--i would have choked myself, like otway, with a quartern loaf; so, remember i had, and have, nothing to do with it, upon _my honour_." * * * * * letter . to mr. william bankes. "cheltenham, september . . "my dear bankes, "when you point out to one how people can be intimate at the distance of some seventy leagues, i will plead guilty to your charge, and accept your farewell, but not _wittingly_, till you give me some better reason than my silence, which merely proceeded from a notion founded on your own declaration of _old_, that you hated writing and receiving letters. besides, how was i to find out a man of many residences? if i had addressed you _now_, it had been to your borough, where i must have conjectured you were amongst your constituents. so now, in despite of mr. n. and lady w., you shall be as 'much better' as the hexham post-office will allow me to make you. i do assure you i am much indebted to you for thinking of me at all, and can't spare you even from amongst the superabundance of friends with whom you suppose me surrounded. "you heard that newstead[ ] is sold--the sum , _l._; sixty to remain in mortgage on the estate for three years, paying interest, of course. rochdale is also likely to do well--so my worldly matters are mending. i have been here some time drinking the waters, simply because there are waters to drink, and they are very medicinal, and sufficiently disgusting. in a few days i set out for lord jersey's, but return here, where i am quite alone, go out very little, and enjoy in its fullest extent the 'dolce far niente.' what you are about, i cannot guess, even from your date;--not dauncing to the sound of the gitourney in the halls of the lowthers? one of whom is here, ill, poor thing, with a phthisic. i heard that you passed through here (at the sordid inn where i first alighted) the very day before i arrived in these parts. we had a very pleasant set here; at first the jerseys, melbournes, cowpers, and hollands, but all gone; and the only persons i know are the rawdons and oxfords, with some later acquaintances of less brilliant descent. "but i do not trouble them much; and as for your rooms and your assemblies, 'they are not dreamed of in our philosophy!!'--did you read of a sad accident in the wye t' other day? a dozen drowned, and mr. rossoe, a corpulent gentleman, preserved by a boat-hook or an eel-spear, begged, when he heard his wife was saved--no--_lost_--to be thrown in again!!--as if he could not have thrown himself in, had he wished it; but this passes for a trait of sensibility. what strange beings men are, in and out of the wye! "i have to ask you a thousand pardons for not fulfilling some orders before i left town; but if you knew all the cursed entanglements i _had_ to wade through, it would be unnecessary to beg your forgiveness.--when will parliament (the new one) meet?--in sixty days, on account of ireland, i presume: the irish election will demand a longer period for completion than the constitutional allotment. yours, of course, is safe, and all your side of the question. salamanca is the ministerial watchword, and all will go well with you. i hope you will speak more frequently, i am sure at least you _ought_, and it will be expected. i see portman means to stand again. good night. "ever yours most affectionately, "[greek: mpahirôn]."[ ] [footnote : "early in the autumn of ," says mr. dallas, "he told me that he was urged by his man of business, and that newstead _must_ be sold." it was accordingly brought to the hammer at garraway's, but not, at that time, sold, only , _l._ being offered for it. the private sale to which he alludes in this letter took place soon after,--mr. claughton, the agent for mr. leigh, being the purchaser. it was never, however, for reasons which we shall see, completed.] [footnote : a mode of signature he frequently adopted at this time.] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "cheltenham, september . . "i sent in no address whatever to the committee; but out of nearly one hundred (this is _confidential_), none have been deemed worth acceptance; and in consequence of their _subsequent_ application to _me_, i have written a prologue, which _has_ been received, and will be spoken. the ms. is now in the hands of lord holland. "i write this merely to say, that (however it is received by the audience) you will publish it in the next edition of childe harold; and i only beg you at present to keep my name secret till you hear further from me, and as soon as possible i wish you to have a correct copy, to do with as you think proper. "p.s.--i should wish a few copies printed off _before_, that the newspaper copies may be correct _after_ the _delivery_." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "cheltenham, oct. . . "i have a very _strong_ objection to the engraving of the portrait[ ], and request that it may, on no account, be prefixed; but let _all_ the proofs be burnt, and the plate broken. i will be at the expense which has been incurred; it is but fair that _i_ should, since i cannot permit the publication. i beg, as a particular favour, that you will lose no time in having this done, for which i have reasons that i will state when i see you. forgive all the trouble i have occasioned you. "i have received no account of the reception of the address, but see it is vituperated in the papers, which does not much embarrass an _old author_. i leave it to your own judgment to add it, or not, to your next edition when required. pray comply _strictly_ with my wishes as to the engraving, and believe me, &c. "p.s.--favour me with an answer, as i shall not be easy till i hear that the proofs, &c. are destroyed. i hear that the _satirist_ has reviewed childe harold, in what manner i need not ask; but i wish to know if the old personalities are revived? i have a better reason for asking this than any that merely concerns myself; but in publications of that kind, others, particularly female names, are sometimes introduced." [footnote : a miniature by sanders. besides this miniature, sanders had also painted a full length of his lordship, from which the portrait prefixed to this work is engraved. in reference to the latter picture, lord byron says, in a note to mr. rogers, "if you think the picture you saw at murray's worth your acceptance, it is yours; and you may put a _glove_ or mask on it, if you like."] * * * * * letter . to lord holland. "cheltenham, oct. . . "my dear lord, "i perceive that the papers, yea, even perry's, are somewhat ruffled at the injudicious preference of the committee. my friend perry has, indeed, 'et tu brute'-d me rather scurvily, for which i will send him, for the m.c., the next epigram i scribble, as a token of my full forgiveness. "do the committee mean to enter into no explanation of their proceedings? you must see there is a leaning towards a charge of partiality. you will, at least, acquit me of any great anxiety to push myself before so many elder and better anonymous, to whom the twenty guineas (which i take to be about two thousand pounds _bank_ currency) and the honour would have been equally welcome. 'honour,' i see, 'hath no skill in paragraph-writing.' "i wish to know how it went off at the second reading, and whether any one has had the grace to give it a glance of approbation. i have seen no paper but perry's and two sunday ones. perry is severe, and the others silent. if, however, you and your committee are not now dissatisfied with your own judgments, i shall not much embarrass myself about the brilliant remarks of the journals. my own opinion upon it is what it always was, perhaps pretty near that of the public. "believe me, my dear lord, &c. &c. "p.s.--my best respects to lady h., whose smiles will be very consolatory, even at this distance." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "cheltenham, oct. . . "will you have the goodness to get this parody of a peculiar kind[ ] (for all the first lines are _busby_'s entire) inserted in several of the papers (_correctly_--and copied _correctly_; _my hand_ is difficult)--particularly the morning chronicle? tell mr. perry i forgive him all he has said, and may say against _my address_, but he will allow me to deal with the doctor--(_audi alteram partem_)--and not _betray_ me. i cannot think what has befallen mr. perry, for of yore we were very good friends;--but no matter, only get this inserted. "i have a poem on waltzing for _you_, of which i make _you_ a present; but it must be anonymous. it is in the old style of english bards and scotch reviewers. "p.s.--with the next edition of childe harold you may print the first fifty or a hundred opening lines of the 'curse of minerva' down to the couplet beginning "mortal ('twas thus she spake), &c. of course, the moment the _satire_ begins, there you will stop, and the opening is the best part." [footnote : among the addresses sent in to the drury lane committee was one by dr. busby, entitled a monologue, of which the parody was enclosed in this letter. a short specimen of this trifle will be sufficient. the four first lines of the doctor's address are as follows:-- "when energising objects men pursue, what are the prodigies they cannot do? a magic edifice you here survey, shot from the ruins of the other day!" which verses are thus ridiculed, unnecessarily, in the parody:-- "'when energising objects men pursue,' the lord knows what is writ by lord knows who. 'a modest monologue you here survey,' hiss'd from the theatre the 'other day.'" ] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "oct. . . "many thanks, but i _must_ pay the _damage_, and will thank you to tell me the amount for the engraving. i think the 'rejected addresses' by far the best thing of the kind since the rolliad, and wish _you_ had published them. tell the author 'i forgive him, were he twenty times over a satirist;' and think his imitations not at all inferior to the famous ones of hawkins browne. he must be a man of very lively wit, and less scurrilous than wits often are: altogether, i very much admire the performance, and wish it all success. the _satirist_ has taken a new tone, as you will see: we have now, i think, finished with childe harold's critics. i have in _hand_ a _satire_ on _waltzing,_ which you must publish anonymously: it is not long, not quite two hundred lines, but will make a very small boarded pamphlet. in a few days you shall have it. "p.s.--the editor of the _satirist_ ought to be thanked for his revocation; it is done handsomely, after five years' warfare." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "oct. . . "thanks, as usual. you go on boldly; but have a care of _glutting_ the public, who have by this time had enough of childe harold. 'waltzing' shall be prepared. it is rather above two hundred lines, with an introductory letter to the publisher. i think of publishing, with childe harold, the opening lines of the 'curse of minerva,' as far as the first speech of pallas,--because some of the readers like that part better than any i have ever written, and as it contains nothing to affect the subject of the subsequent portion, it will find a place as a _descriptive fragment_. "the _plate_ is _broken_? between ourselves, it was unlike the picture; and besides, upon the whole, the frontispiece of an author's visage is but a paltry exhibition. at all events, _this_ would have been no recommendation to the book. i am sure sanders would not have _survived_ the engraving. by the by, the _picture_ may remain with _you_ or _him_ (which you please), till my return. the _one_ of two remaining copies is at your service till i can give you a _better_; the other must be _burned peremptorily_. again, do not forget that i have an account with you, and _that_ this is _included_. i give you too much trouble to allow you to incur _expense_ also. "you best know how far this 'address riot' will affect the future sale of childe harold. i like the volume of 'rejected addresses' better and better. the other parody which perry has received is mine also (i believe). it is dr. busby's speech versified. you are removing to albemarle street, i find, and i rejoice that we shall be nearer neighbours. i am going to lord oxford's, but letters here will be forwarded. when at leisure, all communications from you will be willingly received by the humblest of your scribes. did mr. ward write the review of horne tooke's life in the quarterly? it is excellent." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "cheltenham, november . . "on my return here from lord oxford's, i found your obliging note, and will thank you to retain the letters, and any other subsequent ones to the same address, till i arrive in town to claim them, which will probably be in a few days. i have in charge a curious and very long ms. poem, written by lord brooke (the _friend_ of sir _philip sidney_), which i wish to submit to the inspection of mr. gifford, with the following queries:--first, whether it has ever been published, and, secondly (if not), whether it is worth publication? it is from lord oxford's library, and must have escaped or been overlooked amongst the mss. of the harleian miscellany. the writing is lord brooke's, except a different hand towards the close. it is very long, and in the six-line stanza. it is not for me to hazard an opinion upon its merits; but i would take the liberty, if not too troublesome, to submit it to mr. gifford's judgment, which, from his excellent edition of massinger, i should conceive to be as decisive on the writings of that age as on those of our own. "now for a less agreeable and important topic.--how came mr. _mac-somebody_, without consulting you or me, to prefix the address to his volume[ ] of '_dejected_ addresses?' is not this somewhat larcenous? i think the ceremony of leave might have been asked, though i have no objection to the thing itself; and leave the 'hundred and eleven' to tire themselves with 'base comparisons.' i should think the ingenuous public tolerably sick of the subject, and, except the parodies, i have not interfered, nor shall; indeed i did not know that dr. busby had published his apologetical letter and postscript, or i should have recalled them. but, i confess, i looked upon his conduct in a different light before its appearance. i see some mountebank has taken alderman birch's name to vituperate dr. busby; he had much better have pilfered his pastry, which i should imagine the more valuable ingredient--at least for a puff.--pray secure me a copy of woodfall's new junius, and believe me," &c. [footnote : "the genuine rejected addresses, presented to the committee of management for drury lane theatre: preceded by that written by lord byron and adopted by the committee:"--published by b. m'millan.] * * * * * letter . to mr. william bankes. "december . "the multitude of your recommendations has already superseded my humble endeavours to be of use to you; and, indeed, most of my principal friends are returned. leake from joannina, canning and adair from the city of the faithful, and at smyrna no letter is necessary, as the consuls are always willing to do every thing for personages of respectability. i have sent you _three_, one to gibraltar, which, though of no great necessity, will, perhaps, put you on a more intimate footing with a very pleasant family there. you will very soon find out that a man of any consequence has very little occasion for any letters but to ministers and bankers, and of them we have already plenty, i will be sworn. "it is by no means improbable that i shall go in the spring, and if you will fix any place of rendezvous about august, i will _write_ or _join_ you.--when in albania, i wish you would enquire after dervise tahiri and vascillie (or bazil), and make my respects to the viziers, both there and in the morea. if you mention my name to suleyman of thebes, i think it will not hurt you; if i had my dragoman, or wrote turkish, i could have given you letters of _real service_; but to the english they are hardly requisite, and the greeks themselves can be of little advantage. liston you know already, and i do not, as he was not then minister. mind you visit ephesus and the troad, and let me hear from you when you please. i believe g. forresti is now at yanina, but if not, whoever is there will be too happy to assist you. be particular about _firmauns_; never allow yourself to be bullied, for you are better protected in turkey than any where; trust not the greeks; and take some _knicknackeries_ for _presents_--_watches_, _pistols_, &c. &c. to the beys and pachas. if you find one demetrius, at athens or elsewhere, i can recommend him as a good dragoman. i hope to join you, however; but you will find swarms of english now in the levant. "believe me," &c. * * * * * to mr. murray. "february . . "in 'horace in london' i perceive some stanzas on lord elgin in which (waving the kind compliment to myself[ ]) i heartily concur. i wish i had the pleasure of mr. smith's acquaintance, as i could communicate the curious anecdote you read in mr. t.'s letter. if he would like it, he can have the _substance_ for his second edition; if not, i shall add it to our next, though i think we already have enough of lord elgin. "what i have read of this work seems admirably done. my praise, however, is not much worth the author's having; but you may thank him in my name for _his_. the idea is new--we have excellent imitations of the satires, &c. by pope; but i remember but one imitative ode in his works, and _none_ any where else. i can hardly suppose that _they_ have lost any fame by the fate of the _farce_; but even should this be the case, the present publication will again place them on their pinnacle. "yours," &c. [footnote : in the ode entitled "the parthenon," minerva thus speaks:-- "all who behold my mutilated pile shall brand its ravager with classic rage; and soon a titled bard from britain's isle thy country's praise and suffrage shall engage, and fire with athens' wrongs an angry age!" horace in london. ] * * * * * it has already been stated that the pecuniary supplies, which he found it necessary to raise on arriving at majority, were procured for him on ruinously usurious terms.[ ] to some transactions connected with this subject, the following characteristic letter refers. to mr. rogers. "march , . "i enclose you a draft for the usurious interest due to lord * *'s _protégé_;--i also could wish you would state thus much for me to his lordship. though the transaction speaks plainly in itself for the borrower's folly and the lender's usury, it never was my intention to _quash_ the demand, as i _legally_ might, nor to withhold payment of principal, or, perhaps, even _unlawful_ interest. you know what my situation has been, and what it is. i have parted with an estate (which has been in my family for nearly three hundred years, and was never disgraced by being in possession of a _lawyer_, a _churchman_, or a _woman_, during that period,) to liquidate this and similar demands; and the payment of the purchase is still withheld, and may be, perhaps, for years. if, therefore, i am under the necessity of making those persons _wait_ for their money, (which, considering the terms, they can afford to suffer,) it is my misfortune. "when i arrived at majority in , i offered my own security on _legal_ interest, and it was refused. _now_, i will not accede to this. this man i may have seen, but i have no recollection of the names of any parties but the _agents_ and the securities. the moment i can it is assuredly my intention to pay my debts. this person's case may be a hard one; but, under all circumstances, what is mine? i could not foresee that the purchaser of my estate was to demur in paying for it. "i am glad it happens to be in my power so far to accommodate my israelite, and only wish i could do as much for the rest of the twelve tribes. "ever yours, dear r., bn." [footnote : "tis said that persons living on annuities are longer lived than others,--god knows why, unless to plague the grantors,--yet so true it is, that some, i really think, _do_ never die. of any creditors, the worst a jew it is; and _that_'s their mode of furnishing supply: in my young days they lent me cash that way, which i found very troublesome to pay." don juan, canto ii ] * * * * * at the beginning of this year, mr. murray having it in contemplation to publish an edition of the two cantos of childe harold with engravings, the noble author entered with much zeal into his plan; and, in a note on the subject to mr. murray, says,--"westall has, i believe, agreed to illustrate your book, and i fancy one of the engravings will be from the pretty little girl you saw the other day[ ], though without her name, and merely as a model for some sketch connected with the subject. i would also have the portrait (which you saw to-day) of the friend who is mentioned in the text at the close of canto st, and in the notes,--which are subjects sufficient to authorise that addition." early in the spring he brought out, anonymously, his poem on waltzing, which, though full of very lively satire, fell so far short of what was now expected from him by the public, that the disavowal of it, which, as we see by the following letter, he thought right to put forth, found ready credence:-- letter . to mr. murray. "april . . "i shall be in town by sunday next, and will call and have some conversation on the subject of westall's designs. i am to sit to him for a picture at the request of a friend of mine, and as sanders's is not a good one, you will probably prefer the other. i wish you to have sanders's taken down and sent to my lodgings immediately--before my arrival. i hear that a certain malicious publication on waltzing is attributed to me. this report, i suppose, you will take care to contradict, as the author, i am sure, will not like that i should wear his cap and bells. mr. hobhouse's quarto will be out immediately; pray send to the author for an early copy, which i wish to take abroad with me. "p.s.--i see the examiner threatens some observations upon you next week. what can you have done to share the wrath which has heretofore been principally expended upon the prince? i presume all your scribleri will be drawn up in battle array in defence of the modern tonson--mr. bucke, for instance. "send in my account to bennet street, as i wish to settle it before sailing." [footnote : lady charlotte harley, to whom, under the name of ianthe, the introductory lines to childe harold were afterwards addressed.] * * * * * in the month of may appeared his wild and beautiful "fragment," _the giaour_;--and though, in its first flight from his hands, some of the fairest feathers of its wing were yet wanting, the public hailed this new offspring of his genius with wonder and delight. the idea of writing a poem in fragments had been suggested to him by the _columbus_ of mr. rogers; and, whatever objections may lie against such a plan in general, it must be allowed to have been well suited to the impatient temperament of byron, as enabling him to overleap those mechanical difficulties, which, in a regular narrative, embarrass, if not chill, the poet,--leaving it to the imagination of his readers to fill up the intervals between those abrupt bursts of passion in which his chief power lay. the story, too, of the poem possessed that stimulating charm for him, almost indispensable to his fancy, of being in some degree connected with himself,--an event in which he had been personally concerned, while on his travels, having supplied the groundwork on which the fiction was founded. after the appearance of the giaour, some incorrect statement of this romantic incident having got into circulation, the noble author requested of his friend, the marquis of sligo, who had visited athens soon after it happened, to furnish him with his recollections on the subject; and the following is the answer which lord sligo returned:-- "albany, monday, august . . "my dear byron, "you have requested me to tell you all that i heard at athens about the affair of that girl who was so near being put an end to while you were there; you have asked me to mention every circumstance, in the remotest degree relating to it, which i heard. in compliance with your wishes, i write to you all i heard, and i cannot imagine it to be very far from the fact, as the circumstance happened only a day or two before i arrived at athens, and, consequently, was a matter of common conversation at the time. "the new governor, unaccustomed to have the same intercourse with the christians as his predecessor, had of course the barbarous turkish ideas with regard to women. in consequence, and in compliance with the strict letter of the mahommedan law, he ordered this girl to be sewed up in a sack, and thrown into the sea,--as is, indeed, quite customary at constantinople. as you were returning from bathing in the piraeus, you met the procession going down to execute the sentence of the waywode on this unfortunate girl. report continues to say, that on finding out what the object of their journey was, and who was the miserable sufferer, you immediately interfered; and on some delay in obeying your orders, you were obliged to inform the leader of the escort, that force should make him comply;--that, on farther hesitation, you drew a pistol, and told him, that if he did not immediately obey your orders, and come back with you to the aga's house, you would shoot him dead. on this, the man turned about and went with you to the governor's house; here you succeeded, partly by personal threats, and partly by bribery and entreaty, to procure her pardon on condition of her leaving athens. i was told that you then conveyed her in safety to the convent, and despatched her off at night to thebes, where she found a safe asylum. such is the story i heard, as nearly as i can recollect it at present. should you wish to ask me any further questions about it, i shall be very ready and willing to answer them. i remain, my dear byron, "yours, very sincerely, "sligo. "i am afraid you will hardly be able to read this scrawl; but i am so hurried with the preparations for my journey, that you must excuse it." * * * * * of the prodigal flow of his fancy, when its sources were once opened on any subject, the giaour affords one of the most remarkable instances,--this poem having accumulated under his hand, both in printing and through successive editions, till from four hundred lines, of which it consisted in his first copy, it at present amounts to nearly fourteen hundred. the plan, indeed, which he had adopted, of a series of fragments,--a set of "orient pearls at random strung,"--left him free to introduce, without reference to more than the general complexion of his story, whatever sentiments or images his fancy, in its excursions, could collect; and how little fettered he was by any regard to connection in these additions, appears from a note which accompanied his own copy of the paragraph commencing "fair clime, where every season smiles,"--in which he says, "i have not yet fixed the place of insertion for the following lines, but will, when i see you--as i have no copy." even into this new passage, rich as it was at first, his fancy afterwards poured a fresh infusion,--the whole of its most picturesque portion, from the line "for there, the rose o'er crag or vale," down to "and turn to groans his roundelay," having been suggested to him during revision. in order to show, however, that though so rapid in the first heat of composition, he formed no exception to that law which imposes labour as the price of perfection, i shall here extract a few verses from his original draft of this paragraph, by comparing which with the form they wear at present[ ] we may learn to appreciate the value of these after-touches of the master. "fair clime! where _ceaseless summer_ smiles benignant o'er those blessed isles, which, seen from far colonna's height, make glad the heart that hails the sight, and _give_ to loneliness delight. there _shine the bright abodes ye seek, like dimples upon ocean's cheek,-- so smiling round the waters lave_ these edens of the eastern wave. or if, at times, the transient breeze break the _smooth_ crystal of the seas, or _brush_ one blossom from the trees, how _grateful_ is the gentle air that wakes and wafts the _fragrance_ there." among the other passages added to this edition (which was either the third or fourth, and between which and the first there intervened but about six weeks) was that most beautiful and melancholy illustration of the lifeless aspect of greece, beginning "he who hath bent him o'er the dead,"--of which the most gifted critic of our day[ ] has justly pronounced, that "it contains an image more true, more mournful, and more exquisitely finished, than any we can recollect in the whole compass of poetry."[ ] to the same edition also were added, among other accessions of wealth[ ], those lines, "the cygnet proudly walks the water," and the impassioned verses, "my memory now is but the tomb." on my rejoining him in town this spring, i found the enthusiasm about his writings and himself, which i left so prevalent, both in the world of literature and in society, grown, if any thing, still more general and intense. in the immediate circle, perhaps, around him, familiarity of intercourse might have begun to produce its usual disenchanting effects. his own liveliness and unreserve, on a more intimate acquaintance, would not be long in dispelling that charm of poetic sadness, which to the eyes of distant observers hung about him; while the romantic notions, connected by some of his fair readers with those past and nameless loves alluded to in his poems, ran some risk of abatement from too near an acquaintance with the supposed objects of his fancy and fondness at present. a poet's mistress should remain, if possible, as imaginary a being to others, as, in most of the attributes he clothes her with, she has been to himself;--the reality, however fair, being always sure to fall short of the picture which a too lavish fancy has drawn of it. could we call up in array before us all the beauties whom the love of poets has immortalised, from the high-born dame to the plebeian damsel,--from the lauras and sacharissas down to the cloes and jeannies,--we should, it is to be feared, sadly unpeople our imaginations of many a bright tenant that poesy has lodged there, and find, in more than one instance, our admiration of the faith and fancy of the worshipper increased by our discovery of the worthlessness of the idol. but, whatever of its first romantic impression the personal character of the poet may, from such causes, have lost in the circle he most frequented, this disappointment of the imagination was far more than compensated by the frank, social, and engaging qualities, both of disposition and manner, which, on a nearer intercourse, he disclosed, as well as by that entire absence of any literary assumption or pedantry, which entitled him fully to the praise bestowed by sprat upon cowley, that few could "ever discover he was a great poet by his discourse." while thus, by his intimates, and those who had got, as it were, behind the scenes of his fame, he was seen in his true colours, as well of weakness as of amiableness, on strangers and such as were out of this immediate circle, the spell of his poetical character still continued to operate; and the fierce gloom and sternness of his imaginary personages were, by the greater number of them, supposed to belong, not only as regarded mind, but manners, to himself. so prevalent and persevering has been this notion, that, in some disquisitions on his character published since his death, and containing otherwise many just and striking views, we find, in the professed portrait drawn of him, such features as the following:--"lord byron had a stern, direct, severe mind: a sarcastic, disdainful, gloomy temper. he had no light sympathy with heartless cheerfulness;--upon the surface was sourness, discontent, displeasure, ill will. beneath all this weight of clouds and darkness[ ]," &c. &c. of the sort of double aspect which he thus presented, as viewed by the world and by his friends, he was himself fully aware; and it not only amused him, but, as a proof of the versatility of his powers, flattered his pride. he was, indeed, as i have already remarked, by no means insensible or inattentive to the effect he produced personally on society; and though the brilliant station he had attained, since the commencement of my acquaintance with him, made not the slightest alteration in the unaffectedness of his private intercourse, i could perceive, i thought, with reference to the external world, some slight changes in his conduct, which seemed indicative of the effects of his celebrity upon him. among other circumstances, i observed that, whether from shyness of the general gaze, or from a notion, like livy's, that men of eminence should not too much familiarise the public to their persons[ ], he avoided showing himself in the mornings, and in crowded places, much more than was his custom when we first became acquainted. the preceding year, before his name had grown "so rife and celebrated," we had gone together to the exhibition at somerset house, and other such places[ ]; and the true reason, no doubt, of his present reserve, in abstaining from all such miscellaneous haunts, was the sensitiveness, so often referred to, on the subject of his lameness,--a feeling which the curiosity of the public eye, now attracted to this infirmity by his fame, could not fail, he knew, to put rather painfully to the proof. among the many gay hours we passed together this spring, i remember particularly the wild flow of his spirits one evening, when we had accompanied mr. rogers home from some early assembly, and when lord byron, who, according to his frequent custom, had not dined for the last two days, found his hunger no longer governable, and called aloud for "something to eat." our repast,--of his own choosing,--was simple bread and cheese; and seldom have i partaken of so joyous a supper. it happened that our host had just received a presentation copy of a volume of poems, written professedly in imitation of the old english writers, and containing, like many of these models, a good deal that was striking and beautiful, mixed up with much that was trifling, fantastic, and absurd. in our mood, at the moment, it was only with these latter qualities that either lord byron or i felt disposed to indulge ourselves; and, in turning over the pages, we found, it must be owned, abundant matter for mirth. in vain did mr. rogers, in justice to the author, endeavour to direct our attention to some of the beauties of the work:--it suited better our purpose (as is too often the case with more deliberate critics) to pounce only on such passages as ministered to the laughing humour that possessed us. in this sort of hunt through the volume, we at length lighted on the discovery that our host, in addition to his sincere approbation of some of its contents, had also the motive of gratitude for standing by its author, as one of the poems was a warm and, i need not add, well-deserved panegyric on himself. we were, however, too far gone in nonsense for even this eulogy, in which we both so heartily agreed, to stop us. the opening line of the poem was, as well as i can recollect, "when rogers o'er this labour bent;" and lord byron undertook to read it aloud;--but he found it impossible to get beyond the first two words. our laughter had now increased to such a pitch that nothing could restrain it. two or three times he began; but no sooner had the words "when rogers" passed his lips, than our fit burst forth afresh,--till even mr. rogers himself, with all his feeling of our injustice, found it impossible not to join us; and we were, at last, all three, in such a state of inextinguishable laughter, that, had the author himself been of the party, i question much whether he could have resisted the infection. a day or two after, lord byron sent me the following:-- "my dear moore, "'when rogers' must not see the enclosed, which i send for your perusal. i am ready to fix any day you like for our visit. was not sheridan good upon the whole? the 'poulterer' was the first and best.[ ] "ever yours," &c. . "when t * * this damn'd nonsense sent, (i hope i am not violent), nor men nor gods knew what he meant. . "and since not ev'n our rogers' praise to common sense his thoughts could raise-- why _would_ they let him print his lays? . * * * * . * * * * . "to me, divine apollo, grant--o! hermilda's first and second canto, i'm fitting up a new portmanteau; . "and thus to furnish decent lining, my own and others' bays i'm twining-- so gentle t * *, throw me thine in." [footnote : the following are the lines in their present shape, and it will be seen that there is not a single alteration in which the music of the verse has not been improved as well as the thought:-- "fair clime! where every season smiles benignant o'er those blessed isles, which, seen from far colonna's height, make glad the heart that hails the sight, and lend to loneliness delight. there, mildly dimpling, ocean's cheek reflects the tints of many a peak caught by the laughing tides that lave these edens of the eastern wave: and if at times a transient breeze break the blue crystal of the seas, or sweep one blossom from the trees, how welcome is each gentle air that wakes and wafts the odours there!" ] [footnote : mr. jeffrey.] [footnote : in dallaway's constantinople, a book which lord byron is not unlikely to have consulted, i find a passage quoted from gillies's history of greece, which contains, perhaps, the first seed of the thought thus expanded into full perfection by genius:--"the present state of greece compared to the ancient is the silent obscurity of the grave contrasted with the vivid lustre of active life."] [footnote : among the recorded instances of such happy after-thoughts in poetry may be mentioned, as one of the most memorable, denham's four lines, "oh could i flow like thee," &c., which were added in the second edition of his poem.] [footnote : letters on the character and poetical genius of lord byron, by sir egerton brydges, bart.] [footnote : "continuus aspectus minus verendos magnos homines facit."] [footnote : the only peculiarity that struck me on those occasions was the uneasy restlessness which he seemed to feel in wearing a hat,--an article of dress which, from his constant use of a carriage while in england, he was almost wholly unaccustomed to, and which, after that year, i do not remember to have ever seen upon him again. abroad, he always wore a kind of foraging cap.] [footnote : he here alludes to a dinner at mr. rogers's, of which i have elsewhere given the following account:-- "the company consisted but of mr. rogers himself, lord byron, mr. sheridan, and the writer of this memoir. sheridan knew the admiration his audience felt for him; the presence of the young poet, in particular, seemed to bring back his own youth and wit; and the details he gave of his early life were not less interesting and animating to himself than delightful to us. it was in the course of this evening that, describing to us the poem which mr. whitbread had written, and sent in, among the other addresses for the opening of drury lane theatre, and which, like the rest, turned chiefly on allusions to the phoenix, he said--'but whitbread made more of this bird than any of them:--he entered into particulars, and described its wings, beak, tail, &c.;--in short, it was a _poulterer_'s description of a phoenix."--_life of sheridan_.] * * * * * on the same day i received from him the following additional scraps. the lines in italics are from the eulogy that provoked his waggish comments. "to ---- . "'_i lay my branch of laurel down._' "thou 'lay thy branch of laurel down!" why, what thou'st stole is not enow; and, were it lawfully thine own, does rogers want it most, or thou? keep to thyself thy wither'd bough, or send it back to dr. donne-- were justice done to both, i trow, he'd have but little, and thou--none. . "'_then thus to form apollo's crown_. "a crown! why, twist it how you will, thy chaplet must be foolscap still. when next you visit delphi's town, enquire amongst your fellow-lodgers, they'll tell you phoebus gave his crown, some years before your birth, to rogers. . "'_let every other bring his own_.' "when coals to newcastle are carried, and owls sent to athens as wonders, from his spouse when the * *'s unmarried, or liverpool weeps o'er his blunders; when tories and whigs cease to quarrel, when c * *'s wife has an heir, then rogers shall ask us for laurel, and thou shalt have plenty to spare." the mention which he makes of sheridan in the note just cited affords a fit opportunity of producing, from one of his journals, some particulars which he has noted down respecting this extraordinary man, for whose talents he entertained the most unbounded admiration,--rating him, in natural powers, far above all his great political contemporaries. "in society i have met sheridan frequently: he was superb! he had a sort of liking for me, and never attacked me, at least to my face, and he did every body else--high names, and wits, and orators, some of them poets also. i have seen him cut up whitbread, quiz madame de staël, annihilate colman, and do little less by some others (whose names, as friends, i set not down) of good fame and ability. "the last time i met him was, i think, at sir gilbert heathcote's, where he was as quick as ever--no, it was not the last time; the last time was at douglas kinnaird's. "i have met him in all places and parties,--at whitehall with the melbournes, at the marquis of tavistock's, at robins's the auctioneer's, at sir humphrey davy's, at sam rogers's,--in short, in most kinds of company, and always found him very convivial and delightful. "i have seen sheridan weep two or three times. it may be that he was maudlin; but this only renders it more impressive, for who would see "from marlborough's eyes the tears of dotage flow, and swift expire a driveller and a show? once i saw him cry at robins's the auctioneer's, after a splendid dinner, full of great names and high spirits. i had the honour of sitting next to sheridan. the occasion of his tears was some observation or other upon the subject of the sturdiness of the whigs in resisting office and keeping to their principles: sheridan turned round:--'sir, it is easy for my lord g. or earl g. or marquis b. or lord h. with thousands upon thousands a year, some of it either _presently_ derived, or _inherited_ in sinecure or acquisitions from the public money, to boast of their patriotism and keep aloof from temptation; but they do not know from what temptation those have kept aloof who had equal pride, at least equal talents, and not unequal passions, and nevertheless knew not in the course of their lives what it was to have a shilling of their own.' and in saying this he wept. "i have more than once heard him say, 'that he never had a shilling of his own.' to be sure, he contrived to extract a good many of other people's. "in , i had occasion to visit my lawyer in chancery lane, he was with sheridan. after mutual greetings, &c., sheridan retired first. before recurring to my own business, i could not help enquiring _that_ of sheridan. 'oh,' replied the attorney, 'the usual thing! to stave off an action from his wine-merchant, my client.'--'well,' said i, 'and what do you mean to do?'--'nothing at all for the present,' said he: 'would you have us proceed against old sherry? what would be the use of it?' and here he began laughing, and going over sheridan's good gifts of conversation. "now, from personal experience, i can vouch that my attorney is by no means the tenderest of men, or particularly accessible to any kind of impression out of the statute or record; and yet sheridan, in half an hour, had found the way to soften and seduce him in such a manner, that i almost think he would have thrown his client (an honest man, with all the laws, and some justice, on his side) out of the window, had he come in at the moment. "such was sheridan! he could soften an attorney! there has been nothing like it since the days of orpheus. "one day i saw him take up his own 'monody on garrick.' he lighted upon the dedication to the dowager lady * *. on seeing it, he flew into a rage, and exclaimed, 'that it must be a forgery, that he had never dedicated any thing of his to such a d----d canting,' &c. &c. &c--and so went on for half an hour abusing his own dedication, or at least the object of it. if all writers were equally sincere, it would be ludicrous. "he told me that, on the night of the grand success of his school for scandal, he was knocked down and put into the watch-house for making a row in the street, and being found intoxicated by the watchmen. "when dying, he was requested to undergo 'an operation.' he replied, that he had already submitted to two, which were enough for one man's lifetime. being asked what they were, he answered, 'having his hair cut, and sitting for his picture.' "i have met george colman occasionally, and thought him extremely pleasant and convivial. sheridan's humour, or rather wit, was always saturnine, and sometimes savage; he never laughed, (at least that _i_ saw, and i watched him,) but colman did. if i had to _choose_, and could not have both at a time, i should say, 'let me begin the evening with sheridan, and finish it with colman.' sheridan for dinner, colman for supper; sheridan for claret or port, but colman for every thing, from the madeira and champagne at dinner, the claret with a _layer_ of _port_ between the glasses, up to the punch of the night, and down to the grog, or gin and water, of daybreak;--all these i have threaded with both the same. sheridan was a grenadier company of life-guards, but colman a whole regiment--of _light infantry_, to be sure, but still a regiment." it was at this time that lord byron became acquainted (and, i regret to have to add, partly through my means) with mr. leigh hunt, the editor of a well-known weekly journal, the examiner. this gentleman i had myself formed an acquaintance with in the year , and, in common with a large portion of the public, entertained a sincere admiration of his talents and courage as a journalist. the interest i took in him personally had been recently much increased by the manly spirit, which he had displayed throughout a prosecution instituted against himself and his brother, for a libel that had appeared in their paper on the prince regent, and in consequence of which they were both sentenced to imprisonment for two years. it will be recollected that there existed among the whig party, at this period, a strong feeling of indignation at the late defection from themselves and their principles of the illustrious personage who had been so long looked up to as the friend and patron of both. being myself, at the time, warmly--perhaps intemperately--under the influence of this feeling, i regarded the fate of mr. hunt with more than common interest, and, immediately on my arrival in town, paid him a visit in his prison. on mentioning the circumstance, soon after, to lord byron, and describing my surprise at the sort of luxurious comforts with which i had found the "wit in the dungeon" surrounded,--his trellised flower-garden without, and his books, busts, pictures, and piano-forte within,--the noble poet, whose political view of the case coincided entirely with my own, expressed a strong wish to pay a similar tribute of respect to mr. hunt, and accordingly, a day or two after, we proceeded for that purpose to the prison. the introduction which then took place was soon followed by a request from mr. hunt that we would dine with him; and the noble poet having good-naturedly accepted the invitation, horsemonger lane gaol had, in the month of june, , the honour of receiving lord byron, as a guest, within its walls. on the morning of our first visit to the journalist, i received from lord byron the following lines written, it will be perceived, the night before:-- "may . . "oh you, who in all names can tickle the town, anacreon, tom little, tom moore, or tom brown,-- for hang me if i know of which you may most brag, your quarto two-pounds, or your twopenny post bag; * * * * but now to my letter--to yours 'tis an answer-- to-morrow be with me, as soon as you can, sir, all ready and dress'd for proceeding to spunge on (according to compact) the wit in the dungeon-- pray phoebus at length our political malice may not get us lodgings within the same palace! i suppose that to-night you're engaged with some codgers, and for sotheby's blues have deserted sam rogers; and i, though with cold i have nearly my death got, must put on my breeches, and wait on the heathcote. but to-morrow at four, we will both play the scurra, and you'll be catullus, the r----t mamurra. "dear m.--having got thus far, i am interrupted by * * * *. o'clock. "half-past . * * * * is gone. i must dress for lady heathcote's.--addio." * * * * * our day in the prison was, if not agreeable, at least novel and odd. i had, for lord byron's sake, stipulated with our host beforehand, that the party should be, as much as possible, confined to ourselves; and, as far as regarded dinner, my wishes had been attended to;--there being present, besides a member or two of mr. hunt's own family, no other stranger, that i can recollect, but mr. mitchell, the ingenious translator of aristophanes. soon after dinner, however, there dropped in some of our host's literary friends, who, being utter strangers to lord byron and myself, rather disturbed the ease into which we were all settling. among these, i remember, was mr. john scott,--the writer, afterwards, of some severe attacks on lord byron; and it is painful to think that, among the persons then assembled round the poet, there should have been _one_ so soon to step forth the assailant of his living fame, while _another_, less manful, was to reserve the cool venom for his grave. on the d of june, in presenting a petition to the house of lords, he made his third and last appearance as an orator, in that assembly. in his way home from the house that day, he called, i remember, at my lodgings, and found me dressing in a very great hurry for dinner. he was, i recollect, in a state of most humorous exaltation after his display, and, while i hastily went on with my task in the dressing-room, continued to walk up and down the adjoining chamber, spouting forth for me, in a sort of mock heroic voice, detached sentences of the speech he had just been delivering. "i told them," he said, "that it was a most flagrant violation of the constitution--that, if such things were permitted, there was an end of english freedom, and that ----"--"but what was this dreadful grievance?" i asked, interrupting him in his eloquence.--"the grievance?" he repeated, pausing as if to consider--"oh, that i forget."[ ] it is impossible, of course, to convey an idea of the dramatic humour with which he gave effect to these words; but his look and manner on such occasions were irresistibly comic; and it was, indeed, rather in such turns of fun and oddity, than in any more elaborate exhibition of wit, that the pleasantry of his conversation consisted. though it is evident that, after the brilliant success of childe harold, he had ceased to think of parliament as an arena of ambition, yet, as a field for observation, we may take for granted it was not unstudied by him. to a mind of such quick and various views, every place and pursuit presented some aspect of interest; and whether in the ball-room, the boxing-school, or the senate, all must have been, by genius like his, turned to profit. the following are a few of the recollections and impressions which i find recorded by himself of his short parliamentary career:-- "i have never heard any one who fulfilled my ideal of an orator. grattan would have been near it, but for his harlequin delivery. pitt i never heard. fox but once, and then he struck me as a debater, which to me seems as different from an orator as an improvisatore, or a versifier, from a poet. grey is great, but it is not oratory. canning is sometimes very like one. windham i did not admire, though all the world did; it seemed sad sophistry. whitbread was the demosthenes of bad taste and vulgar vehemence, but strong, and english. holland is impressive from sense and sincerity. lord lansdowne good, but still a debater only. grenville i like vastly, if he would prune his speeches down to an hour's delivery. burdett is sweet and silvery as belial himself, and i think the greatest favourite in pandemonium; at least i always heard the country gentlemen and the ministerial devilry praise his speeches _up_ stairs, and run down from bellamy's when he was upon his legs. i heard bob milnes make his _second_ speech; it made no impression. i like ward--studied, but keen, and sometimes eloquent. peel, my school and form fellow (we sat within two of each other), strange to say, i have never heard, though i often wished to do so; but from what i remember of him at harrow, he _is_, or _should_ be, among the best of them. now i do _not_ admire mr. wilberforce's speaking; it is nothing but a flow of words--'words, words, alone.' "i doubt greatly if the english have any eloquence, properly so called; and am inclined to think that the irish _had_ a great deal, and that the french _will_ have, and have had in mirabeau. lord chatham and burke are the nearest approaches to orators in england. i don't know what erskine may have been at the bar, but in the house i wish him at the bar once more. lauderdale is shrill, and scotch, and acute. "but amongst all these, good, bad, and indifferent, i never heard the speech which was not too long for the auditors, and not very intelligible, except here and there. the whole thing is a grand deception, and as tedious and tiresome as may be to those who must be often present. i heard sheridan only once, and that briefly, but i liked his voice, his manner, and his wit: and he is the only one of them i ever wished to hear at greater length. "the impression of parliament upon me was, that its members are not formidable as _speakers_, but very much so as an _audience_; because in so numerous a body there may be little eloquence, (after all, there were but _two_ thorough orators in all antiquity, and i suspect still _fewer_ in modern times,) but there must be a leaven of thought and good sense sufficient to make them _know_ what is right, though they can't express it nobly. "horne tooke and roscoe both are said to have declared that they left parliament with a higher opinion of its aggregate integrity and abilities than that with which they entered it. the general amount of both in most parliaments is probably about the same, as also the number of _speakers_ and their talent. i except _orators_, of course, because they are things of ages, and not of septennial or triennial re-unions. neither house ever struck me with more awe or respect than the same number of turks in a divan, or of methodists in a barn, would have done. whatever diffidence or nervousness i felt (and i felt both, in a great degree) arose from the number rather than the quality of the assemblage, and the thought rather of the _public without_ than the persons within,--knowing (as all know) that cicero himself, and probably the messiah, could never have altered the vote of a single lord of the bedchamber, or bishop. i thought _our_ house dull, but the other animating enough upon great days. "i have heard that when grattan made his first speech in the english commons, it was for some minutes doubtful whether to laugh at or cheer him. the _débût_ of his predecessor, flood, had been a complete failure, under nearly similar circumstances. but when the ministerial part of our senators had watched pitt (their thermometer) for the cue, and saw him nod repeatedly his stately nod of approbation, they took the hint from their huntsman, and broke out into the most rapturous cheers. grattan's speech, indeed, deserved them; it was a _chef-d'oeuvre_. i did not hear _that_ speech of his (being then at harrow), but heard most of his others on the same question--also that on the war of . i differed from his opinions on the latter question, but coincided in the general admiration of his eloquence. "when i met old courtenay, the orator, at rogers's, the poet's, in - , i was much taken with the portly remains of his fine figure, and the still acute quickness of his conversation. it was _he_ who silenced flood in the english house by a crushing reply to a hasty _débût_ of the rival of grattan in ireland. i asked courtenay (for i like to trace motives) if he had not some personal provocation; for the acrimony of his answer seemed to me, as i had read it, to involve it. courtenay said 'he had; that, when in ireland (being an irishman), at the bar of the irish house of commons, flood had made a personal and unfair attack upon _himself_, who, not being a member of that house, could not defend himself, and that some years afterwards the opportunity of retort offering in the english parliament, he could not resist it.' he certainly repaid flood with interest, for flood never made any figure, and only a speech or two afterwards, in the english house of commons. i must except, however, his speech on reform in , which fox called 'the best he ever heard upon that subject.'" for some time he had entertained thoughts of going again abroad; and it appeared, indeed, to be a sort of relief to him, whenever he felt melancholy or harassed, to turn to the freedom and solitude of a life of travel as his resource. during the depression of spirits which he laboured under, while printing childe harold, "he would frequently," says mr. dallas, "talk of selling newstead, and of going to reside at naxos, in the grecian archipelago,--to adopt the eastern costume and customs, and to pass his time in studying the oriental languages and literature." the excitement of the triumph that soon after ensued, and the success which, in other pursuits besides those of literature, attended him, again diverted his thoughts from these migratory projects. but the roving fit soon returned; and we have seen, from one of his letters to mr. william bankes, that he looked forward to finding himself, in the course of this spring, among the mountains of his beloved greece once more. for a time, this plan was exchanged for the more social project of accompanying his friends, the family of lord oxford, to sicily; and it was while engaged in his preparatives for this expedition that the annexed letters were written. [footnote : his speech was on presenting a petition from major cartwright.] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "maidenhead, june . . "* * * i have read the 'strictures,' which are just enough, and not grossly abusive, in very fair couplets. there is a note against massinger near the end, and one cannot quarrel with one's company, at any rate. the author detects some incongruous figures in a passage of english bards, page ., but which edition i do not know. in the _sole_ copy in your possession--i mean the _fifth_ edition--you may make these alterations, that i may profit (though a little too late) by his remarks:--for '_hellish_ instinct,' substitute '_brutal_ instinct;' '_harpies_' alter to '_felons_;' and for 'blood-hounds' write 'hell-hounds.'[ ] these be 'very bitter words, by my troth,' and the alterations not much sweeter; but as i shall not publish the thing, they can do no harm, but are a satisfaction to me in the way of amendment. the passage is only twelve lines. "you do not answer me about h.'s book; i want to write to him, and not to say any thing unpleasing. if you direct to post office, portsmouth, till _called_ for, i will send and receive your letter. you never told me of the forthcoming critique on columbus, which is not _too_ fair; and i do not think justice quite done to the 'pleasures,' which surely entitle the author to a higher rank than that assigned him in the quarterly. but i must not cavil at the decisions of the _invisible infallibles_; and the article is very well written. the general horror of '_fragments_' makes me tremulous for 'the giaour;' but you would publish it--i presume, by this time, to your repentance. but as i consented, whatever be its fate, i won't now quarrel with you, even though i detect it in my pastry; but i shall not open a pie without apprehension for some weeks. "the books which may be marked g.o. i will carry out. do you know clarke's naufragia? i am told that he asserts the _first_ volume of robinson crusoe was written by the first lord oxford, when in the tower, and given by him to defoe; if true, it is a curious anecdote. have you got back lord brooke's ms.? and what does heber say of it? write to me at portsmouth. ever yours, &c. "n." [footnote : in an article on this satire (written for cumberland's review, but never printed) by that most amiable man and excellent poet, the late rev. william crowe, the incongruity of these metaphors is thus noticed:--"within the space of three or four couplets, he transforms a man into as many different animals. allow him but the compass of three lines, and he will metamorphose him from a wolf into a harpy, and in three more he will make him a blood-hound." there are also in this ms. critique some curious instances of oversight or ignorance adduced from the satire; such as "_fish_ from _helicon_"--"_attic_ flowers _aonian_ odours breathe," &c. &c.] * * * * * to mr. murray. "june . . "dear sir, "will you forward the enclosed answer to the kindest letter i ever received in my life, my sense of which i can neither express to mr. gifford himself nor to any one else? ever yours, "n." * * * * * letter . to w. gifford, esq. "june . . "my dear sir, "i feel greatly at a loss how to write to you at all--still more to thank you as i ought. if you knew the veneration with which i have ever regarded you, long before i had the most distant prospect of becoming your acquaintance, literary or personal, my embarrassment would not surprise you. "any suggestion of yours, even were it conveyed in the less tender shape of the text of the baviad, or a monk mason note in massinger, would have been obeyed; i should have endeavoured to improve myself by your censure: judge then if i should be less willing to profit by your kindness. it is not for me to bandy compliments with my elders and my betters: i receive your approbation with gratitude, and will not return my brass for your gold by expressing more fully those sentiments of admiration, which, however sincere, would, i know, be unwelcome. "to your advice on religious topics, i shall equally attend. perhaps the best way will be by avoiding them altogether. the already published objectionable passages have been much commented upon, but certainly have been rather strongly interpreted. i am no bigot to infidelity, and did not expect that, because i doubted the immortality of man, i should be charged with denying the existence of a god. it was the comparative insignificance of ourselves and _our world_, when placed in comparison with the mighty whole, of which it is an atom, that first led me to imagine that our pretensions to eternity might be over-rated. "this, and being early disgusted with a calvinistic scotch school, where i was cudgelled to church for the first ten years of my life, afflicted me with this malady; for, after all, it is, i believe, a disease of the mind as much as other kinds of hypochondria."[ ] [footnote : the remainder of this letter, it appears, has been lost.] * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "june . . "yesterday i dined in company with '* *, the epicene,' whose politics are sadly changed. she is for the lord of israel and the lord of liverpool--a vile antithesis of a methodist and a tory--talks of nothing but devotion and the ministry, and, i presume, expects that god and the government will help her to a pension. "murray, the [greek: anax] of publishers, the anac of stationers, has a design upon you in the paper line. he wants you to become the staple and stipendiary editor of a periodical work. what say you? will you be bound, like 'kit smart, to write for ninety-nine years in the universal visiter?' seriously he talks of hundreds a year, and--though i hate prating of the beggarly elements--his proposal may be to your honour and profit, and, i am very sure, will be to our pleasure. "i don't know what to say about 'friendship.' i never was in friendship but once, in my nineteenth year, and then it gave me as much trouble as love. i am afraid, as whitbread's sire said to the king, when he wanted to knight him, that i am 'too old:' but, nevertheless, no one wishes you more friends, fame, and felicity, than yours," &c. * * * * * having relinquished his design of accompanying the oxfords to sicily, he again thought of the east, as will be seen by the following letters, and proceeded so far in his preparations for the voyage as to purchase of love, the jeweller, of old bond street, about a dozen snuff-boxes, as presents for some of his old turkish acquaintances. letter . to mr. moore. " . benedictine street, st. james's, july . . "i presume by your silence that i have blundered into something noxious in my reply to your letter, for the which i beg leave to send beforehand a sweeping apology, which you may apply to any, or all, parts of that unfortunate epistle. if i err in my conjecture, i expect the like from you, in putting our correspondence so long in quarantine. god he knows what i have said; but he also knows (if he is not as indifferent to mortals as the _nonchalant_ deities of lucretius), that you are the last person i want to offend. so, if i have,--why the devil don't you say it at once, and expectorate your spleen? "rogers is out of town with madame de staël, who hath published an essay against suicide, which, i presume, will make somebody shoot himself;--as a sermon by blinkensop, in _proof_ of christianity, sent a hitherto most orthodox acquaintance of mine out of a chapel of ease a perfect atheist. have you found or founded a residence yet? and have you begun or finished a poem? if you won't tell me what _i_ have done, pray say what you have done, or left undone, yourself. i am still in equipment for voyaging, and anxious to hear from, or of, you _before_ i go, which anxiety you should remove more readily, as you think i sha'n't cogitate about you afterwards. i shall give the lie to that calumny by fifty foreign letters, particularly from any place where the plague is rife,--without a drop of vinegar or a whiff of sulphur to save you from infection. "the oxfords have sailed almost a fortnight, and my sister is in town, which is a great comfort--for, never having been much together, we are naturally more attached to each other. i presume the illuminations have conflagrated to derby (or wherever you are) by this time. we are just recovering from tumult and train oil, and transparent fripperies, and all the noise and nonsense of victory. drury lane had a large _m.w._, which some thought was marshal wellington; others, that it might be translated into manager whitbread; while the ladies of the vicinity of the saloon conceived the last letter to be complimentary to themselves. i leave this to the commentators to illustrate. if you don't answer this, i sha'n't say what _you_ deserve, but i think _i_ deserve a reply. do you conceive there is no post-bag but the twopenny? sunburn me, if you are not too bad." * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "july . . "your letter set me at ease; for i really thought (as i hear of your susceptibility) that i had said--i know not what--but something i should have been very sorry for, had it, or i, offended you;--though i don't see how a man with a beautiful wife--_his own_ children,--quiet--fame--competency and friends, (i will vouch for a thousand, which is more than i will for a unit in my own behalf,) can be offended with any thing. "do you know, moore, i am amazingly inclined--remember i say but _inclined_--to be seriously enamoured with lady a.f.--but this * * has ruined all my prospects. however, you know her; is she _clever_, or sensible, or good-tempered? either _would_ do--i scratch out the _will_. i don't ask as to her beauty--that i see; but my circumstances are mending, and were not my other prospects blackening, i would take a wife, and that should be the woman, had i a chance. i do not yet know her much, but better than i did. "i want to get away, but find difficulty in compassing a passage in a ship of war. they had better let me go; if i cannot, patriotism is the word--'nay, an' they'll mouth, i'll rant as well as they.' now, what are you doing?--writing, we all hope, for our own sakes. remember you must edite my posthumous works, with a life of the author, for which i will send you confessions, dated, 'lazaretto,' smyrna, malta, or palermo--one can die any where. "there is to be a thing on tuesday ycleped a national fête. the regent and * * * are to be there, and every body else, who has shillings enough for what was once a guinea. vauxhall is the scene--there are six tickets issued for the modest women, and it is supposed there will be three to spare. the passports for the lax are beyond my arithmetic. "p.s.--the staël last night attacked me most furiously--said that i had 'no right to make love--that i had used * * barbarously--that i had no feeling, and was totally insensible to _la belle passion_, and _had_ been all my life.' i am very glad to hear it, but did not know it before. let me hear from you anon." * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "july . . "i am not well versed enough in the ways of single woman to make much matrimonial progress. "i have been dining like the dragon of wantley for this last week. my head aches with the vintage of various cellars, and my brains are muddled as their dregs. i met your friends the d * * s:--she sung one of your best songs so well, that, but for the appearance of affectation, i could have cried; he reminds me of hunt, but handsomer, and more musical in soul, perhaps. i wish to god he may conquer his horrible anomalous complaint. the upper part of her face is beautiful, and she seems much attached to her husband. he is right, nevertheless, in leaving this nauseous town. the first winter would infallibly destroy her complexion,--and the second, very probably, every thing else. "i must tell you a story. m * * (of indifferent memory) was dining out the other day, and complaining of the p----e's coldness to his old wassailers. d * * (a learned jew) bored him with questions--why this? and why that? 'why did the p----e act thus?'--'why, sir, on account of lord * *, who ought to be ashamed of himself.'--'and why ought lord * * to be ashamed of himself?'--'because the p----e, sir, * * * * * * * *.'--'and why, sir, did the p----e cut _you_?'--' because, g----d d----mme, sir, i stuck to my principles.'--'and _why_ did you stick to your principles?' "is not this last question the best that was ever put, when you consider to whom? it nearly killed m * *. perhaps you may think it stupid, but, as goldsmith said about the peas, it was a very good joke when i heard it--as i did from an ear-witness--and is only spoilt in my narration. "the season has closed with a dandy ball;--but i have dinners with the harrowbys, rogers, and frere and mackintosh, where i shall drink your health in a silent bumper, and regret your absence till 'too much canaries' wash away my memory, or render it superfluous by a vision of you at the opposite side of the table. canning has disbanded his party by a speech from his * * * *--the true throne of a tory. conceive his turning them off in a formal harangue, and bidding them think for themselves. 'i have led my ragamuffins where they are well peppered. there are but three of the left alive, and they are for the _towns-end_ (_query_, might not falstaff mean the bow street officer? i dare say malone's posthumous edition will have it so) for life.' "since i wrote last, i have been into the country. i journeyed by night--no incident, or accident, but an alarm on the part of my valet on the outside, who, in crossing epping forest, actually, i believe, flung down his purse before a mile-stone, with a glow-worm in the second figure of number xix--mistaking it for a footpad and dark lantern. i can only attribute his fears to a pair of new pistols wherewith i had armed him; and he thought it necessary to display his vigilance by calling out to me whenever we passed any thing--no matter whether moving or stationary. conceive ten miles, with a tremor every furlong. i have scribbled you a fearfully long letter. this sheet must be blank, and is merely a wrapper, to preclude the tabellarians of the post from peeping. you once complained of my _not_ writing;--i will 'heap coals of fire upon your head' by _not_ complaining of your _not_ reading. ever, my dear moore, your'n (isn't that the staffordshire termination?) "byron." * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "july . . "when you next imitate the style of 'tacitus,' pray add, 'de moribus germanorum;'--this last was a piece of barbarous silence, and could only be taken from the _woods_, and, as such, i attribute it entirely to your sylvan sequestration at mayfield cottage. you will find, on casting up accounts, that you are my debtor by several sheets and one epistle. i shall bring my action;--if you don't discharge, expect to hear from my attorney. i have forwarded your letter to ruggiero; but don't make a postman of me again, for fear i should be tempted to violate your sanctity of wax or wafer. "believe me ever yours _indignantly_, "bn." * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "july . . "can't you be satisfied with the pangs of my jealousy of rogers, without actually making me the pander of your epistolary intrigue? this is the second letter you have enclosed to my address, notwithstanding a miraculous long answer, and a subsequent short one or two of your own. if you do so again, i can't tell to what pitch my fury may soar. i shall send you verse or arsenic, as likely as any thing,--four thousand couplets on sheets beyond the privilege of franking; that privilege, sir, of which you take an undue advantage over a too susceptible senator, by forwarding your lucubrations to every one but himself. i won't frank _from_ you, or _for_ you, or _to_ you--may i be curst if i do, unless you mend your manners. i disown you--i disclaim you--and by all the powers of eulogy, i will write a panegyric upon you--or dedicate a quarto--if you don't make me ample amends. "p.s.--i am in training to dine with sheridan and rogers this evening. i have a little spite against r., and will shed his 'clary wines pottle-deep.' this is nearly my ultimate or penultimate letter; for i am quite equipped, and only wait a passage. perhaps i may wait a few weeks for sligo, but not if i can help it." * * * * * he had, with the intention of going to greece, applied to mr. croker, the secretary of the admiralty, to procure him a passage on board a king's ship to the mediterranean; and, at the request of this gentleman, captain carlton, of the boyne, who was just then ordered to reinforce sir edward pellew, consented to receive lord byron into his cabin for the voyage. to the letter announcing this offer, the following is the reply. letter . to mr. croker. "bt. str., august . . "dear sir, "i was honoured with your unexpected[ ] and very obliging letter, when on the point of leaving london, which prevented me from acknowledging my obligation as quickly as i felt it sincerely. i am endeavouring all in my power to be ready before saturday--and even if i should not succeed, i can only blame my own tardiness, which will not the less enhance the benefit i have lost. i have only to add my hope of forgiveness for all my trespasses on your time and patience, and with my best wishes for your public and private welfare, i have the honour to be, most truly, your obliged and most obedient servant, "byron." [footnote : he calls the letter of mr. croker "unexpected," because, in their previous correspondence and interviews on the subject, that gentleman had not been able to hold out so early a prospect of a passage, nor one which was likely to be so agreeable in point of society.] * * * * * so early as the autumn of this year, a fifth edition of the giaour was required; and again his fancy teemed with fresh materials for its pages. the verses commencing "the browsing camels' bells are tinkling," and the four pages that follow the line, "yes, love indeed is light from heaven," were all added at this time. nor had the overflowings of his mind even yet ceased, as i find in the poem, as it exists at present, still further additions,--and, among them, those four brilliant lines,-- "she was a form of life and light, that, seen, became a part of sight, and rose, where'er i turn'd mine eye, the morning-star of memory!" the following notes and letters to mr. murray, during these outpourings, will show how irresistible was the impulse under which he vented his thoughts. "if you send more proofs, i shall never finish this infernal story--'ecce signum'--thirty-three more lines enclosed! to the utter discomfiture of the printer, and, i fear, not to your advantage. "b." * * * * * "half-past two in the morning, aug. . . "dear sir, "pray suspend the _proofs_, for i am _bitten_ again, and have _quantities_ for other parts of the bravura. "yours ever, b. "p.s.--you shall have them in the course of the day." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "august . . "i have looked over and corrected one proof, but not so carefully (god knows if you can read it through, but i can't) as to preclude your eye from discovering some _o_mission of mine or _com_mission of your printer. if you have patience, look it over. do you know any body who can stop--i mean _point_--commas, and so forth? for i am, i hear, a sad hand at your punctuation. i have, but with some difficulty, _not_ added any more to this snake of a poem, which has been lengthening its rattles every month. it is now fearfully long, being more than a canto and a half of childe harold, which contains but lines per book, with all late additions inclusive. "the last lines hodgson likes. it is not often he does, and when he don't he tells me with great energy, and i fret and alter. i have thrown them in to soften the ferocity of our infidel, and, for a dying man, have given him a good deal to say for himself. "i was quite sorry to hear you say you stayed in town on my account, and i hope sincerely you did not mean so superfluous a piece of politeness. "our _six_ critiques!--they would have made half a quarterly by themselves; but this is the age of criticism." * * * * * the following refer apparently to a still later edition. letter . to mr. murray. "stilton, oct. . . "i have just recollected an alteration you may make in the proof to be sent to aston.--among the lines on hassan's serai, not far from the beginning, is this-- "unmeet for solitude to share. now to share implies more than _one_, and solitude is a single gentleman; it must be thus-- "for many a gilded chamber's there, which solitude might well forbear; and so on.--my address is aston hall, rotherham. "will you adopt this correction? and pray accept a stilton cheese from me for your trouble. ever yours, b. "if[ ] the old line stands let the other run thus-- "nor there will weary traveller halt, to bless the sacred bread and salt. "_note_.--to partake of food--to break bread and taste salt with your host, ensures the safety of the guest; even though an enemy, his person from that moment becomes sacred. "there is another additional note sent yesterday--on the priest in the confessional. "p.s.--i leave this to your discretion; if any body thinks the old line a good one or the cheese a bad one, don't accept either. but, in that case, the word _share_ is repeated soon after in the line-- "to share the master's bread and salt; and must be altered to-- "to break the master's bread and salt. this is not so well, though--confound it!" [footnote : this is written on a separate slip of paper enclosed.] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "oct. . . "you must look the giaour again over carefully; there are a few lapses, particularly in the last page.--'i _know_ 'twas false; she could not die;' it was, and ought to be--'i _knew_.' pray observe this and similar mistakes. "i have received and read the british review. i really think the writer in most points very right. the only mortifying thing is the accusation of imitation. _crabbe_'s passage i never saw[ ]; and scott i no further meant to follow than in his _lyric_ measure, which is gray's, milton's, and any one's who likes it. the giaour is certainly a bad character, but not dangerous; and i think his fate and his feelings will meet with few proselytes. i shall be very glad to hear from or of you, when you please; but don't put yourself out of your way on my account." [footnote : the passage referred to by the reviewers is in the poem entitled "resentment;" and the following is, i take for granted, the part which lord byron is accused by them of having imitated:-- "those are like wax--apply them to the fire, melting, they take th' impressions you desire; easy to mould, and fashion as you please, and again moulded with an equal ease: like smelted iron these the forms retain; but, once impress'd, will never melt again." ] * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "bennet street, august . . "as our late--i might say, deceased--correspondence had too much of the town-life leaven in it, we will now, 'paulo majora,' prattle a little of literature in all its branches; and first of the first--criticism. the prince is at brighton, and jackson, the boxer, gone to margate, having, i believe, decoyed yarmouth to see a milling in that polite neighbourhood. made. de staël holstein has lost one of her young barons, who has been carbonadoed by a vile teutonic adjutant,--kilt and killed in a coffee-house at scrawsenhawsen. corinne is, of course, what all mothers must be,--but will, i venture to prophesy, do what few mothers could--write an essay upon it. she cannot exist without a grievance--and somebody to see, or read, how much grief becomes her. i have not seen her since the event; but merely judge (not very charitably) from prior observation. "in a 'mail-coach copy' of the edinburgh, i perceive the giaour is second article. the numbers are still in the leith smack--_pray, which way is the wind?_ the said article is so very mild and sentimental, that it must be written by jeffrey _in love_;--you know he is gone to america to marry some fair one, of whom he has been, for several _quarters, éperdument amoureux_. seriously--as winifred jenkins says of lismahago--mr. jeffrey (or his deputy) 'has done the handsome thing by me,' and i say _nothing_. but this i will say, if you and i had knocked one another on the head in this quarrel, how he would have laughed, and what a mighty bad figure we should have cut in our posthumous works. by the by, i was called _in_ the other day to mediate between two gentlemen bent upon carnage, and,--after a long struggle between the natural desire of destroying one's fellow-creatures, and the dislike of seeing men play the fool for nothing,--i got one to make an apology, and the other to take it, and left them to live happy ever after. one was a peer, the other a friend untitled, and both fond of high play;--and one, i can swear for, though very mild, 'not fearful,' and so dead a shot, that, though the other is the thinnest of men, he would have split him like a cane. they both conducted themselves very well, and i put them out of _pain_ as soon as i could. "there is an american life of g.f. cooke, _scurra_ deceased, lately published. such a book!--i believe, since drunken barnaby's journal, nothing like it has drenched the press. all green-room and tap-room--drams and the drama--brandy, whisky-punch, and, _latterly_, toddy, overflow every page. two things are rather marvellous,--first, that a man should live so long drunk, and, next, that he should have found a sober biographer. there are some very laughable things in it, nevertheless;--but the pints he swallowed, and the parts he performed, are too regularly registered. "all this time you wonder i am not gone; so do i; but the accounts of the plague are very perplexing--not so much for the thing itself as the quarantine established in all ports, and from all places, even from england. it is true, the forty or sixty days would, in all probability, be as foolishly spent on shore as in the ship; but one like's to have one's choice, nevertheless. town is awfully empty; but not the worse for that. i am really puzzled with my perfect ignorance of what i mean to do;--not stay, if i can help it, but where to go?[ ] sligo is for the north;--a pleasant place, petersburgh, in september, with one's ears and nose in a muff, or else tumbling into one's neckcloth or pocket-handkerchief! if the winter treated buonaparte with so little ceremony, what would it inflict upon your solitary traveller?--give me a _sun_, i care not how hot, and sherbet, i care not how cool, and my heaven is as easily made as your persian's.[ ] the giaour is now a thousand and odd lines. 'lord fanny spins a thousand such a day,' eh, moore?--thou wilt needs be a wag, but i forgive it. yours ever, "bn. "p.s. i perceive i have written a flippant and rather cold-hearted letter! let it go, however. i have said nothing, either, of the brilliant sex; but the fact is, i am at this moment in a far more serious, and entirely new, scrape than any of the last twelve months,--and that is saying a good deal. it is unlucky we can neither live with nor without these women. "i am now thinking of regretting that, just as i have left newstead, you reside near it. did you ever see it? _do_--but don't tell me that you like it. if i had known of such intellectual neighbourhood, i don't think i should have quitted it. you could have come over so often, as a bachelor,--for it was a thorough bachelor's mansion--plenty of wine and such sordid sensualities--with books enough, room enough, and an air of antiquity about all (except the lasses) that would have suited you, when pensive, and served you to laugh at when in glee. i had built myself a bath and a _vault_--and now i sha'n't even be buried in it. it is odd that we can't even be certain of a _grave_, at least a particular one. i remember, when about fifteen, reading your poems there, which i can repeat almost now,--and asking all kinds of questions about the author, when i heard that he was not dead according to the preface; wondering if i should ever see him--and though, at that time, without the smallest poetical propensity myself, very much taken, as you may imagine, with that volume. adieu--i commit you to the care of the gods--hindoo, scandinavian, and hellenic! "p.s. d. there is an excellent review of grimm's correspondence and made. de staël in this no. of the e.r. jeffrey, himself, was my critic last year; but this is, i believe, by another hand. i hope you are going on with your _grand coup_--pray do--or that damned lucien buonaparte will beat us all. i have seen much of his poem in ms., and he really surpasses every thing beneath tasso. hodgson is translating him _against_ another bard. you and (i believe, rogers,) scott, gifford, and myself, are to be referred to as judges between the twain,--that is, if you accept the office. conceive our different opinions! i think we, most of us (i am talking very impudently, you will think--_us_, indeed!) have a way of our own,--at least, you and scott certainly have." [footnote : one of his travelling projects appears to have been a visit to abyssinia:--at least, i have found, among his papers, a letter founded on that supposition, in which the writer entreats of him to procure information concerning "a kingdom of jews mentioned by bruce as residing on the mountain of samen in that country. i have had the honour," he adds, "of some correspondence with the rev. dr. buchanan and the reverend and learned g.s. faber, on the subject of the existence of this kingdom of jews, which, if it prove to be a fact, will more clearly elucidate many of the scripture prophecies; ... and, if providence favours your lordship's mission to abyssinia, an intercourse might be established between england and that country, and the english ships, according to the rev. mr. faber, might be the principal means of transporting the kingdom of jews, now in abyssinia, to egypt, in the way to their own country, palestine."] [footnote : "a persian's heav'n is easily made-- 'tis but black eyes and lemonade." ] * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "august . . "ay, my dear moore, 'there _was_ a time'--i have heard of your tricks, when 'you was campaigning at the king of bohemy.' i am much mistaken if, some fine london spring, about the year , that time does not come again. after all, we must end in marriage; and i can conceive nothing more delightful than such a state in the country, reading the county newspaper, &c., and kissing one's wife's maid. seriously, i would incorporate with any woman of decent demeanour to-morrow--that is, i would a month ago, but, at present, * * * "why don't you 'parody that ode?'[ ]--do you think i should be _tetchy?_ or have you done it, and won't tell me?--you are quite right about giamschid, and i have reduced it to a dissyllable within this half hour.[ ] i am glad to hear you talk of richardson, because it tells me what you won't--that you are going to beat lucien. at least tell me how far you have proceeded. do you think me less interested about your works, or less sincere than our friend ruggiero? i am not--and never was. in that thing of mine, the 'english bards,' at the time when i was angry with all the world, i never 'disparaged your parts,' although i did not know you personally;--and have always regretted that you don't give us an _entire_ work, and not sprinkle yourself in detached pieces--beautiful, i allow, and quite _alone_ in our language[ ], but still giving us a right to expect a _shah nameh_ (is that the name?) as well as gazels. stick to the east;--the oracle, staël, told me it was the only poetical policy. the north, south, and west, have all been exhausted; but from the east, we have nothing but s * *'s unsaleables,--and these he has contrived to spoil, by adopting only their most outrageous fictions. his personages don't interest us, and yours will. you will have no competitor; and, if you had, you ought to be glad of it. the little i have done in that way is merely a 'voice in the wilderness' for you; and if it has had any success, that also will prove that the public are orientalising, and pave the path for you. "i have been thinking of a story, grafted on the amours of a peri and a mortal--something like, only more _philanthropical_ than, cazotte's diable amoureux. it would require a good deal of poesy, and tenderness is not my forte. for that, and other reasons, i have given up the idea, and merely suggest it to you, because, in intervals of your greater work, i think it a subject you might make much of.[ ] if you want any more books, there is 'castellan's moeurs des ottomans,' the best compendium of the kind i ever met with, in six small tomes. i am really taking a liberty by talking in this style to my 'elders and my betters;'--pardon it, and don't _rochefoucault_ my motives." [footnote : the ode of horace, "natis in usum lætitiæ," &c.; some passages of which i told him might be parodied, in allusion to some of his late adventures: "quanta laboras in charybdi! digne puer meliore flammâ!" ] [footnote : in his first edition of the giaour he had used this word as a trisyllable,--"bright as the gem of giamschid,"--but on my remarking to him, upon the authority of richardson's persian dictionary, that this was incorrect, he altered it to "bright as the ruby of giamschid." on seeing this, however, i wrote to him, "that, as the comparison of his heroine's eye to a 'ruby' might unluckily call up the idea of its being blood-shot, he had better change the line to "bright as the jewel of giamschid;"--which he accordingly did in the following edition.] [footnote : having already endeavoured to obviate the charge of vanity, to which i am aware i expose myself by being thus accessory to the publication of eulogies, so warm and so little merited, on myself, i shall here only add, that it will abundantly console me under such a charge, if, in whatever degree the judgment of my noble friend may be called in question for these praises, he shall, in the same proportion, receive credit for the good-nature and warm-heartedness by which they were dictated.] [footnote : i had already, singularly enough, anticipated this suggestion, by making the daughter of a peri the heroine of one of my stories, and detailing the love adventures of her aërial parent in an episode. in acquainting lord byron with this circumstance, in my answer to the above letter, i added, "all i ask of your friendship is--not that you will abstain from peris on my account, for that is too much to ask of human (or, at least, author's) nature--but that, whenever you mean to pay your addresses to any of these aërial ladies, you will, at once, tell me so, frankly and instantly, and let me, at least, have my choice whether i shall be desperate enough to go on, with such a rival, or at once surrender the whole race into your hands, and take, for the future, to antediluvians with mr. montgomery."] * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "august--september, i mean-- . . "i send you, begging your acceptance, castellan, and three vols. on turkish literature, not yet looked into. the _last_ i will thank you to read, extract what you want, and return in a week, as they are lent to me by that brightest of northern constellations, mackintosh,--amongst many other kind things into which india has warmed him, for i am sure your _home_ scotsman is of a less genial description. "your peri, my dear m., is sacred and inviolable; i have no idea of touching the hem of her petticoat. your affectation of a dislike to encounter me is so flattering, that i begin to think myself a very fine fellow. but you are laughing at me--'stap my vitals, tarn! thou art a very impudent person;' and, if you are not laughing at me, you deserve to be laughed at. seriously, what on earth can you, or have you, to dread from any poetical flesh breathing? it really puts me out of humour to hear you talk thus. "'the giaour' i have added to a good deal; but still in foolish fragments. it contains about lines, or rather more--now printing. you will allow me to send you a copy. you delight me much by telling me that i am in your good graces, and more particularly as to temper; for, unluckily, i have the reputation of a very bad one. but they say the devil is amusing when pleased, and i must have been more venomous than the old serpent, to have hissed or stung in your company. it may be, and would appear to a third person, an incredible thing, but i know you will believe me when i say, that i am as anxious for your success as one human being can be for another's,--as much as if i had never scribbled a line. surely the field of fame is wide enough for all; and if it were not, i would not willingly rob my neighbour of a rood of it. now you have a pretty property of some thousand acres there, and when you have passed your present inclosure bill, your income will be doubled, (there's a metaphor, worthy of a templar, namely, pert and low,) while my wild common is too remote to incommode you, and quite incapable of such fertility. i send you (which return per post, as the printer would say) a curious letter from a friend of mine[ ], which will let you into the origin of 'the giaour.' write soon. ever, dear moore, yours most entirely, &c. "p.s.--this letter was written to me on account of a _different story_ circulated by some gentlewomen of our acquaintance, a little too close to the text. the part erased contained merely some turkish names, and circumstantial evidence of the girl's detection, not very important or decorous." [footnote : the letter of lord sligo, already given.] * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "sept. . . "you need not tie yourself down to a day with toderini, but send him at your leisure, having anatomised him into such annotations as you want; i do not believe that he has ever undergone that process before, which is the best reason for not sparing him now. "* * has returned to town, but not yet recovered of the quarterly. what fellows these reviewers are! 'these bugs do fear us all.' they made you fight, and me (the milkiest of men) a satirist, and will end by making * * madder than ajax. i have been reading memory again, the other day, and hope together, and retain all my preference of the former. his elegance is really wonderful--there is no such thing as a vulgar line in his book. "what say you to buonaparte? remember, i back him against the field, barring catalepsy and the elements. nay, i almost wish him success against all countries but this,--were it only to choke the morning post, and his undutiful father-in-law, with that rebellious bastard of scandinavian adoption, bernadotte. rogers wants me to go with him on a crusade to the lakes, and to besiege you on our way. this last is a great temptation, but i fear it will not be in my power, unless you would go on with one of us somewhere--no matter where. it is too late for matlock, but we might hit upon some scheme, high life or low,--the last would be much the best for amusement. i am so sick of the other, that i quite sigh for a cider-cellar, or a cruise in a smuggler's sloop. "you cannot wish more than i do that the fates were a little more accommodating to our parallel lines, which prolong ad infinitum without coming a jot nearer. i almost wish i were married, too--which is saying much. all my friends, seniors and juniors, are in for it, and ask me to be godfather,--the only species of parentage which, i believe, will ever come to my share in a lawful way; and, in an unlawful one, by the blessing of lucina, we can never be certain,--though the parish may. i suppose i shall hear from you to-morrow. if not, this goes as it is; but i leave room for a p.s., in case any thing requires an answer. ever, &c. "no letter--_n'importe_. r. thinks the quarterly will be at _me_ this time: if so, it shall be a war of extermination--no _quarter_. from the youngest devil down to the oldest woman of that review, all shall perish by one fatal lampoon. the ties of nature shall be torn asunder, for i will not even spare my bookseller; nay, if one were to include readers also, all the better." * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "september . . "i am sorry to see tod. again so soon, for fear your scrupulous conscience should have prevented you from fully availing yourself of his spoils. by this coach i send you a copy of that awful pamphlet 'the giaour,' which has never procured me half so high a compliment as your modest alarm. you will (if inclined in an evening) perceive that i have added much in quantity,--a circumstance which may truly diminish your modesty upon the subject. "you stand certainly in great need of a 'lift' with mackintosh. my dear moore, you strangely under-rate yourself. i should conceive it an affectation in any other; but i think i know you well enough to believe that you don't know your own value. however, 'tis a fault that generally mends; and, in your case, it really ought. i have heard him speak of you as highly as your wife could wish; and enough to give all your friends the jaundice. "yesterday i had a letter from _ali pacha!_ brought by dr. holland, who is just returned from albania. it is in latin, and begins 'excellentissime _nec non_ carissime,' and ends about a gun he wants made for him;--it is signed 'ali vizir.' what do you think he has been about? h. tells me that, last spring, he took a hostile town, where, forty-two years ago, his mother and sisters were treated as miss cunigunde was by the bulgarian cavalry. he takes the town, selects all the survivors of this exploit--children, grandchildren, &c. to the tune of six hundred, and has them shot before his face. recollect, he spared the rest of the city, and confined himself to the tarquin pedigree,--which is more than i would. so much for 'dearest friend.'" * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "sept. . . "i write to you from mr. murray's, and i may say, from murray, who, if you are not predisposed in favour of any other publisher, would be happy to treat with you, at a fitting time, for your work. i can safely recommend him as fair, liberal, and attentive, and certainly, in point of reputation, he stands among the first of 'the trade.' i am sure he would do you justice. i have written to you so much lately, that you will be glad to see so little now. "ever," &c. &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "september . . "thomas moore, "(thou wilt never be called '_true_ thomas,' like he of ercildoune,) why don't you write to me?--as you won't, i must. i was near you at aston the other day, and hope i soon shall be again. if so, you must and shall meet me, and go to matlock and elsewhere, and take what, in _flash_ dialect, is poetically termed 'a lark,' with rogers and me for accomplices. yesterday, at holland house, i was introduced to southey--the best looking bard i have seen for some time. to have that poet's head and shoulders, i would almost have written his sapphics. he is certainly a prepossessing person to look on, and a man of talent, and all that, and--_there_ is his eulogy. "* * read me part of a letter from you. by the foot of pharaoh, i believe there was abuse, for he stopped short, so he did, after a fine saying about our correspondence, and _looked_--i wish i could revenge myself by attacking you, or by telling you that i have _had_ to defend you--an agreeable way which one's friends have of recommending themselves by saying--'ay, ay, _i_ gave it mr. such-a-one for what he said about your being a plagiary, and a rake, and so on.' but do you know that you are one of the very few whom i never have the satisfaction of hearing abused, but the reverse;--and do you suppose i will forgive _that_? "i have been in the country, and ran away from the doncaster races. it is odd,--i was a visiter in the same house which came to my sire as a residence with lady carmarthen, (with whom he adulterated before his majority--by the by, remember, _she_ was not my mamma,)--and they thrust me into an old room, with a nauseous picture over the chimney, which i should suppose my papa regarded with due respect, and which, inheriting the family taste, i looked upon with great satisfaction. i stayed a week with the family, and behaved very well--though the lady of the house is young, and religious, and pretty, and the master is my particular friend. i felt no wish for any thing but a poodle dog, which they kindly gave me. now, for a man of my courses not even to have _coveted_, is a sign of great amendment. pray pardon all this nonsense, and don't 'snub me when i'm in spirits.' "ever, yours, bn. "here's an impromptu for you by a 'person of quality,' written last week, on being reproached for low spirits. "when from the heart where sorrow sits[ ], her dusky shadow mounts too high, and o'er the changing aspect flits, and clouds the brow, or fills the eye: heed not that gloom, which soon shall sink; my thoughts their dungeon know too well-- back to my breast the wanderers shrink, and bleed within their silent cell." [footnote : now printed in his works.] * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "october . . "you have not answered some six letters of mine. this, therefore, is my penultimate. i will write to you once more, but, after that--i swear by all the saints--i am silent and supercilious. i have met curran at holland house--he beats every body;--his imagination is beyond human, and his humour (it is difficult to define what is wit) perfect. then he has fifty faces, and twice as many voices, when he mimics--i never met his equal. now, were i a woman, and eke a virgin, that is the man i should make my scamander. he is quite fascinating. remember, i have met him but once; and you, who have known him long, may probably deduct from my panegyric. i almost fear to meet him again, lest the impression should be lowered. he talked a great deal about you--a theme never tiresome to me, nor any body else that i know. what a variety of expression he conjures into that naturally not very fine countenance of his! he absolutely changes it entirely. i have done--for i can't describe him, and you know him. on sunday i return to * *, where i shall not be far from you. perhaps i shall hear from you in the mean time. good night. "saturday morn--your letter has cancelled all my anxieties. i did _not suspect_ you in _earnest_. modest again! because i don't do a very shabby thing, it seems, i 'don't fear your competition.' if it were reduced to an alternative of preference, i _should_ dread you, as much as satan does michael. but is there not room enough in our respective regions? go on--it will soon be my turn to forgive. to-day i dine with mackintosh and mrs. _stale_--as john bull may be pleased to denominate corinne--whom i saw last night, at covent garden, yawning over the humour of falstaff. "the reputation of 'gloom,' if one's friends are not included in the _reputants_, is of great service; as it saves one from a legion of impertinents, in the shape of common-place acquaintance. but thou know'st i can be a right merry and conceited fellow, and rarely 'larmoyant.' murray shall reinstate your line forthwith.[ ] i believe the blunder in the motto was mine:--and yet i have, in general, a memory for _you_, and am sure it was rightly printed at first. "i do 'blush' very often, if i may believe ladies h. and m.;--but luckily, at present, no one sees me. adieu." [footnote : the motto to the giaour, which is taken from one of the irish melodies, had been quoted by him incorrectly in the first editions of the poem. he made afterwards a similar mistake in the lines from burns prefixed to the bride of abydos.] * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "november . . "since i last wrote to you, much has occurred, good, bad, and indifferent,--not to make me forget you, but to prevent me from reminding you of one who, nevertheless, has often thought of you, and to whom _your_ thoughts, in many a measure, have frequently been a consolation. we were once very near neighbours this autumn; and a good and bad neighbourhood it has proved to me. suffice it to say, that your french quotation was confoundedly to the purpose,--though very _unexpectedly_ pertinent, as you may imagine by what i _said_ before, and my silence since. however, 'richard's himself again,' and except all night and some part of the morning, i don't think very much about the matter. "all convulsions end with me in rhyme; and to solace my midnights, i have scribbled another turkish story[ ]--not a fragment--which you will receive soon after this. it does not trench upon your kingdom in the least, and if it did, you would soon reduce me to my proper boundaries. you will think, and justly, that i run some risk of losing the little i have gained in fame, by this further experiment on public patience; but i have really ceased to care on that head. i have written this, and published it, for the sake of the _employment_,--to wring my thoughts from reality, and take refuge in 'imaginings,' however 'horrible;' and, as to success! those who succeed will console me for a failure--excepting yourself and one or two more, whom luckily i love too well to wish one leaf of their laurels a tint yellower. this is the work of a week, and will be the reading of an hour to you, or even less,--and so, let it go * * * *. "p.s. ward and i _talk_ of going to holland. i want to see how a dutch canal looks after the bosphorus. pray respond." [footnote : the bride of abydos.] * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "december . . "your letter, like all the best, and even kindest things in this world, is both painful and pleasing. but, first, to what sits nearest. do you know i was actually about to dedicate to you,--not in a formal inscription, as to one's _elders_,--but through a short prefatory letter, in which i boasted myself your intimate, and held forth the prospect of _your_ poem; when, lo! the recollection of your strict injunctions of secrecy as to the said poem, more than _once_ repeated by word and letter, flashed upon me, and marred my intents. i could have no motive for repressing my own desire of alluding to you (and not a day passes that i do not think and talk of you), but an idea that you might, yourself, dislike it. you cannot doubt my sincere admiration, waving personal friendship for the present, which, by the by, is not less sincere and deep rooted. i have you by rote and by heart; of which 'ecce signum!' when i was at * *, on my first visit, i have a habit, in passing my time a good deal alone, of--i won't call it singing, for that i never attempt except to myself--but of uttering, to what i think tunes, your 'oh breathe not,' 'when the last glimpse,' and 'when he who adores thee,' with others of the same minstrel;--they are my matins and vespers. i assuredly did not intend them to be overheard, but, one morning, in comes, not la donna, but il marito, with a very grave face, saying, 'byron, i must request you won't sing any more, at least of _those_ songs.' i stared, and said, 'certainly, but why?'--'to tell you the truth,' quoth he, 'they make my wife _cry_, and so melancholy, that i wish her to hear no more of them.' "now, my dear m., the effect must have been from your words, and certainly not my music. i merely mention this foolish story to show you how much i am indebted to you for even your pastimes. a man may praise and praise, but no one recollects but that which pleases--at least, in composition. though i think no one equal to you in that department, or in satire,--and surely no one was ever so popular in both,--i certainly am of opinion that you have not yet done all _you_ can do, though more than enough for any one else. i want, and the world expects, a longer work from you; and i see in you what i never saw in poet before, a strange diffidence of your own powers, which i cannot account for, and which must be unaccountable, when a _cossac_ like me can appal a _cuirassier_. your story i did not, could not, know,--i thought only of a peri. i wish you had confided in me, not for your sake, but mine, and to prevent the world from losing a much better poem than my own, but which, i yet hope, this _clashing_ will not even now deprive them of.[ ] mine is the work of a week, written, _why_ i have partly told you, and partly i cannot tell you by letter--some day i will. "go on--i shall really be very unhappy if i at all interfere with you. the success of mine is yet problematical; though the public will probably purchase a certain quantity, on the presumption of their own propensity for 'the giaour' and such 'horrid mysteries.' the only advantage i have is being on the spot; and that merely amounts to saving me the trouble of turning over books which i had better read again. if _your chamber_ was furnished in the same way, you have no need to _go there_ to describe--i mean only as to _accuracy_--because i drew it from recollection. "this last thing of mine _may_ have the same fate, and i assure you i have great doubts about it. but, even if not, its little day will be over before you are ready and willing. come out--'screw your courage to the sticking-place.' except the post bag (and surely you cannot complain of a want of success there), you have not been _regularly_ out for some years. no man stands higher,--whatever you may think on a rainy day, in your provincial retreat. 'aucun homme, dans aucune langue, n'a été, peut-être, plus completèment le poëte du coeur et le poëte des femmes. les critiques lui reprochent de n'avoir représenté le monde ni tel qu'il est, ni tel qu'il doit être; _mais les femmes répondent qu'il l'a représenté tel qu'elles le désirent_.'--i should have thought sismondi had written this for you instead of metastasio. "write to me, and tell me of _yourself_. do you remember what rousseau said to some one--'have we quarrelled? you have talked to me often, and never once mentioned yourself.' "p.s.--the last sentence is an indirect apology for my own egotism,--but i believe in letters it is allowed. i wish it was _mutual_. i have met with an odd reflection in grimm; it shall not--at least the bad part--be applied to you or me, though _one_ of us has certainly an indifferent name--but this it is:--'many people have the reputation of being wicked, with whom we should be too happy to pass our lives.' i need not add it is a woman's saying--a mademoiselle de sommery's." [footnote : among the stories intended to be introduced into lalla rookh, which i had begun, but, from various causes, never finished, there was one which i had made some progress in, at the time of the appearance of "the bride," and which, on reading that poem, i found to contain such singular coincidences with it, not only in locality and costume, but in plot and characters, that i immediately gave up my story altogether, and began another on an entirely new subject, the fire-worshippers. to this circumstance, which i immediately communicated to him, lord byron alludes in this letter. in my hero (to whom i had even given the name of "zelim," and who was a descendant of ali, outlawed, with all his followers, by the reigning caliph) it was my intention to shadow out, as i did afterwards in another form, the national cause of ireland. to quote the words of my letter to lord byron on the subject:--"i chose this story because one writes best about what one feels most, and i thought the parallel with ireland would enable me to infuse some vigour into my hero's character. but to aim at vigour and strong feeling after _you_ is hopeless;--that region 'was made for cæsar.'"] * * * * * at this time lord byron commenced a journal, or diary, from the pages of which i have already selected a few extracts, and of which i shall now lay as much more as is producible before the reader. employed chiefly,--as such a record, from its nature, must be,--about persons still living, and occurrences still recent, it would be impossible, of course, to submit it to the public eye, without the omission of some portion of its contents, and unluckily, too, of that very portion which, from its reference to the secret pursuits and feelings of the writer, would the most livelily pique and gratify the curiosity of the reader. enough, however, will, i trust, still remain, even after all this necessary winnowing, to enlarge still further the view we have here opened into the interior of the poet's life and habits, and to indulge harmlessly that taste, as general as it is natural, which leads us to contemplate with pleasure a great mind in its undress, and to rejoice in the discovery, so consoling to human pride, that even the mightiest, in their moments of ease and weakness, resemble ourselves.[ ] [footnote : "c'est surtout aux hommes qui sont hors de toute comparaison par le génie qu'on aime à ressembler au moins par les foiblesses."--ginguene.] "journal, begun november . . "if this had been begun ten years ago, and faithfully kept!!!--heigho! there are too many things i wish never to have remembered, as it is. well,--have had my share of what are called the pleasures of this life, and have seen more of the european and asiatic world than i have made a good use of. they say 'virtue is its own reward,'--it certainly should be paid well for its trouble. at five-and-twenty, when the better part of life is over, one should be _something_;--and what am i? nothing but five-and-twenty--and the odd months. what have i seen? the same man all over the world,--ay, and woman too. give _me_ a mussulman who never asks questions, and a she of the same race who saves one the trouble of putting them. but for this same plague--yellow fever--and newstead delay, i should have been by this time a second time close to the euxine. if i can overcome the last, i don't so much mind your pestilence; and, at any rate, the spring shall see me there,--provided i neither marry myself, nor unmarry any one else in the interval. i wish one was--i don't know what i wish. it is odd i never set myself seriously to wishing without attaining it--and repenting. i begin to believe with the good old magi, that one should only pray for the nation, and not for the individual;--but, on my principle, this would not be very patriotic. "no more reflections--let me see--last night i finished 'zuleika,' my second turkish tale. i believe the composition of it kept me alive--for it was written to drive my thoughts from the recollection of-- 'dear sacred name, rest ever unreveal'd.' at least, even here, my hand would tremble to write it. this afternoon i have burnt the scenes of my commenced comedy. i have some idea of expectorating a romance, or rather a tale in prose;--but what romance could equal the events-- 'quæque ipse ...vidi, et quorum pars magna fui.' "to-day henry byron called on me with my little cousin eliza. she will grow up a beauty and a plague; but, in the mean time, it is the prettiest child! dark eyes and eyelashes, black and long as the wing of a raven. i think she is prettier even than my niece, georgina,--yet i don't like to think so neither; and though older, she is not so clever. "dallas called before i was up, so we did not meet. lewis, too,--who seems out of humour with every thing. what can be the matter? he is not married--has he lost his own mistress, or any other person's wife? hodgson, too, came. he is going to be married, and he is the kind of man who will be the happier. he has talent, cheerfulness, every thing that can make him a pleasing companion; and his intended is handsome and young, and all that. but i never see any one much improved by matrimony. all my coupled contemporaries are bald and discontented. w. and s. have both lost their hair and good humour; and the last of the two had a good deal to lose. but it don't much signify what falls _off_ a man's temples in that state. "mem. i must get a toy to-morrow, for eliza, and send the device for the seals of myself and * * * * * mem. too, to call on the staël and lady holland to-morrow, and on * *, who has advised me (without seeing it, by the by) not to publish 'zuleika;' i believe he is right, but experience might have taught him that not to print is _physically_ impossible. no one has seen it but hodgson and mr. gifford. i never in my life _read_ a composition, save to hodgson, as he pays me in kind. it is a horrible thing to do too frequently;--better print, and they who like may read, and if they don't like, you have the satisfaction of knowing that they have, at least, _purchased_ the right of saying so. "i have declined presenting the debtors' petition, being sick of parliamentary mummeries. i have spoken thrice; but i doubt my ever becoming an orator. my first was liked; the second and third--i don't know whether they succeeded or not. i have never yet set to it _con amore_;--one must have some excuse to one's self for laziness, or inability, or both, and this is mine. 'company, villanous company, hath been the spoil of me;'--and then, i have 'drunk medicines,' not to make me love others, but certainly enough to hate myself. "two nights ago i saw the tigers sup at exeter 'change. except veli pacha's lion in the morea,--who followed the arab keeper like a dog,--the fondness of the hyæna for her keeper amused me most. such a conversazione!--there was a 'hippopotamus,' like lord l----l in the face; and the 'ursine sloth' hath the very voice and manner of my valet--but the tiger talked too much. the elephant took and gave me my money again--took off my hat--opened a door--_trunked_ a whip--and behaved so well, that i wish he was my butler. the handsomest animal on earth is one of the panthers; but the poor antelopes were dead. i should hate to see one _here_:--the sight of the _camel_ made me pine again for asia minor. 'oh quando te aspiciam?' "november . "went last night with lewis to see the first of antony and cleopatra. it was admirably got up, and well acted--a salad of shakspeare and dryden, cleopatra strikes me as the epitome of her sex--fond, lively, sad, tender, teasing, humble, haughty, beautiful, the devil!--coquettish to the last, as well with the 'asp' as with antony. after doing all she can to persuade him that--but why do they abuse him for cutting off that poltroon cicero's head? did not tully tell brutus it was a pity to have spared antony? and did he not speak the philippics? and are not '_words things_?' and such '_words_' very pestilent '_things_' too? if he had had a hundred heads, they deserved (from antony) a rostrum (his was stuck up there) apiece--though, after all, he might as well have pardoned him, for the credit of the thing. but to resume--cleopatra, after securing him, says, 'yet go--it is your interest,' &c.--how like the sex! and the questions about octavia--it is woman all over. "to-day received lord jersey's invitation to middleton--to travel sixty miles to meet madame * *! i once travelled three thousand to get among silent people; and this same lady writes octavos, and _talks_ folios. i have read her books--like most of them, and delight in the last; so i won't hear it, as well as read. "read burns to-day. what would he have been, if a patrician? we should have had more polish--less force--just as much verse, but no immortality--a divorce and a duel or two, the which had he survived, as his potations must have been less spirituous, he might have lived as long as sheridan, and outlived as much as poor brinsley. what a wreck is that man! and all from bad pilotage; for no one had ever better gales, though now and then a little too squally. poor dear sherry! i shall never forget the day he and rogers and moore and i passed together; when _he_ talked, and _we_ listened, without one yawn, from six till one in the morning. "got my seals * * * * * * have again forgot a plaything for _ma petite cousine_ eliza; but i must send for it to-morrow. i hope harry will bring her to me. i sent lord holland the proofs of the last 'giaour,' and 'the bride of abydos.' he won't like the latter, and i don't think that i shall long. it was written in four nights to distract my dreams from * *. were it not thus, it had never been composed; and had i not done something at that time, i must have gone mad, by eating my own heart,--bitter diet!--hodgson likes it better than 'the giaour,' but nobody else will,--and he never liked the fragment. i am sure, had it not been for murray, _that_ would never have been published, though the circumstances which are the groundwork make it * * * heigh-ho! "to-night i saw both the sisters of * *; my god! the youngest so like! i thought i should have sprung across the house, and am so glad no one was with me in lady h.'s box. i hate those likenesses--the mock-bird, but not the nightingale--so like as to remind, so different as to be painful.[ ] one quarrels equally with the points of resemblance and of distinction. [footnote : "earth holds no other like to thee, or, if it doth, in vain for me: for worlds i dare not view the dame resembling thee, yet not the same." the giaour. ] "nov. . "no letter from * *; but i must not complain. the respectable job says, 'why should a _living man_ complain?' i really don't know, except it be that a _dead man_ can't; and he, the said patriarch, _did_ complain, nevertheless, till his friends were tired and his wife recommended that pious prologue, 'curse--and die;' the only time, i suppose, when but little relief is to be found in swearing. i have had a most kind letter from lord holland on 'the bride of abydos,' which he likes, and so does lady h. this is very good-natured in both, from whom i don't deserve any quarter. yet i _did_ think, at the time, that my cause of enmity proceeded from holland house, and am glad i was wrong, and wish i had not been in such a hurry with that confounded satire, of which i would suppress even the memory;--but people, now they can't get it, make a fuss, i verily believe, out of contradiction. "george ellis and murray have been talking something about scott and me, george pro scoto,--and very right too. if they want to depose him, i only wish they would not set me up as a competitor. even if i had my choice, i would rather be the earl of warwick than all the _kings_ he ever made! jeffrey and gifford i take to be the monarch-makers in poetry and prose. the british critic, in their rokeby review, have presupposed a comparison, which i am sure my friends never thought of, and w. scott's subjects are injudicious in descending to. i like the man--and admire his works to what mr. braham calls _entusymusy_. all such stuff can only vex him, and do me no good. many hate his politics--(i hate all politics); and, here, a man's politics are like the greek _soul_--an [greek: eidôlon], besides god knows what _other soul_; but their estimate of the two generally go together. "harry has not brought _ma petite cousine_. i want us to go to the play together;--she has been but once. another short note from jersey, inviting rogers and me on the d. i must see my agent to-night. i wonder when that newstead business will be finished. it cost me more than words to part with it--and to _have_ parted with it! what matters it what i do? or what becomes of me?--but let me remember job's saying, and console myself with being 'a living man.' "i wish i could settle to reading again,--my life is monotonous, and yet desultory. i take up books, and fling them down again. i began a comedy, and burnt it because the scene ran into _reality_;--a novel, for the same reason. in rhyme, i can keep more away from facts; but the thought always runs through, through ... yes, yes, through. i have had a letter from lady melbourne--the best friend i ever had in my life, and the cleverest of women. "not a word from * *. have they set out from * *? or has my last precious epistle fallen into the lion's jaws? if so--and this silence looks suspicious, i must clap on my 'musty morion' and 'hold out my iron.' i am out of practice--but i won't begin again at manton's now. besides, i would not return his shot. i was once a famous wafer-splitter; but then the bullies of society made it necessary. ever since i began to feel that i had a bad cause to support, i have left off the exercise. "what strange tidings from that anakim of anarchy--buonaparte! ever since i defended my bust of him at harrow against the rascally time-servers, when the war broke out in , he has been a 'héros de roman' of mine--on the continent; i don't want him here. but i don't like those same flights--leaving of armies, &c. &c. i am sure when i fought for his bust at school, i did not think he would run away from himself. but i should not wonder if he banged them yet. to be beat by men would be something; but by three stupid, legitimate-old-dynasty boobies of regular-bred sovereigns--o-hone-a-rie!--o-hone-a-rie! it must be, as cobbett says, his marriage with the thick-lipped and thick-headed _autrichienne_ brood. he had better have kept to her who was kept by barras. i never knew any good come of your young wife, and legal espousals, to any but your 'sober-blooded boy' who 'eats fish' and drinketh 'no sack.' had he not the whole opera? all paris? all france? but a mistress is just as perplexing--that is, _one_--two or more are manageable by division. "i have begun, or had begun, a song, and flung it into the fire. it was in remembrance of mary duff, my first of flames, before most people begin to burn. i wonder what the devil is the matter with me! i can do nothing, and--fortunately there is nothing to do. it has lately been in my power to make two persons (and their connections) comfortable, _pro tempore_, and one happy, _ex tempore_,--i rejoice in the last particularly, as it is an excellent man[ ]. i wish there had been more inconvenience and less gratification to my self-love in it, for then there had been more merit. we are all selfish--and i believe, ye gods of epicurus! i believe in rochefoucault about _men_, and in lucretius (not busby's translation) about yourselves. your bard has made you very _nonchalant_ and blest; but as he has excused _us_ from damnation, i don't envy you your blessedness _much_--a little, to be sure. i remember, last year, * * said to me, at * *, 'have we not passed our last month like the gods of lucretius?' and so we had. she is an adept in the text of the original (which i like too); and when that booby bus. sent his translating prospectus, she subscribed. but, the devil prompting him to add a specimen, she transmitted him a subsequent answer, saying, that 'after perusing it, her conscience would not permit her to allow her name to remain on the list of subscribblers.' last night, at lord h.'s--mackintosh, the ossulstones, puységur, &c. there--i was trying to recollect a quotation (as _i_ think) of staël's, from some teutonic sophist about architecture. 'architecture,' says this macoronico tedescho, 'reminds me of frozen music.' it is somewhere--but where?--the demon of perplexity must know and won't tell. i asked m., and he said it was not in her: but p----r said it must be _hers_, it was so _like_. h. laughed, as he does at all 'de l'allemagne,'--in which, however, i think he goes a little too far. b., i hear, condemns it too. but there are fine passages;--and, after all, what is a work--any--or every work--but a desert with fountains, and, perhaps, a grove or two, every day's journey? to be sure, in madame, what we often mistake, and 'pant for,' as the 'cooling stream,' turns out to be the '_mirage_' (criticè _verbiage_); but we do, at last, get to something like the temple of jove ammon, and then the waste we have passed is only remembered to gladden the contrast. "called on c * *, to explain * * *. she is very beautiful, to my taste, at least; for on coming home from abroad, i recollect being unable to look at any woman but her--they were so fair, and unmeaning, and _blonde_. the darkness and regularity of her features reminded me of my 'jannat al aden.' but this impression wore off; and now i can look at a fair woman, without longing for a houri. she was very good-tempered, and every thing was explained. "to-day, great news--'the dutch have taken holland,'--which, i suppose, will be succeeded by the actual explosion of the thames. five provinces have declared for young stadt, and there will be inundation, conflagration, constupration, consternation, and every sort of nation and nations, fighting away, up to their knees, in the damnable quags of this will-o'-the-wisp abode of boors. it is said bernadotte is amongst them, too; and, as orange will be there soon, they will have (crown) prince stork and king log in their loggery at the same time. two to one on the new dynasty! "mr. murray has offered me one thousand guineas for 'the giaour' and 'the bride of abydos.' i won't--it is too much, though i am strongly tempted, merely for the _say_ of it. no bad price for a fortnight's (a week each) what?--the gods know--it was intended to be called poetry. "i have dined regularly to-day, for the first time since sunday last--this being sabbath, too. all the rest, tea and dry biscuits--six _per diem_, i wish to god i had not dined now!--it kills me with heaviness, stupor, and horrible dreams;--and yet it was but a pint of bucellas, and fish.[ ] meat i never touch,--nor much vegetable diet. i wish i were in the country, to take exercise,--instead of being obliged to cool by abstinence, in lieu of it. i should not so much mind a little accession of flesh,--my bones can well bear it. but the worst is, the devil always came with it,--till i starved him out,--and i will _not_ be the slave of _any_ appetite. if i do err, it shall be my heart, at least, that heralds the way. oh, my head--how it aches?--the horrors of digestion! i wonder how buonaparte's dinner agrees with him? "mem. i must write to-morrow to 'master shallow, who owes me a thousand pounds,' and seems, in his letter, afraid i should ask him for it[ ];--as if i would!--i don't want it (just now, at least,) to begin with; and though i have often wanted that sum, i never asked for the repayment of _l._ in my life--from a friend. his bond is not due this year, and i told him when it was, i should not enforce it. how often must he make me say the same thing? "i am wrong--i did once ask * * * [ ] to repay me. but it was under circumstances that excused me _to him_, and would to any one. i took no interest, nor required security. he paid me soon,--at least, his _padre_. my head! i believe it was given me to ache with. good even. [footnote : evidently, mr. hodgson.] [footnote : he had this year so far departed from his strict plan of diet as to eat fish occasionally.] [footnote : we have here another instance, in addition to the munificent aid afforded to mr. hodgson, of the generous readiness of the poet, notwithstanding his own limited means, to make the resources he possessed available for the assistance of his friends.] [footnote : left blank thus in the original.] "nov. . . "'orange boven!' so the bees have expelled the bear that broke open their hive. well,--if we are to have new de witts and de ruyters, god speed the little republic! i should like to see the hague and the village of brock, where they have such primitive habits. yet, i don't know,--their canals would cut a poor figure by the memory of the bosphorus; and the zuyder zee look awkwardly after 'ak-denizi.' no matter,--the bluff burghers, puffing freedom out of their short tobacco-pipes, might be worth seeing; though i prefer a cigar or a hooka, with the rose-leaf mixed with the milder herb of the levant. i don't know what liberty means,--never having seen it,--but wealth is power all over the world; and as a shilling performs the duty of a pound (besides sun and sky and beauty for nothing) in the east,--_that_ is the country. how i envy herodes atticus!--more than pomponius. and yet a little _tumult_, now and then, is an agreeable quickener of sensation; such as a revolution, a battle, or an _aventure_ of any lively description. i think i rather would have been bonneval, ripperda, alberoni, hayreddin, or horuc barbarossa, or even wortley montague, than mahomet himself. "rogers will be in town soon?--the d is fixed for our middleton visit. shall i go? umph!--in this island, where one can't ride out without overtaking the sea, it don't much matter where one goes. "i remember the effect of the _first_ edinburgh review on me. i heard of it six weeks before,--read it the day of its denunciation,--dined and drank three bottles of claret, (with s.b. davies, i think,) neither ate nor slept the less, but, nevertheless, was not easy till i had vented my wrath and my rhyme, in the same pages, against every thing and every body. like george, in the vicar of wakefield, 'the fate of my paradoxes' would allow me to perceive no merit in another. i remembered only the maxim of my boxing-master, which, in my youth, was found useful in all general riots,--'whoever is not for you is against you--_mill_ away right and left,' and so i did;--like ishmael, my hand was against all men, and all men's anent me. i did wonder, to be sure, at my own success-- "'and marvels so much wit is all his own,' as hobhouse sarcastically says of somebody (not unlikely myself, as we are old friends);--but were it to come over again, i would _not_. i have since redde[ ] the cause of my couplets, and it is not adequate to the effect. c * * told me that it was believed i alluded to poor lord carlisle's nervous disorder in one of the lines. i thank heaven i did not know it--and would not, could not, if i had. i must naturally be the last person to be pointed on defects or maladies. "rogers is silent,--and, it is said, severe. when he does talk, he talks well; and, on all subjects of taste, his delicacy of expression is pure as his poetry. if you enter his house--his drawing-room--his library--you of yourself say, this is not the dwelling of a common mind. there is not a gem, a coin, a book thrown aside on his chimney-piece, his sofa, his table, that does not bespeak an almost fastidious elegance in the possessor. but this very delicacy must be the misery of his existence. oh the jarrings his disposition must have encountered through life! "southey, i have not seen much of. his appearance is _epic_; and he is the only existing entire man of letters. all the others have some pursuit annexed to their authorship. his manners are mild, but not those of a man of the world, and his talents of the first order. his prose is perfect. of his poetry there are various opinions: there is, perhaps, too much of it for the present generation;--posterity will probably select. he has passages equal to any thing. at present, he has a party, but no public--except for his prose writings. the life of nelson is beautiful. "* * is a _littérateur_, the oracle of the coteries, of the * * s, l * w * (sydney smith's 'tory virgin'), mrs. wilmot, (she, at least, is a swan, and might frequent a purer stream,) lady b * *, and all the blues, with lady c * * at their head--but i say nothing of _her_--'look in her face and you forget them all,' and every thing else. oh that face!--by 'te, diva potens cypri,' i would, to be beloved by that woman, build and burn another troy. "m * * e has a peculiarity of talent, or rather talents,--poetry, music, voice, all his own; and an expression in each, which never was, nor will be, possessed by another. but he is capable of still higher flights in poetry. by the by, what humour, what--every thing, in the 'post-bag!' there is nothing m * * e may not do, if he will but seriously set about it. in society, he is gentlemanly, gentle, and, altogether, more pleasing than any individual with whom i am acquainted. for his honour, principle, and independence, his conduct to * * * * speaks 'trumpet-tongued.' he has but one fault--and that one i daily regret--he is not _here_. [footnote : it was thus that he, in general, spelled this word.] "nov. . "ward--i like ward.[ ] by mahomet! i begin to think i like every body;--a disposition not to be encouraged;--a sort of social gluttony that swallows every thing set before it. but i like ward. he is _piquant_; and, in my opinion, will stand _very_ high in the house, and every where else, if he applies regularly. by the by, i dine with him to-morrow, which may have some influence on my opinion. it is as well not to trust one's gratitude _after_ dinner. i have heard many a host libelled by his guests, with his burgundy yet reeking on their rascally lips. "i have taken lord salisbury's box at covent garden for the season; and now i must go and prepare to join lady holland and party, in theirs, at drury lane, _questa sera_. "holland doesn't think the man _is junius_; but that the yet unpublished journal throws great light on the obscurities of that part of george the second's reign--what is this to george the third's? i don't know what to think. why should junius be yet dead? if suddenly apoplexed, would he rest in his grave without sending his [greek: eidôlon] to shout in the ears of posterity, 'junius was x.y.z., esq., buried in the parish of * * *. repair his monument, ye churchwardens! print a new edition of his letters, ye booksellers!' impossible,--the man must be alive, and will never die without the disclosure. i like him;--he was a good hater. "came home unwell and went to bed,--not so sleepy as might be desirable. [footnote : the present lord dudley.] "tuesday morning. "i awoke from a dream!--well! and have not others dreamed?--such a dream!--but she did not overtake me. i wish the dead would rest, however. ugh! how my blood chilled--and i could not wake --and--and--heigho! "'shadows to-night have struck more terror to the soul of richard, than could the substance of ten thousand * * s, arm'd all in proof, and led by shallow * *.' i do not like this dream,--i hate its 'foregone conclusion.' and am i to be shaken by shadows? ay, when they remind us of--no matter--but, if i dream thus again, i will try whether _all_ sleep has the like visions. since i rose, i've been in considerable bodily pain also; but it is gone, and now, like lord ogleby, i am wound up for the day. "a note from mountnorris--i dine with ward;--canning is to be there, frere and sharpe,--perhaps gifford. i am to be one of 'the five' (or rather six), as lady * * said a little sneeringly yesterday. they are all good to meet, particularly canning, and--ward, when he likes. i wish i may be well enough to listen to these intellectuals. "no letters to-day;--so much the better,--there are no answers. i must not dream again;--it spoils even reality. i will go out of doors, and see what the fog will do for me. jackson has been here: the boxing world much as usual;--but the club increases. i shall dine at crib's to-morrow. i like energy--even animal energy--of all kinds; and i have need of both mental and corporeal. i have not dined out, nor, indeed, _at all_, lately; have heard no music--have seen nobody. now for a _plunge_--high life and low life. 'amant _alterna_ camoenæ!' "i have burnt my _roman_--as i did the first scenes and sketch of my comedy--and, for aught i see, the pleasure of burning is quite as great as that of printing. these two last would not have done. i ran into realities more than ever; and some would have been recognised and others guessed at. "redde the ruminator--a collection of essays, by a strange, but able, old man (sir e.b.), and a half-wild young one, author of a poem on the highlands, called 'childe alarique.' the word 'sensibility' (always my aversion) occurs a thousand times in these essays; and, it seems, is to be an excuse for all kinds of discontent. this young man can know nothing of life; and, if he cherishes the disposition which runs through his papers, will become useless, and, perhaps, not even a poet, after all, which he seems determined to be. god help him! no one should be a rhymer who could be any thing better. and this is what annoys one, to see scott and moore, and campbell and rogers, who might have all been agents and leaders, now mere spectators. for, though they may have other ostensible avocations, these last are reduced to a secondary consideration. * *, too, frittering away his time among dowagers and unmarried girls. if it advanced any _serious_ affair, it were some excuse; but, with the unmarried, that is a hazardous speculation, and tiresome enough, too; and, with the veterans, it is not much worth trying, unless, perhaps, one in a thousand. "if i had any views in this country, they would probably be parliamentary. but i have no ambition; at least, if any, it would be 'aut cæsar aut nihil.' my hopes are limited to the arrangement of my affairs, and settling either in italy or the east (rather the last), and drinking deep of the languages and literature of both. past events have unnerved me; and all i can now do is to make life an amusement, and look on while others play. after all, even the highest game of crowns and sceptres, what is it? _vide_ napoleon's last twelve-month. it has completely upset my system of fatalism. i thought, if crushed, he would have fallen, when 'fractus illabitur orbis,' and not have been pared away to gradual insignificance; that all this was not a mere _jeu_ of the gods, but a prelude to greater changes and mightier events. but men never advance beyond a certain point; and here we are, retrograding to the dull, stupid old system,--balance of europe--poising straws upon kings' noses, instead of wringing them off! give me a republic, or a despotism of one, rather than the mixed government of one, two, three. a republic!--look in the history of the earth--rome, greece, venice, france, holland, america, our short (eheu!) commonwealth, and compare it with what they did under masters. the asiatics are not qualified to be republicans, but they have the liberty of demolishing despots, which is the next thing to it. to be the first man--not the dictator--not the sylla, but the washington or the aristides--the leader in talent and truth--is next to the divinity! franklin, penn, and, next to these, either brutus or cassius--even mirabeau--or st. just. i shall never be any thing, or rather always be nothing. the most i can hope is, that some will say, 'he might, perhaps, if he would.' " , midnight. "here are two confounded proofs from the printer. i have looked at the one, but for the soul of me, i can't look over that 'giaour' again,--at least, just now, and at this hour--and yet there is no moon. "ward talks of going to holland, and we have partly discussed an ensemble expedition. it must be in ten days, if at all, if we wish to be in at the revolution. and why not? * * is distant, and will be at * *, still more distant, till spring. no one else, except augusta, cares for me; no ties--no trammels--_andiamo dunque--se torniamo, bene--se non, ch' importa_? old william of orange talked of dying in 'the last ditch' of his dingy country. it is lucky i can swim, or i suppose i should not well weather the first. but let us see. i have heard hyænas and jackalls in the ruins of asia; and bull-frogs in the marshes; besides wolves and angry mussulmans. now, i should like to listen to the shout of a free dutchman. "alla! viva! for ever! hourra! huzza!--which is the most rational or musical of these cries? 'orange boven,' according to the morning post. "wednesday, . "no dreams last night of the dead nor the living, so--i am 'firm as the marble, founded as the rock,' till the next earthquake. "ward's dinner went off well. there was not a disagreeable person there--unless _i_ offended any body, which i am sure i could not by contradiction, for i said little, and opposed nothing. sharpe (a man of elegant mind, and who has lived much with the best--fox, horne tooke, windham, fitzpatrick, and all the agitators of other times and tongues,) told us the particulars of his last interview with windham, a few days before the fatal operation which sent 'that gallant spirit to aspire the skies.' windham,--the first in one department of oratory and talent, whose only fault was his refinement beyond the intellect of half his hearers,--windham, half his life an active participator in the events of the earth, and one of those who governed nations,--_he_ regretted, and dwelt much on that regret, that 'he had not entirely devoted himself to literature and science!!!' his mind certainly would have carried him to eminence there, as elsewhere;--but i cannot comprehend what debility of that mind could suggest such a wish. i, who have heard him, cannot regret any thing but that i shall never hear him again. what! would he have been a plodder? a metaphysician?--perhaps a rhymer? a scribbler? such an exchange must have been suggested by illness. but he is gone, and time 'shall not look upon his like again.' "i am tremendously in arrear with my letters,--except to * *, and to her my thoughts overpower me:--my words never compass them. to lady melbourne i write with most pleasure--and her answers, so sensible, so _tactique_--i never met with half her talent. if she had been a few years younger, what a fool she would have made of me, had she thought it worth her while,--and i should have lost a valuable and most agreeable friend. mem. a mistress never is nor can be a friend. while you agree, you are lovers; and, when it is over, any thing but friends. "i have not answered w. scott's last letter,--but i will. i regret to hear from others that he has lately been unfortunate in pecuniary involvements. he is undoubtedly the monarch of parnassus, and the most _english_ of bards. i should place rogers next in the living list (i value him more as the last of the best school)--moore and campbell both _third_--southey and wordsworth and coleridge--the rest, [greek: hoi polloi]--thus:-- w. scott /\ / \ / \ / \ / rogers.\ /----------\ / \ / \ / \ / moore.--campbell.\ /--------------------\ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / southey.--wordsworth.--coleridge.\ /------------------------------------\ / \ / the many. \ / \ /--------------------------------------------\ there is a triangular 'gradus ad parnassum!'--the names are too numerous for the base of the triangle. poor thurlow has gone wild about the poetry of queen bess's reign--_c'est dommage_. i have ranked the names upon my triangle more upon what i believe popular opinion, than any decided opinion of my own. for, to me, some of m * * e's last _erin_ sparks--'as a beam o'er the face of the waters'--'when he who adores thee'--'oh blame not'--and 'oh breathe not his name'--are worth all the epics that ever were composed. "* * thinks the quarterly will attack me next. let them. i have been 'peppered so highly' in my time, both ways, that it must be cayenne or aloes to make me taste. i can sincerely say that i am not very much alive _now_ to criticism. but--in tracing this--i rather believe, that it proceeds from my not attaching that importance to authorship which many do, and which, when young, i did also. 'one gets tired of every thing, my angel,' says valmont. the 'angels' are the only things of which i am not a little sick--but i do think the preference of _writers_ to _agents_--the mighty stir made about scribbling and scribes, by themselves and others--a sign of effeminacy, degeneracy, and weakness. who would write, who had any thing better to do? 'action--action--action'--said demosthenes: 'actions--actions,' i say, and not writing,--least of all, rhyme. look at the querulous and monotonous lives of the 'genus;'--except cervantes, tasso, dante, ariosto, kleist (who were brave and active citizens), aeschylus, sophocles, and some other of the antiques also--what a worthless, idle brood it is! " , mezza notte. "just returned from dinner with jackson (the emperor of pugilism) and another of the select, at crib's the champion's. i drank more than i like, and have brought away some three bottles of very fair claret--for i have no headach. we had tom * * up after dinner;--very facetious, though somewhat prolix. he don't like his situation--wants to fight again--pray pollux (or castor, if he was the _miller_) he may! tom has been a sailor--a coal heaver--and some other genteel profession, before he took to the cestus. tom has been in action at sea, and is now only three-and-thirty. a great man! has a wife and a mistress, and conversations well--bating some sad omissions and misapplications of the aspirate. tom is an old friend of mine; i have seen some of his best battles in my nonage. he is now a publican, and, i fear, a sinner;--for mrs. * * is on alimony, and * *'s daughter lives with the champion. _this_ * * told me,--tom, having an opinion of my morals, passed her off as a legal spouse. talking of her, he said, 'she was the truest of women'--from which i immediately inferred she could not be his wife, and so it turned out. "these panegyrics don't belong to matrimony;--for, if 'true,' a man don't think it necessary to say so; and if not, the less he says the better. * * * * is the only man, except * * * *, i ever heard harangue upon his wife's virtue; and i listened to both with great credence and patience, and stuffed my handkerchief into my mouth, when i found yawning irresistible.--by the by, i am yawning now--so, good night to thee.--[greek: nôhairôn]. "thursday, november . "awoke a little feverish, but no headach--no dreams neither, thanks to stupor! two letters; one from * * * *'s, the other from lady melbourne--both excellent in their respective styles. * * * *'s contained also a very pretty lyric on 'concealed griefs;' if not her own, yet very like her. why did she not say that the stanzas were, or were not, of her composition? i do not know whether to wish them hers or not. i have no great esteem for poetical persons, particularly women; they have so much of the 'ideal' in _practics_, as well as _ethics_. "i have been thinking lately a good deal of mary duff, &c. &c. &c. &c.[ ] "lord holland invited me to dinner to-day; but three days' dining would destroy me. so, without eating at all since yesterday, i went to my box at covent garden. "saw * * * * looking very pretty, though quite a different style of beauty from the other two. she has the finest eyes in the world, out of which she pretends _not_ to see, and the longest eyelashes i ever saw, since leila's and phannio's moslem curtains of the light. she has much beauty,--just enough,--but is, i think, _méchante_. "i have been pondering on the miseries of separation, that--oh how seldom we see those we love! yet we live ages in moments, _when met_. the only thing that consoles me during absence is the reflection that no mental or personal estrangement, from ennui or disagreement, can take place; and when people meet hereafter, even though many changes may have taken place in the mean time, still, unless they are _tired_ of each other, they are ready to reunite, and do not blame each other for the circumstances that severed them. [footnote : this passage has been already extracted.] "saturday . (i believe--or rather am in _doubt_, which is the ne plus ultra of mortal faith.) "i have missed a day; and, as the irishman said, or joe miller says for him, 'have gained a loss,' or _by_ the loss. every thing is settled for holland, and nothing but a cough, or a caprice of my fellow-traveller's, can stop us. carriage ordered, funds prepared, and, probably, a gale of wind into the bargain. _n'importe_--i believe, with clym o' the clow, or robin hood, 'by our mary, (dear name!) that art both mother and may, i think it never was a man's lot to die before this day.' heigh for helvoetsluys, and so forth! "to-night i went with young henry fox to see 'nourjahad,' a drama, which the morning post hath laid to my charge, but of which i cannot even guess the author. i wonder what they will next inflict upon me. they cannot well sink below a melodrama; but that is better than a satire, (at least, a personal one,) with which i stand truly arraigned, and in atonement of which i am resolved to bear silently all criticisms, abuses, and even praises, for bad pantomimes never composed by me, without even a contradictory aspect. i suppose the root of this report is my loan to the manager of my turkish drawings for his dresses, to which he was more welcome than to my name. i suppose the real author will soon own it, as it has succeeded; if not, job be my model, and lethe my beverage! "* * * * has received the portrait safe; and, in answer, the only remark she makes upon it is, 'indeed it is like'--and again, 'indeed it is like.' with her the likeness 'covered a multitude of sins;' for i happen to know that this portrait was not a flatterer, but dark and stern,--even black as the mood in which my mind was scorching last july, when i sat for it. all the others of me, like most portraits whatsoever, are, of course, more agreeable than nature. "redde the ed. review of rogers. he is ranked highly; but where he should be. there is a summary view of us all--_moore_ and _me_ among the rest; and both (the _first_ justly) praised--though, by implication (justly again) placed beneath our memorable friend. mackintosh is the writer, and also of the critique on the staël. his grand essay on burke, i hear, is for the next number. but i know nothing of the edinburgh, or of any other review, but from rumour; and i have long ceased--indeed, i could not, in justice, complain of any, even though i were to rate poetry, in general, and my rhymes in particular, more highly than i really do. to withdraw _myself_ from _myself_ (oh that cursed selfishness!) has ever been my sole, my entire, my sincere motive in scribbling at all; and publishing is also the continuance of the same object, by the action it affords to the mind, which else recoils upon itself. if i valued fame, i should flatter received opinions, which have gathered strength by time, and will yet wear longer than any living works to the contrary. but, for the soul of me, i cannot and will not give the lie to my own thoughts and doubts, come what may. if i am a fool, it is, at least, a doubting one; and i envy no one the certainty of his self-approved wisdom. "all are inclined to believe what they covet, from a lottery-ticket up to a passport to paradise,--in which, from the description, i see nothing very tempting. my restlessness tells me i have something within that 'passeth show.' it is for him, who made it, to prolong that spark of celestial fire which illuminates, yet burns, this frail tenement; but i see no such horror in a 'dreamless sleep,' and i have no conception of any existence which duration would not render tiresome. how else 'fell the angels,' even according to your creed? they were immortal, heavenly, and happy as their _apostate_ _abdiel_ is now by his treachery. time must decide; and eternity won't be the less agreeable or more horrible because one did not expect it. in the mean time, i am grateful for some good, and tolerably patient under certain evils--grace à dieu et mon bon tempérament. "sunday, th. ---- "monday, th. ---- "tuesday, th. "two days missed in my log-book;--hiatus _haud_ deflendus. they were as little worth recollection as the rest; and, luckily, laziness or society prevented me from _notching_ them. "sunday, i dined with the lord holland in st. james's square. large party--among them sir s. romilly and lady ry.--general sir somebody bentham, a man of science and talent, i am told--horner--_the_ horner, an edinburgh reviewer, an excellent speaker in the 'honourable house,' very pleasing, too, and gentlemanly in company, as far as i have seen--sharpe--phillips of lancashire--lord john russell, and others, 'good men and true.' holland's society is very good; you always see some one or other in it worth knowing. stuffed myself with sturgeon, and exceeded in champagne and wine in general, but not to confusion of head. when i _do_ dine, i gorge like an arab or a boa snake, on fish and vegetables, but no meat. i am always better, however, on my tea and biscuit than any other regimen, and even _that_ sparingly. "why does lady h. always have that damned screen between the whole room and the fire? i, who bear cold no better than an antelope, and never yet found a sun quite _done_ to my taste, was absolutely petrified, and could not even shiver. all the rest, too, looked as if they were just unpacked, like salmon from an ice-basket, and set down to table for that day only. when she retired, i watched their looks as i dismissed the screen, and every cheek thawed, and every nose reddened with the anticipated glow. "saturday, i went with harry fox to nourjahad; and, i believe, convinced him, by incessant yawning, that it was not mine. i wish the precious author would own it, and release me from his fame. the dresses are pretty, but not in costume;--mrs. horn's, all but the turban, and the want of a small dagger (if she is a sultana), _perfect_. i never saw a turkish woman with a turban in my life--nor did any one else. the sultanas have a small poniard at the waist. the dialogue is drowsy--the action heavy--the scenery fine--the actors tolerable. i can't say much for their seraglio--teresa, phannio, or * * * *, were worth them all. "sunday, a very handsome note from mackintosh, who is a rare instance of the union of very transcendent talent and great good nature. to-day (tuesday) a very pretty billet from m. la baronne de staël holstein. she is pleased to be much pleased with my mention of her and her last work in my notes. i spoke as i thought. her works are my delight, and so is she herself, for--half an hour. i don't like her politics--at least, her _having changed_ them; had she been _qualis ab incepto_, it were nothing. but she is a woman by herself, and has done more than all the rest of them together, intellectually;--she ought to have been a man. she _flatters_ me very prettily in her note;--but i _know_ it. the reason that adulation is not displeasing is, that, though untrue, it shows one to be of consequence enough, in one way or other, to induce people to lie, to make us their friend:--that is their concern. "* * is, i hear, thriving on the repute of a pun which was mine (at mackintosh's dinner some time back), on ward, who was asking 'how much it would take to _re-whig_ him?' i answered that, probably, 'he must first, before he was _re-whigged_, be re-_warded_.' this foolish quibble, before the staël and mackintosh, and a number of conversationers, has been mouthed about, and at last settled on the head of * *, where long may it remain! "george[ ] is returned from afloat to get a new ship. he looks thin, but better than i expected. i like george much more than most people like their heirs. he is a fine fellow, and every inch a sailor. i would do any thing, _but apostatise_, to get him on in his profession. "lewis called. it is a good and good-humoured man, but pestilently prolix and paradoxical and _personal_. if he would but talk half, and reduce his visits to an hour, he would add to his popularity. as an author he is very good, and his vanity is _ouverte_, like erskine's, and yet not offending. "yesterday, a very pretty letter from annabella[ ], which i answered. what an odd situation and friendship is ours!--without one spark of love on either side, and produced by circumstances which in general lead to coldness on one side, and aversion on the other. she is a very superior woman, and very little spoiled, which is strange in an heiress--girl of twenty--a peeress that is to be, in her own right--an only child, and a _savante_, who has always had her own way. she is a poetess--a mathematician--a metaphysician, and yet, withal, very kind, generous, and gentle, with very little pretension. any other head would be turned with half her acquisitions, and a tenth of her advantages. [footnote : his cousin, the present lord byron.] [footnote : miss milbanke, afterwards lady byron.] "wednesday, december . . "to-day responded to la baronne de staël holstein, and sent to leigh hunt (an acquisition to my acquaintance--through moore--of last summer) a copy of the two turkish tales. hunt is an extraordinary character, and not exactly of the present age. he reminds me more of the pym and hampden times--much talent, great independence of spirit, and an austere, yet not repulsive, aspect. if he goes on _qualis ab incepto_, i know few men who will deserve more praise or obtain it. i must go and see him again;--the rapid succession of adventure, since last summer, added to some serious uneasiness and business, have interrupted our acquaintance; but he is a man worth knowing; and though, for his own sake, i wish him out of prison, i like to study character in such situations. he has been unshaken, and will continue so. i don't think him deeply versed in life;--he is the bigot of virtue (not religion), and enamoured of the beauty of that 'empty name,' as the last breath of brutus pronounced, and every day proves it. he is, perhaps, a little opiniated, as all men who are the _centre_ of _circles_, wide or narrow--the sir oracles, in whose name two or three are gathered together--must be, and as even johnson was; but, withal, a valuable man, and less vain than success and even the consciousness of preferring 'the right to the expedient' might excuse. "to-morrow there is a party of _purple_ at the 'blue' miss * * *'s. shall i go? um!--i don't much affect your blue-bottles;--but one ought to be civil. there will be, 'i guess now' (as the americans say), the staëls and mackintoshes--good--the * * * s and * * * s--not so good--the * * * s, &c. &c.--good for nothing. perhaps that blue-winged kashmirian butterfly of book-learning, lady * * * *, will be there. i hope so; it is a pleasure to look upon that most beautiful of faces. "wrote to h.:--he has been telling that i ----[ ]. i am sure, at least, _i_ did not mention it, and i wish he had not. he is a good fellow, and i obliged myself ten times more by being of use than i did him,--and there's an end on 't. "baldwin is boring me to present their king's bench petition. i presented cartwright's last year; and stanhope and i stood against the whole house, and mouthed it valiantly--and had some fun and a little abuse for our opposition. but 'i am not i' th' vein' for this business. now, had * * been here, she would have _made_ me do it. _there_ is a woman, who, amid all her fascination, always urged a man to usefulness or glory. had she remained, she had been my tutelar genius. "baldwin is very importunate--but, poor fellow, 'i can't get out, i can't get out--said the starling.' ah, i am as bad as that dog sterne, who preferred whining over 'a dead ass to relieving a living mother'--villain--hypocrite--slave--sycophant! but _i_ am no better. here i cannot stimulate myself to a speech for the sake of these unfortunates, and three words and half a smile of * * had she been here to urge it, (and urge it she infallibly would--at least she always pressed me on senatorial duties, and particularly in the cause of weakness,) would have made me an advocate, if not an orator. curse on rochefoucault for being always right! in him a lie were virtue,--or, at least, a comfort to his readers. "george byron has not called to-day; i hope he will be an admiral, and, perhaps, lord byron into the bargain. if he would but marry, i would engage never to marry myself, or cut him out of the heirship. he would be happier, and i should like nephews better than sons. "i shall soon be six-and-twenty (january d, ). is there any thing in the future that can possibly console us for not being always _twenty-five_? "oh gioventu! oh primavera! gioventu dell' anno. oh gioventu! primavera della vita. [footnote : two or three words are here scratched out in the manuscript, but the import of the sentence evidently is that mr. hodgson (to whom the passage refers) had been revealing to some friends the secret of lord byron's kindness to him.] "sunday, december . "dallas's nephew (son to the american attorney-general) is arrived in this country, and tells dallas that my rhymes are very popular in the united states. these are the first tidings that have ever sounded like _fame_ to my ears--to be redde on the banks of the ohio! the greatest pleasure i ever derived, of this kind, was from an extract, in cooke the actor's life, from his journal, stating that in the reading-room at albany, near washington, he perused english bards and scotch reviewers. to be popular in a rising and far country has a kind of _posthumous feel_, very different from the ephemeral _éclat_ and fête-ing, buzzing and party-ing compliments of the well-dressed multitude. i can safely say that, during my _reign_ in the spring of , i regretted nothing but its duration of six weeks instead of a fortnight, and was heartily glad to resign. "last night i supped with lewis;--and, as usual, though i neither exceeded in solids nor fluids, have been half dead ever since. my stomach is entirely destroyed by long abstinence, and the rest will probably follow. let it--i only wish the _pain_ over. the 'leap in the dark' is the least to be dreaded. "the duke of * * called. i have told them forty times that, except to half-a-dozen old and specified acquaintances, i am invisible. his grace is a good, noble, ducal person; but i am content to think so at a distance, and so--i was not at home. "galt called.--mem.--to ask some one to speak to raymond in favour of his play. we are old fellow-travellers, and, with all his eccentricities, he has much strong sense, experience of the world, and is, as far as i have seen, a good-natured philosophical fellow. i showed him sligo's letter on the reports of the turkish girl's _aventure_ at athens soon after it happened. he and lord holland, lewis, and moore, and rogers, and lady melbourne have seen it. murray has a copy. i thought it had been _unknown_, and wish it were; but sligo arrived only some days after, and the _rumours_ are the subject of his letter. that i shall preserve,--_it is as well_. lewis and galt were both _horrified_; and l. wondered i did not introduce the situation into 'the giaour.' he _may_ wonder;--he might wonder more at that production's being written at all. but to describe the _feelings of that situation_ were impossible--it is _icy_ even to recollect them. "the bride of abydos was published on thursday the second of december; but how it is liked or disliked, i know not. whether it succeeds or not is no fault of the public, against whom i can have no complaint. but i am much more indebted to the tale than i can ever be to the most partial reader; as it wrung my thoughts from reality to imagination--from selfish regrets to vivid recollections--and recalled me to a country replete with the _brightest_ and _darkest_, but always most _lively_ colours of my memory. sharpe called, but was not let in--which i regret. "saw * * yesterday. i have not kept my appointment at middleton, which has not pleased him, perhaps; and my projected voyage with * * will, perhaps, please him less. but i wish to keep well with both. they are instruments that don't do, in concert; but, surely, their separate tones are very musical, and i won't give up either. "it is well if i don't jar between these great discords. at present i stand tolerably well with all, but i cannot adopt their _dislikes_;--so many _sets_. holland's is the first;--every thing _distingué_ is welcome there, and certainly the _ton_ of his society is the best. then there is mde. de staël's--there i never go, though i might, had i courted it. it is composed of the * *'s and the * * family, with a strange sprinkling,--orators, dandies, and all kinds of _blue_, from the regular grub street uniform, down to the azure jacket of the _littérateur_. to see * * and * * sitting together, at dinner, always reminds me of the grave, where all distinctions of friend and foe are levelled; and they--the reviewer and reviewée--the rhinoceros and elephant--the mammoth and megalonyx--all will lie quietly together. they now _sit_ together, as silent, but not so quiet, as if they were already immured. "i did not go to the berrys' the other night. the elder is a woman of much talent, and both are handsome, and must have been beautiful. to-night asked to lord h.'s--shall i go? um!--perhaps. "morning, two o'clock. "went to lord h.'s--party numerous--_mi_lady in perfect good humour, and consequently _perfect_. no one more agreeable, or perhaps so much so, when she will. asked for wednesday to dine and meet the staël--asked particularly, i believe, out of mischief, to see the first interview after the _note_, with which corinne professes herself to be so much taken. i don't much like it; she always talks of _my_self or _her_self, and i am not (except in soliloquy, as now,) much enamoured of either subject--especially one's works. what the devil shall i say about 'de l'allemagne?' i like it prodigiously; but unless i can twist my admiration into some fantastical expression, she won't believe me; and i know, by experience, i shall be overwhelmed with fine things about rhyme, &c. &c. the lover, mr. * *, was there to-night, and c * * said 'it was the only proof _he_ had seen of her good taste.' monsieur l'amant is remarkably handsome; but _i_ don't think more so than her book. "c * * looks well,--seems pleased, and dressed to _sprucery_. a blue coat becomes him,--so does his new wig. he really looked as if apollo had sent him a birthday suit, or a wedding-garment, and was witty and lively. he abused corinne's book, which i regret; because, firstly, he understands german, and is consequently a fair judge; and, secondly, he is _first-rate_, and, consequently, the best of judges. i reverence and admire him; but i won't give up my opinion--why should i? i read _her_ again and again, and there can be no affectation in this. i cannot be mistaken (except in taste) in a book i read and lay down, and take up again; and no book can be totally bad which finds _one_, even _one_ reader, who can say as much sincerely. "c. talks of lecturing next spring; his last lectures were eminently successful. moore thought of it, but gave it up,--i don't know why. * * had been prating _dignity_ to him, and such stuff; as if a man disgraced himself by instructing and pleasing at the same time. "introduced to marquis buckingham--saw lord gower--he is going to holland; sir j. and lady mackintosh and homer, g. lamb, with i know not how many (r. wellesley, one--a clever man) grouped about the room. little henry fox, a very fine boy, and very promising in mind and manner,--he went away to bed, before i had time to talk to him. i am sure i had rather hear him than all the _savans_. "monday, dec. . "murray tells me that c----r asked him why the thing was called the _bride_ of abydos? it is a cursed awkward question, being unanswerable. _she_ is not a _bride_, only about to be one; but for, &c. &c. &c. "i don't wonder at his finding out the _bull_; but the detection * * * is too late to do any good. i was a great fool to make it, and am ashamed of not being an irishman. "c----l last night seemed a little nettled at something or other--i know not what. we were standing in the ante-saloon, when lord h. brought out of the other room a vessel of some composition similar to that which is used in catholic churches, and, seeing us, he exclaimed, 'here is some _incense_ for you.' c----l answered--'carry it to lord byron, _he is used to it_.' "now, this comes of 'bearing no brother near the throne.' i, who have no throne, nor wish to have one _now_, whatever i may have done, am at perfect peace with all the poetical fraternity: or, at least, if i dislike any, it is not _poetically_, but _personally_. surely the field of thought is infinite; what does it signify who is before or behind in a race where there is no _goal_? the temple of fame is like that of the persians, the universe; our altar, the tops of mountains. i should be equally content with mount caucasus, or mount anything; and those who like it, may have mount blanc or chimborazo, without my envy of their elevation. "i think i may _now_ speak thus; for i have just published a poem, and am quite ignorant whether it is _likely_ to be _liked_ or not. i have hitherto heard little in its commendation, and no one can _downright_ abuse it to one's face, except in print. it can't be good, or i should not have stumbled over the threshold, and blundered in my very title. but i began it with my heart full of * * *, and my head of oriental_ities_ (i can't call them _isms_), and wrote on rapidly. "this journal is a relief. when i am tired--as i generally am--out comes this, and down goes every thing. but i can't read it over; and god knows what contradictions it may contain. if i am sincere with myself (but i fear one lies more to one's self than to any one else), every page should confute, refute, and utterly abjure its _predecessor_. "another scribble from martin baldwin the petitioner; i have neither head nor nerves to present it. that confounded supper at lewis's has spoiled my digestion and my philanthropy. i have no more charity than a cruet of vinegar. would i were an ostrich, and dieted on fire-irons,--or any thing that my gizzard could get the better of. "to-day saw w. his uncle is dying, and w. don't much affect our dutch determinations. i dine with him on thursday, provided _l'oncle_ is not dined upon, or peremptorily bespoke by the posthumous epicures before that day. i wish he may recover--not for _our_ dinner's sake, but to disappoint the undertaker, and the rascally reptiles that may well wait, since they _will_ dine at last. "gell called--he of troy--after i was out. mem.--to return his visit. but my mems. are the very land-marks of forgetfulness;--something like a light-house, with a ship wrecked under the nose of its lantern. i never look at a mem. without seeing that i have remembered to forget. mem.--i have forgotten to pay pitt's taxes, and suppose i shall be surcharged. 'an i do not turn rebel when thou art king'--oons! i believe my very biscuit is leavened with that impostor's imposts. "ly. me. returns from jersey's to-morrow;--i must call. a mr. thomson has sent a song, which i must applaud. i hate annoying them with censure or silence;--and yet i hate _lettering_. "saw lord glenbervie and his prospectus, at murray's, of a new treatise on timber. now here is a man more useful than all the historians and rhymers ever planted. for, by preserving our woods and forests, he furnishes materials for all the history of britain worth reading, and all the odes worth nothing. "redde a good deal, but desultorily. my head is crammed with the most useless lumber. it is odd that when i do read, i can only bear the chicken broth of--_any thing_ but novels. it is many a year since i looked into one, (though they are sometimes ordered, by way of experiment, but never taken,) till i looked yesterday at the worst parts of the monk. these descriptions ought to have been written by tiberius at caprea--they are forced--the _philtred_ ideas of a jaded voluptuary. it is to me inconceivable how they could have been composed by a man of only twenty--his age when he wrote them. they have no nature--all the sour cream of cantharides. i should have suspected buffon of writing them on the death-bed of his detestable dotage. i had never redde this edition, and merely looked at them from curiosity and recollection of the noise they made, and the name they have left to lewis. but they could do no harm, except * * * *. "called this evening on my agent--my business as usual. our strange adventures are the only inheritances of our family that have not diminished. "i shall now smoke two cigars, and get me to bed. the cigars don't keep well here. they get as old as a _donna di quaranti anni_ in the sun of africa. the havannah are the best;--but neither are so pleasant as a hooka or chibouque. the turkish tobacco is mild, and their horses entire--two things as they should be. i am so far obliged to this journal, that it preserves me from verse,--at least from keeping it. i have just thrown a poem into the fire (which it has relighted to my great comfort), and have smoked out of my head the plan of another. i wish i could as easily get rid of thinking, or, at least, the confusion of thought. "tuesday, december . "went to bed, and slept dreamlessly, but not refreshingly. awoke, and up an hour before being called; but dawdled three hours in dressing. when one subtracts from life infancy (which is vegetation),--sleep, eating, and swilling--buttoning and unbuttoning--how much remains of downright existence? the summer of a dormouse. "redde the papers and _tea_-ed and soda-watered, and found out that the fire was badly lighted. ld. glenbervie wants me to go to brighton--um! "this morning, a very pretty billet from the staël about meeting her at ld. h.'s to-morrow. she has written, i dare say, twenty such this morning to different people, all equally flattering to each. so much the better for her and those who believe all she wishes them, or they wish to believe. she has been pleased to be pleased with my slight eulogy in the note annexed to 'the bride.' this is to be accounted for in several ways,--firstly, all women like all, or any, praise; secondly, this was unexpected, because i have never courted her; and, thirdly, as scrub says, those who have been all their lives regularly praised, by regular critics, like a little variety, and are glad when any one goes out of his way to say a civil thing; and, fourthly, she is a very good-natured creature, which is the best reason, after all, and, perhaps, the only one. "a knock--knocks single and double. bland called. he says dutch society (he has been in holland) is second-hand french; but the women are like women every where else. this is a bore; i should like to see them a little unlike; but that can't be expected. "went out--came home--this, that, and the other--and 'all is vanity, saith the preacher,' and so say i, as part of his congregation. talking of vanity, whose praise do i prefer? why, mrs. inchbald's, and that of the americans. the first, because her 'simple story' and 'nature and art' are, to me, _true_ to their _titles;_ and, consequently, her short note to rogers about 'the giaour' delighted me more than any thing, except the edinburgh review. i like the americans, because _i_ happened to be in _asia_, while the english bards and scotch reviewers were redde in _america_. if i could have had a speech against the _slave trade, in africa_, and an epitaph on a dog in _europe_ (i.e. in the morning post), my _vertex sublimis_ would certainly have displaced stars enough to overthrow the newtonian system. "friday, december . . "i am _ennuyè_ beyond my usual tense of that yawning verb, which i am always conjugating; and i don't find that society much mends the matter. i am too lazy to shoot myself--and it would annoy augusta, and perhaps * *; but it would be a good thing for george, on the other side, and no bad one for me; but i won't be tempted. "i have had the kindest letter from m * * e. i _do_ think that man is the best-hearted, the only _hearted_ being i ever encountered; and, then, his talents are equal to his feelings. "dined on wednesday at lord h.'s--the staffords, staëls, cowpers, ossulstones, melbournes, mackintoshes, &c. &c.--and was introduced to the marquis and marchioness of stafford,--an unexpected event. my quarrel with lord carlisle (their or his brother-in-law) having rendered it improper, i suppose, brought it about. but, if it was to happen at all, i wonder it did not occur before. she is handsome, and must have been beautiful--and her manners are _princessly_. "the staël was at the other end of the table, and less loquacious than heretofore. we are now very good friends; though she asked lady melbourne whether i had really any _bonhommie_. she might as well have asked that question before she told c.l. 'c'est un démon." true enough, but rather premature, for _she_ could not have found it out, and so--she wants me to dine there next sunday. "murray prospers, as far as circulation. for my part, i adhere (in liking) to my fragment. it is no wonder that i wrote one--my mind is a fragment. "saw lord gower, tierney, &c. in the square. took leave of lord gr. who is going to holland and germany. he tells me that he carries with him a parcel of 'harolds' and 'giaours,' &c. for the readers of berlin, who, it seems, read english, and have taken a caprice for mine. um!--have i been _german_ all this time, when i thought myself _oriental_? "lent tierney my box for to-morrow; and received a new comedy sent by lady c.a.--but _not hers_. i must read it, and endeavour not to displease the author. i hate annoying them with cavil; but a comedy i take to be the most difficult of compositions, more so than tragedy. "g----t says there is a coincidence between the first part of 'the bride' and some story of his--whether published or not, i know not, never having seen it. he is almost the last person on whom any one would commit literary larceny, and i am not conscious of any witting thefts on any of the genus. as to originality, all pretensions are ludicrous,--'there is nothing new under the sun.' "went last night to the play. invited out to a party, but did not go;--right. refused to go to lady * *'s on monday;--right again. if i must fritter away my life, i would rather do it alone. i was much tempted;--c * * looked so turkish with her red turban, and her regular, dark, and clear features. not that _she_ and _i_ ever were, or could be, any thing; but i love any aspect that reminds me of the 'children of the sun.' "to dine to-day with rogers and sharpe, for which i have some appetite, not having tasted food for the preceding forty-eight hours. i wish i could leave off eating altogether. "saturday, december . "sunday, december . "by g----t's answer, i find it is some story in _real life_, and not any work with which my late composition coincides. it is still more singular, for mine is drawn from _existence_ also. "i have sent an excuse to m. de staël. i do not feel sociable enough for dinner to-day;--and i will not go to sheridan's on wednesday. not that i do not admire and prefer his unequalled conversation; but--that '_but_' must only be intelligible to thoughts i cannot write. sheridan was in good talk at rogers's the other night, but i only stayed till _nine_. all the world are to be at the staël's to-night, and i am not sorry to escape any part of it. i only go out to get me a fresh appetite for being alone. went out--did not go to the staël's but to ld. holland's. party numerous--conversation general. stayed late--made a blunder--got over it--came home and went to bed, not having eaten. rather empty, but _fresco_, which is the great point with me. "monday, december . . "called at three places--read, and got ready to leave town to-morrow. murray has had a letter from his brother bibliopole of edinburgh, who says, 'he is lucky in having such a _poet_'--something as if one was a pack-horse, or 'ass, or any thing that is his:' or, like mrs. packwood, who replied to some enquiry after the odes on razors,--'laws, sir, we keeps a poet.' the same illustrious edinburgh bookseller once sent an order for books, poesy, and cookery, with this agreeable postscript--'the _harold_ and _cookery_ are much wanted.' such is fame, and, after all, quite as good as any other 'life in other's breath.' 'tis much the same to divide purchasers with hannah glasse or hannah more. "some editor of some magazine has _announced_ to murray his intention of abusing the thing '_without reading it_.' so much the better; if he redde it first, he would abuse it more. "allen (lord holland's allen--the best informed and one of the ablest men i know--a perfect magliabecchi--a devourer, a helluo of books, and an observer of men,) has lent me a quantity of burns's unpublished, and never-to-be published, letters. they are full of oaths and obscene songs. what an antithetical mind!--tenderness, roughness--delicacy, coarseness--sentiment, sensuality--soaring and grovelling, dirt and deity--all mixed up in that one compound of inspired clay! "it seems strange; a true voluptuary will never abandon his mind to the grossness of reality. it is by exalting the earthly, the material, the _physique_ of our pleasures, by veiling these ideas, by forgetting them altogether, or, at least, never naming them hardly to one's self, that we alone can prevent them from disgusting. "december , , . "much done, but nothing to record. it is quite enough to set down my thoughts,--my actions will rarely bear retrospection. "december , . "lord holland told me a curious piece of sentimentality in sheridan.[ ] the other night we were all delivering our respective and various opinions on him and other _hommes marquans_, and mine was this:--'whatever sheridan has done or chosen to do has been, _par excellence_, always the _best_ of its kind. he has written the _best_ comedy (school for scandal), the _best_ drama, (in my mind, far before that st. giles's lampoon, the beggar's opera,) the best farce (the critic--it is only too good for a farce), and the best address (monologue on garrick), and, to crown all, delivered the very best oration (the famous begum speech) ever conceived or heard in this country.' somebody told s. this the next day, and on hearing it, he burst into tears! "poor brinsley! if they were tears of pleasure, i would rather have said these few, but most sincere, words than have written the iliad or made his own celebrated philippic. nay, his own comedy never gratified me more than to hear that he had derived a moment's gratification from any praise of mine, humble as it must appear to 'my elders and my betters.' "went to my box at covent garden to night; and my delicacy felt a little shocked at seeing s * * *'s mistress (who, to my certain knowledge, was actually educated, from her birth, for her profession) sitting with her mother, 'a three-piled b----d, b----d-major to the army,' in a private box opposite. i felt rather indignant; but, casting my eyes round the house, in the next box to me, and the next, and the next, were the most distinguished old and young babylonians of quality;--so i burst out a laughing. it was really odd; lady * * _divorced_--lady * * and her daughter, lady * *, both _divorceable_--mrs. * *[ ], in the next, the _like_, and still nearer * * * * * *! what an assemblage to _me_, who know all their histories. it was as if the house had been divided between your public and your _understood_ courtesans;--but the intriguantes much outnumbered the regular mercenaries. on the other side were only pauline and _her_ mother, and, next box to her, three of inferior note. now, where lay the difference between _her_ and _mamma_, and lady * * and daughter? except that the two last may enter carleton and any _other house_, and the two first are limited to the opera and b----house. how i do delight in observing life as it really is!--and myself, after all, the worst of any. but no matter--i must avoid egotism, which, just now, would be no vanity. "i have lately written a wild, rambling, unfinished rhapsody, called 'the devil's drive[ ],' the notion of which i took from porson's 'devil's walk.' "redde some italian, and wrote two sonnets on * * *. i never wrote but one sonnet before, and that was not in earnest, and many years ago, as an exercise--and i will never write another. they are the most puling, petrifying, stupidly platonic compositions. i detest the petrarch so much[ ], that i would not be the man even to have obtained his laura, which the metaphysical, whining dotard never could. [footnote : this passage of the journal has already appeared in my life of sheridan.] [footnote : these names are all left blank in the original.] [footnote : of this strange, wild poem, which extends to about two hundred and fifty lines, the only copy that lord byron, i believe, ever wrote, he presented to lord holland. though with a good deal of vigour and imagination, it is, for the most part, rather clumsily executed, wanting the point and condensation of those clever verses of mr. coleridge[ ], which lord byron, adopting a notion long prevalent, has attributed to professor person. there are, however, some of the stanzas of "the devil's drive" well worth preserving. . "the devil return'd to hell by two, and he stay'd at home till five; when he dined on some homicides done in _ragoût_, and a rebel or so in an _irish_ stew, and sausages made of a self-slain jew, and bethought himself what next to do, 'and,' quoth he, 'i'll take a drive. i walk'd in the morning, i'll ride to-night; in darkness my children take most delight, and i'll see how my favourites thrive.' . "'and what shall i ride in?' quoth lucifer, then-- 'if i follow'd my taste, indeed, i should mount in a wagon of wounded men, and smile to see them bleed. but these will be furnish'd again and again, and at present my purpose is speed; to see my manor as much as i may, and watch that no souls shall be poach'd away. . "'i have a state coach at carleton house, a chariot in seymour place; but they're lent to two friends, who make me amends by driving my favourite pace: and they handle their reins with such a grace, i have something for both at the end of the race. . "'so now for the earth to take my chance.' then up to the earth sprung he; and making a jump from moscow to france, he stepped across the sea, and rested his hoof on a turnpike road, no very great way from a bishop's abode. . "but first as he flew, i forgot to say, that he hover'd a moment upon his way to look upon leipsic plain; and so sweet to his eye was its sulphury glare, and so soft to his ear was the cry of despair, that he perch'd on a mountain of slain; and he gazed with delight from its growing height; not often on earth had he seen such a sight, nor his work done half as well: for the field ran so red with the blood of the dead, that it blush'd like the waves of hell! then loudly, and wildly, and long laugh'd he-- 'methinks they have here little need of me!' * * * . "but the softest note that sooth'd his ear was the sound of a widow sighing, and the sweetest sight was the icy tear, which horror froze in the blue eye clear of a maid by her lover lying-- as round her fell her long fair hair; and she look'd to heaven with that frenzied air which seem'd to ask if a god were there! and, stretch'd by the wall of a ruin'd hut, with its hollow cheek, and eyes half shut, a child of famine dying: and the carnage begun, when resistance is done, and the fall of the vainly flying! . "but the devil has reach'd our cliffs so white, and what did he there, i pray? if his eyes were good, he but saw by night what we see every day; but he made a tour, and kept a journal of all the wondrous sights nocturnal, and he sold it in shares to the _men_ of the _row_, who bid pretty well--but they _cheated_ him, though! . "the devil first saw, as he thought, the _mail_, its coachman and his coat; so instead of a pistol, he cock'd his tail, and seized him by the throat: 'aha,' quoth he, 'what have we here? 'tis a new barouche, and an ancient peer!' . "so he sat him on his box again, and bade him have no fear, but be true to his club, and stanch to his rein, his brothel, and his beer; 'next to seeing a lord at the council board. i would rather see him here.' . "the devil gat next to westminster, and he turn'd to 'the room' of the commons; but he heard, as he purposed to enter in there, that 'the lords' had received a summons; and he thought, as a '_quondam_ aristocrat,' he might peep at the peers, though to _hear_ them were flat: and he walk'd up the house, so like one of our own, that they say that he stood pretty near the throne. . "he saw the lord l----l seemingly wise, the lord w----d certainly silly, and johnny of norfolk--a man of some size-- and chatham, so like his friend billy; and he saw the tears in lord e----n's eyes, because the catholics would _not_ rise, in spite of his prayers and his prophecies; and he heard--which set satan himself a staring-- a certain chief justice say something like _swearing_. and the devil was shock'd--and quoth he, 'i must go, for i find we have much better manners below. if thus he harangues when he passes my border, i shall hint to friend moloch to call him to order.'" ] [footnote : or mr. southey,--for the right of authorship in them seems still undecided.] [footnote : he learned to think more reverently of "the petrarch" afterwards.] "january . . "to-morrow i leave town for a few days. i saw lewis to-day, who is just returned from oatlands, where he has been squabbling with mad. de staël about himself, clarissa harlowe, mackintosh, and me. my homage has never been paid in that quarter, or we would have agreed still worse. i don't talk--i can't flatter, and won't listen, except to a pretty or a foolish woman. she bored lewis with praises of himself till he sickened--found out that clarissa was perfection, and mackintosh the first man in england. there i agree, at least _one_ of the first--but lewis did not. as to clarissa, i leave to those who can read it to judge and dispute. i could not do the one, and am, consequently, not qualified for the other. she told lewis wisely, he being my friend, that i was affected, in the first place; and that, in the next place, i committed the heinous offence of sitting at dinner with my _eyes_ shut, or half shut. i wonder if i really have this trick. i must cure myself of it, if true. one insensibly acquires awkward habits, which should be broken in time. if this is one, i wish i had been told of it before. it would not so much signify if one was always to be checkmated by a plain woman, but one may as well see some of one's neighbours, as well as the plate upon the table. "i should like, of all things, to have heard the amabæan eclogue between her and lewis--both obstinate, clever, odd, garrulous, and shrill. in fact, one could have heard nothing else. but they fell out, alas!--and now they will never quarrel again. could not one reconcile them for the 'nonce?' poor corinne--she will find that some of her fine sayings won't suit our fine ladies and gentlemen. "i am getting rather into admiration of * *, the youngest sister of * *. a wife would be my salvation. i am sure the wives of my acquaintances have hitherto done me little good. * * is beautiful, but very young, and, i think, a fool. but i have not seen enough to judge; besides, i hate an _esprit_ in petticoats. that she won't love me is very probable, nor shall i love her. but, on my system, and the modern system in general, that don't signify. the business (if it came to business) would probably be arranged between papa and me. she would have her own way; i am good-humoured to women, and docile; and, if i did not fall in love with her, which i should try to prevent, we should be a very comfortable couple. as to conduct, _that_ she must look to. but _if_ i love, i shall be jealous;--and for that reason i will not be in love. though, after all, i doubt my temper, and fear i should not be so patient as becomes the _bienséance_ of a married man in my station. divorce ruins the poor _femme_, and damages are a paltry compensation. i do fear my temper would lead me into some of our oriental tricks of vengeance, or, at any rate, into a summary appeal to the court of twelve paces. so 'i'll none on 't,' but e'en remain single and solitary;--though i should like to have somebody now and then to yawn with one. "w. and, after him, * *, has stolen one of my buffooneries about mde. de staël's metaphysics and the fog, and passed it, by speech and letter, as their own. as gibbet says, 'they are the most of a gentleman of any on the road.' w. is in sad enmity with the whigs about this review of fox (if he _did_ review him);--all the epigrammatists and essayists are at him. i hate _odds_, and wish he may beat them. as for me, by the blessing of indifference, i have simplified my politics into an utter detestation of all existing governments; and, as it is the shortest and most agreeable and summary feeling imaginable, the first moment of an universal republic would convert me into an advocate for single and uncontradicted despotism. the fact is, riches are power, and poverty is slavery all over the earth, and one sort of establishment is no better nor worse for a _people_ than another. i shall adhere to my party, because it would not be honourable to act otherwise; but, as to _opinions_, i don't think politics _worth_ an _opinion_. _conduct_ is another thing:--if you begin with a party, go on with them. i have no consistency, except in politics; and _that_ probably arises from my indifference on the subject altogether." * * * * * i must here be permitted to interrupt, for a while, the progress of this journal,--which extends through some months of the succeeding year,--for the purpose of noticing, without infringement of chronological order, such parts of the poet's literary history and correspondence as belong properly to the date of the year . at the beginning, as we have seen, of the month of december, the bride of abydos was published,--having been struck off, like its predecessor, the giaour, in one of those paroxysms of passion and imagination, which adventures such as the poet was now engaged in were, in a temperament like his, calculated to excite. as the mathematician of old required but a spot to stand upon, to be able, as he boasted, to move the world, so a certain degree of foundation in _fact_ seemed necessary to byron, before that lever which he knew how to apply to the world of the passions could be wielded by him. so small, however, was, in many instances, the connection with reality which satisfied him, that to aim at tracing through his stories these links with his own fate and fortunes, which were, after all, perhaps, visible but to his own fancy, would be a task as uncertain as unsafe;--and this remark applies not only to the bride of abydos, but to the corsair, lara, and all the other beautiful fictions that followed, in which, though the emotions expressed by the poet may be, in general, regarded as vivid recollections of what had at different times agitated his own bosom, there are but little grounds,--however he might himself, occasionally, encourage such a supposition,--for connecting him personally with the groundwork or incidents of the stories. while yet uncertain about the fate of his own new poem, the following observations on the work of an ingenious follower in the same track were written. letter . to mr. murray. "dec. . . "i have redde through your persian tales[ ], and have taken the liberty of making some remarks on the _blank_ pages. there are many beautiful passages, and an interesting story; and i cannot give you a stronger proof that such is my opinion, than by the _date_ of the _hour_--_two o'clock_, till which it has kept me awake _without a yawn_. the conclusion is not quite correct in _costume_; there is no _mussulman suicide_ on record--at least for _love_. but this matters not. the tale must have been written by some one who has been on the spot, and i wish him, and he deserves, success. will you apologise to the author for the liberties i have taken with his ms.? had i been less awake to, and interested in, his theme, i had been less obtrusive; but you know _i_ always take this in good part, and i hope he will. it is difficult to say what _will_ succeed, and still more to pronounce what _will not_. _i_ am at this moment in _that uncertainty_ (on our _own_ score); and it is no small proof of the author's powers to be able to _charm_ and _fix_ a _mind_'s attention on similar subjects and climates in such a predicament. that he may have the same effect upon all his readers is very sincerely the wish, and hardly the _doubt_, of yours truly, b." [footnote : poems by mr. gally knight, of which mr. murray had transmitted the ms. to lord byron, without, however, communicating the name of the author.] * * * * * to the bride of abydos he made additions, in the course of printing, amounting, altogether, to near two hundred lines; and, as usual, among the passages thus added, were some of the happiest and most brilliant in the whole poem. the opening lines,--"know ye the land,' &c.--supposed to have been suggested to him by a song of goëthe's[ ]--were among the number of these new insertions, as were also those fine verses,--"who hath not proved how feebly words essay," &c. of one of the most popular lines in this latter passage, it is not only curious, but instructive, to trace the progress to its present state of finish. having at first written-- "mind on her lip and music in her face," he afterwards altered it to-- "the mind of music breathing in her face." but, this not satisfying him, the next step of correction brought the line to what it is at present-- "the mind, the music breathing from her face."[ ] but the longest, as well as most splendid, of those passages, with which the perusal of his own strains, during revision, inspired him, was that rich flow of eloquent feeling which follows the couplet,--"thou, my zuleika, share and bless my bark," &c.--a strain of poetry, which, for energy and tenderness of thought, for music of versification, and selectness of diction, has, throughout the greater portion of it, but few rivals in either ancient or modern song. all this passage was sent, in successive scraps, to the printer,--correction following correction, and thought reinforced by thought. we have here, too, another example of that retouching process by which some of his most exquisite effects were attained. every reader remembers the four beautiful lines-- "or, since that hope denied in worlds of strife, be thou the rainbow to the storms of life! the evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints to-morrow with prophetic ray!" in the first copy of this passage sent to the publisher, the last line was written thus-- {_an airy_} "and tints to-morrow with a { fancied } ray"-- the following note being annexed:--"mr. murray,--choose which of the two epithets, 'fancied,' or 'airy,' may be the best; or, if neither will do, tell me, and i will dream another." the poet's dream was, it must be owned, lucky,--"prophetic" being the word, of all others, for his purpose.[ ] i shall select but one more example, from the additions to this poem, as a proof that his eagerness and facility in producing, was sometimes almost equalled by his anxious care in correcting. in the long passage just referred to, the six lines beginning "blest as the muezzin's strain," &c., having been despatched to the printer too late for insertion, were, by his desire, added in an errata page; the first couplet, in its original form, being as follows:-- "soft as the mecca-muezzin's strains invite him who hath journey'd far to join the rite." in a few hours after, another scrap was sent off, containing the lines thus-- "blest as the muezzin's strain from mecca's dome, which welcomes faith to view her prophet's tomb"-- with the following note to mr. murray:-- "december . . "look out in the encyclopedia, article _mecca_, whether it is there or at _medina_ the prophet is entombed. if at medina, the first lines of my alterration must run-- "blest as the call which from medina's dome invites devotion to her prophet's tomb," &c. if at mecca, the lines may stand as before. page . canto d, bride of abydos. yours, b. "you will find this out either by article _mecca_, _medina_, or _mohammed_. i have no book of reference by me." [footnote : "kennst du das land wo die citronen blühn," &c.] [footnote : among the imputed plagiarisms so industriously hunted out in his writings, this line has been, with somewhat more plausibility than is frequent in such charges, included,--the lyric poet lovelace having, it seems, written, "the melody and music of her face." sir thomas brown, too, in his religio medici, says--"there is music even in beauty," &c. the coincidence, no doubt, is worth observing, and the task of "tracking" thus a favourite writer "in the snow (as dryden expresses it) of others" is sometimes not unamusing; but to those who found upon such resemblances a general charge of plagiarism, we may apply what sir walter scott says, in that most agreeable work, his lives of the novelists:--"it is a favourite theme of laborious dulness to trace such coincidences, because they appear to reduce genius of the higher order to the usual standard of humanity, and of course to bring the author nearer to a level with his critics."] [footnote : it will be seen, however, from a subsequent letter to mr. murray, that he himself was at first unaware of the peculiar felicity of this epithet; and it is therefore, probable, that, after all, the merit of the choice may have belonged to mr. gifford.] * * * * * immediately after succeeded another note:-- "did you look out? is it _medina_ or _mecca_ that contains the _holy_ sepulchre? don't make me blaspheme by your negligence. i have no book of reference, or i would save you the trouble. i _blush_, as a good mussulman, to have confused the point. "yours, b." * * * * * notwithstanding all these various changes, the couplet in question stands at present thus:-- "blest as the muezzin's strain from mecca's wall to pilgrims pure and prostrate at his call." in addition to his own watchfulness over the birth of his new poem, he also, as will be seen from the following letter, invoked the veteran taste of mr. gifford on the occasion:-- letter . to mr. gifford. "november . . "my dear sir, "i hope you will consider, when i venture on any request, that it is the reverse of a certain dedication, and is addressed, _not_ to 'the editor of the quarterly review,' but to mr. gifford. you will understand this, and on that point i need trouble you no farther. "you have been good enough to look at a thing of mine in ms.--a turkish story, and i should feel gratified if you would do it the same favour in its probationary state of printing. it was written, i cannot say for amusement, nor 'obliged by hunger and request of friends,' but in a state of mind from circumstances which occasionally occur to 'us youth,' that rendered it necessary for me to apply my mind to something, any thing but reality; and under this not very brilliant inspiration it was composed. being done, and having at least diverted me from myself, i thought you would not perhaps be offended if mr. murray forwarded it to you. he has done so, and to apologise for his doing so a second time is the object of my present letter. "i beg you will _not_ send me any answer. i assure you very sincerely i know your time to be occupied, and it is enough, more than enough, if you read; you are not to be bored with the fatigue of answers. "a word to mr. murray will be sufficient, and send it either to the flames or "a hundred hawkers' load, on wings of wind to fly or fall abroad. it deserves no better than the first, as the work of a week, and scribbled 'stans pede in uno' (by the by, the only foot i have to stand on); and i promise never to trouble you again under forty cantos, and a voyage between each. believe me ever "your obliged and affectionate servant, "byron." * * * * * the following letters and notes, addressed to mr. murray at this time, cannot fail, i think, to gratify all those to whom the history of the labours of genius is interesting:-- letter . to mr. murray. "nov. . . "two friends of mine (mr. rogers and mr. sharpe) have advised me not to risk at present any single publication separately, for various reasons. as they have not seen the one in question, they can have no bias for or against the merits (if it has any) or the faults of the present subject of our conversation. you say all the last of 'the giaour' are gone--at least out of your hands. now, if you think of publishing any new edition with the last additions which have not yet been before the reader (i mean distinct from the two-volume publication), we can add 'the bride of abydos,' which will thus steal quietly into the world: if liked, we can then throw off some copies for the purchasers of former 'giaours;' and, if not, i can omit it in any future publication. what think you? i really am no judge of those things, and with all my natural partiality for one's own productions, i would rather follow any one's judgment than my own. "p.s. pray let me have the proofs i sent _all_ to-night. i have some alterations that i have thought of that i wish to make speedily. i hope the proof will be on separate pages, and not all huddled together on a mile-long ballad-singing sheet, as those of the giaour sometimes are; for then i can't read them distinctly." * * * * * to mr. murray. "nov. . . "will you forward the letter to mr. gilford with the proof? there is an alteration i may make in zuleika's speech, in second canto (the only one of hers in that canto). it is now thus: "and curse, if i could curse, the day. it must be-- "and mourn--i dare not curse--the day that saw my solitary birth, &c. &c. "ever yours, b. "in the last ms. lines sent, instead of 'living heart,' convert to 'quivering heart.' it is in line ninth of the ms. passage. "ever yours again, b." * * * * * to mr. murray. "alteration of a line in canto second. "instead of-- "and tints to-morrow with a _fancied_ ray, print-- "and tints to-morrow with _prophetic_ ray. "the evening beam that smiles the clouds away and tints to-morrow with prophetic ray; or, {_gilds_} "and { tints } the hope of morning with its ray; or, "and gilds to-morrow's hope with heavenly ray. "i wish you would ask mr. gifford which of them is best, or rather _not worst_. ever, &c. "you can send the request contained in this at the same time with the _revise_, _after_ i have seen the _said revise_." * * * * * to mr. murray. "nov. . . "certainly. do you suppose that no one but the galileans are acquainted with _adam_, and _eve_, and _cain_[ ], and _noah_?--surely, i might have had solomon, and abraham, and david, and even moses. when you know that _zuleika_ is the _persian poetical_ name for _potiphar_'s wife, on whom and joseph there is a long poem, in the persian, this will not surprise you. if you want authority, look at jones, d'herbelot, vathek, or the notes to the arabian nights; and, if you think it necessary, model this into a note. "alter, in the inscription, 'the most affectionate respect,' to 'with every sentiment of regard and respect.'" [footnote : some doubt had been expressed by mr. murray as to the propriety of his putting the name of cain into the mouth of a mussulman.] * * * * * to mr. murray. "nov. . . "i send you a note for the _ignorant_, but i really wonder at finding _you_ among them. i don't care one lump of sugar for my _poetry_; but for my _costume_ and my _correctness_ on those points (of which i think the _funeral_ was a proof), i will combat lustily. "yours," &c. * * * * * "nov. . . "let the revise which i sent just now (and _not_ the proof in mr. gifford's possession) be returned to the printer, as there are several additional corrections, and two new lines in it. yours," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "november . . "mr. hodgson has looked over and _stopped_, or rather _pointed_, this revise, which must be the one to print from. he has also made some suggestions, with most of which i have complied, as he has always, for these ten years, been a very sincere, and by no means (at times) flattering intimate of mine. _he_ likes it (you will think _fatteringly_, in this instance) better than the giaour, but doubts (and so do i) its being so popular; but, contrary to some others, advises a separate publication. on this we can easily decide. i confess i like the _double_ form better. hodgson says, it is _better versified_ than any of the others; which is odd, if true, as it has cost me less time (though more hours at a time) than any attempt i ever made. "p.s. do attend to the punctuation: i can't, for i don't know a comma--at least where to place one. "that tory of a printer has omitted two lines of the opening, and _perhaps more_, which were in the ms. will you, pray, give him a hint of accuracy? i have reinserted the _two_, but they were in the manuscript, i can swear." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "november . . "that you and i may distinctly understand each other on a subject, which, like 'the dreadful reckoning when men smile no more,' makes conversation not very pleasant, i think it as well to _write_ a few lines on the topic.--before i left town for yorkshire, you said that you were ready and willing to give five hundred guineas for the copyright of 'the giaour;' and my answer was--from which i do not mean to recede--that we would discuss the point at christmas. the new story may or may not succeed; the probability, under present circumstances, seems to be, that it may at least pay its expenses--but even that remains to be proved, and till it is proved one way or another, we will say nothing about it. thus then be it: i will postpone all arrangement about it, and the giaour also, till easter, ; and you shall then, according to your own notions of fairness, make your own offer for the two. at the same time, i do not rate the last in my own estimation at half the giaour; and according to your own notions of its worth and its success within the time mentioned, be the addition or deduction to or from whatever sum may be your proposal for the first, which has already had its success. "the pictures of phillips i consider as _mine_, all three; and the one (not the arnaout) of the two best is much at _your service_, if you will accept it as a present. "p.s. the expense of engraving from the miniature send me in my account, as it was destroyed by my desire; and have the goodness to burn that detestable print from it immediately. "to make you some amends for eternally pestering you with alterations, i send you cobbett to confirm your orthodoxy. "one more alteration of _a_ into _the_ in the ms.; it must be--'the _heart whose softness_,' &c. "remember--and in the inscription, 'to the right honourable lord holland,' _without_ the previous names, henry," &c. * * * * * to mr. murray. "november . . "more work for the _row_. i am doing my best to beat 'the giaour'--_no_ difficult task for any one but the author." * * * * * to mr. murray. "november . . "i have no time to _cross_-investigate, but i believe and hope all is right. i care less than you will believe about its success, but i can't survive a single _misprint_: it _chokes_ me to see words misused by the printers. pray look over, in case of some eyesore escaping me. "p.s. send the earliest copies to mr. frere, mr. canning, mr. heber, mr. gifford, lord holland, lord melbourne (whitehall), lady caroline lamb, (brocket), mr. hodgson (cambridge), mr. merivale, mr. ward, from the author." * * * * * to mr. murray. "november . . "you wanted some reflections, and i send you _per selim_ (see his speech in canto d, page .), eighteen lines in decent couplets, of a pensive, if not an _ethical_ tendency. one more revise--positively the last, if decently done--at any rate the _pen_ultimate. mr. canning's approbation (_if_ he did approve) i need not say makes me proud.[ ] as to printing, print as you will and how you will--by itself, if you like; but let me have a few copies in _sheets_. "november . . "you must pardon me once more, as it is all for your good: it must be thus-- "he makes a solitude, and calls it peace. '_makes_' is closer to the passage of tacitus, from which the line is taken, and is, besides, a stronger word than '_leaves_' "mark where his carnage and his conquests cease-- he makes a solitude, and calls it--peace." [footnote : mr. canning's note was as follows:--"i received the books, and, among them, the bride of abydos. it is very, very beautiful. lord byron (when i met him, one day, at dinner at mr. ward's) was so kind as to promise to give me a copy of it. i mention this, not to save my purchase, but because i should be really flattered by the present."] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "november . . "if you look over this carefully by the _last proof_ with my corrections, it is probably right; this _you_ can do as well or better;--i have not now time. the copies i mentioned to be sent to different friends last night, i should wish to be made up with the new giaours, if it also is ready. if not, send the giaour afterwards. "the morning post says _i_ am the author of nourjahad!! this comes of lending the drawings for their dresses; but it is not worth a _formal contradiction_. besides, the criticisms on the _supposition_ will, some of them, be quite amusing and furious. the _orientalism_--which i hear is very splendid--of the melodrame (whosever it is, and i am sure i don't know) is as good as an advertisement for your eastern stories, by filling their heads with glitter. "p.s. you will of course _say_ the truth, that i am _not_ the melodramist--if any one charges me in your presence with the performance." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "november . . "send another copy (if not too much of a request) to lady holland of the _journal_[ ], in my name, when you receive this; it is for _earl grey_--and i will relinquish my _own_. also to mr. sharpe, and lady holland, and lady caroline lamb, copies of 'the bride' as soon as convenient. "p.s. mr. ward and myself still continue our purpose; but i shall not trouble you on any arrangement on the score of the giaour and the bride till our return,--or, at any rate, before _may_, ,--that is, six months from hence: and before that time you will be able to ascertain how far your offer may be a losing one; if so, you can deduct proportionably; and if not, i shall not at any rate allow you to go higher than your present proposal, which is very handsome, and more than fair.[ ] "i have had--but this must be _entre nous_--a very kind note, on the subject of 'the bride,' from sir james mackintosh, and an invitation to go there this evening, which it is now too late to accept." [footnote : penrose's journal, a book published by mr. murray at this time.] [footnote : mr. murray had offered him a thousand guineas for the two poems.] * * * * * to mr. murray. "november . . sunday--monday morning--three o'clock--in my doublet and hose,--_swearing_. "i send you in time an errata page, containing an omission of mine, which must be thus added, as it is too late for insertion in the text. the passage is an imitation altogether from medea in ovid, and is incomplete without these two lines. pray let this be done, and directly; it is necessary, will add one page to your book (_making_), and can do no harm, and is yet in time for the _public_. answer me, thou oracle, in the affirmative. you can send the loose pages to those who have copies already, if they like; but certainly to all the _critical_ copyholders. "p.s. i have got out of my bed, (in which, however, i could not sleep, whether i had amended this or not,) and so good morning. i am trying whether de l'allemagne will act as an opiate, but i doubt it." * * * * * to mr. murray. "november . . "_you have looked at it!_' to much purpose, to allow so stupid a blunder to stand; it is _not_ '_courage_' but '_carnage_;' and if you don't want me to cut my own throat, see it altered. "i am very sorry to hear of the fall of dresden." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "nov. . . monday. "you will act as you please upon that point; but whether i go or stay, i shall not say another word on the subject till may--nor then, unless quite convenient to yourself. i have many things i wish to leave to your care, principally papers. the _vases_ need not be now sent, as mr. ward is gone to scotland. you are right about the errata page; place it at the beginning. mr. perry is a little premature in his compliments: these may do harm by exciting expectation, and i think we ought to be above it--though i see the next paragraph is on the _journal_[ ], which makes me suspect _you_ as the author of both. "would it not have been as well to have said 'in two cantos' in the advertisement? they will else think of _fragments_, a species of composition very well for _once_, like _one ruin_ in a _view_; but one would not build a town of them. the bride, such as it is, is my first _entire_ composition of any length (except the satire, and be d----d to it), for the giaour is but a string of passages, and childe harold is, and i rather think always will be, unconcluded. i return mr. hay's note, with thanks to him and you. "there have been some epigrams on mr. ward: one i see to-day. the first i did not see, but heard yesterday. the second seems very bad. i only hope that mr. ward does not believe that i had any connection with either. i like and value him too well to allow my politics to contract into spleen, or to admire any thing intended to annoy him or his. you need not take the trouble to answer this, as i shall see you in the course of the afternoon. "p.s. i have said this much about the epigrams, because i lived so much in the _opposite camp_, and, from my post as an engineer, might be suspected as the flinger of these hand-grenadoes; but with a worthy foe, i am all for open war, and not this bushfighting, and have not had, nor will have, any thing to do with it. i do not know the author." [footnote : penrose's journal.] * * * * * to mr. murray. "nov. . . "print this at the end of _all that is of 'the bride of abydos_,' as an errata page. bn. "omitted, canto d, page ., after line ., "so that those arms cling closer round my neck. read, "then if my lip once murmur, it must be no sigh for safety, but a prayer for thee." * * * * * to mr. murray. "tuesday evening, nov. . . "for the sake of correctness, particularly in an errata page, the alteration of the couplet i have just sent (half an hour ago) must take place, in spite of delay or cancel; let me see the _proof_ early to-morrow. i found out _murmur_ to be a neuter _verb_, and have been obliged to alter the line so as to make it a substantive, thus-- "the deepest murmur of this lip shall be no sigh for safety, but a prayer for thee! don't send the copies to the _country_ till this is all right." * * * * * to mr. murray. "dec. . . "when you can, let the couplet enclosed be inserted either in the page, or in the errata page. i trust it is in time for some of the copies. this alteration is in the same part--the page _but one_ before the last correction sent. "p.s. i am afraid, from all i hear, that people are rather inordinate in their expectations, which is very unlucky, but cannot now be helped. this comes of mr. perry and one's wise friends; but do not _you_ wind _your_ hopes of success to the same pitch, for fear of accidents, and i can assure you that my philosophy will stand the test very fairly; and i have done every thing to ensure you, at all events, from positive loss, which will be some satisfaction to both." * * * * * to mr. murray. "dec. . . "i send you a _scratch_ or _two_, the which _heal_. the christian observer is very savage, but certainly well written--and quite uncomfortable at the naughtiness of book and author. i rather suspect you won't much like the _present_ to be more moral, if it is to share also the usual fate of your virtuous volumes. "let me see a proof of the six before incorporation." * * * * * to mr. murray. "monday evening, dec. . . "it is all very well, except that the lines are not numbered properly, and a diabolical mistake, page ., which _must_ be corrected with the _pen_, if no other way remains; it is the omission of '_not_' before '_disagreeable_,' in the _note_ on the _amber_ rosary. this is really horrible, and nearly as bad as the stumble of mine at the threshold--i mean the _misnomer_ of bride. pray do not let a copy go without the '_not_;' it is nonsense, and worse than nonsense as it now stands. i wish the printer was saddled with a vampire. "p.s. it is still _hath_ instead of _have_ in page .; never was any one so _misused_ as i am by your devils of printers. "p.s. i hope and trust the '_not_' was inserted in the first edition. we must have something--any thing--to set it right. it is enough to answer for one's own bulls, without other people's." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "december . . "lord holland is laid up with the gout, and would feel very much obliged if you could obtain, and send as soon as possible, madame d'arblay's (or even miss edgeworth's) new work. i know they are not out; but it is perhaps possible for your _majesty_ to command what we cannot with much suing purchase, as yet. i need not say that when you are able or willing to confer the same favour on me, i shall be obliged. i would almost fall sick myself to get at madame d'arblay's writings. "p.s. you were talking to-day of the american edition of a certain unquenchable memorial of my younger days. as it can't be helped now, i own i have some curiosity to see a copy of trans-atlantic typography. this you will perhaps obtain, and one for yourself; but i must beg that you will not _import more_, because, _seriously_, i _do wish_ to have that thing forgotten as much as it has been forgiven. "if you send to the globe editor, say that i want neither excuse nor contradiction, but merely a discontinuance of a most ill-grounded charge. i never was consistent in any thing but my politics; and as my redemption depends on that solitary virtue, it is murder to carry away my last anchor." * * * * * of these hasty and characteristic missives with which he despatched off his "still-breeding thoughts," there yet remain a few more that might be presented to the reader; but enough has here been given to show the fastidiousness of his self-criticism, as well as the restless and unsatisfied ardour with which he pressed on in pursuit of perfection,--still seeing, according to the usual doom of genius, much farther than he could reach. an appeal was, about this time, made to his generosity, which the reputation of the person from whom it proceeded would, in the minds of most people, have justified him in treating with disregard, but which a more enlarged feeling of humanity led him to view in a very different light; for, when expostulated with by mr. murray on his generous intentions towards one "whom nobody else would give a single farthing to," he answered, "it is for that very reason _i_ give it, because nobody else will." the person in question was mr. thomas ashe, author of a certain notorious publication called "the book," which, from the delicate mysteries discussed in its pages, attracted far more notice than its talent, or even mischief, deserved. in a fit, it is to be hoped, of sincere penitence, this man wrote to lord byron, alleging poverty as his excuse for the vile uses to which he had hitherto prostituted his pen, and soliciting his lordship's aid towards enabling him to exist, in future, more reputably. to this application the following answer, marked, in the highest degree, by good sense, humanity, and honourable sentiment, was returned by lord byron:-- letter . to mr. ashe. " . bennet street, st. james's, dec. . . "sir, "i leave town for a few days to-morrow; on my return, i will answer your letter more at length. whatever may be your situation, i cannot but commend your resolution to abjure and abandon the publication and composition of works such as those to which you have alluded. depend upon it they amuse _few_, disgrace both _reader_ and _writer_, and benefit _none_. it will be my wish to assist you, as far as my limited means will admit, to break such a bondage. in your answer, inform me what sum you think would enable you to extricate yourself from the hands of your employers, and to regain, at least, temporary independence, and i shall be glad to contribute my mite towards it. at present, i must conclude. your name is not unknown to me, and i regret, for your own sake, that you have ever lent it to the works you mention. in saying this, i merely repeat your _own words_ in your letter to me, and have no wish whatever to say a single syllable that may appear to insult your misfortunes. if i have, excuse me; it is unintentional. yours, &c. "byron." * * * * * in answer to this letter, ashe mentioned, as the sum necessary to extricate him from his difficulties, _l_.--to be advanced at the rate of ten pounds per month; and, some short delay having occurred in the reply to this demand, the modest applicant, in renewing his suit, complained, it appears, of neglect: on which lord byron, with a good temper which few, in a similar case, could imitate, answered him as follows:-- letter . to mr. ashe. "january . . "sir, "when you accuse a stranger of neglect, you forget that it is possible business or absence from london may have interfered to delay his answer, as has actually occurred in the present instance. but to the point. i am willing to do what i can to extricate you from your situation. your first scheme[ ] i was considering; but your own impatience appears to have rendered it abortive, if not irretrievable. i will deposit in mr. murray's hands (with his consent) the sum you mentioned, to be advanced for the time at ten pounds per month. "p.s.--i write in the greatest hurry, which may make my letter a little abrupt; but, as i said before, i have no wish to distress your feelings." [footnote : his first intention had been to go out, as a settler, to botany bay.] * * * * * the service thus humanely proffered was no less punctually performed; and the following is one of the many acknowledgments of payment which i find in ashe's letters to mr. murray:--"i have the honour to enclose you another memorandum for the sum of ten pounds, in compliance with the munificent instructions of lord byron."[ ] his friend, mr. merivale, one of the translators of those selections from the anthology which we have seen he regretted so much not having taken with him on his travels, published a poem about this time, which he thus honours with his praise. letter . to mr. merivale. "january, . "my dear merivale, "i have redde roncesvaux with very great pleasure, and (if i were so disposed) see very little room for criticism. there is a choice of two lines in one of the last cantos,--i think 'live and protect' better, because 'oh who?' implies a doubt of roland's power or inclination. i would allow the--but that point you yourself must determine on--i mean the doubt as to where to place a part of the poem, whether between the actions or no. only if you wish to have all the success you deserve, _never listen to friends_, and--as i am not the least troublesome of the number, least of all to me. "i hope you will be out soon. _march_, sir, _march_ is the month for the _trade_, and they must be considered. you have written a very noble poem, and nothing but the detestable taste of the day can do you harm,--but i think you will beat it. your measure is uncommonly well chosen and wielded."[ ] [footnote : when these monthly disbursements had amounted to _l._, ashe wrote to beg that the whole remaining sum of _l_. might be advanced to him at one payment, in order to enable him, as he said, to avail himself of a passage to new south wales, which had been again offered to him. the sum was accordingly, by lord byron's orders, paid into his hands.] [footnote : this letter is but a fragment,--the remainder being lost.] * * * * * in the extracts from his journal, just given, there is a passage that cannot fail to have been remarked, where, in speaking of his admiration of some lady, whose name he has himself left blank, the noble writer says--"a wife would be the salvation of me." it was under this conviction, which not only himself but some of his friends entertained, of the prudence of his taking timely refuge in matrimony from those perplexities which form the sequel of all less regular ties, that he had been induced, about a year before, to turn his thoughts seriously to marriage,--at least, as seriously as his thoughts were ever capable of being so turned,--and chiefly, i believe, by the advice and intervention of his friend lady melbourne, to become a suitor for the hand of a relative of that lady, miss milbanke. though his proposal was not then accepted, every assurance of friendship and regard accompanied the refusal; a wish was even expressed that they should continue to write to each other, and a correspondence, in consequence,--somewhat singular between two young persons of different sexes, inasmuch as love was not the subject of it,--ensued between them. we have seen how highly lord byron estimated as well the virtues as the accomplishments of the young lady; but it is evident that on neither side, at this period, was love either felt or professed.[ ] in the mean time, new entanglements, in which his heart was the willing dupe of his fancy and vanity, came to engross the young poet: and still, as the usual penalties of such pursuits followed, he again found himself sighing for the sober yoke of wedlock, as some security against their recurrence. there were, indeed, in the interval between miss milbanke's refusal and acceptance of him, two or three other young women of rank who, at different times, formed the subject of his matrimonial dreams. in the society of one of these, whose family had long honoured me with their friendship, he and i passed much of our time, during this and the preceding spring; and it will be found that, in a subsequent part of his correspondence, he represents me as having entertained an anxious wish that he should so far cultivate my fair friend's favour as to give a chance, at least, of matrimony being the result. that i, more than once, expressed some such feeling is undoubtedly true. fully concurring with the opinion, not only of himself, but of others of his friends, that in marriage lay his only chance of salvation from the sort of perplexing attachments into which he was now constantly tempted, i saw in none of those whom he admired with more legitimate views so many requisites for the difficult task of winning him into fidelity and happiness as in the lady in question. combining beauty of the highest order with a mind intelligent and ingenuous,--having just learning enough to give refinement to her taste, and far too much taste to make pretensions to learning,--with a patrician spirit proud as his own, but showing it only in a delicate generosity of spirit, a feminine high-mindedness, which would have led her to tolerate his defects in consideration of his noble qualities and his glory, and even to sacrifice silently some of her own happiness rather than violate the responsibility in which she stood pledged to the world for his;--such was, from long experience, my impression of the character of this lady; and perceiving lord byron to be attracted by her more obvious claims to admiration, i felt a pleasure no less in rendering justice to the still rarer qualities which she possessed, than in endeavouring to raise my noble friend's mind to the contemplation of a higher model of female character than he had, unluckily for himself, been much in the habit of studying. to this extent do i confess myself to have been influenced by the sort of feeling which he attributes to me. but in taking for granted (as it will appear he did from one of his letters) that i entertained any very decided or definite wishes on the subject, he gave me more credit for seriousness in my suggestions than i deserved. if even the lady herself, the unconscious object of these speculations, by whom he was regarded in no other light than that of a distinguished acquaintance, could have consented to undertake the perilous,--but still possible and glorious,--achievement of attaching byron to virtue, i own that, sanguinely as, in theory, i might have looked to the result, i should have seen, not without trembling, the happiness of one whom i had known and valued from her childhood risked in the experiment. i shall now proceed to resume the thread of the journal, which i had broken off, and of which, it will be perceived, the noble author himself had, for some weeks, at this time, interrupted the progress. [footnote : the reader has already seen what lord byron himself says, in his journal, on this subject:--"what an odd situation and friendship is ours!--without one spark of love on either side," &c. &c.] end of the second volume. the complete poems of sir thomas moore collected by himself with explanatory notes with a biographical sketch by william m. rossetti thomas moore thomas moore was born in dublin on the th of may . both his parents were roman-catholics; and he was, as a matter of course, brought up in the same religion, and adhered to it--not perhaps with any extreme zeal--throughout his life. his father was a decent tradesman, a grocer and spirit-retailer--or "spirit-grocer," as the business is termed in ireland. thomas received his schooling from mr. samuel whyte, who had been sheridan's first preceptor, a man of more than average literary culture. he encouraged a taste for acting among the boys: and moore, naturally intelligent and lively, became a favorite with his master, and a leader in the dramatic recreations. his aptitude for verse appeared at an early age. in he composed an epilogue to a piece acted at the house of lady borrows, in dublin; and in his fourteenth year he wrote a sonnet to mr. whyte, which was published in a dublin magazine. like other irish roman-catholics, galled by the hard and stiff collar of protestant ascendancy, the parents of thomas moore hailed the french revolution, and the prospects which it seemed to offer of some reflex ameliorations. in the lad was taken by his father to a dinner in honor of the revolution; and he was soon launched upon a current of ideas and associations which might have conducted a person of more self-oblivious patriotism to the scaffold on which perished the friend of his opening manhood, robert emmet. trinity college, dublin, having been opened to catholics by the irish parliament in , moore was entered there as a student in the succeeding year. he became more proficient in french and italian than in the classic languages, and showed no turn for latin verses. eventually, his political proclivities, and intimacy with many of the chiefs of opposition, drew down upon him (after various interrogations, in which he honorably refused to implicate his friends) a severe admonition from the university authorities; but he had not joined in any distinctly rebellious act and no more formidable results ensued to him. in moore published in the _anthologia hibernica_ two pieces of verse; and his budding talents became so far known as to earn him the proud eminence of laureate to the gastronomic club of dalkey, near dublin, in . through his acquaintance with emmet, he joined the oratorical society, and afterwards the more important historical society; and he published _an ode on nothing, with notes, by trismegistus rustifucius, d. d._, which won a party success. about the same time he wrote articles for _the press_, a paper founded towards the end of by o'connor, addis, emmet, and others. he graduated at trinity college in november, . the bar was the career which his parents, and especially his mother, wished thomas to pursue; neither of them had much faith in poetry or literature as a resource for his subsistence. accordingly, in , he crossed over into england, and studied in the middle temple; and he was afterwards called to the bar, but literary pursuits withheld him from practicing. he had brought with him from ireland his translations from anacreon; and published these by subscription in , dedicated to the prince regent (then the illusory hope of political reformers), with no inconsiderable success. lord moira, lady donegal, and other leaders of fashionable society, took him up with friendly warmth, and he soon found himself a well-accepted guest in the highest circles in london. no clever young fellow--without any advantage of birth or of person, and with intellectual attractions which seem to posterity to be of a rather middling kind--ever won his way more easily or more cheaply into that paradise of mean ambitions, the _beau monde_. moore has not escaped the stigma which attaches to almost all men who thus succeeded under the like conditions--that of tuft-hunting and lowering compliances. he would be a bold man who should affirm that there was absolutely no sort of ground for the charge; or that moore--fêted at holland house, and hovered-round by the fashionable of both sexes, the men picking up his witticisms, and the women languishing over his songs--was capable of the same sturdy self-reliance and simple adhesion to principle which might possibly have been in him, and forthcoming from him, under different conditions. who shall touch pitch and not be defiled,--who treacle, and not be sweetened? at the same time, it is easy to carry charges of this kind too far, and not always through motives the purest and most exalted. it may be said without unfairness on either side that the sort of talents which moore possessed brought him naturally into the society which he frequented; that very possibly the world has got quite as much out of him by that development of his faculties as by any other which they could have been likely to receive; and that he repaid patronage in the coin of amusement and of bland lenitives, rather than in that of obsequious adulation. for we are not required nor permitted to suppose that there was the stuff of a hero in "little tom moore;" or that the lapdog of the drawing-room would under any circumstances have been the wolf-hound of the public sheepfold. in the drawing-room he is a sleeker lapdog, and lies upon more and choicelier-clothed laps than he would in "the two-pair back;" and that is about all that needs to be said or speculated in such a case. as a matter of fact, the demeanor of moore among the socially great seems to have been that of a man who respected his company, without failing to respect himself also--any ill-natured caviling or ready-made imputations to the contrary notwithstanding. in moore produced his first volume of original verse, the _poetical works of the late thomas little_ (an allusion to the author's remarkably small stature), for which he received £ . there are in this volume some erotic improprieties, not of a very serious kind either in intention or in harmfulness, which moore regretted in later years. next year lord moira procured him the post of registrar to the admiralty court of bermuda; he embarked on the th of september, and reached his destination in january . this work did not suit him much better than the business of the bar; in march he withdrew from personal discharge of the duties: and, leaving a substitute in his place, he made a tour in the united states and canada. he was presented to jefferson, and felt impressed by his republican simplicity. such a quality, however, was not in moore's line; and nothing perhaps shows the essential smallness of his nature more clearly than the fact that his visit to the united states, in their giant infancy, produced in him no glow of admiration or aspiration, but only a recrudescence of the commonest prejudices--the itch for picking little holes, the petty joy of reporting them, and the puny self-pluming upon fancied or factitious superiorities. if the washy liberal patriotism of moore's very early years had any vitality at all, such as would have qualified it for a harder struggle than jeering at the holy alliance, and singing after-dinner songs of national sentimentalism to the applause of whig lords and ladies, this american experience may beheld to have been its death-blow. he now saw republicans face to face; and found that they were not for him, nor he for them. he returned to england in ; and soon afterwards published his _odes and epistles_, comprising many remarks, faithfully expressive of his perceptions, on american society and manners. the volume was tartly criticised in the _edinburgh review_ by jeffrey, who made some rather severe comments upon the improprieties chargeable to moore's early writings. the consequence was a challenge, and what would have been a duel at chalk farm, but for unloaded pistols and police interference. this _fiasco_ soon led to an amicable understanding between moore and jeffrey; and a few years later, about the end of , to a friendship of closer intimacy between the irish songster and his great poetic contemporary lord byron. his lordship, in his youthful satire of _english bards and scotch reviewers_, had made fun of the unbloody duel. this moore resented, not so much as a mere matter of ridicule as because it involved an ignoring or a denial of a counter-statement of the matter put into print by himself. he accordingly wrote a letter to byron on the st of january , calculated to lead to further hostilities. but, as the noble poet had then already for some months left england for his prolonged tour on the continent, the missive did not reach him; and a little epistolary skirmishing, after his return in the following year, terminated in a hearty reconciliation, and a very intimate cordiality, almost deserving of the lofty name of friendship, on both sides. re-settled in london, and re-quartered upon the pleasant places of fashion, moore was once more a favorite at holland house, lansdowne house, and donington house, the residence of lord moira. his lordship obtained a comfortable post to soothe the declining years of moore's father, and held out to the poet himself the prospect--which was not however realized--of another snug berth for his own occupancy. the united kingdom of great britain and ireland never received the benefit of the irish patriot's services in any public capacity at home--only through the hands of a defaulting deputy in bermuda: it did, however, at length give him the money without the official money's-worth, for in , under lord melbourne's ministry, an annual literary pension of £ was bestowed upon the then elderly poet. nor can it be said that moore's worth to his party, whether we regard him as political sharpshooter or as national lyrist, deserved a less recognition from the whigs: he had at one time, with creditable independence, refused to be indebted to the tories for an appointment. some obloquy has at times been cast upon him on account of his sarcasms against the prince regent, which, however well merited on public grounds, have been held to come with an ill grace from the man whose first literary effort, the _anacreon_, had been published under the auspices of his royal highness as dedicatee, no doubt a practical obligation of some moment to the writer. it does not appear, however, that the obligation went much beyond this simple acceptance of the dedication: moore himself declared that the regent's further civilities had consisted simply in asking him twice to dinner, and admitting him, in , to a fête in honor of the regency. the life of moore for several years ensuing is one of literary success and social brilliancy, varied by his marrying in , miss bessy dyke, a lady who made an excellent and devoted wife, and to whom he was very affectionately attached, although the attractions and amenities of the fashionable world caused from time to time considerable inroads upon his domesticity. after a while, he removed from london, with his wife and young family, to mayfield cottage, near ashbourne, derbyshire--a somewhat lonely site. his _irish melodies_, the work by which he will continue best known, had their origin in , when his attention was drawn to a publication named _bunting's irish melodies_, for which he occasionally wrote the words. in he entered into a definite agreement with mr. power on this subject, in combination with sir j. stevenson, who undertook to compose the accompaniments. the work was prolonged up to the year ; and contributed very materially to moore's comfort in money matters and his general prominence--as his own singing of the melodies in good society kept up his sentimental and patriotic prestige, and his personal lionizing, in a remarkable degree. he played on the piano, and sang with taste, though in a style resembling recitative, and not with any great power of voice: in speaking, his voice had a certain tendency to hoarseness, but its quality became flute-like in singing. in he made another essay in the musical province; writing, at the request of the manager of the lyceum theatre, an operetta named _m.p., or the bluestocking_. it was the reverse of a stage-success; and moore, in collecting his poems, excluded this work, save as regards some of the songs comprised in it. in had appeared anonymously, the poems of _intolerance and corruption_, followed in by _the sceptic_. _intercepted letters, or the twopenny postbag, by thomas brown the younger_, came out in : it was a huge success, and very intelligibly such, going through fourteen editions in one year. in the same year the project of writing an oriental poem--a class of work greatly in vogue now that byron was inventing giaours and corsairs--was seriously entertained by moore. this project took shape in _lalla rookh_, written chiefly at mayfield cottage--a performance for which mr. longman the publisher paid the extremely large sum of £ in advance: its publication hung over till . the poem has been translated into all sorts of languages, including persian, and is said to have found many admirers among its oriental readers. whatever may be thought of its poetic merits--and i for one disclaim any scintilla of enthusiasm--or of its power in vitalizing the _disjecta membra_ of orientalism, the stock-in-trade of the asiatic curiosity-shop, there is no doubt that moore worked very conscientiously upon this undertaking: he read up to any extent,--wrote, talked, and perhaps thought, islamically--and he trips up his reader with some allusion verse after verse, tumbling him to the bottom of the page, with its quagmire of explanatory footnotes. in appeared the _national airs_; in , _sacred songs, duets, and trios_, the music composed and selected by stevenson and moore; in , _the fudge family in paris_, again a great hit. this work was composed in paris, which capital moore had been visiting in company with his friend samuel rogers the poet. the easily earned money and easily discharged duties of the appointment in bermuda began now to weigh heavy on moore. defalcations of his deputy, to the extent of £ , were discovered, for which the nominal holder of the post was liable. moore declined offers of assistance; and, pending a legal decision on the matter, he had found it apposite to revisit the continent. in france, lord john (the late earl) russell was his travelling companion: they went on together through switzerland, and parted at milan. moore then, on the th of october , joined in venice his friend byron, who had been absent from england since . the poets met in the best of humor, and on terms of hearty good-fellowship--moore staying with byron for five or six days. on taking leave of him, byron presented the irish lyrist with the ms. of his autobiographical memoirs stipulating that they should not be published till after the donor's death: at a later date he became anxious that they should remain wholly unpublished. moore sold the ms. in to murray for £ , after some negotiations with longman, and consigned it to the publisher's hands. in the news arrived of byron's death. mr. (afterwards sir wilmot) horton on the part of lady byron, mr. luttrell on that of moore, colonel doyle on that of mrs. leigh, lord byron's half-sister, and mr. hobhouse (afterwards lord broughton) as a friend and executor of the deceased poet, consulted on the subject. hobhouse was strong in urging the suppression of the memoirs. the result was that murray, setting aside considerations of profit, burned the ms. (some principal portions of which nevertheless exist in print, in other forms of publication); and moore immediately afterwards, also in a disinterested spirit, repaid him the purchase-money of £ . it was quite fair that moore should be reimbursed this large sum by some of the persons in whose behoof he had made the sacrifice, this was not neglected. to resume. bidding adieu to byron at venice, moore went on to rome with the sculptor chantrey and the portrait-painter jackson. his tour supplied the materials for the _rhymes on the road_, published, as being extracted from the journal of a travelling member of the pococurante society, in , along with the _fables for the holy alliance_. lawrence, turner, and eastlake, were also much with moore in rome: and here he made acquaintance with canova. hence he returned to paris, and made that city his home up to , expecting the outcome of the bermuda affair. he also resided partly at butte goaslin, near sèvres, with a rich and hospitable spanish family named villamil. the debt of £ was eventually reduced to £ : both the marquis of lansdowne and lord john russell pressed moore with their friendly offers, and the advance which he at last accepted was soon repaid out of the profits of the _loves of the angels_--which poem, chiefly written in paris, was published in . the prose tale of _the epicurean_ was composed about the same time, but did not issue from the press till : the _memoirs of captain rock_ in . he had been under an engagement to a bookseller to write a _life of sheridan_. during his stay in france the want of documents withheld him from proceeding with this work: but he ultimately took it up, and brought it out in . it was not availed to give moore any reputation as a biographer, though the reader in search of amusement will pick out of it something to suit him. george the fourth is credited with having made a neat _bon mot_ upon this book. some one having remarked to him that "moore had been murdering sheridan,"-- "no," replied his sacred majesty, "but he has certainly attempted his life." a later biographical performance, published in , and one of more enduring interest to posterity, was the _life of byron_. this is a very fascinating book; but more--which is indeed a matter of course--in virtue of the lavish amount of byron's own writing which it embodies than, on account of the memoir-compiler's doings. however, there is a considerable share of good feeling in the book, as well as matter of permanent value from the personal knowledge that moore had of byron; and the avoidance of "posing" and of dealing with the subject for purposes of effect, in the case of a man whose career and genius lent themselves so insidiously to such a treatment, is highly creditable to the biographer's good sense and taste. the _life of byron_ succeeded, in the list of moore's writings, a _history of ireland_, contributed in to _lardner's cyclopaedia_, and the _travels of an irishman in search of a religion_, published in the same year: and was followed by a _life of lord edward fitzgerald_, issued in . this, supplemented by some minor productions, closes the sufficiently long list of writings of an industrious literary life. in his latter years moore resided at sloperton cottage, near devizes in wiltshire, where he was near the refined social circle of lord lansdowne at bowood, as well as the lettered home of the rev. mr. bowles at bremhill. domestic sorrows clouded his otherwise cheerful and comfortable retirement. one of his sons died in the french military service in algeria; another of consumption in . for some years before his own death, which occurred on the th of february , his mental powers had collapsed. he sleeps in bromham cemetery, in the neighborhood of sloperton. moore had a very fair share of learning, as well as steady application, greatly as he sacrificed to the graces of life, and especially of "good society." his face was not perhaps much more impressive in its contour than his diminutive figure. his eyes, however, were dark and fine; his forehead bony, and with what a phrenologist would recognize as large bumps of wit; the mouth pleasingly dimpled. his manner and talk were bright, abounding rather in lively anecdote and point than in wit and humor, strictly so called. to term him amiable according to any standard, and estimable too as men of an unheroic fibre go, is no more than his due. no doubt the world has already seen the most brilliant days of moore's poetry. its fascinations are manifestly of the more temporary sort: partly through fleetingness of subject-matter and evanescence of allusion (as in the clever and still readable satirical poems); partly through the aroma of sentimental patriotism, hardly strong enough in stamina to make the compositions national, or to maintain their high level of popularity after the lyrist himself has long been at rest; partly through the essentially commonplace sources and forms of inspiration which belong to his more elaborate and ambitious works. no poetical reader of the present day is the poorer for knowing absolutely nothing of _lalla rookh_ or the _loves of the angels_. what then will be the hold or the claim of these writings upon a reader of the twenty-first century? if we expect the satirical compositions, choice in a different way, the best things of moore are to be sought in the _irish melodies_, to which a considerable share of merit, and of apposite merit, is not to be denied: yet even here what deserts around the oases, and the oases themselves how soon exhaustible and forgettable! there are but few thoroughly beautiful and touching lines in the whole of moore's poetry. here is one-- "come rest in this bosom, mine own stricken deer." a great deal has been said upon the overpowering "lusciousness" of his poetry, and the magical "melody" of his verse: most of this is futile. there is in the former as much of _fadeur_ as of lusciousness; and a certain tripping or trotting exactitude, not less fully reducible to the test of scansion than of a well-attuned ear, is but a rudimentary form of melody--while of harmony or rhythmic volume of sound moore is as decisively destitute as any correct versifier can well be. no clearer proof of the incapacity of the mass of critics and readers to appreciate the calibre of poetical work in point of musical and general execution could be given than the fact that moore has always with them passed, and still passes, for an eminently melodious poet. what then remains? chiefly this. in one class of writing, liveliness of witty banter, along with neatness; and, in the other and ostensibly more permanent class, elegance, also along with neatness. reduce these qualities to one denomination, and we come to something that may be called "propriety": a sufficiently disastrous "raw material" for the purposes of a poet, and by no means loftily to be praised or admired even when regarded as the outer investiture of a nobler poetic something within. but let desert of every kind have its place, and welcome. in the cosmical diapason and august orchestra of poetry, tom moore's little pan's-pipe can at odd moments be heard, and interjects an appreciable and rightly-combined twiddle or two. to be gratified with these at the instant is no more than the instrument justifies, and the executant claims: to think much about them when the organ is pealing or the violin plaining (with a shelley performing on the first, or a mrs. browning on the second), or to be on the watch for their recurrences, would be equally superfluous and weak-minded. contents advertisement. after the battle. alarming intelligence. alciphron: a fragment. letter i. from alciphron at alexandria to cleon at athens. ii. from the same to the same. iii. from the same to the same. iv. from orcus, high priest of memphis, to decius, the praetorian prefect. all in the family way. all that's bright must fade. almighty god. alone in crowds to wander on. amatory colloquy between bank and government. anacreon, odes of. i. i saw the smiling bard of pleasure. ii. give me the harp of epic song. iii. listen to the muse's lyre. iv. vulcan! hear your glorious task. v. sculptor, wouldst thou glad my soul. vi. as late i sought the spangled bowers. vii. the women tell me every day. viii. i care not for the idle state. ix. i pray thee, by the gods above. x. how am i to punish thee. xi. "tell me, gentle youth, i pray thee". xii. they tell how atys, wild with love. xiii. i will, i will, the conflict's past. xiv. count me, on the summer trees. xv. tell me, why, my sweetest dove. xvi. thou, whose soft and rosy hues. xvii. and now with all thy pencil's truth. xviii. now the star of day is high. xix. here recline you, gentle maid. xx. one day the muses twined the hands. xxi. observe when mother earth is dry. xxii. the phrygian rock, that braves the storm. xxiii. i often wish this languid lyre. xxiv. to all that breathe the air of heaven. xxv. once in each revolving year. xxvi. thy harp may sing of troy's alarms. xxvii. we read the flying courser's name. xxviii. as, by his lemnian forge's flame. xxix. yes--loving is a painful thrill. xxx. 'twas in a mocking dream of night. xxxi. armed with hyacinthine rod. xxxii. strew me a fragrant bed of leaves. xxxiii. 'twas noon of night, when round the pole. xxxiv. oh thou, of all creation blest. xxxv. cupid once upon a bed. xxxvi. if hoarded gold possest the power. xxxvii. 'twas night, and many a circling bowl. xxxviii. let us drain the nectared bowl. xxxix. how i love the festive boy. xl. i know that heaven hath sent me here. xli. when spring adorns the dewy scene. xlii. yes, be the glorious revel mine. xliii. while our rosy fillets shed. xliv. buds of roses, virgin flowers. xlv. within this goblet rich and deep. xlvi. behold, the young, the rosy spring. xlvii. 'tis true, my fading years decline. xlviii. when my thirsty soul i steep. xlix. when bacchus, jove's immortal boy. l. when wine i quaff, before my eyes. li. fly not thus my brow of snow. lii. away, away, ye men of rules. liii. when i beheld the festive train. liv. methinks, the pictured bull we see. lv. while we invoke the wreathed spring. lvi. he, who instructs the youthful crew. lvii. whose was the artist hand that spread. lviii. when gold, as fleet as zephyr's pinion. lix. ripened by the solar beam. lx. awake to life, my sleeping shell. lxi. youth's endearing charms are fled. lxii. fill me, boy, as deep a draught. lxiii. to love, the soft and blooming child. lxiv. haste thee, nymph, whose well-aimed spear. lxv. like some wanton filly sporting. lxvi. to thee, the queen of nymphs divine. lxvii. rich in bliss, i proudly scorn. lxviii. now neptune's month our sky deforms. lxix. they wove the lotus band to deck. lxx. a broken cake, with honey sweet lxxi. with twenty chords my lyre is hung. lxxii. fare thee well, perfidious maid. lxxiii. awhile i bloomed, a happy flower. lxxiv. monarch love, resistless boy. lxxv. spirit of love, whose locks unrolled. lxxvi. hither, gentle muse of mine. lxxvii. would that i were a tuneful lyre. lxxviii. when cupid sees how thickly now. let me resign this wretched breath. i know thou lovest a brimming measure. from dread lucadia's frowning steep. mix me, child, a cup divine. anacreontic. anacreontic. anacreontic. anacreontic. anacreontic. and doth not a meeting like this. angel of charity. animal magnetism. anne boleyn. announcement of a new grand acceleration company. announcement of a new thalaba. annual pill, the. anticipated meeting of the british association in the year . as a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow. as down in the sunless retreats. ask not if still i love. aspasia. as slow our ship. as vanquished erin. at night. at the mid hour of night. avenging and bright. awake, arise, thy light is come. awful event. ballad, a. ballad for the cambridge election. ballad stanzas. beauty and song. before the battle. behold the sun. believe me, if all those endearing young charms. black and blue eyes. blue love-song, a. boat glee. boy of the alps, the. boy statesman, the. bright be thy dreams. bright moon. bring the bright garlands hither. brunswick club, the. but who shall see. by that lake, whose gloomy shore. calm be thy sleep. canadian boat song, a. canonization of saint butterworth, the. captain rock in london. case of libel, a. catalogue, the. cephalus and procris. characterless, a. cherries, the. child's song--from a masque. church extension. cloris and fanny. cocker, on church reform. come, chase that starting tear away. come not, oh lord. come o'er the sea. come, play me that simple air again. come, rest in this bosom. come, send round the wine. come, ye disconsolate. common sense and genius. consultation, the. copy of an intercepted despatch. corn and catholics. corrected report of some late speeches, a. correspondence between a lady and gentleman. corruption, an epistle. cotton and corn. country dance and quadrille. crystal-hunters, the. cupid and psyche. cupid armed. cupid's lottery. curious fact, a. dance of bishops, the. dawn is breaking o'er us, the. day-dream, the. day of love, the. dear fanny. dear harp of my country. dear? yes. desmond's song. devil among the scholars, the. dialogue between a sovereign and a one pound note. dick * * * *. did not. dog-day reflections. donkey and his panniers, the. do not say that life is waning. dost thou remember. dream, a. dreaming for ever. dream of antiquity, a. dream of hindostan, a. dream of home, the. dream of the two sisters, the. dream of those days, the. dream of turtle, a. dreams. drink of this cup. drink to her. duke is the lad, the. dying warrior, the. east indian, the. echo. elegiac stanzas. elegiac stanzas. enigma. epigram.--"i never gave a kiss" (says prue). epigram.--"i want the court guide," said my lady, "to look". epigram.--what news to-day?--"oh! worse and worse". epigram.--said his highness to ned, with that grim face of his. epilogue. epistle from captain rock to lord lyndhurst. epistle from erasmus on earth to cicero in the shades. epistle from henry of exeter to john of tuam. epistle from tom crib to big ben. epistle of condolence. epitaph on a tuft-hunter. erin, oh erin. erin! the tear and the smile in thine eyes. euthanasia of van, the. eveleen's bower. evening gun, the. evenings in greece. exile, the. expostulation to lord king, an. extract from a prologue. extracts from the diary of a politician. fables for the holy alliance, i. the dissolution of the holy alliance. ii. the looking-glasses. iii. the torch of liberty. iv. the fly and the bullock. v. church and state. vi. the little grand lama. vii. the extinguishers. viii. louis fourteenth's wig. fairest! put on awhile. fallen is thy throne. fall of hebe, the. fancy. fancy fair, the. fanny, dearest. fare thee well, thou lovely one. farewell!--but whenever you welcome the hour. farewell, theresa. fear not that, while around thee. fill the bumper fair. fire-worshippers, the. first angel's story. flow on, thou shining river. fly not yet. fools' paradise. forget not the field. for thee alone. fortune-teller, the. fragment. fragment of a character. fragment of a mythological hymn to love. fragments of college exercises. from life without freedom. from the hon. henry ----, to lady emma ----. from this hour the pledge is given. fudge family in paris, the. letter i. from miss biddy fudge to miss dorothy ----, of clonkilty, in ireland. ii. from phil. fudge, esq., to the lord viscount castlereagh. iii. from mr. bob fudge to richard ----, esq. iv. from phelim connor to ----. v. from miss biddy fudge to miss dorothy ----. vi. from phil. fudge, esq., to his brother tim fudge, esq., barrister at law. vii. from phelim connor to ----. viii. from mr. bob fudge to richard ----, esq. ix. from phil. fudge, esq., to the lord viscount castlereagh. x. from miss biddy fudge to miss dorothy ----. xi. from phelim connor to ----. xii. from miss biddy fudge to miss dorothy ----. fudges in england, the. letter i. from patrick magan, esq., to the rev. richard ---- curate of ---- in ireland. ii. from miss biddy fudge to mrs. elizabeth ---- extracts from my diary. iii. from miss fanny fudge to her cousin, kitty ----. iv. from patrick magan, esq., to the rev. richard ----. v. from larry o'branigan in england, to his wife judy, at mullinafad. vi. from miss biddy fudge, to mrs. elizabeth ---- extracts from my diary. vii. from miss fanny fudge, to her cousin, miss kitty ----. viii. from bob fudge, esq., to the rev. mortimer o'mulligan. ix. from larry o'branigan, to his wife judy. x. from the rev. mortimer o'mulligan, to the rev. ----. xi. from patrick magan, esq., to the rev. richard ----. fum and hum, the two birds of royalty. garland i send thee, the. gayly sounds the castanet. gazel. gazelle, the. genius and criticism. genius of harmony, the. ghost of miltiades, the. ghost story, a. go forth to the mount. go, let me weep. go, now, and dream. go, then--'tis vain. go where glory waits thee. grand dinner of type and co. grecian girl's dream of the blessed islands, the. greek of meleager, from the. guess, guess. halcyon hangs o'er ocean, the. hark! the vesper hymn is stealing. hark! 'tis the breeze. harp that once thro' tara's halls, the. has sorrow thy young days shaded. hat _versus_ wig. hear me but once. here at thy tomb. here sleeps the bard. here's the bower. here, take my heart. her last words at parting. hero and leander. high-born ladye, the. high priest of apollo to a virgin of delphi, from the. hip, hip, hurra. homeward march, the. hope comes again. horace: ode i. lib. iii.--i hate thee, oh, mob, as my lady hates delf. ode xi. lib. ii.--come, yarmouth, my boy, never trouble your brains. ode xxii. lib. i.--the man who keeps a conscience pure. ode xxxviii. lib. i.--boy, tell the cook that i hate all nicknackeries. how dear to me the hour. how happy, once. how lightly mounts the muse's wing. how oft has the banshee cried. how oft, when watching stars. how shall i woo. how to make a good politician. how to make one's self a peer. how to write by proxy. hush, hush. hush, sweet lute. hymn of a virgin of delphi. hymn of welcome after the recess, a. i'd mourn the hopes. "if" and "perhaps". if in loving, singing. if thou'lt be mine. if thou wouldst have me sing and play. ill omens. i love but thee. imitation. imitation of catullus. imitation of the inferno of dante. impromptu. impromptu. impromptu. incantation. incantation, an. inconstancy. indian boat, the. in myrtle wreaths. insurrection of the papers, the. intended tribute. intercepted letters, etc. letter i. from the princess charlotte of wales to the lady barbara ashley. ii. from colonel m'mahon to gould francis leckie, esq. iii. from george prince regent to the earl of yarmouth. iv. from the right hon. patrick duigenan to the right hon. sir john nicol. v. from the countess dowager of cork to lady ----. vi. from abdallah, in london, to mohassan, in ispahan. vii. from messrs. lackington and co. to thomas moore, esq. viii. from colonel thomas to ---- skeffington, esq. appendix. in the morning of life. intolerance, a satire. invisible girl, to the. invitation to dinner. irish antiquities. irish peasant to his mistress, the. irish slave, the. i saw from the beach. i saw the moon rise clear. i saw thy form in youthful prime. is it not sweet to think. hereafter. it is not the tear at this moment shed. i've a secret to tell thee. i will, i will, the conflict's past. i wish i was by that dim lake. joke versified, a. joys of youth, how fleeting. keep those eyes still purely mine. king crack and his idols. kiss, the. lalla rookh. lament for the loss of lord bathurst's tail. language of flowers, the. late scene at swanage, a. latest accounts from olympus. late tithe case. leaf and the fountain, the. legacy, the. legend of puck the fairy, the. lesbia hath a beaming eye. les hommes automates. let erin remember the days of old. let joy alone be remembered now. let's take this world as some wide scene. letter from larry o'branigan to the rev. murtagh o'mulligan. light of the haram, the. light sounds the harp. like morning when her early breeze. like one who, doomed. limbo of lost reputations, the. lines on the death of joseph atkinson, esq., of dublin. lines on the death of mr. perceval. lines on the death of sheridan. lines on the departure of lords castlereagh and stewart for the continent. lines on the entry of the austrians into naples. lines written at the cohos, or falls of the mohawk river. lines written in a storm at sea. lines written on leaving philadelphia. literary advertisement. little man and little soul. "living dog" and "the dead lion," the. long years have past. lord henley and st. cecilia. lord, who shall bear that day. love alone. love and hope. love and hymen. love and marriage. love and reason. love and the novice. love and the sun-dial. love and time. love is a hunter-boy. love's light summer-cloud. loves of the angels, the. love's victory. love's young dream. love thee. love thee, dearest? love thee. love, wandering thro' the golden maze. lusitanian war-song. lying. mad tory and the comet, the. magic mirror, the. meeting of the ships, the. meeting of the waters, the. melologue. memorabilia of last week. merrily every bosom boundeth. millennium, the. mind not tho' daylight. minstrel-boy, the. missing. morality. moral positions. mountain sprite, the. mr. roger dodsworth. musical box, the. musings of an unreformed peer. musings, suggested by the late promotion of mrs. nethercoat. my birth-day. my gentle harp. my harp has one unchanging theme. my heart and lute. my mopsa is little. natal genius, the. nature's labels. nay, tell me not, dear. ne'er ask the hour. ne'er talk of wisdom's gloomy schools. nets and cages. new costume of the ministers, the. new creation of peers. new-fashioned echoes. new grand exhibition of models new hospital for sick literati. news for country cousins. night dance, the. nights of music. night thought, a. no--leave my heart to rest. nonsense. not from thee. notions on reform. numbering of the clergy, the. occasional address for the opening of the new theatre of st. stephen. occasional epilogue. odes to nea. ode to a hat. ode to don miguel. ode to ferdinand. ode to the goddess ceres. ode to the sublime porte. ode to the woods and forests. o'donohue's mistress. oft, in the stilly night. oh! arranmore, loved arranmore. oh banquet not. oh! blame not the bard. oh! breathe not his name. oh, call it by some better name. oh, come to me when daylight sets. oh, could we do with this world of ours. oh, days of youth. oh, do not look so bright and blest. oh! doubt me not. oh fair! oh purest. oh for the swords of former tim. oh, guard our affection. ob! had we some bright little isle of our own. oh, no--not--even. when first we loved. oh, soon return. oh, teach me to love thee. oh the shamrock. oh, the sight entrancing. oh! think not my spirits are always as light. oh thou who dry'st the mourner's tear. oh, ye dead. on a squinting poetess. one bumper at parting. one dear smile. on music. on the death of a friend. on the death of a lady. origin of the harp, the. o say, thou best and brightest. our first young love. paddy's metamorphosis. paradise and the peri. parallel, the. parody of a celebrated letter. parting before the battle, the. pastoral ballad, a. peace and glory. peace be around thee. peace, peace to him that's gone. peace to the slumberers. periwinkles and the locusts, the. petition of the orangemen of ireland, the. philosopher artistippus to a lamp, the. pilgrim, the. poor broken flower. poor wounded; heart. pretty rose-tree. prince's day, the. proposals for a gynsecocracy. quick! we have but a second. reason, folly, and beauty. recent dialogue, a. rector and his curate, the. reflection at sea, a. reflections. reinforcements for lord wellington. religion and trade. remember thee. remember the time. remonstrance. resemblance, the. resolutions passed at a late meeting of reverends and right reverends. reuben and rose. reverend pamphleteer, the. rhymes on the road. introductory rhymes. extract i. geneva. ii. geneva. iii. geneva. iv. milan. v. padua. vi. venice. vii. venice. viii. venice. ix. venice. x. mantua. xi. florence. xii. florence. xiii. rome. xiv. rome. xv. rome. xvi. les charmettes. rich and rare were the gems she wore. rings and seals. ring, the. ring, the. rival topics. rondeau. rose of the desert. round the world goes. row gently here. russian lover, the. sad case, a. sail on, sail on. sale of cupid. sale of loves, the. sale of tools, the. say, what shall be our sport to-day. say, what shall we dance. scene from a play. scepticism. sceptic, the. second angel's story. see the dawn from heaven. selections. shall the harp then be silent. she is far from the land. she sung of love. shield, the. shine out, stars. should those fond hopes. shrine, the. silence is in our festal halls. since first thy word. sing--sing--music was given. sing, sweet harp. sinking fund cried, the. sir andrew's dream. sketch of the first act of a new romantic drama. slumber, oh slumber. snake, the. snow spirit, the. some account of the late dinner to dan. song.--ah! where are they, who heard, in former hours. array thee, love, array thee, love. as by the shore, at break of day. as love one summer eve was straying. as o'er her loom the lesbian maid. as once a grecian maiden wove. bring hither, bring thy lute, while day is dying. calm as beneath its mother's eyes. fly from the world, o bessy! to me. have you not seen the timid tear. here, while the moonlight dim. if i swear by that eye, you'll allow. if to see thee be to love thee. i saw from yonder silent cave. march! nor heed those anna that hold thee. mary, i believed thee true. no life is like the mountaineer's. of all my happiest hours of joy. oh, memory, how coldly. oh, where art thou dreaming. raise the buckler-poise the lance. smoothly flowing thro' verdant vales. some mortals there may be, so wise, or so fine. take back the sigh, thy lips of art. the wreath you wove, the wreath you wove. think on that look whose melting ray. thou art not dead--thou art not dead. "'tis the vine! 'tis the vine!" said the cup-loving boy. up and march! the timbrel's sound. up with the sparkling brimmer. weeping for thee, my love, thro' the long day. welcome sweet bird, thro' the sunny air winging. when evening shades are falling. when the balaika. when time who steals our years away. where is the heart that would not give. "who comes so gracefully,". who'll buy?--'tis folly's shop, who'll buy. why does azure deck the sky. yes! had i leisure to sigh and mourn. song and trio. song and trio. song of a hyperborean. song of fionnuala, the. song of hercules to his daughter. song of innisfall. song of old puck. song of o'ruark, the. song of the battle eve. song of the box, the. song of the departing spirit of tithe. song of the evil spirit of the woods. song of the nubian girl. song of the olden time, the. song of the poco-curante society. song of the two cupbearers. songs of the church. sound the loud timbrel. sovereign woman. so warmly we met. spa, the wellington. speculation, a. speech on the umbrella question. spring and autumn. stanzas. stanzas from the banks of the shannon. stanzas written in anticipation of defeat. steersman's song, the. still, like dew in silence falling. still thou fliest. still when daylight. st. jerome on earth. stranger, the. st. senanus and the lady. study from the antique, a. sublime was the warning. summer fête, the. summer webs, the. sunday ethics. surprise, the. sweet innisfallen. sylph's ball, the. sympathy. take back the virgin page. take hence the bowl. tear, the. tell her, oh, tell her. tell-tale lyre, the. temple to friendship, a. the bird, let loose. thee, thee, only thee. then, fare thee well. then first from love. there are sounds of mirth. there comes a time. there is a bleak desert. there's something strange. they know not my heart. they may rail at this life. they met but once. they tell me thou'rt the favored guest. third angel's story. this life is all checkered with pleasures and woes. this world is all a fleeting show.. tho, humble the banquet. tho' lightly sounds the song i sing. those evening bells. tho' the last glimpse of erin with sorrow i see. tho' 'tis all but a dream. thou art, o god. thou bidst me sing. thoughts on mischief. thoughts on patrons, puffs, and other matters. thoughts on tar barrels. thoughts on the late destructive propositions of the tories. thoughts on the present government of ireland. thou lovest no more. three doctors, the. tibullus to sulpicia. time i've lost in wooing, the. 'tis all for thee. 'tis gone, and for ever. 'tis sweet to think. 'tis the last rose of summer. to......: and hast thou marked the pensive shade. to......: come, take thy harp--'tis vain to muse. to......: never mind how the pedagogue proses. to......: put off the vestal veil, nor, oh. to......: remember him thou leavest behind. to......: sweet lady, look not thus again. to......: that wrinkle, when first i espied it. to......: the world had just begun to steal. to......: 'tis time, i feel, to leave thee now. to......: to be the theme of every hour. to......: when i loved you, i can't but allow. to......: with all my soul, then, let us part. to......'s picture: go then, if she, whose shade thou art. to a boy, with a watch. to a lady, with some manuscript poems. to a lady, on her singing. to cara, after an interval of absence. to cara, oh the dawning of a new year's day. to caroline, viscountess valletort. to cloe. to-day, dearest, is ours. to george morgan, esq. to his serene highness the duke of montpensier. to james corry, esq. to joseph atkinson, esq. to julia, in allusion to some illiberal criticisms. to julia: mock me no more with love's beguiling dream. to julia: though fate, my girl, may bid us part. to julia, on her birthday. to julia: i saw the peasant's hand unkind. to julia weeping. to ladies' eyes. to lady heathcote. to lady holland. to lady jersey. to lord viscount strangford. to miss moore. to miss susan beckford. to miss ---- on her asking the author why she had sleepless nights. to mrs. bl----, written in her album. to mrs. ----, on some calumnies against her character. to mrs. ----: to see thee every day that came. to mrs. ----, on her beautiful translation of voiture's kiss. to mrs. henry tighe. to my mother. to phillis. to rosa, written during illness. to rosa: and are you then a thing of art. to rosa. is the song of rosa mute. to rosa: like one who trusts to summer skies. to rosa; say why should the girl of my soul be in tears. tory pledges. to sir hudson lowe. to the boston frigate. to the fire-fly. to the flying-fish. to the honorable w. r. spencer. to the lady charlotte rawdon. to the large and beautiful miss ----. to the lord viscount forbes. to the marchioness dowager of donegall. to the rev. charles overton. to the reverend ----. to thomas hume, esq., m.d. to the ship in which lord castlereagh sailed for the continent. tout pour la tripe. to weave a garland for the rose. translation from the gull language. translations from catullus. trio. triumph of bigotry. triumph of farce, the. turf shall be my fragrant shrine, the 'twas one of those dreams. two loves, the. twin'st thou with' lofty wreath thy brow. unbind thee, love. up, sailor boy, 'tis day. valley of the nile, the. variety. veiled prophet of khorassan, the. verses to the poet crabbe's inkstand. vision, a. vision of philosophy, a. voice, the. wake thee, my dear. wake up, sweet melody. waltz duet. wandering bard, the. war against babylon. warning, a. war song. watchman, the. weep, children of israel. weep not for those. weep on, weep on. wellington, lord, and the ministers. wellington spa, the. we may roam through this world. were not the sinful mary's tears. what shall i sing thee. what's my thought like. what the bee is to the floweret. when abroad in the world. when cold in the earth. when e'er i see those smiling eyes. when first i met thee. when first that smile. when he, who adores thee. when love was a child. when love, who ruled. when midst the gay i meet. when night brings the hour. when on the lip the sigh delays. when the first summer bee. when the sad word. when the wine-cup is smiling. when thou shalt wander. when through the piazzetta. when to sad music silent you listen. when twilight dews. where are the visions. where is the slave. where is your dwelling, ye sainted. where shall we bury our shame. while gazing on the moon's light. while history's muse. who is the maid. who'll buy my love knots. why does she so long delay. wind thy horn, my hunter boy. wine-cup is circling, the. with moonlight beaming. woman. wonder, the. world was husht. wo! wo. wreath and the chain, the. wreaths for the ministers. wreath the bowl. write on, write on. written in a commonplace book. written in the blank leaf of a lady's commonplace book. written on passing deadman's island. yes, yes, when the bloom. young indian maid, the. young jessica. young may moon, the. young muleteers of grenada, the. young rose, the. you remember ellen. youth and age. odes of anacreon ( ). translated into english verse. with notes. to his royal highness the prince of wales. sir,--in allowing me to dedicate this work to your royal highness, you have conferred upon me an honor which i feel very sensibly: and i have only to regret that the pages which you have thus distinguished are not more deserving of such illustrious patronage. believe me, sir, with every sentiment of respect, your royal highness's very grateful and devoted servant, thomas moore. remarks on anacreon there is but little known, with certainty of the life of anacreon. chamaeleon heracleotes, who wrote upon the subject, has been lost in the general wreck of ancient literature. the editors of the poet have collected the few trifling anecdotes which are scattered through the extant authors of antiquity, and, supplying the deficiency of materials by fictions of their own imagination, have arranged what they call a life of anacreon. these specious fabrications are intended to indulge that interest which we naturally feel in the biography of illustrious men; but it is rather a dangerous kind of illusion, as it confounds the limits of history and romance, and is too often supported by unfaithful citation. our poet was born in the city of teos, in the delicious region of ionia, and the time of his birth appears to have been in the sixth century before christ. he flourished at that remarkable period when, under the polished tyrants hipparchus and polycrates, athens and samos were become the rival asylums of genius. there is nothing certain known about his family; and those who pretend to discover in plato that he was a descendant of the monarch codrus, show much more of zeal than of either accuracy or judgment. the disposition and talents of anacreon recommended him to the monarch of samos, and he was formed to be the friend of such a prince as polycrates. susceptible only to the pleasures, he felt not the corruptions, of the court; and while pythagoras fled from the tyrant, anacreon was celebrating his praises oh the lyre. we are told, too, by maximus tyrius, that, by the influence of his amatory songs, he softened the mind of polycrates into a spirit of benevolence towards his subjects. the amours of the poet, and the rivalship of the tyrant, i shall pass over in silence; and there are few, i presume, who will regret the omission of most of those anecdotes, which the industry of some editors has not only promulged, but discussed. whatever is repugnant to modesty and virtue is considered, in ethical science, by a supposition very favorable to humanity, as impossible; and this amiable persuasion should be much more strongly entertained where the transgression wars with nature as well as virtue. but why are we not allowed to indulge in the presumption? why are we officiously reminded that there have been really such instances of depravity? hipparchus, who now maintained at athens the power which his father pisistratus had usurped, was one of those princes who may be said to have polished the fetters of their subjects. he was the first, according to plato, who edited the poems of homer, and commanded them to be sung by the rhapsodists at the celebration of the panathenaea. from his court, which was a sort of galaxy of genius, anacreon could not long be absent. hipparchus sent a barge for him; the poet readily embraced the invitation, and the muses and the loves were wafted with him to athens. the manner of anacreon's death was singular. we are told that in the eighty-fifth year of his age he was choked by a grape-stone; and however we may smile at their enthusiastic partiality who see in this easy and characteristic death a peculiar indulgence of heaven, we cannot help admiring that his fate should have been so emblematic of his disposition. caelius calcagninus alludes to this catastrophe in the following epitaph on our poet:-- those lips, then, hallowed sage, which poured along a music sweet as any cygnet's song, the grape hath closed for ever! here let the ivy kiss the poet's tomb, here let the rose he loved with laurels bloom, in bands that ne'er shall sever. but far be thou, oh! far, unholy vine, by whom the favorite minstrel of the nine lost his sweet vital breath; thy god himself now blushes to confess, once hallowed vine! he feels he loves thee less, since poor anacreon's death. it has been supposed by some writers that anacreon and sappho were contemporaries; and the very thought of an intercourse between persons so congenial, both in warmth of passion and delicacy of genius, gives such play to the imagination that the mind loves to indulge in it. but the vision dissolves before historical truth; and chamaeleon, and hermesianax, who are the source of the supposition, are considered as having merely indulged in a poetical anachronism. to infer the moral dispositions of a poet from the tone of sentiment which pervades his works, is sometimes a very fallacious analogy; but the soul of anacreon speaks so unequivocally through his odes, that we may safely consult them as the faithful mirrors of his heart. we find him there the elegant voluptuary, diffusing the seductive charm of sentiment over passions and propensities at which rigid morality must frown. his heart, devoted to indolence, seems to have thought that there is wealth enough in happiness, but seldom happiness in mere wealth. the cheerfulness, indeed, with which he brightens his old age is interesting and endearing; like his own rose, he is fragrant even in decay. but the most peculiar feature of his mind is that love of simplicity, which be attributes to himself so feelingly, and which breathes characteristically throughout all that he has sung. in truth, if we omit those few vices in our estimate which religion, at that time, not only connived at, but consecrated, we shall be inclined to say that the disposition of our poet was amiable; that his morality was relaxed, but not abandoned; and that virtue, with her zone loosened, may be an apt emblem of the character of anacreon. of his person and physiognomy, time has preserved such uncertain memorials, that it were better, perhaps, to leave the pencil to fancy; and few can read the odes of anacreon without imaging to themselves the form of the animated old bard, crowned with roses, and singing cheerfully to his lyre. after the very enthusiastic eulogiums bestowed both by ancients and moderns upon the poems of anacreon, we need not be diffident in expressing our raptures at their beauty, nor hesitate to pronounce them the most polished remains of antiquity. they are indeed, all beauty, all enchantment. he steals us so insensibly along with him, that we sympathize even in his excesses. in his amatory odes there is a delicacy of compliment not to be found in any other ancient poet. love at that period was rather an unrefined emotion; and the intercourse of the sexes was animated more by passion than by sentiment. they knew not those little tendernesses which form the spiritual part of affection; their expression of feeling was therefore rude and unvaried, and the poetry of love deprived it of its most captivating graces. anacreon, however, attained some ideas of this purer gallantry; and the same delicacy of mind which led him to this refinement, prevented him also from yielding to the freedom of language which has sullied the pages of all the other poets. his descriptions are warm; but the warmth is in the ideas, not the words. he is sportive without being wanton, and ardent without being licentious. his poetic invention is always most brilliantly displayed in those allegorical fictions which so many have endeavored to imitate, though all have confessed them to be inimitable. simplicity is the distinguishing feature of these odes, and they interest by their innocence, as much as they fascinate by their beauty. they may be said, indeed, to be the very infants of the muses, and to lisp in numbers. i shall not be accused of enthusiastic partiality by those who have read and felt the original; but to others, i am conscious, this should not be the language of a translator, whose faint reflection of such beauties can but ill justify his admiration of them. in the age of anacreon music and poetry were inseparable. these kindred talents were for a long time associated, and the poet always sung his own compositions to the lyre. it is probable that they were not set to any regular air, but rather a kind of musical recitation, which was varied according to the fancy and feelings of the moment. the poems of anacreon were sung at banquets as late as the time of aulus gellius, who tells us that he heard one of the odes performed at a birthday entertainment. the singular beauty of our poet's style and the apparent facility, perhaps, of his metre have attracted, as i have already remarked, a crowd of imitators. some of these have succeeded with wonderful felicity, as may be discerned in the few odes which are attributed to writers of a later period. but none of his emulators have been half so dangerous to his fame as those greek ecclesiastics of the early ages, who, being conscious of their own inferiority to their great prototypes, determined on removing all possibility of comparison, and, under a semblance of moral zeal, deprived the world of some of the most exquisite treasures of ancient times. the works of sappho and alcaeus were among those flowers of grecian literature which thus fell beneath the rude hand of ecclesiastical presumption. it is true they pretended that this sacrifice of genius was hallowed by the interests of religion, but i have already assigned the most probable motive; and if gregorius nazianzenus had not written anacreontics, we might now perhaps have the works of the teian unmutilated, and be empowered to say exultingly with horace, _nec si quid olim lusit anacreon delevit aetas_. the zeal by which these bishops professed to be actuated gave birth more innocently, indeed, to an absurd species of parody, as repugnant to piety as it is to taste, where the poet of voluptuousness was made a preacher of the gospel, and his muse, like the venus in armor at lacedaemon, was arrayed in all the severities of priestly instruction. such was the "anacreon recantatus," by carolus de aquino, a jesuit, published , which consisted of a series of palinodes to the several songs of our poet. such, too, was the christian anacreon of patrignanus, another jesuit, who preposterously transferred to a most sacred subject all that the graecian poet had dedicated to festivity and love. his metre has frequently been adopted by the modern latin poets; and scaliger, taubman, barthius, and others, have shown that it is by no means uncongenial with that language. the anacreontics of scaliger, however, scarcely deserve the name; as they glitter all over with conceits, and, though often elegant, are always labored. the beautiful fictions of angerianus preserve more happily than any others the delicate turn of those allegorical fables, which, passing so frequently through the mediums of version and imitation, have generally lost their finest rays in the transmission. many of the italian poets have indulged their fancies upon the subjects; and in the manner of anacreon, bernardo tasso first introduced the metre, which was afterwards polished and enriched by chabriera and others. odes of anacreon ode i.[ ] i saw the smiling bard of pleasure, the minstrel of the teian measure; 'twas in a vision of the night, he beamed upon my wondering sight. i heard his voice, and warmly prest the dear enthusiast to my breast. his tresses wore a silvery dye, but beauty sparkled in his eye; sparkled in his eyes of fire, through the mist of soft desire. his lip exhaled, when'er he sighed, the fragrance of the racy tide; and, as with weak and reeling feet he came my cordial kiss to meet, an infant, of the cyprian band, guided him on with tender hand. quick from his glowing brows he drew his braid, of many a wanton hue; i took the wreath, whose inmost twine breathed of him and blushed with wine. i hung it o'er my thoughtless brow, and ah! i feel its magic now: i feel that even his garland's touch can make the bosom love too much. [ ] this ode is the first of the series in the vatican manuscript, which attributes it to no other poet than anacreon. they who assert that the manuscript imputes it to basilius, have been mislead. whether it be the production of anacreon or not, it has all the features of ancient simplicity, and is a beautiful imitation of the poet's happiest manner. ode ii. give me the harp of epic song, which homer's finger thrilled along; but tear away the sanguine string, for war is not the theme i sing. proclaim the laws of festal right,[ ] i'm monarch of the board to-night; and all around shall brim as high, and quaff the tide as deep as i. and when the cluster's mellowing dews their warm enchanting balm infuse, our feet shall catch the elastic bound, and reel us through the dance's round. great bacchus! we shall sing to thee, in wild but sweet ebriety; flashing around such sparks of thought, as bacchus could alone have taught. then, give the harp of epic song, which homer's finger thrilled along; but tear away the sanguine string, for war is not the theme i sing. [ ] the ancients prescribed certain laws of drinking at their festivals, for an account of which see the commentators. anacreon here acts the symposiarch, or master of the festival. ode iii.[ ] listen to the muse's lyre, master of the pencil's fire! sketched in painting's bold display, many a city first portray; many a city, revelling free, full of loose festivity. picture then a rosy train, bacchants straying o'er the plain; piping, as they roam along, roundelay or shepherd-song. paint me next, if painting may such a theme as this portray, all the earthly heaven of love these delighted mortals prove. [ ] la fosse has thought proper to lengthen this poem by considerable interpolations of his own, which he thinks are indispensably necessary to the completion of the description. ode iv.[ ] vulcan! hear your glorious task; i did not from your labors ask in gorgeous panoply to shine, for war was ne'er a sport of mine. no--let me have a silver bowl, where i may cradle all my soul; but mind that, o'er its simple frame no mimic constellations flame; nor grave upon the swelling side, orion, scowling o'er the tide. i care not for the glittering wain, nor yet the weeping sister train. but let the vine luxuriant roll its blushing tendrils round the bowl, while many a rose-lipped bacchant maid is culling clusters in their shade. let sylvan gods, in antic shapes, wildly press the gushing grapes, and flights of loves, in wanton play, wing through the air their winding way; while venus, from her arbor green, looks laughing at the joyous scene, and young lyaeus by her side sits, worthy of so bright a bride. [ ] this ode, aulus gellius tells us, was performed at an entertainment where he was present. ode v. sculptor, wouldst thou glad my soul, grave for me an ample bowl, worthy to shine in hall or bower, when spring-time brings the reveller's hour. grave it with themes of chaste design, fit for a simple board like mine. display not there the barbarous rites in which religious zeal delights; nor any tale of tragic fate which history shudders to relate. no--cull thy fancies from above, themes of heaven and themes of love. let bacchus, jove's ambrosial boy, distil the grape in drops of joy, and while he smiles at every tear, let warm-eyed venus, dancing near, with spirits of the genial bed, the dewy herbage deftly tread. let love be there, without his arms, in timid nakedness of charms; and all the graces, linked with love, stray, laughing, through the shadowy grove; while rosy boys disporting round, in circlets trip the velvet ground. but ah! if there apollo toys,[ ] i tremble for the rosy boys. [ ] an allusion to the fable that apollo had killed his beloved boy hyacinth, while playing with him at quoits. "this" (says m. la fosse) "is assuredly the sense of the text, and it cannot admit of any other." ode vi.[ ] as late i sought the spangled bowers, to cull a wreath of matin flowers, where many an early rose was weeping, i found the urchin cupid sleeping, i caught the boy, a goblet's tide was richly mantling by my side, i caught him by his downy wing, and whelmed him in the racy spring. then drank i down the poisoned bowl, and love now nestles in my soul. oh, yes, my soul is cupid's nest, i feel him fluttering in my breast. [ ] this beautiful fiction, which the commentators have attributed to julian, a royal poet, the vatican ms. pronounces to be the genuine offspring of anacreon. ode vii. the women tell me every day that all my bloom has pas past away. "behold," the pretty wantons cry, "behold this mirror with a sigh; the locks upon thy brow are few, and like the rest, they're withering too!" whether decline has thinned my hair, i'm sure i neither know nor care; but this i know, and this i feel as onward to the tomb i steal, that still as death approaches nearer, the joys of life are sweeter, dearer; and had i but an hour to live, that little hour to bliss i'd give. ode viii.[ ] i care not for the idle state of persia's king, the rich, the great. i envy not the monarch's throne, nor wish the treasured gold my own but oh! be mine the rosy wreath, its freshness o'er my brow to breathe; be mine the rich perfumes that flow, to cool and scent my locks of snow. to-day i'll haste to quaff my wine as if to-morrow ne'er would shine; but if to-morrow comes, why then-- i'll haste to quaff my wine again. and thus while all our days are bright, nor time has dimmed their bloomy light, let us the festal hours beguile with mantling pup and cordial smile; and shed from each new bowl of wine, the richest drop on bacchus' shrine for death may come, with brow unpleasant, may come, when least we wish him present, and beckon to the sable shore, and grimly bid us--drink no more! [ ] baxter conjectures that this was written upon the occasion of our poet's returning the money to polycrates, according to the anecdote in stobaeus. ode ix. i pray thee, by the gods above, give me the mighty bowl i love, and let me sing, in wild delight, "i will--i will be mad to-night!" alcmaeon once, as legends tell, was frenzied by the fiends of hell; orestes, too, with naked tread, frantic paced the mountain-head; and why? a murdered mother's shade haunted them still where'er they strayed. but ne'er could i a murderer be, the grape alone shall bleed for me; yet can i shout, with wild delight, "i will--i will be mad to-night." alcides' self, in days of yore, imbrued his hands in youthful gore, and brandished, with a maniac joy, the quiver of the expiring boy: and ajax, with tremendous shield, infuriate scoured the guiltless field. but i, whose hands no weapon ask, no armor but this joyous flask; the trophy of whose frantic hours is but a scattered wreath of flowers, ev'n i can sing, with wild delight, "i will--i will be mad to-night!" ode x.[ ] how am i to punish thee, for the wrong thou'st done to me silly swallow, prating thing-- shall i clip that wheeling wing? or, as tereus did, of old,[ ] (so the fabled tale is told,) shall i tear that tongue away, tongue that uttered such a lay? ah, how thoughtless hast thou been! long before the dawn was seen, when a dream came o'er my mind, picturing her i worship, kind, just when i was nearly blest, loud thy matins broke my rest! [ ] this ode is addressed to a swallow. [ ] modern poetry has conferred the name of philomel upon the nightingale; but many respectable authorities among the ancients assigned this metamorphose to progne, and made philomel the swallow, as anacreon does here. ode xi.[ ] "tell me, gentle youth, i pray thee, what in purchase shall i pay thee for this little waxen toy, image of the paphian boy?" thus i said, the other day, to a youth who past my way: "sir," (he answered, and the while answered all in doric style,) "take it, for a trifle take it; 'twas not i who dared to make it; no, believe me, 'twas not i; oh, it has cost me many a sigh, and i can no longer keep little gods, who murder sleep!" "here, then, here," (i said with joy,) "here is silver for the boy: he shall be my bosom guest, idol of my pious breast!" now, young love, i have thee mine, warm me with that torch of thine; make me feel as i have felt, or thy waxen frame shall melt: i must burn with warm desire, or thou, my boy--in yonder fire.[ ] [ ] it is difficult to preserve with any grace the narrative simplicity of this ode, and the humor of the turn with which it concludes. i feel, indeed, that the translation must appear vapid, if not ludicrous, to an english reader. [ ] from this longepierre conjectures, that, whatever anacreon might say, he felt sometimes the inconveniences of old age, and here solicits from the power of love a warmth which he could no longer expect from nature. ode xii. they tell how atys, wild with love, roams the mount and haunted grove;[ ] cvbele's name he howls around, the gloomy blast returns the sound! oft too, by claros' hallowed spring,[ ] the votaries of the laurelled king quaff the inspiring, magic stream, and rave in wild, prophetic dream. but frenzied dreams are not for me, great bacchus is my deity! full of mirth, and full of him, while floating odors round me swim, while mantling bowls are full supplied, and you sit blushing by my side, i will be mad and raving too-- mad, my girl, with love for you! [ ] there are many contradictory stories of the loves of cybele and atys. it is certain that he was mutilated, but whether by his own fury, or cybele's jealousy, is a point upon which authors are not agreed. [ ] this fountain was in a grove, consecrated to apollo, and situated between colophon and lebedos, in ionia. the god had an oracle there. ode xiii. i will, i will, the conflict's past, and i'll consent to love at last. cupid has long, with smiling art, invited me to yield my heart; and i have thought that peace of mind should not be for a smile resigned; and so repelled the tender lure, and hoped my heart would sleep secure. but, slighted in his boasted charms, the angry infant flew to arms; he slung his quiver's golden frame, he took his bow; his shafts of flame, and proudly summoned me to yield, or meet him on the martial field. and what did i unthinking do? i took to arms, undaunted, too; assumed the corslet, shield, and spear, and, like pelides, smiled at fear. then (hear it, all ye powers above!) i fought with love! i fought with love! and now his arrows all were shed, and i had just in terror fled-- when, heaving an indignant sigh, to see me thus unwounded fly, and, having now no other dart, he shot himself into my heart![ ] my heart--alas the luckless day! received the god, and died away. farewell, farewell, my faithless shield! thy lord at length is forced to yield. vain, vain, is every outward care, the foe's within, and triumphs there. [ ] dryden has parodied this thought in the following extravagant lines:-- ----i'm all o'er love; nay, i am love, love shot, and shot so fast, he shot himself into my breast at last. ode xiv.[ ] count me, on the summer trees, every leaf that courts the breeze; count me, on the foamy deep, every wave that sinks to sleep; then, when you have numbered these billowy tides and leafy trees, count me all the flames i prove, all the gentle nymphs i love. first, of pure athenian maids sporting in their olive shades, you may reckon just a score, nay, i'll grant you fifteen more. in the famed corinthian grove, where such countless wantons rove,[ ] chains of beauties may be found, chains, by which my heart is bound; there, indeed, are nymphs divine, dangerous to a soul like mine. many bloom in lesbos' isle; many in ionia smile; rhodes a pretty swarm can boast; caria too contains a host. sum them all--of brown and fair you may count two thousand there. what, you stare? i pray you peace! more i'll find before i cease. have i told you all my flames, 'mong the amorous syrian dames? have i numbered every one, glowing under egypt's sun? or the nymphs, who blushing sweet deck the shrine of love in crete; where the god, with festal play, holds eternal holiday? still in clusters, still remain gades' warm, desiring train:[ ] still there lies a myriad more on the sable india's shore; these, and many far removed, all are loving--all are loved! [ ] the poet, in this catalogue of his mistresses, means nothing more, than, by a lively hyperbole, to inform us, that his heart, unfettered by any one object, was warm with devotion towards the sex in general. cowley is indebted to this ode for the hint of his ballad, called "the chronicle." [ ] corinth was very famous for the beauty and number of its courtesans. venus was the deity principally worshipped by the people, and their constant prayer was, that the gods should increase the number of her worshippers. [ ] the music of the gaditanian females had all the voluptuous character of their dancing, as appears from martial. ode xv.[ ] tell me, why, my sweetest dove, thus your humid pinions move, shedding through the air in showers essence of the balmiest flowers? tell me whither, whence you rove, tell me all, my sweetest dove. curious stranger, i belong to the bard of teian song; with his mandate now i fly to the nymph of azure eye;-- she, whose eye has maddened many, but the poet more than any, venus, for a hymn of love, warbled in her votive grove,[ ] ('twas, in sooth a gentle lay,) gave me to the bard away. see me now his faithful minion,-- thus with softly-gliding pinion, to his lovely girl i bear songs of passion through the air. oft he blandly whispers me, "soon, my bird, i'll set you free." but in vain he'll bid me fly, i shall serve him till i die. never could my plumes sustain ruffling winds and chilling rain, o'er the plains, or in the dell, on the mountain's savage swell, seeking in the desert wood gloomy shelter, rustic food. now i lead a life of ease, far from rugged haunts like these. from anacreon's hand i eat food delicious, viands sweet; flutter o'er his goblet's brim, sip the foamy wine with him. then, when i have wantoned round to his lyre's beguiling sound; or with gently moving-wings fanned the minstrel while he sings; on his harp i sink in slumbers, dreaming still of dulcet numbers! this is all--away--away-- you have made me waste the day. how i've chattered! prating crow never yet did chatter so. [ ] the dove of anacreon, bearing a letter from the poet to his mistress, is met by a stranger, with whom this dialogue, is imagined. [ ] "this passage is invaluable, and i do not think that anything so beautiful or so delicate has ever been said. what an idea does it give of the poetry of the man, from whom venus herself, the mother of the graces and the pleasures, purchases a little hymn with one of her favorite doves!"--longepierre. ode xvi.[ ] thou, whose soft and rosy hues mimic form and soul infuse, best of painters, come portray the lovely maid that's far away. far away, my soul! thou art, but i've thy beauties all by heart. paint her jetty ringlets playing, silky locks, like tendrils straying;[ ] and, if painting hath the skill to make the spicy balm distil, let every little lock exhale a sigh of perfume on the gale. where her tresses' curly flow darkles o'er the brow of snow, let her forehead beam to light, burnished as the ivory bright. let her eyebrows smoothly rise in jetty arches o'er her eyes, each, a crescent gently gliding, just commingling, just dividing. but, hast thou any sparkles warm, the lightning of her eyes to form? let them effuse the azure rays, that in minerva's glances blaze, mixt with the liquid light that lies in cytherea's languid eyes. o'er her nose and cheek be shed flushing white and softened red; mingling tints, as when there glows in snowy milk the bashful rose. then her lip, so rich in blisses, sweet petitioner for kisses, rosy nest, where lurks persuasion, mutely courting love's invasion. next, beneath the velvet chin, whose dimple hides a love within, mould her neck with grace descending, in a heaven of beauty ending; while countless charms, above, below, sport and flutter round its snow. now let a floating, lucid veil, shadow her form, but not conceal;[ ] a charm may peep, a hue may beam and leave the rest to fancy's dream. enough--'tis she! 'tis all i seek; it glows, it lives, it soon will speak! [ ] this ode and the next may be called companion-pictures; they are highly finished, and give us an excellent idea of the taste of the ancients in beauty. [ ] the ancients have been very enthusiastic in their praises of the beauty of hair. apuleius, in the second book of his milesiacs, says that venus herself, if she were bald, though surrounded by the graces and the loves, could not be pleasing even to her husband vulcan. [ ] this delicate art of description, which leaves imagination to complete the picture, has been seldom adopted in the imitations of this beautiful poem. ronsard is exceptionally minute; and politianus, in his charming portrait of a girl, full of rich and exquisite diction, has lifted the veil rather too much. the "_questa che tu m'intendi_" should be always left to fancy. ode xvii. and now with all thy pencil's truth, portray bathyllus, lovely youth! let his hair, in masses bright, fall like floating rays of light; and there the raven's die confuse with the golden sunbeam's hues. let no wreath, with artful twine. the flowing of his locks confine; but leave them loose to every breeze, to take what shape and course they please. beneath the forehead, fair as snow, but flushed with manhood's early glow, and guileless as the dews of dawn, let the majestic brows be drawn, of ebon hue, enriched by gold, such as dark, shining snakes unfold. mix in his eyes the power alike, with love to win, with awe to strike; borrow from mars his look of ire, from venus her soft glance of fire; blend them in such expression here, that we by turns may hope and fear! now from the sunny apple seek the velvet down that spreads his cheek; and there, if art so far can go, the ingenuous blush of boyhood show. while, for his mouth--but no,--in vain would words its witching charm explain. make it the very seat, the throne, that eloquence would claim her own; and let the lips, though silent, wear a life-look, as if words were there. next thou his ivory neck must trace, moulded with soft but manly grace; fair as the neck of paphia's boy, where paphia's arms have hung in joy. give him the wingèd hermes' hand, with which he waves his snaky wand; let bacchus the broad chest supply, and leda's son the sinewy thigh; while, through his whole transparent frame, thou show'st the stirrings of that flame, which kindles, when the first love-sigh steals from the heart, unconscious why. but sure thy pencil, though so bright, is envious of the eye's delight, or its enamoured touch would show the shoulder, fair as sunless snow, which now in veiling shadow lies, removed from all but fancy's eyes. now, for his feet--but hold--forbear-- i see the sun-god's portrait there:[ ] why paint bathyllus? when in truth, there, in that god, thou'st sketched the youth. enough--let this bright form be mine, and send the boy to samos' shrine; phoebus shall then bathyllus be, bathyllus then, the deity! [ ] the abrupt turn here is spirited, but requires some explanation. while the artist is pursuing the portrait of bathyllus, anacreon, we must suppose, turns around and sees a picture of apollo, which was intended for an altar at samos. he then instantly tells the painter to cease his work; that this picture will serve for bathyllus; and that, when he goes to samos, he may make an apollo of the portrait of the boy which he had begun. ode xviii. now the star of day is high, fly, my girls, in pity fly. bring me wine in brimming urns cool my lip, it burns, it burns! sunned by the meridian fire, panting, languid i expire, give me all those humid flowers, drop them o'er my brow in showers. scarce a breathing chaplet now lives upon my feverish brow; every dewy rose i wear sheds its tears, and withers there.[ ] but to you, my burning heart, what can now relief impart? can brimming bowl, or floweret's dew, cool the flame that scorches you? [ ] in the poem of mr. sheridan's, "uncouth is this moss-covered grotto of stone," there is an idea very singularly coincident with this of angerianus:-- and thou, stony grot, in thy arch may'st preserve some lingering drops of the night-fallen dew: let them fall on her bosom of snow, and they'll serve as tears of my sorrow entrusted to you. ode xix.[ ] here recline you, gentle maid, sweet is this embowering shade; sweet the young, the modest trees, ruffled by the kissing breeze; sweet the little founts that weep, lulling soft the mind to sleep; hark! they whisper as they roll, calm persuasion to the soul; tell me, tell me, is not this all a stilly scene of bliss? "who, my girl, would pass it by? surely neither you nor i." [ ] the description of this bower is so natural and animated, that we almost feel a degree of coolness and freshness while we peruse it. ode xx.[ ] one day the muses twined the hands of infant love with flowery bands; and to celestial beauty gave the captive infant for her slave. his mother comes, with many a toy, to ransom her beloved boy;[ ] his mother sues, but all in vain,-- he ne'er will leave his chains again. even should they take his chains away, the little captive still would stay. "if this," he cries, "a bondage be, oh, who could wish for liberty?" [ ] the poet appears, in this graceful allegory, to describe the softening influence which poetry holds over the mind, in making it peculiarly susceptible to the impressions of beauty. [ ] in the first idyl of moschus, venus there proclaims the reward for her fugitive child:-- on him, who the haunts of my cupid can show, a kiss of the tenderest stamp i'll bestow; but he, who can bring back the urchin in chains, shall receive even something more sweet for his pains. ode xxi.[ ] observe when mother earth is dry, she drinks the droppings of the sky; and then the dewy cordial gives to every thirsty plant that lives. the vapors, which at evening weep, are beverage to the swelling deep; and when the rosy sun appears, he drinks the ocean's misty tears. the moon too quaffs her paly stream of lustre, from the solar beam. then, hence with all your sober thinking! since nature's holy law is drinking; i'll make the laws of nature mine, and pledge the universe in wine. [ ] those critics who have endeavored to throw the chains of precision over the spirit of this beautiful trifle, require too much from anacreontic philosophy. among others, gail very sapiently thinks that the poet uses the epithet [greek: melainae], because black earth absorbs moisture more quickly than any other; and accordingly he indulges us with an experimental disquisition on the subject.--see gail's notes. ode xxii. the phrygian rock, that braves the storm, was once a weeping matron's form;[ ] and progne, hapless, frantic maid, is now a swallow in the shade. oh! that a mirror's form were mine, that i might catch that smile divine; and like my own fond fancy be, reflecting thee, and only thee; or could i be the robe which holds that graceful form within its folds; or, turned into a fountain, lave thy beauties in my circling wave. would i were perfume for thy hair, to breathe my soul in fragrance there; or, better still, the zone, that lies close to thy breast, and feels its sighs![ ] or even those envious pearls that show so faintly round that neck of snow-- yes, i would be a happy gem, like them to hang, to fade like them. what more would thy anacreon be? oh, any thing that touches thee; nay, sandals for those airy feet-- even to be trod by them were sweet! [ ] the compliment of this ode is exquisitely delicate, and so singular for the period in which anacreon lived, when the scale of love had not yet been graduated into all its little progressive refinements, that if we were inclined to question the authenticity of the poem, we should find a much more plausible argument in the features of modern gallantry which it bears, than in any of those fastidious conjectures upon which some commentators have presumed so far. [ ] the women of greece not only wore this zone, but condemned themselves to fasting, and made use of certain drugs and powders for the same purpose. to these expedients they were compelled, in consequence of their inelegant fashion of compressing the waist into a very narrow compass, which necessarily caused an excessive tumidity in the bosom. see "dioscorides," lib. v. ode xxiii. i often wish this languid lyre, this warbler of my soul's desire, could raise the breath of song sublime, to men of fame, in former time. but when the soaring theme i try, along the chords my numbers die, and whisper, with dissolving tone, "our sighs are given to love alone!" indignant at the feeble lay, i tore the panting chords away, attuned them to a nobler swell, and struck again the breathing shell; in all the glow of epic fire, to hercules i wake the lyre, but still its fainting sighs repeat, "the tale of love alone is sweet!" then fare thee well, seductive dream, that madest me follow glory's theme; for thou my lyre, and thou my heart, shall never more in spirit part; and all that one has felt so well the other shall as sweetly tell! ode xxiv. to all that breathe the air of heaven, some boon of strength has nature given. in forming the majestic bull, she fenced with wreathed horns his skull; a hoof of strength she lent the steed, and winged the timorous hare with speed. she gave the lion fangs of terror, and, o'er the ocean's crystal mirror, taught the unnumbered scaly throng to trace their liquid path along; while for the umbrage of the grove, she plumed the warbling world of love. to man she gave, in that proud hour, the boon of intellectual power. then, what, oh woman, what, for thee, was left in nature's treasury? she gave thee beauty--mightier far than all the pomp and power of war. nor steel, nor fire itself hath power like woman, in her conquering hour. be thou but fair, mankind adore thee, smile, and a world is weak before thee![ ] [ ] longepierre's remark here is ingenious; "the romans," says he, "were so convinced of the power of beauty, that they used a word implying strength in the place of the epithet beautiful". ode xxv. once in each revolving year, gentle bird! we find thee here. when nature wears her summer-vest, thou comest to weave thy simple nest; but when the chilling winter lowers. again thou seekest the genial bowers of memphis, or the shores of nile, where sunny hours for ever smile. and thus thy pinion rests and roves,-- alas! unlike the swarm of loves, that brood within this hapless breast, and never, never change their nest! still every year, and all the year, they fix their fated dwelling here; and some their infant plumage try, and on a tender winglet fly; while in the shell, impregned with fires, still lurk a thousand more desires; some from their tiny prisons peeping, and some in formless embryo sleeping. thus peopled, like the vernal groves, my breast resounds, with warbling loves; one urchin imps the other's feather, then twin-desires they wing together, and fast as they thus take their flight, still other urchins spring to light. but is there then no kindly art, to chase these cupids from my heart; ah, no! i fear, in sadness fear, they will for ever nestle here! ode xxvi. thy harp may sing of troy's alarms, or tell the tale of theban arms; with other wars my song shall burn, for other wounds my harp shall mourn. 'twas not the crested warrior's dart, that drank the current of my heart; nor naval arms, nor mailed steed, have made this vanquished bosom bleed; no--'twas from eyes of liquid blue, a host of quivered cupids flew;[ ] and now my heart all bleeding lies beneath that army of the eyes! [ ] the poets abound with conceits on the archery of the eyes, but few have turned the thought so naturally as anacreon. ronsard gives to the eyes of his mistress _un petit camp d'amours_. ode xxvii. we read the flying courser's name upon his side, in marks of flame; and, by their turbaned brows alone, the warriors of the east are known. but in the lover's glowing eyes, the inlet to his bosom lies; through them we see the small faint mark, where love has dropt his burning spark! ode xxviii. as, by his lemnian forge's flame, the husband of the paphian dame moulded the glowing steel, to form arrows for cupid, thrilling warm; and venus, as he plied his art, shed honey round each new-made dart, while love, at hand, to finish all, tipped every arrow's point with gall; it chanced the lord of battles came to visit that deep cave of flame. 'twas from the ranks of war he rushed, his spear with many a life-drop blushed; he saw the fiery darts, and smiled contemptuous at the archer-child. "what!" said the urchin, "dost thou smile? here, hold this little dart awhile, and thou wilt find, though swift of flight, my bolts are not so feathery light." mars took the shaft--and, oh, thy look, sweet venus, when the shaft he took!-- sighing, he felt the urchin's art, and cried, in agony of heart, "it is not light--i sink with pain! take--take thy arrow back again." "no," said the child, "it must not be; that little dart was made for thee!" ode xxix. yes--loving is a painful thrill, and not to love more painful still but oh, it is the worst of pain, to love and not be loved again! affection now has fled from earth, nor fire of genius, noble birth, nor heavenly virtue, can beguile, from beauty's cheek one favoring smile. gold is the woman's only theme, gold is the woman's only dream. oh! never be that wretch forgiven-- forgive him not, indignant heaven! whose grovelling eyes could first adore, whose heart could pant for sordid ore. since that devoted thirst began, man has forgot to feel for man; the pulse of social life is dead, and all its fonder feelings fled! war too has sullied nature's charms, for gold provokes the world to arms; and oh! the worst of all its arts, it renders asunder loving hearts. ode xxx.[ ] 'twas in a mocking dream of night-- i fancied i had wings as light as a young birds, and flew as fleet; while love, around whose beauteous feet, i knew not why, hung chains of lead, pursued me, as i trembling fled; and, strange to say, as swift as thought, spite of my pinions, i was caught! what does the wanton fancy mean by such a strange, illusive scene? i fear she whispers to my breast, that you, sweet maid, have stolen its rest; that though my fancy, for a while, hath hung on many a woman's smile, i soon dissolved each passing vow, and ne'er was caught by love till now! [ ] barnes imagines from this allegory, that our poet married very late in life. but i see nothing in the ode which alludes to matrimony, except it be the lead upon the feet of cupid; and i agree in the opinion of madame dacier, in her life of the poet, that he was always too fond of pleasure to marry. ode xxxi.[ ] armed with hyacinthine rod, (arms enough for such a god,) cupid bade me wing my pace, and try with him the rapid race. o'er many a torrent, wild and deep, by tangled brake and pendent steep. with weary foot i panting flew, till my brow dropt with chilly dew. and now my soul, exhausted, dying, to my lip was faintly flying; and now i thought the spark had fled, when cupid hovered o'er my head, and fanning light his breezy pinion, rescued my soul from death's dominion;[ ] then said, in accents half-reproving. "why hast thou been a foe to loving?" [ ] the design of this little fiction is to intimate, that much greater pain attends insensibility than can ever result from the tenderest impressions of love. [ ] "the facility with which cupid recovers him, signifies that the sweets of love make us easily forget any solicitudes which he may occasion."--la fosse. ode xxxii.[ ] strew me a fragrant bed of leaves, where lotus with the myrtle weaves; and while in luxury's dream i sink, let me the balm of bacchus drink! in this sweet hour of revelry young love shall my attendant be-- drest for the task, with tunic round his snowy neck and shoulders bound, himself shall hover by my side, and minister the racy tide! oh, swift as wheels that kindling roll, our life is hurrying to the goal; a scanty dust, to feed the wind, is all the trace 'twill leave behind. then wherefore waste the rose's bloom upon the cold, insensate tomb? can flowery breeze, or odor's breath, affect the still, cold sense of death? oh no; i ask no balm to steep with fragrant tears my bed of sleep: but now, while every pulse is glowing, now let me breathe the balsam flowing; now let the rose, with blush of fire, upon my brow in sweets expire; and bring the nymph whose eye hath power to brighten even death's cold hour. yes, cupid! ere my shade retire, to join the blest elysian choir; with wine, and love, and social cheer, i'll make my own elysium here! [ ] we here have the poet, in his true attributes, reclining upon myrtles, with cupid for his cup-bearer. some interpreters have ruined the picture by making [greek: eros] the name of his slave. none but love should fill the goblet of anacreon. sappho, in one of her fragments, has assigned this office to venus. hither, venus, queen of kisses. this shall be the night of blisses; this the night, to friendship dear. thou shalt be our hebe here. fill the golden brimmer high, let it sparkle like thine eye; bid the rosy current gush. let it mantle like thy blush. goddess, hast thou e'er above seen a feast so rich in love? not a soul that is not mine! not a soul that is not thine! ode xxxiii. 'twas noon of night, when round the pole the sullen bear is seen to roll; and mortals, wearied with the day, are slumbering all their cares away; an infant, at that dreary hour, came weeping to my silent bower, and waked me with a piteous prayer, to shield him from the midnight air. "and who art thou," i waking cry, "that bid'st my blissful visions fly?" "ah, gentle sire!" the infant said, "in pity take me to thy shed; nor fear deceit; a lonely child i wander o'er the gloomy wild. chill drops the rain, and not a ray illumes the drear and misty way!" i heard the baby's tale of woe: i heard the bitter night-winds blow; and sighing for his piteous fate, i trimmed my lamp and oped the gate. 'twas love! the little wandering sprite, his pinion sparkled through the night, i knew him by his bow and dart; i knew him by my fluttering heart. fondly i take him in, and raise the dying embers' cheering blaze; press from his dank and clinging hair the crystals of the freezing air, and in my hand and bosom hold his little fingers thrilling cold. and now the embers' genial ray, had warmed his anxious fears away; "i pray thee," said the wanton child, (my bosom trembled as he smiled,) "i pray thee let me try my bow, for through the rain i've wandered so, that much i fear the midnight shower has injured its elastic power." the fatal bow the urchin drew; swift from the string the arrow flew; as swiftly flew as glancing flame, and to my inmost spirit came! "fare thee well," i heard him say as laughing wild he winged away, "fare thee well, for now i know the rain has not relaxt my bow; it still can send a thrilling dart, as thou shalt own with all thy heart!" ode xxxiv.[ ] oh thou, of all creation blest, sweet insect, that delight'st to rest upon the wild wood's leafy tops, to drink the dew that morning drops, and chirp thy song with such a glee, that happiest kings may envy thee. whatever decks the velvet field, whate'er the circling seasons yield, whatever buds, whatever blows, for thee it buds, for thee it grows. nor yet art thou the peasant's fear, to him thy friendly notes are dear; for thou art mild as matin dew; and still, when summer's flowery hue begins to paint the bloomy plain, we hear thy sweet prophetic strain; thy sweet prophetic strain we hear, and bless the notes and thee revere! the muses love thy shrilly tone; apollo calls thee all his own; 'twas he who gave that voice to thee, 'tis he who tunes thy minstrelsy. unworn by age's dim decline, the fadeless blooms of youth are thine. melodious insect, child of earth, in wisdom mirthful, wise in mirth; exempt from every weak decay, that withers vulgar frames away; with not a drop of blood to stain, the current of thy purer vein; so blest an age is past by thee, thou seem'st--a little deity! [ ] in a latin ode addressed to the grasshopper, rapin has preserved some of the thoughts of our author:-- oh thou, that on the grassy bed which nature's vernal hand has spread, reclinest soft, and tunest thy song, the dewy herbs and leaves among! whether thou lyest on springing flowers drunk with the balmy morning-showers or, etc. ode xxxv.[ ] cupid once upon a bed of roses laid his weary head; luckless urchin not to see within the leaves a slumbering bee; the bee awaked--with anger wild the bee awaked, and stung the child. loud and piteous are his cries; to venus quick he runs, he flies; "oh mother!--i am wounded through-- i die with pain--in sooth i do! stung by some little angry thing, some serpent on a tiny wing-- a bee it was--for once, i know, i heard a rustic call it so." thus he spoke, and she the while, heard him with a soothing smile; then said, "my infant, if so much thou feel the little wild-bee's touch, how must the heart, ah, cupid be, the hapless heart that's stung by thee!" [ ] theocritus has imitated this beautiful ode in his nineteenth idyl; but is very inferior, i think, to his original, in delicacy of point and naïveté of expression. spenser, in one of his smaller compositions, has sported more diffusely on the same subject. the poem to which i allude begins thus:-- upon a day, as love lay sweetly slumbering all in his mother's lap; a gentle bee, with his loud trumpet murmuring, about him flew by hap, etc. ode xxxvi.[ ] if hoarded gold possest the power to lengthen life's too fleeting hour, and purchase from the hand of death a little span, a moment's breath, how i would love the precious ore! and every hour should swell my store; that when death came, with shadowy pinion, to waft me to his bleak dominion, i might, by bribes, my doom delay, and bid him call some distant day. but, since not all earth's golden store can buy for us one bright hour more, why should we vainly mourn our fate, or sigh at life's uncertain date? nor wealth nor grandeur can illume the silent midnight of the tomb. no--give to others hoarded treasures-- mine be the brilliant round of pleasures-- the goblet rich, the board of friends, whose social souls the goblet blends;[ ] and mine, while yet i've life to live, those joys that love alone can give. [ ] fontenelle has translated this ode, in his dialogue between anacreon and aristotle in the shades, where, on weighing the merits of both these personages, he bestows the prize of wisdom upon the poet. [ ] the goblet rich, the board of friends. whose social soul the goblet blends. this communion of friendship, which sweetened the bowl of anacreon, has not been forgotten by the author of the following scholium, where the blessings of life are enumerated with proverbial simplicity: of mortal blessing here the first is health, and next those charms by which the eye we move; the third is wealth, unwounding guiltless wealth, and then, sweet intercourse with those we love! ode xxxvii. 'twas night, and many a circling bowl had deeply warmed my thirsty soul; as lulled in slumber i was laid, bright visions o'er my fancy played. with maidens, blooming as the dawn, i seemed to skim the opening lawn; light, on tiptoe bathed in dew, we flew, and sported as we flew! some ruddy striplings, who lookt on-- with cheeks that like the wine-god's shone, saw me chasing, free and wild, these blooming maids, and slyly smiled; smiled indeed with wanton glee, though none could doubt they envied me. and still i flew--and now had caught the panting nymphs, and fondly thought to gather from each rosy lip a kiss that jove himself might sip-- when sudden all my dream of joys, blushing nymphs and laughing boys, all were gone!--"alas!" i said, sighing for the illusion fled, "again, sweet sleep, that scene restore, oh! let me dream it o'er and o'er!"[ ] [ ] dr. johnson, in his preface to shakespeare, animadverting upon the commentators of that poet, who pretended, in every little coincidence of thought, to detect an imitation of some ancient poet, alludes in the following words to the line of anacreon before us: "i have been told that when caliban, after a pleasing dream says, 'i cried to sleep again,' the author imitates anacreon, who had, like any other man, the same wish on the same occasion." ode xxxviii. let us drain the nectared bowl, let us raise the song of soul to him, the god who loves so well the nectared bowl, the choral swell; the god who taught the sons of earth to thread the tangled dance of mirth; him, who was nurst with infant love, and cradled in the paphian grove; him, that the snowy queen of charms so oft has fondled in her arms. oh 'tis from him the transport flows, which sweet intoxication knows; with him, the brow forgets its gloom, and brilliant graces learn to bloom. behold!--my boys a goblet bear, whose sparkling foam lights up the air. where are now the tear, the sigh? to the winds they fly, they fly! grasp the bowl; in nectar sinking, man of sorrow, drown thy thinking! say, can the tears we lend to thought in life's account avail us aught? can we discern with all our lore, the path we've yet to journey o'er? alas, alas, in ways so dark, 'tis only wine can strike a spark! then let me quaff the foamy tide, and through the dance meandering glide; let me imbibe the spicy breath of odors chafed to fragrant death; or from the lips of love inhale a more ambrosial, richer gale! to hearts that court the phantom care, let him retire and shroud him there; while we exhaust the nectared bowl, and swell the choral song of soul to him, the god who loves so well the nectared bowl, the choral swell! ode xxxix. how i love the festive boy, tripping through the dance of joy! how i love the mellow sage, smiling through the veil of age! and whene'er this man of years in the dance of joy appears, snows may o'er his head be flung, but his heart--his heart is young. ode xl. i know that heaven hath sent me here, to run this mortal life's career; the scenes which i have journeyed o'er, return no more--alas! no more! and all the path i've yet to go, i neither know nor ask to know. away, then, wizard care, nor think thy fetters round this soul to link; never can heart that feels with me descend to be a slave to thee! and oh! before the vital thrill, which trembles at my heart is still, i'll gather joy's luxuriant flowers, and gild with bliss my fading hours; bacchus shall bid my winter bloom, and venus dance me to the tomb! ode xli. when spring adorns the dewy scene, how sweet to walk the velvet green, and hear the west wind's gentle sighs, as o'er the scented mead it flies! how sweet to mark the pouting vine, ready to burst in tears of wine; and with some maid, who breathes but love, to walk, at noontide, through the grove, or sit in some cool, green recess-- oh, is this not true happiness? ode xlii.[ ] yes, be the glorious revel mine, where humor sparkles from the wine. around me, let the youthful choir respond to my enlivening lyre; and while the red cup foams along, mingle in soul as well as song. then, while i sit, with flowerets crowned, to regulate the goblets round. let but the nymph, our banquet's pride, be seated smiling by my side, and earth has not a gift or power that i would envy, in that hour. envy!--oh never let its blight touch the gay hearts met here tonight. far hence be slander's sidelong wounds, nor harsh dispute, nor discord's sounds disturb a scene, where all should be attuned to peace and harmony. come, let us hear the harp's gay note upon the breeze inspiring float, while round us, kindling into love, young maidens through the light dance move. thus blest with mirth, and love, and peace, sure such a life should never cease! [ ] the character of anacreon is here very strikingly depicted. his love of social, harmonized pleasures, is expressed with a warmth, amiable and endearing. ode xliii. while our rosy fillets shed freshness o'er each fervid head, with many a cup and many a smile the festal moments we beguile. and while the harp, impassioned flings tuneful rapture from its strings,[ ] some airy nymph, with graceful bound, keeps measure to the music's sound; waving, in her snowy hand, the leafy bacchanalian wand, which, as the tripping wanton flies, trembles all over to her sighs. a youth the while, with loosened hair, floating on the listless air, sings, to the wild harp's tender tone, a tale of woe, alas, his own; and oh, the sadness in his sigh. as o'er his lips the accents die! never sure on earth has been half so bright, so blest a scene. it seems as love himself had come to make this spot his chosen home;--[ ] and venus, too, with all her wiles, and bacchus, shedding rosy smiles, all, all are here, to hail with me the genius of festivity! [ ] respecting the barbiton a host of authorities may be collected, which, after all, leave us ignorant of the nature of the instrument. there is scarcely any point upon which we are so totally uninformed as the music of the ancients. the authors extant upon the subject are, i imagine, little understood; and certainly if one of their moods was a progression by quarter-tones, which we are told was the nature of the enharmonic scale, simplicity was by no means the characteristic of their melody; for this is a nicety of progression of which modern music is not susceptible. the invention of the barbiton is, by athenaeus, attributed to anacreon. [ ] the introduction of these deities to the festival is merely allegorical. madame dacier thinks that the poet describes a masquerade, where these deities were personated by the company in masks. the translation will conform with either idea. ode xliv.[ ] buds of roses, virgin flowers, culled from cupid's balmy bowers, in the bowl of bacchus steep, till with crimson drops they weep. twine the rose, the garland twine, every leaf distilling wine; drink and smile, and learn to think that we were born to smile and drink. rose, thou art the sweetest flower that ever drank the amber shower; rose, thou art the fondest child of dimpled spring, the wood-nymph wild. even the gods, who walk the sky, are amorous of thy scented sigh. cupid, too, in paphian shades, his hair with rosy fillets braids, when with the blushing sister graces, the wanton winding dance he traces. then bring me, showers of roses bring, and shed them o'er me while i sing. or while, great bacchus, round thy shrine, wreathing my brow with rose and vine, i lead some bright nymph through the dance, commingling soul with every glance! [ ] this spirited poem is a eulogy on the rose; and again, in the fifty- fifth ode, we shall find our author rich in the praises of that flower. in a fragment of sappho, in the romance of achilles tatius, to which barnes refers us, the rose is fancifully styled "the eye of flowers;" and the same poetess, in another fragment, calls the favors of the muse "the roses of the pleria." ode xlv. within this goblet, rich and deep, i cradle all my woes to sleep. why should we breathe the sigh of fear, or pour the unavailing tear? for death will never heed the sigh, nor soften at the tearful eye; and eyes that sparkle, eyes that weep, must all alike be sealed in sleep. then let us never vainly stray, in search of thorns, from pleasure's way; but wisely quaff the rosy wave, which bacchus loves, which bacchus gave; and in the goblet, rich and deep, cradle our crying woes to sleep. ode xlvi.[ ] behold, the young, the rosy spring, gives to the breeze her scented wing: while virgin graces, warm with may; fling roses o'er her dewy way. the murmuring billows of the deep have languished into silent sleep; and mark! the flitting sea-birds lave their plumes in the reflecting wave; while cranes from hoary winter fly to flutter in a kinder sky. now the genial star of day dissolves the murky clouds away; and cultured field, and winding stream, are freshly glittering in his beam. now the earth prolific swells with leafy buds and flowery bells; gemming shoots the olive twine, clusters ripe festoon the vine; all along the branches creeping, through the velvet foliage peeping, little infant fruits we see, nursing into luxury. [ ] the fastidious affectation of some commentators has denounced this ode as spurious. degen pronounces the four last lines to be the patch-work of some miserable versificator, and brunck condemns the whole ode. it appears to me, on the contrary, to be elegantly graphical: full of delicate expressions and luxuriant imagery. ode xlvii. 'tis true, my fading years decline, yet can i quaff the brimming wine, as deep as any stripling fair, whose cheeks the flush of morning wear; and if, amidst the wanton crew, i'm called to wind the dance's clue, then shalt thou see this vigorous hand, not faltering on the bacchant's wand, but brandishing a rosy flask, the only thyrsus e'er i'll ask![ ] let those, who pant for glory's charms, embrace her in the field of arms; while my inglorious, placid soul breathes not a wish beyond this bowl. then fill it high, my ruddy slave, and bathe me in its brimming wave. for though my fading years decay, though manhood's prime hath past away, like old silenus, sire divine, with blushes borrowed from my wine. i'll wanton mid the dancing train, and live my follies o'er again! [ ] phornutus assigns as a reason for the consecration of the thyrsus to bacchus, that inebriety often renders the support of a stick very necessary. ode xlviii. when my thirsty soul i steep, every sorrow's lulled to sleep. talk of monarchs! i am then richest, happiest, first of men; careless o'er my cup i sing, fancy makes me more than king; gives me wealthy croesus' store, can i, can i wish for more? on my velvet couch reclining, ivy leaves my brow entwining,[ ] while my soul expands with glee, what are kings and crowns to me? if before my feet they lay, i would spurn them all away; arm ye, arm ye, men of might, hasten to the sanguine fight; but let _me_, my budding vine! spill no other blood than thine. yonder brimming goblet see, that alone shall vanquish me-- who think it better, wiser far to fall in banquet than in war, [ ] "the ivy was consecrated to bacchus [says montfaucon], because he formerly lay hid under that tree, or as others will have it, because its leaves resemble those of the vine." other reasons for its consecration, and the use of it in garlands at banquets, may be found in longepierre, barnes, etc. ode xlix. when bacchus, jove's immortal boy, the rosy harbinger of joy, who, with the sunshine of the bowl, thaws the winter of our soul-- when to my inmost core he glides, and bathes it with his ruby tides, a flow of joy, a lively heat, fires my brain, and wings my feet, calling up round me visions known to lovers of the bowl alone. sing, sing of love, let music's sound in melting cadence float around, while, my young venus, thou and i responsive to its murmurs sigh. then, waking from our blissful trance, again we'll sport, again we'll dance. ode l.[ ] when wine i quaff, before my eyes dreams of poetic glory rise;[ ] and freshened by the goblet's dews, my soul invokes the heavenly muse, when wine i drink, all sorrow's o'er; i think of doubts and fears no more; but scatter to the railing wind each gloomy phantom of the mind. when i drink wine, the ethereal boy, bacchus himself, partakes my joy; and while we dance through vernal bowers, whose every breath comes fresh from flowers, in wine he makes my senses swim, till the gale breathes of naught but him! again i drink,--and, lo, there seems a calmer light to fill my dreams; the lately ruffled wreath i spread with steadier hand around my head; then take the lyre, and sing "how blest the life of him who lives at rest!" but then comes witching wine again, with glorious woman in its train; and, while rich perfumes round me rise, that seem the breath of woman's sighs, bright shapes, of every hue and form. upon my kindling fancy swarm, till the whole world of beauty seems to crowd into my dazzled dreams! when thus i drink, my heart refines, and rises as the cup declines; rises in the genial flow, that none but social spirits know, when, with young revellers, round the bowl, the old themselves grow young in soul! oh, when i drink, true joy is mine, there's bliss in every drop of wine. all other blessings i have known, i scarcely dared to call my own; but this the fates can ne'er destroy, till death o'ershadows all my joy. [ ] faber thinks this ode spurious; but, i believe, he is singular in his opinion. it has all the spirit of our author. like the wreath which he presented in the dream, "it smells of anacreon." [ ] anacreon is not the only one [says longepierre] whom wine has inspired with poetry. we find an epigram in the first book of the "anthologia," which begins thus:-- if with water you fill up your glasses, you'll never write anything wise; for wine's the true horse of parnassus. which carries a bard to the skies! ode li. fly not thus my brow of snow, lovely wanton! fly not so. though the wane of age is mine, though youth's brilliant flush be thine, still i'm doomed to sigh for thee, blest, if thou couldst sigh for me! see, in yonder flowery braid, culled for thee, my blushing maid,[ ] how the rose, of orient glow, mingles with the lily's snow; mark, how sweet their tints agree, just, my girl, like thee and me! [ ] in the same manner that anacreon pleads for the whiteness of his locks, from the beauty of the color in garlands, a shepherd, in theocritus, endeavors to recommend his black hair. ode lii.[ ] away, away, ye men of rules, what have i do with schools? they'd make me learn, they'd make me think, but would they make me love and drink? teach me this, and let me swim my soul upon the goblet's brim; teach me this, and let me twine some fond, responsive heart to mine, for, age begins to blanch my brow, i've time for naught but pleasure now. fly, and cool, my goblet's glow at yonder fountain's gelid flow; i'll quaff, my boy, and calmly sink this soul to slumber as i drink. soon, too soon, my jocund slave, you'll deck your master's grassy grave; and there's an end--for ah, you know they drink but little wine below! [ ] "this is doubtless the work of a more modern poet than anacreon; for at the period when he lived rhetoricians were not known."--degen. though this ode is found in the vatican manuscript, i am much inclined to agree in this argument against its authenticity: for though the dawnings of the art of rhetoric might already have appeared, the first who gave it any celebrity was. corax of syracuse, and he flourished in the century after anacreon. ode liii. when i behold the festive train of dancing youth, i'm young again! memory wakes her magic trance, and wings me lightly through the dance. come, cybeba, smiling maid! cull the flower and twine the braid; bid the blush of summer's rose burn upon my forehead's snows; and let me, while the wild and young trip the mazy dance along, fling my heap of years away, and be as wild, as young as they. hither haste, some cordial, soul! help to my lips the brimming bowl; and you shall see this hoary sage forget at once his locks and age. he still can chant the festive hymn, he still can kiss the goblet's brim;[ ] as deeply quaff, as largely fill, and play the fool right nobly still. [ ] wine is prescribed by galen, as an excellent medicine for old men: "_quod frigidos et humbribus expletos calefaciut_," etc.; but nature was anacreon's physician. there is a proverb in eriphus, as quoted by athenaeus, which says, "that wine makes an old man dance, whether he will or not." ode. liv.[ ] methinks, the pictured bull we see is amorous jove--it must be he! how fondly blest he seems to bear that fairest of phoenician fair! how proud he breasts the foamy tide, and spurns the billowy surge aside! could any beast of vulgar vein, undaunted thus defy the main? no: he descends from climes above, he looks the god, he breathes of jove! [ ] "this ode is written upon., a picture which represented the rape, of europa."--madame dacier. it may probably have been a description of one of those coins, which the sidonians struck off in honor of europa, representing a woman carried across the sea by a bull. in the little treatise upon the goddess of syria, attributed very' falsely to lucian, there is mention of this coin, and of a temple dedicated by the sidonians to astarte, whom some, it appears, confounded with europa. ode lv.[ ] while we invoke the wreathed spring, resplendent rose! to thee we'll sing; resplendent rose, the flower of flowers, whose breath perfumes the olympian bowers; whose virgin blush, of chastened dye, enchants so much our mortal eye. when pleasure's spring-tide season glows. the graces love to wreathe the rose; and venus, in its fresh-blown leaves, an emblem of herself perceives. oft hath the poet's magic tongue the rose's fair luxuriance sung; and long the muses, heavenly maids, have reared it in their tuneful shades. when, at the early glance of morn, it sleeps upon the glittering thorn, 'tis sweet to dare the tangled fence to cull the timid floweret thence, and wipe with tender hand away the tear that on its blushes lay! 'tis sweet to hold the infant stems, yet dropping with aurora's gems, and fresh inhale the spicy sighs that from the weeping buds arise. when revel reigns, when mirth is high, and bacchus beams in every eye, our rosy fillets scent exhale, and fill with balm the fainting gale. there's naught in nature bright or gay, where roses do not shed their ray. when morning paints the orient skies, her fingers burn with roseate dyes;[ ] young nymphs betray; the rose's hue, o'er whitest arms it kindles thro'. in cytherea's form it glows, and mingles with the living snows. the rose distils a healing balm, the beating pulse of pain to calm; preserves the cold inurnèd clay,[ ] and mocks the vestige of decay: and when, at length, in pale decline, its florid beauties fade and pine, sweet as in youth, its balmy breath diffuses odor even in death! oh! whence could such a plant have sprung? listen,--for thus the tale is sung. when, humid, from the silvery stream, effusing beauty's warmest beam, venus appeared, in flushing hues, mellowed by ocean's briny dews; when, in the starry courts above, the pregnant brain of mighty jove disclosed the nymph of azure glance, the nymph who shakes the martial lance;-- then, then, in strange eventful hour, the earth produced an infant flower, which sprung, in blushing glories drest. and wantoned o'er its parent breast. the gods beheld this brilliant birth, and hailed the rose, the boon of earth! with nectar drops, a ruby tide, the sweetly orient buds they dyed,[ ] and bade them bloom, the flowers divine of him who gave the glorious vine; and bade them on the spangled thorn expand their bosoms to the morn. [ ] this ode is a brilliant panegyric on the rose. "all antiquity [says barnes] has produced nothing more beautiful." from the idea of peculiar excellence, which the ancients attached to this flower, arose a pretty proverbial expression, used by aristophanes, according to suidas "you have spoken roses." [ ] in the original here, he enumerates the many epithets of beauty, borrowed from roses, which were used by the poets. we see that poets were dignified in greece with the title of sages: even the careless anacreon, who lived but for love and voluptuousness, was called by plato the wise anacreon--_fuit haec sapienta quondam_. [ ] he here alludes to the use of the rose in embalming; and, perhaps (as barnes thinks), to the rosy unguent with which venus anointed the corpse of hector. [ ] the author of the "pervigilium veneris" (a poem attributed to catullus, the style of which appears to me to have all the labored luxuriance of a much later period) ascribes the tincture of the rose to the blood from the wound of adonis. ode lvi. he, who instructs the youthful crew to bathe them in the brimmer's dew, and taste, uncloyed by rich excesses, all the bliss that wine possesses; he, who inspires the youth to bound elastic through the dance's round,-- bacchus, the god again is here, and leads along the blushing year; the blushing year with vintage teems, ready to shed those cordial streams, which, sparkling in the cup of mirth, illuminate the sons of earth![ ] then, when the ripe and vermil wine,-- blest infant of the pregnant vine, which now in mellow clusters swells,-- oh! when it bursts its roseate cells, brightly the joyous stream shall flow, to balsam every mortal woe! none shall be then cast down or weak, for health and joy shall light each cheek; no heart will then desponding sigh, for wine shall bid despondence fly. thus--till another autumn's glow shall bid another vintage flow. [ ] madame dacier thinks that the poet here had the nepenthe of homer in his mind. odyssey, lib. iv. this nepenthe was a something of exquisite charm, infused by helen into the wine of her guests, which had the power of dispelling every anxiety. a french writer, de mere, conjectures that this spell, which made the bowl so beguiling, was the charm of helen's conversation. see bayle, art. helène. ode lvii[ ] whose was the artist hand that spread upon this disk the ocean's bed? and, in a flight of fancy, high as aught on earthly wing can fly, depicted thus, in semblance warm, the queen of love's voluptuous form floating along the silvery sea in beauty's naked majesty! oh! he hath given the enamoured sight a witching banquet of delight, where, gleaming through the waters clear, glimpses of undreamt charms appear, and all that mystery loves to screen, fancy, like faith, adores unseen.[ ] light as a leaf, that on the breeze of summer skims the glassy seas, she floats along the ocean's breast, which undulates in sleepy rest; while stealing on, she gently pillows her bosom on the heaving billows. her bosom, like the dew-washed rose, her neck, like april's sparkling snows, illume the liquid path she traces, and burn within the stream's embraces. thus on she moves, in languid pride, encircled by the azure tide, as some fair lily o'er a bed of violets bends its graceful head. beneath their queen's inspiring glance, the dolphins o'er the green sea dance, bearing in triumph young desire, and infant love with smiles of fire! while, glittering through the silver waves, the tenants of the briny caves around the pomp their gambols play, and gleam along the watery way. [ ] this ode is a very animated description of a picture of venus on a discus, which represented the goddess in her first emergence from the waves. about two centuries after our poet wrote, the pencil of the artist apelles embellished this subject, in his famous painting of the venus anadyomene, the model of which, as pliny informs us, was the beautiful campaspe, given to him by alexander; though, according to natalis comes, lib. vii. cap. ., it was phryne who sat to apelles for the face and breast of this venus. [ ] the picture here has all the delicate character of the semi-reducta venus, and affords a happy specimen of what the poetry of passion _ought_ to be--glowing but through a veil, and stealing upon the heart from concealment. few of the ancients have attained this modesty of description, which, like the golden cloud that hung over jupiter and juno, is impervious to every beam but that of fancy. ode lviii. when gold, as fleet as zephyr's' pinion, escapes like any faithless minion,[ ] and flies me (as he flies me ever),[ ] do i pursue him? never, never! no, let the false deserter go, for who would court his direst foe? but when i feel my lightened mind no more by grovelling gold confined, then loose i all such clinging cares, and cast them to the vagrant airs. then feel i, too, the muse's spell, and wake to life the dulcet shell, which, roused once more, to beauty sings, while love dissolves along the strings! but, scarcely has my heart been taught how little gold deserves a thought, when, lo! the slave returns once more, and with him wafts delicious store of racy wine, whose genial art in slumber seals the anxious heart. again he tries my soul to sever from love and song, perhaps forever! away, deceiver! why pursuing ceaseless thus my heart's undoing? sweet is the song of amorous fire. sweet the sighs that thrill the lyre; oh! sweeter far than all the gold thy wings can waft, thy mines can hold. well do i know thy arts, thy wiles-- they withered love's young wreathèd smiles; and o'er his lyre such darkness shed, i thought its soul of song was fled! they dashed the wine-cup, that, by him, was filled with kisses to the brim.[ ] go--fly to haunts of sordid men, but come not near the bard again. thy glitter in the muse's shade, scares from her bower the tuneful maid; and not for worlds would i forego that moment of poetic glow, when my full soul, in fancy's stream, pours o'er the lyre, its swelling theme. away, away! to worldlings hence, who feel not this diviner sense; give gold to those who love that pest,-- but leave the poet poor and blest. [ ] there is a kind of pun in these words, as madame dacier has already remarked; for chrysos, which signifies gold, was also a frequent name for a slave. in one of lucian's dialogues, there is, i think, a similar play upon the word, where the followers of chrysippus are called golden fishes. the puns of the ancients are, in general, even more vapid than our own; some of the best are those recorded of diogenes. [ ] this grace of iteration has already been taken notice of. though sometimes merely a playful beauty, it is peculiarly expressive of impassioned sentiment, and we may easily believe that it was one of the many sources of that energetic sensibility which breathed through the style of sappho. [ ] horace has _desiderique temperare poculum_, not figuratively, however, like anacreon, but importng the love-philtres of the witches. by "cups of kisses" our poet may allude to a favorite gallantry among the ancients, of drinking when the lips of their mistresses had touched the brim;-- "or leave a kiss within the cup and i'll not ask for wine." as in ben jonson's translation from philostratus; and lucian has a conceit upon the same idea, "that you may at once both drink and kiss." ode lix. ripened by the solar beam, now the ruddy clusters teem, in osier baskets borne along by all the festal vintage throng of rosy youths and virgins fair, ripe as the melting fruits they bear. now, now they press the pregnant grapes, and now the captive stream escapes, in fervid tide of nectar gushing. and for its bondage proudly blushing while, round the vat's impurpled brim, the choral song, the vintage hymn of rosy youths and virgins fair, steals on the charmed and echoing air. mark, how they drink, with all their eyes, the orient tide that sparkling flies, the infant bacchus, born in mirth, while love stands by, to hail the birth. when he, whose verging years decline as deep into the vale as mine, when he inhales the vintage-cup, his feet, new-winged, from earth spring up, and as he dances, the fresh air plays whispering through his silvery hair. meanwhile young groups whom love invites, to joys even rivalling wine's delights, seek, arm in arm, the shadowy grove, and there, in words and looks of love, such as fond lovers look and say, pass the sweet moonlight hours away. ode lx.[ ] awake to life, my sleeping shell, to phoebus let thy numbers swell; and though no glorious prize be thine, no pythian wreath around thee twine, yet every hour is glory's hour to him who gathers wisdom's flower. then wake thee from thy voiceless slumbers, and to the soft and phrygian numbers, which, tremblingly, my lips repeat, send echoes, from thy chord as sweet. 'tis thus the swan, with fading notes, down the cayster's current floats, while amorous breezes linger round, and sigh responsive sound for sound. muse of the lyre! illume my dream, thy phoebus is my fancy's theme; and hallowed is the harp i bear, and hallowed is the wreath i wear, hallowed by him, the god of lays, who modulates the choral maze. i sing the love which daphne twined around the godhead's yielding mind; i sing the blushing daphne's flight from this ethereal son of light; and how the tender, timid maid flew trembling to the kindly shade. resigned a form, alas, too fair, arid grew a verdant laurel there; whose leaves, with sympathetic thrill, in terror seemed to tremble still! the god pursued, with winged desire; and when his hopes were all on fire, and when to clasp the nymph he thought, a lifeless tree was all he caught; and 'stead of sighs that pleasure heaves, heard but the west-wind in the leaves! but, pause, my soul, no more, no more-- enthusiast, whither do i soar? this sweetly-maddening dream of soul hath hurried me beyond the goal. why should i sing the mighty darts which fly to wound celestial hearts, when ah, the song, with sweeter tone, can tell the darts that wound my own? still be anacreon, still inspire the descant of the teian lyre: still let the nectared numbers float distilling love in every note! and when some youth, whose glowing soul has felt the paphian star's control, when he the liquid lays shall hear, his heart will flutter to his ear, and drinking there of song divine, banquet on intellectual wine![ ] [ ] this hymn to apollo is supposed not to have been written by anacreon; and it is undoubtedly rather a sublimer flight than the teian wing is accustomed to soar. but in a poet of whose works so small a proportion has reached us, diversity of style is by no means a safe criterion. if we knew horace but as a satirist, should we easily believe there could dwell such animation in his lyre? suidas says that our poet wrote hymns, and this perhaps is one of them. we can perceive in what an altered and imperfect state his works are at present, when we find a scholiast upon horace citing an ode from the third book of anacreon. [ ] here ends the last of the odes in the vatican ms., whose authority helps to confirm the genuine antiquity of them all, though a few have stolen among the number, which we may hesitate in attributing to anacreon. ode lxi.[ ] youth's endearing charms are fled; hoary locks deform my head; bloomy graces, dalliance gay, all the flowers of life decay.[ ] withering age begins to trace sad memorials o'er my face; time has shed its sweetest bloom all the future must be gloom. this it is that sets me sighing; dreary is the thought of dying![ ] lone and dismal is the road, down to pluto's dark abode; and, when once the journey's o'er, ah! we can return no more! [ ] the intrusion of this melancholy ode, among the careless levities of our poet, reminds us of the skeletons which the egyptians used to hang up in the banquet-rooms, to inculcate a thought of mortality even amidst the dissipations of mirth. if it were not for the beauty of its numbers, the teian muse should disown this ode. [ ] horace often, with feeling and elegance, deplores the fugacity of human enjoyments. [ ] regnier, a libertine french poet, has written some sonnets on the approach of death, full of gloomy and trembling repentance. chaulieu, however, supports more consistently the spirit of the epicurean philosopher. see his poem, addressed to the marquis de lafare. ode lxii.[ ] fill me, boy, as deep a draught, as e'er was filled, as e'er was quaffed; but let the water amply flow, to cool the grape's intemperate glow;[ ] let not the fiery god be single, but with the nymphs in union mingle. for though the bowl's the grave of sadness, ne'er let it be the birth of madness. no, banish from our board tonight the revelries of rude delight; to scythians leave these wild excesses, ours be the joy that soothes and blesses! and while the temperate bowl we wreathe, in concert let our voices breathe, beguiling every hour along with harmony of soul and song. [ ] this ode consists of two fragments, which are to be found in athenaeus, book x., and which barnes, from the similarity of their tendency, has combined into one. i think this a very justifiable liberty, and have adopted it in some other fragments of our poet. [ ] it was amphictyon who first taught the greeks to mix water with their wine; in commemoration of which circumstance they erected altars to bacchus and the nymphs. ode lxiii.[ ] to love, the soft and blooming child, i touch the harp in descant wild; to love, the babe of cyprian bowers, the boy, who breathes and blushes flowers; to love, for heaven and earth adore him, and gods and mortals bow before him! [ ] "this fragment is preserved in clemens alexandrinus, storm, lib. vi. and in arsenius, collect. graec."--barnes. it appears to have been the opening of a hymn in praise of love. ode lxiv.[ ] haste thee, nymph, whose well-aimed spear wounds the fleeting mountain-deer! dian, jove's immortal child, huntress of the savage wild! goddess with the sun-bright hair! listen to a people's prayer. turn, to lethe's river turn, there thy vanquished people mourn![ ] come to lethe's wavy shore, tell them they shall mourn no more. thine their hearts, their altars thine; must they, dian--must they pine? [ ] this hymn to diana is extant in hephaestion. there is an anecdote of our poet, which has led some to doubt whether he ever wrote any odes of this kind. it is related by the scholiast upon pindar (isthmionic. od. ii. v. . as cited by barnes) that anaecreon being asked why he addressed all his hymns to women, and none to the deities? answered, "because women are my deities." i have assumed, it will be seen, in reporting this anecdote, the same liberty which i have thought it right to take in translating some of the odes; and it were to be wished that these little infidelities were always allowable in interpreting the writings of the ancients. [ ] lethe, a river of iona, according to strabo, falling into the meander. in its neighborhood was the city called magnesia, in favor of whose inhabitants our poet is supposed to have addressed this supplication to diana. it was written (as madame dacier conjectures) on the occasion of some battle, in which the magnesians had been defeated. ode lxv.[ ] like some wanton filly sporting, maid of thrace, thou flyest my courting. wanton filly! tell me why thou trip'st away, with scornful eye, and seem'st to think my doating heart is novice in the bridling art? believe me, girl, it is not so; thou'lt find this skilful hand can throw the reins around that tender form, however wild, however warm. yes--trust me i can tame thy force, and turn and wind thee in the course. though, wasting now thy careless hours, thou sport amid the herbs and flowers, soon shalt thou feel the rein's control, and tremble at the wished-for goal! [ ] this ode, which is addressed to some thracian girl, exists in heraclides, and has been imitated very frequently by horace, as all the annotators have remarked. madame dacier rejects the allegory, which runs so obviously through the poem, and supposes it to have been addressed to a young mare belonging to polycrates. pierius, in the fourth book of his "hieroglyphics," cites this ode, and informs us that the horse was the hieroglyphical emblem of pride. ode lxvi.[ ] to thee, the queen of nymphs divine, fairest of all that fairest shine; to thee, who rulest with darts of fire this world of mortals, young desire! and oh! thou nuptial power, to thee who bearest of life the guardian key, breathing my soul in fervent praise, and weaving wild my votive lays, for thee, o queen! i wake the lyre, for thee, thou blushing young desire, and oh! for thee, thou nuptial power, come, and illume this genial hour. look on thy bride, too happy boy, and while thy lambent glance of joy plays over all her blushing charms, delay not, snatch her to thine arms, before the lovely, trembling prey, like a young birdling, wing away! turn, stratocles, too happy youth, dear to the queen of amorous truth, and dear to her, whose yielding zone will soon resign her all thine own. turn to myrilla, turn thine eye, breathe to myrilla, breathe thy sigh. to those bewitching beauties turn; for thee they blush, for thee they burn. not more the rose, the queen of flowers, outblushes all the bloom of bowers than she unrivalled grace discloses, the sweetest rose, where all are roses. oh! may the sun, benignant, shed his blandest influence o'er thy bed; and foster there an infant tree, to bloom like her, and tower like thee! [ ] this ode is introduced in the romance of theodorus prodromus, and is that kind of epithalamium which was sung like a scolium at the nuptial banquet. ode lxvii. rich in bliss, i proudly scorn the wealth of amalthea's horn; nor should i ask to call the throne of the tartessian prince my own;[ ] to totter through his train of years, the victim of declining fears. one little hour of joy to me is worth a dull eternity! [ ] he here alludes to arganthonius, who lived, according to lucian, an hundred and fifty years; and reigned, according to herodotus, eighty. ode lxviii. now neptune's month our sky deforms, the angry night-cloud teems with storms; and savage winds, infuriate driven, fly howling in the face of heaven! now, now, my friends, the gathering gloom with roseate rays of wine illume: and while our wreaths of parsley spread their fadeless foliage round our head, let's hymn the almighty power of wine, and shed libations on his shrine! ode lxix. they wove the lotus band to deck and fan with pensile wreath each neck; and every guest, to shade his head, three little fragrant chaplets spread;[ ] and one was of the egyptian leaf, the rest were roses, fair and brief: while from a golden vase profound, to all on flowery beds around, a hebe, of celestial shape, poured the rich droppings of the grape! [ ] longepierre, to give an idea of the luxurious estimation in which garlands were held by the ancients, relates an anecdote of a courtezan, who, in order to gratify three lovers, without leaving cause for jealousy with any of them, gave a kiss to one, let the other drink after her, and put a garland on the brow of the third; so that each was satisfied with his favor, and flattered himself with the preference. ode lxx. a broken cake, with honey sweet, is all my spare and simple treat: and while a generous bowl i crown to float my little banquet down, i take the soft, the amorous lyre, and sing of love's delicious fire: in mirthful measures warm and free, i sing, dear maid, and sing for thee! ode lxxi. with twenty chords my lyre is hung, and while i wake them all for thee, thou, o maiden, wild and young, disportest in airy levity. the nursling fawn, that in some shade its antlered mother leaves behind, is not more wantonly afraid, more timid of the rustling wind! ode lxxii. fare thee well, perfidious maid, my soul, too long on earth delayed, delayed, perfidious girl, by thee, is on the wing for liberty. i fly to seek a kindlier sphere, since thou hast ceased to love me here! ode lxxiii. awhile i bloomed, a happy flower, till love approached one fatal hour, and made my tender branches feel the wounds of his avenging steel. then lost i fell, like some poor willow that falls across the wintry billow! ode lxxiv. monarch love, resistless boy, with whom the rosy queen of joy, and nymphs, whose eyes have heaven's hue, disporting tread the mountain-dew; propitious, oh! receive my sighs, which, glowing with entreaty, rise that thou wilt whisper to the breast of her i love thy soft behest: and counsel her to learn from thee. that lesson thou hast taught to me. ah! if my heart no flattery tell, thou'lt own i've learned that lesson well! ode lxxv. spirit of love, whose locks unrolled, stream on the breeze like floating gold; come, within a fragrant cloud blushing with light, thy votary shroud; and, on those wings that sparkling play, waft, oh, waft me hence away! love! my soul is full of thee, alive to all thy luxury. but she, the nymph for whom i glow the lovely lesbian mocks my woe; smiles at the chill and hoary hues that time upon my forehead strews. alas! i fear she keeps her charms, in store for younger, happier arms! ode lxxvi. hither, gentle muse of mine, come and teach thy votary old many a golden hymn divine, for the nymph with vest of gold. pretty nymph, of tender age, fair thy silky looks unfold; listen to a hoary sage, sweetest maid with vest of gold! ode lxxvii. would that i were a tuneful lyre, of burnished ivory fair, which, in the dionysian choir, some blooming boy should bear! would that i were a golden vase. that some bright nymph might hold my spotless frame, with blushing grace, herself as pure as gold! ode lxxviii. when cupid sees how thickly now, the snows of time fall o'er my brow, upon his wing of golden light. he passes with an eaglet's flight, and flitting onward seems to say, "fare thee well, thou'st had thy day!" cupid, whose lamp has lent the ray, that lights our life's meandering way, that god, within this bosom stealing, hath wakened a strange, mingled feeling. which pleases, though so sadly teasing, and teases, though so sweetly pleasing! * * * * * let me resign this wretched breath since now remains to me no other balm than kindly death, to soothe my misery! * * * * * i know thou lovest a brimming measure, and art a kindly, cordial host; but let me fill and drink at pleasure-- thus i enjoy the goblet most. i fear that love disturbs my rest, yet feel not love's impassioned care; i think there's madness in my breast yet cannot find that madness there! * * * * * from dread leucadia's frowning steep, i'll plunge into the whitening deep: and there lie cold, to death resigned, since love intoxicates my mind! * * * * * mix me, child, a cup divine, crystal water, ruby wine; weave the frontlet, richly flushing o'er my wintry temples blushing. mix the brimmer--love and i shall no more the contest try. here--upon this holy bowl, i surrender all my soul! songs from the greek anthology. here at thy tomb. by meleager. here, at thy tomb, these tears i shed, tears, which though vainly now they roll, are all love hath to give the dead, and wept o'er thee with all love's soul;-- wept in remembrance of that light. which naught on earth, without thee, gives, hope of my heart! now quenched in night, but dearer, dead, than aught that lives. where is she? where the blooming bough that once my life's sole lustre made? torn off by death, 'tis withering now, and all its flowers in dust are laid. oh earth! that to thy matron breast hast taken all those angel charms, gently, i pray thee, let her rest,-- gently, as in a mother's arms. sale of cupid. by meleager. who'll buy a little boy? look, yonder is he, fast asleep, sly rogue on his mother's knee; so bold a young imp 'tisn't safe to keep, so i'll part with him now, while he's sound asleep. see his arch little nose, how sharp 'tis curled, his wings, too, even in sleep unfurled; and those fingers, which still ever ready are found for mirth or for mischief, to tickle, or wound. he'll try with his tears your heart to beguile, but never you mind--he's laughing all the while; for little he cares, so he has his own whim, and weeping or laughing are all one to him. his eye is as keen as the lightning's flash, his tongue like the red bolt quick and rash; and so savage is he, that his own dear mother is scarce more safe in his hands than another. in short, to sum up this darling's praise, he's a downright pest in all sorts of ways; and if any one wants such an imp to employ, he shall have a dead bargain of this little boy. but see, the boy wakes--his bright tears flow-- his eyes seem to ask could i sell him? oh no, sweet child no, no--though so naughty you be, you shall live evermore with my lesbia and me. to weave a garland for the rose. by paul, the silentiary. to weave a garland for the rose. and think thus crown'd 'twould lovelier be, were far less vain than to suppose that silks and gems add grace to thee. where is the pearl whose orient lustre would not, beside thee, look less bright? what gold could match the glossy cluster of those young ringlets full of light? bring from the land, where fresh it gleams, the bright blue gem of india's mine, and see how soon, though bright its beams, 'twill pale before one glance of thine: those lips, too, when their sounds have blest us with some divine, mellifluous air, who would not say that beauty's cestus had let loose all its witcheries there? here, to this conquering host of charms i now give up my spell-bound heart. nor blush to yield even reason's arms, when thou her bright-eyed conqueror art. thus to the wind all fears are given; henceforth those eyes alone i see. where hope, as in her own blue heaven, sits beckoning me to bliss and thee! why does she so long delay? by paul, the silentiary. why does she so long delay? night is waning fast away; thrice have i my lamp renewed, watching here in solitude, where can she so long delay? where, so long delay? vainly now have two lamps shone; see the third is nearly gone: oh that love would, like the ray of that weary lamp, decay! but no, alas, it burns still on, still, still, burns on. gods, how oft the traitress dear swore, by venus, she'd be here! but to one so false as she what is man or deity? neither doth this proud one fear,-- no, neither doth she fear. twin'st thou with lofty wreath thy brow? by paul, the silentiary. twin'st thou with lofty wreath thy brow? such glory then thy beauty sheds, i almost think, while awed i bow 'tis rhea's self before me treads. be what thou wilt,--this heart adores whate'er thou art! dost thou thy loosened ringlets leave, like sunny waves to wander free? then, such a chain of charms they weave, as draws my inmost soul from me. do what thou wilt,--i must be charm'd by all thou dost! even when, enwrapt in silvery veils, those sunny locks elude the sight,-- oh, not even then their glory fails to haunt me with its unseen light. change as thy beauty may, it charms in every way. for, thee the graces still attend, presiding o'er each new attire, and lending every dart they send some new, peculiar touch of fire, be what thou wilt,--this heart adores what'er thou art! when the sad word. by paul, the silentiary. when the sad word, "adieu," from my lip is nigh falling, and with it, hope passes away, ere the tongue hath half breathed it, my fond heart recalling that fatal farewell, bids me stay, for oh! 'tis a penance so weary one hour from thy presence to be, that death to this soul were less dreary, less dark than long absence from thee. thy beauty, like day, o'er the dull world breaking. brings life to the heart it shines o'er, and, in mine, a new feeling of happiness waking, made light what was darkness before. but mute is the day's sunny glory, while thine hath a voice, on whose breath, more sweet than the syren's sweet story, my hopes hang, through life and through death! my mopsa is little. by philodemus. my mopsa is little, my mopsa is brown, but her cheek is as smooth as the peach's soft down, and, for blushing, no rose can come near her; in short, she has woven such nets round my heart, that i ne'er from my dear little mopsa can part,-- unless i can find one that's dearer. her voice hath a music that dwells on the ear, and her eye from its orb gives a daylight so clear, that i'm dazzled whenever i meet her; her ringlets, so curly, are cupid's own net, and her lips, oh their sweetness i ne'er shall forget-- till i light upon lips that are sweeter. but 'tis not her beauty that charms me alone, 'tis her mind, 'tis that language whose eloquent tone from the depths of the grave could revive one: in short, here i swear, that if death were her doom, i would instantly join my dead love in the tomb-- unless i could meet with a live still, like dew in silence falling. by meleager. still, like dew in silence falling, drops for thee the nightly tear still that voice the past recalling, dwells, like echo, on my ear, still, still! day and night the spell hangs o'er me, here forever fixt thou art: as thy form first shone before me, so 'tis graven on this heart, deep, deep! love, oh love, whose bitter sweetness, dooms me to this lasting pain. thou who earnest with so much fleetness, why so slow to go again? why? why? up, sailor boy, 'tis day. up, sailor boy, 'tis day! the west wind blowing, the spring tide flowing, summon thee hence away. didst thou not hear yon soaring swallow sing? chirp, chirp,--in every note he seemed to say 'tis spring, 'tis spring. up boy, away,-- who'd stay on land to-day? the very flowers would from their bowers delight to wing away! leave languid youths to pine on silken pillows; but be the billows of the great deep thine. hark, to the sail the breeze sings, "let us fly;" while soft the sail, replying to the breeze, says, with a yielding sigh, "yes, where you; please." up, boy, the wind, the ray, the blue sky o'er thee, the deep before thee, all cry aloud, "away!" in myrtle wreaths. by alcaeus. in myrtle wreaths my votive sword i'll cover, like them of old whose one immortal blow struck off the galling fetters that hung over their own bright land, and laid her tyrant low. yes, loved harmodius, thou'rt undying; still midst the brave and free, in isles, o'er ocean lying, thy home shall ever be. in myrtle leaves my sword shall hide its lightning, like his, the youth, whose ever-glorious blade leapt forth like flame, the midnight banquet brightening;' and in the dust a despot victim laid. blest youths; how bright in freedom's story your wedded names shall be; a tyrant's death your glory, your meed, a nation free! juvenile poems. . to joseph atkinson, esq. my dear sir, i feel a very sincere pleasure in dedicating to you the second edition of our friend little's poems. i am not unconscious that there are many in the collection which perhaps it would be prudent to have altered or omitted; and, to say the truth, i more than once revised them for that purpose; but, i know not why, i distrusted either my heart or my judgment; and the consequence is you have them in their original form: _non possunt nostros multae, faustine, liturae emendare jocos; una litura potest_. i am convinced, however, that, though not quite a _casuiste relâché_, you have charity enough to forgive such inoffensive follies: you know that the pious beza was not the less revered for those sportive juvenilia which he published under a fictitious name; nor did the levity of bembo's poems prevent him from making a very good cardinal. believe me, my dear friend. with the truest esteem, yours, t. m. _april , _ juvenile poems fragments of college exercises. _nobilitas sola est atque unica virtus_.--juv. mark those proud boasters of a splendid line, like gilded ruins, mouldering while they shine, how heavy sits that weight, of alien show, like martial helm upon an infant's brow; those borrowed splendors whose contrasting light throws back the native shades in deeper night. ask the proud train who glory's train pursue, where are the arts by which that glory grew? the genuine virtues with that eagle-gaze sought young renown in all her orient blaze! where is the heart by chymic truth refined, the exploring soul whose eye had read mankind? where are the links that twined, with heavenly art, his country's interest round the patriot's heart? * * * * * _justum bellum quibus necessarium, et pia arma quibus nulla nisi in armis relinquitur spes_.--livy. * * * * * is there no call, no consecrating cause approved by heav'n, ordained by nature's laws, where justice flies the herald of our way, and truth's pure beams upon the banners play? yes, there's a call sweet as an angel's breath to slumbering babes or innocence in death; and urgent as the tongue of heaven within, when the mind's balance trembles upon sin. oh! 'tis our country's voice, whose claim should meet an echo in the soul's most deep retreat; along the heart's responding chords should run, nor let a tone there vibrate--but the one! variety. ask what prevailing, pleasing power allures the sportive, wandering bee to roam untired, from flower to flower, he'll tell you, 'tis variety. look nature round; her features trace, her seasons, all her changes see; and own, upon creation's face, the greatest charm's variety. for me, ye gracious powers above! still let me roam, unfixt and free; in all things,--but the nymph i love i'll change, and taste variety. but, patty, not a world of charms could e'er estrange my heart from thee;-- no, let me ever seek those arms. there still i'll find variety. to a boy, with a watch, written for a friend is it not sweet, beloved youth, to rove through erudition's bowers, and cull the golden fruits of truth, and gather fancy's brilliant flowers? and is it not more sweet than this, to feel thy parents' hearts approving, and pay them back in sums of bliss the dear, the endless debt of loving? it must be so to thee, my youth; with this idea toil is lighter; this sweetens all the fruits of truth, and makes the flowers of fancy brighter. the little gift we send thee, boy, may sometimes teach thy soul to ponder, if indolence or siren joy should ever tempt that soul to wander. 'twill tell thee that the wingèd day can, ne'er be chain'd by man's endeavor; that life and time shall fade away, while heaven and virtue bloom forever! song. if i swear by that eye, you'll allow, its look is so shifting and new, that the oath i might take on it now the very next glance would undo. those babies that nestle so sly such thousands of arrows have got, that an oath, on the glance of an eye such as yours, may be off in a shot. should i swear by the dew on your lip, though each moment the treasure renews, if my constancy wishes to trip, i may kiss off the oath when i choose. or a sigh may disperse from that flower; both the dew and the oath that are there; and i'd make a new vow every hour, to lose them so sweetly in air. but clear up the heaven of your brow, nor fancy my faith is a feather; on my heart i will pledge you my vow, and they both must be broken together! to ....... remember him thou leavest behind, whose heart is warmly bound to thee, close as the tenderest links can bind a heart as warm as heart can be. oh! i had long in freedom roved, though many seemed my soul to snare; 'twas passion when i thought i loved, 'twas fancy when i thought them fair. even she, my muse's early theme, beguiled me only while she warmed; twas young desire that fed the dream, and reason broke what passion formed. but thou-ah! better had it been if i had still in freedom roved, if i had ne'er thy beauties seen, for then i never should have loved. then all the pain which lovers feel had never to this heart been known; but then, the joys that lovers steal, should _they_ have ever been my own? oh! trust me, when i swear thee this, dearest! the pain of loving thee, the very pain is sweeter bliss than passion's wildest ecstasy. that little cage i would not part, in which my soul is prisoned now, for the most light and winged heart that wantons on the passing vow. still, my beloved! still keep in mind, however far removed from me, that there is one thou leavest behind, whose heart respires for only thee! and though ungenial ties have bound thy fate unto another's care, that arm, which clasps thy bosom round, cannot confine the heart that's there. no, no! that heart is only mine by ties all other ties above, for i have wed it at a shrine where we have had no priest but love. song. when time who steals our years away shall steal our pleasures too, the memory of the past will stay and half our joys renew, then, julia, when thy beauty's flower shall feel the wintry air, remembrance will recall the hour when thou alone wert fair. then talk no more of future gloom; our joys shall always last; for hope shall brighten days to come, and memory gild the past. come, chloe, fill the genial bowl, i drink to love and thee: thou never canst decay in soul, thou'lt still be young for me. and as thy; lips the tear-drop chase, which on my cheek they find, so hope shall steal away the trace that sorrow leaves behind. then fill the bowl--away with gloom! our joys shall always last; for hope shall brighten days to come, and memory gild the past. but mark, at thought of future years when love shall lose its soul, my chloe drops her timid tears, they mingle with my bowl. how like this bowl of wine, my fair, our loving life shall fleet; though tears may sometimes mingle there, the draught will still be sweet. then fill the cup--away with gloom! our joys shall always last; for hope will brighten days to come, and memory gild the past. song. have you not seen the timid tear, steal trembling from mine eye? have you not marked the flush of fear, or caught the murmured sigh? and can you think my love is chill, nor fixt on you alone? and can you rend, by doubting still, a heart so much your own? to you my soul's affections move, devoutly, warmly true; my life has been a task of love, one long, long thought of you. if all your tender faith be o'er, if still my truth you'll try; alas, _i_ know but _one_ proof more-- i'll bless your name, and die! reuben and rose. a tale of romance. the darkness that hung upon willumberg's walls had long been remembered with awe and dismay; for years not a sunbeam had played in its halls, and it seemed as shut out from the regions of day. though the valleys were brightened by many a beam, yet none could the woods of that castle illume; and the lightning which flashed on the neighboring stream flew back, as if fearing to enter the gloom! "oh! when shall this horrible darkness disperse!" said willumberg's lord to the seer of the cave;-- "it can never dispel," said the wizard of verse, "till the bright star of chivalry sinks in the wave!" and who was the bright star of chivalry then? who _could_ be but reuben, the flower of the age? for reuben was first in the combat of men, though youth had scarce written his name on her page. for willumberg's daughter his young heart had beat, for rose, who was bright as the spirit of dawn, when with wand dropping diamonds, and silvery feet, it walks o'er the flowers of the mountain and lawn. must rose, then, from reuben so fatally sever? sad, sad were the words of the seer of the cave, that darkness should cover that castle forever, or reuben be sunk in the merciless wave! to the wizard she flew, saying, "tell me, oh, tell? shall my reuben no more be restored to my eyes?" "yes, yes--when a spirit shall toll the great bell of the mouldering abbey, your reuben shall rise!" twice, thrice he repeated "your reuben shall rise!" and rose felt a moment's release from her pain; and wiped, while she listened, the tears from her eyes. and hoped she might yet see her hero again. that hero could smite at the terrors of death, when he felt that he died for the sire of his rose; to the oder he flew, and there, plunging beneath, in the depth of the billows soon found his repose.-- how strangely the order of destiny falls! not long in the waters the warrior lay, when a sunbeam was seen to glance over the walls, and the castle of willumberg basked in the ray! all, all but the soul of the maid was in light, there sorrow and terror lay gloomy and blank: two days did she wander, and all the long night, in quest of her love, on the wide river's bank. oft, oft did she pause for the toll of the bell, and heard but the breathings of night in the air; long, long did she gaze on the watery swell, and saw but the foam of the white billow there. and often as midnight its veil would undraw, as she looked at the light of the moon in the stream, she thought 'twas his helmet of silver she saw, as the curl of the surge glittered high in the beam. and now the third night was begemming the sky; poor rose, on the cold dewy margent reclined, there wept till the tear almost froze in her eye, when--hark!--'twas the bell that came deep in the wind! she startled, and saw, through the glimmering shade, a form o'er the waters in majesty glide; she knew 'twas her love, though his cheek was decayed, and his helmet of silver was washed by the tide. was this what the seer of the cave had foretold?-- dim, dim through the phantom the moon shot a gleam; 'twas reuben, but, ah! he was deathly and cold, and fleeted away like the spell of a dream! twice, thrice did he rise, and as often she thought from the bank to embrace him, but vain her endeavor! then, plunging beneath, at a billow she caught, and sunk to repose on its bosom forever! did not. 'twas a new feeling--something more than we had dared to own before. which then we hid not; we saw it in each other's eye, and wished, in every half-breathed sigh, to speak, but did not. she felt my lips' impassioned touch-- 'twas the first time i dared so much, and yet she chid not; but whispered o'er my burning brow, "oh! do you doubt i love you now?" sweet soul! i did not. warmly i felt her bosom thrill, i prest it closer, closer still, though gently bid not; till--oh! the world hath seldom heard of lovers, who so nearly erred, and yet, who did not. to ....... that wrinkle, when first i espied it, at once put my heart out of pain; till the eye, that was glowing beside it, disturbed my ideas again. thou art just in the twilight at present, when woman's declension begins; when, fading from all that is pleasant, she bids a good night to her sins. yet thou still art so lovely to me, i would sooner, my exquisite mother! repose in the sunset of thee, than bask in the noon of another. to mrs. ....... on some calumnies against her character. is not thy mind a gentle mind? is not that heart a heart refined? hast thou not every gentle grace, we love in woman's mind and face? and, oh! art _thou_ a shrine for sin to hold her hateful worship in? no, no, be happy--dry that tear-- though some thy heart hath harbored near, may now repay its love with blame; though man, who ought to shield thy fame, ungenerous man, be first to shun thee; though all the world look cold upon thee, yet shall thy pureness keep thee still unharmed by that surrounding chill; like the famed drop, in crystal found,[ ] floating, while all was frozen round,-- unchilled unchanging shalt thou be, safe in thy own sweet purity. [ ] this alludes to a curious gem, upon which claudian has left us some very elaborate epigrams. it was a drop of pure water enclosed within a piece of crystal. addison mentions a curiosity of this kind at milan; and adds; "it is such a rarity as this that i saw at vendöme in france, which they there pretend is a tear that our saviour shed over lazarus, and was gathered up by an angel, who put it into a little crystal vial, and made a present of it to mary magdalen". anacreontic. --_in lachrymas verterat omne merum_. tib. lib. i. eleg. . press the grape, and let it pour around the board its purple shower: and, while the drops my goblet steep, i'll think in woe the clusters weep. weep on, weep on, my pouting vine! heaven grant no tears, but tears of wine. weep on; and, as thy sorrows flow, i'll taste the luxury of woe. to ....... when i loved you, i can't but allow i had many an exquisite minute; but the scorn that i feel for you now hath even more luxury in it. thus, whether we're on or we're off, some witchery seems to await you; to love you was pleasant enough, and, oh! 'tis delicious hate you! to julia. in allusion to some illiberal criticisms. why, let the stingless critic chide with all that fume of vacant pride which mantles o'er the pendant fool, like vapor on a stagnant pool. oh! if the song, to feeling true, can please the elect, the sacred few, whose souls, by taste and nature taught, thrill with the genuine pulse of thought-- if some fond feeling maid like thee, the warm-eyed child of sympathy, shall say, while o'er my simple theme she languishes in passion's dream, "he was, indeed, a tender soul-- no critic law, no chill control, should ever freeze, by timid art, the flowings of so fond a heart!" yes, soul of nature! soul of love! that, hovering like a snow-winged dove, breathed o'er my cradle warblings wild, and hailed me passion's warmest child,-- grant me the tear from beauty's eye, from feeling's breast the votive sigh; oh! let my song, my memory find, a shrine within the tender mind! and i will smile when critics chide, and i will scorn the fume of pride which mantles o'er the pendant fool, like vapor round some stagnant pool! to julia. mock me no more with love's beguiling dream, a dream, i find, illusory as sweet: one smile of friendship, nay, of cold esteem, far dearer were than passion's bland deceit! i've heard you oft eternal truth declare; your heart was only mine, i once believed. ah! shall i say that all your vows were air? and _must_ i say, my hopes were all deceived? vow, then, no longer that our souls are twined that all our joys are felt with mutual zeal; julia!--'tis pity, pity makes you kind; you know i love, and you would _seem_ to feel. but shall i still go seek within those arms a joy in which affection takes no part? no, no, farewell! you give me but your charms, when i had fondly thought you gave your heart. the shrine. to ....... my fates had destined me to rove a long, long pilgrimage of love; and many an altar on my way has lured my pious steps to stay; for if the saint was young and fair, i turned, and sung my vespers there. this, from a youthful pilgrim's fire, is what your pretty saints require: to pass, nor tell a single bead, with them would be profane indeed! but, trust me, all this young devotion was but to keep my zeal in motion; and, every humbler altar past, i now have reached the shrine at last! to a lady, with some manuscript poems, on leaving the country. when, casting many a look behind, i leave the friends i cherish here-- perchance some other friends to find, but surely finding none so dear-- haply the little simple page, which votive thus i've traced for thee, may now and then a look engage, and steal one moment's thought for me. but, oh! in pity let not those whose hearts are not of gentle mould, let not the eye that seldom flows with feeling's tear, my song behold. for, trust me, they who never melt with pity, never melt with love; and such will frown at all i've felt, and all my loving lays reprove. but if, perhaps, some gentler mind, which rather loves to praise than blame, should in my page an interest find. and linger kindly on my name; tell him--or, oh! if, gentler still, by female lips my name be blest: for where do all affections thrill so sweetly as in woman's breast?-- tell her, that he whose loving themes her eye indulgent wanders o'er, could sometimes wake from idle dreams, and bolder flights of fancy soar; that glory oft would claim the lay, and friendship oft his numbers move; but whisper then, that, "sooth to say, his sweetest song was given to love!" to julia. though fate, my girl, may bid us part, our souls it cannot, shall not sever; the heart will seek its kindred heart, and cling to it as close as ever. but must we, must we part indeed? is all our dream of rapture over? and does not julia's bosom bleed to leave so dear, so fond a lover? does _she_, too, mourn?--perhaps she may; perhaps she mourns our bliss so fleeting; but why is julia's eye so gay, if julia's heart like mine is beating? i oft have loved that sunny glow of gladness in her blue eye beaming-- but can the bosom bleed with woe while joy is in the glances beaming? no, no!--yet, love, i will not chide; although your heart _were_ fond of roving, nor that, nor all the world beside could keep your faithful boy from loving. you'll soon be distant from his eye, and, with you, all that's worth possessing. oh! then it will be sweet to die, when life has lost its only blessing! to ....... sweet lady, look not thus again: those bright, deluding smiles recall a maid remember'd now with pain, who was my love, my life, my all! oh! while this heart bewildered took sweet poison from her thrilling eye, thus would she smile and lisp and look, and i would hear and gaze and sigh! yes, i did love her--wildly love-- she was her sex's best deceiver! and oft she swore she'd never rove-- and i was destined to believe her! then, lady, do not wear the smile of one whose smile could thus betray; alas! i think the lovely wile again could steal my heart away. for, when those spells that charmed my mind on lips so pure as thine i see, i fear the heart which she resigned will err again and fly to thee! nature's labels. a fragment. in vain we fondly strive to trace the soul's reflection in the face; in vain we dwell on lines and crosses, crooked mouth or short proboscis; boobies have looked as wise and bright as plato or the stagirite: and many a sage and learned skull has peeped through windows dark and dull. since then, though art do all it can, we ne'er can reach the inward man, nor (howsoe'er "learned thebans" doubt) the inward woman, from without, methinks 'twere well if nature could (and nature could, if nature would) some pithy, short descriptions write on tablets large, in black and white, which she might hang about our throttles, like labels upon physic-bottles; and where all men might read--but stay-- as dialectic sages say, the argument most apt and ample for common use is the example. for instance, then, if nature's care had not portrayed, in lines so fair, the inward soul of lucy lindon. _this_ is the label she'd have pinned on. label first. within this form there lies enshrined the purest, brightest gem of mind. though feeling's hand may sometimes throw upon its charms the shade of woe, the lustre of the gem, when veiled, shall be but mellowed, not concealed. * * * * * now, sirs, imagine, if you're able, that nature wrote a second label, they're her own words--at least suppose so-- and boldly pin it on pomposo. label second. when i composed the fustian brain of this redoubted captain vain. i had at hand but few ingredients, and so was forced to use expedients. i put therein some small discerning, a grain of sense, a grain of learning; and when i saw the void behind, i filled it up with--froth and wind! * * * * * to julia on her birthday. when time was entwining the garland of years, which to crown my beloved was given, though some of the leaves might be sullied with tears, yet the flowers were all gathered in heaven. and long may this garland be sweet to the eye, may its verdure forever be new; young love shall enrich it with many a sigh, and sympathy nurse it with dew. a reflection at sea. see how, beneath the moonbeam's smile, yon little billow heaves its breast, and foams and sparkles for awhile,-- then murmuring subsides to rest. thus man, the sport of bliss and care, rises on time's eventful sea: and, having swelled a moment there, thus melts into eternity! cloris and fanny. cloris! if i were persia's king, i'd make my graceful queen of thee; while fanny, wild and artless thing, should but thy humble handmaid be. there is but _one_ objection in it-- that, verily, i'm much afraid i should, in some unlucky minute, forsake the mistress for the maid. the shield. say, did you not hear a voice of death! and did you not mark the paly form which rode on the silvery mist of the heath, and sung a ghostly dirge in the storm? was it the wailing bird of the gloom, that shrieks on the house of woe all night? or a shivering fiend that flew to a tomb, to howl and to feed till the glance of light? 'twas _not_ the death-bird's cry from the wood, nor shivering fiend that hung on the blast; 'twas the shade of helderic--man of blood-- it screams for the guilt of days that are past. see, how the red, red lightning strays, and scares the gliding ghosts of the heath! now on the leafless yew it plays, where hangs the shield of this son of death. that shield is blushing with murderous stains; long has it hung from the cold yew's spray; it is blown by storms and washed by rains, but neither can take the blood away! oft by that yew, on the blasted field, demons dance to the red moon's light; while the damp boughs creak, and the swinging shield sings to the raving spirit of night! to julia weeping. oh! if your tears are given to care, if real woe disturbs your peace, come to my bosom, weeping fair! and i will bid your weeping cease. but if with fancy's visioned fears, with dreams of woe your bosom thrill; you look so lovely in your tears, that i must bid you drop them still. dreams. to ... .... in slumber, i prithee how is it that souls are oft taking the air, and paying each other a visit, while bodies are heaven knows where? last night, 'tis in vain to deny it, your soul took a fancy to roam, for i heard her, on tiptoe so quiet, come ask, whether _mine_ was at home. and mine let her in with delight, and they talked and they laughed the time through; for, when souls come together at night, there is no saying what they mayn't do! and _your_ little soul, heaven bless her! had much to complain and to say, of how sadly you wrong and oppress her by keeping her prisoned all day. "if i happen," said she, "but to steal "for a peep now and then to her eye, "or, to quiet the fever i feel, "just venture abroad on a sigh; "in an instant she frightens me in "with some phantom of prudence or terror, "for fear i should stray into sin, "or, what is still worse, into error! "so, instead of displaying my graces, "by daylight, in language and mien, "i am shut up in corners and places, "where truly i blush to be seen!" upon hearing this piteous confession, _my_ soul, looking tenderly at her, declared, as for grace and discretion, he did not know much of the matter; "but, to-morrow, sweet spirit!" he said, "be at home, after midnight, and then "i will come when your lady's in bed, "and we'll talk o'er the subject again." so she whispered a word in his ear, i suppose to her door to direct him, and, just after midnight, my dear, your polite little soul may expect him. to rosa. written during illness. the wisest soul, by anguish torn, will soon unlearn the lore it knew; and when the shrining casket's worn, the gem within will tarnish too. but love's an essence of the soul, which sinks hot with this chain of clay; which throbs beyond the chill control of withering pain or pale decay. and surely, when the touch of death dissolves the spirit's earthly ties, love still attends the immortal breath, and makes it purer for the skies! oh rosa, when, to seek its sphere, my soul shall leave this orb of men, that love which formed its treasure here, shall be its _best_ of treasures then! and as, in fabled dreams of old, some air-born genius, child of time, presided o'er each star that rolled, and tracked it through its path sublime; so thou, fair planet, not unled, shalt through thy mortal orbit stray; thy lover's shade, to thee still wed, shall linger round thy earthly way. let other spirits range the sky, and play around each starry gem; i'll bask beneath that lucid eye, nor envy worlds of suns to them. and when that heart shall cease to beat, and when that breath at length is free, then, rosa, soul to soul we'll meet, and mingle to eternity! song. the wreath you wove, the wreath you wove, is fair--but oh, how fair, if pity's hand had stolen from love one leaf, to mingle there! if every rose with gold were tied, did gems for dewdrops fall, one faded leaf where love had sighed were sweetly worth them all. the wreath you wove,--the wreath you wove our emblem well may be; its bloom is yours, but hopeless love must keep its tears for me. the sale of loves. i dreamt that, in the paphian groves, my nets by moonlight laying, i caught a flight of wanton loves, among the rose-beds playing. some just had left their silvery shell, while some were full in feather; so pretty a lot of loves to sell, were never yet strung together. come buy my loves, come buy my loves, ye dames and rose-lipped misses!-- they're new and bright, the cost is light, for the coin of this isle is kisses. first cloris came, with looks sedate. the coin on her lips was ready; "i buy," quoth she, "my love by weight, "full grown, if you please, and steady." "let mine be light," said fanny, "pray-- "such lasting toys undo one; "a light little love that will last to-day,-- "to-morrow i'll sport a new one." come buy my loves, come buy my loves, ye dames and rose-lipped misses!-- there's some will keep, some light and cheap at from ten to twenty kisses. the learned prue took a pert young thing, to divert her virgin muse with, and pluck sometimes a quill from his wing. to indite her billet-doux with, poor cloe would give for a well-fledged pair her only eye, if you'd ask it; and tabitha begged, old toothless fair. for the youngest love in the basket. come buy my loves, etc. but _one_ was left, when susan came, one worth them all together; at sight of her dear looks of shame, he smiled and pruned his feather. she wished the boy--'twas more than whim-- her looks, her sighs betrayed it; but kisses were not enough for him, i asked a heart and she paid it! good-by, my loves, good-by, my loves, 'twould make you smile to've seen us first, trade for this sweet child of bliss, and then nurse the boy between us. to .... .... the world has just begun to steal each hope that led me lightly on; i felt not, as i used to feel, and life grew dark and love was gone. no eye to mingle sorrow's tear, no lip to mingle pleasure's breath, no circling arms to draw me near-- 'twas gloomy, and i wished for death. but when i saw that gentle eye, oh! something seemed to tell me then, that i was yet too young to die, and hope and bliss might bloom again. with every gentle smile that crost your kindling cheek, you lighted home some feeling which my heart had lost and peace which far had learned to roam. 'twas then indeed so sweet to live, hope looked so new and love so kind. that, though i mourn, i yet forgive the ruin they have left behind. i could have loved you--oh, so well!-- the dream, that wishing boyhood knows, is but a bright, beguiling spell, that only lives while passion glows. but, when this early flush declines, when the heart's sunny morning fleets, you know not then how close it twines round the first kindred soul it meets. yes, yes, i could have loved, as one who, while his youth's enchantments fall, finds something dear to rest upon, which pays him for the loss of all. to .... .... never mind how the pedagogue proses, you want not antiquity's stamp; a lip, that such fragrance discloses, oh! never should smell of the lamp. old cloe, whose withering kiss hath long set the loves at defiance, now, done with the science of bliss, may take to the blisses of science. but for _you_ to be buried in books-- ah, fanny, they're pitiful sages, who could not in _one_ of your looks read more than in millions of pages. astronomy finds in those eyes better light than she studies above; and music would borrow your sighs as the melody fittest for love. your arithmetic only can trip if to count your own charms you endeavor; and eloquence glows on your lip when you swear that you'll love me for ever. thus you see, what a brilliant alliance of arts is assembled in you;-- a course of more exquisite science man never need wish to pursue. and, oh!--if a fellow like me may confer a diploma of hearts, with my lip thus i seal your degree, my divine little mistress of arts! on the death of a lady, sweet spirit! if thy airy sleep nor sees my tears not hears my sighs, then will i weep, in anguish weep, till the last heart's drop fills mine eyes. but if thy sainted soul can feel, and mingles in our misery; then, then my breaking heart i'll seal-- thou shalt not hear one sigh from me. the beam of morn was on the stream, but sullen clouds the day deform; like thee was that young, orient beam, like death, alas, that sullen storm! thou wert not formed for living here, so linked thy soul was with the sky; yet, ah, we held thee all so dear, we thought thou wert not formed to die. inconstancy. and do i then wonder that julia deceives me, when surely there's nothing in nature more common? she vows to be true, and while vowing she leaves me-- and could i expect any more from a woman? oh, woman! your heart is a pitiful treasure; and mahomet's doctrine was not too severe, when he held that you were but materials of pleasure, and reason and thinking were out of your sphere. by your heart, when the fond sighing lover can win it, he thinks that an age of anxiety's paid; but, oh, while he's blest, let him die at the minute-- if he live but a _day_, he'll be surely betrayed. the natal genius. a dream to .... .... the morning of her birthday. in witching slumbers of the night, i dreamt i was the airy sprite that on thy natal moment smiled; and thought i wafted on my wing those flowers which in elysium spring, to crown my lovely mortal child. with olive-branch i bound thy head, heart's ease along thy path i shed, which was to bloom through all thy years; nor yet did i forget to bind love's roses, with his myrtle twined, and dewed by sympathetic tears. such was the wild but precious boon which fancy, at her magic noon, bade me to nona's image pay; and were it thus my fate to be thy little guardian deity, how blest around thy steps i'd play! thy life should glide in peace along, calm as some lonely shepherd's song that's heard at distance in the grove; no cloud should ever dim thy sky, no thorns along thy pathway lie, but all be beauty, peace and love. indulgent time should never bring to thee one blight upon his wing, so gently o'er thy brow he'd fly; and death itself should but be felt like that of daybeams, when they melt, bright to the last, in evening's sky! elegiac stanzas. supposed to be written by julia, on the death of her brother. though sorrow long has worn my heart; though every day i've, counted o'er hath brought a new and, quickening smart to wounds that rankled fresh before; though in my earliest life bereft of tender links by nature tied; though hope deceived, and pleasure left; though friends betrayed and foes belied; i still had hopes--for hope will stay after the sunset of delight; so like the star which ushers day, we scarce can think it heralds night!-- i hoped that, after all its strife, my weary heart at length should rest. and, feinting from the waves of life, find harbor in a brother's breast. that brother's breast was warm with truth, was bright with honor's purest ray; he was the dearest, gentlest youth-- ah, why then was he torn away? he should have stayed, have lingered here to soothe his julia's every woe; he should have chased each bitter tear, and not have caused those tears to flow. we saw within his soul expand the fruits of genius, nurst by taste; while science, with a fostering hand, upon his brow her chaplet placed. we saw, by bright degrees, his mind grow rich in all that makes men dear; enlightened, social, and refined, in friendship firm, in love sincere. such was the youth we loved so well, and such the hopes that fate denied;-- we loved, but ah! could scarcely tell how deep, how dearly, till he died! close as the fondest links could strain, twined with my very heart he grew; and by that fate which breaks the chain, the heart is almost broken too. to the large and beautiful miss......, in allusion to some partnership in a lottery share impromptu. --_ego pars_--virg. in wedlock a species of lottery lies, where in blanks and in prizes we deal; but how comes it that you, such a capital prize, should so long have remained in the wheel? if ever, by fortune's indulgent decree, to me such a ticket should roll, a sixteenth, heaven knows! were sufficient for me; for what could _i_ do with the whole? a dream. i thought this heart enkindled lay on cupid's burning shrine: i thought he stole thy heart away, and placed it near to mine. i saw thy heart begin to melt, like ice before the sun; till both a glow congenial felt, and mingled into one! to ....... with all my soul, then, let us part, since both are anxious to be free; and i will sand you home your heart, if you will send mine back to me. we've had some happy hours together, but joy must often change its wing; and spring would be but gloomy weather, if we had nothing else but spring. 'tis not that i expect to find a more devoted, fond and true one, with rosier cheek or sweeter mind-- enough for me that she's a new one. thus let us leave the bower of love, where we have loitered long in bliss; and you may down _that_ pathway rove, while i shall take my way through _this_. anacreontic. "she never looked so kind before-- "yet why the wanton's smile recall? "i've seen this witchery o'er and o'er, "'tis hollow, vain, and heartless all!" thus i said and, sighing drained the cup which she so late had tasted; upon whose rim still fresh remained the breath, so oft in falsehood wasted. i took the harp and would have sung as if 'twere not of her i sang; but still the notes on lamia hung-- on whom but lamia _could_ they hang? those eyes of hers, that floating shine, like diamonds in some eastern river; that kiss, for which, if worlds were mine, a world for every kiss i'd give her. that frame so delicate, yet warmed with flushes of love's genial hue; a mould transparent, as if formed to let the spirit's light shine through. of these i sung, and notes and words were sweet, as if the very air from lamia's lip hung o'er the chords, and lamia's voice still warbled there! but when, alas, i turned the theme, and when of vows and oaths i spoke, of truth and hope's seducing dream-- the chord beneath my finger broke. false harp! false woman! such, oh, such are lutes too frail and hearts too willing; any hand, whate'er its touch, can set their chords or pulses thrilling. and when that thrill is most awake, and when you think heaven's joys await you, the nymph will change, the chord will break-- oh love, oh music, how i hate you! to julia. i saw the peasant's hand unkind from yonder oak the ivy sever; they seemed in very being twined; yet now the oak is fresh as ever! not so the widowed ivy shines: torn from its dear and only stay, in drooping widowhood it pines, and scatters all its bloom away. thus, julia, did our hearts entwine, till fate disturbed their tender ties: thus gay indifference blooms in thine, while mine, deserted, droops and dies! hymn of a virgin of delphi, at the tomb of her mother. oh, lost, forever lost--no more shall vesper light our dewy way along the rocks of crissa's shore, to hymn the fading fires of day; no more to tempe's distant vale in holy musings shall we roam, through summer's glow and winter's gale, to bear the mystic chaplets home.[ ] 'twas then my soul's expanding zeal, by nature warmed and led by thee, in every breeze was taught to feel the breathings of a deity. guide of my heart! still hovering round. thy looks, thy words are still my own-- i see thee raising from the ground some laurel, by the winds o'er thrown. and hear thee say, "this humble bough was planted for a doom divine; and, though it droop in languor now, shall flourish on the delphic shrine!" "thus, in the vale of earthly sense, "though sunk awhile the spirit lies, "a viewless hand shall cull it thence "to bloom immortal in the skies!" all that the young should feel and know by thee was taught so sweetly well, thy words fell soft as vernal snow, and all was brightness where they fell! fond soother of my infant tear, fond sharer of my infant joy, is not thy shade still lingering here? am i not still thy soul's employ? oh yes--and, as in former days, when, meeting on the sacred mount, our nymphs awaked their choral lays, and danced around cassotis' fount; as then, 'twas all thy wish and care, that mine should be the simplest mien, my lyre and voice the sweetest there, my foot the lightest o'er the green: so still, each look and step to mould, thy guardian care is round me spread, arranging every snowy fold and guiding every mazy tread. and, when i lead the hymning choir, thy spirit still, unseen and free, hovers between my lip and lyre, and weds them into harmony. flow, plistus, flow, thy murmuring wave shall never drop its silvery tear upon so pure, so blest a grave, to memory so entirely dear! [ ] the laurel, for the common uses of the temple, for adorning the altars and sweeping the pavement, was supplied by a tree near the fountain of castalia; but upon all important occasions, they sent to tempe for their laurel. we find, in pausanias; that this valley supplied the branches, of which the temple was originally constructed; and plutarch says, in his dialogue on music, "the youth who brings the tempic laurel to delphi is always attended by a player on the flute." sympathy. to julia. --_sine me sit nulla venus_. sulpicia. our hearts, my love, were formed to be the genuine twins of sympathy, they live with one sensation; in joy or grief, but most in love, like chords in unison they move, and thrill with like vibration. how oft i've beard thee fondly say, thy vital pulse shall cease to play when mine no more is moving; since, now, to feel a joy _alone_ were worse to thee than feeling none, so twined are we in loving! the tear. on beds of snow the moonbeam slept, and chilly was the midnight gloom, when by the damp grave ellen wept-- fond maid! it was her lindor's tomb! a warm tear gushed, the wintry air, congealed it as it flowed away: all night it lay an ice-drop there, at morn it glittered in the ray. an angel, wandering from her sphere, who saw this bright, this frozen gem, to dew-eyed pity brought the tear and hung it on her diadem! the snake. my love and i, the other day, within a myrtle arbor lay, when near us, from a rosy bed, a little snake put forth its head. "see," said the maid with thoughtful eyes-- "yonder the fatal emblem lies! "who could expect such hidden harm "beneath the rose's smiling charm?" never did grave remark occur less _à-propos_ than this from her. i rose to kill the snake, but she, half-smiling, prayed it might not be. "no," said the maiden--and, alas, her eyes spoke volumes, while she said it-- "long as the snake is in the grass, "one _may_, perhaps, have cause to dread it: "but, when its wicked eyes appear, "and when we know for what they wink so, "one must be _very_ simple, dear, "to let it wound one--don't you think so?" to rosa. is the song of rosa mute? once such lays inspired her lute! never doth a sweeter song steal the breezy lyre along, when the wind, in odors dying, woos it with enamor'd sighing. is my rosa's lute unstrung? once a tale of peace it sung to her lover's throbbing breast-- then was he divinely blest! ah! but rosa loves no more, therefore rosa's song is o'er; and her lute neglected lies; and her boy forgotten sighs. silent lute--forgotten lover-- rosa's love and song are over! elegiac stanzas. _sic juvat perire_. when wearied wretches sink to sleep, how heavenly soft their slumbers lie! how sweet is death to those who weep, to those who weep and long to die! saw you the soft and grassy bed, where flowrets deck the green earth's breast? 'tis there i wish to lay my head, 'tis there i wish to sleep at rest. oh, let not tears embalm my tomb,-- none but the dews at twilight given! oh, let not sighs disturb the gloom,-- none but the whispering winds of heaven! love and marriage. _eque brevi verbo ferre perenne malum_. secundus, eleg. vii. still the question i must parry, still a wayward truant prove: where i love, i must not marry; where i marry, can not love. were she fairest of creation, with the least presuming mind; learned without affectation; not deceitful, yet refined; wise enough, but never rigid; gay, but not too lightly free; chaste as snow, and yet not frigid: fond, yet satisfied with me: were she all this ten times over, all that heaven to earth allows. i should be too much her lover ever to become her spouse. love will never bear enslaving; summer garments suit him best; bliss itself is not worth having, if we're by compulsion blest. anacreontic. i filled to thee, to thee i drank, i nothing did but drink and fill; the bowl by turns was bright and blank, 'twas drinking, filling, drinking still. at length i bade an artist paint thy image in this ample cup, that i might see the dimpled saint, to whom i quaffed my nectar up. behold, how bright that purple lip now blushes through the wave at me; every roseate drop i sip is just like kissing wine from thee. and still i drink the more for this; for, ever when the draught i drain, thy lip invites another kiss, and--in the nectar flows again. so, here's to thee, my gentle dear, and may that eyelid never shine beneath a darker, bitterer tear than bathes it in this bowl of mine! the surprise. chloris, i swear, by all i ever swore, that from this hour i shall not love thee more.-- "what! love no more? oh! why this altered vow?" because i _can not_ love thee _more_ --than _now_! to miss ....... on her asking the author why she had sleepless nights. i'll ask the sylph who round thee flies, and in thy breath his pinion dips, who suns him in thy radiant eyes, and faints upon thy sighing lips: i'll ask him where's the veil of sleep that used to shade thy looks of light; and why those eyes their vigil keep when other suns are sunk in night? and i will say--her angel breast has never throbbed with guilty sting; her bosom is the sweetest nest where slumber could repose his wing! and i will say--her cheeks that flush, like vernal roses in the sun, have ne'er by shame been taught to blush, except for what her eyes have done! then tell me, why, thou child of air! does slumber from her eyelids rove? what is her heart's impassioned care? perhaps, oh sylph! perhaps, 'tis _love_. the wonder. come, tell me where the maid is found. whose heart can love without deceit, and i will range the world around, to sigh one moment at her feet. oh! tell me where's her sainted home, what air receives her blessed sigh, a pilgrimage of years i'll roam to catch one sparkle of her eye! and if her cheek be smooth and bright, while truth within her bosom lies, i'll gaze upon her morn and night, till my heart leave me through my eyes. show me on earth a thing so rare, i'll own all miracles are true; to make one maid sincere and fair, oh, 'tis the utmost heaven can do! lying. _che con le lor bugie pajon divini._ mauro d'arcano. i do confess, in many a sigh, my lips have breathed you many a lie; and who, with such delights in view, would lose them for a lie or two? nay,--look not thus, with brow reproving; lies are, my dear, the soul of loving. if half we tell the girls were true, if half we swear to think and do, were aught but lying's bright illusion, this world would be in strange confusion. if ladies' eyes were, every one, as lovers swear, a radiant sun, astronomy must leave the skies, to learn her lore in ladies' eyes. oh, no--believe me, lovely girl, when nature turns your teeth to pearl, your neck to snow, your eyes to fire, your amber locks to golden wire, then, only then can heaven decree, that you should live for only me, or i for you, as night and morn, we've swearing kist, and kissing sworn. and now, my gentle hints to clear, for once i'll tell you truth, my dear. whenever you may chance to meet some loving youth, whose love is sweet, long as you're false and he believes you, long as you trust and he deceives you, so long the blissful bond endures, and while he lies, his heart is yours: but, oh! you've wholly lost the youth the instant that he tells you truth. anacreontic. friend of my soul, this goblet sip, 'twill chase that pensive tear; 'tis not so sweet as woman's lip, but, oh! 'tis more sincere. like her delusive beam, 'twill steal away thy mind: but, truer than love's dream, it leaves no sting behind. come, twine the wreath, thy brows to shade; these flowers were culled at noon;-- like woman's love the rose will fade, but, ah! not half so soon. for though the flower's decayed, its fragrance is not o'er; but once when love's betrayed, its sweet life blooms no more. the philosopher aristippus[ ] to a lamp which had been given him by lais. _dulcis conscia lectuli lucerna_. martial, _lib. xiv. epig. _. "oh! love the lamp" (my mistress said), "the faithful lamp that, many a night, "beside thy lais' lonely bed? "has kept its little watch of light. "full often has it seen her weep, "and fix her eye upon its flame. "till, weary, she has sunk to sleep, "repeating her beloved's name. "then love the lamp--'twill often lead "thy step through learning's sacred way; "and when those studious eyes shall read, "at midnight, by its lonely ray, "of things sublime, of nature's birth, "of all that's bright in heaven or earth, oh, think that she, by whom 'twas given, "adores thee more than earth or heaven!" yes--dearest lamp, by every charm on which thy midnight beam has hung; the head reclined, the graceful arm across the brow of ivory flung; the heaving bosom, partly hid, the severed lips unconscious sighs, the fringe that from the half-shut lid adown the cheek of roses lies; by these, by all that bloom untold, and long as all shall charm my heart, i'll love my little lamp of gold-- my lamp and i shall never part. and often, as she smiling said, in fancy's hour thy gentle rays shall guide my visionary tread through poesy's enchanting maze. thy flame shall light the page refined, where still we catch the chian's breath, where still the bard though cold in death, has left his soul unquenched behind. or, o'er thy humbler legend shine, oh man of ascra's dreary glades, to whom the nightly warbling nine a wand of inspiration gave, plucked from the greenest tree, that shades the crystal of castalia's wave. then, turning to a purer lore, we'll cull the sage's deep-hid store, from science steal her golden clue, and every mystic path pursue, where nature, far from vulgar eyes, through labyrinths of wonder flies. 'tis thus my heart shall learn to know how fleeting is this world below, where all that meets the morning light, is changed before the fall of night! i'll tell thee, as i trim thy fire, "swift, swift the tide of being runs, "and time, who bids thy flame expire, "will also quench yon heaven of suns." oh, then if earth's united power can never chain one feathery hour; if every print we leave to-day to-morrow's wave will sweep away; who pauses to inquire of heaven why were the fleeting treasures given, the sunny days, the shady nights, and all their brief but dear delights, which heaven has made for man to use, and man should think it crime to lose? who that has culled a fresh-blown rose will ask it why it breathes and glows, unmindful of the blushing ray, in which it shines its soul away; unmindful of the scented sigh, with which it dies and loves to die. pleasure, thou only good on earth[ ] one precious moment given to thee-- oh! by my lais' lip, 'tis worth the sage's immortality. then far be all the wisdom hence, that would our joys one hour delay! alas, the feast of soul and sense love calls us to in youth's bright day, if not soon tasted, fleets away. ne'er wert thou formed, my lamp, to shed thy splendor on a lifeless page;-- whate'er my blushing lais said of thoughtful lore and studies sage, 'twas mockery all--her glance of joy told me thy dearest, best employ. and, soon, as night shall close the eye of heaven's young wanderer in the west; when seers are gazing on the sky, to find their future orbs of rest; then shall i take my trembling way, unseen but to those worlds above, and, led by thy mysterious ray, steal to the night-bower of my love. [ ] it does not appear to have been very difficult to become a philosopher amongst the ancients. a moderate store of learning, with a considerable portion of confidence, and just wit enough to produce an occasional apophthegm, seem to have been all the qualifications necessary for the purpose. [ ] aristippus considered motion as the principle of happiness, in which idea he differed from the epicureans, who looked to a state of repose as the only true voluptuousness, and avoided even the too lively agitations of pleasure, as a violent and ungraceful derangement of the senses. to mrs,---. on her beautiful translation of voiture's kiss. _mon ame sur mon lèvre étoit lors toute entière. pour savourer le miel qui sur la votre étoit; mais en me retirant, elle resta derrière, tant de ce doux plaisir l'amorce l'a restoit_. voiture. how heavenly was the poet's doom, to breathe his spirit through a kiss: and lose within so sweet a tomb the trembling messenger of bliss! and, sure his soul returned to feel that it _again_ could ravished be; for in the kiss that thou didst steal, his life and soul have fled to thee. rondeau. "good night! good night!"--and is it so? and must i from my rosa go? oh rosa, say "good night!" once more, and i'll repeat it o'er and o'er, till the first glance of dawning light shall find us saying, still, "good night." and still "good night," my rosa, say-- but whisper still, "a minute stay;" and i will stay, and every minute shall have an age of transport in it; till time himself shall stay his flight, to listen to our sweet "good night." "good night!" you'll murmur with a sigh, and tell me it is time to fly: and i will vow, will swear to go, while still that sweet voice murmurs "no!" till slumber seal our weary sight-- and then, my love, my soul, "good night!" song. why does azure deck the sky? 'tis to be like thy looks of blue. why is red the rose's dye? because it is thy blushes' hue. all that's fair, by love's decree, has been made resembling thee! why is falling snow so white, but to be like thy bosom fair! why are solar beams so bright? that they may seem thy golden hair! all that's bright, by love's decree, has been made resembling thee! why are nature's beauties felt? oh! 'tis thine in her we see! why has music power to melt? oh! because it speaks like thee. all that's sweet, by love's decree, has been made resembling thee! to rosa. like one who trusts to summer skies, and puts his little bark to sea, is he who, lured by smiling eyes, consigns his simple heart to thee. for fickle is the summer wind, and sadly may the bark be tost; for thou art sure to change thy mind, and then the wretched heart is lost! written in a commonplace book, called "the book of follies;" in which every one that opened it was to contribute something. to the book of follies. this tribute's from a wretched elf, who hails thee, emblem of himself. the book of life, which i have traced, has been, like thee, a motley waste of follies scribbled o'er and o'er, one folly bringing hundreds more. some have indeed been writ so neat, in characters so fair, so sweet, that those who judge not too severely, have said they loved such follies dearly! yet still, o book! the allusion stands; for these were penned by _female_ hands: the rest--alas! i own the truth-- have all been scribbled so uncouth that prudence, with a withering look, disdainful, flings away the book. like thine, its pages here and there have oft been stained with blots of care; and sometimes hours of peace, i own, upon some fairer leaves have shone, white as the snowings of that heaven by which those hours of peace were given; but now no longer--such, oh, such the blast of disappointment's touch!-- no longer now those hours appear; each leaf is sullied by a tear: blank, blank is every page with care, not even a folly brightens there. will they yet brighten?--never, never! then _shut the book_, o god, for ever! to rosa. say, why should the girl of my soul be in tears at a meeting of rapture like this, when the glooms of the past and the sorrow of years have been paid by one moment of bliss? are they shed for that moment of blissful delight, which dwells on her memory yet? do they flow, like the dews of the love-breathing night, from the warmth of the sun that has set? oh! sweet is the tear on that languishing smile, that smile, which is loveliest then; and if such are the drops that delight can beguile, thou shalt weep them again and again. light sounds the harp. light sounds the harp when the combat is over, when heroes are resting, and joy is in bloom; when laurels hang loose from the brow of the lover, and cupid makes wings of the warrior's plume. but, when the foe returns, again the hero burns; high flames the sword in his hand once more: the clang of mingling arms is then the sound that charms, and brazen notes of war, that stirring trumpets pour;-- then, again comes the harp, when the combat is over-- when heroes are resting, and joy is in bloom-- when laurels hang loose from the brow of the lover, and cupid makes wings of the warrior's plume. light went the harp when the war-god, reclining, lay lulled on the white arm of beauty to rest, when round his rich armor the myrtle hung twining, and flights of young doves made his helmet their nest. but, when the battle came, the hero's eye breathed flame: soon from his neck the white arm was flung; while, to his waking ear, no other sounds were dear but brazen notes of war, by thousand trumpets sung. but then came the light harp, when danger was ended, and beauty once more lulled the war-god to rest; when tresses of gold with his laurels lay blended, and flights of young doves made his helmet their nest. from the greek of meleager. fill high the cup with liquid flame, and speak my heliodora's name. repeat its magic o'er and o'er, and let the sound my lips adore, live in the breeze, till every tone, and word, and breath, speaks her alone. give me the wreath that withers there, it was but last delicious night, it circled her luxuriant hair, and caught her eyes' reflected light. oh! haste, and twine it round my brow, 'tis all of her that's left me now. and see--each rosebud drops a tear, to find the nymph no longer here-- no longer, where such heavenly charms as hers _should_ be--within these arms. song. fly from the world, o bessy! to me, thou wilt never find any sincerer; i'll give up the world, o bessy! for thee, i can never meet any that's dearer. then tell me no more, with a tear and a sigh, that our loves will be censured by many; all, all have their follies, and who will deny that ours is the sweetest of any? when your lip has met mine, in communion so sweet, have we felt as if virtue forbid it?-- have we felt as if heaven denied them to meet?-- no, rather 'twas heaven that did it. so innocent, love, is the joy we then sip, so little of wrong is there in it, that i wish all my errors were lodged on your lip, and i'd kiss them away in a minute. then come to your lover, oh! fly to his shed, from a world which i know thou despisest; and slumber will hover as light o'er our bed! as e'er on the couch of the wisest. and when o'er our pillow the tempest is driven, and thou, pretty innocent, fearest, i'll tell thee, it is not the chiding of heaven, 'tis only our lullaby, dearest. and, oh! while, we lie on our deathbed, my love, looking back on the scene of our errors, a sigh from my bessy shall plead then above, and death be disarmed of his terrors, and each to the other embracing will say, "farewell! let us hope we're forgiven." thy last fading glance will illumine the way, and a kiss be our passport to heaven! the resemblance. _---- vo cercand' io, donna quant' e possibile in altrui la desiata vostra forma vera_. petrarc, _sonett_. . yes, if 'twere any common love, that led my pliant heart astray, i grant, there's not a power above could wipe the faithless crime away. but 'twas my doom to err with one in every look so like to thee that, underneath yon blessed sun so fair there are but thou and she both born of beauty, at a birth, she held with thine a kindred sway, and wore the only shape on earth that could have lured my soul to stray. then blame me not, if false i be, 'twas love that waked the fond excess; my heart had been more true to thee, had mine eye prized thy beauty less. fanny, dearest. yes! had i leisure to sigh and mourn, fanny, dearest, for thee i'd sigh; and every smile on my cheek should turn to tears when thou art nigh. but, between love, and wine, and sleep, so busy a life i live, that even the time it would take to weep is more than my heart can give. then bid me not to despair and pine, fanny, dearest of all the dears! the love that's ordered to bathe in wine, would be sure to take cold in tears. reflected bright in this heart of mine, fanny, dearest, thy image lies; but, ah, the mirror would cease to shine, if dimmed too often with sighs. they lose the half of beauty's light, who view it through sorrow's tear; and 'tis but to see thee truly bright that i keep my eye-beam clear. then wait no longer till tears shall flow, fanny, dearest--the hope is vain; if sunshine cannot dissolve thy snow, i shall never attempt it with rain. the ring. to .... .... no--lady! lady! keep the ring: oh! think, how many a future year, of placid smile and downy wing, may sleep within its holy sphere. do not disturb their tranquil dream, though love hath ne'er the mystery warmed; yet heaven will shed a soothing beam, to bless the bond itself hath formed. but then, that eye, that burning eye,-- oh! it doth ask, with witching power, if heaven can ever bless the tie where love inwreaths no genial flower? away, away, bewildering look, or all the boast of virtue's o'er; go--hie thee to the sage's book, and learn from him to feel no more. i cannot warn thee: every touch, that brings my pulses close to thine, tells me i want thy aid as much-- even more, alas, than thou dost mine. yet, stay,--one hope, one effort yet-- a moment turn those eyes a way, and let me, if i can, forget the light that leads my soul astray. thou sayest, that we were born to meet, that our hearts bear one common seal;-- think, lady, think, how man's deceit can seem to sigh and feign to feel. when, o'er thy face some gleam of thought, like daybeams through the morning air, hath gradual stole, and i have caught the feeling ere it kindled there; the sympathy i then betrayed, perhaps was but the child of art, the guile of one, who long hath played with all these wily nets of heart. oh! thine is not my earliest vow; though few the years i yet have told, canst thou believe i've lived till now, with loveless heart or senses cold? no--other nymphs to joy and pain this wild and wandering heart hath moved; with some it sported, wild and vain, while some it dearly, truly, loved. the cheek to thine i fondly lay, to theirs hath been as fondly laid; the words to thee i warmly say, to them have been as warmly said. then, scorn at once a worthless heart, worthless alike, or fixt or free; think of the pure, bright soul thou art, and--love not me, oh love not me. enough--now, turn thine eyes again; what, still that look and still that sigh! dost thou not feel my counsel then? oh! no, beloved,--nor do i. to the invisible girl. they try to persuade me, my dear little sprite, that you're not a true daughter of ether and light, nor have any concern with those fanciful forms that dance upon rainbows and ride upon storms; that, in short, you're a woman; your lip and your eye as mortal as ever drew gods from the sky. but i _will_ not believe them--no, science, to you i have long bid a last and a careless adieu: still flying from nature to study her laws, and dulling delight by exploring its cause, you forget how superior, for mortals below, is the fiction they dream to the truth that they know. oh! who, that has e'er enjoyed rapture complete, would ask _how_ we feel it, or _why_ it is sweet; how rays are confused, or how particles fly through the medium refined of a glance or a sigh; is there one, who but once would not rather have known it, than written, with harvey, whole volumes upon it? as for you, my sweet-voiced and invisible love, you must surely be one of those spirits, that rove by the bank where, at twilight, the poet reclines, when the star of the west on his solitude shines, and the magical fingers of fancy have hung every breeze with a sigh, every leaf with a tongue. oh! hint to him then, 'tis retirement alone can hallow his harp or ennoble its tone; like you, with a veil of seclusion between, his song to the world let him utter unseen, and like you, a legitimate child of the spheres, escape from the eye to enrapture the ears. sweet spirit of mystery! how i should love, in the wearisome ways i am fated to rove, to have you thus ever invisibly nigh, inhaling for ever your song and your sigh! mid the crowds of the world and the murmurs of care, i might sometimes converse with my nymph of the air, and turn with distaste from the clamorous crew, to steal in the pauses one whisper from you. then, come and be near me, for ever be mine, we shall hold in the air a communion divine, as sweet as, of old, was imagined to dwell in the grotto of numa, or socrates' cell. and oft, at those lingering moments of night, when the heart's busy thoughts have put slumber to flight, you shall come to my pillow and tell me of love, such as angel to angel might whisper above. sweet spirit!--and then, could you borrow the tone of that voice, to my ear like some fairy-song known, the voice of the one upon earth, who has twined with her being for ever my heart and my mind, though lonely and far from the light of her smile, an exile, and weary and hopeless the while, could you shed for a moment her voice on my ear. i will think, for that moment, that cara is near; that she comes with consoling enchantment to speak, and kisses my eyelid and breathes on my cheek, and tells me the night shall go rapidly by, for the dawn of our hope, of our heaven is nigh. fair spirit! if such be your magical power, it will lighten the lapse of full many an hour; and, let fortune's realities frown as they will, hope, fancy, and cara may smile for me still. the ring[ ] a tale _annulus ille viri._ ovid. _"amor." lib. ii. eleg. _. the happy day at length arrived when rupert was to wed the fairest maid in saxony, and take her to his bed. as soon as morn was in the sky, the feast and sports began; the men admired the happy maid, the maids the happy man. in many a sweet device of mirth the day was past along; and some the featly dance amused, and some the dulcet song. the younger maids with isabel disported through the bowers, and decked her robe, and crowned her head with motley bridal flowers. the matrons all in rich attire, within the castle walls, sat listening to the choral strains that echoed, through the halls. young rupert and his friends repaired unto a spacious court, to strike the bounding tennis-ball in feat and manly sport. the bridegroom on his finger wore the wedding-ring so bright, which was to grace the lily hand of isabel that night. and fearing he might break the gem, or lose it in the play, hie looked around the court, to see where he the ring might lay. now, in the court a statue stood, which there full long had been; it might a heathen goddess be, or else, a heathen queen. upon its marble finger then he tried the ring to fit; and, thinking it was safest there, thereon he fastened it. and now the tennis sports went on, till they were wearied all, and messengers announced to them their dinner in the hall, young rupert for his wedding-ring unto the statue went; but, oh, how shocked was he to find the marble finger bent! the hand was closed upon the ring with firm and mighty clasp; in vain he tried and tried and tried, he could not loose the grasp! then sore surprised was rupert's mind-- as well his mind might be; "i'll come," quoth he, "at night again, "when none are here to see." he went unto the feast, and much he thought upon his ring; and marvelled sorely what could mean so very strange a thing! the feast was o'er, and to the court he hied without delay, resolved to break the marble hand and force the ring away. but, mark a stranger wonder still-- the ring was there no more and yet the marble hand ungrasped, and open as before! he searched the base, and all the court, but nothing could he find; then to the castle hied he back with sore bewildered mind. within he found them all in mirth, the night in dancing flew: the youth another ring procured, and none the adventure knew. and now the priest has joined their hands, the hours of love advance: rupert almost forgets to think upon the morn's mischance. within the bed fair isabel in blushing sweetness lay, like flowers, half-opened by the dawn, and waiting for the day. and rupert, by her lovely side, in youthful beauty glows, like phoebus, when he bends to cast his beams upon a rose. and here my song would leave them both, nor let the rest be told, if 'twere not for the horrid tale it yet has to unfold. soon rupert, 'twixt his bride and him a death cold carcass found; he saw it not, but thought he felt its arms embrace him round. he started up, and then returned, but found the phantom still; in vain he shrunk, it clipt him round, with damp and deadly chill! and when he bent, the earthy lips a kiss of horror gave; 'twas like the smell from charnel vaults, or from the mouldering grave! ill-fated rupert!--wild and loud then cried he to his wife, "oh! save me from this horrid fiend, "my isabel! my life!" but isabel had nothing seen, she looked around in vain; and much she mourned the mad conceit that racked her rupert's brain. at length from this invisible these words to rupert came: (oh god! while he did hear the words what terrors shook his frame!) "husband, husband, i've the ring "thou gavest to-day to me; "and thou'rt to me for ever wed, "as i am wed to thee!" and all the night the demon lay cold-chilling by his side, and strained him with such deadly grasp, he thought he should have died. but when the dawn of day was near, the horrid phantom fled, and left the affrighted youth to weep by isabel in bed. and all that day a gloomy cloud was seen on rupert's brows; fair isabel was likewise sad, but strove to cheer her spouse. and, as the day advanced, he thought of coming night with fear: alas, that he should dread to view the bed that should be dear! at length the second night arrived, again their couch they prest; poor rupert hoped that all was o'er, and looked for love and rest. but oh! when midnight came, again the fiend was at his side, and, as it strained him in its grasp, with howl exulting cried:-- "husband, husband, i've the ring, "the ring thou gavest to me; "and thou'rt to me for ever wed, "as i am wed to thee!", in agony of wild despair, he started from the bed; and thus to his bewildered wife the trembling rupert said; "oh isabel! dost thou not see "a shape of horrors here, "that strains me to its deadly kiss, "and keeps me from my dear?" "no, no, my love! my rupert, i "no shape of horrors see; "and much i mourn the fantasy "that keeps my dear from me." this night, just like the night before, in terrors past away. nor did the demon vanish thence before the dawn of day. said rupert then, "my isabel, "dear partner of my woe. "to father austin's holy cave "this instant will i go." now austin was a reverend man, who acted wonders maint-- whom all the country round believed a devil or a saint! to father austin's holy cave then rupert straightway went; and told him all, and asked him how these horrors to prevent. the father heard the youth, and then retired awhile to pray: and, having prayed for half an hour thus to the youth did say: "there is a place where four roads meet, "which i will tell to thee; "be there this eve, at fall of night, "and list what thou shalt see. "thou'lt see a group of figures pass "in strange disordered crowd, "travelling by torchlight through the roads, "with noises strange and loud. "and one that's high above the rest, "terrific towering o'er, "will make thee know him at a glance, "so i need say no more. "to him from me these tablets give, "they'll quick be understood; "thou need'st not fear, but give them straight, "i've scrawled them with my blood!" the night-fall came, and rupert all in pale amazement went to where the cross-roads met, as he was by the father sent. and lo! a group of figures came in strange disordered crowd. travelling by torchlight through the roads, with noises strange and loud. and, as the gloomy train advanced, rupert beheld from far a female form of wanton mien high seated on a car. and rupert, as he gazed upon the loosely-vested dame, thought of the marble statue's look, for hers was just the same. behind her walked a hideous form, with eyeballs flashing death; whene'er he breathed, a sulphured smoke came burning in his breath. he seemed the first of all the crowd, terrific towering o'er; "yes, yes," said rupert, "this is he, "and i need ask no more." then slow he went, and to this fiend the tablets trembling gave, who looked and read them with a yell that would disturb the grave. and when he saw the blood-scrawled name, his eyes with fury shine; "i thought," cries he, "his time was out, "but he must soon be mine!" then darting at the youth a look which rent his soul with fear, he went unto the female fiend, and whispered in her ear. the female fiend no sooner heard than, with reluctant look, the very ring that rupert lost, she from her finger took. and, giving it unto the youth, with eyes that breathed of hell, she said, in that tremendous voice, which he remembered well: "in austin's name take back the ring, "the ring thou gavest to me; "and thou'rt to me no longer wed, "nor longer i to thee." he took the ring, the rabble past. he home returned again; his wife was then the happiest fair, the happiest he of men. [ ] i should be sorry to think that my friend had any serious intentions of frightening the nursery by this story; i rather hope--though the manner of it leads me to doubt--that his design was to ridicule that distempered taste which prefers those monsters of the fancy to the _"speciosa miracula"_ of true poetic imagination. to .... .... on seeing her with a white veil and a rich girdle. put off the vestal veil, nor, oh! let weeping angels view it; your cheeks belie its virgin snow. and blush repenting through it. put off the fatal zone you wear; the shining pearls around it are tears, that fell from virtue there, the hour when love unbound it. written in the blank leaf of a lady's commonplace book. here is one leaf reserved for me, from all thy sweet memorials free; and here my simple song might tell the feelings thou must guess so well. but could i thus, within thy mind, one little vacant corner find, where no impression yet is seen, where no memorial yet hath been, oh! it should be my sweetest care to _write my name_ for ever _there_! to mrs. bl----. written in her album. they say that love had once a book (the urchin likes to copy you), where, all who came, the pencil took, and wrote, like us, a line or two. 'twas innocence, the maid divine, who kept this volume bright and fair. and saw that no unhallowed line or thought profane should enter there; and daily did the pages fill with fond device and loving lore, and every leaf she turned was still more bright than that she turned before. beneath the touch of hope, how soft, how light the magic pencil ran! till fear would come, alas, as oft, and trembling close what hope began. a tear or two had dropt from grief, and jealousy would, now and then, ruffle in haste some snow-white leaf, which love had still to smooth again. but, ah! there came a blooming boy, who often turned the pages o'er, and wrote therein such words of joy, that all who read them sighed for more. and pleasure was this spirit's name, and though so soft his voice and look, yet innocence, whene'er he came, would tremble for her spotless book. for, oft a bacchant cup he bore, with earth's sweet nectar sparkling bright; and much she feared lest, mantling o'er, some drops should on the pages light. and so it chanced, one luckless night, the urchin let that goblet fall o'er the fair book, so pure, so white, and sullied lines and marge and all! in vain now, touched with shame, he tried to wash those fatal stains away; deep, deep had sunk the sullying tide, the leaves grew darker everyday. and fancy's sketches lost their hue, and hope's sweet lines were all effaced, and love himself now scarcely knew what love himself so lately traced. at length the urchin pleasure fled, (for how, alas! could pleasure stay?) and love, while many a tear he shed, reluctant flung the book away. the index now alone remains. of all the pages spoiled by pleasure, and though it bears some earthly stains, yet memory counts the leaf a treasure. and oft, they say, she scans it o'er, and oft, by this memorial aided, brings back the pages now no more, and thinks of lines that long have faded. i know not if this tale be true, but thus the simple facts are stated; and i refer their truth to you, since love and you are near related. to cara, after an interval of absence. concealed within the shady wood a mother left her sleeping child, and flew, to cull her rustic food, the fruitage of the forest wild. but storms upon her pathway rise, the mother roams, astray and weeping; far from the weak appealing cries of him she left so sweetly sleeping. she hopes, she fears; a light is seen, and gentler blows the night wind's breath; yet no--'tis gone--the storms are keen, the infant may be chilled to death! perhaps, even now, in darkness shrouded, his little eyes lie cold and still;-- and yet, perhaps, they are not clouded, life and love may light them still. thus, cara, at our last farewell, when, fearful even thy hand to touch, i mutely asked those eyes to tell if parting pained thee half so much: i thought,--and, oh! forgive the thought, for none was e'er by love inspired whom fancy had not also taught to hope the bliss his soul desired. yes, i _did_ think, in cara's mind, though yet to that sweet mind unknown, i left one infant wish behind, one feeling, which i called my own. oh blest! though but in fancy blest, how did i ask of pity's care, to shield and strengthen, in thy breast, the nursling i had cradled there. and, many an hour, beguiled by pleasure, and many an hour of sorrow numbering, i ne'er forgot the new-born treasure, i left within thy bosom slumbering. perhaps, indifference has not chilled it, haply, it yet a throb may give-- yet, no--perhaps, a doubt has killed it; say, dearest--_does_ the feeling live? to cara, on the dawning of a new year's day. when midnight came to close the year, we sighed to think it thus should take the hours it gave us--hours as dear as sympathy and love could make their blessed moments,--every sun saw us, my love, more closely one. but, cara, when the dawn was nigh which came a new year's light to shed, that smile we caught from eye to eye told us, those moments were not fled: oh, no,--we felt, some future sun should see us still more closely one. thus may we ever, side by side, from happy years to happier glide; and still thus may the passing sigh we give to hours, that vanish o'er us, be followed by the smiling eye, that hope shall shed on scenes before us! to ......., . to be the theme of every hour the heart devotes to fancy's power, when her prompt magic fills the mind with friends and joys we've left behind, and joys return and friends are near, and all are welcomed with a tear:-- in the mind's purest seat to dwell, to be remembered oft and well by one whose heart, though vain and wild, by passion led, by youth beguiled, can proudly still aspire to be all that may yet win smiles from thee:-- if thus to live in every part of a lone, weary wanderer's heart; if thus to be its sole employ can give thee one faint gleam of joy, believe it. mary,--oh! believe a tongue that never can deceive, though, erring, it too oft betray even more than love should dare to say,-- in pleasure's dream or sorrow's hour, in crowded hall or lonely bower, the business of my life shall be, for ever to remember thee. and though that heart be dead to mine, since love is life and wakes not thine, i'll take thy image, as the form of one whom love had failed to warm, which, though it yield no answering thrill, is not less dear, is worshipt still-- i'll take it, wheresoe'er i stray, the bright, cold burden of my way. to keep this semblance fresh in bloom, my heart shall be its lasting tomb, and memory, with embalming care, shall keep it fresh and fadeless there. the genius of harmony. an irregular ode. _ad harmoniam canere mundum_. cicero _"de nat. deor." lib. iii_. there lies a shell beneath the waves, in many a hollow winding wreathed, such as of old echoed the breath that warbling sea-maids breathed; this magic shell, from the white bosom of a syren fell, as once she wandered by the tide that laves sicilia's sands of gold. it bears upon its shining side the mystic notes of those entrancing airs,[ ] the genii of the deep were wont to swell, when heaven's eternal orbs their midnight music rolled! oh! seek it, wheresoe'er it floats; and, if the power of thrilling numbers to thy soul be dear, go, bring the bright shell to my bower, and i will fold thee in such downy dreams as lap the spirit of the seventh sphere, when luna's distant tone falls faintly on his ear![ ] and thou shalt own, that, through the circle of creation's zone, where matter slumbers or where spirit beams; from the pellucid tides,[ ] that whirl the planets through their maze of song, to the small rill, that weeps along murmuring o'er beds of pearl; from the rich sigh of the sun's arrow through an evening sky,[ ] to the faint breath the tuneful osier yields on afric's burning fields;[ ] thou'lt wondering own this universe divine is mine! that i respire in all and all in me, one mighty mingled soul of boundless harmony. welcome, welcome, mystic shell! many a star has ceased to burn,[ ] many a tear has saturn's urn o'er the cold bosom of the ocean wept, since thy aerial spell hath in the waters slept. now blest i'll fly with the bright treasure to my choral sky, where she, who waked its early swell, the syren of the heavenly choir. walks o'er the great string of my orphic lyre; or guides around the burning pole the winged chariot of some blissful soul: while thou-- oh son of earth, what dreams shall rise for thee! beneath hispania's sun, thou'll see a streamlet run, which i've imbued with breathing melody;[ ] and there, when night-winds down the current die, thou'lt hear how like a harp its waters sigh: a liquid chord is every wave that flows, an airy plectrum every breeze that blows. there, by that wondrous stream, go, lay thy languid brow, and i will send thee such a godlike dream, as never blest the slumbers even of him,[ ] who, many a night, with his primordial lyre, sate on the chill pangaean mount,[ ] and, looking to the orient dim, watched the first flowing of that sacred fount, from which his soul had drunk its fire. oh think what visions, in that lonely hour, stole o'er his musing breast; what pious ecstasy wafted his prayer to that eternal power, whose seal upon this new-born world imprest the various forms of bright divinity! or, dost thou know what dreams i wove, mid the deep horror of that silent bower,[ ] where the rapt samian slept his holy slumber? when, free from every earthly chain, from wreaths of pleasure and from bonds of pain, his spirit flew through fields above, drank at the source of nature's fontal number, and saw, in mystic choir, around him move the stars of song, heaven's burning minstrelsy! such dreams, so heavenly bright, i swear by the great diadem that twines my hair, and by the seven gems that sparkle there, mingling their beams in a soft iris of harmonious light, oh, mortal! such shall be thy radiant dreams. * * * * * i found her not--the chamber seemed like some divinely haunted place where fairy forms had lately beamed, and left behind their odorous trace! it felt as if her lips had shed a sigh around her, ere she fled, which hung, as on a melting lute, when all the silver chords are mute, there lingers still a trembling breath after the note's luxurious death, a shade of song, a spirit air of melodies which had been there. i saw the veil, which, all the day, had floated o'er her cheek of rose; i saw the couch, where late she lay in languor of divine repose; and i could trace the hallowed print her limbs had left, as pure and warm, as if 'twere done in rapture's mint, and love himself had stamped the form. oh my sweet mistress, where wert thou? in pity fly not thus from me; thou art my life, my essence now, and my soul dies of wanting thee. [ ] in the "histoire naturelle des antilles," there is an account of some curious shells, found at curaçoa, on the back of which were lines, filled with musical characters so distinct and perfect, that the writer assures us a very charming trio was sung from one of them. the author adds, a poet might imagine that these shells were used by the syrens at their concerts. [ ] according to cicero, and his commentator, macrobius, the lunar tone is the gravest and faintest on the planetary heptachord. [ ] leucippus, the atomist, imagined a kind of vortices in the heavens, which he borrowed from anaxagoras, and possibly suggested to descartes. [ ] heraclides, upon the allegories of homer, conjectures that the idea of the harmony of the spheres originated with this poet, who, in representing the solar beams as arrows, supposes them to emit a peculiar sound in the air. [ ] in the account of africa which d'ablancourt has translated, there is mention of a tree in that country, whose branches, when shaken by the hand produce very sweet sounds. [ ] alluding to the extinction, or at least the disappearance, of some of those fixed stars, which we are taught to consider as suns, attended each by its system. descartes thought that our earth might formerly have been a sun, which became obscured by a thick incrustation over its surface. this probably suggested the idea of a central fire. [ ] this musical river is mentioned in the romance of achilles tatius. [ ] orpheus. [ ] eratosthenes, in mentioning the extreme veneration of orpheus for apollo, says that he was accustomed to go to the pangaean mountain at daybreak, and there wait the rising of the sun, that he might be the first to hail its beams. [ ] alluding to the cave near samos, where pythagoras devoted the greater part of his days and nights to meditation and the mysteries of his philosophy. to mrs. henry tighe, on reading her "psyche." tell me the witching tale again, for never has my heart or ear hung on so sweet, so pure a strain, so pure to feel, so sweet to hear. say, love, in all thy prime of fame, when the high heaven itself was thine; when piety confest the flame, and even thy errors were divine; did ever muse's hand, so fair, a glory round thy temple spread? did ever lip's ambrosial air such fragrance o'er thy altars shed? one maid there was, who round her lyre the mystic myrtle wildly wreathed;-- but all _her_ sighs were sighs of fire, the myrtle withered as she breathed. oh! you that love's celestial dream, in all its purity, would know, let not the senses' ardent beam too strongly through the vision glow. love safest lies, concealed in night, the night where heaven has bid him lie; oh! shed not there unhallowed light, or, psyche knows, the boy will fly. sweet psyche, many a charmed hour, through many a wild and magic waste, to the fair fount and blissful bower have i, in dreams, thy light foot traced! where'er thy joys are numbered now, beneath whatever shades of rest, the genius of the starry brow hath bound thee to thy cupid's breast; whether above the horizon dim, along whose verge our spirits stray,-- half sunk beneath the shadowy rim, half brightened by the upper ray,[ ]-- thou dwellest in a world, all light, or, lingering here, doth love to be, to other souls, the guardian bright that love was, through this gloom, to thee; still be the song to psyche dear, the song, whose gentle voice was given to be, on earth, to mortal ear, an echo of her own, in heaven. [ ] by this image the platonists expressed the middle state of the soul between sensible and intellectual existence. from the high priest of apollo to a virgin of delphi.[ ] _cum digno digna_..... sulpicia. "who is the maid, with golden hair, "with eye of fire, and foot of air, "whose harp around my altar swells, "the sweetest of a thousand shells?" 'twas thus the deity, who treads the arch of heaven, and proudly sheds day from his eyelids--thus he spoke, as through my cell his glories broke. aphelia is the delphic fair[ ] with eyes of fire and golden hair, aphelia's are the airy feet. and hers the harp divinely sweet; for foot so light has never trod the laurelled caverns of the god. nor harp so soft hath ever given a sigh to earth or hymn to heaven. "then tell the virgin to unfold, "in looser pomp, her locks of gold, "and bid those eyes more fondly shine "to welcome down a spouse divine; "since he, who lights the path of years-- "even from the fount of morning's tears "to where his setting splendors burn "upon the western sea-maid's urn-- "doth not, in all his course, behold "such eyes of fire, such hair of gold. "tell her, he comes, in blissful pride, "his lip yet sparkling with the tide "that mantles in olympian bowls,-- "the nectar of eternal souls! "for her, for her he quits the skies, "and to her kiss from nectar flies. "oh, he would quit his star-throned height, "and leave the world to pine for light, "might he but pass the hours of shade, "beside his peerless delphic maid, "she, more than earthly woman blest, "he, more than god on woman's breast!" there is a cave beneath the steep,[ ] where living rills of crystal weep o'er herbage of the loveliest hue that ever spring begemmed with dew: there oft the greensward's glossy tint is brightened by the recent print of many a faun and naiad's feet,-- scarce touching earth, their step so fleet,-- that there, by moonlight's ray, had trod, in light dance, o'er the verdant sod. "there, there," the god, impassioned, said, "soon as the twilight tinge is fled, "and the dim orb of lunar souls "along its shadowy pathway rolls-- "there shall we meet,--and not even he, "the god who reigns immortally, "where babel's turrets paint their pride "upon the euphrates' shining tide,[ ]-- "not even when to his midnight loves "in mystic majesty he moves, "lighted by many an odorous fire, "and hymned by all chaldaea's choir,-- "e'er yet, o'er mortal brow, let shine "such effluence of love divine, "as shall to-night, blest maid, o'er thine." happy the maid, whom heaven allows to break for heaven her virgin vows! happy the maid!--her robe of shame is whitened by a heavenly flame, whose glory, with a lingering trace, shines through and deifies her race! [ ] this poem, as well as a few others in the following volume, formed part of a work which i had early projected, and even announced to the public, but which, luckily, perhaps, for myself, had been interrupted by my visit to america in the year . [ ] in the th pythic of pindar, where apollo, in the same manner, requires of chiron some information respecting the fair cyrene, the centaur, in obeying, very gravely apologizes for telling the god what his omniscience must know so perfectly already. [ ] the corycian cave, which pausanias mentions. the inhabitants of parnassus held it sacred to the corycian nymphs, who were children of the river plistus. [ ] the temple of jupiter belus, at babylon; in one of whose towers there was a large chapel set apart for these celestial assignations. "no man is allowed to sleep here," says herodotus; "but the apartment is appropriated to a female, whom, if we believe the chaldaean priests, the deity selects from the women of the country, as his favorite." fragment. pity me, love! i'll pity thee, if thou indeed hast felt like me. all, all my bosom's peace is o'er! at night, which _was_ my hour of calm, when from the page of classic lore, from the pure fount of ancient lay my soul has drawn the placid balm, which charmed its every grief away, ah! there i find that balm no more. those spells, which make us oft forget the fleeting troubles of the day, in deeper sorrows only whet the stings they cannot tear away. when to my pillow racked i fly, with weary sense and wakeful eye. while my brain maddens, where, oh, where is that serene consoling prayer, which once has harbingered my rest, when the still soothing voice of heaven hath seemed to whisper in my breast, "sleep on, thy errors are forgiven!" no, though i still in semblance pray, my thoughts are wandering far away, and even the name of deity is murmured out in sighs for thee. a night thought. how oft a cloud, with envious veil, obscures yon bashful light, which seems so modestly to steal along the waste of night! 'tis thus the world's obtrusive wrongs obscure with malice keen some timid heart, which only longs to live and die unseen. the kiss. grow to my lip, thou sacred kiss, on which my soul's beloved swore that there should come a time of bliss, when she would mock my hopes no more. and fancy shall thy glow renew, in sighs at morn, and dreams at night, and none shall steal thy holy dew till thou'rt absolved by rapture's rite. sweet hours that are to make me blest, fly, swift as breezes, to the goal, and let my love, my more than soul, come blushing to this ardent breast. then, while in every glance i drink the rich overflowing of her mind, oh! let her all enamored sink in sweet abandonment resigned, blushing for all our struggles past, and murmuring, "i am thine at last!" song. think on that look whose melting ray for one sweet moment mixt with mine, and for that moment seemed to say, "i dare not, or i would be thine!" think on thy every smile and glance, on all thou hast to charm and move; and then forgive my bosom's trance, nor tell me it is sin to love. oh, _not_ to love thee were the sin; for sure, if fate's decrees be done, thou, thou art destined still to win, as i am destined to be won! the catalogue. "come, tell me," says rosa, as kissing and kist, one day she reclined on my breast; "come, tell me the number, repeat me the list "of the nymphs you have loved and carest."-- oh rosa! 'twas only my fancy that roved, my heart at the moment was free; but i'll tell thee, my girl, how many i've loved, and the number shall finish with thee. my tutor was kitty; in infancy wild she taught me the way to be blest; she taught me to love her, i loved like a child, but kitty could fancy the rest. this lesson of dear and enrapturing lore i have never forgot, i allow: i have had it _by rote_ very often before, but never _by heart_ until now. pretty martha was next, and my soul was all flame, but my head was so full of romance that i fancied her into some chivalry dame, and i was her knight of the lance. but martha was not of this fanciful school, and she laughed at her poor little knight; while i thought her a goddess, she thought me a fool, and i'll swear _she_ was most in the right. my soul was now calm, till, by cloris's looks, again i was tempted to rove; but cloris, i found, was so learned in books that she gave me more logic than love. so i left this young sappho, and hastened to fly to those sweeter logicians in bliss, who argue the point with a soul-telling eye, and convince us at once with a kiss. oh! susan was then all the world unto me, but susan was piously given; and the worst of it was, we could never agree on the road that was shortest to heaven. "oh, susan!" i've said, in the moments of mirth, "what's devotion to thee or to me? "i devoutly believe there's a heaven on earth, "and believe that that heaven's in _thee_!" imitation of catullus. to himself. _miser catulle, desinas ineptire_, etc. cease the sighing fool to play; cease to trifle life away; nor vainly think those joys thine own, which all, alas, have falsely flown. what hours, catullus, once were thine. how fairly seemed thy day to shine, when lightly thou didst fly to meet the girl whose smile was then so sweet-- the girl thou lovedst with fonder pain than e'er thy heart can feel again. ye met--your souls seemed all in one, like tapers that commingling shone; thy heart was warm enough for both, and hers, in truth, was nothing loath. such were the hours that once were thine; but, ah! those hours no longer shine. for now the nymph delights no more in what she loved so much before; and all catullus now can do, is to be proud and frigid too; nor follow where the wanton flies, nor sue the bliss that she denies. false maid! he bids farewell to thee, to love, and all love's misery; the heyday of his heart is o'er, nor will he court one favor more. fly, perjured girl!--but whither fly? who now will praise thy cheek and eye? who now will drink the syren tone, which tells him thou art all his own? oh, none:--and he who loved before can never, never love thee more. * * * * * _"neither do i condemn thee; go, and sin no more_!" --st. john, chap. viii. oh woman, if through sinful wile thy soul hath strayed from honor's track, 'tis mercy only can beguile, by gentle ways, the wanderer back. the stain that on thy virtue lies, washed by those tears, not long will stay; as clouds that sully morning skies may all be wept in showers away. go, go, be innocent,--and live; the tongues of men may wound thee sore; but heaven in pity can forgive, and bids thee "go, and sin no more!" nonsense. good reader! if you e'er have seen, when phoebus hastens to his pillow, the mermaids, with their tresses green, dancing upon the western billow: if you have seen, at twilight dim, when the lone spirit's vesper hymn floats wild along the winding shore, if you have seen, through mist of eve, the fairy train their ringlets weave, glancing along the spangled green:-- if you have seen all this, and more, god bless me, what a deal you've seen! epigram. from the french. "i never gave a kiss (says prue), "to naughty man, for i abhor it." she will not _give_ a kiss, 'tis true; she'll _take_ one though, and thank you for it. on a squinting poetess. to no _one_ muse does she her glance confine, but has an eye, at once, to _all the nine_! to .... .... _maria pur quando vuol, non è bisogna mutar ni faccia ni voce per esser un angelo_.[ ] die when you will, you need not wear at heaven's court a form more fair than beauty here on earth has given; keep but the lovely looks we see-- the voice we hear--and you will be an angel ready-made for heaven! [ ] the words addressed by lord herbert of cherbury to the beautiful nun at murano.--_see his life_. to rosa. _a far conserva, e cumulo d'amanti. "past. fid_." and are you then a thing of art, seducing all, and loving none; and have i strove to gain a heart which every coxcomb thinks his own? tell me at once if this be true, and i will calm my jealous breast; will learn to join the dangling crew, and share your simpers with the rest. but if your heart be _not_ so free,-- oh! if another share that heart, tell not the hateful tale to me, but mingle mercy with your art. i'd rather think you "false as hell," than find you to be all divine,-- than know that heart could love so well, yet know that heart would not be mine! to phillis. phillis, you little rosy rake, that heart of yours i long to rifle; come, give it me, and do not make so much ado about a _trifle_! to a lady. on her singing. thy song has taught my heart to feel those soothing thoughts of heavenly love, which o'er the sainted spirits steal when listening to the spheres above! when, tired of life and misery, i wish to sigh my latest breath, oh, emma! i will fly to thee, and thou shalt sing me into death. and if along thy lip and cheek that smile of heavenly softness play, which,--ah! forgive a mind that's weak,-- so oft has stolen my mind away. thou'lt seem an angel of the sky, that comes to charm me into bliss: i'll gaze and die--who would not die, if death were half so sweet as this? song. on the birthday of mrs. ----. written in ireland. . of all my happiest hours of joy, and even i have had my measure, when hearts were full, and every eye hath kindled with the light of pleasure, an hour like this i ne'er was given, so full of friendship's purest blisses; young love himself looks down from heaven, to smile on such a day as this is. then come, my friends, this hour improve, let's feel as if we ne'er could sever; and may the birth of her we love be thus with joy remembered ever! oh! banish every thought to-night, which could disturb our soul's communion; abandoned thus to dear delight, we'll even for once forget the union! on that let statesmen try their powers, and tremble o'er the rights they'd die for; the union of the soul be ours, and every union else we sigh for. then come, my friends, etc. in every eye around i mark the feelings of the heart o'er-flowing; from every soul i catch the spark of sympathy, in friendship glowing. oh! could such moments ever fly; oh! that we ne'er were doomed to lose 'em; and all as bright as charlotte's eye, and all as pure as charlotte's bosom. then come, my friends, etc. for me, whate'er my span of years, whatever sun may light my roving; whether i waste my life in tears, or live, as now, for mirth and loving; this day shall come with aspect kind, wherever fate may cast your rover; he'll think of those he left behind, and drink a health to bliss that's over! then come, my friends, etc. song.[ ] mary, i believed thee true, and i was blest in thus believing but now i mourn that e'er i knew a girl so fair and so deceiving. fare thee well. few have ever loved like me,-- yes, i have loved thee too sincerely! and few have e'er deceived like thee.-- alas! deceived me too severely. fare thee well!--yet think awhile on one whose bosom bleeds to doubt thee: who now would rather trust that smile, and die with thee than live without thee. fare thee well! i'll think of thee. thou leavest me many a bitter token; for see, distracting woman, see, my peace is gone, my heart is broken!-- fare thee well! [ ] these words were written to the pathetic scotch air "galla water." morality. a familiar epistle. addressed to j. atkinson, esq. m. r. i. a. though long at school and college dozing. o'er books of verse and books of prosing, and copying from their moral pages fine recipes for making sages; though long with' those divines at school, who think to make us good by rule; who, in methodic forms advancing, teaching morality like dancing, tell us, for heaven or money's sake. what _steps_ we are through life to take: though thus, my friend, so long employed, with so much midnight oil destroyed, i must confess my searches past, i've only learned _to doubt_ at last i find the doctors and the sages have differed in all climes and ages, and two in fifty scarce agree on what is pure morality. 'tis like the rainbow's shifting zone, and every vision makes its own. the doctors of the porch advise, as modes of being great and wise, that we should cease to own or know the luxuries that from feeling flow; "reason alone must claim direction, "and apathy's the soul's perfection. "like a dull lake the heart must lie; "nor passion's gale nor pleasure's sigh, "though heaven the breeze, the breath, supplied, "must curl the wave or swell the tide!" such was the rigid zeno's plan to form his philosophic man; such were the modes _he_ taught mankind to weed the garden of the mind; they tore from thence some weeds, 'tis true, but all the flowers were ravaged too! now listen to the wily strains, which, on cyrene's sandy plains, when pleasure, nymph with loosened zone, usurped the philosophic throne,-- hear what the courtly sage's[ ] tongue to his surrounding pupils sung:-- "pleasure's the only noble end "to which all human powers should tend, "and virtue gives her heavenly lore, "but to make pleasure please us more. "wisdom and she were both designed "to make the senses more refined, "that man might revel, free from cloying, "then most a sage when most enjoying!" is this morality?--oh, no! even i a wiser path could show. the flower within this vase confined, the pure, the unfading flower of mind, must not throw all its sweets away upon a mortal mould of clay; no, no,--its richest breath should rise in virtue's incense to the skies. but thus it is, all sects we see have watchwords of morality: some cry out venus, others jove; here 'tis religion, there 'tis love. but while they thus so widely wander, while mystics dream and doctors ponder: and some, in dialectics firm, seek virtue in a middle term; while thus they strive, in heaven's defiance, to chain morality with science; the plain good man, whose action teach more virtue than a sect can preach pursues his course, unsagely blest his tutor whispering in his breast; nor could he act a purer part, though he had tully all by heart. and when he drops the tear on woe, he little knows or cares to know that epictetus blamed that tear, by heaven approved, to virtue dear! oh! when i've seen the morning beam floating within the dimpled stream; while nature, wakening from the night, has just put on her robes of light, have i, with cold optician's gaze, explored the _doctrine_ of those rays? no, pedants, i have left to you nicely to separate hue from hue. go, give that moment up to art, when heaven and nature claim the heart; and, dull to all their best attraction, go--measure _angles of refraction_. while i, in feeling's sweet romance, look on each daybeam as a glance from the great eye of him above, wakening his world with looks of love! [ ] aristippus. the tell-tale lyre. i've heard, there was in ancient days a lyre of most melodious spell; 'twas heaven to hear its fairy lays, if half be true that legends tell. 'twas played on by the gentlest sighs, and to their breath it breathed again in such entrancing melodies as ear had never drunk till then! not harmony's serenest touch so stilly could the notes prolong; they were not heavenly song so much as they were dreams of heavenly song! if sad the heart, whose murmuring air along the chords in languor stole, the numbers it awakened there were eloquence from pity's soul. or if the sigh, serene and light, was but the breath of fancied woes, the string, that felt its airy flight, soon whispered it to kind repose. and when young lovers talked alone, if, mid their bliss, that lyre was near, it made their accents all its own, and sent forth notes that heaven might hear. there was a nymph, who long had loved, but dared not tell the world how well: the shades, where she at evening roved, alone could know, alone could tell. 'twas there, at twilight time, she stole, when the first star announced the night,-- with him who claimed her inmost soul, to wander by that soothing light. it chanced that, in the fairy bower where blest they wooed each other's smile, this lyre, of strange and magic power, hung whispering o'er their head the while. and as, with eyes commingling fire, they listened to each other's vow, the youth full oft would make the lyre a pillow for the maiden's brow! and, while the melting words she breathed were by its echoes wafted round, her locks had with the chords so wreathed, one knew not which gave forth the sound. alas, their hearts but little thought, while thus they talked the hours away, that every sound the lyre was taught would linger long, and long betray. so mingled with its tuneful soul were all the tender murmurs grown, that other sighs unanswered stole, nor words it breathed but theirs alone. unhappy nymph! thy name was sung to every breeze that wandered by; the secrets of thy gentle tongue were breathed in song to earth and sky. the fatal lyre, by envy's hand hung high amid the whispering groves, to every gale by which 'twas fanned, proclaimed the mystery of your loves. nor long thus rudely was thy name to earth's derisive echoes given; some pitying spirit downward came. and took the lyre and thee to heaven. there, freed from earth's unholy wrongs, both happy in love's home shall be; thou, uttering naught but seraph songs, and that sweet lyre still echoing thee! peace and glory. written on the approach of war. where is now the smile, that lightened every hero's couch of rest? where is now the hope, that brightened honor's eye and pity's breast? have we lost the wreath we braided for our weary warrior men? is the faithless olive faded? must the bay be plucked again? passing hour of sunny weather, lovely, in your light awhile, peace and glory, wed together, wandered through our blessed isle. and the eyes of peace would glisten, dewy as a morning sun, when the timid maid would listen to the deeds her chief had done. is their hour of dalliance over? must the maiden's trembling feet waft her from her warlike lover to the desert's still retreat? fare you well! with sighs we banish nymph so fair and guests so bright; yet the smile, with which you vanish, leaves behind a soothing light;-- soothing light, that long shall sparkle o'er your warrior's sanguined way, through the field where horrors darkle, shedding hope's consoling ray. long the smile his heart will cherish, to its absent idol true; while around him myriads perish, glory still will sigh for you! song. take back the sigh, thy lips of art in passion's moment breathed to me; yet, no--it must not, will not part, 'tis now the life-breath of my heart, and has become too pure for thee. take back the kiss, that faithless sigh with all the warmth of truth imprest; yet, no--the fatal kiss may lie, upon _thy_ lip its sweets would die, or bloom to make a rival blest. take back the vows that, night and day, my heart received, i thought, from thine; yet, no--allow them still to stay, they might some other heart betray, as sweetly as they've ruined mine. love and reason. _quand l'homme commence à raissonner, il cesse de sentir_.--j. j. rousseau. 'twas in the summer time so sweet, when hearts and flowers are both in season, that--who, of all the world, should meet, one early dawn, but love and reason! love told his dream of yesternight, while reason talked about the weather; the morn, in sooth, was fair and bright, and on they took their way together. the boy in many a gambol flew, while reason, like a juno, stalked, and from her portly figure threw a lengthened shadow, as she walked. no wonder love, as on they past, should find that sunny morning chill, for still the shadow reason cast fell o'er the boy, and cooled him still. in vain he tried his wings to warm. or find a pathway not so dim for still the maid's gigantic form would stalk between the sun and him. "this must not be," said little love-- "the sun was made for more than you." so, turning through a myrtle grove, he bid the portly nymph adieu. now gayly roves the laughing boy o'er many a mead, by many a stream; in every breeze inhaling joy, and drinking bliss in every beam. from all the gardens, all the bowers, he culled the many sweets they shaded, and ate the fruits and smelled the flowers, till taste was gone and odor faded. but now the sun, in pomp of noon, looked blazing o'er the sultry plains; alas! the boy grew languid soon, and fever thrilled through all his veins. the dew forsook his baby brow, no more with healthy bloom he smiled-- oh! where was tranquil reason now, to cast her shadow o'er the child? beneath a green and aged palm, his foot at length for shelter turning, he saw the nymph reclining calm, with brow as cool as his was burning. "oh! take me to that bosom cold," in murmurs at her feet he said; and reason oped her garment's fold, and flung it round his fevered head. he felt her bosom's icy touch, and soon it lulled his pulse to rest; for, ah! the chill was quite too much, and love expired on reason's breast! * * * * * nay, do not weep, my fanny dear; while in these arms you lie. this world hath not a wish, a fear, that ought to cost that eye a tear. that heart, one single sigh. the world!--ah, fanny, love must shun the paths where many rove; one bosom to recline upon, one heart to be his only--one, are quite enough for love. what can we wish, that is not here between your arms and mine? is there, on earth, a space so dear as that within the happy sphere two loving arms entwine? for me, there's not a lock of jet adown your temples curled, within whose glossy, tangling net, my soul doth not, at once, forget all, all this worthless world. 'tis in those eyes, so full of love, my only worlds i see; let but _their_ orbs in sunshine move, and earth below and skies above may frown or smile for me. aspasia. 'twas in the fair aspasia's bower, that love and learning, many an hour, in dalliance met; and learning smiled with pleasure on the playful child, who often stole, to find a nest within the folds of learning's vest. there, as the listening statesman hung in transport on aspasia's tongue, the destinies of athens took their color from aspasia's look. oh happy time, when laws of state when all that ruled the country's fate, its glory, quiet, or alarms, was planned between two snow-white arms! blest times! they could not always last-- and yet, even now, they _are_ not past, though we have lost the giant mould. in which their men were cast of old, woman, dear woman, still the same, while beauty breathes through soul or frame, while man possesses heart or eyes, woman's bright empire never dies! no, fanny, love, they ne'er shall say, that beauty's charm hath past away; give but the universe a soul attuned to woman's soft control, and fanny hath the charm, the skill, to wield a universe at will. the grecian girl's dream of the blessed islands.[ ] to her lover. was it the moon, or was it morning's ray, that call'd thee, dearest, from these arms away? scarce hadst thou left me, when a dream of night came o'er my spirit so distinct and bright, that, while i yet can vividly recall its witching wonders, thou shall hear them all. methought i saw, upon the lunar beam, two winged boys, such as thy muse might dream, descending from above, at that still hour, and gliding, with smooth step, into my bower. fair as the beauteous spirits that, all day. in amatha's warm founts imprisoned stay, but rise at midnight, from the enchanted rill, to cool their plumes upon some moonlight hill. at once i knew their mission:--'twas to bear my spirit upward, through the paths of air, to that elysian realm, from whence stray beams so oft, in sleep, had visited my dreams. swift at their touch dissolved the ties, that clung all earthly round me, and aloft i sprung; while, heavenward guides, the little genii flew thro' paths of light, refreshed by heaven's own dew, and fanned by airs still fragrant with the breath of cloudless climes and worlds that know not death. thou knowest, that, far beyond our nether sky, and shown but dimly to man's erring eye, a mighty ocean of blue ether rolls,[ ] gemmed with bright islands, where the chosen souls, who've past in lore and love their earthly hours, repose for ever in unfading bowers. that very moon, whose solitary light so often guides thee to my bower at night, is no chill planet, but an isle of love, floating in splendor through those seas above, and peopled with bright forms, aerial grown, nor knowing aught of earth but love alone. thither, i thought, we winged our airy way:-- mild o'er its valleys streamed a silvery day, while, all around, on lily beds of rest, reclined the spirits of the immortal blest. oh! there i met those few congenial maids, whom love hath warmed, in philosophic shades; there still leontium,[ ] on her sage's breast, found lore and love, was tutored and carest; and there the clasp of pythia's[ ]gentle arms repaid the zeal which deified her charms. the attic master,[ ] in aspasia's eyes, forgot the yoke of less endearing ties; while fair theano,[ ] innocently fair, wreathed playfully her samian's flowing hair, whose soul now fixt, its transmigrations past, found in those arms a resting-place, at last; and smiling owned, whate'er his dreamy thought in mystic numbers long had vainly sought, the one that's formed of two whom love hath bound, is the best number gods or men e'er found. but think, my theon, with what joy i thrilled, when near a fount, which through the valley rilled, my fancy's eye beheld a form recline, of lunar race, but so resembling thine that, oh! 'twas but fidelity in me, to fly, to clasp, and worship it for thee. no aid of words the unbodied soul requires, to waft a wish or embassy desires; but by a power, to spirits only given, a deep, mute impulse, only felt in heaven, swifter than meteor shaft through summer skies, from soul to soul the glanced idea flies. oh, my beloved, how divinely sweet is the pure joy, when kindred spirits meet! like him, the river-god,[ ]whose waters flow, with love their only light, through caves below, wafting in triumph all the flowery braids, and festal rings, with which olympic maids have decked his current, as an offering meet to lay at arethusa's shining feet. think, when he meets at last his fountain-bride, what perfect love must thrill the blended tide! each lost in each, till, mingling into one, their lot the same for shadow or for sun, a type of true love, to the deep they run. 'twas thus-- but, theon, 'tis an endless theme, and thou growest weary of my half-told dream. oh would, my love, we were together now. and i would woo sweet patience to thy brow, and make thee smile at all the magic tales of starlight bowers and planetary vales, which my fond soul, inspired by thee and love, in slumber's loom hath fancifully wove. but no; no more--soon as tomorrow's ray o'er soft ilissus shall have died away, i'll come, and, while love's planet in the west shines o'er our meeting, tell thee all the rest. [ ] it was imagined by some of the ancients that there is an ethereal ocean above us, and that the sun and moon are two floating, luminous islands, in which the spirits of the blest reside. [ ] this belief of an ocean in the heavens, or "waters above the firmament," was one of the many physical errors in which the early fathers bewildered themselves. [ ] the pupil and mistress of epicurus, who called her his "dear little leontium" as appears by a fragment of one of his letters in laertius. this leontium was a woman of talent; "she had the impudence (says cicero) to write against theophrastus;" and cicero, at the same time, gives her a name which is neither polite nor translatable. [ ] pythia was a woman whom aristotle loved, and to whom after her death he paid divine honors, solemnizing her memory by the same sacrifices which the athenians offered to the goddess ceres. [ ] socrates, who used to console himself in the society of aspasia for those "less endearing ties" which he found at home with xantippe. [ ] there are some sensible letters extant under the name of this fair pythagorean. they are addressed to her female friends upon the education of children, the treatment of servants, etc. [ ] the river alpheus, which flowed by pisa or olympia, and into which it was customary to throw offerings of different kinds, during the celebration of the olympic games. in the pretty romance of clitophon and leucippe, the river is supposed to carry these offerings as bridal gifts to the fountain arethusa. to cloe. imitated from martial. i could resign that eye of blue. how e'er its splendor used to thrill me; and even that cheek of roseate hue,-- to lose it, cloe, scarce would kill me. that snowy neck i ne'er should miss, however much i've raved about it; and sweetly as that lip can kiss, i _think_ i could exist without it. in short, so well i've learned to fast, that, sooth my love, i know not whether i might not bring myself at last, to--do without you altogether. the wreath and the chain. i bring thee, love, a golden chain, i bring thee too a flowery wreath; the gold shall never wear a stain, the flowerets long shall sweetly breathe. come, tell me which the tie shall be, to bind thy gentle heart to me. the chain is formed of golden threads, bright as minerva's yellow hair, when the last beam of evening sheds its calm and sober lustre there. the wreath's of brightest myrtle wove, with sunlit drops of bliss among it, and many a rose-leaf, culled by love, to heal his lip when bees have stung it. come, tell me which the tie shall be, to bind thy gentle heart to me. yes, yes, i read that ready eye, which answers when the tongue is loath, thou likest the form of either tie, and spreadest thy playful hands for both. ah!--if there were not something wrong, the world would see them blended oft; the chain would make the wreath so strong! the wreath would make the chain so soft! then might the gold, the flowerets be sweet fetters for my love and me. but, fanny, so unblest they twine, that (heaven alone can tell the reason) when mingled thus they cease to shine, or shine but for a transient season. whether the chain may press too much, or that the wreath is slightly braided, let but the gold the flowerets touch, and all their bloom, their glow is faded! oh! better to be always free. than thus to bind my love to me. * * * * * the timid girl now hung her head, and, as she turned an upward glance, i saw a doubt its twilight spread across her brow's divine expanse just then, the garland's brightest rose gave one of its love-breathing sighs-- oh! who can ask how fanny chose, that ever looked in fanny's eyes! "the wreath, my life, the wreath shall be "the tie to bind my soul to thee." to .... .... and hast thou marked the pensive shade, that many a time obscures my brow, midst all the joys, beloved maid. which thou canst give, and only thou? oh! 'tis not that i then forget the bright looks that before me shine; for never throbbed a bosom yet could feel their witchery, like mine. when bashful on my bosom hid, and blushing to have felt so blest, thou dost but lift thy languid lid again to close it on my breast;-- yes,--these are minutes all thine own, thine own to give, and mine to feel; yet even in them, my heart has known the sigh to rise, the tear to steal. for i have thought of former hours, when he who first thy soul possest, like me awaked its witching powers, like me was loved, like me was blest. upon _his_ name thy murmuring tongue perhaps hath all as sweetly dwelt; upon his words thine ear hath hung, with transport all as purely felt. for him--yet why the past recall, to damp and wither present bliss? thou'rt now my own, heart, spirit, all, and heaven could grant no more than this! forgive me, dearest, oh! forgive; i would be first, be sole to thee, thou shouldst have but begun to live, the hour that gave thy heart to me. thy book of life till then effaced, love should have kept that leaf alone on which he first so brightly traced that thou wert, soul and all, my own. to .......'s picture. go then, if she, whose shade thou art, no more will let thee soothe my pain; yet, tell her, it has cost this heart some pangs, to give thee back again. tell her, the smile was not so dear, with which she made the semblance mine, as bitter is the burning tear, with which i now the gift resign. yet go--and could she still restore, as some exchange for taking thee. the tranquil look which first i wore, when her eyes found me calm and free; could she give back the careless flow, the spirit that my heart then knew-- yet, no, 'tis vain--go, picture, go-- smile at me once, and then--adieu! fragment of a mythological hymn to love.[ ] blest infant of eternity! before the day-star learned to move, in pomp of fire, along his grand career, glancing the beamy shafts of light from his rich quiver to the farthest sphere, thou wert alone, oh love! nestling beneath the wings of ancient night, whose horrors seemed to smile in shadowing thee. no form of beauty soothed thine eye, as through the dim expanse it wandered wide; no kindred spirit caught thy sigh, as o'er the watery waste it lingering died. unfelt the pulse, unknown the power, that latent in his heart was sleeping,-- oh sympathy! that lonely hour saw love himself thy absence weeping. but look, what glory through the darkness beams! celestial airs along the water glide:-- what spirit art thou, moving o'er the tide so beautiful? oh, not of earth, but, in that glowing hour, the birth of the young godhead's own creative dreams. 'tis she! psyche, the firstborn spirit of the air. to thee, oh love, she turns, on thee her eyebeam burns: blest hour, before all worlds ordained to be! they meet-- the blooming god--the spirit fair meet in communion sweet. now, sympathy, the hour is thine; all nature feels the thrill divine, the veil of chaos is withdrawn, and their first kiss is great creation's dawn! [ ] love and psyche are here considered as the active and passive principles of creation, and the universe is supposed to have received its first harmonizing impulse from the nuptial sympathy between these two powers. a marriage is generally the first step in cosmogony. timaeus held form to be the father, and matter the mother of the world. to his serene highness the duke of montpensier on his portrait of the lady adelaide forbes. _donington park, _ to catch the thought, by painting's spell, howe'er remote, howe'er refined, and o'er the kindling canvas tell the silent story of the mind; o'er nature's form to glance the eye, and fix, by mimic light and shade, her morning tinges ere they fly, her evening blushes, ere they fade; yes, these are painting's proudest powers, the gift, by which her art divine above all others proudly towers,-- and these, oh prince! are richly thine. and yet, when friendship sees thee trace, in almost living truth exprest, this bright memorial of a face on which her eye delights to rest; while o'er the lovely look serene, the smile of peace, the bloom of youth, the cheek, that blushes to be seen. the eye that tells the bosom's truth; while o'er each line, so brightly true, our eyes with lingering pleasure rove, blessing the touch whose various hue thus brings to mind the form we love; we feel the magic of thy art, and own it with a zest, a zeal, a pleasure, nearer to the heart than critic taste can _ever_ feel. the fall of hebe. a dithyrambic ode. 'twas on a day when the immortals at their banquet lay; the bowl sparkled with starry dew, the weeping of those myriad urns of light, within whose orbs, the almighty power, at nature's dawning hour, stored the rich fluid of ethereal soul. around, soft odorous clouds, that upward wing their flight from eastern isles (where they have bathed them in the orient ray, and with rich fragrance all their bosoms filled). in circles flew, and, melting as they flew, a liquid daybreak o'er the board distilled. all, all was luxury! all _must_ be luxury, where lyaeus smiles. his locks divine were crowned with a bright meteor-braid, which, like an ever-springing wreath of vine, shot into brilliant leafy shapes, and o'er his brow in lambent tendrils played: while mid the foliage hung, like lucid grapes, a thousand clustering buds of light, culled from the garden of the galaxy. upon his bosom cytherea's head lay lovely, as when first the syrens sung her beauty's dawn, and all the curtains of the deep, undrawn, revealed her sleeping in its azure bed. the captive deity hung lingering on her eyes and lip, with looks of ecstasy. now, on his arm, in blushes she reposed, and, while he gazed on each bright charm, to shade his burning eyes her hand in dalliance stole. and now she raised her rosy mouth to sip the nectared wave lyaeus gave, and from her eyelids, half-way closed, sent forth a melting gleam, which fell like sun-dew in the bowl: while her bright hair, in mazy flow of gold descending adown her cheek's luxurious glow, hung o'er the goblet's side, and was reflected in its crystal tide, like a bright crocus flower, whose sunny leaves, at evening hour with roses of cyrene blending,[ ] hang o'er the mirror of some silvery stream. the olympian cup shone in the hands of dimpled hebe, as she winged her feet up the empyreal mount, to drain the soul-drops at their stellar fount;[ ] and still as the resplendent rill gushed forth into the cup with mantling heat, her watchful care was still to cool its liquid fire with snow-white sprinklings of that feathery air the children of the pole respire, in those enchanted lands.[ ] where life is all a spring, and north winds never blow. but oh! bright hebe, what a tear, and what a blush were thine, when, as the breath of every grace wafted thy feet along the studded sphere, with a bright cup for jove himself to drink, some star, that shone beneath thy tread, raising its amorous head to kiss those matchless feet, checked thy career too fleet, and all heaven's host of eyes entranced, but fearful all, saw thee, sweet hebe, prostrate fall upon the bright floor of the azure skies; where, mid its stars, thy beauty lay, as blossom, shaken from the spray of a spring thorn, lies mid the liquid sparkles of the morn. or, as in temples of the paphian shade, the worshippers of beauty's queen behold an image of their rosy idol, laid upon a diamond shrine. the wanton wind, which had pursued the flying fair, and sported mid the tresses unconfined of her bright hair, now, as she fell,--oh wanton breeze! ruffled the robe, whose graceful flow hung o'er those limbs of unsunned snow, purely as the eleusinian veil hangs o'er the mysteries! the brow of juno flushed-- love blest the breeze! the muses blushed; and every cheek was hid behind a lyre, while every eye looked laughing through the strings. but the bright cup? the nectared draught which jove himself was to have quaffed? alas, alas, upturned it lay by the fallen hebe's side; while, in slow lingering drops, the ethereal tide, as conscious of its own rich essence, ebbed away. who was the spirit that remembered man, in that blest hour, and, with a wing of love, brushed off the goblet's scattered tears, as, trembling near the edge of heaven they ran, and sent them floating to our orb below? essence of immortality! the shower fell glowing through the spheres; while all around new tints of bliss, new odors and new light, enriched its radiant flow. now, with a liquid kiss, it stole along the thrilling wire of heaven's luminous lyre, stealing the soul of music in its flight: and now, amid the breezes bland, that whisper from the planets as they roll, the bright libation, softly fanned by all their sighs, meandering stole. they who, from atlas' height, beheld this rosy flame descending through the waste of night, thought 'twas some planet, whose empyreal frame had kindled, as it rapidly revolved around its fervid axle, and dissolved into a flood so bright! the youthful day, within his twilight bower, lay sweetly sleeping on the flushed bosom of a lotos-flower;[ ] when round him, in profusion weeping, dropt the celestial shower, steeping the rosy clouds, that curled about his infant head, like myrrh upon the locks of cupid shed. but, when the waking boy waved his exhaling tresses through the sky, o morn of joy! the tide divine, all glorious with the vermil dye it drank beneath his orient eye, distilled, in dews, upon the world, and every drop was wine, was heavenly wine! blest be the sod, and blest the flower on which descended first that shower, all fresh from jove's nectareous springs;-- oh far less sweet the flower, the sod, o'er which the spirit of the rainbow flings the magic mantle of her solar god![ ] [ ] we learn from theopbrastus, that the roses of cyrene were particularly fragrant. [ ] heraclitus (physicus) held the soul to be a spark of the stellar essence. [ ] the country of the hyperboreans. these people were supposed to be placed so far north that the north wind could not affect them; they lived longer than any other mortals; passed their whole time in music and dancing, etc. [ ] the egyptians represented the dawn of day by a young boy seated upon a lotos. observing that the lotos showed its head above water at sunrise, and sank again at his setting, they conceived the idea of consecrating this flower to osiris, or the sun. [ ] the ancients esteemed those flowers and trees the sweetest upon which the rainbow had appeared to rest; and the wood they chiefly burned in sacrifices, was that which the smile of iris had consecrated. rings and seals. "go!" said the angry, weeping maid, "the charm is broken!--once betrayed, "never can this wronged heart rely "on word or look, on oath or sigh. "take back the gifts, so fondly given, "with promised faith and vows to heaven; "that little ring which, night and morn, "with wedded truth my hand hath worn; "that seal which oft, in moments blest, "thou hast upon my lip imprest, "and sworn its sacred spring should be "a fountain sealed[ ] for only thee: "take, take them back, the gift and vow, "all sullied, lost and hateful now!" i took the ring--the seal i took, while, oh, her every tear and look were such as angels look and shed, when man is by the world misled. gently i whispered, "fanny, dear! "not half thy lover's gifts are here: "say, where are all the kisses given, "from morn to noon, from noon to even,-- "those signets of true love, worth more "than solomon's own seal of yore,-- "where are those gifts, so sweet, so many? "come, dearest,--give back all, if any." while thus i whispered, trembling too, lest all the nymph had sworn was true, i saw a smile relenting rise mid the moist azure of her eyes, like daylight o'er a sea of blue, while yet in mid-air hangs the dew she let her cheek repose on mine, she let my arms around her twine; one kiss was half allowed, and then-- the ring and seal were hers again. [ ] "there are gardens, supposed to be those of king solomon, in the neighborhood of bethlehem. the friars show a fountain, which, they say, is the sealed fountain, to which the holy spouse in the canticles is compared; and they pretend a tradition, that solomon shut up these springs and put his signet upon the door, to keep them for his own drinking."--_maundrell's travels_. to miss susan beckford.[ ] on her singing. i more than once have heard at night a song like those thy lip hath given, and it was sung by shapes of light, who looked and breathed, like thee, of heaven. but this was all a dream of sleep. and i have said when morning shone:-- "why should the night-witch, fancy, keep "these wonders for herself alone?" i knew not then that fate had lent such tones to one of mortal birth; i knew not then that heaven had sent a voice, a form like thine on earth. and yet, in all that flowery maze through which my path of life has led, when i have heard the sweetest lays from lips of rosiest lustre shed; when i have felt the warbled word from beauty's lip, in sweetness vying with music's own melodious bird; when on the rose's bosom lying though form and song at once combined their loveliest bloom and softest thrill, my heart hath sighed, my ear hath pined for something lovelier, softer still:-- oh, i have found it all, at last, in thee, thou sweetest living lyre, through which the soul of song e'er past, or feeling breathed its sacred fire. all that i e'er, in wildest flight of fancy's dreams could hear or see of music's sigh or beauty's light is realized, at once, in thee! [ ] afterward duchess of hamilton. impromptu, on leaving some friends. _o dulces comitum valete coetus_! catullus. no, never shall my soul forget the friends i found so cordial-hearted; dear shall be the day we met, and dear shall be the night we parted. if fond regrets, however sweet, must with the lapse of time decay, yet stall, when thus in mirth you meet, fill high to him that's far away! long be the light of memory found alive within your social glass; let that be still the magic round. o'er which oblivion, dare not pass. a warning. to ....... oh, fair as heaven and chaste as light! did nature mould thee all so bright. that thou shouldst e'er be brought to weep o'er languid virtue's fatal sleep, o'er shame extinguished, honor fled, peace lost, heart withered, feeling dead? no, no! a star was born with thee, which sheds eternal purity. thou hast, within those sainted eyes, so fair a transcript of the skies, in lines of light such heavenly lore that men should read them and adore. yet have i known a gentle maid whose mind and form were both arrayed in nature's purest light, like thine;-- who wore that clear, celestial sign which seems to mark the brow that's fair for destiny's peculiar care; whose bosom, too, like dian's own, was guarded by a sacred zone, where the bright gem of virtue shone; whose eyes had in their light a charm against all wrong and guile and harm. yet, hapless maid, in one sad hour these spells have lost their guardian power; the gem has been beguiled away; her eyes have lost their chastening ray; the modest pride, the guiltless shame, the smiles that from reflection came, all, all have fled and left her mind a faded monument behind; the ruins of a once pure shrine, no longer fit for guest divine, oh! 'twas a sight i wept to see-- heaven keep the lost one's fate from thee! to ....... 'tis time, i feel, to leave thee now, while yet my soul is something free; while yet those dangerous eyes allow one minute's thought to stray from thee. oh! thou becom'st each moment dearer; every chance that brings me nigh thee brings my ruin nearer, nearer,-- i am lost, unless i fly thee. nay, if thou dost not scorn and hate me, doom me not thus so soon to fall duties, fame, and hopes await me,-- but that eye would blast them all! for, thou hast heart as false and cold as ever yet allured and swayed, and couldst, without a sigh, behold the ruin which thyself had made. yet,--_could_ i think that, truly fond, that eye but once would smile on me, even as thou art, how far beyond fame, duty, wealth, that smile would be! oh! but to win it, night and day, inglorious at thy feet reclined, i'd sigh my dreams of fame away, the world for thee forgot, resigned. but no, 'tis o'er, and--thus we part, never to meet again--no, never, false woman, what a mind and heart thy treachery has undone forever. woman. away, away--you're all the same, a smiling, fluttering, jilting throng; and, wise too late, i burn with shame, to think i've been your slave so long. slow to be won, and quick to rove, from folly kind, from cunning loath, too cold for bliss, too weak for love, yet feigning all that's best in both; still panting o'er a crowd to reign,-- more joy it gives to woman's breast to make ten frigid coxcombs vain, than one true, manly lover blest. away, away--your smile's a curse-- oh! blot me from the race of men, kind, pitying heaven, by death or worse, if e'er i love such things again. to ....... come, take thy harp--'tis vain to muse upon the gathering ills we see; oh! take thy harp and let me lose all thoughts of ill in hearing thee. sing to me, love!--though death were near, thy song could make my soul forget-- nay, nay, in pity, dry that tear, all may be well, be happy yet. let me but see that snowy arm once more upon the dear harp lie, and i will cease to dream of harm, will smile at fate, while thou art nigh. give me that strain of mournful touch we used to love long, long ago, before our hearts had known as much as now, alas! they bleed to know. sweet notes! they tell of former peace, of all that looked so smiling then, now vanished, lost--oh, pray thee cease, i cannot bear those sounds again. art _thou_, too, wretched? yes, thou art; i see thy tears flow fast with mine-- come, come to this devoted heart, 'tis breaking, but it still is thine! a vision of philosophy. 'twas on the red sea coast, at morn, we met the venerable man;[ ] a healthy bloom mingled its softness with the vigorous thought that towered upon his brow; and when he spoke 'twas language sweetened into song--such holy sounds as oft, they say, the wise and virtuous hear, prelusive to the harmony of heaven, when death is nigh; and still, as he unclosed[ ] his sacred lips, an odor, all as bland as ocean-breezes gather from the flowers that blossom in elysium, breathed around, with silent awe we listened, while he told of the dark veil which many an age had hung o'er nature's form, till, long explored by man, the mystic shroud grew thin and luminous, and glimpses of that heavenly form shone through:-- of magic wonders, that were known and taught by him (or cham or zoroaster named) who mused amid the mighty cataclysm, o'er his rude tablets of primeval lore; and gathering round him, in the sacred ark, the mighty secrets of that former globe, let not the living star of science sink beneath the waters, which ingulfed a world!-- of visions, by calliope revealed to him,[ ]who traced upon his typic lyre the diapason of man's mingled frame, and the grand doric heptachord of heaven. with all of pure, of wondrous and arcane, which the grave sons of mochus, many a night, told to the young and bright-haired visitant of carmel's sacred mount.--then, in a flow of calmer converse, he beguiled us on through many a maze of garden and of porch, through many a system, where the scattered light of heavenly truth lay, like a broken beam from the pure sun, which, though refracted all into a thousand hues, is sunshine still,[ ] and bright through every change!--he spoke of him, the lone, eternal one, who dwells above, and of the soul's untraceable descent from that high fount of spirit, through the grades of intellectual being, till it mix with atoms vague, corruptible, and dark; nor yet even then, though sunk in earthly dross, corrupted all, nor its ethereal touch quite lost, but tasting of the fountain still. as some bright river, which has rolled along through meads of flowery light and mines of gold, when poured at length into the dusky deep, disdains to take at once its briny taint, or balmy freshness, of the scenes it left. but keeps unchanged awhile the lustrous tinge, and here the old man ceased--a winged train of nymphs and genii bore him from our eyes. the fair illusion fled! and, as i waked, 'twas clear that my rapt soul had roamed, the while, to that bright realm of dreams, that spirit-world, which mortals know by its long track of light o'er midnight's sky, and call the galaxy.[ ] [ ] in plutarch's essay on the decline of the oracles, cleombrotus, one of the interlocutors, describes an extraordinary man whom he had met with, after long research, upon the banks of the red sea. once in every year this supernatural personage appeared to mortals and conversed with them; the rest of his time he passed among the genii and the nymphs. [ ] the celebrated janus dousa, a little before his death, imagined that he heard a strain of music in the air. [ ] orpheus.--paulinus, in his "_hebdomades_, cap. , _lib_. iii, has endeavored to show, after the platonists, that man is a diapason, or octave, made up of a diatesseron, which is his soul, and a dispente, which is his body. those frequent allusions to music, by which the ancient philosophers illustrated their sublime theories, must have tended very much to elevate the character of the art, and to enrich it with associations of the grandest and most interesting nature. [ ] lactantius asserts that all the truths of christianity may be found dispersed through the ancient philosophical sects, and that any one who would collect these scattered fragments of orthodoxy might form a code in no respect differing from that of the christian. [ ] according to pythagoras, the people of dreams are souls collected together in the galaxy. to mrs. ....... to see thee every day that came, and find thee still each day the same; in pleasure's smile or sorrow's tear to me still ever kind and dear;-- to meet thee early, leave thee late, has been so long my bliss, my fate, that life, without this cheering ray, which came, like sunshine, every day, and all my pain, my sorrow chased, is now a lone, a loveless waste. where are the chords she used to touch? the airs, the songs she loved so much? those songs are hushed, those chords are still, and so, perhaps, will every thrill of feeling soon be lulled to rest, which late i waked in anna's breast. yet, no--the simple notes i played from memory's tablet soon may fade; the songs, which anna loved to hear, may vanish from her heart and ear; but friendship's voice shall ever find an echo in that gentle mind, nor memory lose nor time impair the sympathies that tremble there. to lady heathcote, on an old ring found at tunbridge-wells. _"tunnebridge est à la même distance de londres, que fontainebleau l'est de paris. ce qu'il y a de beau et de galant dans l'un et dans l'autre sexe s'y rassemble au terns des eaux. la compagnie,"_ etc. --see _memoires de grammont_, second part, chap. iii. _tunbridge wells_. when grammont graced these happy springs, and tunbridge saw, upon her pantiles, the merriest wight of all the kings that ever ruled these gay, gallant isles; like us, by day, they rode, they walked, at eve they did as we may do, and grammont just like spencer talked, and lovely stewart smiled like you. the only different trait is this, that woman then, if man beset her, was rather given to saying "yes," because,--as yet, she knew no better. each night they held a coterie, where, every fear to slumber charmed, lovers were all they ought to be, and husbands not the least alarmed. then called they up their school-day pranks, nor thought it much their sense beneath to play at riddles, quips, and cranks, and lords showed wit, and ladies teeth. as--"why are husbands like the mint?" because, forsooth, a husband's duty is but to set the name and print that give a currency to beauty. "why is a rose in nettles hid like a young widow, fresh and fair?" because 'tis sighing to be rid of weeds, that "have no business there!" and thus they missed and thus they hit, and now they struck and now they parried; and some lay in of full grown wit. while others of a pun miscarried, 'twas one of those facetious nights that grammont gave this forfeit ring for breaking grave conundrumrites, or punning ill, or--some such thing;-- from whence it can be fairly traced, through many a branch and many a bough, from twig to twig, until it graced the snowy hand that wears it now. all this i'll prove, and then, to you oh tunbridge! and your springs ironical, i swear by heathcote's eye of blue to dedicate the important chronicle. long may your ancient inmates give their mantles to your modern lodgers, and charles's loves in heathcote live, and charles's bards revive in rogers. let no pedantic fools be there; for ever be those fops abolished, with heads as wooden as thy ware, and, heaven knows! not half so polished. but still receive the young, the gay. the few who know the rare delight of reading grammont every day, and acting grammont every night. the devil among the scholars, a fragment. * * * * * but, whither have these gentle ones, these rosy nymphs and black-eyed nuns, with all of cupid's wild romancing, led by truant brains a-dancing? instead of studying tomes scholastic, ecclesiastic, or monastic, off i fly, careering far in chase of pollys, prettier far than any of their namesakes are,-- the polymaths and polyhistors, polyglots and all their sisters. so have i known a hopeful youth sit down in quest of lore and truth, with tomes sufficient to confound him, like tohu bohu, heapt around him,-- mamurra[ ] stuck to theophrastus, and galen tumbling o'er bombastus.[ ] when lo! while all that's learned and wise absorbs the boy, he lifts his eyes, and through the window of his study beholds some damsel fair and ruddy, with eyes, as brightly turned upon him as the angel's[ ] were on hieronymus. quick fly the folios, widely scattered, old homer's laureled brow is battered, and sappho, headlong sent, flies just in the reverend eye of st. augustin. raptured he quits each dozing sage, oh woman, for thy lovelier page: sweet book!--unlike the books of art,-- whose errors are thy fairest part; in whom the dear errata column is the best page in all the volume![ ] but to begin my subject rhyme-- 'twas just about this devilish time, when scarce there happened any frolics that were not done by diabolics, a cold and loveless son of lucifer, who woman scorned, nor saw the use of her, a branch of dagon's family, (which dagon, whether he or she, is a dispute that vastly better is referred to scaliger[ ] _et coeteris_,) finding that, in this cage of fools, the wisest sots adorn the schools, took it at once his head satanic in, to grow a great scholastic manikin,-- a doctor, quite as learned and fine as scotus john or tom aquinas, lully, hales irrefragabilis, or any doctor of the rabble is. in languages, the polyglots, compared to him, were babelsots: he chattered more than ever jew did;-- sanhedrim and priest included, priest and holy sanhedrim were one-and-seventy fools to him. but chief the learned demon felt a zeal so strong for gamma, delta, that, all for greek and learning's glory,[ ] he nightly tippled "graeco more," and never paid a bill or balance except upon the grecian kalends:-- from whence your scholars, when they want tick, say, to be attic's to be _on_ tick. in logics, he was quite ho panu; knew as much as ever man knew. he fought the combat syllogistic with so much skill and art eristic, that though you were the learned stagyrite, at once upon the hip he had you right. in music, though he had no ears except for that amongst the spheres, (which most of all, as he averred it, he dearly loved, 'cause no one heard it,) yet aptly he, at sight, could read each tuneful diagram in bede, and find, by euclid's corollaria, the ratios of a jig or aria. but, as for all your warbling delias, orpheuses and saint cecilias, he owned he thought them much surpast by that redoubted hyaloclast[ ] who still contrived by dint of throttle, where'er he went to crack a bottle. likewise to show his mighty knowledge, he, on things unknown in physiology, wrote many a chapter to divert us, (like that great little man albertus,) wherein he showed the reason why, when children first are heard to cry, if boy the baby chance to be. he cries o a!--if girl, o e!-- which are, quoth he, exceeding fair hints respecting their first sinful parents; "oh eve!" exclaimeth little madam, while little master cries "oh adam!" but, 'twas in optics and dioptrics, our daemon played his first and top tricks. he held that sunshine passes quicker through wine than any other liquor; and though he saw no great objection to steady light and clear reflection, he thought the aberrating rays, which play about a bumper's blaze, were by the doctors looked, in common, on, as a more rare and rich phenomenon. he wisely said that the sensorium is for the eyes a great emporium, to which these noted picture-stealers send all they can and meet with dealers. in many an optical proceeding the brain, he said, showed great good breeding; for instance, when we ogle women (a trick which barbara tutored him in), although the dears are apt to get in a strange position on the retina, yet instantly the modest brain doth set them on their legs again! our doctor thus, with "stuft sufficiency" of all omnigenous omnisciency, began (as who would not begin that had, like him, so much within?) to let it out in books of all sorts, folios, quartos, large and small sorts; poems, so very deep and sensible that they were quite incomprehensible prose, which had been at learning's fair, and bought up all the trumpery there, the tattered rags of every vest, in which the greeks and romans drest, and o'er her figure swollen and antic scattered them all with airs so frantic, that those, who saw what fits she had, declared unhappy prose was mad! epics he wrote and scores of rebuses, all as neat as old turnebus's; eggs and altars, cyclopaedias, grammars, prayer-books--oh! 'twere tedious, did i but tell thee half, to follow me: not the scribbling bard of ptolemy, no--nor the hoary trismegistus, (whose writings all, thank heaven! have missed us,) e'er filled with lumber such a wareroom as this great "_porcus literarum_!" [ ] mamurra, a dogmatic philosopher, who never doubted about anything, except who was his father. [ ] bombastus was one of the names of that great scholar and quack paracelsus. he used to fight the devil every night with a broadsword, to the no small terror of his pupil oporinus, who has recorded the circumstance. [ ] the angel, who scolded st. jerome for reading cicero, as gratian tells the story in his "_concordantia discordantium canonum_," and says, that for this reason bishops were not allowed to read the classics. [ ] the idea of the rabbins, respecting the origin of woman, is not a little singular. they think that man was originally formed with a tail, like a monkey, but that the deity cut off this appendage, and made woman of it. [ ] scaliger.--dagon was thought by others to be a certain sea-monster, who came every day out of the red sea to teach the syrians husbandry. [ ] it is much to be regretted that martin luther, with all his talents for reforming, should yet be vulgar enough to laugh at camerarius for writing to him in greek, "master joachim (says he) has sent me some dates and some raisins, and has also written me two letters in greek. as soon as i am recovered, i shall answer them in turkish, that he too may have the pleasure of reading what he does not understand." [ ] or glass-breaker--morhofius has given an account of this extraordinary man, in a work, published . * * * * * poems relating to america to francis, earl of moira. general in his majesty's forces, master-general of the ordnance, constable of the tower, etc. my lord, it is impossible to think of addressing a dedication to your lordship without calling to mind the well-known reply of the spartan to a rhetorician, who proposed to pronounce an eulogium on hercules. "oh hercules!" said the honest spartan, "who ever thought of blaming hercules?" in a similar manner the concurrence of public opinion has left to the panegyrist of your lordship a very superfluous task. i shall, therefore, be silent on the subject, and merely entreat your indulgence to the very humble tribute of gratitude which i have here the honor to present. i am, my lord, with every feeling of attachment and respect, your lordship's very devoted servant, thomas moore. _ bury street, st. james's, april , _. preface.[ ] the principal poems in the following collection were written during an absence of fourteen months from europe. though curiosity was certainly not the motive of my voyage to america, yet it happened that the gratification of curiosity was the only advantage which i derived from it. finding myself in the country of a new people, whose infancy had promised so much, and whose progress to maturity has been an object of such interesting speculation, i determined to employ the short period of time, which my plan of return to europe afforded me, in travelling through a few of the states, and acquiring some knowledge of the inhabitants. the impression which my mind received from the character and manners of these republicans, suggested the epistles which are written from the city of washington and lake erie.[ ] how far i was right in thus assuming the tone of a satirist against a people whom i viewed but as a stranger and a visitor, is a doubt which my feelings did not allow me time to investigate. all i presume to answer for is the fidelity of the picture which i have given; and though prudence might have dictated gentler language, truth, i think, would have justified severer. i went to america with prepossessions by no means unfavorable, and indeed rather indulged in many of those illusive ideas, with respect to the purity of the government and the primitive happiness of the people, which i had early imbibed in my native country, where, unfortunately, discontent at home enhances every distant temptation, and the western world has long been looked to as a retreat from real or imaginary oppression; as, in short, the elysian atlantis, where persecuted patriots might find their visions realized, and be welcomed by kindred spirits to liberty and repose. in all these flattering expectations i found myself completely disappointed, and felt inclined to say to america, as horace says to his mistress, "_intentata nites_." brissot, in the preface to his travels, observes, that "freedom in that country is carried to so high a degree as to border upon a state of nature;" and there certainly is a close approximation to savage life not only in the liberty which they enjoy, but in the violence of party spirit and of private animosity which results from it. this illiberal zeal imbitters all social intercourse; and, though i scarcely could hesitate in selecting the party, whose views appeared to me the more pure and rational, yet i was sorry to observe that, in asserting their opinions, they both assume an equal share of intolerance; the democrats consistently with their principles, exhibiting a vulgarity of rancor, which the federalists too often are so forgetful of their cause as to imitate. the rude familiarity of the lower orders, and indeed the unpolished state of society in general, would neither surprise nor disgust if they seemed to flow from that simplicity of character, that honest ignorance of the gloss of refinement which may be looked for in a new and inexperienced people. but, when we find them arrived at maturity in most of the vices, and all the pride of civilization, while they are still so far removed from its higher and better characteristics, it is impossible not to feel that this youthful decay, this crude anticipation of the natural period of corruption, must repress every sanguine hope of the future energy and greatness of america. i am conscious that, in venturing these few remarks, i have said just enough to offend, and by no means sufficient to convince; for the limits of a preface prevent me from entering into a justification of my opinions, and i am committed on the subject as effectually as if i had written volumes in their defence. my reader, however, is apprised of the very cursory observation upon which these opinions are founded, and can easily decide for himself upon the degree of attention or confidence which they merit. with respect to the poems in general, which occupy the following pages, i know not in what manner to apologize to the public for intruding upon their notice such a mass of unconnected trifles, such a world of epicurean atoms as i have here brought in conflict together. to say that i have been tempted by the liberal offers of my bookseller, is an excuse which can hope for but little indulgence from the critic; yet i own that, without this seasonable inducement, these poems very possibly would never have been submitted to the world. the glare of publication is too strong for such imperfect productions: they should be shown but to the eye of friendship, in that dim light of privacy which is as favorable to poetical as to female beauty, and serves as a veil for faults, while it enhances every charm which it displays. besides, this is not a period for the idle occupations of poetry, and times like the present require talents more active and more useful. few have now the leisure to read such trifles, and i most sincerely regret that i have had the leisure to write them. [ ] this preface, as well as the dedication which precedes it, were prefixed originally to the miscellaneous volume entitled "odes and epistles," of which, hitherto, the poems relating to my american tour have formed a part. [ ] epistles vi., vii., and viii. poems relating to america. to lord viscount strangford. aboard the phaeton frigate, off the azores, by moonlight. sweet moon! if, like crotona's sage,[ ] by any spell my hand could dare to make thy disk its ample page, and write my thoughts, my wishes there; how many a friend, whose careless eye now wanders o'er that starry sky, should smile, upon thy orb to meet the recollection, kind and sweet, the reveries of fond regret, the promise, never to forget, and all my heart and soul would send to many a dear-loved, distant friend. how little, when we parted last, i thought those pleasant times were past, for ever past, when brilliant joy was all my vacant heart's employ: when, fresh from mirth to mirth again, we thought the rapid hours too few; our only use for knowledge then to gather bliss from all we knew. delicious days of whim and soul! when, mingling lore and laugh together, we leaned the book on pleasure's bowl, and turned the leaf with folly's feather. little i thought that all were fled, that, ere that summer's bloom was shed, my eye should see the sail unfurled that wafts me to the western world. and yet, 'twas time;--in youth's sweet days, to cool that season's glowing rays, the heart awhile, with wanton wing, may dip and dive in pleasure's spring; but, if it wait for winter's breeze, the spring will chill, the heart will freeze. and then, that hope, that fairy hope,-- oh! she awaked such happy dreams, and gave my soul such tempting scope for all its dearest, fondest schemes, _that not verona's child of song_, when flying from the phrygian shore, with lighter heart could bound along, or pant to be a wanderer more! even now delusive hope will steal amid the dark regrets i feel, soothing, as yonder placid beam pursues the murmurers of the deep, and lights them with consoling gleam, and smiles them into tranquil sleep. oh! such a blessed night as this, i often think, if friends were near, how we should feel, and gaze with bliss upon the moon-bright scenery here! the sea is like a silvery lake, and, o'er its calm the vessel glides gently, as if it feared to wake the slumber of the silent tides. the only envious cloud that lowers hath hung its shade on pico's height,[ ] where dimly, mid the dusk, he towers, and scowling at this heaven of light, exults to see the infant storm cling darkly round his giant form! now, could i range those verdant isles, invisible, at this soft hour, and see the looks, the beaming smiles, that brighten many an orange bower; and could i lift each pious veil, and see the blushing cheek it shades,-- oh! i should have full many a tale, to tell of young azorian maids.[ ] yes, strangford, at this hour, perhaps, some lover (not too idly blest, like those, who in their ladies' laps may cradle every wish to rest,) warbles, to touch his dear one's soul, those madrigals, of breath divine, which camoens' harp from rapture stole and gave, all glowing warm, to thine.[ ] oh! could the lover learn from thee, and breathe them with thy graceful tone, such sweet, beguiling minstrelsy would make the coldest nymph his own. but, hark!--the boatswain's pipings tell 'tis time to bid my dream farewell: eight bells:--the middle watch is set; good night, my strangford!--ne'er forget that far beyond the western sea is one whose heart remembers thee. [ ] pythagoras; who was supposed to have a power of writing upon the moon by the means of a magic mirror.--see _boyle_, art. _pythag_. [ ] a very high mountain on one of the azores, from which the island derives its name. it is said by some to be as high as the peak of teneriffe. [ ] i believe it is gutherie who says, that the inhabitants of the azores are much addicted to gallantry. this is an assertion in which even gutherie may be credited. [ ] these islands belong to the portuguese. stanzas. a beam of tranquillity smiled in the west, the storms of the morning pursued us no more; and the wave, while it welcomed the moment of rest. still heaved, as remembering ills that were o'er. serenely my heart took the hue of the hour, its passions were sleeping, were mute as the dead; and the spirit becalmed but remembered their power, as the billow the force of the gale that was fled. i thought of those days, when to pleasure alone my heart ever granted a wish or a sigh; when the saddest emotion my bosom had known, was pity for those who were wiser than i. i reflected, how soon in the cup of desire the pearl of the soul may be melted away; how quickly, alas, the pure sparkle of fire we inherit from heaven, may be quenched in the clay; and i prayed of that spirit who lighted the flame, that pleasure no more might its purity dim; so that, sullied but little, or brightly the same, i might give back the boon i had borrowed from him. how blest was the thought! it appeared as if heaven had already an opening to paradise shown; as if, passion all chastened and error forgiven, my heart then began to be purely its own. i looked to the west, and the beautiful sky which morning had clouded, was clouded no more: "oh! thus," i exclaimed, "may a heavenly eye "shed light on the soul that was darkened before." to the flying-fish.[ ] when i have seen thy snow-white wing from the blue wave at evening spring, and show those scales of silvery white, so gayly to the eye of light, as if thy frame were formed to rise, and live amid the glorious skies; oh! it has made me proudly feel, how like thy wing's impatient zeal is the pure soul, that rests not, pent within this world's gross element, but takes the wing that god has given, and rises into light and heaven! but, when i see that wing, so bright, grow languid with a moment's flight, attempt the paths of air in vain, and sink into the waves again; alas! the flattering pride is o'er; like thee, awhile, the soul may soar, but erring man must blush to think, like thee, again, the soul may sink. oh virtue! when thy clime i seek, let not my spirit's flight be weak; let me not, like this feeble thing, with brine still dropping from its wing, just sparkle in the solar glow and plunge again to depths below; but, when i leave the grosser throng with whom my soul hath dwelt so long, let me, in that aspiring day, cast every lingering stain away, and, panting for thy purer air, fly up at once and fix me there. [ ] it is the opinion of st. austin upon genesis, and i believe of nearly all the fathers, that birds, like fish, were originally produced from the waters; in defence of which idea they have collected every fanciful circumstance which can tend to prove a kindred similitude between them. with this thought in our minds, when we first see the flying-fish, we could almost fancy, that we are present at the moment of creation, and witness the birth of the first bird from the waves. to miss moore. from norfolk, in virginia, november, . in days, my kate, when life was new, when, lulled with innocence and you, i heard, in home's beloved shade, the din the world at distance made; when, every night my weary head sunk on its own unthorned bed, and, mild as evening's matron hour, looks on the faintly shutting flower, a mother saw our eyelids close, and blest them into pure repose; then, haply if a week, a day, i lingered from that home away, how long the little absence seemed! how bright the look of welcome beamed, as mute you heard, with eager smile, my tales of all that past the while! yet now, my kate, a gloomy sea bolls wide between that home and me; the moon may thrice be born and die, ere even that seal can reach mine eye. which used so oft, so quick to come, still breathing all the breath of home,-- as if, still fresh, the cordial air from lips beloved were lingering there. but now, alas,--far different fate! it comes o'er ocean, slow and late, when the dear hand that filled its fold with words of sweetness may lie cold. but hence that gloomy thought! at last, beloved kate, the waves are past; i tread on earth securely now, and the green cedar's living bough breathes more refreshment to my eyes than could a claude's divinest dyes. at length i touch the happy sphere to liberty and virtue dear, where man looks up, and, proud to claim his rank within the social frame, sees a grand system round him roll, himself its centre, sun, and soul! far from the shocks of europe--far from every wild, elliptic star that, shooting with a devious fire, kindled by heaven's avenging ire, so oft hath into chaos hurled the systems of the ancient world. the warrior here, in arms no more thinks of the toil, the conflict o'er, and glorying in the freedom won for hearth and shrine, for sire and son, smiles on the dusky webs that hide his sleeping sword's remembered pride. while peace, with sunny cheeks of toil, walks o'er the free, unlorded soil, effacing with her splendid share the drops that war had sprinkled there. thrice happy land! where he who flies from the dark ills of other skies, from scorn, or want's unnerving woes. may shelter him in proud repose; hope sings along the yellow sand his welcome to a patriot land: the mighty wood, with pomp, receives the stranger in its world of leaves, which soon their barren glory yield to the warm shed and cultured field; and he, who came, of all bereft, to whom malignant fate had left nor hope nor friends nor country dear, finds home and friends and country here. such is the picture, warmly such, that fancy long, with florid touch. had painted to my sanguine eye of man's new world of liberty. oh! ask me not, if truth have yet her seal on fancy's promise set; if even a glimpse my eyes behold of that imagined age of gold;-- alas, not yet one gleaming trace![ ] never did youth, who loved a face as sketched by some fond pencil's skill, and made by fancy lovelier still, shrink back with more of sad surprise, when the live model met his eyes, than i have felt, in sorrow felt, to find a dream on which i've dwelt from boyhood's hour, thus fade and flee at touch of stern reality! but, courage, yet, my wavering heart! blame not the temple's meanest part,[ ] till thou hast traced the fabric o'er;-- as yet, we have beheld no more than just the porch to freedom's fame; and, though a sable spot may stain the vestibule, 'tis wrong, 'tis sin to doubt the godhead reigns within! so here i pause--and now, my kate, to you, and those dear friends, whose fate touches more near this home-sick soul than all the powers from pole to pole, one word at parting,--in the tone most sweet to you, and most my own, the simple strain i send you here, wild though it be, would charm your ear, did you but know the trance of thought in which my mind its numbers caught. 'twas one of those half-waking dreams, that haunt me oft, when music seems to bear my soul in sound along, and turn its feelings all to song. i thought of home, the according lays came full of dreams of other days; freshly in each succeeding note i found some young remembrance float, till following, as a clue, that strain i wandered back to home, again. oh! love the song, and let it oft live on your lip, in accents soft. say that it tells you, simply well, all i have bid its wild notes tell,-- of memory's dream, of thoughts that yet glow with the light of joy that's set, and all the fond heart keeps in store of friends and scenes beheld no more. and now, adieu!--this artless air, with a few rhymes, in transcript fair, are all the gifts i yet can boast to send you from columbia's coast; but when the sun, with warmer smile. shall light me to my destined isle.[ ] you shall have many a cowslip-bell, where ariel slept, and many a shell, in which that gentle spirit drew from honey flowers the morning dew. [ ] such romantic works as "the american farmer's letters," and the account of kentucky by imlay, would seduce us into a belief, that innocence, peace, and freedom had deserted the rest of the world for martha's vineyard and the banks of the ohio. [ ] norfolk, it must be owned, presents an unfavorable specimen of america. the characteristics of virginia in general are not such as can delight either the politician or the moralist, and at norfolk they are exhibited in their least attractive form. at the time when we arrived the yellow fever had not yet disappeared, and every odor that assailed us in the streets very strongly accounted for its visitation. [ ] bermuda. a ballad. the lake of the dismal swamp. written at norfolk, in virginia. "they tell of a young man, who lost his mind upon the death of a girl he loved, and who, suddenly disappearing from his friends, was never afterwards heard of. as he had frequently said, in his ravings, that the girl was not dead, but gone to the dismal swamp, it is supposed he had wandered into that dreary wilderness, and had died of hunger, or been lost in some of its dreadful morasses."--anon. _"la poesie a ses monstres comme la nature."_ d'alembert. "they made her a grave, too cold and damp "for a soul so warm and true; "and she's gone to the lake of the dismal swamp,[ ] "where, all night long, by a firefly lamp, "she paddles her white canoe. "and her fire-fly lamp i soon shall see, "and her paddle i soon shall hear; "long and loving our life shall be, "and i'll hide the maid in a cypress tree, "when the footstep of death is near." away to the dismal swamp he speeds-- his path was rugged and sore, through tangled juniper, beds of reeds, through many a fen, where the serpent feeds, and man never trod before. and, when on the earth he sunk to sleep if slumber his eyelids knew, he lay, where the deadly vine doth weep its venomous tear and nightly steep the flesh with blistering dew! and near him the she-wolf stirred the brake, and the copper-snake breathed in his ear, till he starting cried, from his dream awake, "oh! when shall i see the dusky lake, "and the white canoe of my dear?" he saw the lake, and a meteor bright quick over its surface played-- "welcome," he said, "my dear one's light!" and the dim shore echoed, for many a night, the name of the death-cold maid. till he hollowed a boat of the birchen bark, which carried him off from shore; far, far he followed the meteor spark, the wind was high and the clouds were dark, and the boat returned no more. but oft, from the indian hunter's camp this lover and maid so true are seen at the hour of midnight damp to cross the lake by a fire-fly lamp, and paddle their white canoe! [ ] the great dismal swamp is ten or twelve miles distant from norfolk, and the lake in the middle of it (about seven miles long) is called drummond's pond. to the marchioness dowager of donegall. from bermuda, january, . lady! where'er you roam, whatever land woos the bright touches of that artist hand; whether you sketch the valley's golden meads, where mazy linth his lingering current leads;[ ] enamored catch the mellow hues that sleep, at eve, on meillerie's immortal steep; or musing o'er the lake, at day's decline, mark the last shadow on that holy shrine,[ ] where, many a night, the shade of tell complains of gallia's triumph and helvetia's chains; oh! lay the pencil for a moment by, turn from the canvas that creative eye, and let its splendor, like the morning ray upon a shepherd's harp, illume my lay. yet, lady, no--for song so rude as mine, chase not the wonders of your art divine; still, radiant eye, upon the canvas dwell; still, magic finger, weave your potent spell; and, while i sing the animated smiles of fairy nature in these sun-born isles, oh, might the song awake some bright design, inspire a touch, or prompt one happy line, proud were my soul, to see its humble thought on painting's mirror so divinely caught; while wondering genius, as he leaned to trace the faint conception kindling into grace, might love my numbers for the spark they threw, and bless the lay that lent a charm to you. say, have you ne'er, in nightly vision, strayed to those pure isles of ever-blooming shade, which bards of old, with kindly fancy, placed for happy spirits in the atlantic waste? there listening, while, from earth, each breeze that came brought echoes of their own undying fame, in eloquence of eye, and dreams of song, they charmed their lapse of nightless hours along:-- nor yet in song, that mortal ear might suit, for every spirit was itself a lute, where virtue wakened, with elysian breeze, pure tones of thought and mental harmonies. believe me, lady, when the zephyrs bland floated our bark to this enchanted land,-- these leafy isles upon the ocean thrown, like studs of emerald o'er a silver zone,-- not all the charm, that ethnic fancy gave to blessed arbors o'er the western wave, could wake a dream, more soothing or sublime, of bowers ethereal, and the spirit's clime. bright rose the morning, every wave was still, when the first perfume of a cedar hill sweetly awaked us, and, with smiling charms, the fairy harbor woo'd us to its arms.[ ] gently we stole, before the whispering wind, through plaintain shades, that round, like awnings, twined and kist on either side the wanton sails, breathing our welcome to these vernal vales; while, far reflected o'er the wave serene, each wooded island shed so soft a green that the enamored keel, with whispering play, through liquid herbage seemed to steal its way. never did weary bark more gladly glide, or rest its anchor in a lovelier tide! along the margin, many a shining dome, white as the palace of a lapland gnome, brightened the wave;--in every myrtle grove secluded bashful, like a shrine of love, some elfin mansion sparkled through the shade; and, while the foliage interposing played, lending the scene an ever-changing grace, fancy would love, in glimpses vague, to trace the flowery capital, the shaft, the porch,[ ] and dream of temples, till her kindling torch lighted me back to all the glorious days of attic genius; and i seemed to gaze on marble, from the rich pentelio mount, gracing the umbrage of some naiad's fount. then thought i, too, of thee, most sweet of all the spirit race that come at poet's call, delicate ariel! who, in brighter hours, lived on the perfume of these honied bowers, in velvet buds, at evening, loved to lie, and win with music every rose's sigh. though weak the magic of my humble strain to charm your spirit from its orb again, yet, oh, for her, beneath whose smile i sing, for her (whose pencil, if your rainbow wing were dimmed or ruffled by a wintry sky. could smooth its feather and relume its dye.) descend a moment from your starry sphere, and, if the lime-tree grove that once was dear, the sunny wave, the bower, the breezy hill, the sparkling grotto can delight you still, oh cull their choicest tints, their softest light, weave all these spells into one dream of night, and, while the lovely artist slumbering lies, shed the warm picture o'er her mental eyes; take for the task her own creative spells, and brightly show what song but faintly tells. [ ] lady donegall, i had reason to suppose, was at this time still in switzerland, where the well-known powers of her pencil must have been frequently awakened. [ ] the chapel of william tell on the lake of lucerne. [ ] nothing can be more romantic than the little harbor of st. george's. the number of beautiful islets, the singular clearness of the water, and the animated play of the graceful little boats, gliding for ever between the islands, and seeming to sail from one cedar-grove into another, formed altogether as lovely a miniature of nature's beauties as can be imagined. [ ] this is an illusion which, to the few who are fanciful enough to indulge in it, renders the scenery of bermuda particularly interesting. in the short but beautiful twilight of their spring evenings, the white cottages, scattered over the islands, and but partially seen through the trees that surround them, assume often the appearance of little grecian temples; and a vivid fancy may embellish the poor fisherman's hut with columns such as the pencil of a claude might imitate. i had one favorite object of this kind in my walks, which the hospitality of its owner robbed me of, by asking me to visit him. he was a plain good man, and received me well and warmly, but i could never turn his house into a grecian temple again. to george morgan, esq. of norfolk, virginia. from bermuda, january, . oh, what a sea of storm we've past!-- high mountain waves and foamy showers, and battling winds whose savage blast but ill agrees with one whose hours have past in old anacreon's bowers, yet think not poesy's bright charm forsook me in this rude alarm;[ ]-- when close they reefed the timid sail, when, every plank complaining loud, we labored in the midnight gale; and even our haughty mainmast bowed, even then, in that unlovely hour, the muse still brought her soothing power, and, midst the war of waves and wind, in song's elysium lapt my mind. nay, when no numbers of my own responded to her wakening tone, she opened, with her golden key, the casket where my memory lays those gems of classic poesy, which time has saved from ancient days. take one of these, to lais sung,-- i wrote it while my hammock swung, as one might write a dissertation upon "suspended animation!" sweet is your kiss, my lais dear, but, with that kiss i feel a tear gush from your eyelids, such as start when those who've dearly loved must part. sadly you lean your head to mine, and mute those arms around me twine, your hair adown my bosom spread, all glittering with the tears you shed. in vain i've kist those lids of snow, for still, like ceaseless founts they flow, bathing our cheeks, whene'er they meet. why is it thus? do, tell me, sweet! ah, lais! are my bodings right? am i to lose you? is to-night our last--go, false to heaven and me! your very tears are treachery. such, while in air i floating hung, such was the strain, morgante mio! the muse and i together sung, with boreas to make out the trio. but, bless the little fairy isle! how sweetly after all our ills. we saw the sunny morning smile serenely o'er its fragrant hills; and felt the pure, delicious flow of airs that round this eden blow freshly as even the gales that come o'er our own healthy hills at home. could you but view the scenery fair, that now beneath my window lies, you'd think, that nature lavished there her purest wave, her softest skies, to make a heaven for love to sigh in, for bards to live and saints to die in. close to my wooded bank below, in grassy calm the waters sleep, and to the sunbeam proudly show the coral rocks they love to steep.[ ] the fainting breeze of morning fails; the drowsy boat moves slowly past, and i can almost touch its sails as loose they flap around the mast. the noontide sun a splendor pours that lights up all these leafy shores; while his own heaven, its clouds and beams, so pictured in the waters lie, that each small bark, in passing, seems to float along a burning sky. oh for the pinnace lent to thee,[ ] blest dreamer, who in vision bright, didst sail o'er heaven's solar sea and touch at all its isles of light. sweet venus, what a clime he found within thy orb's ambrosial round-- there spring the breezes, rich and warm, that sigh around thy vesper car; and angels dwell, so pure of form that each appears a living star. these are the sprites, celestial queen! thou sendest nightly to the bed of her i love, with touch unseen thy planet's brightening tints to shed; to lend that eye a light still clearer, to give that cheek one rose-blush more. and bid that blushing lip be dearer, which had been all too dear before. but, whither means the muse to roam? 'tis time to call the wanderer home. who could have thought the nymph would perch her up in the clouds with father kircher? so, health and love to all your mansion! long may the bowl that pleasures bloom in, the flow of heart, the soul's expansion, mirth and song, your board illumine. at all your feasts, remember too, when cups are sparkling to the brim, that here is one who drinks to you, and, oh! as warmly drink to him. [ ] we were seven days on our passage from norfolk to bermuda, during three of which we were forced to lay-to in a gale of wind. the driver sloop of war, in which i went, was built at bermuda of cedar, and is accounted an excellent sea-boat. she was then commanded by my very regretted friend captain compton, who in july last was killed aboard the lily in an action with a french privateer. poor compton! he fell a victim to the strange impolicy of allowing such a miserable thing as the lily to remain in the service: so small, crank, and unmanageable, that a well-manned merchantman was at any time a match for her. [ ] the water is so clear around the island, that the rocks are seen beneath to a very great depth; and, as we entered the harbor, they appeared to us so near the surface that it seemed impossible we should not strike on them. there is no necessity, of course, for having the lead; and the negro pilot, looking down at the rocks from the bow of the ship, takes her through this difficult navigation, with a skill and confidence which seem to astonish some of the oldest sailors. [ ] in kircher's "ecstatic journey to heaven." cosmel, the genius of the world, gives theodidacticus a boat of asbestos, with which he embarks into the regions of the sun. lines written in a storm at sea. that sky of clouds is not the sky to light a lover to the pillow of her he loves-- the swell of yonder foaming billow resembles not the happy sigh that rapture moves. yet do i feel more tranquil far amid the gloomy wilds of ocean, in this dark hour, than when, in passion's young emotion, i've stolen, beneath the evening star, to julia's bower. oh! there's a holy calm profound in awe like this, that ne'er was given to pleasure's thrill; 'tis as a solemn voice from heaven, and the soul, listening to the sound, lies mute and still. 'tis true, it talks of danger nigh, of slumbering with the dead tomorrow in the cold deep, where pleasure's throb or tears of sorrow no more shall wake the heart or eye, but all must sleep. well!--there are some, thou stormy bed, to whom thy sleep would be a treasure; oh! most to him, whose lip hath drained life's cup of pleasure, nor left one honey drop to shed round sorrow's brim. yes--_he_ can smile serene at death: kind heaven, do thou but chase the weeping of friends who love him; tell them that he lies calmly sleeping where sorrow's sting or envy's breath no more shall move him. odes to nea; written at bermuda. [greek: nea turannei] eurpid. "_medea_," v. . nay, tempt me not to love again, there was a time when love was sweet; dear nea! had i known thee then, our souls had not been slow to meet. but, oh, this weary heart hath run, so many a time, the rounds of pain, not even for thee, thou lovely one, would i endure such pangs again. if there be climes, where never yet the print of beauty's foot was set, where man may pass his loveless nights, unfevered by her false delights, thither my wounded soul would fly, where rosy cheek or radiant eye should bring no more their bliss, or pain, nor fetter me to earth again. dear absent girl! whose eyes of light, though little prized when all my own, now float before me, soft and bright as when they first enamoring shone,-- what hours and days have i seen glide, while fit, enchanted, by thy side, unmindful of the fleeting day, i've let life's dream dissolve away. o bloom of youth profusely shed! o moments i simply, vainly sped, yet sweetly too--or love perfumed the flame which thus my life consumed; and brilliant was the chain of flowers, in which he led my victim-hours. say, nea, say, couldst thou, like her, when warm to feel and quick to err, of loving fond, of roving fonder, this thoughtless soul might wish to wander,-- couldst thou, like her, the wish reclaim, endearing still, reproaching never, till even this heart should burn with shame, and be thy own more fixt than ever, no, no--on earth there's only one could bind such faithless folly fast; and sure on earth but one alone could make such virtue false at last! nea, the heart which she forsook, for thee were but a worthless shrine-- go, lovely girl, that angel look must thrill a soul more pure than mine. oh! thou shalt be all else to me, that heart can feel or tongue can feign; i'll praise, admire, and worship thee, but must not, dare not, love again. * * * * * --_tale iter omne cave. _ propert. _lib. iv. eleg. _. i pray you, let us roam no more along that wild and lonely shore, where late we thoughtless strayed; 'twas not for us, whom heaven intends to be no more than simple friends, such lonely walks were made. that little bay, where turning in from ocean's rude and angry din, as lovers steal to bliss, the billows kiss the shore, and then flow back into the deep again, as though they did not kiss. remember, o'er its circling flood in what a dangerous dream we stood-- the silent sea before us, around us, all the gloom of grove, that ever lent its shade to love, no eye but heaven's o'er us! i saw you blush, you felt me tremble, in vain would formal art dissemble all we then looked and thought; 'twas more than tongue could dare reveal, 'twas every thing that young hearts feel, by love and nature taught. i stopped to cull, with faltering hand, a shell that, on the golden sand, before us faintly gleamed; i trembling raised it, and when you had kist the shell, i kist it too-- how sweet, how wrong it seemed! oh, trust me, 'twas a place, an hour, the worst that e'er the tempter's power could tangle me or you in; sweet nea, let us roam no more along that wild and lonely shore. such walks may be our ruin. * * * * * you read it in these spell-bound eyes, and there alone should love be read; you hear me say it all in sighs, and thus alone should love be said. then dread no more; i will not speak; although my heart to anguish thrill, i'll spare the burning of your cheek, and look it all in silence still. heard you the wish i dared to name, to murmur on that luckless night, when passion broke the bonds of shame, and love grew madness in your sight? divinely through the graceful dance, you seemed to float in silent song, bending to earth that sunny glance, as if to light your steps along. oh! how could others dare to touch that hallowed form with hand so free, when but to look was bliss too much, too rare for all but love and me! with smiling eyes, that little thought, how fatal were the beams they threw, my trembling hands you lightly caught, and round me, like a spirit, flew. heedless of all, but you alone,-- and _you_, at least, should not condemn. if, when such eyes before me shone, my soul forgot all eyes but them,-- i dared to whisper passion's vow,-- for love had even of thought bereft me,-- nay, half-way bent to kiss that brow, but, with a bound, you blushing left me. forget, forget that night's offence, forgive it, if, alas! you can; 'twas love, 'twas passion--soul and sense-- 'twas all that's best and worst in man. that moment, did the assembled eyes of heaven and earth my madness view, i should have seen, thro' earth and skies, but you alone--but only you. did not a frown from you reprove. myriads of eyes to me were none; enough for me to win your love, and die upon the spot, when won. a dream of antiquity. i just had turned the classic page. and traced that happy period over, when blest alike were youth and age, and love inspired the wisest sage, and wisdom graced the tenderest lover. before i laid me down to sleep awhile i from the lattice gazed upon that still and moonlight deep, with isles like floating gardens raised, for ariel there his sports to keep; while, gliding 'twixt their leafy shores the lone night-fisher plied his oars. i felt,--so strongly fancy's power came o'er me in that witching hour,-- as if the whole bright scenery there were lighted by a grecian sky, and i then breathed the blissful air that late had thrilled to sappho's sigh. thus, waking, dreamt i,--and when sleep came o'er my sense, the dream went on; nor, through her curtain dim and deep, hath ever lovelier vision shone. i thought that, all enrapt, i strayed through that serene, luxurious shade, where epicurus taught the loves to polish virtue's native brightness,-- as pearls, we're told, that fondling doves have played with, wear a smoother whiteness.[ ] 'twas one of those delicious nights so common in the climes of greece, when day withdraws but half its lights, and all is moonshine, balm, and peace. and thou wert there, my own beloved, and by thy side i fondly roved through many a temple's reverend gloom, and many a bower's seductive bloom, where beauty learned what wisdom taught. and sages sighed and lovers thought; where schoolmen conned no maxims stern, but all was formed to soothe or move, to make the dullest love to learn, to make the coldest learn to love. and now the fairy pathway seemed to lead us through enchanted ground, where all that bard has ever dreamed of love or luxury bloomed around. oh! 'twas a bright, bewildering scene-- along the alley's deepening green soft lamps, that hung like burning flowers, and scented and illumed the bowers, seemed, as to him, who darkling roves, amid the lone hercynian groves, appear those countless birds of light, that sparkle in the leaves at night, and from their wings diffuse a ray along the traveller's weary way. 'twas light of that mysterious kind. through which the soul perchance may roam, when it has left this world behind, and gone to seek its heavenly home. and, nea, thou wert by my side, through all this heavenward path my guide. but, lo, as wandering thus we ranged that upward path, the vision changed; and now, methought, we stole along through halls of more voluptuous glory than ever lived in teian song, or wantoned in milesian story.[ ] and nymphs were there, whose very eyes seemed softened o'er with breath of sighs; whose every ringlet, as it wreathed, a mute appeal to passion breathed. some flew, with amber cups, around, pouring the flowery wines of crete; and, as they passed with youthful bound, the onyx shone beneath their feet.[ ] while others, waving arms of snow entwined by snakes of burnished gold,[ ] and showing charms, as loth to show, through many a thin, tarentian fold, glided among the festal throng bearing rich urns of flowers along where roses lay, in languor breathing, and the young beegrape, round them wreathing, hung on their blushes warm and meek, like curls upon a rosy cheek. oh, nea! why did morning break the spell that thus divinely bound me? why did i wake? how _could_ i wake with thee my own and heaven around me! * * * * * well--peace to thy heart, though another's it be, and health to that cheek, though it bloom not for me! to-morrow i sail for those cinnamon groves, where nightly the ghost of the carribee roves, and, far from the light of those eyes, i may yet their allurements forgive and their splendor forget. farewell to bermuda,[ ] and long may the bloom of the lemon and myrtle its valleys perfume; may spring to eternity hallow the shade, where ariel has warbled and waller has strayed. and thou--when, at dawn, thou shalt happen to roam through the lime-covered alley that leads to thy home, where oft, when the dance and the revel were done, and the stars were beginning to fade in the sun, i have led thee along, and have told by the way what my heart all the night had been burning to say-- oh! think of the past--give a sigh to those times, and a blessing for me to that alley of limes. * * * * * if i were yonder wave, my dear, and thou the isle it clasps around, i would not let a foot come near my land of bliss, my fairy ground. if i were yonder couch of gold, and thou the pearl within it placed, i would not let an eye behold the sacred gem my arms embraced. if i were yonder orange-tree, and thou the blossom blooming there, i would not yield a breath of thee to scent the most imploring air. oh! bend not o'er the water's brink, give not the wave that odorous sigh, nor let its burning mirror drink the soft reflection of thine eye. that glossy hair, that glowing cheek, so pictured in the waters seem, that i could gladly plunge to seek thy image in the glassy stream. blest fate! at once my chilly grave and nuptial bed that stream might be; i'll wed thee in its mimic wave. and die upon the shade of thee. behold the leafy mangrove, bending o'er the waters blue and bright, like nea's silky lashes, lending shadow to her eyes of light. oh, my beloved! where'er i turn, some trace of thee enchants mine eyes: in every star thy glances burn; thy blush on every floweret lies. nor find i in creation aught of bright or beautiful or rare, sweet to the sense of pure to thought, but thou art found reflected there. [ ] this method of polishing pearls, by leaving them awhile to be played with by doves, is mentioned by the fanciful cardanus. [ ] the milesiacs, or milesian fables, had their origin in miletus, a luxurious town of ionia. aristides was the most celebrated author of these licentious fictions. [ ] it appears that in very splendid mansions the floor or pavement was frequently of onyx. [ ] bracelets of this shape were a favorite ornament among the women of antiquity. [ ] the inhabitants pronounce the name as if it were written bermooda. i wonder it did not occur to some of those all-reading gentlemen that, possibly, the discoverer of this "island of hogs and devils" might have been no less a personage than the great john bermudez, who, about the same period (the beginning of the sixteenth century), was sent patriarch of the latin church to ethiopia, and has left us most wonderful stories of the amazons and the griffins which he encountered.--_travels of the jesuits_, vol. i. the snow spirit. no, ne'er did the wave in its element steep an island of lovelier charms; it blooms in the giant embrace of the deep, like hebe in hercules' arms. the blush of your bowers is light to the eye, and their melody balm to the ear; but the fiery planet of day is too nigh, and the snow spirit never comes here. the down from his wing is as white as the pearl that shines through thy lips when they part, and it falls on the green earth as melting, my girl, as a murmur of thine on the heart. oh! fly to the clime, where he pillows the death, as he cradles the birth of the year; bright are your bowers and balmy their breath, but the snow spirit cannot come here. how sweet to behold him when borne on the gale, and brightening the bosom of morn, he flings, like the priest of diana, a veil o'er the brow of each virginal thorn. yet think not the veil he so chillingly casts is the veil of a vestal severe; no, no, thou wilt see, what a moment it lasts, should the snow spirit ever come here. but fly to his region--lay open thy zone, and he'll weep all his brilliancy dim, to think that a bosom, as white as his own, should not melt in the daybeam like him. oh! lovely the print of those delicate feet o'er his luminous path will appear-- fly, my beloved! this island is sweet, but the snow spirit cannot come here. * * * * * i stole along the flowery bank, while many a bending seagrape[ ] drank the sprinkle of the feathery oar that winged me round this fairy shore. 'twas noon; and every orange bud hung languid o'er the crystal flood, faint as the lids of maiden's eyes when love-thoughts in her bosom rise. oh, for a naiad's sparry bower, to shade me in that glowing hour! a little dove, of milky hue, before me from a plantain flew, and, light along the water's brim, i steered my gentle bark by him; for fancy told me, love had sent this gentle bird with kind intent to lead my steps, where i should meet-- i knew not what, but something sweet. and--bless the little pilot dove! he had indeed been sent by love, to guide me to a scene so dear as fate allows but seldom here; one of those rare and brilliant hours. that, like the aloe's lingering flowers, may blossom to the eye of man but once in all his weary span. just where the margin's opening shade a vista from the waters made, my bird reposed his silver plume upon a rich banana's bloom. oh vision bright! oh spirit fair! what spell, what magic raised her there? 'twas nea! slumbering calm and mild, and bloomy as the dimpled child, whose spirit in elysium keeps its playful sabbath, while he sleeps. the broad banana's green embrace hung shadowy round each tranquil grace; one little beam alone could win the leaves to let it wander in. and, stealing over all her charms, from lip to cheek, from neck to arms, new lustre to each beauty lent,-- itself all trembling as it went! dark lay her eyelid's jetty fringe upon that cheek whose roseate tinge mixt with its shade, like evening's light just touching on the verge of night. her eyes, though thus in slumber hid, seemed glowing through the ivory lid, and, as i thought, a lustre threw upon her lip's reflecting dew,-- such as a night-lamp, left to shine alone on some secluded shrine, may shed upon the votive wreath, which pious hands have hung beneath. was ever vision half so sweet! think, think how quick my heart-pulse beat, as o'er the rustling bank i stole;-- oh! ye, that know the lover's soul, it is for you alone to guess, that moment's trembling happiness. [ ] the seaside or mangrove grape, a native of the west indies. a study from the antique. behold, my love, the curious gem within this simple ring of gold; 'tis hallow'd by the touch of them who lived in classic hours of old. some fair athenian girl, perhaps, upon her hand this gem displayed, nor thought that time's succeeding lapse should see it grace a lovelier maid. look, dearest, what a sweet design! the more we gaze, it charms the more; come--closer bring that cheek to mine, and trace with me its beauties o'er. thou seest, it is a simple youth by some enamored nymph embraced-- look, as she leans, and say in sooth is not that hand most fondly placed? upon his curled head behind it seems in careless play to lie, yet presses gently, half inclined to bring the truant's lip more nigh. oh happy maid! too happy boy! the one so fond and little loath, the other yielding slow to joy-- oh rare, indeed, but blissful both. imagine, love, that i am he, and just as warm as he is chilling; imagine, too, that thou art she, but quite as coy as she is willing: so may we try the graceful way in which their gentle arms are twined, and thus, like her, my hand i lay upon thy wreathed locks behind: and thus i feel thee breathing sweet, as slow to mine thy head i move; and thus our lips together meet, and thus,--and thus,--i kiss thee, love. * * * * * there's not a look, a word of thine, my soul hath e'er forgot; thou ne'er hast bid a ringlet shine, nor given thy locks one graceful twine which i remember not. there never yet a murmur fell from that beguiling tongue, which did not, with a lingering spell, upon thy charmed senses dwell, like songs from eden sung. ah! that i could, at once, forget all, all that haunts me so-- and yet, thou witching girl,--and yet, to die were sweeter than to let the loved remembrance go. no; if this slighted heart must see its faithful pulse decay, oh let it die, remembering thee, and, like the burnt aroma, be consumed in sweets away. to joseph atkinson, esq. from bermuda.[ ] "the daylight is gone--but, before we depart, "one cup shall go round to the friend of my heart, "the kindest, the dearest--oh! judge by the tear "i now shed while i name him, how kind and how dear." 'twas thus in the shade of the calabash-tree, with a few, who could feel and remember like me, the charm that, to sweeten my goblet, i threw was a sigh to the past and a blessing on you. oh! say, is it thus, in the mirth-bringing hour, when friends are assembled, when wit, in full flower, shoots forth from the lip, under bacchus's dew, in blossoms of thought ever springing and new-- do you sometimes remember, and hallow the brim of your cup with a sigh, as you crown it to him who is lonely and sad in these valleys so fair, and would pine in elysium, if friends were not there! last night, when we came from the calabash-tree, when my limbs were at rest and my spirit was free, the glow of the grape and the dreams of the day set the magical springs of my fancy in play, and oh,--such a vision as haunted me then i would slumber for ages to witness again. the many i like, and the few i adore, the friends who were dear and beloved before. but never till now so beloved and dear, at the call of my fancy, surrounded me here; and soon,--oh, at once, did the light of their smiles to a paradise brighten this region of isles; more lucid the wave, as they looked on it, flowed, and brighter the rose, as they gathered it, glowed. not the valleys heraean (though watered by rills of the pearliest flow, from those pastoral hills.[ ] where the song of the shepherd, primeval and wild, was taught to the nymphs by their mystical child,) could boast such a lustre o'er land and o'er wave as the magic of love to this paradise gave. oh magic of love! unembellished by you, hath the garden a blush or the landscape a hue? or shines there a vista in nature or art, like that which love opes thro' the eye to the heart? alas, that a vision so happy should fade! that, when morning around me in brilliancy played, the rose and the stream i had thought of at night should still be before me, unfadingly bright; while the friends, who had seemed to hang over the stream, and to gather the roses, had fled with my dream. but look, where, all ready, in sailing array, the bark that's to carry these pages away,[ ] impatiently flutters her wing to the wind, and will soon leave these islets of ariel behind. what billows, what gales is she fated to prove, ere she sleep in the lee of the land that i love! yet pleasant the swell of the billows would be, and the roar of those gales would be music to me. not the tranquillest air that the winds ever blew, not the sunniest tears of the summer-eve dew, were as sweet as the storm, or as bright as the foam of the surge, that would hurry your wanderer home. [ ] pinkerton has said that "a good history and description of the bermudas might afford a pleasing addition to the geographical library;" but there certainly are not materials for such a work. the island, since the time of its discovery, has experienced so very few vicissitudes, the people have been so indolent, and their trade so limited, that there is but little which the historian could amplify into importance; and, with respect to the natural productions of the country, the few which the inhabitants can be induced to cultivate are so common in the west indies, that they have been described by every naturalist who has written any account of those islands. [ ] mountains of sicily, upon which daphnis, the first inventor of bucolic poetry, was nursed by the nymphs. [ ] a ship, ready to sail for england. the steerman's song, written aboard the boston frigate th april.[ ] when freshly blows the northern gale, and under courses snug we fly; or when light breezes swell the sail, and royals proudly sweep the sky; 'longside the wheel, unwearied still i stand, and, as my watchful eye doth mark the needle's faithful thrill, i think of her i love, and cry, port, my boy! port. when calms delay, or breezes blow right from the point we wish to steer; when by the wind close-hauled we go. and strive in vain the port to near; i think 'tis thus the fates defer my bliss with one that's far away, and while remembrance springs to her, i watch the sails and sighing say, thus, my boy! thus. but see the wind draws kindly aft, all hands are up the yards to square, and now the floating stu'n-sails waft our stately ship thro' waves and air. oh! then i think that yet for me some breeze of fortune thus may spring, some breeze to waft me, love, to thee-- and in that hope i smiling sing, steady, boy! so. [ ] i left bermuda in the boston about the middle of april, in company with the cambrian and leander, aboard the latter of which was the admiral sir andrew mitchell, who divides his year between halifax and bermuda, and is the very soul of society and good-fellowship to both. we separated in a few days, and the boston after a short cruise proceeded to new york. to the fire-fly.[ ] at morning, when the earth and sky are glowing with the light of spring, we see thee not, thou humble fly! nor think upon thy gleaming wing. but when the skies have lost their hue, and sunny lights no longer play, oh then we see and bless thee too for sparkling o'er the dreary way. thus let me hope, when lost to me the lights that now my life illume, some milder joys may come, like thee, to cheer, if not to warm, the gloom! [ ] the lively and varying illumination, with which these fire-flies light up the woods at night, gives quite an idea of enchantment. to the lord viscount forbes. from the city op washington. if former times had never left a trace of human frailty in their onward race, nor o'er their pathway written, as they ran, one dark memorial of the crimes of man; if every age, in new unconscious prime, rose, like a phenix, from the fires of time, to wing its way unguided and alone, the future smiling and the past unknown; then ardent man would to himself be new, earth at his foot and heaven within his view: well might the novice hope, the sanguine scheme of full perfection prompt his daring dream, ere cold experience, with her veteran lore, could tell him, fools had dreamt as much before. but, tracing as we do, through age and clime, the plans of virtue midst the deeds of crime, the thinking follies and the reasoning rage of man, at once the idiot and the sage; when still we see, through every varying frame of arts and polity, his course the same, and know that ancient fools but died, to make a space on earth for modern fools to take; 'tis strange, how quickly we the past forget; that wisdom's self should not be tutored yet, nor tire of watching for the monstrous birth of pure perfection midst the sons of earth! oh! nothing but that soul which god has given, could lead us thus to look on earth for heaven; o'er dross without to shed the light within, and dream of virtue while we see but sin. even here, beside the proud potowmac's stream, might sages still pursue the flattering theme of days to come, when man shall conquer fate, rise o'er the level of his mortal state, belie the monuments of frailty past, and plant perfection in this world at last! "here," might they say, "shall power's divided reign "evince that patriots have not bled in vain. "here godlike liberty's herculean youth, "cradled in peace, and nurtured up by truth "to full maturity of nerve and mind, "shall crush the giants that bestride mankind. "here shall religion's pure and balmy draught "in form no more from cups of state be quaft, "but flow for all, through nation, rank, and sect, "free as that heaven its tranquil waves reflect. "around the columns of the public shrine "shall growing arts their gradual wreath intwine, "nor breathe corruption from the flowering braid, "nor mine that fabric which they bloom to shade, "no longer here shall justice bound her view, "or wrong the many, while she rights the few; "but take her range through all the social frame, "pure and pervading as that vital flame "which warms at once our best and meanest part, "and thrills a hair while it expands a heart!" oh golden dream! what soul that loves to scan the bright disk rather than the dark of man, that owns the good, while smarting with the ill, and loves the world with all its frailty still,-- what ardent bosom does not spring to meet the generous hope, with all that heavenly heat, which makes the soul unwilling to resign the thoughts of growing, even on earth, divine! yes, dearest friend, i see thee glow to think the chain of ages yet may boast a link of purer texture than the world has known, and fit to bind us to a godhead's throne. but, is it thus? doth even the glorious dream borrow from truth that dim, uncertain gleam, which tempts us still to give such fancies scope, as shock not reason, while they nourish hope? no, no, believe me, 'tis not so--even now, while yet upon columbia's rising brow the showy smile of young presumption plays, her bloom is poisoned and her heart decays. even now, in dawn of life, her sickly breath burns with the taint of empires near their death; and, like the nymphs of her own withering clime, she's old in youth, she's blasted in her prime,[ ] already has the child of gallia's school the foul philosophy that sins by rule, with all her train of reasoning, damning arts, begot by brilliant heads on worthless hearts, like things that quicken after nilus' flood, the venomed birth of sunshine and of mud,-- already has she poured her poison here o'er every charm that makes existence dear; already blighted, with her blackening trace, the opening bloom of every social grace, and all those courtesies, that love to shoot round virtue's stem, the flowerets of her fruit. and, were these errors but the wanton tide of young luxuriance or unchastened pride; the fervid follies and the faults of such as wrongly feel, because they feel too much; then might experience make the fever less, nay, graft a virtue on each warm excess. but no; 'tis heartless, speculative ill, all youth's transgression with all age's chill; the apathy of wrong, the bosom's ice, a slow and cold stagnation into vice. long has the love of gold, that meanest rage, and latest folly of man's sinking age, which, rarely venturing in the van of life, while nobler passions wage their heated strife, comes skulking last, with selfishness and fear, and dies, collecting lumber in the rear,-- long has it palsied every grasping hand and greedy spirit through this bartering land; turned life to traffic, set the demon gold so loose abroad that virtue's self is sold, and conscience, truth, and honesty are made to rise and fall, like other wares of trade. already in this free, this virtuous state, which, frenchmen tell us, was ordained by fate, to show the world, what high perfection springs from rabble senators, and merchant kings,-- even here already patriots learn to steal their private perquisites from public weal, and, guardians of the country's sacred fire, like afric's priests, let out the flame for hire. those vaunted demagogues, who nobly rose from england's debtors to be england's foes, who could their monarch in their purse forget, and break allegiance, but to cancel debt, have proved at length, the mineral's tempting hue, which makes a patriot, can un-make him too.[ ] oh! freedom, freedom, how i hate thy cant! not eastern bombast, not the savage rant of purpled madmen, were they numbered all from roman nero down to russian paul, could grate upon my ear so mean, so base, as the rank jargon of that factious race, who, poor of heart and prodigal of words, formed to be slaves, yet struggling to be lords, strut forth, as patriots, from their negro-marts, and shout for rights, with rapine in their hearts. who can, with patience, for a moment see the medley mass of pride and misery, of whips and charters, manacles and rights, of slaving blacks and democratic whites, and all the piebald polity that reigns in free confusion o'er columbia's plains? to think that man, thou just and gentle god! should stand before thee with a tyrant's rod o'er creatures like himself, with souls from thee, yet dare to boast of perfect liberty; away, away--i'd rather hold my neck by doubtful tenure from a sultan's beck, in climes, where liberty has scarce been named, nor any right but that of ruling claimed, than thus to live, where bastard freedom waves her fustian flag in mockery over slaves; where--motley laws admitting no degree betwixt the vilely slaved and madly free-- alike the bondage and the license suit the brute made ruler and the man made brute. but, while i thus, my friend, in flowerless song, so feebly paint, what yet i feel so strong, the ills, the vices of the land, where first those rebel fiends, that rack the world, were nurst, where treason's arm by royalty was nerved, and frenchmen learned to crush the throne they served-- thou, calmly lulled in dreams of classic thought, by bards illumined and by sages taught, pant'st to be all, upon this mortal scene, that bard hath fancied or that sage hath been. why should i wake thee? why severely chase the lovely forms of virtue and of grace, that dwell before thee, like the pictures spread by spartan matrons round the genial bed, moulding thy fancy, and with gradual art brightening the young conceptions of thy heart. forgive me, forbes--and should the song destroy one generous hope, one throb of social joy, one high pulsation of the zeal for man, which few can feel, and bless that few who can,-- oh! turn to him, beneath those kindred eyes thy talents open and thy virtues rise, forget where nature has been dark or dim, and proudly study all her lights in him. yes, yes, in him the erring world forget, and feel that man _may_ reach perfection yet. [ ] "what will be the old age of this government, if it is thus early decrepit!" such was the remark of fauchet, the french minister at philadelphia, in that famous despatch to his government, which was intercepted by one of our cruisers in the year . this curious memorial may be found in porcupine's works, vol. i. p. . it remains a striking monument of republican intrigue on one side and republican profligacy on the other; and i would recommend the perusal of it to every honest politician, who may labor under a moment's delusion with respect to the purity of american patriotism. [ ] see porcupine's account of the pennsylvania insurrection in . in short, see porcupine's works throughout, for ample corroboration of every sentiment which i have ventured to express. in saying this, i refer less to the comments of that writer than to the occurrences which he has related and the documents which he has preserved. opinion may be suspected of bias, but facts speak for themselves. to thomas hume, esq., m. d. from the city of washington. 'tis evening now; beneath the western star soft sighs the lover through his sweet cigar, and fills the ears of some consenting she with puffs and vows, with smoke and constancy. the patriot, fresh from freedom's councils come, now pleased retires to lash his slaves at home; or woo, perhaps, some black aspasia's charms, and dream of freedom in his bondsmaid's arms. in fancy now, beneath the twilight gloom, come, let me lead thee o'er this "second rome!"[ ] where tribunes rule, where dusky davi bow, and what was goose-creek once is tiber now:[ ]-- this embryo capital, where fancy sees squares in morasses, obelisks in trees; which second-sighted seers, even now, adorn with shrines unbuilt and heroes yet unborn, though naught but woods[ ] and jefferson they see, where streets should run and sages _ought_ to be. and look, how calmly in yon radiant wave, the dying sun prepares his golden grave. oh mighty river! oh ye banks of shade! ye matchless scenes, in nature's morning made, while still, in all the exuberance of prime, she poured her wonders, lavishly sublime, nor yet had learned to stoop, with humbler care, from grand to soft, from wonderful to fair;-- say, were your towering hills, your boundless floods, your rich savannas and majestic woods, where bards should meditate and heroes rove, and woman charm, and man deserve her love,-- oh say, was world so bright, but born to grace its own half-organized, half-minded race[ ] of weak barbarians, swarming o'er its breast, like vermin gendered on the lion's crest? were none but brutes to call that soil their home, where none but demigods should dare to roam? or worse, thou wondrous world! oh! doubly worse, did heaven design thy lordly land to nurse the motley dregs of every distant clime, each blast of anarchy and taint of crime which europe shakes from her perturbed sphere, in full malignity to rankle here? but hold,--observe yon little mount of pines, where the breeze murmurs and the firefly shines. there let thy fancy raise, in bold relief, the sculptured image of that veteran chief[ ] who lost the rebel's in the hero's name, and climb'd o'er prostrate royalty to fame; beneath whose sword columbia's patriot train cast off their monarch that their mob might reign. how shall we rank thee upon glory's page? thou more than soldier and just less than sage! of peace too fond to act the conqueror's part, too long in camps to learn a statesman's art, nature designed thee for a hero's mould, but, ere she cast thee, let the stuff grow cold. while loftier souls command, nay, make their fate, thy fate made thee and forced thee to be great. yet fortune, who so oft, so blindly sheds her brightest halo round the weakest heads, found _thee_ undazzled, tranquil as before, proud to be useful, scorning to be more; less moved by glory's than by duty's claim, renown the meed, but self-applause the aim; all that thou _wert_ reflects less fame on thee, far less, than all thou didst _forbear to be_. nor yet the patriot of one land alone,-- for, thine's a name all nations claim their own; and every shore, where breathed the good and brave, echoed the plaudits thy own country gave. now look, my friend, where faint the moonlight falls on yonder dome, and, in those princely halls,-- if thou canst hate, as sure that soul must hate, which loves the virtuous, and reveres the great, if thou canst loathe and execrate with me the poisoning drug of french philosophy, that nauseous slaver of these frantic times, with which false liberty dilutes her crimes, if thou has got, within thy free-born breast, one pulse that beats more proudly than the rest, with honest scorn for that inglorious soul, which creeps and whines beneath a mob's control, which courts the rabble's smile, the rabble's nod, and makes, like egypt, every beast its god, there, in those walls--but, burning tongue forbear! rank must be reverenced, even the rank that's there: so here i pause--and now, dear hume, we part: but oft again, in frank exchange of heart, thus let us meet, and mingle converse dear by thames at home, or by potowmac here. o'er lake and marsh, through fevers and through fogs, 'midst bears and yankees, democrats and frogs, thy foot shall follow me, thy heart and eyes with me shall wonder, and with me despise. while i, as oft, in fancy's dream shall rove, with thee conversing, through that land i love, where, like the air that fans her fields of green, her freedom spreads, unfevered and serene; and sovereign man can condescend to see the throne and laws more sovereign still than he. [ ] "on the original location of the ground now allotted for the seat of the federal city [says mr. weld] the identical spot on which the capitol now stands was called rome. this anecdote is related by many as a certain prognostic of the future magnificence of this city, which is to be, as it were, a second rome."--_weld's travels_, letter iv. [ ] a little stream runs through the city, which, with intolerable affectation, they have styled the tiber. it was originally called goose- creek. [ ] "to be under the necessity of going through a deep wood for one or two miles, perhaps, in order to see a next-door neighbor, and in the same city, is a curious and i believe, a novel circumstance."--_weld_, letter iv. the federal city (if it, must be called a city), has hot been much increased since mr. weld visited it. [ ] the picture which buffon and de pauw have drawn of the american indian, though very humiliating, is, as far as i can judge, much more correct than the flattering representations which mr. jefferson has given us. see the notes on virginia, where this gentleman endeavors to disprove in general the opinion maintained so strongly by some philosophers that nature (as mr. jefferson expresses it) _belittles_ her productions in the western world. [ ] on a small hill near the capital there is to be an equestrian statue of general washington. lines written on leaving philadelphia. alone by the schuylkill a wanderer roved, and bright were its flowery banks to his eye; but far, very far were the friends that he loved, and he gazed on its flowery banks with a sigh. oh nature, though blessed and bright are thy rays, o'er the brow of creation enchantingly thrown, yet faint are they all to the lustre that plays in a smile from the heart that is fondly our own. nor long did the soul of the stranger remain unblest by the smile he had languished to meet; though scarce did he hope it would soothe him again, till the threshold of home had been pressed by his feet. but the lays of his boyhood had stolen to their ear, and they loved what they knew of so humble a name; and they told him, with flattery welcome and dear, that they found in his heart something better than fame. nor did woman--oh woman! whose form and whose soul are the spell and the life of each path we pursue; whether sunned in the tropics or chilled at the pole, if woman be there, there is happiness too:-- nor did she her enamoring magic deny,-- that magic his heart had relinquished so long,-- like eyes he had loved was _her_ eloquent eye, like them did it soften and weep at his song. oh, blest be the tear, and in memory oft may its sparkle be shed o'er the wanderer's dream; thrice blest be that eye, and may passion as soft, as free from a pang, ever mellow its beam! the stranger is gone--but he will not forget, when at home he shall talk of the toils he has known, to tell, with a sigh, what endearments he met, as he strayed by the wave of the schuylkill alone. lines written at the cohos, or falls of the mohawk kiver.[ ] _gia era in loco ove s'udia l'rimbombo dell' acqua_. dante. from rise of morn till set of sun i've seen the mighty mohawk run; and as i markt the woods of pine along his mirror darkly shine, like tall and gloomy forms that pass before the wizard's midnight glass: and as i viewed the hurrying pace with which he ran his turbid race, rushing, alike untried and wild, through shades that frowned and flowers that smiled, flying by every green recess that wooed him to its calm caress, yet, sometimes turning with the wind, as if to leave one look behind,-- oft have i thought, and thinking sighed, how like to thee, thou restless tide, may be the lot, the life of him who roams along thy water's brim; through what alternate wastes of woe and flowers of joy my path may go; how many a sheltered, calm retreat may woo the while my weary feet, while still pursuing, still unblest, i wander on, nor dare to rest; but, urgent as the doom that calls thy water to its destined falls, i feel the world's bewildering force hurry my heart's devoted course from lapse to lapse, till life be done, and the spent current cease to run. one only prayer i dare to make, as onward thus my course i take;-- oh, be my falls as bright as thine! may heaven's relenting rainbow shine upon the mist that circles me, as soft as now it hangs o'er thee! [ ] there is a dreary and savage character in the country immediately about these falls, which is much more in harmony with the wildness of such a scene than the cultivated lands in the neighborhood of niagara. song of the evil spirit of the woods.[ ] _qua via difficilis, quaque est via nulla_ ovid _metam. lib_ iii. v. . now the vapor, hot and damp, shed by day's expiring lamp, through the misty ether spreads every ill the white man dreads; fiery fever's thirsty thrill, fitful ague's shivering chill! hark! i hear the traveller's song, as he winds the woods along;-- christian, 'tis the song of fear; wolves are round thee, night is near, and the wild thou dar'st to roam-- think, 'twas once the indian's home![ ] hither, sprites, who love to harm, wheresoe'er you work your charm, by the creeks, or by the brakes, where the pale witch feeds her snakes, and the cayman[ ] loves to creep, torpid, to his wintry sleep: where the bird of carrion flits, and the shuddering murderer sits,[ ] lone beneath a roof of blood; while upon his poisoned food, from the corpse of him he slew drops the chill and gory dew. hither bend ye, turn ye hither, eyes that blast and wings that wither cross the wandering christian's way, lead him, ere the glimpse of day, many a mile of maddening error through the maze of night and terror, till the morn behold him lying on the damp earth, pale and dying. mock him, when his eager sight seeks the cordial cottage-light; gleam then, like the lightning-bug, tempt him to the den that's dug for the foul and famished brood of the she wolf, gaunt for blood; or, unto the dangerous pass o'er the deep and dark morass, where the trembling indian brings belts of porcelain, pipes, and rings, tributes, to be hung in air, to the fiend presiding there![ ] then, when night's long labor past, wildered, faint, he falls at last, sinking where the causeway's edge moulders in the slimy sedge, there let every noxious thing trail its filth and fix its sting; let the bull-toad taint him over, round him let mosquitoes hover, in his ears and eyeballs tingling, with his blood their poison mingling, till, beneath the solar fires, rankling all, the wretch expires! [ ] the idea of this poem occurred to me in passing through the very dreary wilderness between batavia, a new settlement in the midst of the woods, and the little village of buffalo upon lake erie. this is the most fatiguing part of the route, in travelling through the genesee country to niagara. [ ] "the five confederated nations (of indians) were settled along the banks of the susquehannah and the adjacent country, until the year , when general sullivan, with an army of men drove them from their country to niagara, where, being obliged to live on salted provisions, to which they were unaccustomed, great numbers of them died. two hundred of them, it is said, were buried in one grave, where they had encamped."-- _morse's american geography_. [ ] the alligator, who is supposed to lie in a torpid state all the winter, in the bank of some creek or pond, having previously swallowed a large number of pine-knots, which are his only sustenance during the time. [ ] this was the mode of punishment for murder (as charlevoix tells us) among the hurons. "they laid the dead body upon poles at the top of a cabin, and the murderer was obliged to remain several days together, and to receive all that dropped from the carcass, not only on himself but on his food." [ ] "we find also collars of porcelain, tobacco, ears of maize, skins, etc., by the side of difficult and dangerous ways, on rocks, or by the side of the falls; and these are so many offerings made to the spirits which preside in these places."--see _charlevoix's letter on the traditions and the religion of the savages of canada_. father hennepin too mentions this ceremony; he also says, "we took notice of one barbarian, who made a kind of sacrifice upon an oak at the cascade of st. anthony of padua upon the river mississippi."--see _hennepin's voyage into north america_. to the honorable w. r. spencer. from buffalo, upon lake erie. _nec venit ad duros musa vocata getas_. ovid. _ex ponto, lib. . ep. _. thou oft hast told me of the happy hours enjoyed by thee in fair italia's bowers, where, lingering yet, the ghost of ancient wit midst modern monks profanely dares to flit. and pagan spirits, by the pope unlaid, haunt every stream and sing through every shade. there still the bard who (if his numbers be his tongue's light echo) must have talked like thee,-- the courtly bard, from whom thy mind has caught those playful, sunshine holidays of thought, in which the spirit baskingly reclines, bright without effort, resting while it shines,-- there still he roves, and laughing loves to see how modern priests with ancient rakes agree: how, 'neath the cowl, the festal garland shines, and love still finds a niche in christian shrines. there still, too, roam those other souls of song, with whom thy spirit hath communed so long, that, quick as light, their rarest gems of thought, by memory's magic to thy lip are brought. but here, alas! by erie's stormy lake, as, far from such bright haunts my course i take, no proud remembrance o'er the fancy plays, no classic dream, no star of other days hath left that visionary light behind, that lingering radiance of immortal mind, which gilds and hallows even the rudest scene, the humblest shed, where genius once has been! all that creation's varying mass assumes of grand or lovely, here aspires and blooms; bold rise the mountains, rich the gardens glow, bright lakes expand, and conquering[ ] rivers flow; but mind, immortal mind, without whose ray, this world's a wilderness and man but clay, mind, mind alone, in barren, still repose, nor blooms, nor rises, nor expands, nor flows. take christians, mohawks, democrats, and all from the rude wigwam to the congress-hall, from man the savage, whether slaved or free, to man the civilized, less tame than he,-- 'tis one dull chaos, one unfertile strife betwixt half-polished and half-barbarous life; where every ill the ancient world could brew is mixt with every grossness of the new; where all corrupts, though little can entice, and naught is known of luxury but its vice! is this the region then, is this the clime for soaring fancies? for those dreams sublime, which all their miracles of light reveal to heads that meditate and hearts that feel? alas! not so--the muse of nature lights her glories round; she scales the mountain heights, and roams the forests; every wondrous spot burns with her step, yet man regards it not. she whispers round, her words are in the air, but lost, unheard, they linger freezing there,[ ] without one breath of soul, divinely strong, one ray of mind to thaw them into song. yet, yet forgive me, oh ye sacred few, whom late by delaware's green banks i knew; whom, known and loved through many a social eve, 'twas bliss to live with, and 'twas pain to leave.[ ] not with more joy the lonely exile scanned the writing traced upon the desert's sand, where his lone heart but little hoped to find one trace of life, one stamp of human kind, than did i hail the pure, the enlightened zeal, the strength to reason and the warmth to feel, the manly polish and the illumined taste, which,--mid the melancholy, heartless waste my foot has traversed,--oh you sacred few! i found by delaware's green banks with you. long may you loathe the gallic dross that runs through your fair country and corrupts its sons; long love the arts, the glories which adorn those fields of freedom, where your sires were born. oh! if america can yet be great, if neither chained by choice, nor doomed by fate to the mob-mania which imbrutes her now, she yet can raise the crowned, yet civic brow of single majesty,--can add the grace of rank's rich capital to freedom's base, nor fear the mighty shaft will feebler prove for the fair ornament that flowers above;-- if yet released from all that pedant throng, so vain of error and so pledged to wrong, who hourly teach her, like themselves, to hide weakness in vaunt and barrenness in pride, she yet can rise, can wreathe the attic charms of soft refinement round the pomp of arms, and see her poets flash the fires of song, to light her warriors' thunderbolts along;-- it is to you, to souls that favoring heaven has made like yours, the glorious task is given:-- oh! but for _such_, columbia's days were done; rank without ripeness, quickened without sun, crude at the surface, rotten at the core, her fruits would fall, before her spring were o'er. believe me, spencer, while i winged the hours where schuylkill winds his way through banks of flowers, though few the days, the happy evenings few; so warm with heart, so rich with mind they flew, that my charmed soul forgot its wish to roam, and rested there, as in a dream of home. and looks i met, like looks i'd loved before, and voices too, which, as they trembled o'er the chord of memory, found full many a tone of kindness there in concord with their own. yes,--we had nights of that communion free, that flow of heart, which i have known with thee so oft, so warmly; nights of mirth and mind, of whims that taught, and follies that refined. when shall we both renew them? when, restored to the gay feast and intellectual board, shall i once more enjoy with thee and thine those whims that teach, those follies that refine? even now, as, wandering upon erie's shore, i hear niagara's distant cataract roar, i sigh for home,--alas! these weary feet have many a mile to journey, ere we meet. [ ] this epithet was suggested by charlevoix's striking description of the confluence of the missouri with the mississippi. [ ] alluding to the fanciful notion of "words congealed in northern air." [ ] in the society of mr. dennie and his friends, at philadelphia, i passed the few agreeable moments which my tour through the states afforded me. mr. dennie has succeeded in diffusing through this cultivated little circle that love for good literature and sound politics which he feels so zealously himself, and which is so very rarely the characteristic of his countrymen. they will not, i trust, accuse me of illiberality for the picture which i have given of the ignorance and corruption that surround them. if i did not hate, as i ought, the rabble to which they are opposed, i could not value, as i do, the spirit with which they defy it; and in learning from them what americans _can be_, i but see with the more indignation what americans _are_. ballad stanzas. i knew by the smoke, that so gracefully curled above the green elms, that a cottage was near. and i said, "if there's peace to be found in the world, "a heart that was humble might hope for it here!" it was noon, and on flowers that languished around in silence reposed the voluptuous bee; every leaf was at rest, and i heard not a sound but the woodpecker tapping the hollow beech-tree. and, "here in this lone little wood," i exclaimed, "with a maid who was lovely to soul and to eye, "who would blush when i praised her, and weep if i blamed, how blest could i live, and how calm could i die! "by the shade of yon sumach, whose red berry dips "in the gush of the fountain, how sweet to recline, "and to know that i sighed upon innocent lips, "which had never been sighed on by any but mine!" a canadian boat song. written on the river st. lawrence.[ ] _et remigem cantus hortatur_. quintilian. faintly as tolls the evening chime our voices keep tune and our oars keep time. soon as the woods on shore look dim, we'll sing at st. ann's our parting hymn.[ ] row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, the rapids are near and the daylight's past. why should we yet our sail unfurl? there is not a breath the blue wave to curl, but, when the wind blows off the shore, oh! sweetly we'll rest our weary oar. blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, the rapids are near and the daylight's past. utawas' tide! this trembling moon shall see us float over thy surges soon. saint of this green isle! hear our prayers, oh, grant us cool heavens and favoring airs. blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, the rapids are near and the daylight's past. [ ] i wrote these words to an air which our boatmen sung to us frequently. the wind was so unfavorable that they were obliged to row all the way, and we were five days in descending the river from kingston to montreal, exposed to an intense sun during the day, and at night forced to take shelter from the dews in any miserable hut upon the banks that would receive us. but the magnificent scenery of the st. lawrence repays all such difficulties. [ ] "at the rapid of st. ann they are obliged to take out part, if not the whole, of their lading. it is from this spot canadians consider they take their departure, as it possesses the last church on the island, which is dedicated to the tutelar saint of voyagers."--_mackenzie, general history of the fur trade_. to the lady charlotte rawdon. from the banks of the st. lawrence. not many months have now been dreamed away since yonder sun, beneath whose evening ray our boat glides swiftly past these wooded shores, saw me where trent his mazy current pours, and donington's old oaks, to every breeze, whisper the tale of by-gone centuries;-- those oaks, to me as sacred as the groves, beneath whose shade the pious persian roves, and hears the spirit-voice of sire, or chief, or loved mistress, sigh in every leaf. there, oft, dear lady, while thy lip hath sung my own unpolished lays, how proud i've hung on every tuneful accent! proud to feel. that notes like mine should have the fate to steal, as o'er thy hallowing lip they sighed along. such breath of passion and such soul of song. yes,--i have wondered, like some peasant boy who sings, on sabbath-eve, his strains of joy, and when he hears the wild, untutored note back to his ear on softening echoes float, believes it still some answering spirit's tone, and thinks it all too sweet to be his own! i dreamt not then that, ere the rolling year had filled its circle, i should wander here in musing awe; should tread this wondrous world, see all its store of inland waters hurled in one vast volume down niagara's steep, or calm behold them, in transparent sleep, where the blue hills of old toronto shed their evening shadows o'er ontario's bed; should trace the grand cadaraqui, and glide down the white rapids of his lordly tide through massy woods, mid islets flowering fair, and blooming glades, where the first sinful pair for consolation might have weeping trod, when banished from the garden of their god, oh, lady! these are miracles, which man, caged in the bounds of europe's pigmy span, can scarcely dream of,--which his eye must see to know how wonderful this world can be! but lo,--the last tints of the west decline, and night falls dewy o'er these banks of pine. among the reeds, in which our idle boat is rocked to rest, the wind's complaining note dies like a half-breathed whispering of flutes; along the wave the gleaming porpoise shoots, and i can trace him, like a watery star,[ ] down the steep current, till he fades afar amid the foaming breakers' silvery light. where yon rough rapids sparkle through the night. here, as along this shadowy bank i stray, and the smooth glass-snake,[ ] glid-o'er my way, shows the dim moonlight through his scaly form, fancy, with all the scene's enchantment warm, hears in the murmur of the nightly breeze some indian spirit warble words like these:-- from the land beyond the sea, whither happy spirits flee; where, transformed to sacred doves,[ ] many a blessed indian roves through the air on wing, as white as those wondrous stones of light,[ ] which the eye of morning counts on the apalachian mounts,-- hither oft my flight i take over huron's lucid lake, where the wave, as clear as dew, sleeps beneath the light canoe, which, reflected, floating there, looks as if it hung in air. then, when i have strayed a while through the manataulin isle,[ ] breathing all its holy bloom, swift i mount me on the plume of my wakon-bird,[ ] and fly where, beneath a burning sky, o'er the bed of erie's lake slumbers many a water-snake, wrapt within the web of leaves, which the water-lily weaves.[ ] next i chase the floweret-king through his rosy realm of spring; see him now, while diamond hues soft his neck and wings suffuse, in the leafy chalice sink, thirsting for his balmy drink; now behold him all on fire, lovely in his looks of ire, breaking every infant stem, scattering every velvet gem, where his little tyrant lip had not found enough to sip. then my playful hand i steep where the gold-thread loves to creep, cull from thence a tangled wreath, words of magic round it breathe, and the sunny chaplet spread o'er the sleeping fly-bird's head, till, with dreams of honey blest, haunted, in his downy nest, by the garden's fairest spells, dewy buds and fragrant bells, fancy all his soul embowers in the fly-bird's heaven of flowers. oft, when hoar and silvery flakes melt along the ruffled lakes, when the gray moose sheds his horns, when the track, at evening, warns weary hunters of the way to the wigwam's cheering ray, then, aloft through freezing air, with the snow-bird soft and fair as the fleece that heaven flings o'er his little pearly wings, light above the rocks i play, where niagara's starry spray, frozen on the cliff, appears like a giant's starting tears. there, amid the island-sedge, just upon the cataract's edge, where the foot of living man never trod since time began, lone i sit, at close of day, while, beneath the golden ray, icy columns gleam below, feathered round with falling snow, and an arch of glory springs, sparkling as the chain of rings round the neck of virgins hung,-- virgins, who have wandered young o'er the waters of the west to the land where spirits rest! thus have i charmed, with visionary lay, the lonely moments of the night away; and now, fresh daylight o'er the water beams! once more, embarked upon the glittering streams, our boat flies light along the leafy shore, shooting the falls, without a dip of oar or breath of zephyr, like the mystic bark the poet saw, in dreams divinely dark, borne, without sails, along the dusky flood, while on its deck a pilot angel stood, and, with his wings of living light unfurled, coasted the dim shores of another world! yet, oh! believe me, mid this mingled maze of nature's beauties, where the fancy strays from charm to charm, where every floweret's hue hath something strange, and every leaf is new,-- i never feel a joy so pure and still so inly felt, as when some brook or hill, or veteran oak, like those remembered well, some mountain echo or some wild-flower's smell, (for, who can say by what small fairy ties the memory clings to pleasure as it flies?) reminds my heart of many a silvan dream i once indulged by trent's inspiring stream; of all my sunny morns and moonlight nights on donington's green lawns and breezy heights. whether i trace the tranquil moments o'er when i have seen thee cull the fruits of lore, with him, the polished warrior, by thy side, a sister's idol and a nation's pride! when thou hast read of heroes, trophied high in ancient fame, and i have seen thine eye turn to the living hero, while it read, for pure and brightening comments on the dead;-- or whether memory to my mind recalls the festal grandeur of those lordly halls, when guests have met around the sparkling board, and welcome warmed the cup that luxury poured; when the bright future star of england's throne, with magic smile, hath o'er the banquet shone, winning respect, nor claiming what he won, but tempering greatness, like an evening sun whose light the eye can tranquilly admire, radiant, but mild, all softness, yet all fire;-- whatever hue my recollections take, even the regret, the very pain they wake is mixt with happiness;--but, ah! no more-- lady! adieu--my heart has lingered o'er those vanished times, till all that round me lies, stream, banks, and bowers have faded on my eyes! [ ] anburey, in his travels, has noticed this shooting illumination which porpoises diffuse at night through the river st. lawrence,--vol. i. p. . [ ] the glass-snake is brittle and transparent. [ ] "the departed spirit goes into the country of souls, where, according to some, it is transformed into a dove."--_charlevoix upon the traditions and the religion of the savages of canada_. [ ] "the mountains appeared to be sprinkled with white stones, which glistened in the sun, and were called by the indians manetoe aseniah, or spirit-stones."--_mackenzie's journal_. [ ] manataulin signifies a place of spirits, and this island in lake huron is held sacred by the indians. [ ] "the wakon-bird, which probably is of the same species with the bird of paradise, receives its name from the ideas the indians have of its superior excellence; the wakon-bird being, in their language, the bird of the great spirit."--_morse_. [ ] the islands of lake erie are surrounded to a considerable distance by the large pond-lily, whose leaves spread thickly over the surface of the lake, and form a kind of bed for the water-snakes in summer. impromptu. after a visit to mrs. ----, of montreal. 'twas but for a moment--and yet in that time she crowded the impressions of many an hour: her eye had a glow, like the sun of her clime, which waked every feeling at once into flower. oh! could we have borrowed from time but a day, to renew such impressions again and again, the things we should look and imagine and say would be worth all the life we had wasted till then. what we had not the leisure or language to speak, we should find some more spiritual mode of revealing, and, between us, should feel just as much in a week as others would take a millennium in feeling. written on passing deadman's island, in the gulf of st. lawrence,[ ] late in the evening, september, . see you, beneath yon cloud so dark, fast gliding along a gloomy bark? her sails are full,--though the wind is still, and there blows not a breath her sails to fill! say, what doth that vessel of darkness bear? the silent calm of the grave is there, save now and again a death-knell rung, and the flap of the sails with night-fog hung. there lieth a wreck on the dismal shore of cold and pitiless labrador; where, under the moon, upon mounts of frost, full many a mariner's bones are tost. yon shadowy bark hath been to that wreck, and the dim blue fire, that lights her deck, doth play on as pale and livid a crew, as ever yet drank the churchyard dew. to deadman's isle, in the eye of the blast, to deadman's isle, she speeds her fast; by skeleton shapes her sails are furled, and the hand that steers is not of this world! oh! hurry thee on-oh! hurry thee on, thou terrible bark, ere the night be gone, nor let morning look on so foul a sight as would blanch for ever her rosy light! [ ] this is one of the magdalen islands, and, singularly enough, is the property of sir isaac coffin. the above lines were suggested by a superstition very common among sailors, who called this ghost-ship, i think, "the flying dutchman." to the boston frigate, on leaving halifax for england,[ ] october, . with triumph, this morning, oh boston! i hail the stir of thy deck and the spread of thy sail, for they tell me i soon shall be wafted, in thee, to the flourishing isle of the brave and the free, and that chill nova-scotia's unpromising strand is the last i shall tread of american land. well--peace to the land! may her sons know, at length, that in high-minded honor lies liberty's strength, that though man be as free as the fetterless wind, as the wantonest air that the north can unbind, yet, if health do not temper and sweeten the blast, if no harvest of mind ever sprung where it past, then unblest is such freedom, and baleful its might,-- free only to ruin, and strong but to blight! farewell to the few i have left with regret: may they sometimes recall, what i cannot forget; the delight of those evenings,--too brief a delight! when in converse and song we have stolen on the night; when they've asked me the manners, the mind, or the mien, of some bard i had known or some chief i had seen, whose glory, though distant, they long had adored, whose name had oft hallowed the wine-cup they poured; and still as, with sympathy humble but true, i have told of each bright son of fame all i knew, they have listened, and sighed that the powerful stream of america's empire should pass like a dream, without leaving one relic of genius, to say, how sublime was the tide which had vanished away! farewell to the few--though we never may meet on this planet again, it is soothing and sweet to think that, whenever my song or my name shall recur to their ear, they'll recall me the same i have been to them now, young, unthoughtful, and blest, ere hope had deceived me or sorrow deprest. but, douglas! while thus i recall to my mind the elect of the land we shall soon leave behind, i can read in the weather-wise glance of thine eye as it follows the rack flitting over the sky, that the faint coming breeze would be fair for our flight, and shall steal us away, ere the falling of night. dear douglas! thou knowest, with thee by my side, with thy friendship to soothe me, thy courage to guide, there is not a bleak isle in those summerless seas, where the day comes in darkness, or shines but to freeze, not a tract of the line, not a barbarous shore, that i could not with patience, with pleasure explore! oh think then how gladly i follow thee now, when hope smooths the billowy path of our prow, and each prosperous sigh of the west-springing wind takes me nearer the home where my heart is inshrined; where the smile of a father shall meet me again, and the tears of a mother turn bliss into pain; where the kind voice of sisters shall steal to my heart, and ask it, in sighs, how we ever could part?-- but see!--the bent top sails are ready to swell-- to the boat--i am with thee--columbia, farewell! [ ] commanded by captain j. e. douglas, with whom i returned to england, and to whom i am indebted for many, many kindnesses. irish melodies dedication to the marchioness dowager of donegal. it is now many years since, in, a letter prefixed to the third number of the irish melodies, i had the pleasure of inscribing the poems of that work to your ladyship, as to one whose character reflected honor on the country to which they relate, and whose friendship had long been the pride and happiness of their author. with the same feelings of affection and respect, confirmed if not increased by the experience of every succeeding year, i now place those poems in their present new form under your protection, and am, with perfect sincerity, your ladyship's ever attached friend, thomas moore. preface. though an edition of the poetry of the irish melodies, separate from the music, has long been called for, yet, having, for many reasons, a strong objection to this sort of divorce, i should with difficulty have consented to a disunion of the words from the airs, had it depended solely upon me to keep them quietly and indissolubly together. but, besides the various shapes in which these, as well as my other lyrical writings, have been published throughout america, they are included, of course, in all the editions of my works printed on the continent, and have also appeared, in a volume full of typographical errors, in dublin. i have therefore readily acceded to the wish expressed by the proprietor of the irish melodies, for a revised and complete edition of the poetry of the work, though well aware that my verses must lose even more than the "_animae dimidium_" in being detached from the beautiful airs to which it was their good fortune to be associated. irish melodies go where glory waits thee. go where glory waits thee, but while fame elates thee, oh! still remember me. when the praise thou meetest to thine ear is sweetest, oh! then remember me. other arms may press thee, dearer friends caress thee, all the joys that bless thee, sweeter far may be; but when friends are nearest, and when joys are dearest, oh! then remember me! when, at eve, thou rovest by the star thou lovest, oh! then remember me. think, when home returning, bright we've seen it burning, oh! thus remember me. oft as summer closes, when thine eye reposes on its lingering roses, once so loved by thee, think of her who wove them, her who made thee love them, oh! then, remember me. when, around thee dying, autumn leaves are lying, oh! then remember me. and, at night, when gazing on the gay hearth blazing, oh! still remember me. then should music, stealing all the soul of feeling, to thy heart appealing, draw one tear from thee; then let memory bring thee strains i used to sing thee,-- oh! then remember me. war song. remember the glories of brien the brave.[ ] remember the glories of brien the brave, tho' the days of the hero are o'er; tho' lost to mononia and cold in the grave,[ ] he returns to kinkora no more.[ ] that star of the field, which so often hath poured its beam on the battle, is set; but enough of its glory remains on each sword, to light us to victory yet. mononia! when nature embellished the tint of thy fields, and thy mountains so fair, did she ever intend that a tyrant should print the footstep of slavery there? no! freedom, whose smile we shall never resign, go, tell our invaders, the danes, that 'tis sweeter to bleed for an age at thy shrine, than to sleep but a moment in chains. forget not our wounded companions, who stood[ ] in the day of distress by our side; while the moss of the valley grew red with their blood, they stirred not, but conquered and died. that sun which now blesses our arms with his light, saw them fall upon ossory's plain;-- oh! let him not blush, when he leaves us to-night, to find that they fell there in vain. [ ] brien boromhe, the great monarch of ireland, who was killed at the battle of clontarf, in the beginning of the th century, after having defeated the danes in twenty-five engagements. [ ] munster. [ ] the palace of brien. [ ] this alludes to an interesting circumstance related of the dalgais, the favorite troops of brien, when they were interrupted in their return from the battle of clontarf, by fitzpatrick, prince of ossory. the wounded men entreated that they might be allowed to fight with the rest,--"_let stakes_[they said] _be stuck in the ground, and suffer each of us to be tied to and supported by one of these stakes, to be placed in his rank by the side of a sound man_." "between seven and eight hundred men (adds o'halloran) pale, emaciated, and supported in this manner, appeared mixed with the foremost of the troops;--never was such another sight exhibited."--_"history of ireland_," book xii. chap i. erin! the tear and the smile in thine eyes. erin, the tear and the smile in thine eyes, blend like the rainbow that hangs in thy skies! shining through sorrow's stream, saddening through pleasure's beam, thy suns with doubtful gleam, weep while they rise. erin, thy silent tear never shall cease, erin, thy languid smile ne'er shall increase, till, like the rainbow's light, thy various tints unite, and form in heaven's sight one arch of peace! oh! breathe not his name. oh! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade, where cold and unhonored his relics are laid: sad, silent, and dark, be the tears that we shed, as the night-dew that falls on the grass o'er his head. but the night-dew that falls, tho' in silence it weeps, shall brighten with verdure the grave where he sleeps; and the tear that we shed, tho' in secret it rolls, shall long keep his memory green in our souls. when he, who adores thee. when he, who adores thee, has left but the name of his fault and his sorrows behind, oh! say wilt thou weep, when they darken the fame of a life that for thee was resigned? yes, weep, and however my foes may condemn, thy tears shall efface their decree; for heaven can witness, tho' guilty to them, i have been but too faithful to thee. with thee were the dreams of my earliest love; every thought of my reason was thine; in my last humble prayer to the spirit above, thy name shall be mingled with mine. oh! blest are the lovers and friend who shall live the days of thy glory to see; but the next dearest blessing that heaven can give is the pride of thus dying for thee. the harp that once thro' tara's halls. the harp that once thro' tara's halls the soul of music shed, now hangs as mute on tara's walls. as if that soul were fled.-- so sleeps the pride of former days, so glory's thrill is o'er, and hearts, that once beat high for praise, now feel that pulse no more. no more to chiefs and ladies bright the harp of tara swells; the chord alone, that breaks at night, its tale of ruin tells. thus freedom now so seldom wakes, the only throbs she gives, is when some heart indignant breaks. to show that still she lives. fly not yet. fly not yet, 'tis just the hour, when pleasure, like the midnight flower that scorns the eye of vulgar light, begins to bloom for sons of night, and maids who love the moon. 'twas but to bless these hours of shade that beauty and the moon were made; 'tis then their soft attractions glowing set the tides and goblets flowing. oh! stay,--oh! stay,-- joy so seldom weaves a chain like this to-night, and oh, 'tis pain to break its links so soon. fly not yet, the fount that played in times of old through ammon's shade, though icy cold by day it ran, yet still, like souls of mirth, began to burn when night was near. and thus, should woman's heart and looks, at noon be cold as winter brooks, nor kindle till the night, returning, brings their genial hour for burning. oh! stay,--oh! stay,-- when did morning ever break, and find such beaming eyes awake as those that sparkle here? oh! think not my spirits are always as light. oh! think not my spirits are always as light, and as free from a pang as they seem to you now; nor expect that the heart-beaming smile of to-night will return with to morrow to brighten my brow. no!--life is a waste of wearisome hours, which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns; and the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers, is always the first to be touched by the thorns. but send round the bowl, and be happy awhile-- may we never meet worse, in our pilgrimage here, than the tear that enjoyment may gild with a smile, and the smile that compassion can turn to a tear. the thread of our life would be dark, heaven knows! if it were not with friendship and love intertwined: and i care not how soon i may sink to repose, when these blessings shall cease to be dear to my mind. but they who have loved the fondest, the purest. too often have wept o'er the dream they believed; and the heart that has slumbered in friendship, securest, is happy indeed if 'twas never deceived. but send round the bowl; while a relic of truth is in man or in woman, this prayer shall be mine,-- that the sunshine of love may illumine our youth, and the moonlight of friendship console our decline. tho' the last glimpse of erin with sorrow i see. tho' the last glimpse of erin with sorrow i see, yet wherever thou art shall seem erin to me; in exile thy bosom shall still be my home, and thine eyes make my climate wherever we room. to the gloom of some desert or cold rocky shore, where the eye of the stranger can haunt us no more, i will fly with my coulin, and think the rough wind less rude than the foes we leave frowning behind. and i'll gaze on thy gold hair as graceful it wreathes; and hang o'er thy soft harp, as wildly it breathes; nor dread that the cold-hearted saxon will tear one chord from that harp, or one lock from that hair.[ ] [ ] "in the twenty-eighth year of the reign of henry viii, an act was made respecting the habits, and dress in general, of the irish, whereby all persons were restrained from being shorn or shaven above the ears, or from wearing glibbes, or _coulins_ (long locks), on their heads, or hair on their upper lip, called _crommeal_. on this occasion a song was written by one of our bards, in which an irish virgin is made to give the preference to her dear _coulin_ (or the youth with the flowing locks) to all strangers (by which the english were meant), or those who wore their habits. of this song, the air alone has reached us, and is universally admired."--"_walker's "historical memoirs of irish bards_," p. . mr. walker informs us also, that, about the same period, there were some harsh measures taken against the irish minstrels. rich and rare were the gems she wore.[ ] rich and rare were the gems she wore, and a bright gold ring on her wand she bore; but oh! her beauty was far beyond her sparkling gems, or snow-white wand. "lady! dost thou not fear, to stray, "so lone and lovely through this bleak way? "are erin's sons so good or so cold, "as not to be tempted by woman or gold?" "sir knight! i feel not the least alarm, "no son of erin will offer me harm:-- "for though they love woman and golden store, "sir knight! they love honor and virtue more!" on she went and her maiden smile in safety lighted her round the green isle; and blest for ever is she who relied upon erin's honor, and erin's pride. [ ] this ballad is founded upon the following anecdote:--"the people were inspired with such a spirit of honor, virtue, and religion, by the great example of brien, and by his excellent administration, that, as a proof of it, we are informed that a young lady of great beauty, adorned with jewels and a costly dress, undertook a journey alone, from one end of the kingdom to the other, with a wand only in her hand, at the top of which was a ring of exceeding great value; and such an impression had the laws and government of this monarch made on the minds of all the people, that no attempt was made upon her honor, nor was she robbed of her clothes or jewels."--_warner's "history of ireland_," vol i, book x. as a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow. as a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow while the tide runs in darkness and coldness below, so the cheek may be tinged with a warm sunny smile, though the cold heart to ruin runs darkly the while. one fatal remembrance, one sorrow that throws its bleak shade alike o'er our joys and our woes. to which life nothing darker or brighter can bring for which joy has no balm and affliction no sting-- oh! this thought in the midst of enjoyment will stay, like a dead, leafless branch in the summer's bright ray; the beams of the warm sun play round it in vain, it may smile in his light, but it blooms not again. the meeting of the waters.[ ] there is not in the wide world a valley so sweet as that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet;[ ] oh! the last rays of feeling and life must depart, ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart. yet it _was_ not that nature had shed o'er the scene her purest of crystal and brightest of green; 'twas _not_ her soft magic of streamlet or hill, oh! no,--it was something more exquisite still. 'twas that friends, the beloved of my bosom, were near, who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear, and who felt how the best charms of nature improve, when we see them reflected from looks that we love. sweet vale of avoca! how calm could i rest in thy bosom of shade, with the friends i love best. where the storms that we feel in this cold world should cease, and our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace. [ ] "the meeting of the waters" forms a part of that beautiful scenery which lies between rathdrum and arklow, in the county of wicklow, and these lines were suggested by a visit to this romantic spot, in the summer of the year . [ ] the rivers avon and avoca. how dear to me the hour. how dear to me the hour when daylight dies, and sunbeams melt along the silent sea, for then sweet dreams of other days arise, and memory breathes her vesper sigh to thee. and, as i watch the line of light, that plays along the smooth wave toward the burning west, i long to tread that golden path of rays, and think 'twould lead to some bright isle of rest. take back the virgin page. written on returning a blank book. take back the virgin page, white and unwritten still; some hand, more calm and sage, the leaf must fill. thoughts come, as pure as light pure as even _you_ require: but, oh! each word i write love turns to fire. yet let me keep the book: oft shall my heart renew, when on its leaves i look, dear thoughts of you. like you, 'tis fair and bright; like you, too bright and fair to let wild passion write one wrong wish there. haply, when from those eyes far, far away i roam. should calmer thoughts arise towards you and home; fancy may trace some line, worthy those eyes to meet, thoughts that not burn, but shine, pure, calm, and sweet. and as, o'er ocean, far, seamen their records keep, led by some hidden star thro' the cold deep; so may the words i write tell thro' what storms i stray-- _you_ still the unseen light, guiding my way. the legacy. when in death i shall calmly recline, o bear my heart to my mistress dear; tell her it lived upon smiles and wine of the brightest hue, while it lingered here. bid her not shed one tear of sorrow to sully a heart so brilliant and light; but balmy drops of the red grape borrow, to bathe the relic from morn till night. when the light of my song is o'er, then take my harp to your ancient hall; hang it up at that friendly door, where weary travellers love to call.[ ] then if some bard, who roams forsaken, revive its soft note in passing along, oh! let one thought of its master waken your warmest smile for the child of song. keep this cup, which is now o'er-flowing, to grace your revel, when i'm at rest; never, oh! never its balm bestowing on lips that beauty has seldom blest. but when some warm devoted lover to her he adores shall bathe its brim, then, then my spirit around shall hover, and hallow each drop that foams for him. [ ] "in every house was one or two harps, free to all travellers, who were the more caressed, the more they excelled in music."--_o'halloran_. how oft has the banshee cried. how oft has the banshee cried, how oft has death untied bright links that glory wove, sweet bonds entwined by love! peace to each manly soul that sleepeth; rest to each faithful eye that weepeth; long may the fair and brave sigh o'er the hero's grave. we're fallen upon gloomy days![ ] star after star decays, every bright name, that shed light o'er the land, is fled. dark falls the tear of him who mourneth lost joy, or hope that ne'er returneth; but brightly flows the tear, wept o'er a hero's bier. quenched are our beacon lights-- thou, of the hundred fights![ ] thou, on whose burning tongue truth, peace, and freedom hung! both mute,--but long as valor shineth, or mercy's soul at war repineth, so long shall erin's pride tell how they lived and died. [ ] i have endeavored here, without losing that irish character, which it is my object to preserve throughout this work, to allude to the sad and ominous fatality, by which england has been deprived of so many great and good men, at a moment when she most requires all the aids of talent and integrity. [ ] this designation, which has been before applied to lord nelson, is the title given to a celebrated irish hero, in a poem by o'guive, the bard of o'niel, which is quoted in the "philosophical survey of the south of ireland," page . "con, of the hundred fights, sleep in thy grass-grown tomb, and upbraid not our defeats with thy victories." we may roam through this world. we may roam thro' this world, like a child at a feast, who but sips of a sweet, and then flies to the rest; and, when pleasure begins to grow dull in the east, we may order our wings and be off to the west; but if hearts that feel, and eyes that smile, are the dearest gifts that heaven supplies, we never need leave our own green isle, for sensitive hearts, and for sun-bright eyes. then remember, wherever your goblet is crowned, thro' this world, whether eastward or westward you roam, when a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round, oh! remember the smile which adorns her at home. in england, the garden of beauty is kept by a dragon of prudery placed within call; but so oft this unamiable dragon has slept, that the garden's but carelessly watched after all. oh! they want the wild sweet-briery fence, which round the flowers of erin dwells; which warns the touch, while winning the sense, nor charms us least when it most repels. then remember, wherever your goblet is crowned, thro' this world, whether eastward or westward you roam, when a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round, oh! remember the smile that adorns her at home. in france, when the heart of a woman sets sail, on the ocean of wedlock its fortune to try, love seldom goes far in a vessel so frail, but just pilots her off, and then bids her good-by. while the daughters of erin keep the boy, ever smiling beside his faithful oar, thro' billows of woe, and beams of joy, the same as he looked when he left the shore. then remember, wherever your goblet is crowned, thro' this world, whether eastward or westward you roam, when a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round, oh! remember the smile that adorns her at home. eveleen's bower. oh! weep for the hour, when to eveleen's bower the lord of the valley with false vows came; the moon hid her light from the heavens that night. and wept behind her clouds o'er the maiden's shame. the clouds past soon from the chaste cold moon, and heaven smiled again with her vestal flame: but none will see the day, when the clouds shall pass away, which that dark hour left upon eveleen's fame. the white snow lay on the narrow path-way, when the lord of the valley crost over the moor; and many a deep print on the white snow's tint showed the track of his footstep to eveleen's door. the next sun's ray soon melted away every trace on the path where the false lord came; but there's a light above, which alone can remove that stain upon the snow of fair eveleen's fame. let erin remember the days of old. let erin remember the days of old. ere her faithless sons betrayed her; when malachi wore the collar of gold,[ ] which he won from her proud invader. when her kings, with standard of green unfurled, led the red-branch knights to danger;[ ] ere the emerald gem of the western world was set in the crown of a stranger. on lough neagh's bank as the fisherman strays, when the clear cold eve's declining, he sees the round towers of other days in the wave beneath him shining: thus shall memory often, in dreams sublime, catch a glimpse of the days that are over; thus, sighing, look thro' the waves of time for the long-faded glories they cover.[ ] [ ] "this brought on an encounter between malachi (the monarch of ireland in the tenth century) and the danes, in which malachi defeated two of their champions, whom he encountered successively, hand to hand, taking a collar of gold from the neck of one, and carrying off the sword of the other, as trophies of his victory."--_warner's "history of ireland,"_ vol. i. book ix. [ ] "military orders of knights were very early established in ireland; long before the birth of christ we find an hereditary order of chivalry in ulster, called _curaidhe na craiobhe ruadh_, or the knights of the red branch, from their chief seat in emania, adjoining to the palace of the ulster kings, called _teagh na craiobhe ruadh_, or the academy of the red branch; and contiguous to which was a large hospital, founded for the sick knights and soldiers, called _bronbhearg_, or the house of the sorrowful soldier."--_o'halloran's introduction_, etc., part , chap. . [ ] it was an old tradition, in the time of giraldus, that lough neagh had been originally a fountain, by whose sudden overflowing the country was inundated, and a whole region, like the atlantis of plato, overwhelmed. he says that the fishermen, in clear weather, used to point out to strangers the tall ecclesiastical towers under the water. the song of fionnuala.[ ] silent, oh moyle, be the roar of thy water, break not, ye breezes, your chain of repose, while, murmuring mournfully, lir's lonely daughter tells to the night-star her tale of woes. when shall the swan, her death-note singing, sleep, with wings in darkness furled? when will heaven, its sweet bell ringing, call my spirit from this stormy world? sadly, oh moyle, to thy winter wave weeping, fate bids me languish long ages away; yet still in her darkness doth erin lie sleeping, still doth the pure light its dawning delay. when will that day-star, mildly springing, warm our isle with peace and love? when will heaven, its sweet bell ringing, call my spirit to the fields above? [ ] to make this story intelligible in a song would require a much greater number of verses than any one is authorized to inflict upon an audience at once; the reader must therefore be content to learn, in a note, that fionnuala, the daughter of lir, was, by some supernatural power, transformed into a swan, and condemned to wander, for many hundred years, over certain lakes and rivers in ireland, till the coming of christianity, when the first sound of the mass-bell was to be the signal of her release,--i found this fanciful fiction among some manuscript translations from the irish, which were begun under the direction of that enlightened friend of ireland, the late countess of moira. come, send round the wine. come, send round the wine, and leave points of belief to simpleton sages, and reasoning fools; this moment's a flower too fair and brief, to be withered and stained by the dust of the schools. your glass may be purple, and mine may be blue, but, while they are filled from the same bright bowl, the fool, who would quarrel for difference of hue, deserves not the comfort they shed o'er the soul. shall i ask the brave soldier, who fights by my side in the cause of mankind, if our creeds agree? shall i give up the friend i have valued and tried, if he kneel not before the same altar with me? from the heretic girl of my soul should i fly, to seek somewhere else a more orthodox kiss? no, perish the hearts, and the laws that try truth, valor, or love, by a standard like this! sublime was the warning. sublime was the warning that liberty spoke, and grand was the moment when spaniards awoke into life and revenge from the conqueror's chain. oh, liberty! let not this spirit have rest, till it move, like a breeze, o'er the waves of the west-- give the light of your look to each sorrowing spot, nor, oh, be the shamrock of erin forgot while you add to your garland the olive of spain! if the fame of our fathers, bequeathed with their rights, give to country its charm, and to home its delights, if deceit be a wound, and suspicion a stain, then, ye men of iberia; our cause is the same! and oh! may his tomb want a tear and a name, who would ask for a nobler, a holier death, than to turn his last sigh into victory's breath, for the shamrock of erin and olive of spain! ye blakes and o'donnels, whose fathers resigned the green hills of their youth, among strangers to find that repose which, at home, they had sighed for in vain, join, join in our hope that the flame, which you light, may be felt yet in erin, as calm, and as bright, and forgive even albion while blushing she draws, like a truant, her sword, in the long-slighted cause of the shamrock of erin and olive of spain! god prosper the cause!--oh, it cannot but thrive, while the pulse of one patriot heart is alive. its devotion to feel, and its rights to maintain; then, how sainted by sorrow, its martyrs will die! the finger of glory shall point where they lie; while, far from the footstep of coward or slave. the young spirit of freedom shall shelter their grave beneath shamrocks of erin and olives of spain! believe me if all those endearing young charms. believe me, if all those endearing young charms, which i gaze on so fondly today, were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms, like fairy-gifts fading away, thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art. let thy loveliness fade as it will. and around the dear ruin each wish of my heart would entwine itself verdantly still. it is not while beauty and youth are thine own, and thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear, that the fervor and faith of a soul can be known, to which time will but make thee more dear; no, the heart that has truly loved never forgets, but as truly loves on to the close, as the sun-flower turns on her god, when he sets, the same look which she turned when he rose. erin, oh erin. like the bright lamp, that shone in kildare's holy fane,[ ] and burn'd thro' long ages of darkness and storm, is the heart that sorrows have frowned on in vain, whose spirit outlives them, unfading and warm. erin, oh erin, thus bright thro' the tears of a long night of bondage, thy spirit appears. the nations have fallen, and thou still art young, thy sun is but rising, when others are set; and tho' slavery's cloud o'er thy morning hath hung, the full noon of freedom shall beam round thee yet. erin, oh erin, tho' long in the shade, thy star will shine out when the proudest shall fade. unchilled by the rain, and unwaked by the wind, the lily lies sleeping thro' winter's cold hour, till spring's light touch her fetters unbind, and daylight and liberty bless the young flower. thus erin, oh erin, _thy_ winter is past, and the hope that lived thro' it shall blossom at last. [ ] the inextinguishable fire of st. bridget, at kildare, which giraldus mentions. drink to her. drink to her, who long, hath waked the poet's sigh. the girl, who gave to song what gold could never buy. oh! woman's heart was made for minstrel hands alone; by other fingers played, it yields not half the tone. then here's to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. at beauty's door of glass, when wealth and wit once stood, they asked her '_which_ might pass?" she answered, "he, who could." with golden key wealth thought to pass--but 'twould not do: while wit a diamond brought, which cut his bright way through. so here's to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl, who gave to song what gold could never buy. the love that seeks a home where wealth or grandeur shines, is like the gloomy gnome, that dwells in dark gold mines. but oh! the poet's love can boast a brighter sphere; its native home's above, tho' woman keeps it here. then drink to her, who long hath waked the poet's sigh, the girl, who gave to song what gold could never buy. oh! blame not the bard.[ ] oh! blame not the bard, if he fly to the bowers, where pleasure lies, carelessly smiling at fame; he was born for much more, and in happier hours his soul might have burned with a holier flame. the string, that now languishes loose o'er the lyre, might have bent a proud bow to the warrior's dart;[ ] and the lip, which now breathes but the song of desire, might have poured the full tide of a patriot's heart. but alas for his country!--her pride is gone by, and that spirit is broken, which never would bend; o'er the ruin her children in secret must sigh, for 'tis treason to love her, and death to defend. unprized are her sons, till they've learned to betray; undistinguished they live, if they shame not their sires; and the torch, that would light them thro' dignity's way, must be caught from the pile, where their country expires. then blame not the bard, if in pleasure's soft dream, he should try to forget, what he never can heal: oh! give but a hope--let a vista but gleam thro' the gloom of his country, and mark how he'll feel! that instant, his heart at her shrine would lay down every passion it nurst, every bliss it adored; while the myrtle, now idly entwined with his crown, like the wreath of harmodius, should cover his sword. but tho' glory be gone, and tho' hope fade away, thy name, loved erin, shall live in his songs; not even in the hour, when his heart is most gay, will he lose the remembrance of thee and thy wrongs. the stranger shall hear thy lament on his plains; the sigh of thy harp shall be sent o'er the deep, till thy masters themselves, as they rivet thy chains, shall pause at the song of their captive, and weep! [ ] we may suppose this apology to have been uttered by one of those wandering bards, whom spenser so severely, and perhaps, truly, describes in his state of ireland, and whose poems, he tells us, "were sprinkled with some pretty flowers of their natural device, which have good grace and comeliness unto them, the which it is great pity to see abused to the gracing of wickedness and vice, which, with good usage, would serve to adorn and beautify virtue." [ ] it is conjectured by wormius, that the name of ireland is derived from yr, the runic for a _bow_ in the use of which weapon the irish were once very expert. this derivation is certainly more creditable to us than the following: "so that ireland, called the land of _ire_, from the constant broils therein for years, was now become the land of concord." _lloyd's "state worthies_," art. _the lord grandison_. while gazing on the moon's light. while gazing on the moon's light, a moment from her smile i turned, to look at orbs, that, more bright, in lone and distant glory burned. but _too_ far each proud star, for me to feel its warming flame; much more dear that mild sphere. which near our planet smiling came; thus, mary, be but thou my own; while brighter eyes unheeded play, i'll love those moonlight looks alone, that bless my home and guide my way. the day had sunk in dim showers, but midnight now, with lustre meet. illumined all the pale flowers, like hope upon a mourner's cheek. i said (while the moon's smile played o'er a stream, in dimpling bliss,) "the moon looks "on many brooks, "the brook can see no moon but this;"[ ] and thus, i thought, our fortunes run, for many a lover looks to thee, while oh! i feel there is but _one_, _one_ mary in the world for me. [ ] this image was suggested by the following thought, which occurs somewhere in sir william jones's works: "the moon looks upon many night- flowers, the night flower sees but one moon." ill omens. when daylight was yet sleeping under the billow, and stars in the heavens still lingering shone. young kitty, all blushing, rose up from her pillow, the last time she e'er was to press it alone. for the youth! whom she treasured her heart and her soul in, had promised to link the last tie before noon; and when once the young heart of a maiden is stolen the maiden herself will steal after it soon. as she looked in the glass, which a woman ne'er misses. nor ever wants time for a sly glance or two, a butterfly,[ ] fresh from the night-flower's kisses. flew over the mirror, and shaded her view. enraged with the insect for hiding her graces, she brushed him--he fell, alas; never to rise: "ah! such," said the girl, "is the pride of our faces, "for which the soul's innocence too often dies." while she stole thro' the garden, where heart's-ease was growing, she culled some, and kist off its night-fallen dew; and a rose, further on, looked so tempting and glowing, that, spite of her haste, she must gather it too: but while o'er the roses too carelessly leaning, her zone flew in two, and the heart's-ease was lost: "ah! this means," said the girl (and she sighed at its meaning), "that love is scarce worth the repose it will cost!" [ ] an emblem of the soul. before the battle. by the hope within us springing, herald of to-morrow's strife; by that sun, whose light is bringing chains or freedom, death or life-- oh! remember life can be no charm for him, who lives not free! like the day-star in the wave, sinks a hero in his grave, midst the dew-fall of a nation's tears. happy is he o'er whose decline the smiles of home may soothing shine and light him down the steep of years:-- but oh, how blest they sink to rest, who close their eyes on victory's breast! o'er his watch-fire's fading embers now the foeman's cheek turns white, when his heart that field remembers, where we tamed his tyrant might. never let him bind again a chain; like that we broke from then. hark! the horn of combat calls-- ere the golden evening falls, may we pledge that horn in triumph round![ ] many a heart that now beats high, in slumber cold at night shall lie, nor waken even at victory's sound-- but oh, how blest that hero's sleep, o'er whom a wondering world shall weep! [ ] "the irish corna was not entirely devoted to martial purposes. in the heroic ages, our ancestors quaffed meadh out of them, as the danish hunters do their beverage at this day."--_walker_. after the battle. night closed around the conqueror's way, and lightnings showed the distant hill, where those who lost that dreadful day, stood few and faint, but fearless still. the soldier's hope, the patriot's zeal, for ever dimmed, for ever crost-- oh! who shall say what heroes feel, when all but life and honor's lost? the last sad hour of freedom's dream, and valor's task, moved slowly by, while mute they watcht, till morning's beam should rise and give them light to die. there's yet a world, where souls are free, where tyrants taint not nature's bliss;-- if death that world's bright opening be, oh! who would live a slave in this? 'tis sweet to think. 'tis sweet to think, that, where'er we rove, we are sure to find something blissful and dear. and that, when we're far from the lips we love, we've but to make love to the lips, we are near. the heart, like a tendril, accustomed to cling, let it grow where it will, can not flourish alone, but will lean to the nearest and loveliest thing it can twine with itself and make closely its own. then oh! what pleasure, where'er we rove, to be sure to find something still that is dear, and to know, when far from the lips we love, we've but to make love to the lips we are near. 'twere a shame, when flowers around us rise. to make light of the rest, if the rose isn't there; and the world's so rich in resplendent eyes, 'twere a pity to limit one's love to a pair. love's wing and the peacock's are nearly alike, they are both of them bright, but they're changeable too, and, wherever a new beam of beauty can strike, it will tincture love's plume with a different hue. then oh! what pleasure, where'er we rove, to be sure to find something still that is dear, and to know, when far from the lips we love, we've but to make love to the lips we are near. the irish peasant to his mistress.[ ] thro' grief and thro' danger thy smile hath cheered my way, till hope seemed to bud from each thorn that round me lay; the darker our fortune, the brighter our pure love burned, till shame into glory, till fear into zeal was turned; yes, slave as i was, in thy arms my spirit felt free, and blest even the sorrows that made me more dear to thee. thy rival was honored, while thou wert wronged and scorned, thy crown was of briers, while gold her brows adorned; she wooed me to temples, while thou lay'st hid in caves, her friends were all masters, while thine, alas! were slaves; yet cold in the earth, at thy feet, i would rather be, than wed what i loved not, or turn one thought from thee. they slander thee sorely, who say thy vows are frail-- hadst thou been a false one, thy cheek had looked less pale. they say, too, so long thou hast worn those lingering chains, that deep in thy heart they have printed their servile stains-- oh! foul is the slander,--no chain could that soul subdue-- where shineth _thy_ spirit, there liberty shineth too![ ] [ ] meaning, allegorically, the ancient church of ireland. [ ] "where the spirit of the lord is, there is liberty"--_st. paul's corinthians_ ii., l . on music. when thro' life unblest we rove, losing all that made life dear, should some notes we used to love, in days of boyhood, meet our ear, oh! how welcome breathes the strain! wakening thoughts that long have slept; kindling former smiles again in faded eyes that long have wept. like the gale, that sighs along beds of oriental flowers, is the grateful breath of song, that once was heard in happier hours; filled with balm, the gale sighs on, tho' the flowers have sunk in death; so, when pleasure's dream is gone, its memory lives in music's breath. music, oh how faint, how weak, language fades before thy spell! why should feeling ever speak, when thou canst breathe her soul so well? friendship's balmy words may feign, love's are even more false than they; oh! 'tis only music's strain can sweetly soothe, and not betray. it is not the tear at this moment shed.[ ] it is not the tear at this moment shed, when the cold turf has just been laid o'er him, that can tell how beloved was the friend that's fled, or how deep in our hearts we deplore him. 'tis the tear, thro' many a long day wept, 'tis life's whole path o'ershaded; 'tis the one remembrance, fondly kept, when all lighter griefs have faded. thus his memory, like some holy light, kept alive in our hearts, will improve them, for worth shall look fairer, and truth more bright, when we think how we lived but to love them. and, as fresher flowers the sod perfume where buried saints are lying, so our hearts shall borrow a sweetening bloom from the image he left there in dying! [ ] these lines were occasioned by the loss of a very near and dear relative, who had died lately at madeira. the origin of the harp. 'tis believed that this harp, which i wake now for thee, was a siren of old, who sung under the sea; and who often, at eve, thro' the bright waters roved, to meet, on the green shore, a youth whom she loved. but she loved him in vain, for he left her to weep, and in tears, all the night, her gold tresses to steep; till heaven looked with pity on true-love so warm, and changed to this soft harp the sea-maiden's form. still her bosom rose fair--still her cheeks smiled the same-- while her sea-beauties gracefully formed the light frame; and her hair, as, let loose, o'er her white arm it fell, was changed to bright chords uttering melody's spell. hence it came, that this soft harp so long hath been known to mingle love's language with sorrow's sad tone; till _thou_ didst divide them, and teach the fond lay to speak love when i'm near thee, and grief when away. love's young dream. oh! the days are gone, when beauty bright my heart's chain wove; when my dream of life, from morn till night, was love, still love. new hope may bloom, and days may come, of milder, calmer beam, but there's nothing half so sweet in life as love's young dream; no, there's nothing half so sweet in life as love's young dream. tho' the bard to purer fame may soar, when wild youth's past; tho' he win the wise, who frowned before, to smile at last; he'll never meet a joy so sweet, in all his noon of fame, as when first he sung to woman's ear his soul-felt flame, and, at every close, she blushed to hear the one lov'd name. no,--that hallowed form is ne'er forgot which first love traced; still it lingering haunts the greenest spot on memory's waste. 'twas odor fled as soon as shed; 'twas morning's winged dream; 'twas a light, that ne'er can shine again on life's dull stream: oh! 'twas light that ne'er can shine again on life's dull stream. the prince's day.[ ] tho' dark are our sorrows, to-day we'll forget them, and smile thro' our tears, like a sunbeam in showers: there never were hearts, if our rulers would let them, more formed to be grateful and blest than ours. but just when the chain has ceased to pain, and hope has enwreathed it round with flowers, there comes a new link our spirits to sink-- oh! the joy that we taste, like the light of the poles, is a flash amid darkness, too brilliant to stay; but, tho' 'twere the last little spark in our souls, we must light it up now, on our prince's day. contempt on the minion, who calls you disloyal! tho' fierce to your foe, to your friends you are true; and the tribute most high to a head that is royal, is love from a heart that loves liberty too. while cowards, who blight your fame, your right, would shrink from the blaze of the battle array, the standard of green in front would be seen,-- oh, my life on your faith! were you summoned this minute, you'd cast every bitter remembrance away, and show what the arm of old erin has in it, when roused by the foe, on her prince's day. he loves the green isle, and his love is recorded in hearts, which have suffered too much to forget; and hope shall be crowned, and attachment rewarded, and erin's gay jubilee shine out yet. the gem may be broke by many a stroke, but nothing can cloud its native ray: each fragment will cast a light, to the last,-- and thus, erin, my country tho' broken thou art, there's a lustre within thee that ne'er will decay; a spirit, which beams thro' each suffering part, and now smiles at all pain on the prince's day. [ ] this song was written for a _fête_ in honor of the prince of wales's birthday, given by my friend, major bryan, at his seat in the county of kilkenny. weep on, weep on. weep on, weep on, your hour is past; your dreams of pride are o'er; the fatal chain is round you cast, and you are men no more. in vain the hero's heart hath bled; the sage's tongue hath warned in vain;-- oh, freedom! once thy flame hath fled, it never lights again. weep on--perhaps in after days, they'll learn to love your name; when many a deed may wake in praise that long hath slept in blame. and when they tread the ruined isle, where rest, at length, the lord and slave, they'll wondering ask, how hands so vile could conquer hearts so brave? "'twas fate," they'll say, "a wayward fate "your web of discord wove; "and while your tyrants joined in hate, "you never joined in love. "but hearts fell off, that ought to twine, "and man profaned what god had given; "till some were heard to curse the shrine, "where others knelt to heaven!" lesbia hath a beaming eye. lesbia hath a beaming eye, but no one knows for whom it beameth; right and left its arrows fly, but what they aim at no one dreameth. sweeter 'tis to gaze upon my nora's lid that seldom rises; few its looks, but every one, like unexpected light, surprises! oh, my nora creina, dear, my gentle, bashful nora creina, beauty lies in many eyes, but love in yours, my nora creina. lesbia wears a robe of gold, but all so close the nymph hath laced it, not a charm of beauty's mould presumes to stay where nature placed it. oh! my nora's gown for me, that floats as wild as mountain breezes, leaving every beauty free to sink or swell as heaven pleases. yes, my nora creina, dear. my simple, graceful nora creina, nature's dress is loveliness-- the dress _you_ wear, my nora creina. lesbia hath a wit refined, but, when its points are gleaming round us, who can tell if they're designed to dazzle merely, or to wound us? pillowed on my nora's heart, in safer slumber love reposes-- bed of peace! whose roughest part is but the crumpling of the roses. oh! my nora creina dear, my mild, my artless nora creina, wit, though bright, hath no such light, as warms your eyes, my nora creina. i saw thy form in youthful prime. i saw thy form in youthful prime, nor thought that pale decay would steal before the steps of time, and waste its bloom away, mary! yet still thy features wore that light, which fleets not with the breath; and life ne'er looked more truly bright than in thy smile of death, mary! as streams that run o'er golden mines, yet humbly, calmly glide, nor seem to know the wealth that shines within their gentle tide, mary! so veiled beneath the simplest guise, thy radiant genius shone, and that, which charmed all other eyes, seemed worthless in thy own, mary! if souls could always dwell above, thou ne'er hadst left that sphere; or could we keep the souls we love, we ne'er had lost thee here, mary! though many a gifted mind we meet, though fairest forms we see, to live with them is far less sweet, than to remember thee, mary! by that lake, whose gloomy shore.[ ] by that lake, whose gloomy shore sky-lark never warbles o'er,[ ] where the cliff hangs high and steep, young st. kevin stole to sleep. "here, at least," he calmly said, "woman ne'er shall find my bed." ah! the good saint little knew what that wily sex can do." 'twas from kathleen's eyes he flew,-- eyes of most unholy blue! she had loved him well and long wished him hers, nor thought it wrong. wheresoe'er the saint would fly, still he heard her light foot nigh; east or west, where'er he turned, still her eyes before him burned. on the bold cliff's bosom cast, tranquil now, he sleeps at last; dreams of heaven, nor thinks that e'er woman's smile can haunt him there. but nor earth nor heaven is free, from her power, if fond she be: even now, while calm he sleeps, kathleen o'er him leans and weeps. fearless she had tracked his feet to this rocky, wild retreat; and when morning met his view, her mild glances met it, too. ah, your saints have cruel hearts! sternly from his bed he starts, and with rude, repulsive shock, hurls her from the beetling rock. glendalough, thy gloomy wave soon was gentle kathleen's grave! soon the saint (yet ah! too late,) felt her love, and mourned her fate. when he said, "heaven rest her soul!" round the lake light music stole; and her ghost was seen to glide, smiling o'er the fatal tide. [ ] this ballad is founded upon one of the many stories related of st. kevin, whose bed in the rock is to be seen at glendalough, a most gloomy and romantic spot in the county of wicklow. [ ] there are many other curious traditions concerning this lake, which may be found in giraldus, colgan, etc. she is far from the land. she is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, and lovers are round her, sighing: but coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, for her heart in his grave is lying. she sings the wild song of her dear native plains, every note which he loved awaking;-- ah! little they think who delight in her strains, how the heart of the minstrel is breaking. he had lived for his love, for his country he died, they were all that to life had entwined him; nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, nor long will his love stay behind him. oh! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest, when they promise a glorious morrow; they'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the west, from her own loved island of sorrow. nay, tell me not, dear. nay, tell me not, dear, that the goblet drowns one charm of feeling, one fond regret; believe me, a few of thy angry frowns are all i've sunk in its bright wave yet. ne'er hath a beam been lost in the stream that ever was shed from thy form or soul; the spell of those eyes, the balm of thy sighs, still float on the surface, and hallow my bowl, then fancy not, dearest, that wine can steal one blissful dream of the heart from me; like founts that awaken the pilgrim's zeal, the bowl but brightens my love for thee. they tell us that love in his fairy bower, had two blush-roses of birth divine; he sprinkled the one with a rainbow shower, but bathed the other with mantling wine. soon did the buds, that drank of the floods distilled by the rainbow, decline and fade; while those which the tide of ruby had dyed all blushed into beauty, like thee, sweet maid! then fancy not, dearest, that wine can steal one blissful dream of the heart from me; like founts, that awaken the pilgrim's zeal, the bowl but brightens my love for thee. avenging and bright. avenging and bright fall the swift sword of erin[ ] on him who the brave sons of usna betrayed! for every fond eye he hath wakened a tear in, a drop from his heart-wounds shall weep o'er her blade. by the red cloud that hung over conor's dark dwelling,[ ] when ulad's[ ] three champions lay sleeping in gore-- by the billows of war, which so often, high swelling, have wafted these heroes to victory's shore-- we swear to revenge them!--no joy shall be tasted, the harp shall be silent, the maiden unwed, our halls shall be mute and our fields shall lie wasted, till vengeance is wreaked on the murderer's head. yes, monarch! tho' sweet are our home recollections, tho' sweet are the tears that from tenderness fall; tho' sweet are our friendships, our hopes, our affections, revenge on a tyrant is sweetest of all! [ ] the words of this song were suggested by the very ancient irish story called "deirdri, or the lamentable fate of the sons of usnach." the treachery of conor, king of ulster, in putting to death the three sons of usna, was the cause of a desolating war against ulster, which terminated in the destruction of eman. [ ] "oh nasi! view that cloud that i here see in the sky! i see over eman-green a chilling cloud of blood-tinged red."--_deirdri's song_. [ ] ulster. what the bee is to the floweret. he. what the bee is to the floweret, when he looks for honey-dew, thro' the leaves that close embower it, that, my love, i'll be to you. she. what the bank, with verdure glowing, is to waves that wander near, whispering kisses, while they're going, that i'll be to you, my dear. she. but they say, the bee's a rover, who will fly, when sweets are gone; and, when once the kiss is over, faithless brooks will wander on. he. nay, if flowers _will_ lose their looks, if sunny banks _will_ wear away, tis but right that bees and brooks should sip and kiss them while they may. love and the novice. "here we dwell, in holiest bowers, "where angels of light o'er our orisons bend; "where sighs of devotion and breathings of flowers "to heaven in mingled odor ascend. "do not disturb our calm, oh love! "so like is thy form to the cherubs above, "it well might deceive such hearts as ours." love stood near the novice and listened, and love is no novice in taking a hint; his laughing blue eyes soon with piety glistened; his rosy wing turned to heaven's own tint. "who would have thought," the urchin cries, "that love could so well, so gravely disguise "his wandering wings and wounding eyes?" love now warms thee, waking and sleeping, young novice, to him all thy orisons rise. _he_ tinges the heavenly fount with his weeping, _he_ brightens the censer's flame with his sighs. love is the saint enshrined in thy breast, and angels themselves would admit such a guest, if he came to them clothed in piety's vest. this life is all checkered with pleasures and woes this life is all checkered with pleasures and woes, that chase one another like waves of the deep,-- each brightly or darkly, as onward it flows, reflecting our eyes, as they sparkle or weep. so closely our whims on our miseries tread, that the laugh is awaked ere the tear can be dried; and, as fast as the rain-drop of pity is shed. the goose-plumage of folly can turn it aside. but pledge me the cup--if existence would cloy, with hearts ever happy, and heads ever wise, be ours the light sorrow, half-sister to joy, and the light, brilliant folly that flashes and dies. when hylas was sent with his urn to the fount, thro' fields full of light, and with heart full of play, light rambled the boy, over meadow and mount, and neglected his task for the flowers on the way. thus many, like me, who in youth should have tasted the fountain that runs by philosophy's shrine, their time with the flowers on the margin have wasted, and left their light urns all as empty as mine. but pledge me the goblet;--while idleness weaves these flowerets together, should wisdom but see one bright drop or two that has fallen on the leaves from her fountain divine, 'tis sufficient for me. oh the shamrock. thro' erin's isle, to sport awhile, as love and valor wandered, with wit, the sprite, whose quiver bright a thousand arrows squandered. where'er they pass, a triple grass[ ] shoots up, with dew-drops streaming. as softly green as emeralds seen thro' purest crystal gleaming. oh the shamrock, the green, immortal shamrock! chosen leaf. of bard and chief, old erin's native shamrock! says valor, "see, "they spring for me, "those leafy gems of morning!"-- says love, "no, no, "for _me_ they grow, "my fragrant path adorning." but wit perceives the triple leaves, and cries, "oh! do not sever "a type, that blends "three godlike friends, "love, valor, wit, for ever!" oh the shamrock, the green, immortal shamrock! chosen leaf of bard and chief, old erin's native shamrock! so firmly fond may last the bond, they wove that morn together, and ne'er may fall one drop of gall on wit's celestial feather. may love, as twine his flowers divine. of thorny falsehood weed 'em; may valor ne'er his standard rear against the cause of freedom! oh the shamrock, the green, immortal shamrock! chosen leaf of bard and chief, old erin's native shamrock! [ ] it is said that st. patrick, when preaching the trinity to the pagan irish, used to illustrate his subject by reference to that species of trefoil called in ireland by the name of the shamrock; and hence, perhaps, the island of saints adopted this plant as her national emblem. hope, among the ancients, was sometimes represented as a beautiful child, standing upon tiptoes, and a trefoil or three-colored grass in her hand. at the mid hour of night at the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, i fly to the lone vale we loved, when life shone warm in thine eye; and i think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions of air, to revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to me there, and tell me our love is remembered, even in the sky. then i sing the wild song 'twas once such pleasure to hear when our voices commingling breathed, like one, on the ear; and, as echo far off thro' the vale my sad orison rolls, i think, oh my love! 'tis thy voice from the kingdom of souls,[ ] faintly answering still the notes that once were so dear. [ ] "there are countries." says montaigne, "where they believe the souls of the happy live in all manner of liberty, in delightful fields; and there it is those souls, repeating the words we utter, which we call echo." one bumper at parting. one bumper at parting!--tho' many have circled the board since we met, the fullest, the saddest of any remains to be crowned by us yet. the sweetness that pleasure hath in it, is always so slow to come forth, that seldom, alas, till the minute it dies, do we know half its worth. but come,--may our life's happy measure be all of such moments made up; they're born on the bosom of pleasure, they die midst the tears of the cup. 'tis onward we journey, how pleasant to pause and inhabit awhile those few sunny spots, like the present, that mid the dull wilderness smile! but time, like a pitiless master, cries "onward!" and spurs the gay hours-- ah, never doth time travel faster, than when his way lies among flowers. but come--may our life's happy measure be all of such moments made up; they're born on the bosom of pleasure, they die midst the tears of the cup. we saw how the sun looked in sinking, the waters beneath him how bright; and now, let our farewell of drinking resemble that farewell of light. you saw how he finished, by darting his beam o'er a deep billow's brim-- so, fill up, let's shine at our parting, in full liquid glory, like him. and oh! may our life's happy measure of moments like this be made up, 'twas born on the bosom of pleasure, it dies mid the tears of the cup. 'tis the last rose of summer. 'tis the last rose of summer left blooming alone; all her lovely companions are faded and gone; no flower of her kindred, no rose-bud is nigh, to reflect back her blushes, or give sigh for sigh. i'll not leave thee, thou lone one! to pine on the stem; since the lovely are sleeping. go, sleep thou with them. thus kindly i scatter thy leaves o'er the bed, where thy mates of the garden lie scentless and dead. so soon may _i_ follow, when friendships decay, and from love's shining circle the gems drop away. when true hearts lie withered, and fond ones are flown, oh! who would inhabit this bleak world alone? the young may moon. the young may moon is beaming, love, the glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love, how sweet to rove through morna's grove, when the drowsy world is dreaming, love! then awake!--the heavens look bright, my dear, 'tis never too late for delight, my dear, and the best of all ways to lengthen our days, is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear! now all the world is sleeping, love, but the sage, his star-watch keeping, love, and i, whose star, more glorious far, is the eye from that casement peeping, love. then awake!--till rise of sun, my dear, the sage's glass we'll shun, my dear, or, in watching the flight of bodies of light, he might happen to take thee for one, my dear. the minstrel-boy. the minstrel-boy to the war is gone, in the ranks of death you'll find him; his father's sword he has girded on. and his wild harp slung behind him. "land of song!" said the warrior-bard, "tho' all the world betrays thee, "_one_ sword, at least, thy rights shall guard, "_one_ faithful harp shall praise thee!" the minstrel fell!--but the foeman's chain could not bring his proud soul under; the harp he loved ne'er spoke again, for he tore its chords asunder; and said, "no chains shall sully thee, "thou soul of love and bravery! "thy songs were made for the pure and free, "they shall never sound in slavery." the song of o'ruark, prince of breffni.[ ] the valley lay smiling before me, where lately i left her behind; yet i trembled, and something hung o'er me, that saddened the joy of my mind. i looked for the lamp which, she told me, should shine, when her pilgrim returned; but, tho' darkness began to infold me, no lamp from the battlements burned! i flew to her chamber--'twas lonely, as if the loved tenant lay dead;-- ah, would it were death, and death only! but no, the young false one had fled. and there hung the lute that could soften my very worst pains into bliss; while the hand, that had waked it so often, now throbbed to a proud rival's kiss. there _was_ a time, falsest of women, when breffni's good sword would have sought that man, thro' a million of foe-men, who dared but to wrong thee _in thought_! while now--oh degenerate daughter of erin, how fallen is thy fame! and thro' ages of bondage and slaughter, our country shall bleed for thy shame. already, the curse is upon her, and strangers her valleys profane; they come to divide, to dishonor, and tyrants they long will remain. but onward!--the green banner rearing, go, flesh every sword to the hilt; on _our_ side is virtue and erin, on _theirs_ is the saxon and guilt. [ ] these stanzas are founded upon an event of most melancholy importance to ireland; if, as we are told by our irish historians, it gave england the first opportunity of profiting by our divisions and subduing us. the following are the circumstances, as related by o'halloran:--"the king of leinster had long conceived a violent affection for dearbhorgil, daughter to the king of meath, and though she had been for some time married to o'ruark, prince of breffni, yet it could not restrain his passion. they carried on a private correspondence, and she informed him that o'ruark, intended soon to go on a pilgrimage (an act of piety frequent in those days), and conjured him to embrace that opportunity of conveying her from a husband she detested to a lover she adored. macmurchad too punctually obeyed the summons, and had the lady conveyed to his capital of ferns."-- the monarch roderick espoused the cause of o'ruark, while macmurchad fled to england, and obtained the assistance of henry ii. "such," adds giraldus cambrensis (as i find him in an old translation) "is the variable and fickle nature of woman, by whom all mischief in the world (for the most part) do happen and come, as may appear by marcus antonius, and by the destruction of troy." oh! had we some bright little isle of our own. oh! had we some bright little isle of our own, in a blue summer ocean, far off and alone, where a leaf never dies in the still blooming bowers, and the bee banquets on thro' a whole year of flowers; where the sun loves to pause with so fond a delay, that the night only draws a thin veil o'er the day; where simply to feel that we breathe, that we live, is worth the best joy that life elsewhere can give. there, with souls ever ardent and pure as the clime, we should love, as they loved in the first golden time; the glow of the sunshine, the balm of the air, would steal to our hearts, and make all summer there. with affection as free from decline as the bowers, and, with hope, like the bee, living always on flowers, our life should resemble a long day of light, and our death come on, holy and calm as the night. farewell!--but whenever you welcome the hour. farewell!--but whenever you welcome the hour. that awakens the night-song of mirth in your bower, then think of the friend who once welcomed it too, and forgot his own griefs to be happy with you. his griefs may return, not a hope may remain of the few that have brightened his pathway of pain. but he ne'er will forget the short vision, that threw its enchantment around him, while lingering with you. and still on that evening, when pleasure fills up to the highest top sparkle each heart and each cup, where'er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright, my soul, happy friends, shall be with you that night; shall join in your revels, your sports, and your wiles, and return to me, beaming all o'er with your smiles-- too blest, if it tells me that, mid the gay cheer some kind voice had murmured, "i wish he were here!" let fate do her worst, there are relics of joy, bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy; which come in the night-time of sorrow and care, and bring back the features that joy used to wear. long, long be my heart with such memories filled! like the vase, in which roses have once been distilled-- you may break, you may shatter the vase, if you will, but the scent of the roses will hang round it still. oh! doubt me not. oh! doubt me not--the season is o'er, when folly made me rove, and now the vestal, reason, shall watch the fire awaked by love. altho' this heart was early blown, and fairest hands disturbed the tree, they only shook some blossoms down, its fruit has all been kept for thee. then doubt me not--the season is o'er, when folly made me rove, and now the vestal, reason, shall watch the fire awaked by love. and tho' my lute no longer may sing of passion's ardent spell, yet, trust me, all the stronger i feel the bliss i do not tell. the bee thro' many a garden roves, and hums his lay of courtship o'er, but when he finds the flower he loves, he settles there, and hums no more. then doubt me not--the season is o'er, when folly kept me free, and now the vestal, reason, shall guard the flame awaked by thee. you remember ellen. you remember ellen, our hamlet's pride, how meekly she blest her humble lot, when the stranger, william, had made her his bride, and love was the light of their lowly cot. together they toiled through winds and rains, till william, at length, in sadness said, "we must seek our fortune on other plains;"-- then, sighing, she left her lowly shed. they roamed a long and a weary way, nor much was the maiden's heart at ease, when now, at close of one stormy day, they see a proud castle among the trees. "to-night," said the youth, "we'll shelter there; "the wind blows cold, the hour is late:" so he blew the horn with a chieftain's air, and the porter bowed, as they past the gate. "now, welcome, lady," exclaimed the youth,-- "this castle is thine, and these dark woods all!" she believed him crazed, but his words were truth, for ellen is lady of rosna hall! and dearly the lord of rosna loves what william the stranger wooed and wed; and the light of bliss, in these lordly groves, shines pure as it did in the lowly shed. i'd mourn the hopes. i'd mourn the hopes that leave me, if thy smiles had left me too; i'd weep when friends deceive me, if thou wert, like them, untrue. but while i've thee before me, with heart so warm and eyes so bright, no clouds can linger o'er me, that smile turns them all to light. 'tis not in fate to harm me, while fate leaves thy love to me; 'tis not in joy to charm me, unless joy be shared with thee. one minute's dream about thee were worth a long, an endless year of waking bliss without thee, my own love, my only dear! and tho' the hope be gone, love, that long sparkled o'er our way, oh! we shall journey on, love, more safely, without its ray. far better lights shall win me along the path i've yet to roam:-- the mind that burns within me, and pure smiles from thee at home. thus, when the lamp that lighted the traveller at first goes out, he feels awhile benighted. and looks round in fear and doubt. but soon, the prospect clearing, by cloudless starlight on he treads, and thinks no lamp so cheering as that light which heaven sheds. come o'er the sea. come o'er the sea, maiden, with me, mine thro' sunshine, storm, and snows; seasons may roll, but the true soul burns the same, where'er it goes. let fate frown on, so we love and part not; 'tis life where _thou_ art, 'tis death where thou art not. then come o'er the sea, maiden, with me, come wherever the wild wind blows; seasons may roll, but the true soul burns the same, where'er it goes. was not the sea made for the free, land for courts and chains alone? here we are slaves, but, on the waves, love and liberty's all our own. no eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us, all earth forgot, and all heaven around us-- then come o'er the sea, maiden, with me, mine thro' sunshine, storm, and snows; seasons may roll, but the true soul burns the same, where'er it goes. has sorrow thy young days shaded. has sorrow thy young days shaded, as clouds o'er the morning fleet? too fast have those young days faded, that, even in sorrow, were sweet? does time with his cold wing wither each feeling that once was dear?-- then, child of misfortune, come hither, i'll weep with thee, tear for tear. has love to that soul, so tender, been like our lagenian mine,[ ] where sparkles of golden splendor all over the surface shine-- but, if in pursuit we go deeper, allured by the gleam that shone, ah! false as the dream of the sleeper, like love, the bright ore is gone. has hope, like the bird in the story,[ ] that flitted from tree to tree with the talisman's glittering glory-- has hope been that bird to thee? on branch after branch alighting, the gem did she still display, and, when nearest and most inviting. then waft the fair gem away? if thus the young hours have fleeted, when sorrow itself looked bright; if thus the fair hope hath cheated, that led thee along so light; if thus the cold world now wither each feeling that once was dear:-- come, child of misfortune, come hither, i'll weep with thee, tear for tear. [ ] our wicklow gold mines, to which this verse alludes, deserve, i fear, but too well the character here given of them. [ ] "the bird, having got its prize, settled not far off, with the talisman in his mouth. the prince drew near it, hoping it would drop it: but as he approached, the bird took wing, and settled again," etc.--"_arabian nights_." no, not more welcome. no, not more welcome the fairy numbers of music fall on the sleeper's ear, when half-awaking from fearful slumbers, he thinks the full choir of heaven is near,-- than came that voice, when, all forsaken. this heart long had sleeping lain, nor thought its cold pulse would ever waken to such benign, blessed sounds again. sweet voice of comfort! 'twas like the stealing of summer wind thro' some wreathed shell-- each secret winding, each inmost feeling of my soul echoed to its spell. 'twas whispered balm--'twas sunshine spoken!-- i'd live years of grief and pain to have my long sleep of sorrow broken by such benign, blessed sounds again. when first i met thee. when first i met thee, warm and young, there shone such truth about thee. and on thy lip such promise hung, i did not dare to doubt thee. i saw the change, yet still relied, still clung with hope the fonder, and thought, tho' false to all beside, from me thou couldst not wander. but go, deceiver! go, the heart, whose hopes could make it trust one so false, so low, deserves that thou shouldst break it. when every tongue thy follies named, i fled the unwelcome story; or found, in even the faults they blamed, some gleams of future glory. _i_ still was true, when nearer friends conspired to wrong, to slight thee; the heart that now thy falsehood rends, would then have bled to right thee, but go, deceiver! go,-- some day, perhaps, thou'lt waken from pleasure's dream, to know the grief of hearts forsaken. even now, tho' youth its bloom has shed, no lights of age adorn thee: the few, who loved thee once, have fled, and they who flatter scorn thee. thy midnight cup is pledged to slaves, no genial ties enwreath it; the smiling there, like light on graves, has rank cold hearts beneath it. go--go--tho' worlds were thine, i would not now surrender one taintless tear of mine for all thy guilty splendor! and days may come, thou false one! yet, when even those ties shall sever; when thou wilt call, with vain regret, on her thou'st lost for ever; on her who, in thy fortune's fall, with smiles had still received thee, and gladly died to prove thee all her fancy first believed thee. go--go--'tis vain to curse, 'tis weakness to upbraid thee; hate cannot wish thee worse than guilt and shame have made thee. while history's muse. while history's muse the memorial was keeping of all that the dark hand of destiny weaves, beside her the genius of erin stood weeping, for hers was the story that blotted the leaves. but oh! how the tear in her eyelids grew bright, when, after whole pages of sorrow and shame, she saw history write, with a pencil of light that illumed the whole volume, her wellington's name. "hail, star of my isle!" said the spirit, all sparkling with beams, such as break from her own dewy skies-- "thro' ages of sorrow, deserted and darkling, "i've watched for some glory like thine to arise. "for, tho' heroes i've numbered, unblest was their lot, "and unhallowed they sleep in the crossways of fame;-- "but oh! there is not "one dishonoring blot "on the wreath that encircles my wellington's name. "yet still the last crown of thy toils is remaining, "the grandest, the purest, even _thou_ hast yet known; "tho' proud was thy task, other nations unchaining, "far prouder to heal the deep wounds of thy own. "at the foot of that throne, for whose weal thou hast stood, "go, plead for the land that first cradled thy fame, "and, bright o'er the flood "of her tears and her blood, "let the rainbow of hope be her wellington's name!" the time i've lost in wooing. the time i've lost in wooing, in watching and pursuing the light, that lies in woman's eyes, has been my heart's undoing. tho' wisdom oft has sought me, i scorned the lore she brought me, my only books were woman's looks, and folly's all they've taught me. her smile when beauty granted, i hung with gaze enchanted, like him the sprite,[ ] whom maids by night oft meet in glen that's haunted. like him, too, beauty won me, but while her eyes were on me, if once their ray was turned away, o! winds could not outrun me. and are those follies going? and is my proud heart growing too cold or wise for brilliant eyes again to set it glowing? no, vain, alas! the endeavor from bonds so sweet to sever; poor wisdom's chance against a glance is now as weak as ever. [ ] this alludes to a kind of irish fairy, which is to be met with, they say, in the fields at dusk. as long as you keep your eyes upon him, he is fixed, and in your power;--but the moment you look away (and he is ingenious in furnishing some inducement) he vanishes. i had thought that this was the sprite which we call the leprechaun; but a high authority upon such subjects, lady morgan, (in a note upon her national and interesting novel, o'donnel), has given a very different account of that goblin. where is the slave. oh, where's the slave so lowly, condemned to chains unholy, who, could he burst his bonds at first, would pine beneath them slowly? what soul, whose wrongs degrade it, would wait till time decayed it, when thus its wing at once may spring to the throne of him who made it? farewell, erin.--farewell, all, who live to weep our fall! less dear the laurel growing, alive, untouched and blowing, than that, whose braid is plucked to shade the brows with victory glowing we tread the land that bore us, her green flag glitters o'er us, the friends we've tried are by our side, and the foe we hate before us. farewell, erin,--farewell, all, who live to weep our fall! come, rest in this bosom. come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer, tho' the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here; here still is the smile, that no cloud can o'ercast, and a heart and a hand all thy own to the last. oh! what was love made for, if 'tis not the same thro' joy and thro' torment, thro' glory and shame? i know not, i ask not, if guilt's in that heart, i but know that i love thee, whatever thou art. thou hast called me thy angel in moments of bliss, and thy angel i'll be, mid the horrors of this,-- thro' the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to pursue, and shield thee, and save thee,--or perish there too! 'tis gone, and for ever. 'tis gone, and for ever, the light we saw breaking, like heaven's first dawn o'er the sleep of the dead-- when man, from the slumber of ages awaking, looked upward, and blest the pure ray, ere it fled. 'tis gone, and the gleams it has left of its burning but deepen the long night of bondage and mourning, that dark o'er the kingdoms of earth is returning, and darkest of all, hapless erin, o'er thee. for high was thy hope, when those glories were darting around thee, thro' all the gross clouds of the world; when truth, from her fetters indignantly starting, at once, like a sun-burst, her banner unfurled.[ ] oh! never shall earth see a moment so splendid! then, then--had one hymn of deliverance blended the tongues of all nations--how sweet had ascended the first note of liberty, erin, from thee! but, shame on those tyrants, who envied the blessing! and shame on the light race, unworthy its good, who, at death's reeking altar, like furies, caressing the young hope of freedom, baptized it in blood. then vanished for ever that fair, sunny vision, which, spite of the slavish, the cold heart's derision, shall long be remembered, pure, bright, and elysian, as first it arose, my lost erin, on thee. [ ] "the sun-burst" was the fanciful name given by the ancient irish to the royal banner. i saw from the beach. i saw from the beach, when the morning was shining, a bark o'er the waters move gloriously on; i came when the sun o'er that beach was declining, the bark was still there, but the waters were gone. and such is the fate of our life's early promise, so passing the spring-tide of joy we have known; each wave, that we danced on at morning, ebbs from us, and leaves us, at eve, on the bleak shore alone. ne'er tell me of glories, serenely adorning the close of our day, the calm eve of our night;-- give me back, give me back the wild freshness of morning, her clouds and her tears are worth evening's best light. oh, who would not welcome that moment's returning, when passion first waked a new life thro' his frame, and his soul, like the wood, that grows precious in burning, gave out all its sweets to love's exquisite flame. fill the bumper fair. fill the bumper fair! every drop we sprinkle o'er the brow of care smooths away a wrinkle. wit's electric flame ne'er so swiftly passes, as when thro' the frame it shoots from brimming glasses. fill the bumper fair! every drop we sprinkle o'er the brow of care smooths away a wrinkle. sages can, they say, grasp the lightning's pinions, and bring down its ray from the starred dominions:-- so we, sages, sit, and, mid bumpers brightening, from the heaven of wit draw down all its lightning. wouldst thou know what first made our souls inherit this ennobling thirst for wine's celestial spirit? it chanced upon that day, when, as bards inform us, prometheus stole away the living fires that warm us: the careless youth, when up to glory's fount aspiring, took nor urn nor cup to hide the pilfered fire in.-- but oh his joy, when, round the halls of heaven spying, among the stars he found a bowl of bacchus lying! some drops were in the bowl, remains of last night's pleasure, with which the sparks of soul mixt their burning treasure. hence the goblet's shower hath such spells to win us; hence its mighty power o'er that flame within us. fill the bumper fair! every drop we sprinkle o'er the brow of care smooths away a wrinkle. dear harp of my country. dear harp of my country! in darkness i found thee, the cold chain of silence had hung o'er thee long,[ ] when proudly, my own island harp, i unbound thee, and gave all thy chords to light, freedom, and song! the warm lay of love and the light note of gladness have wakened thy fondest, thy liveliest thrill; but, so oft hast thou echoed the deep sigh of sadness, that even in thy mirth it will steal from thee still. dear harp of my country! farewell to thy numbers, this sweet wreath of song is the last we shall twine! go, sleep with the sunshine of fame on thy slumbers, till touched by some hand less unworthy than mine; if the pulse of the patriot, soldier, or lover, have throbbed at our lay, 'tis thy glory alone; i was _but_ as the wind, passing heedlessly over, and all the wild sweetness i waked was thy own. [ ] the chain of silence was a sort of practical figure of rhetoric among the ancient irish. walker tells us of "a celebrated contention for precedence between finn and gaul, near finn's palace at almhaim, where the attending bards anxious, if possible, to produce a cessation of hostilities, shook the chain of silence, and flung themselves among the ranks." my gentle harp. my gentle harp, once more i waken the sweetness of thy slumbering strain; in tears our last farewell was taken, and now in tears we meet again. no light of joy hath o'er thee broken, but, like those harps whose heavenly skill of slavery, dark as thine, hath spoken, thou hang'st upon the willows still. and yet, since last thy chord resounded, an hour of peace and triumph came, and many an ardent bosom bounded with hopes--that now art turned to shame. yet even then, while peace was singing her halcyon song o'er land and sea, tho' joy and hope to others bringing, she only brought new tears to thee. then, who can ask for notes of pleasure, my drooping harp, from chords like thine? alas, the lark's gay morning measure as ill would suit the swan's decline! or how shall i, who love, who bless thee, invoke thy breath for freedom's strains, when even the wreaths in which i dress thee, are sadly mixt--half flowers, half chains? but come--if yet thy frame can borrow one breath of joy, oh, breathe for me, and show the world, in chains and sorrow, how sweet thy music still can be; how gaily, even mid gloom surrounding, thou yet canst wake at pleasure's thrill-- like memnon's broken image sounding, mid desolation tuneful still! in the morning of life. in the morning of life, when its cares are unknown, and its pleasures in all their new lustre begin, when we live in a bright-beaming world of our own, and the light that surrounds us is all from within; oh 'tis not, believe me, in that happy time we can love, as in hours of less transport we may;-- of our smiles, of our hopes, 'tis the gay sunny prime, but affection is truest when these fade away. when we see the first glory of youth pass us by, like a leaf on the stream that will never return; when our cup, which had sparkled with pleasure so high, first tastes of the _other_, the dark-flowing urn; then, then is the time when affection holds sway with a depth and a tenderness joy never knew; love, nursed among pleasures, is faithless as they, but the love born of sorrow, like sorrow, is true. in climes full of sunshine, tho' splendid the flowers, their sighs have no freshness, their odor no worth; 'tis the cloud and the mist of our own isle of showers, that call the rich spirit of fragrancy forth. so it is not mid splendor, prosperity, mirth, that the depth of love's generous spirit appears; to the sunshine of smiles it may first owe its birth, but the soul of its sweetness is drawn out by tears. as slow our ship. as slow our ship her foamy track against the wind was cleaving, her trembling pennant still looked back to that dear isle 'twas leaving. so loathe we part from all we love. from all the links that bind us; so turn our hearts as on we rove, to those we've left behind us. when, round the bowl, of vanished years we talk, with joyous seeming,-- with smiles that might as well be tears, so faint, so sad their beaming; while memory brings us back again each early tie that twined us, oh, sweet's the cup that circles then to those we've left behind us. and when, in other climes, we meet some isle, or vale enchanting, where all looks flowery, wild, and sweet, and naught but love is wanting; we think how great had been our bliss, if heaven had but assigned us to live and die in scenes like this, with some we've left behind us! as travellers oft look back at eve, when eastward darkly going, to gaze upon that light they leave still faint behind them glowing,-- so, when the close of pleasure's day to gloom hath near consigned us, we turn to catch one fading ray of joy that's left behind us. when cold in the earth. when cold in the earth lies the friend thou hast loved, be his faults and his follies forgot by thee then; or, if from their slumber the veil be removed, weep o'er them in silence, and close it again. and oh! if 'tis pain to remember how far from the pathways of light he was tempted to roam, be it bliss to remember that thou wert the star that arose on his darkness and guided him home. from thee and thy innocent beauty first came the revealings, that taught him true love to adore, to feel the bright presence, and turn him with shame from the idols he blindly had knelt to before. o'er the waves of a life, long benighted and wild, thou camest, like a soft golden calm o'er the sea; and if happiness purely and glowingly smiled on his evening horizon, the light was from thee. and tho', sometimes, the shades of past folly might rise, and tho' falsehood again would allure him to stray, he but turned to the glory that dwelt in those eyes, and the folly, the falsehood, soon vanished away. as the priests of the sun, when their altar grew dim, at the day-beam alone could its lustre repair, so, if virtue a moment grew languid in him, he but flew to that smile and rekindled it there. remember thee. remember thee? yes, while there's life in this heart, it shall never forget thee, all lorn as thou art; more dear in thy sorrow, thy gloom, and thy showers, than the rest of the world in their sunniest hours. wert thou all that i wish thee, great, glorious, and free, first flower of the earth, and first gem of the sea, i might hail thee with prouder, with happier brow, but oh! could i love thee more deeply than now? no, thy chains as they rankle, thy blood as it runs, but make thee more painfully dear to thy sons-- whose hearts, like the young of the desert-bird's nest, drink love in each life-drop that flows from thy breast. wreath the bowl. wreath the bowl with flowers of soul, the brightest wit can find us; we'll take a flight towards heaven to-night, and leave dull earth behind us. should love amid the wreaths be hid, that joy, the enchanter, brings us, no danger fear, while wine is near, we'll drown him if he stings us, then, wreath the bowl with flowers of soul, the brightest wit can find us; we'll take a flight towards heaven to-night, and leave dull earth behind us. 'twas nectar fed of old, 'tis said, their junos, joves, apollos; and man may brew his nectar too, the rich receipt's as follows: take wine like this, let looks of bliss around it well be blended, then bring wit's beam to warm the stream, and there's your nectar, splendid! so wreath the bowl with flowers of soul, the brightest wit can find us; we'll take a flight towards heaven to-night, and leave dull earth behind us. say, why did time his glass sublime fill up with sands unsightly, when wine, he knew, runs brisker through, and sparkles far more brightly? oh, lend it us, and, smiling thus, the glass in two we'll sever, make pleasure glide in double tide, and fill both ends for ever! then wreath the bowl with flowers of soul the brightest wit can find us; we'll take a flight towards heaven to-night, and leave dull earth behind us. whene'er i see those smiling eyes. whene'er i see those smiling eyes, so full of hope, and joy, and light, as if no cloud could ever rise, to dim a heaven so purely bright-- i sigh to think how soon that brow in grief may lose its every ray, and that light heart, so joyous now, almost forget it once was gay. for time will come with all its blights, the ruined hope, the friend unkind, and love, that leaves, where'er it lights, a chilled or burning heart behind:-- while youth, that now like snow appears, ere sullied by the darkening rain, when once 'tis touched by sorrow's tears can ever shine so bright again. if thou'lt be mine. if thou'lt be mine, the treasures of air, of earth, and sea, shall lie at thy feet; whatever in fancy's eye looks fair, or in hope's sweet music sounds _most_ sweet, shall be ours--if thou wilt be mine, love! bright flowers shall bloom wherever we rove, a voice divine shall talk in each stream; the stars shall look like worlds of love, and this earth be all one beautiful dream in our eyes--if thou wilt be mine, love! and thoughts, whose source is hidden and high, like streams, that come from heavenward hills, shall keep our hearts, like meads, that lie to be bathed by those eternal rills, ever green, if thou wilt be mine, love! all this and more the spirit of love can breathe o'er them, who feel his spells; that heaven, which forms his home above, he can make on earth, wherever he dwells, as thou'lt own.--if thou wilt be mine, love! to ladies' eyes. to ladies' eyes around, boy, we can't refuse, we can't refuse, tho' bright eyes so abound, boy, 'tis hard to choose, 'tis hard to choose. for thick as stars that lighten yon airy bowers, yon airy bowers, the countless eyes that brighten this earth of ours, this earth of ours. but fill the cup--where'er, boy, our choice may fall, our choice may fall, we're sure to find love there, boy, so drink them all! so drink them all! some looks there are so holy, they seem but given, they seem but given, as shining beacons, solely, to light to heaven, to light to heaven. while some--oh! ne'er believe them-- with tempting ray, with tempting ray, would lead us (god forgive them!) the other way, the other way. but fill the cup--where'er, boy, our choice may fall, our choice may fall, we're sure to find love there, boy, so drink them all! so drink them all! in some, as in a mirror, love seems portrayed, love seems portrayed, but shun the flattering error, 'tis but his shade, 'tis but his shade. himself has fixt his dwelling in eyes we know, in eyes we know, and lips--but this is telling-- so here they go! so here they go! fill up, fill up--where'er, boy, our choice may fall, our choice may fall, we're sure to find love there, boy, so drink them all! so drink them all! forget not the field. forget not the field where they perished, the truest, the last of the brave, all gone--and the bright hope we cherished gone with them, and quenched in their grave! oh! could we from death but recover those hearts as they bounded before, in the face of high heaven to fight over that combat for freedom once more;-- could the chain for an instant be riven which tyranny flung round us then, no, 'tis not in man, nor in heaven, to let tyranny bind it again! but 'tis past--and, tho' blazoned in story the name of our victor may be, accurst is the march of that glory which treads o'er the hearts of the free. far dearer the grave or the prison, illumed by one patriot name, than the trophies of all, who have risen on liberty's ruins to fame. they may rail at this life. they may rail at this life--from the hour i began it, i found it a life full of kindness and bliss; and, until they can show me some happier planet, more social and bright, i'll content me with this. as long as the world has such lips and such eyes, as before me this moment enraptured i see, they may say what they will of their orbs in the skies, but this earth is the planet for you, love, and me. in mercury's star, where each moment can bring them new sunshine and wit from the fountain on high, tho' the nymphs may have livelier poets to sing them, they've none, even there, more enamored than i. and as long as this harp can be wakened to love, and that eye its divine inspiration shall be, they may talk as they will of their edens above, but this earth is the planet for you, love, and me. in that star of the west, by whose shadowy splendor, at twilight so often we've roamed thro' the dew, there are maidens, perhaps, who have bosoms as tender, and look, in their twilights, as lovely as you. but tho' they were even more bright than the queen of that isle they inhabit in heaven's blue sea, as i never those fair young celestials have seen, why--this earth is the planet for you, love, and me. as for those chilly orbs on the verge of creation, where sunshine and smiles must be equally rare, did they want a supply of cold hearts for that station, heaven knows we have plenty on earth we could spare, oh! think what a world we should have of it here, if the haters of peace, of affection and glee, were to fly up to saturn's comfortless sphere, and leave earth to such spirits as you, love, and me. oh for the swords of former time! oh for the swords of former time! oh for the men who bore them, when armed for right, they stood sublime, and tyrants crouched before them: when free yet, ere courts began with honors to enslave him, the best honors worn by man were those which virtue gave him. oh for the swords, etc. oh for the kings who flourished then! oh for the pomp that crowned them, when hearts and hands of freeborn men were all the ramparts round them. when, safe built on bosoms true, the throne was but the centre, round which love a circle drew, that treason durst not enter. oh for the kings who flourished then! oh for the pomp that crowned them, when hearts and hands of freeborn men were all the ramparts round them! st. senanus and the lady. st. senanus.[ ] "oh! haste and leave this sacred isle, unholy bark, ere morning smile; for on thy deck, though dark it be, a female form i see; and i have sworn this sainted sod shall ne'er by woman's feet be trod." the lady. "oh! father, send not hence my bark, thro' wintry winds and billows dark: i come with humble heart to share thy morn and evening prayer; nor mine the feet, oh! holy saint, the brightness of thy sod to taint." the lady's prayer senanus spurned; the winds blew fresh, the bark returned; but legends hint, that had the maid till morning's light delayed, and given the saint one rosy smile, she ne'er had left his lonely isle. [ ] in a metrical life of st. senanus, which is taken from an old kilkenny ms., and may be found among the "_acta sanctorum hiberniae_," we are told of his flight to the island of scattery, and his resolution not to admit any woman of the party; he refused to receive even a sister saint, st. cannera, whom an angel had taken to the island for the express purpose of introducing her to him. ne'er ask the hour. ne'er ask the hour--what is it to us how time deals out his treasures? the golden moments lent us thus, are not _his_ coin, but pleasure's. if counting them o'er could add to their blisses, i'd number each glorious second: but moments of joy are, like lesbia's kisses, too quick and sweet to be reckoned. then fill the cup--what is it to us how time his circle measures? the fairy hours we call up thus, obey no wand but pleasure's. young joy ne'er thought of counting hours, till care, one summer's morning, set up, among his smiling flowers, a dial, by way of warning. but joy loved better to gaze on the sun, as long as its light was glowing, than to watch with old care how the shadows stole on, and how fast that light was going. so fill the cup--what is it to us how time his circle measures? the fairy hours we call up thus, obey no wand but pleasure's. sail on, sail on. sail on, sail on, thou fearless bark-- wherever blows the welcome wind, it cannot lead to scenes more dark, more sad than those we leave behind. each wave that passes seems to say, "tho' death beneath our smile may be, less cold we are, less false than they, whose smiling wrecked thy hopes and thee." sail on, sail on,--thro' endless space-- thro' calm--thro' tempest--stop no more: the stormiest sea's a resting place to him who leaves such hearts on shore. or--if some desert land we meet, where never yet false-hearted men profaned a world, that else were sweet,-- then rest thee, bark, but not till then. the parallel. yes, sad one of sion,[ ] if closely resembling, in shame and in sorrow, thy withered-up heart-- if drinking deep, deep, of the same "cup of trembling" could make us thy children, our parent thou art, like thee doth our nation lie conquered and broken, and fallen from her head is the once royal crown; in her streets, in her halls, desolation hath spoken, and "while it is day yet, her sun hath gone down."[ ] like thine doth her exile, mid dreams of returning, die far from the home it were life to behold; like thine do her sons, in the day of their mourning, remember the bright things that blest them of old. ah, well may we call her, like thee "the forsaken,"[ ] her boldest are vanquished, her proudest are slaves; and the harps of her minstrels, when gayest they waken, have tones mid their mirth like the wind over graves! yet hadst thou thy vengeance--yet came there the morrow, that shines out, at last, on the longest dark night, when the sceptre, that smote thee with slavery and sorrow, was shivered at once, like a reed, in thy sight. when that cup, which for others the proud golden city[ ] had brimmed full of bitterness, drenched her own lips; and the world she had trampled on heard, without pity, the howl in her halls, and the cry from her ships. when the curse heaven keeps for the haughty came over her merchants rapacious, her rulers unjust, and, a ruin, at last, for the earthworm to cover,[ ] the lady of kingdoms[ ] lay low in the dust. [ ] these verses were written after the perusal of a treatise by mr. hamilton, professing to prove that the irish were originally jews. [ ] "her sun is gone down while it was yet day."--_jer_. xv. . [ ] "thou shalt no more be termed forsaken."--_isaiah_, lxii. . [ ] "how hath the oppressor ceased! the golden city ceased!"-- _isaiah_, xiv. . [ ] "thy pomp is brought down to the grave . . . and the worms cover thee."--_isaiah_, xiv. . [ ] "thou shalt no more be called the lady of kingdoms."--_isaiah_, xlvil. . drink of this cup. drink of this cup;--you'll find there's a spell in its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality; talk of the cordial that sparkled for helen! her cup was a fiction, but this is reality. would you forget the dark world we are in, just taste of the bubble that gleams on the top of it; but would you rise above earth, till akin to immortals themselves, you must drain every drop of it; send round the cup--for oh there's a spell in its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality; talk of the cordial that sparkled for helen! her cup was a fiction, but this is reality. never was philter formed with such power to charm and bewilder as this we are quaffing; its magic began when, in autumn's rich hour, a harvest of gold in the fields it stood laughing. there having, by nature's enchantment, been filled with the balm and the bloom of her kindliest weather, this wonderful juice from its core was distilled to enliven such hearts as are here brought together. then drink of the cup--you'll find there's a spell in its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality; talk of the cordial that sparkled for helen! her cup was a fiction, but this is reality. and tho' perhaps--but breathe it to no one-- like liquor the witch brews at midnight so awful, this philter in secret was first taught to flow on, yet 'tisn't less potent for being unlawful. and, even tho' it taste of the smoke of that flame, which in silence extracted its virtue forbidden-- fill up--there's a fire in some hearts i could name, which may work too its charm, tho' as lawless and hidden. so drink of the cup--for oh there's a spell in its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality; talk of the cordial that sparkled for helen! her cup was a fiction, but this is reality. the fortune-teller. down in the valley come meet me to-night, and i'll tell you your fortune truly as ever 'twas told, by the new-moon's light, to a young maiden, shining as newly. but, for the world, let no one be nigh, lest haply the stars should deceive me; such secrets between you and me and the sky should never go farther, believe me. if at that hour the heavens be not dim, my science shall call up before you a male apparition,--the image of him whose destiny 'tis to adore you. and if to that phantom you'll be kind, so fondly around you he'll hover, you'll hardly, my dear, any difference find 'twixt him and a true living lover. down at your feet, in the pale moonlight, he'll kneel, with a warmth of devotion-- an ardor, of which such an innocent sprite you'd scarcely believe had a notion. what other thoughts and events may arise, as in destiny's book i've not seen them, must only be left to the stars and your eyes to settle, ere morning, between them. oh, ye dead! oh, ye dead! oh, ye dead![ ] whom we know by the light you give from your cold gleaming eyes, tho' you move like men who live, why leave you thus your graves, in far off fields and waves, where the worm and the sea-bird only know your bed, to haunt this spot where all those eyes that wept your fall, and the hearts that wailed you, like your own, lie dead? it is true, it is true, we are shadows cold and wan; and the fair and the brave whom we loved on earth are gone; but still thus even in death, so sweet the living breath of the fields and the flowers in our youth we wander'd o'er, that ere, condemned, we go to freeze mid hecla's snow, we would taste it awhile, and think we live once more! [ ] paul zealand mentions that there is a mountain in some part of ireland, where the ghosts of persons who have died in foreign lands walk about and converse with those they meet, like living people. if asked why they do not return to their homes, they say they are obliged to go to mount hecla, and disappear immediately. o'donohue's mistress. of all the fair months, that round the sun in light-linked dance their circles run, sweet may, shine thou for me; for still, when thy earliest beams arise, that youth, who beneath the blue lake lies, sweet may, returns to me. of all the bright haunts, where daylight leaves its lingering smile on golden eyes, fair lake, thou'rt dearest to me; for when the last april sun grows dim, thy naïads prepare his steed[ ] for him who dwells, bright lake, in thee. of all the proud steeds, that ever bore young plumed chiefs on sea or shore, white steed, most joy to thee; who still, with the first young glance of spring, from under that glorious lake dost bring my love, my chief, to me. while, white as the sail some bark unfurls, when newly launched, thy long mane[ ] curls, fair steed, as white and free; and spirits, from all the lake's deep bowers, glide o'er the blue wave scattering flowers, around my love and thee. of all the sweet deaths that maidens die, whose lovers beneath the cold wave lie, most sweet that death will be, which, under the next may evening's light, when thou and thy steed are lost to sight, dear love, i'll die for thee. [ ] the particulars of the tradition respecting donohue and his white horse, may be found in mr. weld's account of killarney, or more fully detailed in derrick's letters. for many years after his death, the spirit of this hero is supposed to have been seen on the morning of mayday, gliding over the lake on his favorite white horse to the sound of sweet unearthly music, and preceded by groups of youths and maidens, who flung wreaths of delicate spring flowers in his path. [ ] the boatmen at killarney call those waves which come on a windy day, crested with foam, "o'donohue's white horses." echo. how sweet the answer echo makes to music at night, when, roused by lute or horn, she wakes, and far away, o'er lawns and lakes, goes answering light. yet love hath echoes truer far, and far more sweet, than e'er beneath the moonlight star, of horn or lute, or soft guitar, the songs repeat. 'tis when the sigh, in youth sincere, and only then,-- the sigh that's breath'd for one to hear, is by that one, that only dear, breathed back again! oh banquet not. oh banquet not in those shining bowers, where youth resorts, but come to me: for mine's a garden of faded flowers, more fit for sorrow, for age, and thee. and there we shall have our feast of tears, and many a cup in silence pour; our guests, the shades of former years, our toasts to lips that bloom no more. there, while the myrtle's withering boughs their lifeless leaves around us shed, we'll brim the bowl to broken vows, to friends long lost, the changed, the dead. or, while some blighted laurel waves its branches o'er the dreary spot, we'll drink to those neglected graves, where valor sleeps, unnamed, forgot. thee, thee, only thee. the dawning of morn, the daylight's sinking, the night's long hours still find me thinking of thee, thee, only thee. when friends are met, and goblets crowned, and smiles are near, that once enchanted, unreached by all that sunshine round, my soul, like some dark spot, is haunted by thee, thee, only thee. whatever in fame's high path could waken my spirit once, is now forsaken for thee, thee, only thee. like shores, by which some headlong bark to the ocean hurries, resting never, life's scenes go by me, bright or dark, i know not, heed not, hastening ever to thee, thee, only thee. i have not a joy but of thy bringing, and pain itself seems sweet when springing from thee, thee, only thee. like spells, that naught on earth can break, till lips, that know the charm, have spoken, this heart, howe'er the world may wake its grief, its scorn, can but be broken by thee, thee, only thee. shall the harp then be silent. shall the harp then be silent, when he who first gave to our country a name, is withdrawn from all eyes? shall a minstrel of erin stand mute by the grave, where the first--where the last of her patriots lies? no--faint tho' the death-song may fall from his lips, tho' his harp, like his soul, may with shadows be crost, yet, yet shall it sound, mid a nation's eclipse, and proclaim to the world what a star hath been lost;--[ ] what a union of all the affections and powers by which life is exalted, embellished, refined, was embraced in that spirit--whose centre was ours, while its mighty circumference circled mankind. oh, who that loves erin, or who that can see, thro' the waste of her annals, that epoch sublime-- like a pyramid raised in the desert--where he and his glory stand out to the eyes of all time; that _one_ lucid interval, snatched from the gloom and the madness of ages, when filled with his soul, a nation o'erleaped the dark bounds of her doom, and for _one_ sacred instant, touched liberty's goal? who, that ever hath heard him--hath drank at the source of that wonderful eloquence, all erin's own, in whose high-thoughted daring, the fire, and the force, and the yet untamed spring of her spirit are shown? an eloquence rich, wheresoever its wave wandered free and triumphant, with thoughts that shone thro', as clear as the brook's "stone of lustre," and gave, with the flash of the gem, its solidity too. who, that ever approached him, when free from the crowd, in a home full of love, he delighted to tread 'mong the trees which a nation had given, and which bowed, as if each brought a new civic crown for his head-- is there one, who hath thus, thro' his orbit of life but at distance observed him--thro' glory, thro' blame, in the calm of retreat, in the grandeur of strife, whether shining or clouded, still high and the same,-- oh no, not a heart, that e'er knew him, but mourns deep, deep o'er the grave, where such glory is shrined-- o'er a monument fame will preserve, 'mong the urns of the wisest, the bravest, the best of mankind! [ ] these lines were written on the death of our great patriot, grattan, in the year . it is only the two first verses that are either intended or fitted to be sung. oh, the sight entrancing. oh, the sight entrancing, when morning's beam is glancing, o'er files arrayed with helm and blade, and plumes, in the gay wind dancing! when hearts are all high beating, and the trumpet's voice repeating that song, whose breath may lead to death, but never to retreating. oh the sight entrancing, when morning's beam is glancing o'er files arrayed with helm and blade, and plumes, in the gay wind dancing. yet, 'tis not helm or feather-- for ask yon despot, whether his plumed bands could bring such hands and hearts as ours together. leave pomps to those who need 'em-- give man but heart and freedom, and proud he braves the gaudiest slaves that crawl where monarchs lead 'em. the sword may pierce the beaver, stone walls in time may sever, 'tis mind alone, worth steel and stone, that keeps men free for ever. oh that sight entrancing, when the morning's beam is glancing, o'er files arrayed with helm and blade, and in freedom's cause advancing! sweet innisfallen. sweet innisfallen, fare thee well, may calm and sunshine long be thine! how fair thou art let others tell,-- to _feel_ how fair shall long be mine. sweet innisfallen, long shall dwell in memory's dream that sunny smile, which o'er thee on that evening fell, when first i saw thy fairy isle. 'twas light, indeed, too blest for one, who had to turn to paths of care-- through crowded haunts again to run, and leave thee bright and silent there; no more unto thy shores to come, but, on the world's rude ocean tost, dream of thee sometimes, as a home of sunshine he had seen and lost. far better in thy weeping hours to part from thee, as i do now, when mist is o'er thy blooming bowers, like sorrow's veil on beauty's brow. for, though unrivalled still thy grace, thou dost not look, as then, _too_ blest, but thus in shadow, seem'st a place where erring man might hope to rest-- might hope to rest, and find in thee a gloom like eden's on the day he left its shade, when every tree, like thine, hung weeping o'er his way. weeping or smiling, lovely isle! and all the lovelier for thy tears-- for tho' but rare thy sunny smile, 'tis heaven's own glance when it appears. like feeling hearts, whose joys are few, but, when _indeed_ they come divine-- the brightest light the sun e'er threw is lifeless to one gleam of thine! 'twas one of those dreams.[ ] 'twas one of those dreams, that by music are brought, like a bright summer haze, o'er the poet's warm thought-- when, lost in the future, his soul wanders on, and all of this life, but its sweetness, is gone. the wild notes he heard o'er the water were those he had taught to sing erin's dark bondage and woes, and the breath of the bugle now wafted them o'er from dinis' green isle, to glenà's wooded shore. he listened--while, high o'er the eagle's rude nest, the lingering sounds on their way loved to rest; and the echoes sung back from their full mountain choir, as if loath to let song so enchanting expire. it seemed as if every sweet note, that died here, was again brought to life in some airier sphere, some heaven in those hills, where the soul of the strain they had ceased upon earth was awaking again! oh forgive, if, while listening to music, whose breath seemed to circle his name with a charm against death, he should feel a proud spirit within him proclaim, "even so shalt thou live in the echoes of fame: "even so, tho' thy memory should now die away, 'twill be caught up again in some happier day, and the hearts and the voices of erin prolong, through the answering future, thy name and thy song." [ ] written during a visit to lord kenmare, at killarney. fairest! put on awhile. fairest! put on awhile these pinions of light i bring thee, and o'er thy own green isle in fancy let me wing thee. never did ariel's plume, at golden sunset hover o'er scenes so full of bloom, as i shall waft thee over. fields, where the spring delays and fearlessly meets the ardor of the warm summer's gaze, with only her tears to guard her. rocks, thro' myrtle boughs in grace majestic frowning; like some bold warrior's brows that love hath just been crowning. islets, so freshly fair, that never hath bird come nigh them, but from his course thro' air he hath been won down by them;--[ ] types, sweet maid, of thee, whose look, whose blush inviting, never did love yet see from heaven, without alighting. lakes, where the pearl lies hid,[ ] and caves, where the gem is sleeping, bright as the tears thy lid lets fall in lonely weeping. glens,[ ] where ocean comes, to 'scape the wild wind's rancor, and harbors, worthiest homes where freedom's fleet can anchor. then, if, while scenes so grand, so beautiful, shine before thee, pride for thy own dear land should haply be stealing o'er thee, oh, let grief come first, o'er pride itself victorious-- thinking how man hath curst what heaven had made so glorious! [ ] in describing the skeligs (islands of the barony of forth), dr. keating says, "there is a certain attractive virtue in the soil which draws down all the birds that attempt to fly over it, and obliges them to light upon the rock." [ ] "nennius, a british writer of the ninth century, mentions the abundance of pearls in ireland. their princes, he says, hung them behind their ears: and this we find confirmed by a present made a.c. , by gilbert, bishop of limerick, to anselm, archbishop of canterbury, of a considerable quantity of irish pearls."--_o'halloran_. [ ] glengariff. quick! we have but a second. quick! we have but a second, fill round the cup, while you may; for time, the churl, hath beckoned, and we must away, away! grasp the pleasure that's flying, for oh, not orpheus' strain could keep sweet hours from dying, or charm them to life again. then, quick! we have but a second, fill round the cup while you may; for time, the churl, hath beckoned, and we must away, away! see the glass, how it flushes. like some young hebe's lip, and half meets thine, and blushes that thou shouldst delay to sip. shame, oh shame unto thee, if ever thou see'st that day, when a cup or lip shall woo thee, and turn untouched away! then, quick! we have but a second, fill round, fill round, while you may; for time, the churl, hath beckoned, and we must away, away! and doth not a meeting like this. and doth not a meeting like this make amends, for all the long years i've been wandering away-- to see thus around me my youth's early friends, as smiling and kind as in that happy day? tho' haply o'er some of your brows, as o'er mine, the snow-fall of time may be stealing--what then? like alps in the sunset, thus lighted by wine, we'll wear the gay tinge of youth's roses again. what softened remembrances come o'er the heart, in gazing on those we've been lost to so long! the sorrows, the joys, of which once they were part, still round them, like visions of yesterday, throng, as letters some hand hath invisibly traced, when held to the flame will steal out on the sight, so many a feeling, that long seemed effaced, the warmth of a moment like this brings to light. and thus, as in memory's bark we shall glide, to visit the scenes of our boyhood anew, tho' oft we may see, looking down on the tide, the wreck of full many a hope shining thro'; yet still, as in fancy we point to the flowers, that once made a garden of all the gay shore, deceived for a moment, we'll think them still ours, and breathe the fresh air of life's morning once more. so brief our existence, a glimpse, at the most, is all we can have of the few we hold dear; and oft even joy is unheeded and lost, for want of some heart, that could echo it, near. ah, well may we hope, when this short life is gone, to meet in some world of more permanent bliss, for a smile, or a grasp of the hand, hastening on, is all we enjoy of each other in this. but, come, the more rare such delights to the heart, the more we should welcome and bless them the more; they're ours, when we meet,--they are lost when we part, like birds that bring summer, and fly when 'tis o'er. thus circling the cup, hand in hand, ere we drink, let sympathy pledge us, thro' pleasure, thro' pain, that, fast as a feeling but touches one link, her magic shall send it direct thro' the chain. the mountain sprite. in yonder valley there dwelt, alone, a youth, whose moments had calmly flown, till spells came o'er him, and, day and night, he was haunted and watched by a mountain sprite. as once, by moonlight, he wander'd o'er the golden sands of that island shore, a foot-print sparkled before his sight-- 'twas the fairy foot of the mountain sprite! beside a fountain, one sunny day, as bending over the stream he lay, there peeped down o'er him two eyes of light, and he saw in that mirror the mountain sprite. he turned, but, lo, like a startled bird, that spirit fled!--and the youth but heard sweet music, such as marks the flight of some bird of song, from the mountain sprite. one night, still haunted by that bright look, the boy, bewildered, his pencil took, and, guided only by memory's light, drew the once-seen form of the mountain sprite. "oh thou, who lovest the shadow," cried a voice, low whispering by his side, "now turn and see,"--here the youth's delight sealed the rosy lips of the mountain sprite. "of all the spirits of land and sea," then rapt he murmured, "there's none like thee, "and oft, oh oft, may thy foot thus light "in this lonely bower, sweet mountain sprite!" as vanquished erin. as vanquished erin wept beside the boyne's ill-fated river, she saw where discord, in the tide, had dropt his loaded quiver. "lie hid," she cried, "ye venomed darts, "where mortal eye may shun you; "lie hid--the stain of manly hearts, "that bled for me, is on you." but vain her wish, her weeping vain,-- as time too well hath taught her-- each year the fiend returns again, and dives into that water; and brings, triumphant, from beneath his shafts of desolation, and sends them, winged with worse than death, through all her maddening nation. alas for her who sits and mourns, even now, beside that river-- unwearied still the fiend returns, and stored is still his quiver. "when will this end, ye powers of good?" she weeping asks for ever; but only hears, from out that flood, the demon answer, "never!" desmond's song.[ ] by the feal's wave benighted, no star in the skies, to thy door by love lighted, i first saw those eyes. some voice whispered o'er me, as the threshold i crost, there was ruin before me, if i loved, i was lost. love came, and brought sorrow too soon in his train; yet so sweet, that to-morrow 'twere welcome again. though misery's full measure my portion should be, i would drain it with pleasure, if poured out by thee. you, who call it dishonor to bow to this flame, if you've eyes, look but on her, and blush while you blame. hath the pearl less whiteness because of its birth? hath the violet less brightness for growing near earth? no--man for his glory to ancestry flies; but woman's bright story is told in her eyes. while the monarch but traces thro' mortals his line, beauty, born of the graces, banks next to divine! [ ] "thomas, the heir of the desmond family, had accidentally been so engaged in the chase, that he was benighted near tralee, and obliged to take shelter at the abbey of feal, in the house of one of his dependents, called mac cormac. catherine, a beautiful daughter of his host, instantly inspired the earl with a violent passion, which he could not subdue. he married her, and by this inferior alliance alienated his followers, whose brutal pride regarded this indulgence of his love as an unpardonable degradation of his family."--_leland_, vol. ii. they know not my heart. they know not my heart, who believe there can be one stain of this earth in its feelings for thee; who think, while i see thee in beauty's young hour, as pure as the morning's first dew on the flower, i could harm what i love,--as the sun's wanton ray but smiles on the dew-drop to waste it away. no--beaming with light as those young features are, there's a light round thy heart which is lovelier far: it is not that cheek--'tis the soul dawning clear thro' its innocent blush makes thy beauty so dear: as the sky we look up to, tho' glorious and fair, is looked up to the more, because heaven lies there! i wish i was by that dim lake. i wish i was by that dim lake,[ ] where sinful souls their farewell take of this vain world, and half-way lie in death's cold shadow, ere they die. there, there, far from thee, deceitful world, my home should be; where, come what might of gloom and pain, false hope should ne'er deceive again. the lifeless sky, the mournful sound of unseen waters falling round; the dry leaves, quivering o'er my head, like man, unquiet even when dead! these, ay, these shall wean my soul from life's deluding scene, and turn each thought, o'ercharged with gloom, like willows, downward towards the tomb. as they, who to their couch at night would win repose, first quench the light, so must the hopes, that keep this breast awake, be quenched, ere it can rest. cold, cold, this heart must grow, unmoved by either joy or woe, like freezing founts, where all that's thrown within their current turns to stone. [ ] these verses are meant to allude to that ancient haunt of superstition, called patrick's purgatory. "in the midst of these gloomy regions of donegall (says dr. campbell) lay a lake, which was to become the mystic theatre of this fabled and intermediate state. in the lake were several islands; but one of them was dignified with that called the mouth of purgatory, which, during the dark ages, attracted the notice of all christendom, and was the resort of penitents and pilgrims from almost every country in europe." she sung of love. she sung of love, while o'er her lyre the rosy rays of evening fell, as if to feed with their soft fire the soul within that trembling shell. the same rich light hung o'er her cheek, and played around those lips that sung and spoke, as flowers would sing and speak, if love could lend their leaves a tongue. but soon the west no longer burned, each rosy ray from heaven withdrew; and, when to gaze again i turned, the minstrel's form seemed fading too. as if _her_ light and heaven's were one, the glory all had left that frame; and from her glimmering lips the tone, as from a parting spirit, came. who ever loved, but had the thought that he and all he loved must part? filled with this fear, i flew and caught the fading image to my heart-- and cried, "oh love! is this thy doom? "oh light of youth's resplendent day! "must ye then lose your golden bloom, "and thus, like sunshine, die away?" sing--sing--music was given. sing--sing--music was given, to brighten the gay, and kindle the loving; souls here, like planets in heaven, by harmony's laws alone are kept moving. beauty may boast of her eyes and her cheeks, but love from the lips his true archery wings; and she, who but feathers the dart when she speaks, at once sends it home to the heart when she sings. then sing--sing--music was given, to brighten the gay, and kindle the loving; souls here, like planets in heaven, by harmony's laws alone are kept moving. when love, rocked by his mother, lay sleeping as calm as slumber could make him, "hush, hush," said venus, "no other "sweet voice but his own is worthy to wake him." dreaming of music he slumbered the while till faint from his lip a soft melody broke, and venus, enchanted, looked on with a smile, while love to his own sweet singing awoke. then sing--sing--music was given, to brighten the gay, and kindle the loving; souls here, like planets in heaven, by harmony's laws alone are kept moving. tho' humble the banquet. tho' humble the banquet to which i invite thee, thou'lt find there the best a poor bard can command: eyes, beaming with welcome, shall throng round, to light thee, and love serve the feast with his own willing hand. and tho' fortune may seem to have turned from the dwelling of him thou regardest her favoring ray, thou wilt find there a gift, all her treasures excelling, which, proudly he feels, hath ennobled his way. 'tis that freedom of mind, which no vulgar dominion can turn from the path a pure conscience approves; which, with hope in the heart, and no chain on the pinion, holds upwards its course to the light which it loves. 'tis this makes the pride of his humble retreat, and, with this, tho' of all other treasures bereaved, the breeze of his garden to him is more sweet than the costliest incense that pomp e'er received. then, come,--if a board so untempting hath power to win thee from grandeur, its best shall be thine; and there's one, long the light of the bard's happy bower, who, smiling, will blend her bright welcome with mine. sing, sweet harp. sing, sweet harp, oh sing to me some song of ancient days, whose sounds, in this sad memory, long buried dreams shall raise;-- some lay that tells of vanished fame, whose light once round us shone; of noble pride, now turned to shame, and hopes for ever gone.-- sing, sad harp, thus sing to me; alike our doom is cast, both lost to all but memory, we live but in the past. how mournfully the midnight air among thy chords doth sigh, as if it sought some echo there of voices long gone by;-- of chieftains, now forgot, who seemed the foremost then in fame; of bards who, once immortal deemed, now sleep without a name.-- in vain, sad harp, the midnight air among thy chords doth sigh; in vain it seeks an echo there of voices long gone by. couldst thou but call those spirits round. who once, in bower and hall, sat listening to thy magic sound, now mute and mouldering all;-- but, no; they would but wake to weep their children's slavery; then leave them in their dreamless sleep, the dead, at least, are free!-- hush, hush, sad harp, that dreary tone, that knell of freedom's day; or, listening to its death-like moan, let me, too, die away. song of the battle eve. time--the ninth century. to-morrow, comrade, we on the battle-plain must be, there to conquer, or both lie low! the morning star is up,-- but there's wine still in the cup, and we'll take another quaff, ere we go, boy, go; we'll take another quaff, ere we go. 'tis true, in manliest eyes a passing tear will rise, when we think of the friends we leave lone; but what can wailing do? see, our goblet's weeping too! with its tears we'll chase away our own, boy, our own; with its tears we'll chase away our own. but daylight's stealing on;-- the last that o'er us shone saw our children around us play; the next--ah! where shall we and those rosy urchins be? but--no matter--grasp thy sword and away, boy, away; no matter--grasp thy sword and away! let those, who brook the chain of saxon or of dane, ignobly by their firesides stay; one sigh to home be given, one heartfelt prayer to heaven, then, for erin and her cause, boy, hurra! hurra! hurra! then, for erin and her cause, hurra! the wandering bard. what life like that of the bard can be-- the wandering bard, who roams as free as the mountain lark that o'er him sings, and, like that lark, a music brings within him, where'er he comes or goes,-- a fount that for ever flows! the world's to him like some playground, where fairies dance their moonlight round;-- if dimmed the turf where late they trod, the elves but seek some greener sod; so, when less bright his scene of glee, to another away flies he! oh, what would have been young beauty's doom, without a bard to fix her bloom? they tell us, in the moon's bright round, things lost in this dark world are found; so charms, on earth long past and gone, in the poet's lay live on.-- would ye have smiles that ne'er grow dim? you've only to give them all to him. who, with but a touch of fancy's wand, can lend them life, this life beyond, and fix them high, in poesy's sky,-- young stars that never die! then, welcome the bard where'er he comes,-- for, tho' he hath countless airy homes, to which his wing excursive roves, yet still, from time to time, he loves to light upon earth and find such cheer as brightens our banquet here. no matter how far, how fleet he flies, you've only to light up kind young eyes, such signal-fires as here are given,-- and down he'll drop from fancy's heaven, the minute such call to love or mirth proclaims he's wanting on earth! alone in crowds to wander on. alone in crowds to wander on, and feel that all the charm is gone which voices dear and eyes beloved shed round us once, where'er we roved-- this, this the doom must be of all who've loved, and lived to see the few bright things they thought would stay for ever near them, die away. tho' fairer forms around us throng, their smiles to others all belong, and want that charm which dwells alone round those the fond heart calls its own. where, where the sunny brow? the long-known voice--where are they now? thus ask i still, nor ask in vain, the silence answers all too plain. oh, what is fancy's magic worth, if all her art can not call forth one bliss like those we felt of old from lips now mute, and eyes now cold? no, no,--her spell is vain,-- as soon could she bring back again those eyes themselves from out the grave, as wake again one bliss they gave. i've a secret to tell thee. i've a secret to tell thee, but hush! not here,-- oh! not where the world its vigil keeps: i'll seek, to whisper it in thine ear, some shore where the spirit of silence sleeps; where summer's wave unmurmuring dies, nor fay can hear the fountain's gush; where, if but a note her night-bird sighs, the rose saith, chidingly, "hush, sweet, hush!" there, amid the deep silence of that hour, when stars can be heard in ocean dip, thyself shall, under some rosy bower, sit mute, with thy finger on thy lip: like him, the boy,[ ] who born among the flowers that on the nile-stream blush, sits ever thus,--his only song to earth and heaven, "hush, all, hush!" [ ] the god of silence, thus pictured by the egyptians. song of innisfail. they came from a land beyond the sea, and now o'er the western main set sail, in their good ships, gallantly, from the sunny land of spain. "oh, where's the isle we've seen in dreams, our destined home or grave?"[ ] thus sung they as, by the morning's beams, they swept the atlantic wave. and, lo, where afar o'er ocean shines a sparkle of radiant green, as tho' in that deep lay emerald mines, whose light thro' the wave was seen. "'tis innisfail[ ]--'tis innisfail!" rings o'er the echoing sea; while, bending to heaven, the warriors hail that home of the brave and free. then turned they unto the eastern wave, where now their day-god's eye a look of such sunny-omen gave as lighted up sea and sky. nor frown was seen thro' sky or sea, nor tear o'er leaf or sod, when first on their isle of destiny our great forefathers trod. [ ] milesius remembered the remarkable prediction of the principal druid, who foretold that the posterity of gadelus should obtain the possession of a western island (which was ireland), and there inhabit.--_keating_. [ ] the island of destiny, one of the ancient names of ireland. the night dance. strike the gay harp! see the moon is on high, and, as true to her beam as the tides of the ocean, young hearts, when they feel the soft light of her eye, obey the mute call and heave into motion. then, sound notes--the gayest, the lightest, that ever took wing, when heaven looked brightest! again! again! oh! could such heart-stirring music be heard in that city of statues described by romancers, so wakening its spell, even stone would be stirred, and statues themselves all start into dancers! why then delay, with such sounds in our ears, and the flower of beauty's own garden before us,-- while stars overhead leave the song of their spheres, and listening to ours, hang wondering o'er us? again, that strain!--to hear it thus sounding might set even death's cold pulses bounding-- again! again! oh, what delight when the youthful and gay, each with eye like a sunbeam and foot like a feather, thus dance, like the hours to the music of may, and mingle sweet song and sunshine together! there are sounds of mirth. there are sounds of mirth in the night-air ringing, and lamps from every casement shown; while voices blithe within are singing, that seem to say "come," in every tone. ah! once how light, in life's young season, my heart had leapt at that sweet lay; nor paused to ask of graybeard reason should i the syren call obey. and, see--the lamps still livelier glitter, the syren lips more fondly sound; no, seek, ye nymphs, some victim fitter to sink in your rosy bondage bound. shall a bard, whom not the world in arms could bend to tyranny's rude control, thus quail at sight of woman's charms and yield to a smile his freeborn soul? thus sung the sage, while, slyly stealing, the nymphs their fetters around him cast, and,--their laughing eyes, the while, concealing,-- led freedom's bard their slave at last. for the poet's heart, still prone to loving, was like that rack of the druid race,[ ] which the gentlest touch at once set moving, but all earth's power couldn't cast from its base. [ ] the rocking stones of the druids, some of which no force is able to dislodge from their stations. oh, arranmore, loved arranmore. oh! arranmore, loved arranmore, how oft i dream of thee, and of those days when, by thy shore, i wandered young and free. full many a path i've tried, since then, thro' pleasure's flowery maze, but ne'er could find the bliss again i felt in those sweet days. how blithe upon thy breezy cliffs, at sunny morn i've stood, with heart as bounding as the skiffs that danced along thy flood; or, when the western wave grew bright with daylight's parting wing, have sought that eden in its light, which dreaming poets sing;[ ]-- that eden where the immortal brave dwell in a land serene,-- whose bowers beyond the shining wave, at sunset, oft are seen. ah dream too full of saddening truth! those mansions o'er the main are like the hopes i built in youth,-- as sunny and as vain! [ ] "the inhabitants of arranmore are still persuaded that, in a clear day, they can see from this coast hy brysail or the enchanted island, the paradise of the pagan irish, and concerning which they relate a number of romantic stories",--_beaufort's "ancient topography of ireland_." lay his sword by his side. lay his sword by his side,[ ]--it hath served him too well not to rest near his pillow below; to the last moment true, from his hand ere it fell, its point was still turned to a flying foe. fellow-laborers in life, let them slumber in death, side by side, as becomes the reposing brave,-- that sword which he loved still unbroke in its sheath, and himself unsubdued in his grave. yet pause--for, in fancy, a still voice i hear, as if breathed from his brave heart's remains;-- faint echo of that which, in slavery's ear, once sounded the war-word, "burst your chains!" and it cries from the grave where the hero lies deep, "tho' the day of your chieftain for ever hath set, "oh leave not his sword thus inglorious to sleep,-- "it hath victory's life in it yet!" "should some alien, unworthy such weapon to wield, "dare to touch thee, my own gallant sword, "then rest in thy sheath, like a talisman sealed, or return to the grave of thy chainless lord. but, if grasped by a hand that hath learned the proud use of a falchion, like thee, on the battle-plain,-- then, at liberty's summons, like lightning let loose, leap forth from thy dark sheath again!" [ ] it was the custom of the ancient irish, in the manner of the scythians, to bury the favorite swords of their heroes along with them. oh, could we do with this world of ours. oh, could we do with this world of ours as thou dost with thy garden bowers, reject the weeds and keep the flowers, what a heaven on earth we'd make it! so bright a dwelling should be our own, so warranted free from sigh or frown, that angels soon would be coming down, by the week or month to take it. like those gay flies that wing thro' air, and in themselves a lustre bear, a stock of light, still ready there, whenever they wish to use it; so, in this world i'd make for thee, our hearts should all like fire-flies be, and the flash of wit or poesy break forth whenever we choose it. while every joy that glads our sphere hath still some shadow hovering near, in this new world of ours, my dear, such shadows will all be omitted:-- unless they're like that graceful one, which, when thou'rt dancing in the sun. still near thee, leaves a charm upon each spot where it hath flitted. the wine-cup is circling. the wine-cup is circling in almhin's hall,[ ] and its chief, mid his heroes reclining, looks up with a sigh, to the trophied wall, where his sword hangs idly shining. when, hark! that shout from the vale without,-- "arm ye quick, the dane, the dane is nigh!" every chief starts up from his foaming cup, and "to battle, to battle!" is the finian's cry. the minstrels have seized their harps of gold, and they sing such thrilling numbers, 'tis like the voice of the brave, of old, breaking forth from the place of slumbers! spear to buckler rang, as the minstrels sang, and the sun-burst[ ] o'er them floated wide; while remembering the yoke which their father's broke, "on for liberty, for liberty!" the finians cried. like clouds of the night the northmen came, o'er the valley of almhin lowering; while onward moved, in the light of its fame, that banner of erin, towering. with the mingling shock rung cliff and rock, while, rank on rank, the invaders die: and the shout, that last, o'er the dying past, was "victory! victory!"--the finian's cry. [ ] the palace of fin mac-cumhal (the fingal of macpherson) in leinster. it was built on the top of the hill, which has retained from thence the name of the hill of allen, in the county of kildare. the finians, or fenii, were the celebrated national militia of ireland, which this chief commanded. the introduction of the danes in the above song is an anachronism common to most of the finian and ossianic legends. [ ] the name given to the banner of the irish. the dream of those days. the dream of those days when first i sung thee is o'er, thy triumph hath stained the charm thy sorrows then wore; and even of the light which hope once shed o'er thy chains, alas, not a gleam to grace thy freedom remains. say, is it that slavery sunk so deep in thy heart, that still the dark brand is there, though chainless thou art; and freedom's sweet fruit, for which thy spirit long burned, now, reaching at last thy lip, to ashes hath turned? up liberty's steep by truth and eloquence led, with eyes on her temple fixt, how proud was thy tread! ah, better thou ne'er hadst lived that summit to gain or died in the porch than thus dishonor the fane. from this hour the pledge is given. from this hour the pledge is given, from this hour my soul is thine: come what will, from earth or heaven, weal or woe, thy fate be mine. when the proud and great stood by thee, none dared thy rights to spurn; and if now they're false and fly thee, shall i, too, basely turn? no;--whate'er the fires that try thee, in the same this heart shall burn. tho' the sea, where thou embarkest, offers now no friendly shore, light may come where all looks darkest, hope hath life when life seems o'er. and, of those past ages dreaming, when glory decked thy brow, oft i fondly think, tho' seeming so fallen and clouded now, thou'lt again break forth, all beaming,-- none so bright, so blest as thou! silence is in our festal halls.[ ] silence is in our festal halls,-- sweet son of song! thy course is o'er; in vain on thee sad erin calls, her minstrel's voice responds no more;-- all silent as the eolian shell sleeps at the close of some bright day, when the sweet breeze that waked its swell at sunny morn hath died away. yet at our feasts thy spirit long awakened by music's spell shall rise; for, name so linked with deathless song partakes its charm and never dies: and even within the holy fane when music wafts the soul to heaven, one thought to him whose earliest strain was echoed there shall long be given. but, where is now the cheerful day. the social night when by thy side he who now weaves this parting lay his skilless voice with thine allied; and sung those songs whose every tone, when bard and minstrel long have past, shall still in sweetness all their own embalmed by fame, undying last. yes, erin, thine alone the fame,-- or, if thy bard have shared the crown, from thee the borrowed glory came, and at thy feet is now laid down. enough, if freedom still inspire his latest song and still there be. as evening closes round his lyre, one ray upon its chords from thee. [ ] it is hardly necessary, perhaps, to inform the reader, that these lines are meant as a tribute of sincere friendship to the memory of an old and valued colleague in this work, sir john stevenson. national airs advertisement. it is cicero, i believe, who says "_naturâ, ad modes ducimur;_" and the abundance of wild, indigenous airs, which almost every country, except england, possesses, sufficiently proves the truth of his assertion. the lovers of this simple, but interesting kind of music, are here presented with the first number of a collection, which, i trust, their contributions will enable us to continue. a pretty air without words resembles one of those _half_ creatures of plato, which are described as wandering in search of the remainder of themselves through the world. to supply this other half, by uniting with congenial words the many fugitive melodies which have hitherto had none,--or only such as are unintelligible to the generality of their hearers,--it is the object and ambition of the present work. neither is it our intention to confine ourselves to what are strictly called national melodies, but, wherever we meet with any wandering and beautiful air, to which poetry has not yet assigned a worthy home, we shall venture to claim it as an _estray_ swan, and enrich our humble hippocrene with its song. t.m. national airs a temple to friendship. (spanish air.) "a temple to friendship;" said laura, enchanted, "i'll build in this garden,--the thought is divine!" her temple was built and she now only wanted an image of friendship to place on the shrine. she flew to a sculptor, who set down before her a friendship, the fairest his art could invent; but so cold and so dull, that the youthful adorer saw plainly this was not the idol she meant. "oh! never," she cried, "could i think of enshrining "an image whose looks are so joyless and dim;-- "but yon little god, upon roses reclining, "we'll make, if you please, sir, a friendship of him." so the bargain was struck; with the little god laden she joyfully flew to her shrine in the grove: "farewell," said the sculptor, "you're not the first maiden "who came but for friendship and took away love." flow on, thou shining river. (portuguese air.) flow on, thou shining river; but ere thou reach the sea seek ella's bower and give her the wreaths i fling o'er thee and tell her thus, if she'll be mine the current of our lives shall be, with joys along their course to shine, like those sweet flowers on thee. but if in wandering thither thou find'st she mocks my prayer, then leave those wreaths to wither upon the cold bank there; and tell her thus, when youth is o'er, her lone and loveless charms shall be thrown by upon life's weedy shore. like those sweet flowers from thee. all that's bright must fade. (indian air.) all that's bright must fade,-- the brightest still the fleetest; all that's sweet was made but to be lost when sweetest. stars that shine and fall;-- the flower that drops in springing;-- these, alas! are types of all to which our hearts are clinging. all that's bright must fade,-- the brightest still the fleetest; all that's sweet was made but to be lost when sweetest? who would seek our prize delights that end in aching? who would trust to ties that every hour are breaking? better far to be in utter darkness lying, than to be blest with light and see that light for ever flying. all that's bright must fade,-- the brightest still the fleetest; all that's sweet was made but to be lost when sweetest! so warmly we met. (hungarian air.) so warmly we met and so fondly we parted, that which was the sweeter even i could not tell,-- that first look of welcome her sunny eyes darted, or that tear of passion, which blest our farewell. to meet was a heaven and to part thus another,-- our joy and our sorrow seemed rivals in bliss; oh! cupid's two eyes are not liker each other in smiles and in tears than that moment to this. the first was like day-break, new, sudden, delicious,-- the dawn of a pleasure scarce kindled up yet; the last like the farewell of daylight, more precious, more glowing and deep, as 'tis nearer its set. our meeting, tho' happy, was tinged by a sorrow to think that such happiness could not remain; while our parting, tho' sad, gave a hope that to-morrow would bring back the blest hour of meeting again. those evening bells. (air.--the bells of st. petersburgh.) those evening bells! those evening bells! how many a tale their music tells, of youth and home and that sweet time when last i heard their soothing chime. those joyous hours are past away: and many a heart, that then was gay. within the tomb now darkly dwells, and hears no more those evening bells. and so 'twill be when i am gone: that tuneful peal will still ring on, while other bards shall walk these dells, and sing your praise, sweet evening bells! should those fond hopes. (portuguese air.) should those fond hopes e'er forsake thee, which now so sweetly thy heart employ: should the cold world come to wake thee from all thy visions of youth and joy; should the gay friends, for whom thou wouldst banish him who once thought thy young heart his own, all, like spring birds, falsely vanish, and leave thy winter unheeded and lone;-- oh! 'tis then that he thou hast slighted would come to cheer thee, when all seem'd o'er; then the truant, lost and blighted, would to his bosom be taken once more. like that dear bird we both can remember, who left us while summer shone round, but, when chilled by bleak december, on our threshold a welcome still found. reason, folly, and beauty. (italian air.) reason and folly and beauty, they say, went on a party of pleasure one day: folly played around the maid, the bells of his cap rung merrily out; while reason took to his sermon-book-- oh! which was the pleasanter no one need doubt, which was the pleasanter no one need doubt. beauty, who likes to be thought very sage. turned for a moment to reason's dull page, till folly said, "look here, sweet maid!"-- the sight of his cap brought her back to herself; while reason read his leaves of lead, with no one to mind him, poor sensible elf! no,--no one to mind him, poor sensible elf! then reason grew jealous of folly's gay cap; had he that on, he her heart might entrap-- "there it is," quoth folly, "old quiz!" (folly was always good-natured, 'tis said,) "under the sun there's no such fun, as reason with my cap and bells on his head!" "reason with my cap and bells on his head!" but reason the head-dress so awkwardly wore, that beauty now liked him still less than before; while folly took old reason's book, and twisted the leaves in a cap of such _ton_, that beauty vowed (tho' not aloud), she liked him still better in that than his own, yes,--liked him still better in that than his own. fare thee well, thou lovely one! (sicilian air.) fare thee well, thou lovely one! lovely still, but dear no more; once his soul of truth is gone, love's sweet life is o'er. thy words, what e'er their flattering spell, could scarce have thus deceived; but eyes that acted truth so well were sure to be believed. then, fare thee well, thou lovely one! lovely still, but dear no more; once his soul of truth is gone, love's sweet life is o'er. yet those eyes look constant still, true as stars they keep their light; still those cheeks their pledge fulfil of blushing always bright. 'tis only on thy changeful heart the blame of falsehood lies; love lives in every other part, but there, alas! he dies. then, fare thee well, thou lovely one! lovely still, but dear no more; once his soul of truth is gone, love's sweet life is o'er. dost thou remember. (portuguese air.) dost thou remember that place so lonely, a place for lovers and lovers only, where first i told thee all my secret sighs? when, as the moonbeam that trembled o'er thee illumed thy blushes, i knelt before thee, and read my hope's sweet triumph in those eyes? then, then, while closely heart was drawn to heart, love bound us--never, never more to part! and when i called thee by names the dearest[ ] that love could fancy, the fondest, nearest,-- "my life, my only life!" among the rest; in those sweet accents that still enthral me, thou saidst, "ah!" wherefore thy life thus call me? "thy soul, thy soul's the name i love best; "for life soon passes,--but how blest to be "that soul which never, never parts from thee!" [ ] the thought in this verse is borrowed from the original portuguese words. oh, come to me when daylight sets. (venetian air.) oh, come to me when daylight sets; sweet! then come to me, when smoothly go our gondolets o'er the moonlight sea. when mirth's awake, and love begins, beneath that glancing ray, with sound of lutes and mandolins, to steal young hearts away. then, come to me when daylight sets; sweet! then come to me, when smoothly go our gondolets o'er the moonlight sea. oh, then's the hour for those who love, sweet, like thee and me; when all's so calm below, above, in heaven and o'er the sea. when maiden's sing sweet barcarolles, and echo sings again so sweet, that all with ears and souls should love and listen then. so, come to me when daylight sets; sweet! then come to me, when smoothly go our gondolets o'er the moonlight sea. oft, in the stilly night. (scotch air.) oft in the stilly night, ere slumber's chain has bound me, fond memory brings the light of other days around me; the smiles, the tears, of boyhood's years, the words of love then spoken; the eyes that shone, now dimmed and gone, the cheerful hearts now broken! thus, in the stilly night, ere slumber's chain has bound me, sad memory brings the light of other days around me. when i remember all the friends, so linked together, i've seen around me fall, like leaves in wintry weather; i feel like one, who treads alone, some banquet-hall deserted, whose lights are fled, whose garlands dead, and all but he departed! thus, in the stilly night, ere slumber's chain has bound me, sad memory brings the light of other days around me. hark! the vesper hymn is stealing. (russian air.) hark! the vesper hymn is stealing o'er the waters soft and clear; nearer yet and nearer pealing, and now bursts upon the ear: jubilate, amen. farther now, now farther stealing soft it fades upon the ear: jubilate, amen. now, like moonlight waves retreating to the shore it dies along; now, like angry surges meeting, breaks the mingled tide of song jubilate, amen. hush! again, like waves, retreating to the shore, it dies along: jubilate, amen. love and hope. (swiss air.) at morn, beside yon summer sea, young hope and love reclined; but scarce had noon-tide come, when he into his bark leapt smilingly, and left poor hope behind. "i go," said love, "to sail awhile "across this sunny main;" and then so sweet, his parting smile, that hope, who never dreamt of guile, believed he'd come again. she lingered there till evening's beam along the waters lay; and o'er the sands, in thoughtful dream, oft traced his name, which still the stream as often washed away. at length a sail appears in sight, and toward the maiden moves! 'tis wealth that comes, and gay and bright, his golden bark reflects the light, but ah! it is not love's. another sail--'twas friendship showed her night-lamp o'er the sea; and calm the light that lamp bestowed; but love had lights that warmer glowed, and where, alas! was he? now fast around the sea and shore night threw her darkling chain; the sunny sails were seen no more, hope's morning dreams of bliss were o'er-- love never came again! there comes a time. (german air.) there comes a time, a dreary time, to him whose heart hath flown o'er all the fields of youth's sweet prime, and made each flow its own. 'tis when his soul must first renounce those dreams so bright, so fond; oh! then's the time to die at once. for life has naught beyond. when sets the sun on afric's shore, that instant all is night; and so should life at once be o'er. when love withdraws his light;-- nor, like our northern day, gleam on thro' twilight's dim delay, the cold remains of lustre gone, of fire long past away. my harp has one unchanging theme. (swedish air.) my harp has one unchanging theme, one strain that still comes o'er its languid chord, as 'twere a dream of joy that's now no more. in vain i try, with livelier air, to wake the breathing string; that voice of other times is there, and saddens all i sing. breathe on, breathe on, thou languid strain, henceforth be all my own; tho' thou art oft so full of pain few hearts can bear thy tone. yet oft thou'rt sweet, as if the sigh, the breath that pleasure's wings gave out, when last they wantoned by. were still upon thy strings. oh, no--not even when first we loved. (cashmerian air.) oh, no--not even when first we loved, wert thou as dear as now thou art; thy beauty then my senses moved, but now thy virtues bind my heart. what was but passion's sigh before, has since been turned to reason's vow; and, though i then might love thee _more_, trust me, i love thee _better_ now. altho' my heart in earlier youth might kindle with more wild desire, believe me, it has gained in truth much more than it has lost in fire. the flame now warms my inmost core, that then but sparkled o'er my brow, and, though i seemed to love thee more, yet, oh, i love thee better now. peace be around thee. (scotch air.) peace be around thee, wherever thou rov'st; may life be for thee one summer's day, and all that thou wishest and all that thou lov'st come smiling around thy sunny way! if sorrow e'er this calm should break, may even thy tears pass off so lightly, like spring-showers, they'll only make the smiles, that follow shine more brightly. may time who sheds his blight o'er all and daily dooms some joy to death o'er thee let years so gently fall, they shall not crush one flower beneath. as half in shade and half in sun this world along its path advances. may that side the sun's upon be all that e'er shall meet thy glances! common sense and genius. (french air.) while i touch the string, wreathe my brows with laurel, for the tale i sing has, for once, a moral. common sense, one night, tho' not used to gambols, went out by moonlight, with genius, on his rambles. while i touch the string, etc. common sense went on, many wise things saying; while the light that shone soon set genius straying. _one_ his eye ne'er raised from the path before him; t'_other_ idly gazed on each night-cloud o'er him. while i touch the string, etc. so they came, at last, to a shady river; common sense soon past, safe, as he doth ever; while the boy, whose look was in heaven that minute. never saw the brook, but tumbled headlong in it! while i touch the string, etc. how the wise one smiled, when safe o'er the torrent, at that youth, so wild, dripping from the current! sense went home to bed; genius, left to shiver on the bank, 'tis said, died of that cold river! while i touch the string, etc. then, fare thee well. (old english air.) then, fare thee well, my own dear love, this world has now for us no greater grief, no pain above the pain of parting thus, dear love! the pain of parting thus. had we but known, since first we met, some few short hours of bliss, we might, in numbering them, forget the deep, deep pain of this, dear love! the deep, deep pain of this. but no, alas, we've never seen one glimpse of pleasure's ray, but still there came some cloud between, and chased it all away, dear love! and chased it all away. yet, even could those sad moments last, far dearer to my heart were hours of grief, together past, than years of mirth apart, dear love! than years of mirth apart. farewell! our hope was born in fears, and nurst mid vain regrets: like winter suns, it rose in tears, like them in tears it sets, dear love! like them in tears it sets. gayly sounds the castanet. (maltese air.) gayly sounds the castanet, beating time to bounding feet, when, after daylight's golden set, maids and youths by moonlight meet. oh, then, how sweet to move thro' all that maze of mirth, led by light from eyes we love beyond all eyes on earth. then, the joyous banquet spread on the cool and fragrant ground, with heaven's bright sparklers overhead, and still brighter sparkling round. oh, then, how sweet to say into some loved one's ear, thoughts reserved thro' many a day to be thus whispered here. when the dance and feast are done, arm in arm as home we stray, how sweet to see the dawning sun o'er her cheek's warm blushes play! then, too, the farewell kiss-- the words, whose parting tone lingers still in dreams of bliss, that haunt young hearts alone. love is a hunter-boy. (languedocian air.) love is a hunter-boy, who, makes young hearts his prey, and in his nets of joy ensnares them night and day. in vain concealed they lie-- love tracks them every where; in vain aloft they fly-- love shoots them flying there. but 'tis his joy most sweet, at early dawn to trace the print of beauty's feet, and give the trembler chase. and if, thro' virgin snow, he tracks her footsteps fair, how sweet for love to know none went before him there. come, chase that starting tear away. (french air.) come, chase that starting tear away, ere mine to meet it springs; to-night, at least, to-night be gay, whate'er to-morrow brings. like sunset gleams, that linger late when all is darkening fast, are hours like these we snatch from fate-- the brightest, and the last. then, chase that starting tear, etc. to gild the deepening gloom, if heaven but one bright hour allow, oh, think that one bright hour is given, in all its splendor, now. let's live it out--then sink in night, like waves that from the shore one minute swell, are touched with light, then lost for evermore! come, chase that starting tear, etc. joys of youth, how fleeting! (portuguese air.) whisperings, heard by wakeful maids, to whom the night-stars guide us; stolen walks thro' moonlight shades, with those we love beside us, hearts beating, at meeting; tears starting, at parting; oh, sweet youth, how soon it fades! sweet joys of youth, how fleeting! wanderings far away from home, with life all new before us; greetings warm, when home we come, from hearts whose prayers watched o'er us. tears starting, at parting; hearts beating, at meeting; oh, sweet youth, how lost on some! to some, how bright and fleeting! hear me but once. (french air.) hear me but once, while o'er the grave, in which our love lies cold and dead, i count each flattering hope he gave of joys now lost and charms now fled. who could have thought the smile he wore when first we met would fade away? or that a chill would e'er come o'er those eyes so bright thro' many a day? hear me but once, etc. when love was a child (swedish air.) when love was a child, and went idling round, 'mong flowers the whole summer's day, one morn in the valley a bower he found, so sweet, it allured him to stay. o'erhead, from the trees, hung a garland fair, a fountain ran darkly beneath;-- 'twas pleasure had hung up the flowerets there; love knew it, and jumped at the wreath. but love didn't know--and, at _his_ weak years, what urchin was likely to know?-- that sorrow had made of her own salt tears the fountain that murmured below. he caught at the wreath--but with too much haste, as boys when impatient will do-- it fell in those waters of briny taste, and the flowers were all wet through. this garland he now wears night and day; and, tho' it all sunny appears with pleasure's own light, each leaf, they say, still tastes of the fountain of tears. say, what shall be our sport to-day? (sicilian air.) say, what shall be our sport today? there's nothing on earth, in sea, or air, too bright, too high, too wild, too gay for spirits like mine to dare! 'tis like the returning bloom of those days, alas, gone by, when i loved, each hour--i scarce knew whom-- and was blest--i scarce knew why. ay--those were days when life had wings, and flew, oh, flew so wild a height that, like the lark which sunward springs, 'twas giddy with too much light. and, tho' of some plumes bereft, with that sun, too, nearly set, i've enough of light and wing still left for a few gay soarings yet. bright be thy dreams. (welsh air.) bright be thy dreams--may all thy weeping turn into smiles while thou art sleeping. may those by death or seas removed, the friends, who in thy springtime knew thee, all thou hast ever prized or loved, in dreams come smiling to thee! there may the child, whose love lay deepest, dearest of all, come while thou sleepest; still as she was--no charm forgot-- no lustre lost that life had given; or, if changed, but changed to what thou'lt find her yet in heaven! go, then--'tis vain. (sicilian air.) go, then--'tis vain to hover thus round a hope that's dead; at length my dream is over; 'twas sweet--'twas false--'tis fled! farewell! since naught it moves thee, such truth as mine to see-- some one, who far less loves thee, perhaps more blest will be. farewell, sweet eyes, whose brightness new life around me shed; farewell, false heart, whose lightness now leaves me death instead. go, now, those charms surrender to some new lover's sigh-- one who, tho' far less tender, may be more blest than i. the crystal-hunters. (swiss air.) o'er mountains bright with snow and light, we crystal-hunters speed along; while rocks and caves, and icy wares, each instant echo to our song; and, when we meet with store of gems, we grudge not kings their diadems. o'er mountains bright with snow and light, we crystal-hunters speed along; while grots and caves, and icy waves, each instant echo to our song. not half so oft the lover dreams of sparkles from his lady's eyes, as we of those refreshing gleams that tell where deep the crystal lies; tho', next to crystal, we too grant, that ladies' eyes may most enchant. o'er mountains bright, etc. sometimes, when on the alpine rose the golden sunset leaves its ray, so like a gem the floweret glows, we hither bend our headlong way; and, tho' we find no treasure there, we bless the rose that shines so fair. o'er mountains bright with snow and light, we crystal-hunters speed along; while rocks and caves, and icy waves, each instant echo to our song, row gently here. (venetian air.) row gently here, my gondolier, so softly wake the tide, that not an ear. on earth, may hear, but hers to whom we glide. had heaven but tongues to speak, as well as starry eyes to see, oh, think what tales 'twould have to tell of wandering youths like me! now rest thee here. my gondolier; hush, hush, for up i go, to climb yon light balcony's height, while thou keep'st watch below. ah! did we take for heaven above but half such pains as we take, day and night, for woman's love, what' angels we should be. oh, days of youth. (french air.) oh, days of youth and joy, long clouded, why thus for ever haunt my view? when in the grave your light lay shrouded, why did not memory die there too? vainly doth hope her strain now sing me, telling of joys that yet remain-- no, never more can this life bring me one joy that equals youth's sweet pain. dim lies the way to death before me, cold winds of time blow round my brow; sunshine of youth! that once fell o'er me, where is your warmth, your glory now? _'tis_ not that then no pain could sting me; 'tis not that now no joys remain; oh, 'tis that life no more can bring me one joy so sweet as that worst pain. when first that smile. (venetian air.) when first that smile, like sunshine, blest my sight, oh what a vision then came o'er me! long years of love, of calm and pure delight, seemed in that smile to pass before me. ne'er did the peasant dream of summer skies, of golden fruit and harvests springing, with fonder hope than i of those sweet eyes, and of the joy their light was bringing. where now are all those fondly-promised hours? ah! woman's faith is like her brightness-- fading as fast as rainbows or day-flowers, or aught that's known for grace and lightness. short as the persian's prayer, at close of day, should be each vow of love's repeating; quick let him worship beauty's precious ray-- even while he kneels, that ray is fleeting! peace to the slumberers! (catalonian air.) peace to the slumberers! they lie on the battle-plain. with no shroud to cover them; the dew and the summer rain are all that weep over them. peace to the slumberers! vain was their bravery!-- the fallen oak lies where it lay, across the wintry river; but brave hearts, once swept away, are gone, alas! forever. vain was their bravery! woe to the conqueror! our limbs shall lie as cold as theirs of whom his sword bereft us. ere we forget the deep arrears of vengeance they have left us! woe to the conqueror! when thou shalt wander. (sicilian air.) when thou shalt wander by that sweet light we used to gaze on so many an eve, when love was new and hope was bright, ere i could doubt or thou deceive-- oh, then, remembering how swift went by those hours of transport, even _thou_ may'st sigh. yes, proud one! even thy heart may own that love like ours was far too sweet to be, like summer garments thrown aside, when past the summer's heat; and wish in vain to know again such days, such nights, as blest thee then. who'll buy my love-knots? (portuguese air.) hymen, late, his love-knots selling, called at many a maiden's dwelling: none could doubt, who saw or knew them, hymen's call was welcome to them. "who'll buy my love-knots? "who'll buy my love-knots?" soon as that sweet cry resounded how his baskets were surrounded! maids, who now first dreamt of trying these gay knots of hymen's tying; dames, who long had sat to watch him passing by, but ne'er could catch him;-- "who'll buy my love-knots? "who'll buy my love-knots?"-- all at that sweet cry assembled; some laughed, some blushed, and some trembled. "here are knots," said hymen, taking some loose flowers, "of love's own making; "here are gold ones--you may trust 'em"-- (these, of course, found ready custom). "come, buy my love-knots! "come, buy my love-knots! "some are labelled 'knots to tie men-- "love the maker--bought of hymen.'" scarce their bargains were completed, when the nymphs all cried, "we're cheated! "see these flowers--they're drooping sadly; "this gold-knot, too, ties but badly-- "who'd buy such love-knots? "who'd buy such love-knots? "even this tie, with love's name round it-- "all a sham--he never bound it." love, who saw the whole proceeding, would have laughed, but for good breeding; while old hymen, who was used to cries like that these dames gave loose to-- "take back our love-knots! "take back our love-knots!" coolly said, "there's no returning "wares on hymen's hands--good morning!" see, the dawn from heaven. (to an air sung at rome, on christmas eve.) see, the dawn from heaven is breaking o'er our sight, and earth from sin awaking, hails the light! see those groups of angels, winging from the realms above, on their brows, from eden, bringing wreaths of hope and love. hark, their hymns of glory pealing thro' the air, to mortal ears revealing who lies there! in that dwelling, dark and lowly, sleeps the heavenly son, he, whose home's above,--the holy, ever holy one! nets and cages.[ ] (swedish air.) come, listen to my story, while your needle task you ply: at what i sing some maids will smile, while some, perhaps, may sigh. though love's the theme, and wisdom blames such florid songs as ours, yet truth sometimes, like eastern dames, can speak her thoughts by flowers. then listen, maids, come listen, while your needle's task you ply; at what i sing there's some may smile, while some, perhaps, will sigh. young cloe, bent on catching loves, such nets had learned to frame, that none, in all our vales and groves, e'er caught so much small game: but gentle sue, less given to roam, while cloe's nets were taking such lots of loves, sat still at home, one little love-cage making. come, listen, maids, etc. much cloe laughed at susan's task; but mark how things went on: these light-caught loves, ere you could ask their name and age, were gone! so weak poor cloe's nets were wove, that, tho' she charm'd into them new game each hour, the youngest love was able to break thro' them. come, listen, maids, etc. meanwhile, young sue, whose cage was wrought of bars too strong to sever, one love with golden pinions caught. and caged him there for ever; instructing, thereby, all coquettes, whate'er their looks or ages, that, tho 'tis pleasant weaving nets, 'tis wiser to make cages. thus, maidens, thus do i beguile the task your fingers ply.-- may all who hear like susan smile, and not, like cloe, sigh! [ ] suggested by the following remark of swift's;--"the reason why so few marriages are happy, is, because young ladies spend their time in making nets, not in making cages." when through the piazzetta. (venetian air.) when thro' the piazzetta night breathes her cool air, then, dearest ninetta, i'll come to thee there. beneath thy mask shrouded, i'll know thee afar, as love knows tho' clouded his own evening star. in garb, then, resembling some gay gondolier, i'll whisper thee, trembling, "our bark, love, is near: "now, now, while there hover "those clouds o'er the moon, "'twill waft thee safe over "yon silent lagoon." go, now, and dream. (sicilian air.) go, now, and dream o'er that joy in thy slumber-- moments so sweet again ne'er shalt thou number. of pain's bitter draught the flavor ne'er flies, while pleasure's scarce touches the lip ere it dies. go, then, and dream, etc. that moon, which hung o'er your parting, so splendid, often will shine again, bright as she then did-- but, never more will the beam she saw burn in those happy eyes, at your meeting, return. go, then, and dream, etc. take hence the bowl. (neapolitan air.) take hence the bowl;--tho' beaming brightly as bowl e'er shone, oh, it but sets me dreaming of happy days now gone. there, in its clear reflection, as in a wizard's glass, lost hopes and dead affection, like shades, before me pass. each cup i drain brings hither some scene of bliss gone by;-- bright lips too bright to wither, warm hearts too warm to die. till, as the dream comes o'er me of those long vanished years, alas, the wine before me seems turning all to tears! farewell, theresa! (venetian air.) farewell, theresa! yon cloud that over heaven's pale night-star gathering we see, will scarce from that pure orb have past ere thy lover swift o'er the wide wave shall wander from thee. long, like that dim cloud, i've hung around thee, darkening thy prospects, saddening thy brow; with gay heart, theresa, and bright cheek i found thee; oh, think how changed, love, how changed art thou now! but here i free thee: like one awaking from fearful slumber, thou break'st the spell; 'tis over--the moon, too, her bondage is breaking-- past are the dark clouds; theresa, farewell! how oft, when watching stars. (savoyard air.) oft, when the watching stars grow pale, and round me sleeps the moonlight scene, to hear a flute through yonder vale i from my casement lean. "come, come, my love!" each note then seems to say, "oh, come, my love! the night wears fast away!" never to mortal ear could words, tho' warm they be, speak passion's language half so clear as do those notes to me! then quick my own light lute i seek, and strike the chords with loudest swell; and, tho' they naught to others speak, _he_ knows their language well. "i come, my love!" each note then seems to say, "i come, my love!--thine, thine till break of day." oh, weak the power of words, the hues of painting dim compared to what those simple chords then say and paint to him! when the first summer bee. (german air.) when the first summer bee o'er the young rose shall hover, then, like that gay rover, i'll come to thee. he to flowers, i to lips, full of sweets to the brim-- what a meeting, what a meeting for me and for him! when the first summer bee, etc. then, to every bright tree in the garden he'll wander; while i, oh, much fonder, will stay with thee. in search of new sweetness thro' thousands he'll run, while i find the sweetness of thousands in one. then, to every bright tree, etc. tho' 'tis all but a dream. (french air.) tho' 'tis all but a dream at the best, and still, when happiest, soonest o'er, yet, even in a dream, to be blest is so sweet, that i ask for no more. the bosom that opes with earliest hopes, the soonest finds those hopes untrue: as flowers that first in spring-time burst the earliest wither too! ay--'tis all but a dream, etc. tho' by friendship we oft are deceived, and find love's sunshine soon o'ercast, yet friendship will still be believed. and love trusted on to the last. the web 'mong the leaves the spider weaves is like the charm hope hangs o'er men; tho' often she sees 'tis broke by the breeze, she spins the bright tissue again. ay--'tis all but a dream, etc. when the wine-cup is smiling. (italian air.) when the wine-cup is smiling before us, and we pledge round to hearts that are true, boy, true, then the sky of this life opens o'er us, and heaven gives a glimpse of its blue. talk of adam in eden reclining, we are better, far better off thus, boy, thus; for _him_ but _two_ bright eyes were shining-- see, what numbers are sparkling for us! when on _one_ side the grape-juice is dancing, while on t'other a blue eye beams, boy, beams, 'tis enough, 'twixt the wine and the glancing, to disturb even a saint from his dreams. yet, tho' life like a river is flowing, i care not how fast it goes on, boy, on, so the grape on its bank is still growing, and love lights the waves as they run. where shall we bury our shame? (neapolitan air.) where shall we bury our shame? where, in what desolate place, hide the last wreck of a name broken and stained by disgrace? death may dissever the chain, oppression will cease when we're gone; but the dishonor, the stain, die as we may, will live on. was it for this we sent out liberty's cry from our shore? was it for this that her shout thrilled to the world's very core? thus to live cowards and slaves!-- oh, ye free hearts that lie dead, do you not, even in your graves, shudder, as o'er you we tread? ne'er talk of wisdom's gloomy schools. (mahratta air.) ne'er talk of wisdom's gloomy schools; give me the sage who's able to draw his moral thoughts and rules from the study of the table;-- who learns how lightly, fleetly pass this world and all that's in it. from the bumper that but crowns his glass, and is gone again next minute! the diamond sleeps within the mine, the pearl beneath the water; while truth, more precious, dwells in wine. the grape's own rosy daughter. and none can prize her charms like him, oh, none like him obtain her, who thus can, like leander, swim thro' sparkling floods to gain her! here sleeps the bard. (highland air.) here sleeps the bard who knew so well all the sweet windings of apollo's shell; whether its music rolled like torrents near. or died, like distant streamlets, on the ear. sleep, sleep, mute bard; alike unheeded now the storm and zephyr sweep thy lifeless brow;-- that storm, whose rush is like thy martial lay; that breeze which, like thy love-song, dies away! do not say that life is waning. do not say that life is waning, or that hope's sweet day is set; while i've thee and love remaining, life is in the horizon yet. do not think those charms are flying, tho' thy roses fade and fall; beauty hath a grace undying, which in thee survives them all. not for charms, the newest, brightest, that on other cheeks may shine, would i change the least, the slightest. that is lingering now o'er thine. the gazelle. dost thou not hear the silver bell, thro' yonder lime-trees ringing? 'tis my lady's light gazelle; to me her love thoughts bringing,-- all the while that silver bell around his dark neck ringing. see, in his mouth he bears a wreath, my love hath kist in tying; oh, what tender thoughts beneath those silent flowers are lying,-- hid within the mystic wreath, my love hath kist in trying! welcome, dear gazelle, to thee, and joy to her, the fairest. who thus hath breathed her soul to me. in every leaf thou bearest; welcome, dear gazelle, to thee, and joy to her the fairest! hail ye living, speaking flowers, that breathe of her who bound ye; oh, 'twas not in fields, or bowers; 'twas on her lips, she found ye;-- yes, ye blushing, speaking flowers, 'twas on her lips she found ye. no--leave my heart to rest. no--leave my heart to rest, if rest it may, when youth, and love, and hope, have past away. couldst thou, when summer hours are fled, to some poor leaf that's fallen and dead, bring back the hue it wore, the scent it shed? no--leave this heart to rest, if rest it may, when youth, and love, and hope, have past away. oh, had i met thee then, when life was bright, thy smile might still have fed its tranquil light; but now thou comest like sunny skies, too late to cheer the seaman's eyes, when wrecked and lost his bark before him lies! no--leave this heart to rest, if rest it may, since youth, and love, and hope have past away. where are the visions. "where are the visions that round me once hovered, "forms that shed grace from their shadows alone; "looks fresh as light from a star just discovered, "and voices that music might take for her own?" time, while i spoke, with his wings resting o'er me, heard me say, "where are those visions, oh where?" and pointing his wand to the sunset before me, said, with a voice like the hollow wind, "there." fondly i looked, when the wizard had spoken, and there, mid the dim-shining ruins of day, saw, by their light, like a talisman broken, the last golden fragments of hope melt away. wind thy horn, my hunter boy. wind thy horn, my hunter boy, and leave thy lute's inglorious sighs; hunting is the hero's joy, till war his nobler game supplies. hark! the hound-bells ringing sweet, while hunters shout and the, woods repeat, hilli-ho! hilli-ho! wind again thy cheerful horn, till echo, faint with answering, dies: burn, bright torches, burn till morn, and lead us where the wild boar lies. hark! the cry, "he's found, he's found," while hill and valley our shouts resound. hilli-ho! hilli-ho! oh, guard our affection. oh, guard our affection, nor e'er let it feel the blight that this world o'er the warmest will steal: while the faith of all round us is fading or past, let ours, ever green, keep its bloom to the last. far safer for love 'tis to wake and to weep, as he used in his prime, than go smiling to sleep; for death on his slumber, cold death follows fast, white the love that is wakeful lives on to the last. and tho', as time gathers his clouds o'er our head, a shade somewhat darker o'er life they may spread, transparent, at least, be the shadow they cast, so that love's softened light may shine thro' to the last. slumber, oh slumber. "slumber, oh slumber; if sleeping thou mak'st "my heart beat so wildly, i'm lost if thou wak'st." thus sung i to a maiden, who slept one summer's day, and, like a flower overladen with too much sunshine, lay. slumber, oh slumber, etc. "breathe not, oh breathe not, ye winds, o'er her cheeks; "if mute thus she charm me, i'm lost when she speaks." thus sing i, while, awaking, she murmurs words that seem as if her lips were taking farewell of some sweet dream. breathe not, oh breathe not, etc. bring the bright garlands hither. bring the bright garlands hither, ere yet a leaf is dying; if so soon they must wither. ours be their last sweet sighing. hark, that low dismal chime! 'tis the dreary voice of time. oh, bring beauty, bring roses, bring all that yet is ours; let life's day, as it closes, shine to the last thro' flowers. haste, ere the bowl's declining, drink of it now or never; now, while beauty is shining, love, or she's lost for ever. hark! again that dull chime, 'tis the dreary voice of time. oh, if life be a torrent, down to oblivion going, like this cup be its current, bright to the last drop flowing! if in loving, singing. if in loving, singing, night and day we could trifle merrily life away, like atoms dancing in the beam, like day-flies skimming o'er the stream, or summer blossoms, born to sigh their sweetness out, and die-- how brilliant, thoughtless, side by side, thou and i could make our minutes glide! no atoms ever glanced so bright, no day-flies ever danced so light, nor summer blossoms mixt their sigh, so close, as thou and i! thou lovest no more. too plain, alas, my doom is spoken nor canst thou veil the sad truth o'er; thy heart is changed, thy vow is broken, thou lovest no more--thou lovest no more. tho' kindly still those eyes behold me, the smile is gone, which once they wore; tho' fondly still those arms enfold me, 'tis not the same--thou lovest no more. too long my dream of bliss believing, i've thought thee all thou wert before; but now--alas! there's no deceiving, 'tis all too plain, thou lovest no more. oh, thou as soon the dead couldst waken, as lost affection's life restore, give peace to her that is forsaken, or bring back him who loves no more. when abroad in the world. when abroad in the world thou appearest. and the young and the lovely are there, to my heart while of all thou'rt the dearest. to my eyes thou'rt of all the most fair. they pass, one by one, like waves of the sea, that say to the sun, "see, how fair we can be." but where's the light like thine, in sun or shade to shine? no--no, 'mong them all, there is nothing like thee, nothing like thee. oft, of old, without farewell or warning, beauty's self used to steal from the skies; fling a mist round her head, some fine morning, and post down to earth in disguise; but, no matter what shroud around her might be, men peeped through the cloud, and whispered, "'tis she." so thou, where thousands are, shinest forth the only star,-- yes, yes, 'mong them all, there is nothing like thee, nothing like thee. keep those eyes still purely mine. keep those eyes still purely mine, tho' far off i be: when on others most they shine, then think they're turned on me. should those lips as now respond to sweet minstrelsy, when their accents seem most fond, then think they're breathed for me. make what hearts thou wilt thy own, if when all on thee fix their charmed thoughts alone, thou think'st the while on me. hope comes again. hope comes again, to this heart long a stranger, once more she sings me her flattering strain; but hush, gentle syren--for, ah, there's less danger in still suffering on, than in hoping again. long, long, in sorrow, too deep for repining, gloomy, but tranquil, this bosom hath lain: and joy coming now, like a sudden light shining o'er eyelids long darkened, would bring me but pain. fly then, ye visions, that hope would shed o'er me; lost to the future, my sole chance of rest now lies not in dreaming of bliss that's before me. but, ah--in forgetting how once i was blest. o say, thou best and brightest. o say, thou best and brightest, my first love and my last. when he, whom now thou slightest, from life's dark scene hath past, will kinder thoughts then move thee? will pity wake one thrill for him who lived to love thee, and dying loved thee still? if when, that hour recalling from which he dates his woes, thou feel'st a tear-drop falling, ah, blush not while it flows; but, all the past forgiving, bend gently o'er his shrine, and say, "this heart, when living, "with all its faults, was mine." when night brings the hour. when night brings the hour of starlight and joy, there comes to my bower a fairy-winged boy; with eyes so bright, so full of wild arts, like nets of light, to tangle young hearts; with lips, in whose keeping love's secret may dwell, like zephyr asleep in some rosy sea-shell. guess who he is, name but his name, and his best kiss for reward you may claim. where'er o'er the ground he prints his light feet. the flowers there are found most shining and sweet: his looks, as soft as lightning in may, tho' dangerous oft, ne'er wound but in play: and oh, when his wings have brushed o'er my lyre, you'd fancy its strings were turning to fire. guess who he is, name but his name, and his best kiss for reward you may claim. like one who, doomed. like one who, doomed o'er distant seas his weary path to measure, when home at length, with favoring breeze, he brings the far-sought treasure; his ship, in sight of shore, goes down, that shore to which he hasted; and all the wealth he thought his own is o'er the waters wasted! like him, this heart, thro' many a track of toil and sorrow straying, one hope alone brought fondly back, its toil and grief repaying. like him, alas, i see that ray of hope before me perish, and one dark minute sweep away what years were given to cherish. fear not that, while around thee. fear not that, while around thee life's varied blessings pour, one sigh of hers shall wound thee, whose smile thou seek'st no more. no, dead and cold for ever let our past love remain; once gone, its spirit never shall haunt thy rest again. may the new ties that bind thee far sweeter, happier prove, nor e'er of me remind thee, but by their truth and love. think how, asleep or waking, thy image haunts me yet; but, how this heart is breaking for thy own peace forget. when love is kind. when love is kind, cheerful and free, love's sure to find welcome from me. but when love brings heartache or pang, tears, and such things-- love may go hang! if love can sigh for one alone, well pleased am i to be that one, but should i see love given to rove to two or three, then--good by love! love must, in short, keep fond and true, thro' good report, and evil too. else, here i swear, young love may go. for aught i care-- to jericho. the garland i send thee. the garland i send thee was culled from those bowers where thou and i wandered in long vanished hours; not a leaf or a blossom its bloom here displays, but bears some remembrance of those happy days. the roses were gathered by that garden gate, where our meetings, tho' early, seemed always too late; where lingering full oft thro' a summer-night's moon, our partings, tho' late, appeared always too soon. the rest were all culled from the banks of that glade, where, watching the sunset, so often we've strayed, and mourned, as the time went, that love had no power to bind in his chain even one happy hour. how shall i woo? if i speak to thee in friendship's name, thou think'st i speak too coldly; if i mention love's devoted flame, thou say'st i speak too boldly. between these two unequal fires, why doom me thus to hover? i'm a friend, if such thy heart requires, if more thou seek'st, a lover. which shall it be? how shall i woo? fair one, choose between the two. tho' the wings of love will brightly play, when first he comes to woo thee, there's a chance that he may fly away, as fast as he flies _to_ thee. while friendship, tho' on foot she come, no flights of fancy trying, will, therefore, oft be found at home, when love abroad is flying. which shall it be? how shall i woo? dear one, choose between the two. if neither feeling suits thy heart let's see, to please thee, whether we may not learn some precious art to mix their charms together; one feeling, still more sweet, to form from two so sweet already-- a friendship that like love is warm, a love like friendship steady. thus let it be, thus let me woo, dearest, thus we'll join the two. spring and autumn. every season hath its pleasures; spring may boast her flowery prime, yet the vineyard's ruby treasures brighten autumn's soberer time. so life's year begins and closes; days tho' shortening still can shine; what tho' youth gave love and roses, age still leaves us friends and wine. phillis, when she might have caught me, all the spring looked coy and shy, yet herself in autumn sought me, when the flowers were all gone by. ah, too late;--she found her lover calm and free beneath his vine, drinking to the spring-time over, in his best autumnal wine. thus may we, as years are flying, to their flight our pleasures suit, nor regret the blossoms dying, while we still may taste the fruit, oh, while days like this are ours, where's the lip that dares repine? spring may take our loves and flowers, so autumn leaves us friends and wine. love alone. if thou wouldst have thy charms enchant our eyes, first win our hearts, for there thy empire lies: beauty in vain would mount a heartless throne, her right divine is given by love alone. what would the rose with all her pride be worth, were there no sun to call her brightness forth? maidens, unloved, like flowers in darkness thrown, wait but that light which comes from love alone. fair as thy charms in yonder glass appear, trust not their bloom, they'll fade from year to year: wouldst thou they still should shine as first they shone, go, fix thy mirror in love's eyes alone. sacred songs to edward tuite dalton, esq. the first number of sacred songs is inscribed, by his sincere and affectionate friend, thomas moore. _mayfield cottage, ashbourne_, _may, _ sacred songs thou art, o god. (air.--unknown.)[ ] "the day is thine, the night is also thine: thou hast prepared the light and the sun. "thou hast set all the borders of the earth: thou hast made summer and winter." --_psalm_ lxxiv. , . thou art, o god, the life and light of all this wondrous world we see; its glow by day, its smile by night, are but reflections caught from thee. where'er we turn, thy glories shine, and all things fair and bright are thine! when day, with farewell beam, delays among the opening clouds of even, and we can almost think we gaze thro' golden vistas into heaven-- those hues, that make the sun's decline so soft, so radiant, lord! are thine. when night, with wings of starry gloom, o'ershadows all the earth and skies, like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plume is sparkling with unnumbered eyes-- that sacred gloom, those fires divine, so grand, so countless, lord! are thine. when youthful spring around us breathes, thy spirit warms her fragrant sigh; and every flower the summer wreaths is born beneath that kindling eye. where'er we turn, thy glories shine, and all things fair and bright are thine. [ ] i have heard that this air is by the late mrs. sheridan. it is sung to the beautiful old words, "i do confess thou'rt smooth and fair." the bird, let loose. (air.--beethoven.) the bird, let loose in eastern skies,[ ] when hastening fondly home, ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies where idle warblers roam. but high she shoots thro' air and light, above all low delay, where nothing earthly bounds her flight, nor shadow dims her way. so grant me, god, from every care and stain of passion free, aloft, thro' virtue's purer air, to hold my course to thee! no sin to cloud, no lure to stay my soul, as home she springs;-- thy sunshine on her joyful way, thy freedom in her wings! [ ] the carrier-pigeon, it is well known, flies at an elevated pitch, in order to surmount every obstacle between her and the place to which she is destined. fallen is thy throne. (air.--martini.) fallen is thy throne, oh israel! silence is o'er thy plains; thy dwellings all lie desolate, thy children weep in chains. where are the dews that fed thee on etham's barren shore? that fire from heaven which led thee, now lights thy path no more. lord! thou didst love jerusalem-- once she was all thy own; her love thy fairest heritage,[ ] her power thy glory's throne.[ ] till evil came, and blighted thy long-loved olive-tree;[ ]-- and salem's shrines were lighted for other gods than thee. then sunk the star of solyma-- then past her glory's day, like heath that, in the wilderness,[ ] the wild wind whirls away. silent and waste her bowers, where once the mighty trod, and sunk those guilty towers, while baal reign'd as god. "go"--said the lord--"ye conquerors! "steep in her blood your swords, "and raze to earth her battlements,[ ] "for they are not the lord's. "till zion's mournful daughter "o'er kindred bones shall tread, "and hinnom's vale of slaughter[ ] "shall hide but half her dead!" [ ] "i have left mine heritage; i have given the clearly beloved of my soul into the hands of her enemies."--_jeremiah_, xii. . [ ] "do not disgrace the throne of thy glory."--_jer_. xiv. . [ ] "the lord called by name a green olive-tree; fair, and of goodly fruit," etc.--_jer_. xi. . [ ] "for he shall be like the heath in the desert."--_jer_. xvii, . [ ] "take away her battlements; for they are not the lord's."--_jer_. v. . [ ] "therefore, behold, the days come, saith the lord, that it shall no more be called tophet, nor the valley of the son of hinnom, but the valley or slaughter; for they shall bury in tophet till there be no place."-- _jer_. vii. . who is the maid? st. jerome's love. (air.--beethoven.) who is the maid my spirit seeks, thro' cold reproof and slander's blight? has _she_ love's roses on her cheeks? is _hers_ an eye of this world's light? no--wan and sunk with midnight prayer are the pale looks of her i love; or if at times a light be there, its beam is kindled from above. i chose not her, my heart's elect, from those who seek their maker's shrine in gems and garlands proudly decked, as if themselves were things divine. no--heaven but faintly warms the breast that beats beneath a broidered veil; and she who comes in glittering vest to mourn her frailty, still is frail. not so the faded form i prize and love, because its bloom is gone; the glory in those sainted eyes is all the grace _her_ brow puts on. and ne'er was beauty's dawn so bright, so touching as that form's decay, which, like the altar's trembling light, in holy lustre wastes away. this world is all a fleeting show. (air.--stevenson.) this world is all a fleeting show, for man's illusion given; the smiles of joy, the tears of woe, deceitful shine, deceitful flow-- there's nothing true but heaven! and false the light on glory's plume, as fading hues of even; and love and hope, and beauty's bloom, are blossoms gathered for the tomb-- there's nothing bright but heaven! poor wanderers of a stormy day, from wave to wave we're driven, and fancy's flash and reason's ray serve but to light the troubled way-- there's nothing calm but heaven! oh thou who dry'st the mourner's tear. (air.--haydn.) "he healeth the broken in heart and bindeth up their wounds," --_psalm_. cxlvii. . oh thou who dry'st the mourner's tear, how dark this world would be, if, when deceived and wounded here, we could not fly to thee. the friends who in our sunshine live, when winter comes, are flown; and he who has but tears to give, must weep those tears alone. but thou wilt heal that broken heart, which, like the plants that throw their fragrance from the wounded part, breathes sweetness out of woe. when joy no longer soothes or cheers, and even the hope that threw a moment's sparkle o'er our tears is dimmed and vanished too, oh, who would bear life's stormy doom, did not thy wing of love come, brightly wafting thro' the gloom our peace-branch from above? then sorrow, touched by thee, grows bright with more than rapture's ray; as darkness shows us worlds of light we never saw by day! weep not for those. (air.--avison.) weep not for those whom the veil of the tomb, in life's happy morning, hath hid from our eyes, ere sin threw a blight o'er the spirit's young bloom, or earth had profaned what was born for the skies. death chilled the fair fountain, ere sorrow had stained it; 'twas frozen in all the pure light of its course, and but sleeps till the sunshine of heaven has unchained it, to water that eden where first was its source. weep not for those whom the veil of the tomb, in life's happy morning, hath hid from our eyes, ere sin threw a blight o'er the spirit's young bloom, or earth had profaned what was born for the skies. mourn not for her, the young bride of the vale,[ ] our gayest and loveliest, lost to us now, ere life's early lustre had time to grow pale, and the garland of love was yet fresh on her brow. oh, then was her moment, dear spirit, for flying from this gloomy world, while its gloom was unknown-- and the wild hymns she warbled so sweetly, in dying, were echoed in heaven by lips like her own. weep not for her--in her springtime she flew to that land where the wings of the soul are unfurled; and now, like a star beyond evening's cold dew, looks radiantly down on the tears of this world. [ ] this second verse, which i wrote long after the first, alludes to the fate of a very lovely and amiable girl, the daughter of the late colonel bainbrigge, who was married in ashbourne church, october , , and died of a fever in a few weeks after. the sound of her marriage-bells seemed scarcely out of our ears when we heard of her death. during her last delirium she sung several hymns, in a voice even clearer and sweeter than usual, and among them were some from the present collection, (particularly, "there's nothing bright but heaven,") which this very interesting girl had often heard me sing during the summer. the turf shall be my fragrant shrine. (air.--stevenson.) the turf shall be my fragrant shrine; my temple, lord! that arch of thine; my censer's breath the mountain airs, and silent thoughts my only prayers. my choir shall be the moonlight waves, when murmuring homeward to their caves, or when the stillness of the sea, even more than music dreams of thee! i'll seek, by day, some glade unknown, all light and silence, like thy throne; and the pale stars shall be, at night, the only eyes that watch my rite. thy heaven, on which 'tis bliss to look, shall be my pure and shining book, where i shall read, in words of flame, the glories of thy wondrous name. i'll read thy anger in the rack that clouds awhile the day-beam's track; thy mercy in the azure hue of sunny brightness, breaking thro'. there's nothing bright, above, below, from flowers that bloom to stars that glow, but in its light my soul can see some feature of thy deity: there's nothing dark, below, above, but in its gloom i trace thy love, and meekly wait that moment, when thy touch shall turn all bright again! sound the loud timbrel. miriam's song. (alr.--avison.)[ ] "and miriam, the prophetess, the sister of aaron, took a timbrel in her band; and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dances." --_exod_. xv. . sound the loud timbrel o'er egypt's dark sea! jehovah has triumphed--his people are free. sing--for the pride of the tyrant is broken, his chariots, his horsemen, all splendid and brave-- how vain was their boast, for the lord hath but spoken, and chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave. sound the loud timbrel o'er egypt's dark sea; jehovah has triumphed--his people are free. praise to the conqueror, praise to the lord! his word was our arrow, his breath was our sword-- who shall return to tell egypt the story of those she sent forth in the hour of her pride? for the lord hath looked out from his pillar of glory,[ ] and all her brave thousands are dashed in the tide. sound the loud timbrel o'er egypt's dark sea, jehovah has triumphed--his people are free! [ ] i have so much altered the character of this air, which is from the beginning of one of avison's old-fashioned concertos, that, without this acknowledgment, it could hardly, i think, be recognized. [ ] "and it came to pass, that, in the morning watch the lord looked unto the host of the egyptians, through the pillar of fire and of the cloud, and troubled the host of the egyptians."--_exod_. xiv. . go, let me weep. (air.--stevenson.) go, let me weep--there's bliss in tears, when he who sheds them inly feels some lingering stain of early years effaced by every drop that steals. the fruitless showers of worldly woe fall dark to earth and never rise; while tears that from repentance flow, in bright exhalement reach the skies. go, let me weep. leave me to sigh o'er hours that flew more idly than the summer's wind, and, while they past, a fragrance threw, but left no trace of sweets behind.-- the warmest sigh that pleasure heaves is cold, is faint to those that swell the heart where pure repentance grieves o'er hours of pleasure, loved too well. leave me to sigh. come not, oh lord. (air.--haydn.) come not, oh lord, in the dread robe of splendor thou worest on the mount, in the day of thine ire; come veiled in those shadows, deep, awful, but tender, which mercy flings over thy features of fire! lord, thou rememberest the night, when thy nation[ ] stood fronting her foe by the red-rolling stream; o'er egypt thy pillar shed dark desolation, while israel basked all the night in its beam. so, when the dread clouds of anger enfold thee, from us, in thy mercy, the dark side remove; while shrouded in terrors the guilty behold thee, oh, turn upon us the mild light of thy love! [ ] "and it came between the camp of the egyptians and the camp of israel; and it was a cloud and darkness to them, but it gave light by night to these"--_exod_. xiv. . were not the sinful mary's tears. (air.--stevenson.) were not the sinful mary's tears an offering worthy heaven, when, o'er the faults of former years, she wept--and was forgiven? when, bringing every balmy sweet her day of luxury stored, she o'er her saviour's hallowed feet the precious odors poured;-- and wiped them with that golden hair, where once the diamond shone; tho' now those gems of grief were there which shine for god alone! were not those sweets, so humbly shed-- that hair--those weeping eyes-- and the sunk heart, that inly bled-- heaven's noblest sacrifice? thou that hast slept in error's sleep, oh, would'st thou wake in heaven, like mary kneel, like mary weep, "love much" and be forgiven![ ] [ ] "her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she loved much."--st. luke, vii. . as down in the sunless retreats. (air.--haydn.) as down in the sunless retreats of the ocean, sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see, so, deep in my soul the still prayer of devotion, unheard by the world, rises silent to thee, my god! silent to thee-- pure, warm, silent, to thee, as still to the star of its worship, tho' clouded, the needle points faithfully o'er the dim sea, so, dark as i roam, in this wintry world shrouded, the hope of my spirit turns trembling to thee, my god! trembling to thee-- true, fond, trembling, to thee. but who shall see. (air.--stevenson.) but who shall see the glorious day when, throned on zion's brow, the lord shall rend that veil away which hides the nations now?[ ] when earth no more beneath the fear of this rebuke shall lie;[ ] when pain shall cease, and every tear be wiped from every eye.[ ] then, judah, thou no more shall mourn beneath the heathen's chain; thy days of splendor shall return, and all be new again.[ ] the fount of life shall then be quaft in peace, by all who come;[ ] and every wind that blows shall waft some long-lost exile home. [ ] "and he will destroy, in this mountain, the face of the covering cast over all people, and the vail that is spread over all nations."--isaiah, xxv. . [ ] "the rebuke of his people shall he take away from off all the earth."--isaiah, xxv. . [ ] "and god shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; neither shall there be any more pain."--rev. xxi: . [ ] "and he that sat upon the throne said, behold, i make all things new."--rev. xxi. . [ ] "and whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely."--rev. xxii. . almighty god! chorus of priests. (air.--mozart.) almighty god! when round thy shrine the palm-tree's heavenly branch we twine,[ ] (emblem of life's eternal ray, and love that "fadeth not away,") we bless the flowers, expanded all,[ ] we bless the leaves that never fall, and trembling say,--"in eden thus "the tree of life may flower for us!" when round thy cherubs--smiling calm, without their flames--we wreathe the palm. oh god! we feel the emblem true-- thy mercy is eternal too, those cherubs, with their smiling eyes, that crown of palm which never dies, are but the types of thee above-- eternal life, and peace, and love! [ ] "the scriptures having declared that the temple of jerusalem was a type of the messiah, it is natural to conclude that the palms, which made so conspicuous a figure in that structure, represented that life and immortality which were brought to light by the gospel."--"observations on the palm, as a sacred emblem," by w. tighe. [ ] "and he carved all the walls of the house round about with carved figures of cherubim, and palm-trees, and _open flowers_."-- kings, vi. . oh fair! oh purest! saint augustine to his sister. (air.--moore) oh fair! oh purest! be thou the dove that flies alone to some sunny grove, and lives unseen, and bathes her wing, all vestal white, in the limpid spring. there, if the hovering hawk be near, that limpid spring in its mirror clear reflects him ere he reach his prey and warns the timorous bird away, be thou this dove; fairest, purest, be thou this dove, the sacred pages of god's own book shall be the spring, the eternal brook, in whose holy mirror, night and day, thou'lt study heaven's reflected ray;-- and should the foes of virtue dare, with gloomy wing, to seek thee there, thou wilt see how dark their shadows lie between heaven and thee, and trembling fly! be thou that dove; fairest, purest, be thou that dove. angel of charity. (air.--handel) angel of charity, who, from above, comest to dwell a pilgrim here, thy voice is music, thy smile is love, and pity's soul is in thy tear. when on the shrine of god were laid first-fruits of all most good and fair, that ever bloomed in eden's shade, thine was the holiest offering there. hope and her sister, faith, were given but as our guides to yonder sky; soon as they reach the verge of heaven, there, lost in perfect bliss, they die. but, long as love, almighty love, shall on his throne of thrones abide, thou, charity, shalt dwell above, smiling for ever by his side! behold the sun. (air.--lord mornington.) behold the sun, how bright from yonder east he springs, as if the soul of life and light were breathing from his wings. so bright the gospel broke upon the souls of men; so fresh the dreaming world awoke in truth's full radiance then. before yon sun arose, stars clustered thro' the sky-- but oh how dim, how pale were those, to his one burning eye! so truth lent many a ray, to bless the pagan's night-- but, lord, how weak, how cold were they to thy one glorious light! lord, who shall bear that day. (air.--dr. boyce.) lord, who shall bear that day, so dread, so splendid, when we shall see thy angel hovering o'er this sinful world with hand to heaven extended, and hear him swear by thee that time's no more?[ ] when earth shall feel thy fast consuming ray-- who, mighty god, oh who shall bear that day? when thro' the world thy awful call hath sounded-- "wake, all ye dead, to judgment wake, ye dead!" and from the clouds, by seraph eyes surrounded, the saviour shall put forth his radiant head;[ ] while earth and heaven before him pass away[ ]-- who, mighty god, oh who shall bear that day? when, with a glance, the eternal judge shall sever earth's evil spirits from the pure and bright, and say to _those_, "depart from me for ever!" to _these_, "come, dwell with me in endless light!"[ ] when each and all in silence take their way-- who, mighty god, oh who shall bear that day? [ ] and the angel which i saw stand upon the sea and upon the earth, lifted up his hand to heaven, and swear by him that liveth for ever and ever...that there should be time no longer."--_rev_. x. , . [ ] "they shall see the son of man coming in the clouds of heaven--and all the angels with him."--_matt_. xxiv. , and xxv. . [ ] "from whose face the earth and the heaven fled away."--_rev_. xx. ii. [ ] "and before him shall be gathered all nations, and he shall separate them one from another. "then shall the king say unto them on his right hand, come, ye blessed of my father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you, etc. "then shall he say also unto them on the left hand, depart from me, ye cursed, etc. "and these shall go away into everlasting punishment; but the righteous into life eternal." --_matt_ xxv. , _et seq_. oh, teach me to love thee. (air.--haydn.) oh, teach me to love thee, to feel what thou art, till, filled with the one sacred image, my heart shall all other passions disown; like some pure temple that shines apart, reserved for thy worship alone. in joy and in sorrow, thro' praise and thro' blame, thus still let me, living and dying the same, in _thy_ service bloom and decay-- like some lone altar whose votive flame in holiness wasteth away. tho' born in this desert, and doomed by my birth to pain and affliction, to darkness and dearth, on thee let my spirit rely-- like some rude dial, that, fixt on earth, still looks for its light from the sky. weep, children of israel. (air.--stevenson.) weep, weep for him, the man of god--[ ] in yonder vale he sunk to rest; but none of earth can point the sod[ ] that flowers above his sacred breast. weep, children of israel, weep! his doctrine fell like heaven's rain.[ ] his words refreshed like heaven's dew-- oh, ne'er shall israel see again a chief, to god and her so true. weep, children of israel, weep! remember ye his parting gaze, his farewell song by jordan's tide, when, full of glory and of days, he saw the promised land--and died.[ ] weep, children of israel, weep! yet died he not as men who sink, before our eyes, to soulless clay; but, changed to spirit, like a wink of summer lightning, past away.[ ] weep, children of israel, weep! [ ] "and the children of israel wept for moses in the plains of moab."-- _deut_. xxxiv, . [ ] "and, he buried him in a valley in the land of moab...but no man knoweth of his sepulchre unto this day."--_ibid_. ver. . [ ] "my doctrine shall drop as the rain, my speech shall distil as the dew."--_moses' song_. [ ] "i have caused thee to see it with thine eyes, but thou shalt not go over thither."--_deut_. xxxiv. . [ ] "as he was going to embrace eleazer and joshua, and was still discoursing with them, a cloud stood over him on the sudden, and he disappeared in a certain valley, although he wrote in the holy books that he died, which was done out of fear, lest they should venture to say that, because of his extraordinary virtue, he went to god."--_josephus_, book iv. chap. viii. like morning, when her early breeze. (air. beethoven.) like morning, when her early breeze breaks up the surface of the seas, that, in those furrows, dark with night, her hand may sow the seeds of light-- thy grace can send its breathings o'er the spirit, dark and lost before, and, freshening all its depths, prepare for truth divine to enter there. till david touched his sacred lyre. in silence lay the unbreathing wire; but when he swept its chords along, even angels stooped to hear that song. so sleeps the soul, till thou, oh lord, shalt deign to touch its lifeless chord-- till, waked by thee, its breath shall rise in music, worthy of the skies! come, ye disconsolate. (air.--german.) come, ye disconsolate, where'er you languish, come, at god's altar fervently kneel; here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish-- earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal. joy of the desolate, light of the straying, hope, when all others die, fadeless and pure, here speaks the comforter, in god's name saying-- "earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot cure." go, ask the infidel, what boon he brings us what charm for aching hearts _he_ can reveal, sweet as that heavenly promise hope sings us-- "earth has no sorrow that god cannot heal." awake, arise, thy light is come. (air.--stevenson.) awake, arise, thy light is come;[ ] the nations, that before outshone thee, now at thy feet lie dark and dumb-- the glory of the lord is on thee! arise--the gentiles to thy ray, from every nook of earth shall cluster; and kings and princes haste to pay their homage to thy rising lustre.[ ] lift up thine eyes around, and see o'er foreign fields, o'er farthest waters, thy exiled sons return to thee, to thee return thy home-sick daughters.[ ] and camels rich, from midians' tents, shall lay their treasures down before thee; and saba bring her gold and scents, to fill thy air and sparkle o'er thee.[ ] see, who are these that, like a cloud,[ ] are gathering from all earth's dominions, like doves, long absent, when allowed homeward to shoot their trembling pinions. surely the isles shall wait for me,[ ] the ships of tarshish round will hover, to bring thy sons across the sea, and waft their gold and silver over. and lebanon thy pomp shall grace[ ]-- the fir, the pine, the palm victorious shall beautify our holy place, and make the ground i tread on glorious. no more shall dischord haunt thy ways,[ ] nor ruin waste thy cheerless nation; but thou shalt call thy portal praise, and thou shalt name thy walls salvation. the sun no more shall make thee bright,[ ] nor moon shall lend her lustre to thee; but god, himself, shall be thy light, and flash eternal glory thro' thee. thy sun shall never more go down; a ray from heaven itself descended shall light thy everlasting crown-- thy days of mourning all are ended.[ ] my own, elect, and righteous land! the branch, for ever green and vernal, which i have planted with this hand-- live thou shalt in life eternal.[ ] [ ] "arise, shine; for thy light is come, and the glory of the lord is risen upon thee."--_isaiah_, xl. [ ] "and the gentiles shall come to thy light, and kings to the brightness of thy rising."--_isaiah_, xl. [ ] "lift up thine eyes round about, and see; all they gather themselves together, they come to thee: thy sons shall come from afar, and thy daughters shall be nursed at thy side."--_isaiah_, lx. [ ] "the multitude of camels shall cover thee; the dromedaries of midian and ephah; all they from sheba shall come; they shall bring gold and incense."--_ib_. [ ] "who are these that fly as a cloud and as the doves to their windows?"--_ib_. [ ] "surely the isles shall wait for me, and the ships of tarshish first, to bring thy sons from far, their silver and their gold with them."--_ib_. [ ] "the glory of lebanon shall come unto thee; the fir-tree, the pine-tree, and the box together, to beautify the place of my sanctuary; and i will make the place of my feet glorious."--_ib_. [ ] "violence shall no more be heard in thy land, wasting nor destruction within thy borders; but thou shalt call thy walls, salvation, and thy gates, praise.--_isaiah_, lx. [ ] "thy sun shall be no more thy light by day; neither for brightness shall the moon give light unto thee: but the lord shall be unto thee an everlasting light, and thy god thy glory."--_ib_. [ ] "thy sun shall no more go down...for the lord shall be thine everlasting light, and the days of thy mourning shall be ended."--_ib_. [ ] "thy people also shall be all righteous; they shall inherit the land for ever, the branch of my planting, the work of my hands."--_ib_. there is a bleak desert. (air.--crescentini.) there is a bleak desert, where daylight grows weary of wasting its smile on a region so dreary-- what may that desert be? 'tis life, cheerless life, where the few joys that come are lost, like that daylight, for 'tis not their home. there is a lone pilgrim, before whose faint eyes the water he pants for but sparkles and flies-- who may that pilgrim be? 'tis man, hapless man, thro' this life tempted on by fair shining hopes, that in shining are gone. there is a bright fountain, thro' that desert stealing to pure lips alone its refreshment revealing-- what may that fountain be? 'tis truth, holy truth, that, like springs under ground, by the gifted of heaven alone can be found. there is a fair spirit whose wand hath the spell to point where those waters in secrecy dwell-- who may that spirit be? 'tis faith, humble faith, who hath learned that where'er her wand bends to worship the truth must be there! since first thy word. (air.--nicholas freeman.) since first thy word awaked my heart, like new life dawning o'er me, where'er i turn mine eyes, thou art, all light and love before me. naught else i feel, or hear or see-- all bonds of earth i sever-- thee, o god, and only thee i live for, now and ever. like him whose fetters dropt away when light shone o'er his prison,[ ] my spirit, touched by mercy's ray, hath from her chains arisen. and shall a soul thou bidst be free, return to bondage?--never! thee, o god, and only thee i live for, now and ever. [ ] "and, behold, the angel of the lord came upon him, and a light shined in the prison...and his chains fell off from his hands."--_acts_, xii. . hark! 'tis the breeze. (air.--rousseau.) hark! 'tis the breeze of twilight calling; earth's weary children to repose; while, round the couch of nature falling, gently the night's soft curtains close. soon o'er a world, in sleep reclining, numberless stars, thro' yonder dark, shall look, like eyes of cherubs shining from out the veils that hid the ark. guard us, oh thou, who never sleepest, thou who in silence throned above, throughout all time, unwearied, keepest thy watch of glory, power, and love. grant that, beneath thine eye, securely, our souls awhile from life withdrawn may in their darkness stilly, purely, like "sealed fountains," rest till dawn. where is your dwelling, ye sainted? (air.--hasse.) where is your dwelling, ye sainted? thro' what elysium more bright than fancy or hope ever painted, walk ye in glory and light? who the same kingdom inherits? breathes there a soul that may dare look to that world of spirits, or hope to dwell with you there? sages! who even in exploring nature thro' all her bright ways, went like the seraphs adoring, and veiled your eyes in the blaze-- martyrs! who left for our reaping truths you had sown in your blood-- sinners! whom, long years of weeping chastened from evil to good-- maidens! who like the young crescent, turning away your pale brows from earth and the light of the present, looked to your heavenly spouse-- say, thro' what region enchanted walk ye in heaven's sweet air? say, to what spirits 'tis granted, bright, souls, to dwell with you there? how lightly mounts the muse's wing. (air--anonymous.) how lightly mounts the muse's wing, whose theme is in the skies-- like morning larks that sweeter sing the nearer heaven they rise, tho' love his magic lyre may tune, yet ah, the flowers he round it wreathes, were plucked beneath pale passion's moon, whose madness in their ode breathes. how purer far the sacred lute, round which devotion ties sweet flowers that turn to heavenly fruit, and palm that never dies. tho' war's high-sounding harp may be., most welcome to the hero's ears, alas, his chords of victory are wet, all o'er, with human tears. how far more sweet their numbers run, who hymn like saints above, no victor but the eternal one, no trophies but of love! go forth to the mount, (air.--stevenson.) go forth to the mount; bring the olive-branch home,[ ] and rejoice; for the day of our freedom is come! from that time,[ ] when the moon upon ajalon's vale, looking motionless down,[ ] saw the kings of the earth, in the presence of god's mighty champion grow pale-- oh, never had judah an hour of such mirth! go forth to the mount--bring the olive-branch home, and rejoice, for the day of our freedom is come! bring myrtle and palm--bring the boughs of each tree that's worthy to wave o'er the tents of the free.[ ] from that day when the footsteps of israel shone with a light not their own, thro' the jordan's deep tide, whose waters shrunk back as the ark glided on[ ]-- oh, never had judah an hour of such pride! go forth to the mount--bring the olive-branch home, and rejoice, for the day of our freedom is come! [ ] and that they should publish and proclaim in all their cities, and in jerusalem, saying, "go forth unto the mount, and fetch olive-branches,'! etc.--_neh_. viii. . [ ] "for since the days of joshua the son of nun unto that day had not the children of israel done so; and there was very great gladness."-- _ib_. . [ ] "sun, stand thou still upon gibeon and thou moon, in the valley of ajalon."--_josh_. x. . [ ] "fetch olive-branches, and pine-branches, and myrtle-branches, and palm-branches, and branches of thick trees, to make booths." --_neh_. viii. . [ ] "and the priests that bare the ark of the covenant of the lord stood firm on dry ground in the midst of jordan, and all the israelites passed over on dry ground."--_josh_. iii. . is it not sweet to think, hereafter. (air.--haydn.) is it not sweet to think, hereafter, when the spirit leaves this sphere. love, with deathless wing, shall waft her to those she long hath mourned for here? hearts from which 'twas death to sever. eyes this world can ne'er restore, there, as warm, as bright as ever, shall meet us and be lost no more. when wearily we wander, asking of earth and heaven, where are they, beneath whose smile we once lay basking, blest and thinking bliss would stay? hope still lifts her radiant finger pointing to the eternal home, upon whose portal yet they linger, looking back for us to come. alas, alas--doth hope deceive us? shall friendship--love--shall all those ties that bind a moment, and then leave us, be found again where nothing dies? oh, if no other boon were given, to keep our hearts from wrong and stain, who would not try to win a heaven where all we love shall live again? war against babylon. (air.--novello.) "war against babylon!" shout we around, be our banners through earth unfurled; rise up, ye nations, ye kings, at the sound-- "war against babylon!" shout thro' the world! oh thou, that dwellest on many waters,[ ] thy day of pride is ended now; and the dark curse of israel's daughters breaks like a thundercloud over thy brow! war, war, war against babylon! make bright the arrows, and gather the shields,[ ] set the standard of god on high; swarm we, like locusts, o'er all her fields. "zion" our watchword, and "vengeance" our cry! woe! woe!--the time of thy visitation[ ] is come, proud land, thy doom is cast-- and the black surge of desolation sweeps o'er thy guilty head, at last! war, war, war against babylon! [ ] "oh thou that dwellest upon many waters...thine end is come."--_jer_. li. . [ ] "make bright the arrows; gather the shields...set up the standard upon the walls of babylon"--_jer_. li. , . [ ] "woe unto them! for their day is come, the time of their visitation!"--_jer_. l. . a melologue upon national music. advertisement. these verses were written for a benefit at the dublin theatre, and were spoken by miss smith, with a degree of success, which they owed solely to her admirable manner of reciting them. i wrote them in haste; and it very rarely happens that poetry which has cost but little labor to the writer is productive of any great pleasure to the reader. under this impression, i certainly should not have published them if they had not found their way into some of the newspapers with such an addition of errors to their own original stock, that i thought it but fair to limit their responsibility to those faults alone which really belong to them. with respect to the title which i have invented for this poem, i feel even more than the scruples of the emperor tiberius, when he humbly asked pardon of the roman senate for using "the outlandish term, _monopoly_." but the truth is, having written the poem with the sole view of serving a benefit, i thought that an unintelligible word of this kind would not be without its attraction for the multitude, with whom, "if 'tis not sense, at least 'tis greek." to some of my readers, however, it may not be superfluous to say, that by "melologue," i mean that mixture of recitation of music, which is frequently adopted in the performance of collins's ode on the passions, and of which the most striking example i can remember is the prophetic speech of joad in the athalie of racine. t.m. melologue a short strain of music from the orchestra. _there_ breathes a language known and felt far as the pure air spreads its living zone; wherever rage can rouse, or pity melt, that language of the soul is felt and known. from those meridian plains, where oft, of old, on some high tower the soft peruvian poured his midnight strains, and called his distant love with such sweet power, that, when she heard the lonely lay, not worlds could keep her from his arms away,[ ] to the bleak climes of polar night, where blithe, beneath a sunless sky, the lapland lover bids his reindeer fly, and sings along the lengthening waste of snow, gayly as if the blessed light of vernal phoebus burned upon his brow; oh music! thy celestial claim is still resistless, still the same; and, faithful as the mighty sea to the pale star that o'er its realm presides, the spell-bound tides of human passion rise and fall for thee! [ ] "a certain spaniard, one night late, met an indian woman in the streets of cozco, and would have taken her to his home, but she cried out, 'for god's sake, sir, let me go; for that pipe, which you hear in yonder tower, calls me with great passion, and i cannot refuse the summons; for love constrains me to go, that i may be his wife, and he my husband.'"--"_garcilasso de la véga_," in sir paul ryeaut's translation. greek air list! 'tis a grecian maid that sings, while, from ilissus' silvery springs, she draws the cool lymph in her graceful urn; and by her side, in music's charm dissolving, some patriot youth, the glorious past revolving, dreams of bright days that never can return; when athens nurst her olive bough with hands by tyrant power unchained; and braided for the muse's brow a wreath by tyrant touch unstained. when heroes trod each classic field where coward feet now faintly falter; when every arm was freedom's shield, and every heart was freedom's altar! flourish of trumpets. hark, 'tis the sound that charms the war-steed's wakening ears!-- oh! many a mother folds her arms round her boy-soldier when that call she hears; and, tho' her fond heart sink with fears, is proud to feel his young pulse bound with valor's fever at the sound. see, from his native hills afar the rude helvetian flies to war; careless for what, for whom he fights, for slave or despot, wrongs or rights: a conqueror oft--a hero never-- yet lavish of his life-blood still, as if 'twere like his mountain rill, and gushed forever! yes, music, here, even here, amid this thoughtless, vague career, thy soul-felt charm asserts its wondrous power.-- there's a wild air which oft, among the rocks of his own loved land, at evening hour, is heard, when shepherds homeward pipe their flocks, whose every note hath power to thrill his mind with tenderest thoughts; to bring around his knees the rosy children whom he left behind, and fill each little angel eye with speaking tears, that ask him why he wandered from his hut for scenes like these. vain, vain is then the trumpet's brazen roar; sweet notes of home, of love, are all he hears; and the stern eyes that looked for blood before now melting, mournful, lose themselves in tears. swiss air.--"ranz des vaches." but wake, the trumpet's blast again, and rouse the ranks of warrior-men! oh war, when truth thy arm employs, and freedom's spirit guides the laboring storm, 'tis then thy vengeance takes a hallowed form, and like heaven's lightning sacredly destroys. nor, music, thro' thy breathing sphere, lives there a sound more grateful to the ear of him who made all harmony, than the blest sound of fetters breaking, and the first hymn that man awaking from slavery's slumber breathes to liberty. spanish chorus. hark! from spain, indignant spain, burst the bold, enthusiast strain, like morning's music on the air; and seems in every note to swear by saragossa's ruined streets, by brave gerona's deathful story, that, while _one_ spaniard's life-blood beats, that blood shall stain the conqueror's glory. spanish air.--"ya desperto." but ah! if vain the patriot's zeal, if neither valor's force nor wisdom's light can break or melt that blood-cemented seal which shuts so close the books of europe's right-- what song shall then in sadness tell of broken pride, of prospects shaded, of buried hopes, remembered well of ardor quenched, and honor faded? what muse shall mourn the breathless brave, in sweetest dirge at memory's shrine? what harp shall sigh o'er freedom's grave? oh erin, thine! set of glees, music by moore. the meeting of the ships. when o'er the silent seas alone, for days and nights we've cheerless gone, oh they who've felt it know how sweet, some sunny morn a sail to meet. sparkling at once is every eye, "ship ahoy!" our joyful cry; while answering back the sounds we hear, "ship ahoy!" what cheer? what...cheer? then sails are backed, we nearer come, kind words are said of friends and home; and soon, too soon, we part with pain, to sail o'er silent seas again. hip, hip, hurra! come, fill round a bumper, fill up to the brim, he who shrinks from a bumper i pledge not to him; here's the girl that each loves, be her eye of what hue, or lustre, it may, so her heart is but true. charge! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra! come charge high, again, boy, nor let the full wine leave a space in the brimmer, where daylight may shine; here's "the friends of our youth--tho' of some we're bereft, may the links that are lost but endear what are left!" charge! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra! once more fill a bumper--ne'er talk of the hour; on hearts thus united old time has no power. may our lives, tho', alas! like the wine of to-night, they must soon have an end, to the last flow as bright. charge! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra! quick, quick, now, i'll give you, since time's glass will run even faster than ours doth, three bumpers in one; here's the poet who sings--here's the warrior who fights-- here's the, statesman who speaks, in the cause of men's rights! charge! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra! come, once more, a bumper!--then drink as you please, tho', _who_ could fill half-way to toast such as these? here's our next joyous meeting--and oh when we meet, may our wine be as bright and our union as sweet! charge! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra! hush, hush! "hush, hush!"--how well that sweet word sounds, when love, the little sentinel, walks his night-rounds; then, if a foot but dare one rose-leaf crush, myriads of voices in the air whisper, "hush, hush!" "hark, hark, 'tis he!" the night elves cry, and hush their fairy harmony, while he steals by; but if his silvery feet one dew-drop brush, voices are heard in chorus sweet, whispering, "hush, hush!" the parting before the battle. he. on to the field, our doom is sealed, to conquer or be slaves: this sun shall see our nation free, or set upon our graves. she. farewell, oh farewell, my love, may heaven thy guardian be, and send bright angels from above to bring thee back to me. he. on to the field, the battle-field, where freedom's standard waves, this sun shall see our tyrant yield, or shine upon our graves. the watchman. a trio. watchman. past twelve o'clock--past twelve. good night, good night, my dearest-- how fast the moments fly! 'tis time to part, thou hearest that hateful watchman's cry. watchman. past one o'clock--past one. yet stay a moment longer-- alas! why is it so, the wish to stay grows stronger, the more 'tis time to go? watchman. past two o'clock--past two. now wrap thy cloak about thee-- the hours must sure go wrong, for when they're past without thee, they're, oh, ten times as long. watchman. past three o'clock--past three. again that dreadful warning! had ever time such flight? and see the sky, 'tis morning-- so now, _indeed_, good night. watchman. past three o'clock--past three. goodnight, good night. say, what shall we dance? say, what shall we dance? shall we bound along the moonlight plain, to music of italy, greece, or spain? say, what shall we dance? shall we, like those who rove thro' bright grenada's grove, to the light bolero's measures move? or choose the guaracia's languishing lay, and thus to its sound die away? strike the gay chords, let us hear each strain from every shore that music haunts, or young feet wander o'er. hark! 'tis the light march, to whose measured time, the polish lady, by her lover led, delights thro' gay saloons with step untried to tread, or sweeter still, thro' moonlight walks whose shadows serve to hide the blush that's raised by who talks of love the while by her side, then comes the smooth waltz, to whose floating sound like dreams we go gliding around, say, which shall we dance? which shall we dance? the evening gun. remember'st thou that setting sun, the last i saw with thee, when loud we heard the evening gun peal o'er the twilight sea? boom!--the sounds appeared to sweep far o'er the verge of day, till, into realms beyond the deep, they seemed to die away. oft, when the toils of day are done, in pensive dreams of thee, i sit to hear that evening gun, peal o'er the stormy sea. boom!--and while, o'er billows curled. the distant sounds decay, i weep and wish, from this rough world like them to die away. legendary ballads. to the miss feildings, this volume is inscribed by their faithful friend and servant, thomas moore. legendary ballads the voice. it came o'er her sleep, like a voice of those days, when love, only love was the light of her ways; and, soft as in moments of bliss long ago, it whispered her name from the garden below. "alas," sighed the maiden, "how fancy can cheat! "the world once had lips that could whisper thus sweet; "but cold now they slumber in yon fatal deep. "where, oh that beside them this heart too could sleep!" she sunk on her pillow--but no, 'twas in vain to chase the illusion, that voice came again! she flew to the casement--but, husht as the grave, in moonlight lay slumbering woodland and wave. "oh sleep, come and shield me," in anguish she said, "from that call of the buried, that cry of the dead!" and sleep came around her--but, starting, she woke, for still from the garden that spirit voice spoke! "i come," she exclaimed, "be thy home where it may, "on earth or in heaven, that call i obey;" then forth thro' the moonlight, with heart beating fast and loud as a death-watch, the pale maiden past. still round her the scene all in loneliness shone; and still, in the distance, that voice led her on; but whither she wandered, by wave or by shore, none ever could tell, for she came back no more. no, ne'er came she back,--but the watchman who stood, that night, in the tower which o'ershadows the flood, saw dimly, 'tis said, o'er the moonlighted spray, a youth on a steed bear the maiden away. cupid and psyche. they told her that he, to whose vows she had listened thro' night's fleeting hours, was a spirit unblest;-- unholy the eyes, that beside her had glistened, and evil the lips she in darkness had prest. "when next in thy chamber the bridegroom reclineth, "bring near him thy lamp, when in slumber he lies; "and there, as the light, o'er his dark features shineth, "thou'lt see what a demon hath won all thy sighs!" too fond to believe them, yet doubting, yet fearing, when calm lay the sleeper she stole with her light; and saw--such a vision!--no image, appearing to bards in their day-dreams, was ever so bright. a youth, but just passing from childhood's sweet morning, while round him still lingered its innocent ray; tho' gleams, from beneath his shut eyelids gave warning of summer-noon lightnings that under them lay. his brow had a grace more than mortal around it, while, glossy as gold from a fairy-land mine, his sunny hair hung, and the flowers that crowned it seemed fresh from the breeze of some garden divine. entranced stood the bride, on that miracle gazing, what late was but love is idolatry now; but, ah--in her tremor the fatal lamp raising-- a sparkle flew from it and dropt on his brow. all's lost--with a start from his rosy sleep waking; the spirit flashed o'er her his glances of fire; then, slow from the clasp of her snowy arms breaking, thus said, in a voice more of sorrow than ire: "farewell--what a dream thy suspicion hath broken! "thus ever. affection's fond vision is crost; "dissolved are her spells when a doubt is but spoken, "and love, once distrusted, for ever is lost!" hero and leander. "the night wind is moaning with mournful sigh, "there gleameth no moon in the misty sky "no star over helle's sea; "yet, yet, there is shining one holy light, "one love-kindled star thro' the deep of night, "to lead me, sweet hero, to thee!" thus saying, he plunged in the foamy stream, still fixing his gaze on that distant beam no eye but a lover's could see; and still, as the surge swept over his head, "to night," he said tenderly, "living or dead, "sweet hero, i'll rest with thee!" but fiercer around him, the wild waves speed; oh, love! in that hour of thy votary's need, where, where could thy spirit be? he struggles--he sinks--while the hurricane's breath bears rudely away his last farewell in death-- "sweet hero, i die for thee!" the leaf and the fountain. "tell me, kind seer, i pray thee, "so may the stars obey thee "so may each airy "moon-elf and fairy "nightly their homage pay thee! "say, by what spell, above, below, "in stars that wink or flowers that blow, "i may discover, "ere night is over, "whether my love loves me, or no, "whether my love loves me." "maiden, the dark tree nigh thee "hath charms no gold could buy thee; "its stem enchanted. "by moon-elves planted, "will all thou seek'st supply thee. "climb to yon boughs that highest grow, "bring thence their fairest leaf below; "and thou'lt discover, "ere night is over, "whether thy love loves thee or no, "whether thy love loves thee." "see, up the dark tree going, "with blossoms round me blowing, "from thence, oh father, "this leaf i gather, "fairest that there is growing. "say, by what sign i now shall know "if in this leaf lie bliss or woe "and thus discover "ere night is over, "whether my love loves me or no, "whether my love loves me." "fly to yon fount that's welling "where moonbeam ne'er had dwelling, "dip in its water "that leaf, oh daughter, "and mark the tale 'tis telling;[ ] "watch thou if pale or bright it glow, "list thou, the while, that fountain's flow, "and thou'lt discover "whether thy lover, "loved as he is, loves thee or no, "loved as he is, loves thee." forth flew the nymph, delighted, to seek that fount benighted; but, scarce a minute the leaf lay in it, when, lo, its bloom was blighted! and as she asked, with voice of woe-- listening, the while, that fountain's flow-- "shall i recover "my truant lover?" the fountain seemed to answer, "no;" the fountain answered, "no." [ ] the ancients had a mode of divination somewhat similar to this; and we find the emperor adrian, when he went to consult the fountain of castalia, plucking a bay leaf, and dipping it into the sacred water. cephalus and procris. a hunter once in that grove reclined, to shun the noon's bright eye, and oft he wooed the wandering wind, to cool his brow with its sigh, while mute lay even the wild bee's hum, nor breath could stir the aspen's hair, his song was still "sweet air, oh come?" while echo answered, "come, sweet air!" but, hark, what sounds from the thicket rise! what meaneth that rustling spray? "'tis the white-horned doe," the hunter cries, "i have sought since break of day." quick o'er the sunny glade he springs, the arrow flies from his sounding bow, "hilliho-hilliho!" he gayly sings, while echo sighs forth "hilliho!" alas, 'twas not the white-horned doe he saw in the rustling grove, but the bridal veil, as pure as snow, of his own young wedded love. and, ah, too sure that arrow sped, for pale at his feet he sees her lie;-- "i die, i die," was all she said, while echo murmured. "i die, i die!" youth and age. "tell me, what's love?" said youth, one day, to drooping age, who crest his way.-- "it is a sunny hour of play, "for which repentance dear doth pay; "repentance! repentance! "and this is love, as wise men say." "tell me, what's love?" said youth once more, fearful, yet fond, of age's lore.-- "soft as a passing summer's wind, "wouldst know the blight it leaves behind? "repentance! repentance! "and this is love--when love is o'er." "tell me, what's love? "said youth again, trusting the bliss, but not the pain. "sweet as a may tree's scented air-- "mark ye what bitter fruit 'twill bear, "repentance! repentance! "this, this is love--sweet youth, beware." just then, young love himself came by, and cast on youth a smiling eye; who could resist that glance's ray? in vain did age his warning say, "repentance! repentance!" youth laughing went with love away. the dying warrior. a wounded chieftain, lying by the danube's leafy side, thus faintly said, in dying, "oh! bear, thou foaming tide. "this gift to my lady-bride." 'twas then, in life's last quiver, he flung the scarf he wore into the foaming river, which, ah too quickly, bore that pledge of one no more! with fond impatience burning, the chieftain's lady stood, to watch her love returning in triumph down the flood, from that day's field of blood. but, field, alas, ill-fated! the lady saw, instead of the bark whose speed she waited, her hero's scarf, all red with the drops his heart had shed. one shriek--and all was over-- her life-pulse ceased to beat; the gloomy waves now cover that bridal-flower so sweet. and the scarf is her winding sheet! the magic mirror. "come, if thy magic glass have power "to call up forms we sigh to see; "show me my, love, in that, rosy bower, "where last she pledged her truth to me." the wizard showed him his lady bright, where lone and pale in her bower she lay; "true-hearted maid," said the happy knight, "she's thinking of one, who is far away." but, lo! a page, with looks of joy, brings tidings to the lady's ear; "'tis," said the knight, "the same bright boy, "who used to guide me to my dear." the lady now, from her favorite tree, hath, smiling, plucked a rosy flower: "such," he exclaimed, "was the gift that she "each morning sent me from that bower!" she gives her page the blooming rose, with looks that say, "like lightning, fly!" "thus," thought the knight, "she soothes her woes, "by fancying, still, her true-love nigh." but the page returns, and--oh, what a sight, for trusting lover's eyes to see!-- leads to that bower another knight, as young and, alas, as loved as he! "such," quoth the youth, "is woman's love!" then, darting forth, with furious bound, dashed at the mirror his iron glove, and strewed it all in fragments round. moral. such ills would never have come to pass, had he ne'er sought that fatal view; the wizard would still have kept his glass, and the knight still thought his lady true. the pilgrim. still thus, when twilight gleamed, far off his castle seemed, traced on the sky; and still, as fancy bore him. to those dim towers before him, he gazed, with wishful eye; and thought his home was nigh. "hall of my sires!" he said, "how long, with weary tread, "must i toil on? "each eve, as thus i wander, "thy towers seem rising yonder, "but, scarce hath daylight shone, "when, like a dream, thou'rt gone!" so went the pilgrim still, down dale and over hill, day after day; that glimpse of home, so cheering, at twilight still appearing, but still, with morning's ray, melting, like mist, away! where rests the pilgrim now? here, by this cypress bough, closed his career; that dream, of fancy's weaving, no more his steps deceiving, alike past hope and fear, the pilgrim's home is here. the high-born ladye. in vain all the knights to the underwald wooed her, tho' brightest of maidens, the proudest was she; brave chieftains they sought, and young minstrels they sued her, but worthy were none of the high-born ladye. "whosoever i wed," said this maid, so excelling, "that knight must the conqueror of conquerors be; "he must place me in halls fit for monarchs to dwell in:-- "none else shall be lord of the high-born ladye! thus spoke the proud damsel, with scorn looking round her on knights and on nobles of highest degree; who humbly and hopelessly left as they found her, and worshipt at distance the high-born ladye. at length came a knight, from a far land to woo her, with plumes on his helm like the foam of the sea; his visor was down--but, with voice that thrilled thro her, he whispered his vows to the high-born ladye. "proud maiden! i come with high spousals to grace thee, "in me the great conqueror of conquerors see; "enthroned in a hall fit for monarchs i'll place thee, "and mine, thou'rt for ever, thou high-born ladye!" the maiden she smiled, and in jewels arrayed her, of thrones and tiaras already dreamt she; and proud was the step, as her bridegroom conveyed her in pomp to his home, of that highborn ladye. "but whither," she, starting, exclaims, "have you, led me? "here's naught but a tomb and a dark cypress tree; "is _this_ the bright palace in which thou wouldst wed me?" with scorn in her glance said the high-born ladye. "tis the home," he replied, "of earth's loftiest creatures"-- then lifted his helm for the fair one to see; but she sunk on the ground--'twas a skeleton's features and death was the lord of the high-born ladye! the indian boat. 'twas midnight dark, the seaman's bark, swift o'er the waters bore him, when, thro' the night, he spied a light shoot o'er the wave before him. "a sail! a sail!" he cries; "she comes from the indian shore "and to-night shall be our prize, "with her freight of golden ore; "sail on! sail on!" when morning shone he saw the gold still clearer; but, though so fast the waves he past that boat seemed never the nearer. bright daylight came, and still the same rich bark before him floated; while on the prize his wishful eyes like any young lover's doted: "more sail! more sail!" he cries, while the waves overtop the mast; and his bounding galley flies, like an arrow before the blast. thus on, and on, till day was gone, and the moon thro' heaven did hie her, he swept the main, but all in vain, that boat seemed never the nigher. and many a day to night gave way, and many a morn succeeded: while still his flight, thro day and night, that restless mariner speeded. who knows--who knows what seas he is now careering o'er? behind, the eternal breeze, and that mocking bark, before! for, oh, till sky and earth shall die, and their death leave none to rue it, that boat must flee o'er the boundless sea, and that ship in vain pursue it. the stranger. come list, while i tell of the heart-wounded stranger who sleeps her last slumber in this haunted ground; where often, at midnight, the lonely wood-ranger hears soft fairy music re-echo around. none e'er knew the name of that heart-stricken lady, her language, tho' sweet, none could e'er understand; but her features so sunned, and her eyelash so shady, bespoke her a child of some far eastern land. 'twas one summer night, when the village lay sleeping, a soft strain of melody came o'er our ears; so sweet, but so mournful, half song and half weeping, like music that sorrow had steeped in her tears. we thought 'twas an anthem some angel had sung us;-- but, soon as the day-beams had gushed from on high, with wonder we saw this bright stranger among us, all lovely and lone, as if strayed from the sky. nor long did her life for this sphere seem intended, for pale was her cheek, with that spirit-like hue, which comes when the day of this world is nigh ended, and light from another already shines through. then her eyes, when she sung--oh, but once to have seen them-- left thoughts in the soul that can never depart; while her looks and her voice made a language between them, that spoke more than holiest words to the heart. but she past like a day-dream, no skill could restore her-- whate'er was her sorrow, its ruin came fast; she died with the same spell of mystery o'er her. that song of past days on her lips to the last. not even in the grave is her sad heart reposing-- still hovers the spirit of grief round her tomb; for oft, when the shadows of midnight are closing, the same strain of music is heard thro' the gloom. ballads, songs, etc. to-day, dearest! is ours. to-day, dearest! is ours; why should love carelessly lose it? this life shines or lowers just as we, weak mortals, use it. 'tis time enough, when its flowers decay, to think of the thorns of sorrow and joy, if left on the stem to-day, may wither before to-morrow. then why, dearest! so long let the sweet moments fly over? tho' now, blooming and young thou hast me devoutly thy lover; yet time from both, in his silent lapse, some treasure may steal or borrow; thy charms may be less in bloom, perhaps, or i less in love to-morrow. when on the lip the sigh delays. when on the lip the sigh delays, as if 'twould linger there for ever; when eyes would give the world to gaze, yet still look down and venture never; when, tho' with fairest nymphs we rove, there's one we dream of more than any-- if all this is not real love, 'tis something wondrous like it, fanny! to think and ponder, when apart, on all we've got to say at meeting; and yet when near, with heart to heart, sit mute and listen to their beating: to see but one bright object move, the only moon, where stars are many-- if all this is not downright love, i prithee say what _is_, my fanny! when hope foretells the brightest, best, tho' reason on the darkest reckons; when passion drives us to the west, tho' prudence to the eastward beckons; when all turns round, below, above, and our own heads the most of any-- if this is not stark, staring love, then you and i are sages, fanny. here, take my heart. here, take my heart--'twill be safe in thy keeping, while i go wandering o'er land and o'er sea; smiling or sorrowing, waking or sleeping, what need i care, so my heart is with thee? if in the race we are destined to run, love, they who have light hearts the happiest be, then happier still must be they who have none, love. and that will be _my_ case when mine is with thee. it matters not where i may now be a rover, i care not how many bright eyes i may see; should venus herself come and ask me to love her, i'd tell her i couldn't--my heart is with thee. and there let it lie, growing fonder and, fonder-- for, even should fortune turn truant to me, why, let her go--i've a treasure beyond her, as long as my heart's out at interest with thee! oh, call it by some better name. oh, call it by some better name, for friendship sounds too cold, while love is now a worldly flame, whose shrine must be of gold: and passion, like the sun at noon, that burns o'er all he sees, awhile as warm will set as soon-- then call it none of these. imagine something purer far, more free from stain of clay than friendship, love, or passion are, yet human, still as they: and if thy lip, for love like this, no mortal word can frame, go, ask of angels what it is, and call it by that name! poor wounded heart poor wounded heart, farewell! thy hour of rest is come; thou soon wilt reach thy home, poor wounded heart, farewell! the pain thou'lt feel in breaking less bitter far will be, than that long, deadly aching, this life has been to thee. there--broken heart, farewell! the pang is o'er-- the parting pang is o'er; thou now wilt bleed no more. poor broken heart, farewell! no rest for thee but dying-- like waves whose strife is past, on death's cold shore thus lying, thou sleepst in peace at last-- poor broken heart, farewell! the east indian. come, may, with all thy flowers, thy sweetly-scented thorn, thy cooling evening showers, the fragrant breath at morn: when, may-flies haunt the willow, when may-buds tempt the bee, then o'er the shining billow my love will come to me. from eastern isles she's winging thro' watery wilds her way, and on her cheek is bringing the bright sun's orient ray: oh, come and court her hither, ye breezes mild and warm-- one winter's gale would wither so soft, so pure a form. the fields where she was straying are blest with endless light, with zephyrs always playing thro' gardens always bright. then now, sweet may! be sweeter than e'er, thou'st been before; let sighs from roses meet her when she comes near our shore. poor broken flower. poor broken flower! what art can now recover thee? torn from the stem that fed thy rosy breath-- in vain the sunbeams seek to warm that faded cheek; the dews of heaven, that once like balm fell over thee; now are but tears, to weep thy early death. so droops the maid whose lover hath forsaken her,-- thrown from his arms, as lone and lost as thou; in vain the smiles of all like sunbeams round her fall: the only smile that could from death awaken her, that smile, alas! is gone to others now. the pretty rose-tree. being weary of love, i flew to the grove, and chose me a tree of the fairest; saying, "pretty rose-tree, "thou my mistress shall be, "and i'll worship each bud thou bearest. "for the hearts of this world are hollow, "and fickle the smiles we follow; "and 'tis sweet, when all "their witcheries pall "to have a pure love to fly to: "so, my pretty rose-tree, "thou my mistress shalt be, "and the only one now i shall sigh to." when the beautiful hue of thy cheek thro' the dew of morning is bashfully peeping, "sweet tears," i shall say (as i brush them away), "at least there's no art in this weeping" altho thou shouldst die to-morrow; 'twill not be from pain or sorrow; and the thorns of thy stem are not like them with which men wound each other; so, my pretty rose-tree, thou my mistress shalt be and i'll never again sigh to another. shine out, stars! shine out, stars! let heaven assemble round us every festal ray, lights that move not, lights that tremble, all to grace this eve of may. let the flower-beds all lie waking, and the odors shut up there, from their downy prisons breaking, fly abroad thro sea and air. and would love, too, bring his sweetness, with our other joys to weave, oh what glory, what completeness, then would crown this bright may eve! shine out, stars! let night assemble round us every festal ray, lights that move not, lights that tremble, to adorn this eve of may. the young muleteers of grenada. oh, the joys of our evening posada, where, resting, at close of day, we, young muleteers of grenada, sit and sing the sunshine away; so merry, that even the slumbers that round us hung seem gone; till the lute's soft drowsy numbers again beguile them on. oh the joys, etc. then as each to his loved sultana in sleep still breathes the sigh, the name of some black-eyed tirana, escapes our lips as we lie. till, with morning's rosy twinkle, again we're up and gone-- while the mule-bell's drowsy tinkle beguiles the rough way on. oh the joys of our merry posada, where, resting at close of day, we, young muleteers of grenada, thus sing the gay moments away. tell her, oh, tell her. tell her, oh, tell her, the lute she left lying beneath the green arbor is still lying there; and breezes like lovers around it are sighing, but not a soft whisper replies to their prayer. tell her, oh, tell her, the tree that, in going, beside the green arbor she playfully set, as lovely as, ever is blushing and blowing, and not a, bright leaflet has fallen from it yet. so while away from that arbor forsaken, the maiden is wandering, still let her be as true as the lute that no sighing can waken and blooming for ever, unchanged as the tree! nights of music. nights of music, nights of loving, lost too soon, remembered long. when we went by moonlight roving, hearts all love and lips all song. when this faithful lute recorded all my spirit felt to thee; and that smile the song rewarded-- worth whole years of fame to me! nights of song, and nights of splendor, filled with joys too sweet to last-- joys that, like the star-light, tender, while they shore no shadow cast. tho' all other happy hours from my fading memory fly, of, that starlight, of those bowers, not a beam, a leaf may die! our first young love. our first young love resembles that short but brilliant ray, which smiles and weeps and trembles thro' april's earliest day. and not all life before us, howe'er its lights may play, can shed a lustre o'er us like that first april ray. our summer sun may squander a blaze serener, grander; our autumn beam may, like a dream of heaven, die calm away; but no--let life before us bring all the light it may, 'twill ne'er shed lustre o'er us like that first youthful ray. black and blue eyes. the brilliant black eye may in triumph let fly all its darts without caring who feels 'em; but the soft eye of blue, tho' it scatter wounds too, is much better pleased when it heals 'em-- dear fanny! is much better pleased when it heals 'em. the black eye may say, "come and worship my ray-- "by adoring, perhaps you may move me!" but the blue eye, half hid, says from under its lid, "i love and am yours, if you love me!" yes, fanny! the blue eye, half hid, says, from under its lid, "i love and am yours, if you love me!" come tell me, then, why in that lovely blue eye not a charm of its tint i discover; oh why should you wear the only blue pair that ever said "no" to a lover? dear fanny! oh, why should you wear the only blue pair that ever said "no" to a lover? dear fanny. "she has beauty, but still you must keep your heart cool; "she has wit, but you mustn't be caught, so;" thus reason advises, but reason's a fool, and 'tis not the first time i have thought so, dear fanny. 'tis not the first time i have thought so. "she is lovely; then love her, nor let the bliss fly; "'tis the charm of youth's vanishing season;" thus love has advised me and who will deny that love reasons much better than reason, dear fanny? love reasons much better than reason. from life without freedom. from life without freedom, say, who would not fly? for one day of freedom, oh! who would not die? hark!--hark! 'tis the trumpet! the call of the brave, the death-song of tyrants, the dirge of the slave. our country lies bleeding--haste, haste to her aid; one arm that defends is worth hosts that invade. in death's kindly bosom our last hope remains-- the dead fear no tyrants, the grave has no chains. on, on to the combat! the heroes that bleed for virtue and mankind are heroes indeed. and oh, even if freedom from _this_ world be driven, despair not--at least we shall find her in heaven. here's the bower. here's the bower she loved so much, and the tree she planted; here's the harp she used to touch-- oh, how that touch enchanted! roses now unheeded sigh; where's the hand to wreathe them? songs around neglected lie; where's the lip to breathe them? here's the bower, etc. spring may bloom, but she we loved ne'er shall feel its sweetness; time, that once so fleetly moved, now hath lost its fleetness. years were days, when here she strayed, days were moments near her; heaven ne'er formed a brighter maid, nor pity wept a dearer! here's the bower, etc. i saw the moon rise clear. a finland love song. i saw the moon rise clear o'er hills and vales of snow nor told my fleet reindeer the track i wished to go. yet quick he bounded forth; for well my reindeer knew i've but one path on earth-- the path which leads to you. the gloom that winter cast, how soon the heart forgets, when summer brings, at last, her sun that never sets! so dawned my love for you; so, fixt thro' joy and pain, than summer sun more true, 'twill never set again. love and the sun-dial. young love found a dial once in a dark shade where man ne'er had wandered nor sunbeam played; "why thus in darkness lie?" whispered young love, "thou, whose gay hours in sunshine should move." "i ne'er," said the dial, "have seen the warm sun, "so noonday and midnight to me, love, are one." then love took the dial away from the shade, and placed her where heaven's beam warmly played. there she reclined, beneath love's gazing eye, while, marked all with sunshine, her hours flew by. "oh, how," said the dial, "can any fair maid "that's born to be shone upon rest in the shade?" but night now comes on and the sunbeam's o'er, and love stops to gaze on the dial no more. alone and neglected, while bleak rain and winds are storming around her, with sorrow she finds that love had but numbered a few sunny hours,-- then left the remainder to darkness and showers! love and time. 'tis said--but whether true or not let bards declare who've seen 'em-- that love and time have only got one pair of wings between 'em. in courtship's first delicious hour, the boy full oft can spare 'em; so, loitering in his lady's bower, he lets the gray-beard wear 'em. then is time's hour of play; oh, how be flies, flies away! but short the moments, short as bright, when he the wings can borrow; if time to-day has had his flight, love takes his turn to-morrow. ah! time and love, your change is then the saddest and most trying, when one begins to limp again, and t'other takes to flying. then is love's hour to stray; oh, how he flies, flies away! but there's a nymph, whose chains i feel, and bless the silken fetter, who knows, the dear one, how to deal with love and time much better. so well she checks their wanderings, so peacefully she pairs 'em, that love with her ne'er thinks of wings, and time for ever wears 'em. this is time's holiday; oh, how he flies, flies away! love's light summer-cloud. pain and sorrow shall vanish before us-- youth may wither, but feeling will last; all the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er us love's light summer-cloud only shall cast. oh, if to love thee more each hour i number o'er-- if this a passion be worthy of thee, then be happy, for thus i adore thee. charms may wither, but feeling shall last: all the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er thee, love's light summer-cloud sweetly shall cast. rest, dear bosom, no sorrows shall pain thee, sighs of pleasure alone shalt thou steal; beam, bright eyelid, no weeping shall stain thee, tears of rapture alone shalt thou feel. oh, if there be a charm, in love, to banish harm-- if pleasure's truest spell be to love well, then be happy, for thus i adore thee, charms may wither, but feeling shall last; all the shadow that e'er shall fall o'er thee. love's light summer-cloud sweetly shall cast. love, wandering thro' the golden maze. love, wandering through the golden maze of my beloved's hair, traced every lock with fond delays, and, doting, lingered there. and soon he found 'twere vain to fly; his heart was close confined, for, every ringlet was a tie-- a chain by beauty twined. merrily every bosom boundeth. (the tyrolese song of liberty.) merrily every bosom boundeth, merrily, oh! where the song of freedom soundeth, merrily oh! there the warrior's arms shed more splendor; there the maiden's charm's shine more tender; every joy the land surroundeth, merrily, oh! merrily, oh! wearily every bosom pineth, wearily, oh! where the bond of slavery twineth wearily, oh there the warrior's dart hath no fleetness; there the maiden's heart hath no sweetness-- every flower of life declineth, wearily, oh! wearily, oh! cheerily then from hill and valley, cheerily, oh! like your native fountain sally, cheerily, oh! if a glorious death, won by bravery, sweeter be than breath sighed in slavery, round the flag of freedom rally, cheerily, oh! cheerily, oh! remember the time. (the castilian maid.) remember the time, in la mancha's shades, when our moments so blissfully flew; when you called me the flower of castilian maids, and i blushed to be called so by you; when i taught you to warble the gay seguadille. and to dance to the light castanet; oh, never, dear youth, let you roam where you will, the delight of those moments forget. they tell me, you lovers from erin's green isle, every hour a new passion can feel; and that soon, in the light of some lovelier smile. you'll forget the poor maid of castile. but they know not how brave in battle you are, or they never could think you would rove; for 'tis always the spirit most gallant in war that is fondest and truest in love. oh, soon return. our white sail caught the evening ray, the wave beneath us seemed to burn, when all the weeping maid could say, was, "oh, soon return!" thro' many a clime our ship was driven o'er many a billow rudely thrown; now chilled beneath a northern heaven, now sunned in summer's zone: and still, where'er we bent our way, when evening bid the west wave burn, i fancied still i heard her say, "oh, soon return!" if ever yet my bosom found its thoughts one moment turned from thee, 'twas when the combat raged around, and brave men looked to me. but tho' the war-field's wild alarm for gentle love was all unmeet, he lent to glory's brow the charm, which made even danger sweet. and still, when victory's calm came o'er the hearts where rage had ceased to burn, those parting words i heard once more, "oh, soon return!--oh, soon return!" love thee? love thee?--so well, so tenderly thou'rt loved, adored by me, fame, fortune, wealth, and liberty, were worthless without thee. tho' brimmed with blessings, pure and rare, life's cup before me lay, unless thy love were mingled there, i'd spurn the draft away. love thee?--so well, so tenderly, thou'rt loved, adored by me, fame, fortune, wealth, and liberty, are worthless without thee. without thy smile, the monarch's lot to me were dark and lone, while, _with_ it, even the humblest cot were brighter than his throne. those worlds for which the conqueror sighs for me would have no charms; my only world thy gentle eyes-- my throne thy circling arms! oh, yes, so well, so tenderly thou'rt loved, adored by me, whole realms of light and liberty were worthless without thee. one dear smile. couldst thou look as dear as when first i sighed for thee; couldst thou make me feel again every wish i breathed thee then, oh, how blissful life would be! hopes that now beguiling leave me, joys that lie in slumber cold-- all would wake, couldst thou but give me one dear smile like those of old. no--there's nothing left us now, but to mourn the past; vain was every ardent vow-- never yet did heaven allow love so warm, so wild, to last. not even hope could now deceive me-- life itself looks dark and cold; oh, thou never more canst give me one dear smile like those of old yes, yes, when the bloom. yes, yes, when, the bloom of love's boyhood is o'er, he'll turn into friendship that feels no decay; and, tho' time may take from him the wings he once wore, the charms that remain will be bright as before, and he'll lose but his young trick of flying away. then let it console thee, if love should not stay, that friendship our last happy moments will crown: like the shadows of morning, love lessens away, while friendship, like those at the closing of day, will linger and lengthen as life's sun goes down. the day of love. the beam of morning trembling stole o'er the mountain brook, with timid ray resembling affection's early look. thus love begins--sweet morn of love! the noon-tide ray ascended, and o'er the valley's stream diffused a glow as splendid as passion's riper dream. thus love expands--warm noon of love! but evening came, o'ershading the glories of the sky, like faith and fondness fading from passion's altered eye. thus love declines--cold eve of love! lusitanian war-song. the song of war shall echo thro' our mountains, till not one hateful link remains of slavery's lingering chains; till not one tyrant tread our plains, nor traitor lip pollute our fountains. no! never till that glorious day shall lusitania's sons be gay, or hear, oh peace, thy welcome lay resounding thro' her sunny mountains. the song of war shall echo thro' our mountains, till victory's self shall, smiling, say, "your cloud of foes hath past away, "and freedom comes with new-born ray "to gild your vines and light your fountains." oh, never till that glorious day shall lusitania's sons be gay, or hear, sweet peace, thy welcome lay resounding thro' her sunny mountains. the young rose. the young rose i give thee, so dewy and bright, was the floweret most dear to the sweet bird of night, who oft, by the moon, o'er her blushes hath hung, and thrilled every leaf with the wild lay he sung. oh, take thou this young rose, and let her life be prolonged by the breath she will borrow from thee; for, while o'er her bosom thy soft notes shall thrill, she'll think the sweet night-bird is courting her still. when midst the gay i meet. when midst the gay i meet that gentle smile of thine, tho' still on me it turns most sweet, i scarce can call it mine: but when to me alone your secret tears you show, oh, then i feel those tears my own, and claim them while they flow. then still with bright looks bless the gay, the cold, the free; give smiles to those who love you less, but keep your tears for me. the snow on jura's steep can smile in many a beam, yet still in chains of coldness sleep. how bright soe'er it seem. but, when some deep-felt ray whose touch is fire appears, oh, then the smile is warmed away, and, melting, turns to tears. then still with bright looks bless the gay, the cold, the free; give smiles to those who love you less, but keep your tears for me. when twilight dews. when twilight dews are falling soft upon the rosy sea, love, i watch the star, whose beam so oft has lighted me to thee, love. and thou too, on that orb so dear, dost often gaze at even, and think, tho' lost for ever here, thou'lt yet be mine in heaven. there's not a garden walk i tread, there's not a flower i see, love, but brings to mind some hope that's fled, some joy that's gone with thee, love. and still i wish that hour was near, when, friends and foes forgiven, the pains, the ills we've wept thro' here may turn to smiles in heaven. young jessica. young jessica sat all the day, with heart o'er idle love-thoughts pining; her needle bright beside her lay, so active once!--now idly shining. ah, jessy, 'tis in idle hearts that love and mischief are most nimble; the safest shield against the darts of cupid is minerva's thimble. the child who with a magnet plays well knowing all its arts, so wily, the tempter near a needle lays. and laughing says, "we'll steal it slily." the needle, having naught to do, is pleased to let the magnet wheedle; till closer, closer come the two, and--off, at length, elopes the needle. now, had this needle turned its eye to some gay reticule's construction, it ne'er had strayed from duty's tie, nor felt the magnet's sly seduction. thus, girls, would you keep quiet hearts, your snowy fingers must be nimble; the safest shield against the darts of cupid is minerva's thimble. how happy, once. _how_ happy, once, tho' winged with sighs, my moments flew along, while looking on those smiling eyes, and listening to thy magic song! but vanished now, like summer dreams, those moments smile no more; for me that eye no longer beams, that song for me is o'er. mine the cold brow, that speaks thy altered vow, while others feel thy sunshine now. oh, could i change my love like thee, one hope might yet be mine-- some other eyes as bright to see, and hear a voice as sweet as thine: but never, never can this heart be waked to life again; with thee it lost its vital part, and withered then! cold its pulse lies, and mute are even its sighs, all other grief it now defies. i love but thee. if, after all, you still will doubt and fear me, and think this heart to other loves will stray, if i must swear, then, lovely doubter, hear me; by every dream i have when thou'rt away, by every throb i feel when thou art near me, i love but thee--i love but thee! by those dark eyes, where light is ever playing, where love in depth of shadow holds his throne, and by those lips, which give whate'er thou'rt saying, or grave or gay, a music of its own, a music far beyond all minstrel's playing, i love but thee--i love but thee! by that fair brow, where innocence reposes, as pure as moonlight sleeping upon snow, and by that cheek, whose fleeting blush discloses a hue too bright to bless this world below, and only fit to dwell on eden's roses, i love but thee--i love but thee! let joy alone be remembered now. let thy joys alone be remembered now, let thy sorrows go sleep awhile; or if thought's dark cloud come o'er thy brow, let love light it up with his smile, for thus to meet, and thus to find, that time, whose touch can chill each flower of form, each grace of mind, hath left thee blooming still, oh, joy alone should be thought of now, let our sorrows go sleep awhile; or, should thought's dark cloud come o'er thy brow, let love light it up with his smile. when the flowers of life's sweet garden fade, if but _one_ bright leaf remain, of the many that once its glory made, it is not for us to complain. but thus to meet and thus to wake in all love's early bliss; oh, time all other gifts may take, so he but leaves us this! then let joy alone be remembered now, let our sorrows go sleep awhile; or if thought's dark cloud come o'er the brow, let love light it up with his smile! love thee, dearest? love thee? love thee, dearest? love thee? yes, by yonder star i swear, which thro' tears above thee shines so sadly fair; tho' often dim, with tears, like him, like him my truth will shine, and--love thee, dearest? love thee? yes, till death i'm thine. leave thee, dearest? leave thee? no, that star is not more true; when my vows deceive thee, _he_ will wander too. a cloud of night may veil his light, and death shall darken mine-- but--leave thee, dearest? leave thee? no, till death i'm thine. my heart and lute. i give thee all--i can no more-- tho' poor the offering be; my heart and lute are all the store that i can bring to thee. a lute whose gentle song reveals the soul of love full well; and, better far, a heart that feels much more than lute could tell. tho' love and song may fail, alas! to keep life's clouds away, at least 'twill make them lighter pass, or gild them if they stay. and even if care at moments flings a discord o'er life's happy strain, let love but gently touch the strings, 'twill all be sweet again! peace, peace to him that's gone! when i am dead. then lay my head in some lone, distant dell, where voices ne'er shall stir the air, or break its silent spell. if any sound be heard around, let the sweet bird alone, that weeps in song, sing all night long, "peace, peace, to him that's gone!" yet, oh, were mine one sigh of thine, one pitying word from thee, like gleams of heaven, to sinners given, would be that word to me. howe'er unblest, my shade would rest while listening to that tone;-- enough 'twould be to hear from thee, "peace, peace, to him that gone." rose of the desert rose of the desert! thou, whose blushing ray, lonely and lovely, fleets unseen away; no hand to cull thee, none to woo thy sigh,-- in vestal silence left to live and die.-- rose of the desert! thus should woman be, shining uncourted, lone and safe, like thee. rose of the garden, how, unlike thy doom! destined for others, not thyself, to bloom; culled ere thy beauty lives thro' half its day; a moment cherished, and then cast away; rose of the garden! such is woman's lot,-- worshipt while blooming--when she fades, forgot. 'tis all for thee. if life for me hath joy or light, 'tis all from thee, my thoughts by day, my dreams by night, are but of thee, of only thee. whate'er of hope or peace i know, my zest in joy, my balm in woe, to those dear eyes of thine i owe, 'tis all from thee. my heart, even ere i saw those eyes, seemed doomed to thee; kept pure till then from other ties, 'twas all for thee, for only thee. like plants that sleep till sunny may calls forth their life my spirit lay, till, touched by love's awakening ray, it lived for thee, it lived for thee. when fame would call me to her heights, she speaks by thee; and dim would shine her proudest lights, unshared by thee, unshared by thee. whene'er i seek the muse's shrine, where bards have hung their wreaths divine, and wish those wreaths of glory mine, 'tis all for thee, for only thee. the song of the olden time. there's a song of the olden time, falling sad o'er the ear, like the dream of some village chime, which in youth we loved to hear. and even amidst the grand and gay, when music tries her gentlest art i never hear so sweet a lay, or one that hangs so round my heart, as that song of the olden time, falling sad o'er the ear, like the dream of some village chime, which in youth we loved to hear, and when all of this life is gone,-- even the hope, lingering now, like the last of the leaves left on autumn's sere and faded bough,-- 'twill seem as still those friends were near, who loved me in youth's early day, if in that parting hour i hear the same sweet notes and die away,-- to that song of the olden time, breathed, like hope's farewell strain, to say, in some brighter clime, life and youth will shine again! wake thee, my dear. wake thee, my dear--thy dreaming till darker hours will keep; while such a moon is beaming, 'tis wrong towards heaven to sleep. moments there are we number, moments of pain and care, which to oblivious slumber gladly the wretch would spare. but now,--who'd think of dreaming when love his watch should keep? while such a moon is beaming, 'tis wrong towards heaven to sleep. if e'er the fates should sever my life and hopes from thee, love, the sleep that lasts for ever would then be sweet to me, love; but now,--away with dreaming! till darker hours 'twill keep; while such a moon is beaming, 'tis wrong towards heaven to sleep. the boy of the alps. lightly, alpine rover, tread the mountains over; rude is the path thou'st yet to go; snow cliffs hanging o'er thee, fields of ice before thee, while the hid torrent moans below. hark, the deep thunder, thro' the vales yonder! 'tis the huge avalanche downward cast; from rock to rock rebounds the shock. but courage, boy! the danger's past. onward, youthful rover, tread the glacier over, safe shalt thou reach thy home at last. on, ere light forsake thee, soon will dusk o'ertake thee: o'er yon ice-bridge lies thy way! now, for the risk prepare thee; safe it yet may bear thee, tho' 'twill melt in morning's ray. hark, that dread howling! 'tis the wolf prowling,-- scent of thy track the foe hath got; and cliff and shore resound his roar. but courage, boy,--the danger's past! watching eyes have found thee, loving arms are round thee, safe hast thou reached thy father's cot. for thee alone. for thee alone i brave the boundless deep, those eyes my light through every distant sea; my waking thoughts, the dream that gilds my sleep, the noon-tide revery, all are given to thee, to thee alone, to thee alone. tho' future scenes present to fancy's eye fair forms of light that crowd the distant air, when nearer viewed, the fairy phantoms fly, the crowds dissolve, and thou alone art there, thou, thou alone. to win thy smile, i speed from shore to shore, while hope's sweet voice is heard in every blast, still whispering on that when some years are o'er, one bright reward shall crown my toil at last, thy smile alone, thy smile alone, oh place beside the transport of that hour all earth can boast of fair, of rich, and bright, wealth's radiant mines, the lofty thrones of power,-- then ask where first thy lover's choice would light? on thee alone, on thee alone. her last words, at parting. her last words, at parting, how _can_ i forget? deep treasured thro' life, in my heart they shall stay; like music, whose charm in the soul lingers yet, when its sounds from the ear have long melted away. let fortune assail me, her threatenings are vain; those still-breathing words shall my talisman be,-- "remember, in absence, in sorrow, and pain, "there's one heart, unchanging, that beats but for thee." from the desert's sweet well tho' the pilgrim must hie, never more of that fresh-springing fountain to taste, he hath still of its bright drops a treasured supply, whose sweetness lends life to his lips thro' the waste. so, dark as my fate is still doomed to remain, these words shall my well in the wilderness be,-- "remember, in absence, in sorrow, and pain, "there's one heart, unchanging, that beats but for thee." let's take this world as some wide scene. let's take this world as some wide scene. thro' which in frail but buoyant boat, with skies now dark and now serene, together thou and i must float; beholding oft on either shore bright spots where we should love to stay; but time plies swift his flying oar, and away we speed, away, away. should chilling winds and rains come on, we'll raise our awning 'gainst the shower; sit closer till the storm is gone, and, smiling, wait a sunnier hour. and if that sunnier hour should shine, we'll know its brightness cannot stay, but happy while 'tis thine and mine, complain not when it fades away. so shall we reach at last that fall down which life's currents all must go,-- the dark, the brilliant, destined all to sink into the void below. nor even that hour shall want its charms, if, side by side, still fond we keep, and calmly, in each other's arms together linked, go down the steep. love's victory. sing to love--for, oh, 'twas he who won the glorious day; strew the wreaths of victory along the conqueror's way. yoke the muses to his car, let them sing each trophy won; while his mother's joyous star shall light the triumph on. hail to love, to mighty love, let spirits sing around; while the hill, the dale, and grove, with "mighty love" resound; or, should a sigh of sorrow steal amid the sounds thus echoed o'er, 'twill but teach the god to feel his victories the more. see his wings, like amethyst of sunny ind their hue; bright as when, by psyche kist, they trembled thro' and thro'. flowers spring beneath his feet; angel forms beside him run; while unnumbered lips repeat "love's victory is won!" hail to love, to mighty love, etc, song of hercules to his daughter.[ ] "i've been, oh, sweet daughter, "to fountain and sea, "to seek in their water "some bright gem for thee. "where diamonds were sleeping, "their sparkle i sought, "where crystal was weeping, "its tears i have caught. "the sea-nymph i've courted "in rich coral halls; "with naiads have sported "by bright waterfalls. "but sportive or tender, "still sought i around "that gem, with whose splendor "thou yet shalt be crowned. "and see, while i'm speaking, "yon soft light afar;-- "the pearl i've been seeking "there floats like a star! "in the deep indian ocean "i see the gem shine, "and quick as light's motion "its wealth shall be thine." then eastward, like lightning, the hero-god flew, his sunny looks brightening the air he went thro'. and sweet was the duty, and hallowed the hour, which saw thus young beauty embellished by power. [ ] founded on the fable reported by arrian (in indicis) of hercules having searched the indian ocean, to find the pearl with which he adorned his daughter pandaea. the dream of home. who has not felt how sadly sweet the dream of home, the dream of home, steals o'er the heart, too soon to fleet, when far o'er sea or land we roam? sunlight more soft may o'er us fall, to greener shores our bark may come; but far more bright, more dear than all, that dream of home, that dream of home. ask the sailor youth when far his light bark bounds o'er ocean's foam, what charms him most, when evening's star smiles o'er the wave? to dream of home. fond thoughts of absent friends and loves at that sweet hour around him come; his heart's best joy where'er he roves, that dream of home, that dream of home. they tell me thou'rt the favored guest. they tell me thou'rt the favored guest of every fair and brilliant throng; no wit like thine to wake the jest, no voice like thine to breathe the song; and none could guess, so gay thou art, that thou and i are far apart. alas! alas! how different flows with thee and me the time away! not that i wish thee sad--heaven knows-- still if thou canst, be light and gay; i only know, that without thee the sun himself is dark to me. do i thus haste to hall and bower, among the proud and gay to shine? or deck my hair with gem and flower, to flatter other eyes than thine? ah, no, with me love's smiles are past thou hadst the first, thou hadst the last. the young indian maid. there came a nymph dancing gracefully, gracefully, her eye a light glancing like the blue sea; and while all this gladness around her steps hung, such sweet notes of sadness her gentle lips sung, that ne'er while i live from my memory shall fade the song or the look of that young indian maid. her zone of bells ringing cheerily, cheerily, chimed to her singing light echoes of glee; but in vain did she borrow of mirth the gay tone, her voice spoke of sorrow, and sorrow alone. nor e'er while i live from my memory shall fade the song or the look of that young indian maid. the homeward march. be still my heart: i hear them come: those sounds announce my lover near: the march that brings our warriors home proclaims he'll soon be here. hark, the distant tread, o'er the mountain's head, while hills and dales repeat the sound; and the forest deer stand still to hear, as those echoing steps ring round. be still my heart. i hear them come, those sounds that speak my soldier near; those joyous steps seem winged fox home.-- rest, rest, he'll soon be here. but hark, more faint the footsteps grow, and now they wind to distant glades; not here their home,--alas, they go to gladden happier maids! like sounds in a dream, the footsteps seem, as down the hills they die away; and the march, whose song so pealed along, now fades like a funeral lay. 'tis past, 'tis o'er,--hush, heart, thy pain! and tho' not here, alas, they come, rejoice for those, to whom that strain brings sons and lovers home. wake up, sweet melody. wake up, sweet melody! now is the hour when young and loving hearts feel most thy power, one note of music, by moonlight's soft ray-- oh, 'tis worth thousands heard coldly by day. then wake up, sweet melody! now is the hour when young and loving hearts feel most thy power. ask the fond nightingale, when his sweet flower loves most to hear his song, in her green bower? oh, he will tell thee, thro' summer-nights long, fondest she lends her whole soul to his song. then wake up, sweet melody! now is the hour when young and loving hearts feel most thy power. calm be thy sleep. calm be thy sleep as infant's slumbers! pure as angel thoughts thy dreams! may every joy this bright world numbers shed o'er thee their mingled beams! or if, where pleasure's wing hath glided, there ever must some pang remain, still be thy lot with me divided,-- thine all the bliss and mine the pain! day and night my thoughts shall hover round thy steps where'er they stray; as, even when clouds his idol cover, fondly the persian tracks its ray. if this be wrong, if heaven offended by worship to its creature be, then let my vows to both be blended, half breathed to heaven and half to thee. the exile. night waneth fast, the morning star saddens with light the glimmering sea, whose waves shall soon to realms afar waft me from hope, from love, and thee. coldly the beam from yonder sky looks o'er the waves that onward stray; but colder still the stranger's eye to him whose home is far away oh, not at hour so chill and bleak, let thoughts of me come o'er thy breast; but of the lost one think and speak, when summer suns sink calm to rest. so, as i wander, fancy's dream shall bring me o'er the sunset seas, thy look in every melting beam, thy whisper in each dying breeze. the fancy fair. come, maids and youths, for here we sell all wondrous things of earth and air; whatever wild romancers tell, or poets sing, or lovers swear, you'll find at this our fancy fair. here eyes are made like stars to shine, and kept for years in such repair, that even when turned of thirty-nine, they'll hardly look the worse for wear, if bought at this our fancy fair. we've lots of tears for bards to shower, and hearts that such ill usage bear, that, tho' they're broken every hour, they'll still in rhyme fresh breaking bear, if purchased at our fancy fair. as fashions change in every thing, we've goods to suit each season's air, eternal friendships for the spring, and endless loves for summer wear,-- all sold at this our fancy fair. we've reputations white as snow, that long will last if used with care, nay, safe thro' all life's journey go, if packed and marked as "brittle ware,"-- just purchased at the fancy fair. if thou wouldst have me sing and play. if thou wouldst have me sing and play, as once i played and sung, first take this time-worn lute away, and bring one freshly strung. call back the time when pleasure's sigh first breathed among the strings; and time himself, in flitting by. made music with his wings. but how is this? tho' new the lute, and shining fresh the chords, beneath this hand they slumber mute, or speak but dreamy words. in vain i seek the soul that dwelt within that once sweet shell, which told so warmly what it felt, and felt what naught could tell. oh, ask not then for passion's lay, from lyre so coldly strung; with this i ne'er can sing or play, as once i played and sung. no, bring that long-loved lute again,-- tho' chilled by years it be, if _thou_ wilt call the slumbering strain, 'twill wake again for thee. tho' time have frozen the tuneful stream of thoughts that gushed along, one look from thee, like summer's beam, will thaw them into song. then give, oh give, that wakening ray, and once more blithe and young, thy bard again will sing and play, as once he played and sung. still when daylight. still when daylight o'er the wave bright and soft its farewell gave, i used to hear, while light was falling, o'er the wave a sweet voice calling, mournfully at distance calling. ah! once how blest that maid would come, to meet her sea-boy hastening home; and thro' the night those sounds repeating, hail his bark with joyous greeting, joyously his light bark greeting. but, one sad night, when winds were high, nor earth, nor heaven could hear her cry. she saw his boat come tossing over midnight's wave,--but not her lover! no, never more her lover. and still that sad dream loath to leave, she comes with wandering mind at eve, and oft we hear, when night is falling, faint her voice thro' twilight calling, mournfully at twilight calling. the summer webs. the summer webs that float and shine, the summer dews that fall, tho' light they be, this heart of mine is lighter still than all. it tells me every cloud is past which lately seemed to lour; that hope hath wed young joy at last, and now's their nuptial hour! with light thus round, within, above, with naught to wake one sigh, except the wish that all we love were at this moment nigh,-- it seems as if life's brilliant sun had stopt in full career, to make this hour its brightest one, and rest in radiance here. mind not tho' daylight. mind not tho' daylight around us is breaking,-- who'd think now of sleeping when morn's but just waking? sound the merry viol, and daylight or not, be all for one hour in the gay dance forgot. see young aurora up heaven's hill advancing, tho' fresh from her pillow, even she too is dancing: while thus all creation, earth, heaven, and sea. are dancing around us, oh, why should not we? who'll say that moments we use thus are wasted? such sweet drops of time only flow to be tasted; while hearts are high beating and harps full in tune, the fault is all morning's for coming so soon. they met but once. they met but once, in youth's sweet hour, and never since that day hath absence, time, or grief had power to chase that dream away. they've seen the suns of other skies, on other shores have sought delight; but never more to bless their eyes can come a dream so bright! they met but once,--a day was all of love's young hopes they knew; and still their hearts that day recall as fresh as then it flew. sweet dream of youth! oh, ne'er again let either meet the brow they left so smooth and smiling then, or see what it is now. for, youth, the spell was only thine, from thee alone the enchantment flows, that makes the world around thee shine with light thyself bestows. they met but once,--oh, ne'er again let either meet the brow they left so smooth and smiling then, or see what it is now. with moonlight beaming. with moonlight beaming thus o'er the deep, who'd linger dreaming in idle sleep? leave joyless souls to live by day,-- our life begins with yonder ray; and while thus brightly the moments flee, our barks skim lightly the shining sea. to halls of splendor let great ones hie; thro' light more tender our pathways lie. while round, from banks of brook or lake, our company blithe echoes make; and as we lend 'em sweet word or strain, still back they send 'em more sweet again. child's song. from a masque. i have a garden of my own, shining with flowers of every hue; i loved it dearly while alone, but i shall love it more with you: and there the golden bees shall come, in summer-time at break of morn, and wake us with their busy hum around the siha's fragrant thorn. i have a fawn from aden's land, on leafy buds and berries nurst; and you shall feed him from your hand, though he may start with fear at first. and i will lead you where he lies for shelter in the noontide heat; and you may touch his sleeping eyes, and feel his little silvery feet. the halcyon hangs o'er ocean. the halcyon hangs o'er ocean, the sea-lark skims the brine; this bright world's all in motion, no heart seems sad but mine. to walk thro' sun-bright places, with heart all cold the while; to look in smiling faces, when we no more can smile; to feel, while earth and heaven around thee shine with bliss, to thee no light is given,-- oh, what a doom is this! the world was husht. the world was husht, the moon above sailed thro' ether slowly, when near the casement of my love, thus i whispered lowly,-- "awake, awake, how canst thou sleep? "the field i seek to-morrow "is one where man hath fame to reap, "and woman gleans but sorrow." "let battle's field be what it may. thus spoke a voice replying, "think not thy love, while thou'rt away, "will sit here idly sighing. "no--woman's soul, if not for fame, "for love can brave all danger! then forth from out the casement came a plumed and armed stranger. a stranger? no; 'twas she, the maid, herself before me beaming, with casque arrayed and falchion blade beneath her girdle gleaming! close side by side, in freedom's fight, that blessed morning found us; in victory's light we stood ere night, and love the morrow crowned us! the two loves. there are two loves, the poet sings, both born of beauty at a birth: the one, akin to heaven, hath wings, the other, earthly, walks on earth. with _this_ thro' bowers below we play, with _that_ thro' clouds above we soar; with both, perchance, may lose our way:-- then, tell me which, tell me which shall we adore? the one, when tempted down from air, at pleasure's fount to lave his lip, nor lingers long, nor oft will dare his wing within the wave to dip. while plunging deep and long beneath, the other bathes him o'er and o'er in that sweet current, even to death:-- then, tell me which, tell me which shall we adore? the boy of heaven, even while he lies in beauty's lap, recalls his home; and when most happy, inly sighs for something happier still to come. while he of earth, too fully blest with this bright world to dream of more, sees all his heaven on beauty's breast:-- then, tell me which, tell me which shall we adore? the maid who heard the poet sing these twin-desires of earth and sky, and saw while one inspired his string, the other glistened in his eye,-- to name the earthlier boy ashamed, to chose the other fondly loath, at length all blushing she exclaimed,-- "ask not which, "oh, ask not which--we'll worship both. "the extremes of each thus taught to shun, "with hearts and souls between them given, "when weary of this earth with one, "we'll with the other wing to heaven." thus pledged the maid her vow of bliss; and while _one_ love wrote down the oath, the other sealed it with a kiss; and heaven looked on, heaven looked on and hallowed both. the legend of puck the fairy. wouldst know what tricks, by the pale moonlight, are played by me, the merry little sprite, who wing thro' air from the camp to the court, from king to clown, and of all make sport; singing, i am the sprite of the merry midnight, who laugh at weak mortals and love the moonlight. to a miser's bed, where he snoring slept and dreamt of his cash, i slyly crept; chink, chink o'er his pillow like money i rang, and he waked to catch--but away i sprang, singing, i am the sprite, etc. i saw thro' the leaves, in a damsel's bower, she was waiting her love at that starlight hour: "hist--hist!" quoth i, with an amorous sigh, and she flew to the door, but away flew i, singing, i am the sprite, etc. while a bard sat inditing an ode to his love, like a pair of blue meteors i stared from above, and he swooned--for he thought 'twas the ghost, poor man! of his lady's eyes, while away i ran, singing, i am the sprite, etc. beauty and song. down in yon summer vale, where the rill flows. thus said a nightingale to his loved rose:-- "tho' rich the pleasures "of song's sweet measures, "vain were its melody, "rose, without thee." then from the green recess of her night-bower, beaming with bashfulness, spoke the bright flower:-- "tho' morn should lend her "its sunniest splendor, "what would the rose be, "unsung by thee?" thus still let song attend woman's bright way; thus still let woman lend light to the lay. like stars thro' heaven's sea floating in harmony beauty should glide along circled by song. when thou art nigh. when thou art nigh, it seems a new creation round; the sun hath fairer beams, the lute a softer sound. tho' thee alone i see, and hear alone thy sigh, 'tis light, 'tis song to me, tis all--when thou art nigh. when thou art nigh, no thought of grief comes o'er my heart; i only think--could aught but joy be where thou art? life seems a waste of breath, when far from thee i sigh; and death--ay, even death were sweet, if thou wert nigh. song of a hyperborean. i come from a land in the sun bright deep, where golden gardens grow; where the winds of the north, be calmed in sleep, their conch-shells never blow.[ ] haste to that holy isle with me, haste--haste! so near the track of the stars are we, that oft on night's pale beams the distant sounds of their harmony come to our ear, like dreams. then haste to that holy isle with me, etc. the moon too brings her world so nigh, that when the night-seer looks to that shadowless orb, in a vernal sky, he can number its hills and brooks. then, haste, etc. to the sun-god all our hearts and lyres[ ] by day, by night, belong; and the breath we draw from his living fires, we give him back in song. then, haste, etc. from us descends the maid who brings to delos gifts divine; and our wild bees lend their rainbow wings to glitter on delphi's shrine. then haste to that holy isle with me, haste--haste! [ ] on the tower of the winds, at athens, there is a conch shell placed in the hands of boreas.--see _stuart's antiquities_. "the north wind," says herodotus, in speaking of the hyperboreans, "never blows with them." [ ] hecataeus tells us, that this hyperborean island was dedicated to apollo; and most of the inhabitants were either priests or songsters. thou bidst me sing. thou bidst me sing the lay i sung to thee in other days ere joy had left this brow; but think, tho' still unchanged the notes may be, how different feels the heart that breathes them now! the rose thou wearst to-night is still the same we saw this morning on its stem so gay; but, ah! that dew of dawn, that breath which came like life o'er all its leaves, hath past away. since first that music touched thy heart and mine, how many a joy and pain o'er both have past,-- the joy, a light too precious long to shine,-- the pain, a cloud whose shadows always last. and tho' that lay would like the voice of home breathe o'er our ear, 'twould waken now a sigh-- ah! not, as then, for fancied woes to come, but, sadder far, for real bliss gone by. cupid armed. place the helm on thy brow, in thy hand take the spear;-- thou art armed, cupid, now, and thy battle-hour is near. march on! march on! thy shaft and bow were weak against such charms; march on! march on! so proud a foe scorns all but martial arms. see the darts in her eyes, tipt with scorn, how they shine! every shaft, as it flies, mocking proudly at thine. march on! march on! thy feathered darts soft bosoms soon might move; but ruder arms to ruder hearts must teach what 'tis to love. place the helm on thy brow; in thy hand take the spear,-- thou art armed, cupid, now, and thy battle-hour is near. round the world goes. round the world goes, by day and night, while with it also round go we; and in the flight of one day's light an image of all life's course we see. round, round, while thus we go round, the best thing a man can do, is to make it, at least, a _merry_-go-round, by--sending the wine round too. our first gay stage of life is when youth in its dawn salutes the eye-- season of bliss! oh, who wouldn't then wish to cry, "stop!" to earth and sky? but, round, round, both boy and girl are whisked thro' that sky of blue; and much would their hearts enjoy the whirl, if--their heads didn't whirl round too. next, we enjoy our glorious noon, thinking all life a life of light; but shadows come on, 'tis evening soon, and ere we can say, "how short!"--'tis night. round, round, still all goes round, even while i'm thus singing to you; and the best way to make it a _merry_-go-round, is to--chorus my song round too. oh, do not look so bright and blest. oh, do not look so bright and blest, for still there comes a fear, when brow like thine looks happiest, that grief is then most near. there lurks a dread in all delight, a shadow near each ray, that warns us then to fear their flight, when most we wish their stay. then look not thou so bright and blest, for ah! there comes a fear, when brow like thine looks happiest, that grief is then most near. why is it thus that fairest things the soonest fleet and die?-- that when most light is on their wings, they're then but spread to fly! and, sadder still, the pain will stay-- the bliss no more appears; as rainbows take their light away, and leave us but the tears! then look not thou so bright and blest, for ah! there comes a fear, when brow like thine looks happiest, that grief is then most near. the musical box. "look here," said rose, with laughing eyes, "within this box, by magic hid, "a tuneful sprite imprisoned lies, "who sings to me whene'er he's bid. "tho' roving once his voice and wing, "he'll now lie still the whole day long; "till thus i touch the magic spring-- "then hark, how sweet and blithe his song!" _(a symphony.)_ "ah, rose," i cried, "the poet's lay "must ne'er even beauty's slave become; "thro' earth and air his song may stray, "if all the while his heart's at home. "and tho' in freedom's air he dwell, "nor bond nor chain his spirit knows, "touch but the spring thou knowst so well, "and--hark, how sweet the love-song flows!" _(a symphony.)_ thus pleaded i for freedom's right; but when young beauty takes the field, and wise men seek defence in flight, the doom of poets is to yield. no more my heart the enchantress braves, i'm now in beauty's prison hid; the sprite and i are fellow slaves, and i, too, sing whene'er i'm bid. when to sad music silent you listen. when to sad music silent you listen, and tears on those eyelids tremble like dew, oh, then there dwells in those eyes as they glisten a sweet holy charm that mirth never knew. but when some lively strain resounding lights up the sunshine of joy on that brow, then the young reindeer o'er the hills bounding was ne'er in its mirth so graceful as thou. when on the skies at midnight thou gazest. a lustre so pure thy features then wear, that, when to some star that bright eye thou raisest, we feel 'tis thy home thou'rt looking for there. but when the word for the gay dance is given, so buoyant thy spirit, so heartfelt thy mirth, oh then we exclaim, "ne'er leave earth for heaven, "but linger still here, to make heaven of earth." the language of flowers. fly swift, my light gazelle, to her who now lies waking, to hear thy silver bell the midnight silence breaking. and, when thou com'st, with gladsome feet, beneath her lattice springing, ah, well she'll know how sweet the words of love thou'rt bringing. yet, no--not words, for they but half can tell love's feeling; sweet flowers alone can say what passion fears revealing. a once bright rose's withered leaf, a towering lily broken,-- oh these may paint a grief no words could e'er have spoken. not such, my gay gazelle, the wreath thou speedest over yon moonlight dale, to tell my lady how i love her. and, what to her will sweeter be than gems the richest, rarest,-- from truth's immortal tree[ ] one fadeless leaf thou bearest. [ ] the tree called in the east, amrita, or the immortal. the dawn is breaking o'er us. the dawn is breaking o'er us, see, heaven hath caught its hue! we've day's long light before us, what sport shall we pursue? the hunt o'er hill and lea? the sail o'er summer sea? oh let not hour so sweet unwinged by pleasure fleet. the dawn is breaking o'er us, see, heaven hath caught its hue! we've days long light before us, what sport shall we pursue? but see, while we're deciding, what morning sport to play, the dial's hand is gliding, and morn hath past away! ah, who'd have thought that noon would o'er us steal so soon,-- that morn's sweet hour of prime would last so short a time? but come, we've day before us, still heaven looks bright and blue; quick, quick, ere eve comes o'er us, what sport shall we pursue? alas! why thus delaying? we're now at evening's hour; its farewell beam is playing o'er hill and wave and bower. that light we thought would last, behold, even now 'tis past; and all our morning dreams have vanisht with its beams but come! 'twere vain to borrow sad lessons from this lay, for man will be to-morrow-- just what he's been to-day. unpublished songs. etc. ask not if still i love. ask not if still i love, too plain these eyes have told thee; too well their tears must prove how near and dear i hold thee. if, where the brightest shine, to see no form but thine, to feel that earth can show no bliss above thee,-- if this be love, then know that thus, that thus, i love thee. 'tis not in pleasure's idle hour that thou canst know affection's power. no, try its strength in grief or pain; attempt as now its bonds to sever, thou'lt find true love's a chain that binds forever! dear? yes. dear? yes, tho' mine no more, even this but makes thee dearer; and love, since hope is o'er, but draws thee nearer. change as thou wilt to me, the same thy charm must be; new loves may come to weave their witchery o'er thee, yet still, tho' false, believe that i adore thee, yes, still adore thee. think'st thou that aught but death could end a tie not falsehood's self can rend? no, when alone, far off i die, no more to see, no more cares thee, even then, my life's last sigh shall be to bless thee, yes, still to bless thee. unbind thee, love. unbind thee, love, unbind thee, love, from those dark ties unbind thee; tho' fairest hand the chain hath wove, too long its links have twined thee. away from earth!--thy wings were made in yon mid-sky to hover, with earth beneath their dove-like shade, and heaven all radiant over. awake thee, boy, awake thee, boy, too long thy soul is sleeping; and thou mayst from this minute's joy wake to eternal weeping. oh, think, this world is not for thee; tho' hard its links to sever; tho' sweet and bright and dear they be, break or thou'rt lost for ever. there's something strange. a buffalo song. there's something strange, i know not what, come o'er me, some phantom i've for ever got before me. i look on high and in the sky 'tis shining; on earth, its light with all things bright seems twining. in vain i try this goblin's spells to sever; go where i will, it round me dwells for ever. and then what tricks by day and night it plays me; in every shape the wicked sprite waylays me. sometimes like two bright eyes of blue 'tis glancing; sometimes like feet, in slippers neat, comes dancing. by whispers round of every sort i'm taunted. never was mortal man, in short, so haunted. not from thee. not from thee the wound should come, no, not from thee. care not what or whence my doom, so not from thee! cold triumph! first to make this heart thy own; and then the mirror break where fixt thou shin'st alone. not from thee the wound should come, oh, not from thee. i care not what, or whence, my doom, so not from thee. yet no--my lips that wish recall; from thee, from thee-- if ruin o'er this head must fall, 'twill welcome be. here to the blade i bare this faithful heart; wound deep--thou'lt find that there, in every pulse thou art. yes from thee i'll bear it all: if ruin be the doom that o'er this heart must fall, 'twere sweet from thee. guess, guess. i love a maid, a mystic maid, whose form no eyes but mine can see; she comes in light, she comes in shade, and beautiful in both is she. her shape in dreams i oft behold, and oft she whispers in my ear such words as when to others told, awake the sigh, or wring the tear; then guess, guess, who she, the lady of my love, may be. i find the lustre of her brow, come o'er me in my darkest ways; and feel as if her voice, even now, were echoing far off my lays. there is no scene of joy or woe but she doth gild with influence bright; and shed o'er all so rich a glow as makes even tears seem full of light: then guess, guess, who she, the lady of my love, may be. when love, who ruled. when love, who ruled as admiral o'er has rosy mother's isles of light, was cruising off the paphian shore, a sail at sunset hove in sight. "a chase, a chase! my cupids all," said love, the little admiral. aloft the winged sailors sprung, and, swarming up the mast like bees, the snow-white sails expanding flung, like broad magnolias to the breeze. "yo ho, yo ho, my cupids all!" said love, the little admiral. the chase was o'er--the bark was caught, the winged crew her freight explored; and found 'twas just as love had thought, for all was contraband aboard. "a prize, a prize, my cupids all!" said love, the little admiral. safe stowed in many a package there, and labelled slyly o'er, as "glass," were lots of all the illegal ware, love's custom-house forbids to pass. "o'erhaul, o'erhaul, my cupids all," said love, the little admiral. false curls they found, of every hue, with rosy blushes ready made; and teeth of ivory, good as new, for veterans in the smiling trade. "ho ho, ho ho, my cupids all," said love, the little admiral. mock sighs, too,--kept in bags for use, like breezes bought of lapland seers,-- lay ready here to be let loose, when wanted, in young spinsters' ears. "ha ha, ha ha, my cupids all," said love, the little admiral. false papers next on board were found, sham invoices of flames and darts, professedly for paphos bound, but meant for hymen's golden marts. "for shame, for shame, my cupids all!" said love, the little admiral. nay, still to every fraud awake, those pirates all love's signals knew, and hoisted oft his flag, to make rich wards and heiresses _bring-to_.[ ] "a foe, a foe, my cupids all!" said love, the little admiral. "this must not be," the boy exclaims, "in vain i rule the paphian seas, "if love's and beauty's sovereign names "are lent to cover frauds like these. "prepare, prepare, my cupids all!" said love, the little admiral. each cupid stood with lighted match-- a broadside struck the smuggling foe, and swept the whole unhallowed batch of falsehood to the depths below. "huzza, huzza! my cupids all!" said love the little admiral. [ ] "_to bring-to_, to check the course of a ship."--_falconer_. still thou fliest. still thou fliest, and still i woo thee, lovely phantom,--all in vain; restless ever, my thoughts pursue thee, fleeting ever, thou mock'st their pain. such doom, of old, that youth betided, who wooed, he thought, some angel's charms, but found a cloud that from him glided,-- as thou dost from these outstretched arms. scarce i've said, "how fair thou shinest," ere thy light hath vanished by; and 'tis when thou look'st divinest thou art still most sure to fly. even as the lightning, that, dividing the clouds of night, saith, "look on me," then flits again, its splendor hiding.-- even such the glimpse i catch of thee. then first from love. then first from love, in nature's bowers, did painting learn her fairy skill, and cull the hues of loveliest flowers, to picture woman lovelier still. for vain was every radiant hue, till passion lent a soul to art, and taught the painter, ere he drew, to fix the model in his heart. thus smooth his toil awhile went on, till, lo, one touch his art defies; the brow, the lip, the blushes shone, but who could dare to paint those eyes? 'twas all in vain the painter strove; so turning to that boy divine, "here take," he said, "the pencil, love, "no hand should paint such eyes but thine." hush, sweet lute. hush, sweet lute, thy songs remind me of past joys, now turned to pain; of ties that long have ceased to bind me, but whose burning marks remain. in each tone, some echo falleth on my ear of joys gone by; every note some dream recalleth of bright hopes but born to die. yet, sweet lute, though pain it bring me, once more let thy numbers thrill; tho' death were in the strain they sing me, i must woo its anguish still. since no time can e'er recover love's sweet light when once 'tis set,-- better to weep such pleasures over, than smile o'er any left us yet. bright moon. bright moon, that high in heaven art shining, all smiles, as if within thy bower to-night thy own endymion lay reclining, and thou wouldst wake him with a kiss of light!-- by all the bliss thy beam discovers, by all those visions far too bright for day, which dreaming bards and waking lovers behold, this night, beneath thy lingering ray,-- i pray thee, queen of that bright heaven, quench not to-night thy love-lamp in the sea, till anthe, in this bower, hath given beneath thy beam, her long-vowed kiss to me. guide hither, guide her steps benighted, ere thou, sweet moon, thy bashful crescent hide; let love but in this bower be lighted, then shroud in darkness all the world beside. long years have past. long years have past, old friend, since we first met in life's young day; and friends long loved by thee and me, since then have dropt away;-- but enough remain to cheer us on, and sweeten, when thus we're met, the glass we fill to the many gone, and the few who're left us yet. our locks, old friend, now thinly grow, and some hang white and chill; while some, like flowers mid autumn's snow, retain youth's color still. and so, in our hearts, tho' one by one, youth's sunny hopes have set, thank heaven, not all their light is gone,-- we've some to cheer us yet. then here's to thee, old friend, and long may thou and i thus meet, to brighten still with wine and song this short life, ere it fleet. and still as death comes stealing on, let's never, old friend, forget, even while we sigh o'er blessings gone, how many are left us yet. dreaming for ever. dreaming for ever, vainly dreaming, life to the last, pursues its flight; day hath its visions fairly beaming, but false as those of night. the one illusion, the other real, but both the same brief dreams at last; and when we grasp the bliss ideal, soon as it shines, 'tis past. here, then, by this dim lake reposing, calmly i'll watch, while light and gloom flit o'er its face till night is closing-- emblem of life's short doom! but tho', by turns, thus dark and shining, 'tis still unlike man's changeful day, whose light returns not, once declining, whose cloud, once come, will stay. tho' lightly sounds the song i sing. a song of the alps. tho' lightly sounds the song i sing to thee, tho' like the lark's its soaring music be, thou'lt find even here some mournful note that tells how near such april joy to weeping dwells. 'tis 'mong the gayest scenes that oftenest steal those saddening thoughts we fear, yet love to feel; and music never half so sweet appears, as when her mirth forgets itself in tears. then say not thou this alpine song is gay-- it comes from hearts that, like their mountain-lay, mix joy with pain, and oft when pleasure's breath most warms the surface feel most sad beneath. the very beam in which the snow-wreath wears its gayest smile is that which wins its tears,-- and passion's power can never lend the glow which wakens bliss, without some touch of woe. the russian lover. fleetly o'er the moonlight snows speed we to my lady's bower; swift our sledge as lightning goes, nor shall stop till morning's hour. bright, my steed, the northern star lights us from yon jewelled skies; but to greet us, brighter far, morn shall bring my lady's eyes. lovers, lulled in sunny bowers, sleeping out their dream of time, know not half the bliss that's ours, in this snowy, icy clime. like yon star that livelier gleams from the frosty heavens around, love himself the keener beams when with snows of coyness crowned. fleet then on, my merry steed, bound, my sledge, o'er hill and dale;-- what can match a lover's speed? see, 'tis daylight, breaking pale! brightly hath the northern star lit us from yon radiant skies; but, behold, how brighter far yonder shine my lady's eyes! a selection from the songs in m. p.; or, the blue-stocking: a comic opera in three acts. . boat glee. the song that lightens the languid way, when brows are glowing, and faint with rowing, is like the spell of hope's airy lay, to whose sound thro' life we stray; the beams that flash on the oar awhile, as we row along thro' the waves so clear, illume its spray, like the fleeting smile that shines o'er sorrow's tear. nothing is lost on him who sees with an eye that feeling gave;-- for him there's a story in every breeze, and a picture in every wave. then sing to lighten the languid way; when brows are glowing, and faint with rowing, 'tis like the spell of hope's airy lay, to whose sound thro' life we stray. * * * * * 'tis sweet to behold when the billows are sleeping, some gay-colored bark moving gracefully by; no damp on her deck but the eventide's weeping, no breath in her sails but the summer wind's sigh. yet who would not turn with a fonder emotion, to gaze on the life-boat, tho' rugged and worn. which often hath wafted o'er hills of the ocean the lost light of hope to the seaman forlorn! oh! grant that of those who in life's sunny slumber around us like summer-barks idly have played, when storms are abroad we may find in the number one friend, like the life-boat, to fly to our aid. * * * * * when lelia touched the lute, not _then_ alone 'twas felt, but when the sounds were mute, in memory still they dwelt. sweet lute! in nightly slumbers still we heard thy morning numbers. ah, how could she who stole such breath from simple wire, be led, in pride of soul, to string with gold her lyre? sweet lute! thy chords she breaketh; golden now the strings she waketh! but where are all the tales her lute so sweetly told? in lofty themes she fails, and soft ones suit not gold. rich lute! we see thee glisten, but, alas! no more we listen! * * * * * young love lived once in a humble shed, where roses breathing and woodbines wreathing around the lattice their tendrils spread, as wild and sweet as the life he led. his garden flourisht, for young hope nourisht. the infant buds with beams and showers; but lips, tho' blooming, must still be fed, and not even love can live on flowers. alas! that poverty's evil eye should e'er come hither, such sweets to wither! the flowers laid down their heads to die, and hope fell sick as the witch drew nigh. she came one morning. ere love had warning, and raised the latch, where the young god lay; "oh ho!" said love--"is it you? good-by;" so he oped the window and flew away! * * * * * spirit of joy, thy altar lies in youthful hearts that hope like mine; and 'tis the light of laughing eyes that leads us to thy fairy shrine. there if we find the sigh, the tear, they are not those to sorrow known; but breathe so soft, and drop so clear, that bliss may claim them for her own. then give me, give me, while i weep, the sanguine hope that brightens woe, and teaches even our tears to keep the tinge of pleasure as they flow. the child who sees the dew of night upon the spangled hedge at morn, attempts to catch the drops of light, but wounds his finger with the thorn. thus oft the brightest joys we seek, are lost when touched, and turned to pain; the flush they kindle leaves the cheek, the tears they waken long remain. but give me, give me, etc. * * * * * to sigh, yet feel no pain. to weep, yet scarce know why; to sport an hour with beauty's chain, then throw it idly by; to kneel at many a shrine, yet lay the heart on none; to think all other charms divine, but those we just have won; this is love, careless love, such as kindleth hearts that rove. to keep one sacred flame, thro' life unchilled, unmoved, to love in wintry age the same as first in youth we loved; to feel that we adore to such refined excess. that tho' the heart would break with _more_, we could not live with _less_; this is love, faithful love, such as saints might feel above. * * * * * dear aunt, in the olden time of love, when women like slaves were spurned, a maid gave her heart, as she would her glove, to be teased by a fop, and returned! but women grow wiser as men improve. and, tho' beaux, like monkeys, amuse us, oh! think not we'd give such a delicate gem as the heart to be played with or sullied by them; no, dearest aunt, excuse us. we may know by the head on cupid's seal what impression the heart will take; if shallow the head, oh! soon we feel what a poor impression 'twill make! tho' plagued, heaven knows! by the foolish zeal of the fondling fop who pursues me, oh, think not i'd follow their desperate rule, who get rid of the folly by wedding the fool; no, dearest aunt! excuse me. * * * * * when charles was deceived by the maid he loved, we saw no cloud his brow o'er-casting, but proudly he smiled as if gay and unmoved, tho' the wound in his heart was deep and lasting. and oft at night when the tempest rolled he sung as he paced the dark deck over-- "blow, wind, blow! thou art not so cold as the heart of a maid that deceives her lover." yet he lived with the happy and seemed to be gay, tho' the wound but sunk more deep for concealing; and fortune threw many a thorn in his way, which, true to one anguish, he trod without feeling! and still by the frowning of fate unsubdued he sung as if sorrow had placed him above her-- "frown, fate, frown! thou art not so rude as the heart of a maid that deceives her lover." at length his career found a close in death, the close he long wished to his cheerless roving, for victory shone on his latest breath, and he died in a cause of his heart's approving. but still he remembered his sorrow,--and still he sung till the vision of life was over-- "come, death, come! thou art not so chill as the heart of a maid that deceives her lover." * * * * * when life looks lone and dreary, what light can dispel the gloom? when time's swift wing grows weary, what charm can refresh his plume? 'tis woman whose sweetness beameth o'er all that we feel or see; and if man of heaven e'er dreameth, 'tis when he thinks purely of thee, o woman! let conquerors fight for glory, too dearly the meed they gain; let patriots live in story-- too often they die in vain; give kingdoms to those who choose 'em, this world can offer to me no throne like beauty's bosom, no freedom like serving thee, o woman! cupid's lottery. a lottery, a lottery, in cupid's court there used to be; two roguish eyes the highest prize in cupid's scheming lottery; and kisses, too, as good as new, which weren't very hard to win, for he who won the eyes of fun was sure to have the kisses in a lottery, a lottery, etc. this lottery, this lottery, in cupid's court went merrily, and cupid played a jewish trade in this his scheming lottery; for hearts, we're told, in _shares_ he sold to many a fond believing drone, and cut the hearts in sixteen parts so well, each thought the whole his own. _chor_.--a lottery, a lottery, etc. * * * * * tho' sacred the tie that our country entwineth, and dear to the heart her remembrance remains, yet dark are the ties where no liberty shineth, and sad the remembrance that slavery stains. o thou who wert born in the cot of the peasant, but diest in languor in luxury's dome, our vision when absent--our glory, when present-- where thou art, o liberty! there is my home. farewell to the land where in childhood i've wandered! in vain is she mighty, in vain, is she brave! unblest is the blood that for tyrants is squandered, and fame has no wreaths for the brow of the slave. but hail to thee, albion! who meet'st the commotion. of europe as calm as thy cliffs meet the foam! with no bonds but the law, and no slave but the ocean, hail, temple of liberty! thou art my home. * * * * * oh think, when a hero is sighing, what danger in such an adorer! what woman can dream' of denying the hand that lays laurels before her? no heart is so guarded around, but the smile of the victor will take it; no bosom can slumber so sound, but the trumpet of glory will wake it. love sometimes is given to sleeping, and woe to the heart that allows him; for oh, neither smiling nor weeping has power at those moments to rouse him. but tho' he was sleeping so fast, that the life almost seemed to forsake him, believe me, one soul-thrilling blast from the trumpet of glory would wake him. * * * * * mr. orator puff had two tones in his voice, the one squeaking thus, and the other down so! in each sentence he uttered he gave you your choice, for one was b alt, and the rest g below. oh! oh, orator puff! one voice for one orator's surely enough. but he still talked away spite of coughs and of frowns, so distracting all ears with his ups and his downs, that a wag once on hearing the orator say, "my voice is for war," asked him, "which of them, pray?" oh! oh! etc. reeling homewards one evening, top-heavy with gin, and rehearsing his speech on the weight of the crown, he tript near a sawpit, and tumbled right in, "sinking fund," the last words as his noddle came down. oh! oh, etc. "help! help!" he exclaimed, in his he and she tones, "help me out! help me out--i have broken my bones!" "help you out?" said a paddy who passed, "what a bother! why, there's two of you there, can't you help one another?" oh i oh! etc. miscellaneous poems. occasional epilogue. spoken by mr. cobby, in the character of vapid, after the play of the dramatist, at the kilkenny theatre. (_entering as if to announce the play_.) ladies and gentlemen, on monday night, for the ninth time--oh accents of delight to the poor author's ear, when _three times three_ with a full bumper crowns, his comedy! when, long by money, and the muse, forsaken, he finds at length his jokes and boxes taken, and sees his play-bill circulate--alas, the only bill on which his name will pass! thus, vapid, thus shall thespian scrolls of fame thro' box and gallery waft your well-known name, while critic eyes the happy cast shall con, and learned ladies spell your _dram. person_. 'tis said our worthy manager[ ]intends to help my night, and _he_, ye know, has friends. friends, did i say? for fixing friends, or _parts_, engaging actors, or engaging hearts, there's nothing like him! wits, at his request. are turned to fools, and dull dogs learn to jest; soldiers, for him, good "trembling cowards" make, and beaus, turned clowns, look ugly for his sake; for him even lawyers talk without a fee, for him (oh friendship) _i_ act tragedy! in short, like orpheus, his persuasive tricks make _boars_ amusing, and put life in _sticks_. with _such_ a manager we can't but please, tho' london sent us all her loud o. p.'s,[ ] let them come on, like snakes, all hiss and rattle, armed with a thousand fans, we'd give them battle; you, on our side, r. p.[ ]upon our banners, soon should we teach the saucy o. p.'s manners: and show that, here--howe'er john bull may doubt-- in all _our_ plays, the riot-act's cut out; and, while we skim the cream of many a jest, your well-timed thunder never sours its zest. oh gently thus, when three short weeks are past, at shakespeare's altar,[ ] shall we breathe our last; and, ere this long-loved dome to ruin nods, die all, die nobly, die like demigods! [ ] the late mr. richard power. [ ] the brief appellation by which these persons were distinguished who, at the opening of the new theatre of convent garden, clamored for the continuance of the old prices of admission. [ ] the initials of our manager's name. [ ] this alludes to a scenic representation then preparing for the last night of the performances. extract. from a prologue written and spoken by the author, at the opening of the kilkenny theatre, october, . * * * * * yet, even here, tho' fiction rules the hour, there shine some genuine smiles, beyond her power; and there are tears, too--tears that memory sheds even o'er the feast that mimic fancy spreads, when her heart misses one lamented guest,[ ] whose eye so long threw light o'er all the rest! there, there, indeed, the muse forgets her task, and drooping weeps behind thalia's mask. forgive this gloom--forgive this joyless strain, too sad to welcome pleasure's smiling train. but, meeting thus, our hearts will part the lighter, as mist at dawn but makes the setting brighter; gay epilogue will shine where prologue fails-- as glow-worms keep their splendor for their tails. i know not why--but time, methinks, hath past more fleet than usual since we parted last. it seems but like a dream of yesternight. whose charm still hangs, with fond, delaying light; and, ere the memory lose one glowing hue of former joy, we come to kindle new. thus ever may the flying moments haste with trackless foot along life's vulgar waste, but deeply print and lingeringly move, when thus they reach the sunny spots we love. oh yes, whatever be our gay career, let this be still the solstice of the year, where pleasure's sun shall at its height remain, and slowly sink to level life again. [ ] the late mr. john lyster, one of the oldest members and best actors of the kilkenny theatrical society. the sylph's ball. a sylph, as bright as ever sported her figure thro' the fields of air, by an old swarthy gnome was courted. and, strange to say, he won the fair. the annals of the oldest witch a pair so sorted could not show, but how refuse?--the gnome was rich, the rothschild of the world below; and sylphs, like other pretty creatures, are told, betimes, they must consider love as an auctioneer of features, who knocks them down to the best bidder. home she was taken to his mine-- a palace paved with diamonds all-- and, proud as lady gnome to shine, sent out her tickets for a ball. the _lower_ world of course was there, and all the best; but of the _upper_ the sprinkling was but shy and rare,-- a few old sylphids who loved supper. as none yet knew the wondrous lamp of davy, that renowned aladdin, and the gnome's halls exhaled a damp which accidents from fire were had in; the chambers were supplied with light by many strange but safe devices; large fire-flies, such as shine at night among the orient's flowers and spices;-- musical flint-mills--swiftly played by elfin hands--that, flashing round, like certain fire-eyed minstrel maids, gave out at once both light and sound. bologna stones that drink the sun; and water from that indian sea, whose waves at night like wildfire run-- corked up in crystal carefully. glow-worms that round the tiny dishes like little light-houses, were set up; and pretty phosphorescent fishes that by their own gay light were eat up. 'mong the few guests from ether came that wicked sylph whom love we call-- my lady knew him but by name, my lord, her husband, not at all. some prudent gnomes, 'tis said, apprised that he was coming, and, no doubt alarmed about his torch, advised he should by all means be kept out. but others disapproved this plan, and by his flame tho' somewhat frighted, thought love too much a gentleman in such a dangerous place to light it. however, _there_ he was--and dancing with the fair sylph, light as a feather; they looked like two fresh sunbeams glancing at daybreak down to earth together. and all had gone off safe and well, but for that plaguy torch whose light, though not _yet_ kindled--who could tell how soon, how devilishly, it _might_? and so it chanced--which, in those dark and fireless halls was quite amazing; did we not know how small a spark can set the torch of love a-blazing. whether it came (when close entangled in the gay waltz) from her bright eyes, or from the _lucciole_, that spangled her locks of jet--is all surmise; but certain 'tis the ethereal girl _did_ drop a spark at some odd turning, which by the waltz's windy whirl was fanned up into actual burning. oh for that lamp's metallic gauze, that curtain of protecting wire, which davy delicately draws around illicit, dangerous fire!-- the wall he sets 'twixt flame and air, (like that which barred young thisbe's bliss,) thro' whose small holes this dangerous pair may see each other but not kiss. at first the torch looked rather bluely,-- a sign, they say, that no good boded-- then quick the gas became unruly. and, crack! the ball-room all exploded. sylphs, gnomes, and fiddlers mixt together, with all their aunts, sons, cousins, nieces, like butterflies in stormy weather, were blown--legs, wings, and tails--to pieces! while, mid these victims of the torch, the sylph, alas, too, bore her part-- found lying with a livid scorch as if from lightning o'er her heart! * * * * * "well done"--a laughing goblin said-- escaping from this gaseous strife-- "'tis not the _first_ time love has made "a _blow-up_ in connubial life!" remonstrance. _after a conversation with lord john russell, in which he had intimated some idea of giving up all political pursuits. _ what! _thou_, with thy genius, thy youth, and thy name-- thou, born of a russell--whose instinct to run the accustomed career of thy sires, is the same as the eaglet's, to soar with his eyes on the sun! whose nobility comes to thee, stampt with a seal, far, far more ennobling than monarch e'er set; with the blood of thy race, offered up for the weal of a nation that swears by that martyrdom yet! shalt _thou_ be faint-hearted and turn from the strife, from the mighty arena, where all that is grand and devoted and pure and adorning in life, 'tis for high-thoughted spirits like thine to command? oh no, never dream it--while good men despair between tyrants and traitors, and timid men bow, never think for an instant thy country can spare such a light from her darkening horizon as thou. with a spirit, as meek as the gentlest of those who in life's sunny valley lie sheltered and warm; yet bold and heroic as ever yet rose to the top cliffs of fortune and breasted her storm; with an ardor for liberty fresh as in youth it first kindles the bard and gives life to his lyre; yet mellowed, even now, by that mildness of truth which tempers but chills not the patriot fire; with an eloquence--not like those rills from a height, which sparkle and foam and in vapor are o'er; but a current that works out its way into light thro' the filtering recesses of thought and of lore. thus gifted, thou never canst sleep in the shade; if the stirrings of genius, the music of fame, and the charms of thy cause have not power to persuade, yet think how to freedom thou'rt pledged by thy name. like the boughs of that laurel by delphi's decree set apart for the fane and its service divine, so the branches that spring from the old russell tree are by liberty _claimed_ for the use of her shrine. my birth-day. "my birth-day"--what a different sound that word had in my youthful ears! and how, each time the day comes round, less and less white its mark appears! "when first our scanty years are told, it seems like pastime to grow old; and as youth counts the shining links that time around him binds so fast, pleased with the task, he little thinks how hard that chain will press at last. vain was the man, and false as vain, who said--"were he ordained to run "his long career of life again, "he would do all that he _had_ done."-- ah, 'tis not thus the voice that dwells in sober birth-days speaks to me; far otherwise--of time it tells, lavished unwisely, carelessly: of counsel mockt; of talents made haply for high and pure designs, but oft, like israel's incense, laid upon unholy, earthly shrines; of nursing many a wrong desire, of wandering after love too far, and taking every meteor fire that crost my pathway, for his star.-- all this it tells, and, could i trace the imperfect picture o'er again. with power to add, retouch, efface the lights and shades, the joy and pain, how little of the past would stay! how quickly all should melt away-- all--but that freedom of the mind which hath been more than wealth to me; those friendships, in my boyhood twined, and kept till now unchangingly, and that dear home, that saving ark, where love's true light at last i've found, cheering within, when all grows dark and comfortless and stormy round! fancy. the more i've viewed this world, the more i've found, that filled as 'tis with scenes and creatures rare, fancy commands within her own bright round a world of scenes and creatures far more fair. nor is it that her power can call up there a single charm, that's not from nature won,-- no more than rainbows in their pride can wear a single tint unborrowed from the sun; but 'tis the mental medium; it shines thro', that lends to beauty all its charm and hue; as the same light that o'er the level lake one dull monotony of lustre flings, will, entering in the rounded raindrop, make colors as gay as those on angels' wings! song. fanny, dearest. yes! had i leisure to sigh and mourn, fanny dearest, for thee i'd sigh; and every smile on my cheek should turn to tears when thou art nigh. but between love and wine and sleep, so busy a life i live, that even the time it would take to weep is more than my heart can give. then wish me not to despair and pine, fanny, dearest of all the dears! the love that's ordered to bathe in wine, would be sure to take cold in tears. reflected bright in this heart of mine, fanny dearest, thy image lies; but ah! the mirror would cease to shine, if dimmed too often with sighs. they lose the half of beauty's light, who view it thro' sorrow's tear; and 'tis but to see thee truly bright that i keep my eye-beams clear. then wait no longer till tears shall flow-- fanny, dearest! the hope is vain; if sunshine cannot dissolve thy snow, i shall never attempt it with rain. translations from catullus. carm. . _dicebas quondam, etc_. to lesbia. thou told'st me, in our days of love, that i had all that heart of thine; that, even to share the couch of jove, thou wouldst not, lesbia, part from mine. how purely wert thou worshipt then! not with the vague and vulgar fires which beauty wakes in soulless men,-- but loved, as children by their sires. that flattering dream, alas, is o'er;-- i know thee now--and tho' these eyes doat on thee wildly as before, yet, even in doating, i despise. yes, sorceress--mad as it may seem-- with all thy craft, such spells adorn thee, that passion even outlives esteem. and i at once adore--and scorn thee. carm. ii. _pauca nunciate meae puellae_. comrades and friends! with whom, where'er the fates have willed thro' life i've roved, now speed ye home, and with you bear these bitter words to her i've loved. tell her from fool to fool to run, where'er her vain caprice may call; of all her dupes not loving one, but ruining and maddening all. bid her forget--what now is past-- our once dear love, whose rain lies like a fair flower, the meadow's last. which feels the ploughshare's edge and dies! carm. . _peninsularum sirmio, insularumque ocelle_. sweet sirmio! thou, the very eye of all peninsulas and isles, that in our lakes of silver lie, or sleep enwreathed by neptune's smiles-- how gladly back to thee i fly! still doubting, asking--_can_ it be that i have left bithynia's sky, and gaze in safety upon thee? oh! what is happier than to find our hearts at ease, our perils past; when, anxious long, the lightened mind lays down its load of care at last: when tired with toil o'er land and deep, again we tread the welcome floor of our own home, and sink to sleep on the long-wished-for bed once more. this, this it is that pays alone the ills of all life's former track.-- shine out, my beautiful, my own sweet sirmio, greet thy master back. and thou, fair lake, whose water quaffs the light of heaven like lydia's sea, rejoice, rejoice--let all that laughs abroad, at home, laugh out for me! tibullus to sulpicia. _nulla tuum nobis subducet femina lectum, etc., lib. iv. carm. _. "never shall woman's smile have power "to win me from those gentle charms!"-- thus swore i, in that happy hour, when love first gave thee to my arms. and still alone thou charm'st my sight-- still, tho' our city proudly shine with forms and faces, fair and bright, i see none fair or bright but thine. would thou wert fair for only me, and couldst no heart but mine allure!-- to all men else unpleasing be, so shall i feel my prize secure. oh, love like mine ne'er wants the zest of others' envy, others' praise; but, in its silence safely blest, broods o'er a bliss it ne'er betrays. charm of my life! by whose sweet power all cares are husht, all ills subdued-- my light in even the darkest hour, my crowd in deepest solitude! no, not tho' heaven itself sent down some maid of more than heavenly charms, with bliss undreamt thy bard to crown, would he for her forsake those arms! imitation. from the french. with women and apples both paris and adam made mischief enough in their day:-- god be praised that the fate of mankind, my dear madam, depends not on _us_, the same way. for, weak as i am with temptation to grapple, the world would have doubly to rue thee: like adam, i'd gladly take _from_ thee the apple, like paris, at once give it _to_ thee. invitation to dinner. addressed to lord lansdowne. september, . some think we bards have nothing real; that poets live among the stars so, their very dinners are ideal,-- (and, heaven knows, too oft they _are_ so,)-- for instance, that we have, instead of vulgar chops and stews and hashes, first course--a phoenix, at the head. done in its own celestial ashes; at foot, a cygnet which kept singing all the time its neck was wringing. side dishes, thus--minerva's owl, or any such like learned fowl: doves, such as heaven's poulterer gets, when cupid shoots his mother's pets. larks stewed in morning's roseate breath, or roasted by a sunbeam's splendor; and nightingales, berhymed to death-- like young pigs whipt to make them tender. such fare may suit those bards, who are able to banquet at duke humphrey's table; but as for me, who've long been taught to eat and drink like other people; and can put up with mutton, bought where bromham[ ] rears its ancient steeple-- if lansdowne will consent to share my humble feast, tho' rude the fare, yet, seasoned by that salt he brings from attica's salinest springs, 'twill turn to dainties;--while the cup, beneath his influence brightening up, like that of baucis, touched by jove, will sparkle fit for gods above! [ ] a picturesque village in sight of my cottage, and from which it is separated out by a small verdant valley. verses to the poet crabbe's inkstand.[ ] (written may, .) all, as he left it!--even the pen, so lately at that mind's command, carelessly lying, as if then just fallen from his gifted hand. have we then lost him? scarce an hour, a little hour, seems to have past, since life and inspiration's power around that relic breathed their last. ah, powerless now--like talisman found in some vanished wizard's halls, whose mighty charm with him began, whose charm with him extinguisht falls. yet, tho', alas! the gifts that shone around that pen's exploring track, be now, with its great master, gone, nor living hand can call them back; who does not feel, while thus his eyes rest on the enchanter's broken wand, each earth-born spell it worked arise before him in succession grand? grand, from the truth that reigns o'er all; the unshrinking truth that lets her light thro' life's low, dark, interior fall, opening the whole, severely bright: yet softening, as she frowns along, o'er scenes which angels weep to see-- where truth herself half veils the wrong, in pity of the misery. true bard!--and simple, as the race of true-born poets ever are, when, stooping from their starry place, they're children near, tho' gods afar. how freshly doth my mind recall, 'mong the few days i've known with thee, one that, most buoyantly of all, floats in the wake of memory;[ ] when he, the poet, doubly graced, in life, as in his perfect strain, with that pure, mellowing power of taste, without which fancy shines in vain; who in his page will leave behind, pregnant with genius tho' it be, but half the treasures of a mind, where sense o'er all holds mastery:-- friend of long years! of friendship tried thro' many a bright and dark event; in doubts, my judge--in taste, my guide-- in all, my stay and ornament! he, too, was of our feast that day, and all were guests of one whose hand hath shed a new and deathless ray around the lyre of this great land; in whose sea-odes--as in those shells where ocean's voice of majesty seems still to sound--immortal dwells old albion's spirit of the sea. such was our host; and tho', since then, slight clouds have risen 'twixt him and me, who would not grasp such hand again, stretched forth again in amity? who can, in this short life, afford to let such mists a moment stay, when thus one frank, atoning word, like sunshine, melts them all away? bright was our board that day--tho' _one_ unworthy brother there had place; as 'mong the horses of the sun, one was, they say, of earthly race. yet, _next_ to genius is the power of feeling where true genius lies; and there was light around that hour such as, in memory, never dies; light which comes o'er me as i gaze, thou relic of the dead, on thee, like all such dreams of vanisht days, brightly, indeed--but mournfully! [ ] soon after mr. crabbe's death, the sons of that gentleman did me the honor of presenting to me the inkstand, pencil, etc., which their distinguished father had long been in the habit of using. [ ] the lines that follow allude to a day passed in company with mr. crabbe, many years since, when a party, consisting only of mr. rogers, mr. crabbe, and the author of these verses, had the pleasure of dining with mr. thomas campbell, at his house at sydenham. to caroline, viscountess valletort. written at lacock abbey, january, . when i would sing thy beauty's light, such various forms, and all so bright, i've seen thee, from thy childhood, wear, i know not which to call most fair, nor 'mong the countless charms that spring for ever round thee, _which_ to sing. when i would paint thee as thou _art_, then all thou _wert_ comes o'er my heart-- the graceful child in beauty's dawn within the nursery's shade withdrawn, or peeping out--like a young moon upon a world 'twill brighten soon. then next in girlhood's blushing hour, as from thy own loved abbey-tower i've seen thee look, all radiant, down, with smiles that to the hoary frown of centuries round thee lent a ray, chasing even age's gloom away;-- or in the world's resplendent throng, as i have markt thee glide along, among the crowds of fair and great a spirit, pure and separate, to which even admiration's eye was fearful to approach too nigh;-- a creature circled by a spell within which nothing wrong could dwell; and fresh and clear as from the source. holding through life her limpid course, like arethusa thro' the sea, stealing in fountain purity. now, too, another change of light! as noble bride, still meekly bright thou bring'st thy lord a dower above all earthly price, pure woman's love; and showd'st what lustre rank receives, when with his proud corinthian leaves her rose this high-bred beauty weaves. wonder not if, where all's so fair, to choose were more than bard can dare; wonder not if, while every scene i've watched thee thro' so bright hath been, the enamored muse should, in her quest of beauty, know not where to rest, but, dazzled, at thy feet thus fall, hailing thee beautiful in all! a speculation. of all speculations the market holds forth, the best that i know for a lover of pelf, is to buy marcus up, at the price he is worth, and then sell him at that which he sets on himself. to my mother. written in a pocket book, . they tell us of an indian tree, which, howsoe'er the sun and sky may tempt its boughs to wander free, and shoot and blossom wide and high, far better loves to bend its arms downward again to that dear earth, from which the life that, fills and warms its grateful being, first had birth. 'tis thus, tho' wooed by flattering friends, and fed with fame (_if_ fame it be) this heart, my own dear mother, bends, with love's true instinct, back to thee! love and hymen. love had a fever--ne'er could close his little eyes till day was breaking; and wild and strange enough, heaven knows, the things he raved about while waking. to let him pine so were a sin;-- one to whom all the world's a debtor-- so doctor hymen was called in, and love that night slept rather better. next day the case gave further hope yet, tho' still some ugly fever latent;-- "dose, as before"--a gentle opiate. for which old hymen has a patent. after a month of daily call, so fast the dose went on restoring, that love, who first ne'er slept at all, now took, the rogue! to downright snoring. lines on the entry of the austrians into naples, . _carbone notati_. ay--down to the dust with them, slaves as they are, from this hour let the blood in their dastardly veins, that shrunk at the first touch of liberty's war, be wasted for tyrants, or stagnate in chains. on, on like a cloud, thro' their beautiful vales, ye locusts of tyranny, blasting them o'er-- fill, fill up their wide sunny waters, ye sails from each slave-mart of europe and shadow their shore! let their fate be a mock-word--let men of all lands laugh out with a scorn that shall ring to the poles, when each sword that the cowards let fall from their hands shall be forged into fetters to enter their souls. and deep, and more deep, as the iron is driven, base slaves! let the whet of their agony be, to think--as the doomed often think of that heaven they had once within reach--that they _might_ have been free. oh shame! when there was not a bosom whose heat ever rose 'bove the _zero_ of castlereagh's heart. that did not, like echo, your war-hymn repeat, and send all its prayers with your liberty's start; when the world stood in hope--when a spirit that breathed the fresh air of the olden time whispered about; and the swords of all italy, halfway unsheathed, but waited one conquering cry to flash out! when around you the shades of your mighty in fame, filicajas and petrarchs, seemed bursting to view, and their words and their warnings, like tongues of bright flame over freedom's apostles, fell kindling on you! oh shame! that in such a proud moment of life worth the history of ages, when, had you but hurled one bolt at your tyrant invader, that strife between freemen and tyrants had spread thro' the world-- that then--oh! disgrace upon manhood--even then, you should falter, should cling to your pitiful breath; cower down into beasts, when you might have stood men, and prefer the slave's life of prostration to death. it is strange, it is dreadful:--shout, tyranny, shout thro' your dungeons and palaces, "freedom is o'er;"-- if there lingers one spark of her light, tread it out, and return to your empire of darkness once more. for if _such_ are the braggarts that claim to be free, come, despot of russia, thy feet let me kiss; far nobler to live the brute bondman of thee, than to sully even chains by a struggle like this! scepticism. ere psyche drank the cup that shed immortal life into her soul, some evil spirit poured, 'tis said, one drop of doubt into the bowl-- which, mingling darkly with the stream, to psyche's lips--she knew not why-- made even that blessed nectar seem as tho' its sweetness soon would die. oft, in the very arms of love, a chill came o'er her heart--a fear that death might, even yet, remove her spirit from that happy sphere. "those sunny ringlets," she exclaimed. twining them round her snowy fingers; "that forehead, where a light unnamed, "unknown on earth, for ever lingers; "those lips, thro' which i feel the breath "of heaven itself, whene'er they sever-- "say, are they mine, beyond all death, "my own, hereafter, and for ever? "smile not--i know that starry brow, "those ringlets, and bright lips of thine, "will always shine, as they do now-- "but shall _i_ live to see them shine?" in vain did love say, "turn thine eyes "on all that sparkles round thee here-- "thou'rt now in heaven where nothing dies, "and in these arms--what _canst_ thou fear?" in vain--the fatal drop, that stole into that cup's immortal treasure, had lodged its bitter near her soul. and gave a tinge to every pleasure. and, tho' there ne'er was transport given like psyche's with that radiant boy, here is the only face in heaven, that wears a cloud amid its joy. a joke versified. "come, come," said tom's father, "at your time of life, "there's no longer excuse for thus playing the rake-- "it is time you should think, boy, of taking a wife"-- "why, so it is, father--whose wife shall i take?" on the death of a friend. pure as the mantle, which, o'er him who stood by jordan's stream, descended from the sky, is that remembrance which the wise and good leave in the hearts that love them, when they die. so pure, so precious shall the memory be, bequeathed, in dying, to our souls by thee-- so shall the love we bore thee, cherisht warm within our souls thro' grief and pain and strife, be, like elisha's cruse, a holy charm, wherewith to "heal the waters" of this life! to james corry, esq. on his making me a present of a wine strainer. brighton, june, . this life, dear corry, who can doubt?-- resembles much friend ewart's[ ] wine, when _first_ the rosy drops come out, how beautiful, how clear they shine! and thus awhile they keep their tint, so free from even a shade with some, that they would smile, did you but hint, that darker drops would _ever_ come. but soon the ruby tide runs short, each minute makes the sad truth plainer, till life, like old and crusty port, when near its close, requires a strainer. _this_ friendship can alone confer, alone can teach the drops to pass, if not as bright as _once_ they were, at least unclouded, thro' the glass. nor, corry, could a boon be mine. of which this heart were fonder, vainer, than thus, if life grow like old wine, to have _thy_ friendship for its strainer. [ ] a wine-merchant. fragment of a character. here lies factotum ned at last; long as he breathed the vital air, nothing throughout all europe past in which ned hadn't some small share. whoe'er was _in_, whoe'er was _out_, whatever statesmen did or said, if not exactly brought about, 'twas all, at least, contrived by ned. with nap, if russia went to war, 'twas owing, under providence, to certain hints ned gave the tsar-- (vide his pamphlet--price, sixpence.) if france was beat at waterloo-- as all but frenchmen think she was-- to ned, as wellington well knew, was owing half that day's applause. then for his news--no envoy's bag e'er past so many secrets thro' it; scarcely a telegraph could wag its wooden finger, but ned knew it. such tales he had of foreign plots, with foreign names, one's ear to buzz in! from russia, _shefs_ and _ofs_ in lots, from poland, _owskis_ by the dozen. when george, alarmed for england's creed, turned out the last whig ministry, and men asked--who advised the deed? ned modestly confest 'twas he. for tho', by some unlucky miss, he had not downright _seen_ the king, he sent such hints thro' viscount _this_, to marquis _that_, as clenched the thing. the same it was in science, arts, the drama, books, ms. and printed-- kean learned from ned his cleverest parts, and scott's last work by him was hinted. childe harold in the proofs he read, and, here and there infused some soul in't-- nay, davy's lamp, till seen by ned, had--odd enough--an awkward hole in't. 'twas thus, all-doing and all-knowing, wit, statesman, boxer, chymist, singer, whatever was the best pie going, in _that_ ned--trust him--had his finger. * * * * * what shall i sing thee? to ----. what shall i sing thee? shall i tell of that bright hour, remembered well as tho' it shone but yesterday, when loitering idly in the ray of a spring sun i heard o'er-head, my name as by some spirit said, and, looking up, saw two bright eyes above me from a casement shine, dazzling my mind with such surprise as they, who sail beyond the line, feel when new stars above them rise;-- and it was thine, the voice that spoke, like ariel's, in the mid-air then; and thine the eye whose lustre broke-- never to be forgot again! what shall i sing thee? shall i weave a song of that sweet summer-eve, (summer, of which the sunniest part was that we, each, had in the heart,) when thou and i, and one like thee, in life and beauty, to the sound of our own breathless minstrelsy. danced till the sunlight faded round, ourselves the whole ideal ball, lights, music, company, and all? oh, 'tis not in the languid strain of lute like mine, whose day is past, to call up even a dream again of the fresh light those moments cast. country dance and quadrille. one night the nymph called country dance-- (whom folks, of late, have used so ill, preferring a coquette from france, that mincing thing, _mamselle_ quadrille)-- having been chased from london down to that most humble haunt of all she used to grace--a country town-- went smiling to the new-year's ball. "here, here, at least," she cried, tho' driven "from london's gay and shining tracks-- "tho', like a peri cast from heaven, "i've lost, for ever lost, almack's-- "tho' not a london miss alive "would now for her acquaintance own me; "and spinsters, even, of forty-five, "upon their honors ne'er have known me; "here, here, at least, i triumph still, "and--spite of some few dandy lancers. "who vainly try to preach quadrille-- "see naught but _true-blue_ country dancers, "here still i reign, and, fresh in charms, "my throne, like magna charta, raise "'mong sturdy, free-born legs and arms, "that scorn the threatened _chaine anglaise_." 'twas thus she said, as mid the din of footmen, and the town sedan, she lighted at the king's head inn, and up the stairs triumphant ran. the squires and their squiresses all, with young squirinas, just _come out_, and my lord's daughters from the hall, (quadrillers in their hearts no doubt,)-- all these, as light she tript upstairs, were in the cloak-room seen assembling-- when, hark! some new outlandish airs, from the first fiddle, set her trembling. she stops--she listens--_can_ it be? alas, in vain her ears would 'scape it-- it _is "di tanti palpiti"_ as plain as english bow can scrape it. "courage!" however--in she goes, with her best, sweeping country grace; when, ah too true, her worst of foes, quadrille, there meets her, face to face. oh for the lyre, or violin, or kit of that gay muse, terpsichore, to sing the rage these nymphs were in, their looks and language, airs and trickery. there stood quadrille, with cat-like face (the beau-ideal of french beauty), a band-box thing, all art and lace down from her nose-tip to her shoe-tie. her flounces, fresh from _victorine_-- from _hippolyte_, her rouge and hair-- her poetry, from _lamartine_-- her morals, from--the lord knows where. and, when she danced--so slidingly, so near the ground she plied her art, you'd swear her mother-earth and she had made a compact ne'er to part. her face too, all the while, sedate, no signs of life or motion showing. like a bright _pendule's_ dial-plate-- so still, you'd hardly think 'twas _going_. full fronting her stood country dance-- a fresh, frank nymph, whom you would know for english, at a single glance-- english all o'er, from top to toe. a little _gauche_, 'tis fair to own, and rather given to skips and bounces; endangering thereby many a gown, and playing, oft, the devil with flounces. unlike _mamselle_--who would prefer (as morally a lesser ill) a thousand flaws of character, to one vile rumple of a frill. no rouge did she of albion wear; let her but run that two-heat race she calls a _set_, not dian e'er came rosier from the woodland chase. such was the nymph, whose soul had in't such anger now--whose eyes of blue (eyes of that bright, victorious tint, which english maids call "waterloo")-- like summer lightnings, in the dusk of a warm evening, flashing broke. while--to the tune of "money musk,"[ ] which struck up now--she proudly spoke-- "heard you that strain--that joyous strain? "'twas such as england loved to hear, "ere thou and all thy frippery train, "corrupted both her foot and ear-- "ere waltz, that rake from foreign lands, "presumed, in sight of all beholders, "to lay his rude, licentious hands "on virtuous english backs and shoulders-- "ere times and morals both grew bad, "and, yet unfleeced by funding block-heads, "happy john bull not only _had_, "but danced to, 'money in both pockets.' "alas, the change!--oh, londonderry, "where is the land could 'scape disasters, "with _such_ a foreign secretary, "aided by foreign dancing masters? "woe to ye, men of ships and shops! "rulers of day-books and of waves! "quadrilled, on one side, into fops, "and drilled, on t'other, into slaves! "ye, too, ye lovely victims, seen, "like pigeons, trussed for exhibition, "with elbows, _à la crapaudine_, "and feet, in--god knows what position; "hemmed in by watchful chaperons, "inspectors of your airs and graces, "who intercept all whispered tones, "and read your telegraphic faces; "unable with the youth adored, "in that grim _cordon_ of mammas, "to interchange one tender word, "tho' whispered but in _queue-de-chats_. "ah did you know how blest we ranged, "ere vile quadrille usurpt the fiddle-- "what looks in _setting_ were exchanged, "what tender words in _down the middle_; "how many a couple, like the wind, "which nothing in its course controls, left time and chaperons far behind, "and gave a loose to legs and souls; how matrimony throve--ere stopt "by this cold, silent, foot-coquetting-- "how charmingly one's partner propt "the important question in _poussetteing_. "while now, alas--no sly advances-- "no marriage hints--all goes on badly-- "'twixt parson malthus and french dances, "we, girls, are at a discount sadly. "sir william scott (now baron stowell) "declares not half so much is made "by licences--and he must know well-- "since vile quadrilling spoiled the trade." she ceased--tears fell from every miss-- she now had touched the true pathetic:-- one such authentic fact as this, is worth whole volumes theoretic. instant the cry was "country dance!" and the maid saw with brightening face, the steward of the night advance, and lead her to her birthright place. the fiddles, which awhile had ceased, now tuned again their summons sweet, and, for one happy night, at least, old england's triumph was complete. [ ] an old english country dance. gazel. haste, maami, the spring is nigh; already, in the unopened flowers that sleep around us, fancy's eye can see the blush of future bowers; and joy it brings to thee and me, my own beloved maami! the streamlet frozen on its way, to feed the marble founts of kings, now, loosened by the vernal ray, upon its path exulting springs-- as doth this bounding heart to thee, my ever blissful maami! such bright hours were not made to stay; enough if they awhile remain, like irem's bowers, that fade away. from time to time, and come again. and life shall all one irem be for us, my gentle maami. o haste, for this impatient heart, is like the rose in yemen's vale, that rends its inmost leaves apart with passion for the nightingale; so languishes this soul for thee, my bright and blushing maami! lines on the death of joseph atkinson, esq., of dublin. if ever life was prosperously cast, if ever life was like the lengthened flow of some sweet music, sweetness to the last, 'twas his who, mourned by many, sleeps below. the sunny temper, bright where all is strife. the simple heart above all worldly wiles; light wit that plays along the calm of life, and stirs its languid surface into smiles; pure charity that comes not in a shower, sudden and loud, oppressing what it feeds, but, like the dew, with gradual silent power, felt in the bloom it leaves along the meads; the happy grateful spirit, that improves and brightens every gift by fortune given; that, wander where it will with those it loves, makes every place a home, and home a heaven: all these were his.--oh, thou who read'st this stone, when for thyself, thy children, to the sky thou humbly prayest, ask this boon alone, that ye like him may live, like him may die! genius and criticism. _scripsit quidem fata, sed sequitur_. seneca. of old, the sultan genius reigned, as nature meant, supreme alone; with mind unchekt, and hands unchained, his views, his conquests were his own. but power like his, that digs its grave with its own sceptre, could not last; so genius' self became the slave of laws that genius' self had past. as jove, who forged the chain of fate, was, ever after, doomed to wear it: his nods, his struggles all too late-- "_qui semel jussit, semper paret_." to check young genius' proud career, the slaves who now his throne invaded, made criticism his prime vizir, and from that hour his glories faded. tied down in legislation's school, afraid of even his own ambition, his very victories were by rule, and he was great but by permission. his most heroic deeds--the same, that dazzled, when spontaneous actions-- now, done by law, seemed cold and tame, and shorn of all their first attractions. if he but stirred to take the air, instant, the vizir's council sat-- "good lord, your highness can't go there-- "bless me, your highness can't do that." if, loving pomp, he chose to buy rich jewels for his diadem, "the taste was bad, the price was high-- "a flower were simpler than a gem." to please them if he took to flowers-- "what trifling, what unmeaning things! "fit for a woman's toilet hours, "but not at all the style for kings." if, fond of his domestic sphere, he played no more the rambling comet-- "a dull, good sort of man, 'twas clear, "but, as for great or brave, far from it." did he then look o'er distant oceans, for realms more worthy to enthrone him?-- "saint aristotle, what wild notions! "serve a '_ne exeat regno_' on him." at length, their last and worst to do, they round him placed a guard of watchmen, reviewers, knaves in brown, or blue turned up with yellow--chiefly scotchmen; to dog his footsteps all about like those in longwood's prison grounds, who at napoleon's heels rode out, for fear the conqueror should break bounds. oh for some champion of his power, some _ultra_ spirit, to set free, as erst in shakespeare's sovereign hour, the thunders of his royalty!-- to vindicate his ancient line, the first, the true, the only one, of right eternal and divine, that rules beneath the blessed sun. to lady jersey. on being asked to write something in her album. written at middleton. oh albums, albums, how i dread your everlasting scrap and scrawl! how often wish that from the dead old omar would pop forth his head, and make a bonfire of you all! so might i 'scape the spinster band, the blushless blues, who, day and night, like duns in doorways, take their stand, to waylay bards, with book in hand, crying for ever, "write, sir, write!" so might i shun the shame and pain, that o'er me at this instant come, when beauty, seeking wit in vain, knocks at the portal of my brain, and gets, for answer, "not at home!" _november, _. to the same. on looking through her album. no wonder bards, both high and low, from byron down to ***** and me, should seek the fame which all bestow on him whose task is praising thee. let but the theme be jersey's eyes, at once all errors are forgiven; as even old sternhold still we prize, because, tho' dull, he sings of heaven. at night.[ ] at night, when all is still around. how sweet to hear the distant sound of footstep, coming soft and light! what pleasure in the anxious beat, with which the bosom flies to meet that foot that comes so soft at night! and then, at night, how sweet to say "'tis late, my love!" and chide delay, tho' still the western clouds are bright; oh! happy, too, the silent press, the eloquence of mute caress. with those we love exchanged at night! [ ] these lines allude to a curious lamp, which has for its device a cupid, with the words "at night" written over him. to lady holland. on napoleon's legacy op a snuff-box. gift of the hero, on his dying day, to her, whose pity watched, for ever nigh; oh! could he see the proud, the happy ray, this relic lights up on her generous eye, sighing, he'd feel how easy 'tis to pay a friendship all his kingdoms could not buy. _paris, july_, epilogue. written for lady dacre's tragedy of ina. last night, as lonely o'er my fire i sat, thinking of cues, starts, exits, and--all that, and wondering much what little knavish sprite had put it first in women's heads to write:-- sudden i saw--as in some witching dream-- a bright-blue glory round my book-case beam, from whose quick-opening folds of azure light out flew a tiny form, as small and bright as puck the fairy, when he pops his head, some sunny morning from a violet bed. "bless me!" i starting cried "what imp are you?"-- "a small he-devil, ma'am--my name bas bleu-- "a bookish sprite, much given to routs and reading; "'tis i who teach your spinsters of good breeding, "the reigning taste in chemistry and caps, "the last new bounds of tuckers and of maps, "and when the waltz has twirled her giddy brain "with metaphysics twirl it back again!" i viewed him, as he spoke--his hose were blue, his wings--the covers of the last review-- cerulean, bordered with a jaundice hue, and tinselled gayly o'er, for evening wear, till the next quarter brings a new-fledged pair. "inspired by me--(pursued this waggish fairy)-- "that best of wives and sapphos, lady mary, "votary alike of crispin and the muse, "makes her own splay-foot epigrams and shoes. "for me the eyes of young camilla shine, "and mingle love's blue brilliances with mine; "for me she sits apart, from coxcombs shrinking, "looks wise--the pretty soul!--and _thinks_ she's thinking. "by my advice miss indigo attends "lectures on memory, and assures her friends, "''pon honor!--(_mimics_)--nothing can surpass the plan "'of that professor--(_trying to recollect_)--psha! that memory-man-- "'that--what's his name?--him i attended lately-- "''pon honor, he improved _my_ memory greatly.'" here curtsying low, i asked the blue-legged sprite, what share he had in this our play to-night. 'nay, there--(he cried)--there i am guiltless quite-- "what! choose a heroine from that gothic time "when no one waltzed and none but monks could rhyme; "when lovely woman, all unschooled and wild, "blushed without art, and without culture smiled-- "simple as flowers, while yet unclassed they shone, "ere science called their brilliant world her own, "ranged the wild, rosy things in learned orders, "and filled with greek the garden's blushing borders!-- "no, no--your gentle inas will not do-- "to-morrow evening, when the lights burn blue, "i'll come--(_pointing downwards_)--you understand--till then adieu!" and _has_ the sprite been here! no--jests apart-- howe'er man rules in science and in art, the sphere of woman's glories is the heart. and, if our muse have sketched with pencil true the wife--the mother--firm, yet gentle too-- whose soul, wrapt up in ties itself hath spun, trembles, if touched in the remotest one; who loves--yet dares even love himself disown, when honor's broken shaft supports his throne: if such our ina, she may scorn the evils, dire as they are, of critics and--blue devils. the day-dream.[ ] they both were husht, the voice, the chords,-- i heard but once that witching lay; and few the notes, and few the words. my spell-bound memory brought away; traces, remembered here and there, like echoes of some broken strain;-- links of a sweetness lost in air, that nothing now could join again. even these, too, ere the morning, fled; and, tho' the charm still lingered on, that o'er each sense her song had shed, the song itself was faded, gone;-- gone, like the thoughts that once were ours, on summer days, ere youth had set; thoughts bright, we know, as summer flowers, tho' _what_ they were we now forget. in vain with hints from other strains i wooed this truant air to come-- as birds are taught on eastern plains to lure their wilder kindred home. in vain:--the song that sappho gave, in dying, to the mournful sea, not muter slept beneath the wave than this within my memory. at length, one morning, as i lay in that half-waking mood when dreams unwillingly at last gave way to the full truth of daylight's beams, a face--the very face, methought, from which had breathed, as from a shrine of song and soul, the notes i sought-- came with its music close to mine; and sung the long-lost measure o'er,-- each note and word, with every tone and look, that lent it life before,-- all perfect, all again my own! like parted souls, when, mid the blest they meet again, each widowed sound thro' memory's realm had winged in quest of its sweet mate, till all were found. nor even in waking did the clew, thus strangely caught, escape again; for never lark its matins knew so well as now i knew this strain. and oft when memory's wondrous spell is talked of in our tranquil bower, i sing this lady's song, and tell the vision of that morning hour. [ ] in these stanzas i have done little more than relate a fact in verse; and the lady, whose singing gave rise to this curious instance of the power of memory in sleep, is mrs. robert arkwright. song. where is the heart that would not give years of drowsy days and nights, one little hour, like this, to live-- full, to the brim, of life's delights? look, look around, this fairy ground, with love-lights glittering o'er; while cups that shine with freight divine go coasting round its shore. hope is the dupe of future hours, memory lives in those gone by; neither can see the moment's flowers springing up fresh beneath the eye, wouldst thou, or thou, forego what's _now_, for all that hope may say? no--joy's reply, from every eye, is, "live we while we may," song of the poco-curante society. _haud curat hippoclides_. erasm. _adag_. to those we love we've drank tonight; but now attend and stare not, while i the ampler list recite of those for whom we care not. for royal men, howe'er they frown, if on their fronts they bear not that noblest gem that decks a crown, the people's love--we care not. for slavish men who bend beneath a despot yoke, yet dare not pronounce the will whose very breath would rend its links--we care not. for priestly men who covet sway and wealth, tho' they declare not; who point, like finger-posts, the way they never go--we care not. for martial men who on their sword, howe'er it conquers, wear not the pledges of a soldier's word, redeemed and pure--we care not. for legal men who plead for wrong. and, tho' to lies they swear not, are hardly better than the throng of those who do--we care not. for courtly men who feed upon the land, like grubs, and spare not the smallest leaf where they can sun their crawling limbs--we care not. for wealthy men who keep their mines in darkness hid, and share not the paltry ore with him who pines in honest want--we care not. for prudent men who hold the power of love aloof, and bare not their hearts in any guardless hour to beauty's shaft--we care not. for all, in short, on land or sea, in camp or court, who _are_ not, who never _were_, or e'er _will_ be good men and true--we care not. anne boleyn. translation from the metrical "_histoire d'anne boleyn."_ _"s'elle estoit belle et de taille élégante, estoit des yeulx encor plus attirante, lesquelz sçavoit bien conduyre à propos en les lenant quelquefoys en repos; aucune foys envoyant en message porter du cueur le secret tesmoignage_." much as her form seduced the sight, her eyes could even more surely woo; and when and how to shoot their light into men's hearts full well she knew. for sometimes in repose she hid their rays beneath a downcast lid; and then again, with wakening air, would send their sunny glances out, like heralds of delight, to bear her heart's sweet messages about. the dream of the two sisters. from dante. _nell ora, credo, che dell'oriente prima raggio nel monte citerea, che di fuoco d'amor par sempre dente, giovane e bella in sogno mi parea donna vedere andar per una landa cogliendo flori; e cantando dicea ;-- sappia qualunque'l mio nome dimanda, ch'io mi son lia, e vo movendo 'ntorno le belle mani a farmi una ghirlanda-- per piacermi allo specchio qui m'adorno; ma mia suora rachel mai non si smaga dal suo ammiraglio, e siede tutto il giorno_. _ell' è de'suoi begli occhi veder vaga, com' io dell'adornarmi con le mani; lei lo vodere e me l'ovrare appaga_. dante, _purg. canto xxvii_. 'twas eve's soft hour, and bright, above. the star of beauty beamed, while lulled by light so full of love, in slumber thus i dreamed-- methought, at that sweet hour, a nymph came o'er the lea, who, gathering many a flower, thus said and sung to me:-- "should any ask what leila loves, "say thou, to wreathe her hair "with flowerets culled from glens and groves, "is leila's only care. "while thus in quest of flowers rare, "o'er hill and dale i roam, "my sister, rachel, far more fair, "sits lone and mute at home. "before her glass untiring, "with thoughts that never stray, "her own bright eyes admiring, "she sits the live-long day; "while i!--oh, seldom even a look "of self salutes my eye; "my only glass, the limpid brook, "that shines and passes by." sovereign woman. a ballad. the dance was o'er, yet still in dreams that fairy scene went on; like clouds still flusht with daylight gleams tho' day itself is gone. and gracefully to music's sound, the same bright nymphs were gliding round; while thou, the queen of all, wert there-- the fairest still, where all were fair. the dream then changed--in halls of state, i saw thee high enthroned; while, ranged around, the wise, the great, in thee their mistress owned; and still the same, thy gentle sway o'er willing subjects won its way-- till all confest the right divine to rule o'er man was only thine! but, lo, the scene now changed again-- and borne on plumed steed, i saw thee o'er the battle-plain our land's defenders lead: and stronger in thy beauty's charms, than man, with countless hosts in arms, thy voice, like music, cheered the free, thy very smile was victory! nor reign such queens on thrones alone-- in cot and court the same, wherever woman's smile is known, victoria's still her name. for tho' she almost blush to reign, tho' love's own flowerets wreath the chain, disguise our bondage as we will, 'tis woman, woman, rules us still. come, play me that simple air again. a ballad. come, play me that simple air again, i used so to love, in life's young day, and bring, if thou canst, the dreams that then were wakened by that sweet lay the tender gloom its strain shed o'er the heart and brow grief's shadow without its pain-- say where, where is it now? but play me the well-known air once more, for thoughts of youth still haunt its strain like dreams of some far, fairy shore we never shall see again. sweet air, how every note brings back some sunny hope, some daydream bright, that, shining o'er life's early track, filled even its tears with light. the new-found life that came with love's first echoed vow;-- the fear, the bliss, the shame-- ah--where, where are they now? but, still the same loved notes prolong, for sweet 'twere thus, to that old lay, in dreams of youth and love and song, to breathe life's hour away. poems from the epicurean ( .) the valley of the nile. far as the sight can reach, beneath as clear and blue a heaven as ever blest this sphere, gardens and pillared streets and porphyry domes and high-built temples, fit to be the homes of mighty gods, and pyramids whose hour outlasts all time, above the waters tower! then, too, the scenes of pomp and joy that make one theatre of this vast peopled lake, where all that love, religion, commerce gives of life and motion, ever moves and lives, here, up in the steps of temples, from the wave ascending, in procession slow and grave, priests in white garments go, with sacred wands and silver cymbals gleaming in their hands: while there, rich barks--fresh from those sunny tracts far off, beyond the sounding cataracts-- glide with their precious lading to the sea, plumes of bright birds, rhinoceros' ivory, gems from the isle of meroë, and those grains of gold, washed down by abyssinian rains. here, where the waters wind into a bay shadowy and cool, some pilgrims on their way to saïs or bubastus, among beds of lotos flowers that close above their heads, push their light barks, and hid as in a bower sing, talk, or sleep away the sultry hour, while haply, not far off, beneath a bank of blossoming acacias, many a prank is played in the cool current by a train of laughing nymphs, lovely as she whose chain around two conquerors of the world was cast; but, for a third too feeble, broke at last. song of the two cupbearers. first cupbearer. drink of this cup--osiris sips the same in his halls below; and the same he gives, to cool the lips of the dead, who downward go. drink of this cup--the water within is fresh from lethe's stream; 'twill make the past, with all its sin, and all its pain and sorrows, seem like a long forgotten dream; the pleasure, whose charms are steeped in woe; the knowledge, that harms the soul to know; the hope, that bright as the lake of the waste, allures the sight and mocks the taste; the love, that binds its innocent wreath, where the serpent winds in venom beneath!-- all that of evil or false, by thee hath ever been known or seen, shalt melt away in this cup, and be forgot as it never had been! second cupbearer. drink of this cup--when isis led her boy of old to the beaming sky, she mingled a draught divine and said.-- "drink of this cup, thou'lt never die!" thus do i say and sing to thee. heir of that boundless heaven on high, though frail and fallen and lost thou be, "drink of this cup, thou'lt never die!" * * * * * and memory, too, with her dreams shall come, dreams of a former, happier day, when heaven was still the spirit's home, and her wings had not yet fallen away. glimpses of glory ne'er forgot, that tell, like gleams on a sunset sea, what once hath been, what now is not. but oh! what again shall brightly be!" song of the nubian girl. o abyssinian tree, we pray, we pray to thee; by the glow of thy golden fruit and the violet hue of the flower, and the greeting mute of thy boughs' salute to the stranger who seeks thy bow. o abyssinian tree! how the traveller blesses thee when the light no moon allows, and the sunset hour is near, and thou bend'st thy boughs to kiss his brows. saying, "come, rest thee here." o abyssinian tree! thus bow thy head to me! the summer fÊte. to the honorable mrs. norton. for the groundwork of the following poem i am indebted to a memorable fête, given some years since, at boyle farm, the seat of the late lord henry fitzgerald. in commemoration of that evening--of which the lady to whom these pages are inscribed was, i well recollect, one of the most distinguished ornaments--i was induced at the time to write some verses, which were afterwards, however, thrown aside unfinished, on my discovering that the same task had been undertaken by a noble poet,[ ] whose playful and happy _jeu d'esprit_ on the subject has since been published. it was but lately, that, on finding the fragments of my own sketch among my papers, i thought of founding on them such a description of an imaginary fête as might furnish me with situations for the introduction of music. such is the origin and object of the following poem, and to mrs. norton it is, with every feeling of admiration and regard, inscribed by her father's warmly attached friend, thomas moore. _sloperton cottage_, _november _ [ ] lord francis egerton. the summer fÊte "where are ye now, ye summer days, "that once inspired the poet's lays? "blest time! ere england's nymphs and swains, "for lack of sunbeams, took to coals-- "summers of light, undimmed by rains, "whose only mocking trace remains "in watering-pots and parasols." thus spoke a young patrician maid, as, on the morning of that fête which bards unborn shall celebrate, she backward drew her curtain's shade, and, closing one half-dazzled eye, peeped with the other at the sky-- the important sky, whose light or gloom was to decide, this day, the doom of some few hundred beauties, wits, blues, dandies, swains, and exquisites. faint were her hopes; for june had now set in with all his usual rigor! young zephyr yet scarce knowing how to nurse a bud, or fan a bough, but eurus in perpetual vigor; and, such the biting summer air, that she, the nymph now nestling there-- snug as her own bright gems recline at night within their cotton shrine-- had more than once been caught of late kneeling before her blazing grate, like a young worshipper of fire, with hands uplifted to the flame, whose glow as if to woo them nigher. thro' the white fingers flushing came. but oh! the light, the unhoped-for light, that now illumed this morning's heaven! up sprung iänthe at the sight, tho'--hark!--the clocks but strike eleven, and rarely did the nymph surprise mankind so early with her eyes. who now will say that england's sun (like england's self, these spendthrift days) his stock of wealth hath near outrun, and must retrench his golden rays-- pay for the pride of sunbeams past, and to mere moonshine come at last? "calumnious thought!" iänthe cries, while coming mirth lit up each glance, and, prescient of the ball, her eyes already had begun to dance: for brighter sun than that which now sparkled o'er london's spires and towers, had never bent from heaven his brow to kiss firenze's city of flowers. what must it be--if thus so fair. mid the smoked groves of grosvenor square-- what must it be where thames is seen gliding between his banks of green, while rival villas, on each side, peep from their bowers to woo his tide, and, like a turk between two rows of harem beauties, on he goes-- a lover, loved for even the grace with which he slides from their embrace. in one of those enchanted domes, one, the most flowery, cool, and bright of all by which that river roams, the fête is to be held to-night-- that fête already linked to fame, whose cards, in many a fair one's sight (when looked for long, at last they came,) seemed circled with a fairy light;-- that fête to which the cull, the flower of england's beauty, rank and power, from the young spinster, just come _out_, to the old premier, too long _in_-- from legs of far descended gout, to the last new-mustachioed chin-- all were convoked by fashion's spells to the small circle where she dwells, collecting nightly, to allure us, live atoms, which, together hurled, she, like another epicurus, sets dancing thus, and calls "the world." behold how busy in those bowers (like may-flies in and out of flowers.) the countless menials, swarming run, to furnish forth ere set of sun the banquet-table richly laid beneath yon awning's lengthened shade, where fruits shall tempt and wines entice, and luxury's self, at gunter's call, breathe from her summer-throne of ice a spirit of coolness over all. and now the important hour drew nigh, when, 'neath the flush of evening's sky, the west-end "world" for mirth let loose, and moved, as he of syracuse[ ] ne'er dreamt of moving worlds, by force of four horse power, had all combined thro' grosvenor gate to speed their course, leaving that portion of mankind, whom they call "nobody," behind; no star for london's feasts to-day, no moon of beauty, new this may, to lend the night her crescent ray;-- nothing, in short, for ear or eye, but veteran belles and wits gone by, the relics of a past beau-monde, a world like cuvier's, long dethroned! even parliament this evening nods beneath the harangues of minor gods, on half its usual opiate's share; the great dispensers of repose, the first-rate furnishers of prose being all called to--prose elsewhere. soon as thro' grosvenor's lordly square-- that last impregnable redoubt, where, guarded with patrician care, primeval error still holds out-- where never gleam of gas must dare 'gainst ancient darkness to revolt, nor smooth macadam hope to spare the dowagers one single jolt;-- where, far too stately and sublime to profit by the lights of time, let intellect march how it will, they stick to oil and watchman still:-- soon as thro' that illustrious square the first epistolary bell. sounding by fits upon the air, of parting pennies rung the knell; warned by that tell-tale of the hours, and by the day-light's westering beam, the young iänthe, who, with flowers half crowned, had sat in idle dream before her glass, scarce knowing where her fingers roved thro' that bright hair, while, all capriciously, she now dislodged some curl from her white brow, and now again replaced it there:-- as tho' her task was meant to be one endless change of ministry-- a routing-up of loves and graces, but to plant others in their places. meanwhile--what strain is that which floats thro' the small boudoir near--like notes of some young bird, its task repeating for the next linnet music-meeting? a voice it was, whose gentle sounds still kept a modest octave's bounds, nor yet had ventured to exalt its rash ambition to _b alt_, that point towards which when ladies rise, the wise man takes his hat and--flies. tones of a harp, too, gently played, came with this youthful voice communing; tones true, for once, without the aid of that inflictive process, tuning-- a process which must oft have given poor milton's ears a deadly wound; so pleased, among the joys of heaven, he specifies "harps _ever_ tuned." she who now sung this gentle strain was our young nymph's still younger sister-- scarce ready yet for fashion's train in their light legions to enlist her, but counted on, as sure to bring her force into the field next spring. the song she thus, like jubal's shell, gave forth "so sweetly and so well," was one in morning post much famed, from a _divine_ collection, named, "songs of the toilet"--every lay taking for subject of its muse, some branch of feminine array, some item, with full scope, to choose, from diamonds down to dancing shoes; from the last hat that herbault's hands bequeathed to an admiring world, down to the latest flounce that stands like jacob's ladder--or expands far forth, tempestuously unfurled. speaking of one of these new lays, the morning post thus sweetly says:-- "not all that breathes from bishop's lyre, "that barnett dreams, or cooke conceives, "can match for sweetness, strength, or fire, "this fine cantata upon sleeves. "the very notes themselves reveal "the cut of each new sleeve so well; "a _flat_ betrays the _imbécilles_,[ ] "light fugues the flying lappets tell; "while rich cathedral chords awake 'our homage for the _manches d'Évêque_." 'twas the first opening song the lay of all least deep in toilet-lore, that the young nymph, to while away the tiring-hour, thus warbled o'er:-- song. array thee, love, array thee, love, in all thy best array thee; the sun's below--the moon's above-- and night and bliss obey thee. put on thee all that's bright and rare, the zone, the wreath, the gem, not so much gracing charms so fair, as borrowing grace from them. array thee, love, array thee, love, in all that's bright array thee; the sun's below--the moon's above-- and night and bliss obey thee. put on the plumes thy lover gave. the plumes, that, proudly dancing, proclaim to all, where'er they wave, victorious eyes advancing. bring forth the robe whose hue of heaven from thee derives such light, that iris would give all her seven to boast but _one_ so bright. array thee, love, array thee, love, etc. now hie thee, love, now hie thee, love, thro' pleasure's circles hie thee. and hearts, where'er thy footsteps move, will beat when they come nigh thee. thy every word shall be a spell, thy every look a ray, and tracks of wondering eyes shall tell the glory of thy way! now hie thee, love, now hie thee, love, thro' pleasure's circles hie thee, and hearts, where'er thy footsteps move, shall beat when they come nigh thee. * * * * * now in his palace of the west, sinking to slumber, the bright day, like a tired monarch fanned to rest, mid the cool airs of evening lay; while round his couch's golden rim the gaudy clouds, like courtiers, crept-- struggling each other's light to dim, and catch his last smile e'er he slept. how gay, as o'er the gliding thames the golden eve its lustre poured, shone out the high-born knights and dames now grouped around that festal board; a living mass of plumes and flowers. as tho' they'd robbed both birds and bowers-- a peopled rainbow, swarming thro' with habitants of every hue; while, as the sparkling juice of france high in the crystal brimmers flowed, each sunset ray that mixt by chance with the wine's sparkles, showed how sunbeams may be taught to dance. if not in written form exprest, 'twas known at least to every guest, that, tho' not bidden to parade their scenic powers in masquerade, (a pastime little found to thrive in the bleak fog of england's skies, where wit's the thing we best contrive, as masqueraders, to _disguise_,) it yet was hoped-and well that hope was answered by the young and gay-- that in the toilet's task to-day fancy should take her wildest scope;-- that the rapt milliner should be let loose thro fields of poesy, the tailor, in inventive trance, up to the heights of epic clamber, and all the regions of romance be ransackt by the _femme de chambre_. accordingly, with gay sultanas, rebeccas, sapphos, roxalanas-- circassian slaves whom love would pay half his maternal realms to ransom;-- young nuns, whose chief religion lay in looking most profanely handsome;-- muses in muslin-pastoral maids with hats from the _arcade-ian_ shades, and fortune-tellers, rich, 'twas plain, as fortune-_hunters_ formed their train. with these and more such female groups, were mixt no less fantastic troops of male exhibitors--all willing to look even more than usual killing;-- beau tyrants, smock-faced braggadocios, and brigands, charmingly ferocious:-- m.p.'s turned turks, good moslems then, who, last night, voted for the greeks; and friars, stanch no-popery men, in close confab with whig caciques. but where is she--the nymph whom late we left before her glass delaying like eve, when by the lake she sate, in the clear wave her charms surveying, and saw in that first glassy mirror the first fair face that lured to error. "where is she," ask'st thou?--watch all looks as centring to one point they bear, like sun-flowers by the sides of brooks, turned to the sun--and she is there. even in disguise, oh never doubt by her own light you'd track her out: as when the moon, close shawled in fog, steals as she thinks, thro' heaven _incog_., tho' hid herself, some sidelong ray at every step, detects her way. but not in dark disguise to-night hath our young heroine veiled her light;-- for see, she walks the earth, love's own. his wedded bride, by _holiest_ vow pledged in olympus, and made known to mortals by the type which now hangs glittering on her snowy brow, that butterfly, mysterious trinket, which means the soul (tho' few would think it), and sparkling thus on brow so white, tells us we've psyche here tonight! but hark! some song hath caught her ears-- and, lo, how pleased, as tho' she'd ne'er heard the grand opera of the spheres, her goddess-ship approves the air; and to a mere terrestrial strain, inspired by naught but pink champagne, her butterfly as gayly nods as tho' she sate with all her train at some great concert of the gods, with phoebus, leader--jove, director, and half the audience drunk with nectar. from the male group the carol came-- a few gay youths whom round the board the last-tried flask's superior fame had lured to taste the tide it poured; and one who from his youth and lyre seemed grandson to the teian-sire, thus gayly sung, while, to his song, replied in chorus the gay throng:-- song. some mortals there may be, so wise, or so fine, as in evenings like this no enjoyment to see; but, as i'm not particular--wit, love, and wine, are for one night's amusement sufficient for me. nay--humble and strange as my tastes may appear-- if driven to the worst, i could manage, thank heaven, to put up with eyes such as beam round me here, and such wine as we're sipping, six days out of seven. so pledge me a bumper--your sages profound may be blest, if they will, on their own patent plan: but as we are _not_ sages, why--send the cup round-- we must only be happy the best way we can. a reward by some king was once offered, we're told, to whoe'er could invent a new bliss for mankind; but talk of _new_ pleasures!--give me but the old, and i'll leave your inventors all new ones they find. or should i, in quest of fresh realms of bliss, set sail in the pinnace of fancy some day, let the rich rosy sea i embark on be this, and such eyes as we've here be the stars of my way! in the mean time, a bumper--your angels, on high, may have pleasures unknown to life's limited span; but, as we are _not_ angels, why--let the flask fly-- we must be happy _all_ ways that we can. * * * * * now nearly fled was sunset's light, leaving but so much of its beam as gave to objects, late so blight, the coloring of a shadowy dream; and there was still where day had set a flush that spoke him loath to die-- a last link of his glory yet, binding together earth and sky. say, why is it that twilight best becomes even brows the loveliest? that dimness with its softening touch can bring out grace unfelt before, and charms we ne'er can see too much, when seen but half enchant the more? alas, it is that every joy in fulness finds its worst alloy, and half a bliss, but hoped or guessed, is sweeter than the whole possest;-- that beauty, when least shone upon, a creature most ideal grows; and there's no light from moon or sun like that imagination throws;-- it is, alas, that fancy shrinks even from a bright reality, and turning inly, feels and thinks for heavenlier things than e'er will be. such was the effect of twilight's hour on the fair groups that, round and round, from glade to grot, from bank to bower, now wandered thro' this fairy ground; and thus did fancy--and champagne-- work on the sight their dazzling spells, till nymphs that looked at noonday plain, now brightened in the gloom to belles; and the brief interval of time, 'twixt after dinner and before, to dowagers brought back their prime, and shed a halo round two-score. meanwhile, new pastimes for the eye, the ear, the fancy, quick succeed; and now along the waters fly light gondoles, of venetian breed, with knights and dames who, calm reclined, lisp out love-sonnets as they glide-- astonishing old thames to find such doings on his moral tide. so bright was still that tranquil river, with the last shaft from daylight's quiver, that many a group in turn were seen embarking on its wave serene; and 'mong the rest, in chorus gay, a band of mariners, from the isles of sunny greece, all song and smiles, as smooth they floated, to the play of their oar's cadence, sung this lay:-- trio. our home is on the sea, boy, our home is on the sea; when nature gave the ocean-wave, she markt it for the free. whatever storms befall, boy, whatever storms befall, the island bark is freedom's ark, and floats her safe thro' all. behold yon sea of isles, boy, behold yon sea of isles, where every shore is sparkling o'er with beauty's richest smiles. for us hath freedom claimed, boy, for us hath freedom claimed those ocean-nests where valor rests his eagle wing untamed. and shall the moslem dare, boy, and shall the moslem dare, while grecian hand can wield a brand, to plant his crescent there? no--by our fathers, no, boy, no, by the cross, we show-- from maina's rills to thracia's hills all greece re-echoes "no!" * * * * * like pleasant thoughts that o'er the mind a minute come and go again, even so by snatches in the wind, was caught and lost that choral strain, now full, now faint upon the ear, as the bark floated far or near. at length when, lost, the closing note had down the waters died along, forth from another fairy boat, freighted with music, came this song-- song. smoothly flowing thro' verdant vales, gentle river, thy current runs, sheltered safe from winter gales, shaded cool from summer suns. thus our youth's sweet moments glide. fenced with flowery shelter round; no rude tempest wakes the tide, all its path is fairy ground. but, fair river, the day will come, when, wooed by whispering groves in vain, thou'lt leave those banks, thy shaded home, to mingle with the stormy main. and thou, sweet youth, too soon wilt pass into the world's unsheltered sea, where, once thy wave hath mixt, alas, all hope of peace is lost for thee. next turn we to the gay saloon, resplendent as a summer noon, where, 'neath a pendent wreath of lights, a zodiac of flowers and tapers-- (such as in russian ball-rooms sheds its glory o'er young dancers' heads)-- quadrille performs her mazy rites, and reigns supreme o'er slides and capers;-- working to death each opera strain, as, with a foot that ne'er reposes, she jigs thro' sacred and profane, from "maid and magpie" up to "moses;"--[ ] wearing out tunes as fast as shoes, till fagged rossini scarce respires; till meyerbeer for mercy sues, and weber at her feet expires. and now the set hath ceased--the bows of fiddlers taste a brief repose, while light along the painted floor, arm within arm, the couples stray, talking their stock of nothings o'er, till--nothing's left at last to say. when lo!--most opportunely sent-- two exquisites, a he and she, just brought from dandyland, and meant for fashion's grand menagerie, entered the room--and scarce were there when all flocked round them, glad to stare at _any_ monsters, _any_ where. some thought them perfect, to their tastes; while others hinted that the waists (that in particular of the _he_ thing) left far too ample room for breathing: whereas, to meet these critics' wishes, the isthmus there should be so small, that exquisites, at last, like fishes, must manage not to breathe at all. the female (these same critics said), tho' orthodox from toe to chin, yet lacked that spacious width of head to hat of toadstool much akin-- that build of bonnet, whose extent should, like a doctrine of dissent, puzzle church-doors to let it in. however--sad as 'twas, no doubt, that nymph so smart should go about, with head unconscious of the place it _ought_ to fill in infinite space-- yet all allowed that, of her kind, a prettier show 'twas hard to find; while of that doubtful genus, "dressy men," the male was thought a first-rate specimen. such _savans_, too, as wisht to trace the manners, habits, of this race-- to know what rank (if rank at all) 'mong reasoning things to them should fall-- what sort of notions heaven imparts to high-built heads and tight-laced hearts and how far soul, which, plato says, abhors restraint, can act in stays-- might now, if gifted with discerning, find opportunities of learning: as these two creatures--from their pout and frown, 'twas plain--had just fallen out; and all their little thoughts, of course. were stirring in full fret and force;-- like mites, through microscope espied, a world of nothings magnified. but mild the vent such beings seek, the tempest of their souls to speak: as opera swains to fiddles sigh, to fiddles fight, to fiddles die, even so this tender couple set their well-bred woes to a duet. waltz duet. he. long as i waltzed with only thee, each blissful wednesday that went by, nor stylish stultz, nor neat nugee adorned a youth so blest as i. oh! ah! ah! oh! those happy days are gone--heigho! she. long as with thee i skimmed the ground, nor yet was scorned for lady jane, no blither nymph tetotumed round to collinet's immortal strain. oh! ah! etc. those happy days are gone--heigho! he. with lady jane now whirled about, i know no bounds of time or breath; and, should the charmer's head hold out, my heart and heels are hers till death. oh! ah! etc. still round and round thro' life we'll go. she. to lord fitznoodle's eldest son, a youth renowned for waistcoats smart, i now have given (excuse the pun) a vested interest in my heart. oh! ah! etc. still round and round with him i'll go. he. what if by fond remembrance led again to wear our mutual chain. for me thou cut'st fitznoodle dead, and i _levant_ from lady jane. oh! ah! etc. still round and round again we'll go. she. tho' he the noodle honors give, and thine, dear youth, are not so high, with thee in endless waltz i'd live, with thee, to weber's stop-- waltz, die! oh! ah! etc. thus round and round thro' life we'll go. [_exeunt waltzing_. * * * * * while thus, like motes that dance away existence in a summer ray, these gay things, born but to quadrille, the circle of their doom fulfil-- (that dancing doom whose law decrees that they should live on the alert toe a life of ups-and-downs, like keys of broadwood's in a long concerto:--) while thus the fiddle's spell, _within_, calls up its realm of restless sprites. _without_, as if some mandarin were holding there his feast of lights, lamps of all hues, from walks and bowers, broke on the eye, like kindling flowers, till, budding into light, each tree bore its full fruit of brilliancy. here shone a garden-lamps all o'er, as tho' the spirits of the air had taken it in their heads to pour a shower of summer meteors there;-- while here a lighted shrubbery led to a small lake that sleeping lay, cradled in foliage but, o'er-head, open to heaven's sweet breath and ray; while round its rim there burning stood lamps, with young flowers beside them bedded, that shrunk from such warm neighborhood, and, looking bashful in the flood, blushed to behold themselves so wedded. hither, to this embowered retreat, fit but for nights so still and sweet; nights, such as eden's calm recall in its first lonely hour, when all so silent is, below, on high, that is a star falls down the sky, you almost think you hear it fall-- hither, to this recess, a few, to shun the dancers' wildering noise, and give an hour, ere night-time flew, to music's more ethereal joys, came with their voices-ready all as echo waiting for a call-- in hymn or ballad, dirge or glee, to weave their mingling ministrelsy, and first a dark-eyed nymph, arrayed-- like her whom art hath deathless made, bright mona lisa[ ]--with that braid of hair across the brow, and one small gem that in the centre shone-- with face, too, in its form resembling da vinci's beauties-the dark eyes, now lucid as thro' crystal trembling, now soft as if suffused with sighs-- her lute that hung beside her took, and, bending o'er it with shy look, more beautiful, in shadow thus, than when with life most luminous, past her light finger o'er the chords, and sung to them these mournful words:-- song. bring hither, bring thy lute, while day is dying-- here will i lay me and list to thy song; should tones of other days mix with its sighing, tones of a light heart, now banisht so long, chase them away-they bring but pain, and let thy theme be woe again. sing on thou mournful lute--day is fast going, soon will its light from thy chords die away; one little gleam in the west is still glowing, when that hath vanisht, farewell to thy lay. mark, how it fades!-see, it is fled! now, sweet lute, be thou, too, dead. the group that late in garb of greeks sung their light chorus o'er the tide-- forms, such as up the wooded creeks of helle's shore at noon-day glide, or nightly on her glistening sea, woo the bright waves with melody-- now linked their triple league again of voices sweet, and sung a strain, such as, had sappho's tuneful ear but caught it, on the fatal steep, she would have paused, entranced, to hear, and for that day deferred her leap. song and trio. on one of those sweet nights that oft their lustre o'er the aegean fling, beneath my casement, low and soft, i heard a lesbian lover sing; and, listening both with ear and thought, these sounds upon the night breeze caught-- "oh, happy as the gods is he, "who gazes at this hour on thee!" the song was one by sappho sung, in the first love-dreams of her lyre, when words of passion from her tongue fell like a shower of living fire. and still, at close of every strain, i heard these burning words again-- "oh, happy as the gods is he, "who listens at this hour to thee!" once more to mona lisa turned each asking eye--nor turned in vain tho' the quick, transient blush that burned bright o'er her cheek and died again, showed with what inly shame and fear was uttered what all loved to hear. yet not to sorrow's languid lay did she her lute-song now devote; but thus, with voice that like a ray of southern sunshine seemed to float-- so rich with climate was each note-- called up in every heart a dream of italy with this soft theme:-- song. oh, where art thou dreaming, on land, or on sea? in my lattice is gleaming the watch-light for thee; and this fond heart is glowing to welcome thee home, and the night is fast going, but thou art not come: no, thou com'st not! 'tis the time when night-flowers should wake from their rest; 'tis the hour of all hours, when the lute singeth best, but the flowers are half sleeping till _thy_ glance they see; and the husht lute is keeping its music for thee. yet, thou com'st not! * * * * * scarce had the last word left her lip, when a light, boyish form, with trip fantastic, up the green walk came, prankt in gay vest to which the flame of every lamp he past, or blue or green or crimson, lent its hue; as tho' a live chameleon's skin he had despoiled, to robe him in. a zone he wore of clattering shells, and from his lofty cap, where shone a peacock's plume, there dangled bells that rung as he came dancing on. close after him, a page--in dress and shape, his miniature express-- an ample basket, filled with store of toys and trinkets, laughing bore; till, having reached this verdant seat, he laid it at his master's feet, who, half in speech and half in song, chanted this invoice to the throng:-- song. who'll buy?--'tis folly's shop, who'll buy?-- we've toys to suit all ranks and ages; besides our usual fools' supply, we've lots of playthings, too, for sages. for reasoners here's a juggler's cup that fullest seems when nothing's in it; and nine-pins set, like systems, up, to be knocked down the following minute. who'll buy?--'tis folly's shop, who'll buy? gay caps we here of foolscap make. for bards to wear in dog-day weather; or bards the bells alone may take, and leave to wits the cap and feather, tetotums we've for patriots got, who court the mob with antics humble; like theirs the patriot's dizzy lot, a glorious spin, and then--a tumble, who'll buy, etc. here, wealthy misers to inter, we've shrouds of neat post-obit paper; while, for their heirs, we've _quick_silver, that, fast as they can wish, will caper. for aldermen we've dials true, that tell no hour but that of dinner; for courtly parsons sermons new, that suit alike both saint and sinner. who'll buy, etc. no time we've now to name our terms, but, whatsoe'er the whims that seize you, this oldest of all mortal firms, folly and co., will try to please you. or, should you wish a darker hue of goods than _we_ can recommend you, why then (as we with lawyers do) to knavery's shop next door we'll send you. who'll buy, etc. while thus the blissful moments rolled, moments of rare and fleeting light, that show themselves, like grains of gold in the mine's refuse, few and bright; behold where, opening far away, the long conservatory's range, stript of the flowers it wore all day, but gaining lovelier in exchange, presents, on dresden's costliest ware, a supper such as gods might share. ah much-loved supper!--blithe repast of other times, now dwindling fast, since dinner far into the night advanced the march of appetite; deployed his never-ending forces of various vintage and three courses, and, like those goths who played the dickens with rome and all her sacred chickens, put supper and her fowls so white, legs, wings, and drumsticks, all to flight. now waked once more by wine--whose tide is the true hippocrene, where glide the muse's swans with happiest wing, dipping their bills before they sing-- the minstrels of the table greet the listening ear with descant sweet:-- song and trio. the levÉe and couchÉe. call the loves around, let the whispering sound of their wings be heard alone. till soft to rest my lady blest at this bright hour hath gone, let fancy's beams play o'er her dreams, till, touched with light all through. her spirit be like a summer sea, shining and slumbering too. and, while thus husht she lies, let the whispered chorus rise-- "good evening, good evening, to our lady's bright eyes." but the day-beam breaks, see, our lady wakes! call the loves around once more, like stars that wait at morning's gate, her first steps to adore. let the veil of night from her dawning sight all gently pass away, like mists that flee from a summer sea, leaving it full of day. and, while her last dream flies, let the whispered chorus rise-- "good morning, good morning, to our lady's bright eyes." song. if to see thee be to love thee, if to love thee be to prize naught of earth or heaven above thee, nor to live but for those eyes: if such love to mortal given, be wrong to earth, be wrong to heaven, 'tis not for thee the fault to blame, for from those eyes the madness came. forgive but thou the crime of loving in this heart more pride 'twill raise to be thus wrong with thee approving, than right with all a world to praise! * * * * * but say, while light these songs resound, what means that buzz of whispering round, from lip to lip--as if the power of mystery, in this gay hour, had thrown some secret (as we fling nuts among children) to that ring of rosy, restless lips, to be thus scrambled for so wantonly? and, mark ye, still as each reveals the mystic news, her hearer steals a look towards yon enchanted chair, where, like the lady of the masque, a nymph, as exquisitely fair as love himself for bride could ask, sits blushing deep, as if aware of the winged secret circling there. who is this nymph? and what, oh muse, what, in the name of all odd things that woman's restless brain pursues, what mean these mystic whisperings? thus runs the tale:--yon blushing maid, who sits in beauty's light arrayed, while o'er her leans a tall young dervise, (who from her eyes, as all observe, is learning by heart the marriage service,) is the bright heroine of our song,-- the love-wed psyche, whom so long we've missed among this mortal train, we thought her winged to heaven again. but no--earth still demands her smile; her friends, the gods, must wait awhile. and if, for maid of heavenly birth, a young duke's proffered heart and hand be things worth waiting for on earth, both are, this hour, at her command. to-night, in yonder half-lit shade, for love concerns expressly meant, the fond proposal first was made, and love and silence blusht consent parents and friends (all here, as jews, enchanters, house-maids, turks, hindoos,) have heard, approved, and blest the tie; and now, hadst thou a poet's eye, thou might'st behold, in the air, above that brilliant brow, triumphant love, holding, as if to drop it down gently upon her curls, a crown of ducal shape--but, oh, such gems! pilfered from peri diadems, and set in gold like that which shines to deck the fairy of the mines: in short, a crown all glorious--such as love orders when he makes a duchess. but see, 'tis morn in heaven; the sun up in the bright orient hath begun to canter his immortal beam; and, tho' not yet arrived in sight, his leaders' nostrils send a steam of radiance forth, so rosy bright as makes their onward path all light. what's to be done? if sol will be so deuced early, so must we: and when the day thus shines outright, even dearest friends must bid good night. so, farewell, scene of mirth and masking, now almost a by-gone tale; beauties, late in lamp-light basking, now, by daylight, dim and pale; harpers, yawning o'er your harps, scarcely knowing flats from sharps; mothers who, while bored you keep time by nodding, nod to sleep; heads of hair, that stood last night _crépé_, crispy, and upright, but have now, alas, one sees, a leaning like the tower of pisa; fare ye will--thus sinks away all that's mighty, all that's bright: tyre and sidon had their day, and even a ball--has but its night! [ ] archimedes. [ ] the name given to those large sleeves that hang loosely. [ ] in england the partition of this opera of rossini was transferred to the story of peter the hermit; by which means the indecorum of giving such names as "moyse," "pharaon," etc., to the dancers selected from it (as was done in paris), has been avoided. [ ] the celebrated portrait by leonardo da vinci, which he is said to have occupied four years in painting,--_vasari_, vol. vii. evenings in greece in thus connecting together a series of songs by a thread of poetical narrative, my chief object has been to combine recitation with music, so as to enable a greater number of persons to join in the performance, by enlisting as readers those who may not feel willing or competent to take a part as singers. the island of zea where the scene is laid was called by the ancients ceos, and was the birthplace of simonides, bacchylides, and other eminent persons. an account of its present state may be found in the travels of dr. clarke, who says, that "it appeared to him to be the best cultivated of any of the grecian isles."--vol. vi. p. . t.m. evenings in greece. first evening. "the sky is bright--the breeze is fair, "and the mainsail flowing, full and free-- "our farewell word is woman's prayer, "and the hope before us--liberty! "farewell, farewell. "to greece we give our shining blades, "and our hearts to you, young zean maids! "the moon is in the heavens above, "and the wind is on the foaming sea-- "thus shines the star of woman's love "on the glorious strife of liberty! "farewell, farewell. "to greece we give our shining blades, "and our hearts to you, young zean maids!" thus sung they from the bark, that now turned to the sea its gallant prow, bearing within its hearts as brave, as e'er sought freedom o'er the wave; and leaving on that islet's shore, where still the farewell beacons burn, friends that shall many a day look o'er the long, dim sea for their return. virgin of heaven! speed their way-- oh, speed their way,--the chosen flower, of zea's youth, the hope and stay of parents in their wintry hour, the love of maidens and the pride of the young, happy, blushing bride, whose nuptial wreath has not yet died-- all, all are in that precious bark, which now, alas! no more is seen-- tho' every eye still turns to mark the moonlight spot where it had been. vainly you look, ye maidens, sires, and mothers, your beloved are gone!-- now may you quench those signal fires, whose light they long looked back upon from their dark deck--watching the flame as fast it faded from their view, with thoughts, that, but for manly shame, had made them droop and weep like you. home to your chambers! home, and pray for the bright coming of that day, when, blest by heaven, the cross shall sweep the crescent from the aegean deep, and your brave warriors, hastening back, will bring such glories in their track, as shall, for many an age to come, shed light around their name and home. there is a fount on zea's isle, round which, in soft luxuriance, smile all the sweet flowers, of every kind, on which the sun of greece looks down, pleased as a lover on the crown his mistress for her brow hath twined, when he beholds each floweret there, himself had wisht her most to wear; here bloomed the laurel-rose,[ ] whose wreath hangs radiant round the cypriot shines, and here those bramble-flowers, that breathe their odor into zante's wines:-- the splendid woodbine that, as eve, to grace their floral diadems, the lovely maids of patmos weave:--[ ] and that fair plant whose tangled stems shine like a nereid's hair,[ ] when spread, dishevelled, o'er her azure bed:-- all these bright children of the clime, (each at its own most genial time, the summer, or the year's sweet prime,) like beautiful earth-stars, adorn the valley where that fount is born; while round, to grace its cradle green groups of velani oaks are seen towering on every verdant height-- tall, shadowy, in the evening light, like genii set to watch the birth of some enchanted child of earth-- fair oaks that over zea's vales, stand with their leafy pride unfurled; while commerce from her thousand sails scatters their fruit throughout the world![ ] 'twas here--as soon as prayer and sleep (those truest friends to all who weep) had lightened every heart; and made even sorrow wear a softer shade-- 'twas here, in this secluded spot, amid whose breathings calm and sweet grief might be soothed if not forgot, the zean nymphs resolved to meet each evening now, by the same light that saw their farewell tears that night: and try if sound of lute and song, if wandering mid the moonlight flowers in various talk, could charm along with lighter step, the lingering hours, till tidings of that bark should come, or victory waft their warriors home! when first they met--the wonted smile of greeting having gleamed awhile-- 'twould touch even moslem heart to see the sadness that came suddenly o'er their young brows, when they looked round upon that bright, enchanted ground; and thought how many a time with those who now were gone to the rude wars they there had met at evening's close, and danced till morn outshone the stars! but seldom long doth hang the eclipse of sorrow o'er such youthful breasts-- the breath from her own blushing lips, that on the maiden's mirror rests, not swifter, lighter from the glass, than sadness from her brow doth pass. soon did they now, as round the well they sat, beneath the rising moon-- and some with voice of awe would tell of midnight fays and nymphs who dwell in holy founts--while some would time their idle lutes that now had lain for days without a single strain;-- and others, from the rest apart, with laugh that told the lightened heart, sat whispering in each other's ear secrets that all in turn would hear;-- soon did they find this thoughtless play so swiftly steal their griefs away, that many a nymph tho' pleased the while, reproached her own forgetful smile, and sighed to think she _could_ be gay. among these maidens there was one who to leucadia[ ] late had been-- had stood beneath the evening sun on its white towering cliffs and seen the very spot where sappho sung her swan-like music, ere she sprung (still holding, in that fearful leap, by her loved lyre,) into the deep, and dying quenched the fatal fire, at once, of both her heart and lyre. mutely they listened all--and well did the young travelled maiden tell of the dread height to which that steep beetles above the eddying deep--[ ] of the lone sea-birds, wheeling round the dizzy edge with mournful sound-- and of those scented lilies found still blooming on that fearful place-- as if called up by love to grace the immortal spot o'er which the last bright footsteps of his martyr past! while fresh to every listener's thought these legends of leucadia brought all that of sappho's hapless flame is kept alive, still watcht by fame-- the maiden, tuning her soft lute, while all the rest stood round her, mute, thus sketched the languishment of soul, that o'er the tender lesbian stole; and in a voice whose thrilling tone fancy might deem the lesbian's own, one of those fervid fragments gave, which still,--like sparkles of greek fire, undying, even beneath the wave,-- burn on thro' time and ne'er expire. song. as o'er her loom the lesbian maid in love-sick languor hung her head, unknowing where her fingers strayed, she weeping turned away, and said, "oh, my sweet mother--'tis in vain-- "i cannot weave, as once i wove-- "so wildered is my heart and brain "with thinking of that youth i love!" again the web she tried to trace, but tears fell o'er each tangled thread; while looking in her mother's face, who watchful o'er her leaned, she said, "oh, my sweet mother--'tis in vain-- "i cannot weave, as once i wove-- "so wildered is my heart and brain "with thinking of that youth i love!" * * * * * a silence followed this sweet air, as each in tender musing stood, thinking, with lips that moved in prayer, of sappho and that fearful flood: while some who ne'er till now had known how much their hearts resembled hers, felt as they made her griefs their own, that _they_ too were love's worshippers. at length a murmur, all but mute, so faint it was, came from the lute of a young melancholy maid, whose fingers, all uncertain played from chord to chord, as if in chase of some lost melody, some strain of other times, whose faded trace she sought among those chords again. slowly the half-forgotten theme (tho' born in feelings ne'er forgot) came to her memory--as a beam falls broken o'er some shaded spot;-- and while her lute's sad symphony filled up each sighing pause between; and love himself might weep to see what ruin comes where he hath been-- as withered still the grass is found where fays have danced their merry round-- thus simply to the listening throng she breathed her melancholy song:-- song. weeping for thee, my love, thro' the long day, lonely and wearily life wears away. weeping for thee, my love, thro' the long night-- no rest in darkness, no joy in light! naught left but memory whose dreary tread sounds thro' this ruined heart, where all lies dead-- wakening the echoes of joy long fled! * * * * * of many a stanza, this alone had 'scaped oblivion--like the one stray fragment of a wreck which thrown with the lost vessel's name ashore tells who they were that live no more. when thus the heart is in a vein of tender thought, the simplest strain can touch it with peculiar power-- as when the air is warm, the scent of the most wild and rustic flower can fill the whole rich element-- and in such moods the homeliest tone that's linked with feelings, once our own-- with friends or joy gone by--will be worth choirs of loftiest harmony! but some there were among the group of damsels there too light of heart to let their spirits longer droop, even under music's melting art; and one upspringing with a bound from a low bank of flowers, looked round with eyes that tho' so full of light had still a trembling tear within; and, while her fingers in swift flight flew o'er a fairy mandolin, thus sung the song her lover late had sung to her--the eve before that joyous night, when as of yore all zea met to celebrate the feast of may on the sea-shore. song. when the balaika[ ] is heard o'er the sea, i'll dance the romaika by moonlight with thee. if waves then advancing should steal on our play, thy white feet in dancing shall chase them away.[ ] when the balaika is heard o'er the sea, thou'lt dance the romaika my own love, with me. then at the closing of each merry lay, how sweet 'tis, reposing beneath the night ray! or if declining the moon leave the skies, we'll talk by the shining of each other's eyes. oh then how featly the dance we'll renew, treading so fleetly its light mazes thro':[ ] till stars, looking o'er us from heaven's high bowers, would change their bright chorus for one dance of ours! when the balaika is heard o'er the sea, thou'lt dance the romaika, my own love, with me. * * * * * how changingly for ever veers the heart of youth 'twixt smiles and tears! even as in april the light vane now points to sunshine, now to rain. instant this lively lay dispelled the shadow from each blooming brow, and dancing, joyous dancing, held full empire o'er each fancy now. but say--_what_ shall the measure be? "shall we the old romaika tread," (some eager asked) "as anciently "'twas by the maids of delos led, "when slow at first, then circling fast, "as the gay spirits rose--at last, "with hand in hand like links enlocked, "thro' the light air they seemed to flit "in labyrinthine maze, that mocked "the dazzled eye that followed it?" some called aloud "the fountain dance!"-- while one young, dark-eyed amazon, whose step was air-like and whose glance flashed, like a sabre in the sun, sportively said, "shame on these soft "and languid strains we hear so oft. "daughters of freedom! have not we "learned from our lovers and our sires "the dance of greece, while greece was free-- "that dance, where neither flutes nor lyres, "but sword and shield clash on the ear "a music tyrants quake to hear? "heroines of zea, arm with me "and dance the dance of victory!" thus saying, she, with playful grace, loosed the wide hat, that o'er her face (from anatolia came the maid) hung shadowing each sunny charm; and with a fair young armorer's aid, fixing it on her rounded arm, a mimic shield with pride displayed; then, springing towards a grove that spread its canopy of foliage near, plucked off a lance-like twig, and said, "to arms, to arms!" while o'er her head she waved the light branch, as a spear. promptly the laughing maidens all obeyed their chief's heroic call;-- round the shield-arm of each was tied hat, turban, shawl, as chance might be; the grove, their verdant armory, falchion and lance[ ] alike supplied; and as their glossy locks, let free, fell down their shoulders carelessly, you might have dreamed you saw a throng of youthful thyads, by the beam of a may moon, bounding along peneus' silver-eddied stream! and now they stept, with measured tread, martially o'er the shining field; now to the mimic combat led (a heroine at each squadron's head), struck lance to lance and sword to shield: while still, thro' every varying feat, their voices heard in contrast sweet with some of deep but softened sound from lips of aged sires around, who smiling watched their children's play-- thus sung the ancient pyrrhic lay:-- song. "raise the buckler--poise the lance-- "now here--now there--retreat--advance!" such were the sounds to which the warrior boy danced in those happy days when greece was free; when sparta's youth, even in the hour of joy, thus trained their steps to war and victory. "raise the buckler--poise the lance-- "now here--now there--retreat--advance!" such was the spartan warriors' dance. "grasp the falchion--gird the shield-- "attack--defend--do all but yield." thus did thy sons, oh greece, one glorious night, dance by a moon like this, till o'er the sea that morning dawned by whose immortal light they nobly died for thee and liberty![ ] "raise the buckler--poise the lance-- "now here--now there--retreat--advance!" such was the spartan heroes' dance. * * * * * scarce had they closed this martial lay when, flinging their light spears away, the combatants, in broken ranks. all breathless from the war-field fly; and down upon the velvet banks and flowery slopes exhausted lie, like rosy huntresses of thrace, resting at sunset from the chase. "fond girls!" an aged zean said-- one who himself had fought and bled, and now with feelings half delight, half sadness, watched their mimic fight-- "fond maids! who thus with war can jest-- "like love in mar's helmet drest, "when, in his childish innocence, "pleased with the shade that helmet flings, "he thinks not of the blood that thence "is dropping o'er his snowy wings. "ay--true it is, young patriot maids, "if honor's arm still won the fray, "if luck but shone on righteous blades, "war were a game for gods to play! "but, no, alas!--hear one, who well "hath tracked the fortunes of the brave-- "hear _me_, in mournful ditty, tell "what glory waits the patriot's grave." song. as by the shore, at break of day, a vanquished chief expiring lay. upon the sands, with broken sword, he traced his farewell to the free; and, there, the last unfinished word he dying wrote was "liberty!" at night a sea-bird shrieked the knell of him who thus for freedom fell; the words he wrote, ere evening came, were covered by the sounding sea;-- so pass away the cause and name of him who dies for liberty! * * * * * that tribute of subdued applause a charmed but timid audience pays, that murmur which a minstrel draws from hearts that feel but fear to praise, followed this song, and left a pause of silence after it, that hung like a fixt spell on every tongue. at length a low and tremulous sound was heard from midst a group that round a bashful maiden stood to hide her blushes while the lute she tried-- like roses gathering round to veil the song of some young nightingale, whose trembling notes steal out between the clustered leaves, herself unseen. and while that voice in tones that more thro' feeling than thro' weakness erred, came with a stronger sweetness o'er the attentive ear, this strain was heard:-- song. i saw from yonder silent cave,[ ] two fountains running side by side; the one was memory's limpid wave, the other cold oblivion's tide. "oh love!" said i, in thoughtless mood, as deep i drank of lethe's stream, "be all my sorrows in this flood "forgotten like a vanisht dream!" but who could bear that gloomy blank where joy was lost as well as pain? quickly of memory's fount i drank. and brought the past all back again; and said, "oh love! whate'er my lot, "still let this soul to thee be true-- "rather than have one bliss forgot, "be all my pains remembered too!" * * * * * the group that stood around to shade the blushes of that bashful maid, had by degrees as came the lay more strongly forth retired away, like a fair shell whose valves divide to show the fairer pearl inside: for such she was--a creature, bright and delicate as those day-flowers, which while they last make up in light and sweetness what they want in hours. so rich upon the ear had grown her voice's melody--its tone gathering new courage as it found an echo in each bosom round-- that, ere the nymph with downcast eye still on the chords, her lute laid by, "another song," all lips exclaimed, and each some matchless favorite named; while blushing as her fingers ran o'er the sweet chords she thus began:-- song. oh, memory, how coldly thou paintest joy gone by: like rainbows, thy pictures but mournfully shine and die. or if some tints thou keepest that former days recall, as o'er each line thou weepest, thy tears efface them all. but, memory, too truly thou paintest grief that's past; joy's colors are fleeting, but those of sorrow last. and, while thou bringst before us dark pictures of past ill, life's evening closing o'er us but makes them darker still. * * * * * so went the moonlight hours along, in this sweet glade; and so with song and witching sounds--not such as they, the cymbalists of ossa, played, to chase the moon's eclipse away,[ ] but soft and holy--did each maid lighten her heart's eclipse awhile, and win back sorrow to a smile. not far from this secluded place, on the sea-shore a ruin stood;-- a relic of the extinguisht race, who once o'er that foamy flood, when fair ioulis[ ] by the light of golden sunset on the sight of mariners who sailed that sea, rose like a city of chrysolite called from the wave by witchery. this ruin--now by barbarous hands debased into a motley shed, where the once splendid column stands inverted on its leafy head-- formed, as they tell in times of old the dwelling of that bard whose lay could melt to tears the stern and cold, and sadden mid their mirth the gay-- simonides,[ ] whose fame thro' years and ages past still bright appears-- like hesperus, a star of tears! 'twas hither now--to catch a view of the white waters as they played silently in the light--a few of the more restless damsels strayed; and some would linger mid the scent of hanging foliage that perfumed the ruined walls; while others went culling whatever floweret bloomed in the lone leafy space between, where gilded chambers once had been; or, turning sadly to the sea, sent o'er the wave a sigh unblest to some brave champion of the free-- thinking, alas, how cold might be at that still hour his place of rest! meanwhile there came a sound of song from the dark ruins--a faint strain, as if some echo that among those minstrel halls had slumbered long were murmuring into life again. but, no--the nymphs knew well the tone-- a maiden of their train, who loved like the night-bird to sing alone. had deep into those ruins roved, and there, all other thoughts forgot, was warbling o'er, in lone delight, a lay that, on that very spot, her lover sung one moonlight night:-- song. ah! where are they, who heard, in former hours, the voice of song in these neglected bowers? they are gone--all gone! the youth who told his pain in such sweet tone that all who heard him wisht his pain their own-- he is gone--he is gone! and she who while he sung sat listening by and thought to strains like these 'twere sweet to die-- she is gone--she too is gone! 'tis thus in future hours some bard will say of her who hears and him who sings this lay-- they are gone--they both are gone! * * * * * the moon was now, from heaven's steep, bending to dip her silvery urn into the bright and silent deep-- and the young nymphs, on their return from those romantic ruins, found their other playmates ranged around the sacred spring, prepared to tune their parting hymn,[ ] ere sunk the moon, to that fair fountain by whose stream their hearts had formed so many a dream. who has not read the tales that tell of old eleusis' sacred well, or heard what legend-songs recount of syra and its holy fount,[ ] gushing at once from the hard rock into the laps of living flowers-- where village maidens loved to flock, on summer-nights and like the hours linked in harmonious dance and song, charmed the unconscious night along; while holy pilgrims on their way to delos' isle stood looking on, enchanted with a scene so gay, nor sought their boats till morning shone. such was the scene this lovely glade and its fair inmates now displayed. as round the fount in linked ring they went in cadence slow and light and thus to that enchanted spring warbled their farewell for the night:-- song. here, while the moonlight dim falls on that mossy brim, sing we our fountain hymn, maidens of zea! nothing but music's strain, when lovers part in pain, soothes till they meet again, oh, maids of zea! bright fount so clear and cold round which the nymphs of old stood with their locks of gold, fountain of zea! not even castaly, famed tho' its streamlet be, murmurs or shines like thee, oh, fount of zea! thou, while our hymn we sing, thy silver voice shalt bring, answering, answering, sweet fount of zea! for of all rills that run sparkling by moon or sun thou art the fairest one, bright fount of zea! now, by those stars that glance over heaven's still expanse weave we our mirthful dance, daughters of zea! such as in former days danced they by dian's rays where the eurotas strays, oh, maids of zea! but when to merry feet hearts with no echo beat, say, can the dance be sweet? maidens of zea! no, naught but music's strain, when lovers part in pain, soothes till they meet again, oh, maids of zea! second evening. song. when evening shades are falling o'er ocean's sunny sleep, to pilgrims' hearts recalling their home beyond the deep; when rest o'er all descending the shores with gladness smile, and lutes their echoes blending are heard from isle to isle, then, mary, star of the sea, we pray, we pray, to thee! the noon-day tempest over, now ocean toils no more, and wings of halcyons hover where all was strife before. oh thus may life in closing its short tempestuous day beneath heaven's smile reposing shine all its storms away: thus, mary, star of the sea, we pray, we pray, to thee! on helle's sea the light grew dim as the last sounds of that sweet hymn floated along its azure tide-- floated in light as if the lay had mixt with sunset's fading ray and light and song together died. so soft thro' evening's air had breathed that choir of youthful voices wreathed in many-linked harmony, that boats then hurrying o'er the sea paused when they reached this fairy shore, and lingered till the strain was o'er. of those young maids who've met to fleet in song and dance this evening's hours, far happier now the bosoms beat than when they last adorned these bowers; for tidings of glad sound had come, at break of day from the far isles-- tidings like breath of life to some-- that zea's sons would soon wing home, crowded with the light of victory's smiles to meet that brightest of all meeds that wait on high, heroic deeds. when gentle eyes that scarce for tears could trace the warrior's parting track, shall like a misty morn that clears when the long-absent sun appears shine out all bliss to hail him back. how fickle still the youthful breast!-- more fond of change than a young moon, no joy so new was e'er possest but youth would leave for newer soon. these zean nymphs tho' bright the spot where first they held their evening play as ever fell to fairy's lot to wanton o'er by midnight's ray, had now exchanged that sheltered scene for a wide glade beside the sea-- a lawn whose soft expanse of green turned to the west sun smilingly as tho' in conscious beauty bright it joyed to give him light for light. and ne'er did evening more serene look down from heaven on lovelier scene. calm lay the flood around while fleet o'er the blue shining element light barks as if with fairy feet that stirred not the husht waters went; some, that ere rosy eve fell o'er the blushing wave, with mainsail free, had put forth from the attic shore, or the near isle of ebony;-- some, hydriot barks that deep in caves beneath colonna's pillared cliffs, had all day lurked and o'er the waves now shot their long and dart-like skiffs. woe to the craft however fleet these sea-hawks in their course shall meet, laden with juice of lesbian vines, or rich from naxos' emery mines; for not more sure, when owlets flee o'er the dark crags of pendelee, doth the night-falcon mark his prey, or pounce on it more fleet than they. and what a moon now lights the glade where these young island nymphs are met! full-orbed yet pure as if no shade had touched its virgin lustre yet; and freshly bright as if just made by love's own hands of new-born light stolen from his mother's star tonight. on a bold rock that o'er the flood jutted from that soft glade there stood a chapel, fronting towards the sea,-- built in some by-gone century,-- where nightly as the seaman's mark when waves rose high or clouds were dark, a lamp bequeathed by some kind saint shed o'er the wave its glimmer faint. waking in way-worn men a sigh and prayer to heaven as they went by. 'twas there, around that rock-built shrine a group of maidens and their sires had stood to watch the day's decline, and as the light fell o'er their lyres sung to the queen-star of the sea that soft and holy melody. but lighter thoughts and lighter song now woo the coming hours along. for mark, where smooth the herbage lies, yon gay pavilion curtained deep with silken folds thro' which bright eyes from time to time are seen to peep; while twinkling lights that to and fro beneath those veils like meteors go, tell of some spells at work and keep young fancies chained in mute suspense, watching what next may shine from thence, nor long the pause ere hands unseen that mystic curtain backward drew, and all that late but shone between in half-caught gleams now burst to view. a picture 'twas of the early days of glorious greece ere yet those rays of rich, immortal mind were hers that made mankind her worshippers; while yet unsung her landscapes shone with glory lent by heaven alone; nor temples crowned her nameless hills, nor muse immortalized her rills; nor aught but the mute poesy of sun and stars and shining sea illumed that land of bards to be. while prescient of the gifted race that yet would realm so blest adorn, nature took pains to deck the place where glorious art was to be born. such was the scene that mimic stage of athens and her hills portrayed athens in her first, youthful age, ere yet the simple violet braid,[ ] which then adorned her had shone down the glory of earth's loftiest crown. while yet undreamed, her seeds of art lay sleeping in the marble mine-- sleeping till genius bade them start to all but life in shapes divine; till deified the quarry shone and all olympus stood in stone! there in the foreground of that scene, on a soft bank of living green sate a young nymph with her lap full of the newly gathered flowers, o'er which she graceful leaned intent to cull all that was there of hue most rich, to form a wreath such as the eye of her young lover who stood by, with pallet mingled fresh might choose to fix by painting's rainbow hues. the wreath was formed; the maiden raised her speaking eyes to his, while he-- oh _not_ upon the flowers now gazed, but on that bright look's witchery. while, quick as if but then the thought like light had reached his soul, he caught his pencil up and warm and true as life itself that love-look drew: and, as his raptured task went on, and forth each kindling feature shone, sweet voices thro' the moonlight air from lips as moonlight fresh and pure thus hailed the bright dream passing there, and sung the birth of portraiture.[ ] song. as once a grecian maiden wove her garland mid the summer bowers, there stood a youth with eyes of love to watch her while she wreathed the flowers. the youth was skilled in painting's art, but ne'er had studied woman's brow, nor knew what magic hues the heart can shed o'er nature's charms till now. chorus. blest be love to whom we owe all that's fair and bright below. his hand had pictured many a rose and sketched the rays that light the brook; but what were these or what were those to woman's blush, to woman's look? "oh, if such magic power there be, "this, this," he cried, "is all my prayer, "to paint that living light i see "and fix the soul that sparkles there." his prayer as soon as breathed was heard; his pallet touched by love grew warm, and painting saw her hues transferred from lifeless flowers to woman's form. still as from tint to tint he stole, the fair design shone out the more, and there was now a life, a soul, where only colors glowed before. then first carnations learned to speak and lilies into life were brought; while mantling on the maiden's cheek young roses kindled into thought. then hyacinths their darkest dyes upon the locks of beauty threw; and violets transformed to eyes inshrined a soul within their blue. chorus. blest be love to whom we owe, all that's fair and bright below. song was cold and painting dim till song and painting learned from him. * * * * * soon as the scene had closed, a cheer of gentle voices old and young rose from the groups that stood to hear this tale of yore so aptly sung; and while some nymphs in haste to tell the workers of that fairy spell how crowned with praise their task had been stole in behind the curtained scene, the rest in happy converse strayed-- talking that ancient love-tale o'er-- some to the groves that skirt the glade, some to the chapel by the shore, to look what lights were on the sea. and think of the absent silently. but soon that summons known so well thro' bower and hall in eastern lands, whose sound more sure than gong or bell lovers and slaves alike commands,-- the clapping of young female hands, calls back the groups from rock and field to see some new-formed scene revealed;-- and fleet and eager down the slopes of the green glades like antelopes when in their thirst they hear the sound of distant rills, the light nymphs bound. far different now the scene--a waste of libyan sands, by moonlight's ray; an ancient well, whereon were traced the warning words, for such as stray unarmed there, "drink and away!"[ ] while near it from the night-ray screened, and like his bells in husht repose, a camel slept--young as if weaned when last the star canopus rose.[ ] such was the back-ground's silent scene;-- while nearer lay fast slumbering too in a rude tent with brow serene a youth whose cheeks of wayworn hue and pilgrim-bonnet told the tale that he had been to mecca's vale: haply in pleasant dreams, even now thinking the long wished hour is come when o'er the well-known porch at home his hand shall hang the aloe bough-- trophy of his accomplished vow.[ ] but brief his dream--for now the call of the camp-chiefs from rear to van, "bind on your burdens,"[ ] wakes up all the widely slumbering caravan; and thus meanwhile to greet the ear of the young pilgrim as he wakes, the song of one who lingering near had watched his slumber, cheerly breaks. song. up and march! the timbrel's sound wakes the slumbering camp around; fleet thy hour of rest hath gone, armed sleeper, up, and on! long and weary is our way o'er the burning sands to-day; but to pilgrim's homeward feet even the desert's path is sweet. when we lie at dead of night, looking up to heaven's light, hearing but the watchman�s tone faintly chanting "god is one,"[ ] oh what thoughts then o'er us come of our distant village home, where that chant when evening sets sounds from all the minarets. cheer thee!--soon shall signal lights, kindling o'er the red sea heights, kindling quick from man to man, hail our coming caravan:[ ] think what bliss that hour will be! looks of home again to see, and our names again to hear murmured out by voices dear. * * * * * so past the desert dream away, fleeting as his who heard this lay, nor long the pause between, nor moved the spell-bound audience from that spot; while still as usual fancy roved on to the joy that yet was not;-- fancy who hath no present home, but builds her bower in scenes to come, walking for ever in a light that flows from regions out of sight. but see by gradual dawn descried a mountain realm-rugged as e'er upraised to heaven its summits bare, or told to earth with frown of pride that freedom's falcon nest was there, too high for hand of lord or king to hood her brow, or chain her wing. 'tis maina's land--her ancient hills, the abode of nymphs--her countless rills and torrents in their downward dash shining like silver thro' the shade of the sea-pine and flowering ash-- all with a truth so fresh portrayed as wants but touch of life to be a world of warm reality. and now light bounding forth a band of mountaineers, all smiles, advance-- nymphs with their lovers hand in hand linked in the ariadne dance; and while, apart from that gay throng, a minstrel youth in varied song tells of the loves, the joys, the ills of these wild children of the hills, the rest by turns or fierce or gay as war or sport inspires the lay follow each change that wakes the strings and act what thus the lyrist sings:-- song. no life is like the mountaineer's, his home is near the sky, where throned above this world he hears its strife at distance die, or should the sound of hostile drum proclaim below, "we come--we come," each crag that towers in air gives answer, "come who dare!" while like bees from dell and dingle, swift the swarming warriors mingle, and their cry "hurra!" will be, "hurra, to victory!" then when battle's hour is over see the happy mountain lover with the nymph who'll soon be bride seated blushing by his side,-- every shadow of his lot in her sunny smile forgot. oh, no life is like the mountaineer's. his home is near the sky, where throned above this world he hears its strife at distance die. nor only thus thro' summer suns his blithe existence cheerly runs-- even winter bleak and dim brings joyous hours to him; when his rifle behind him flinging he watches the roe-buck springing, and away, o'er the hills away re-echoes his glad "hurra." then how blest when night is closing, by the kindled hearth reposing, to his rebeck's drowsy song, he beguiles the hour along; or provoked by merry glances to a brisker movement dances, till, weary at last, in slumber's chain, he dreams o'er chase and dance again, dreams, dreams them o'er again. * * * * * as slow that minstrel at the close sunk while he sung to feigned repose, aptly did they whose mimic art followed the changes of his lay portray the lull, the nod, the start, thro' which as faintly died away his lute and voice, the minstrel past, till voice and lute lay husht at last. but now far other song came o'er their startled ears--song that at first as solemnly the night-wind bore across the wave its mournful burst, seemed to the fancy like a dirge of some lone spirit of the sea, singing o'er helle's ancient surge the requiem of her brave and free. sudden amid their pastime pause the wondering nymphs; and as the sound of that strange music nearer draws, with mute inquiring eye look round, asking each other what can be the source of this sad minstrelsy? nor longer can they doubt, the song comes from some island-bark which now courses the bright waves swift along and soon perhaps beneath the brow of the saint's bock will shoot its prow. instantly all with hearts that sighed 'twixt fear's and fancy's influence, flew to the rock and saw from thence a red-sailed pinnace towards them glide, whose shadow as it swept the spray scattered the moonlight's smiles away. soon as the mariners saw that throng from the cliff gazing, young and old, sudden they slacked their sail and song, and while their pinnace idly rolled on the light surge, these tidings told:-- 'twas from an isle of mournful name, from missolonghi, last they came-- sad missolonghi sorrowing yet o'er him, the noblest star of fame that e'er in life's young glory set!-- and now were on their mournful way, wafting the news thro' helle's isles;-- news that would cloud even freedom's ray and sadden victory mid her smiles. their tale thus told and heard with pain, out spread the galliot's wings again; and as she sped her swift career again that hymn rose on the ear-- "thou art not dead--thou art not dead!" as oft 'twas sung in ages flown of him, the athenian, who to shed a tyrant's blood poured out his own. song. thou art not dead--thou art not dead! no, dearest harmodius, no. thy soul to realms above us fled tho' like a star it dwells o'er head still lights this world below. thou art _not_ dead--thou art not dead! no, dearest harmodius, no. thro' isles of light where heroes tread and flowers ethereal blow, thy god-like spirit now is led, thy lip with life ambrosial fed forgets all taste of woe. thou art not dead--thou art not dead! no, dearest harmodius, no. the myrtle round that falchion spread which struck the immortal blow, throughout all time with leaves unshed-- the patriot's hope, the tyrant's dread-- round freedom's shrine shall grow. thou art not dead--thou art not dead! no, dearest harmodius, no. where hearts like thine have broke or bled, tho' quenched the vital glow, their memory lights a flame instead, which even from out the narrow bed of death its beams shall throw. thou art not dead--thou art not dead! no, dearest harmodius, no. thy name, by myriads sung and said, from age to age shall go, long as the oak and ivy wed, as bees shall haunt hymettus' head, or helle's waters flow. thou art not dead--thou art not dead! no, dearest harmodius, no. * * * * * 'mong those who lingered listening there,-- listening with ear and eye as long as breath of night could towards them bear a murmur of that mournful song,-- a few there were in whom the lay had called up feelings far too sad to pass with the brief strain away, or turn at once to theme more glad; and who in mood untuned to meet the light laugh of the happie train, wandered to seek some moonlight seat where they might rest, in converse sweet, till vanisht smiles should come again. and seldom e'er hath noon of night to sadness lent more soothing light. on one side in the dark blue sky lonely and radiant was the eye of jove himself, while on the other 'mong tiny stars that round her gleamed, the young moon like the roman mother among her living "jewels" beamed. touched by the lovely scenes around, a pensive maid--one who, tho' young, had known what 'twas to see unwound the ties by which her heart had clung-- wakened her soft tamboura's sound, and to its faint accords thus sung:-- song. calm as beneath its mother's eyes in sleep the smiling infant lies, so watched by all the stars of night yon landscape sleeps in light. and while the night-breeze dies away, like relics of some faded strain, loved voices, lost for many a day, seem whispering round again. oh youth! oh love! ye dreams that shed such glory once--where are ye fled? pure ray of light that down the sky art pointing like an angel's wand, as if to guide to realms that lie in that bright sea beyond: who knows but in some brighter deep than even that tranquil, moonlit main, some land may lie where those who weep shall wake to smile again! with cheeks that had regained their power and play of smiles,--and each bright eye like violets after morning's shower the brighter for the tears gone by, back to the scene such smiles should grace these wandering nymphs their path retrace, and reach the spot with rapture new just as the veils asunder flew and a fresh vision burst to view. there by her own bright attic flood, the blue-eyed queen of wisdom stood;-- not as she haunts the sage's dreams, with brow unveiled, divine, severe; but softened as on bards she beams when fresh from poesy's high sphere a music not her own she brings, and thro' the veil which fancy flings o'er her stern features gently sings. but who is he--that urchin nigh, with quiver on the rose-trees hung, who seems just dropt from yonder sky, and stands to watch that maid with eye so full of thought for one so young?-- that child--but, silence! lend thine ear, and thus in song the tale thou'lt hear:-- song. as love one summer eve was straying, who should he see at that soft hour but young minerva gravely playing her flute within an olive bower. i need not say, 'tis love's opinion that grave or merry, good or ill, the sex all bow to his dominion, as woman will be woman still. tho' seldom yet the boy hath given to learned dames his smiles or sighs, so handsome pallas looked that even love quite forgot the maid was wise. besides, a youth of his discerning knew well that by a shady rill at sunset hour whate'er her learning a woman will be woman still. her flute he praised in terms extatic,-- wishing it dumb, nor cared how soon.-- for wisdom's notes, howe'er chromatic, to love seem always out of tune. but long as he found face to flatter, the nymph found breath to shake and thrill; as, weak or wise--it doesn't matter-- woman at heart is woman still. love changed his plan, with warmth exclaiming, "how rosy was her lips' soft dye!" and much that flute the flatterer blaming, for twisting lips so sweet awry. the nymph looked down, beheld her features reflected in the passing rill, and started, shocked--for, ah, ye creatures! even when divine you're women still. quick from the lips it made so odious. that graceless flute the goddess took and while yet filled with breath melodious, flung it into the glassy brook; where as its vocal life was fleeting adown the current, faint and shrill, 'twas heard in plaintive tone repeating, "woman, alas, vain woman still!" * * * * * an interval of dark repose-- such as the summer lightning knows, twixt flash and flash, as still more bright the quick revealment comes and goes, opening each time the veils of night, to show within a world of light-- such pause, so brief, now past between this last gay vision and the scene which now its depth of light disclosed. a bower it seemed, an indian bower, within whose shade a nymph reposed, sleeping away noon's sunny hour-- lovely as she, the sprite, who weaves her mansion of sweet durva leaves, and there, as indian legends say, dreams the long summer hours away. and mark how charmed this sleeper seems with some hid fancy--she, too, dreams! oh for a wizard's art to tell the wonders that now bless her sight! 'tis done--a truer, holier spell than e'er from wizard's lip yet fell. thus brings her vision all to light:-- song. "who comes so gracefully "gliding along "while the blue rivulet "sleeps to her song; "song richly vying "with the faint sighing "which swans in dying "sweetly prolong?" so sung the shepherd-boy by the stream's side, watching that fairy-boat down the flood glide, like a bird winging, thro' the waves bringing that syren, singing to the husht tide. "stay," said the shepherd-boy, "fairy-boat, stay, "linger, sweet minstrelsy, "linger a day." but vain his pleading, past him, unheeding, song and boat, speeding, glided away. so to our youthful eyes joy and hope shone; so while we gazed on them fast they flew on;-- like flowers declining even in the twining, one moment shining. and the next gone! * * * * * soon as the imagined dream went by, uprose the nymph, with anxious eye turned to the clouds as tho' some boon she waited from that sun-bright dome, and marvelled that it came not soon as her young thoughts would have it come. but joy is in her glance!--the wing of a white bird is seen above; and oh, if round his neck he bring the long-wished tidings from her love, not half so precious in her eyes even that high-omened bird[ ] would be. who dooms the brow o'er which he flies to wear a crown of royalty. she had herself last evening sent a winged messenger whose flight thro' the clear, roseate element, she watched till lessening out of sight far to the golden west it went, wafting to him, her distant love, a missive in that language wrought which flowers can speak when aptly wove, each hue a word, each leaf a thought. and now--oh speed of pinion, known to love's light messengers alone i-- ere yet another evening takes its farewell of the golden lakes, she sees another envoy fly, with the wished answer, thro' the sky. song. welcome sweet bird, thro' the sunny air winging, swift hast thou come o'er the far-shining sea, like seba's dove on thy snowy neck bringing love's written vows from my lover to me. oh, in thy absence what hours did i number!-- saying oft, "idle bird, how could he rest?" but thou art come at last, take now thy slumber, and lull thee in dreams of all thou lov'st best. yet dost thou droop--even now while i utter love's happy welcome, thy pulse dies away; cheer thee, my bird--were it life's ebbing flutter. this fondling bosom should woo it to stay, but no--thou'rt dying--thy last task is over-- farewell, sweet martyr to love and to me! the smiles thou hast wakened by news from my lover, will now all be turned into weeping for thee. * * * * * while thus this scene of song (their last for the sweet summer season) past, a few presiding nymphs whose care watched over all invisibly, as do those guardian sprites of air whose watch we feel but cannot see, had from the circle--scarcely missed, ere they were sparkling there again-- glided like fairies to assist their handmaids on the moonlight plain, where, hid by intercepting shade from the stray glance of curious eyes, a feast of fruits and wines was laid-- soon to shine out, a glad surprise! and now the moon, her ark of light steering thro' heaven, as tho' she bore in safety thro' that deep of night spirits of earth, the good, the bright, to some remote immortal shore, had half-way sped her glorious way, when round reclined on hillocks green in groups beneath that tranquil ray, the zeans at their feast were seen. gay was the picture--every maid whom late the lighted scene displayed, still in her fancy garb arrayed;-- the arabian pilgrim, smiling here beside the nymph of india's sky; while there the mainiote mountaineer whispered in young minerva's ear, and urchin love stood laughing by. meantime the elders round the board, by mirth and wit themselves made young, high cups of juice zacynthian poured, and while the flask went round thus sung:-- song. up with the sparkling brimmer, up to the crystal rim; let not a moonbeam glimmer 'twixt the flood and brim. when hath the world set eyes on aught to match this light, which o'er our cup's horizon dawns in bumpers bright? truth in a deep well lieth-- so the wise aver; but truth the fact denieth-- water suits not her. no, her abode's in brimmers, like this mighty cup-- waiting till we, good swimmers, dive to bring her up. * * * * * thus circled round the song of glee, and all was tuneful mirth the while, save on the cheeks of some whose smile as fixt they gaze upon the sea, turns into paleness suddenly! what see they there? a bright blue light that like a meteor gliding o'er the distant wave grows on the sight, as tho' 'twere winged to zea's shore. to some, 'mong those who came to gaze, it seemed the night-light far away of some lone fisher by the blaze of pine torch luring on his prey; while others, as 'twixt awe and mirth they breathed the blest panaya's[ ] name, vowed that such light was not of earth but of that drear, ill-omen'd flame which mariners see on sail or mast when death is coming in the blast. while marvelling thus they stood, a maid who sate apart with downcast eye, not yet had like the rest surveyed that coming light which now was nigh, soon as it met her sight, with cry of pain-like joy, "'tis he! 'tis he!" loud she exclaimed, and hurrying by the assembled throng, rushed towards the sea. at burst so wild, alarmed, amazed, all stood like statues mute and gazed into each other's eyes to seek what meant such mood in maid so meek? till now, the tale was known to few, but now from lip to lip it flew:-- a youth, the flower of all the band, who late had left this sunny shore, when last he kist that maiden's hand, lingering to kiss it o'er and o'er. by his sad brow too plainly told the ill-omened thought which crost him then, that once those hands should lose their hold, they ne'er would meet on earth again! in vain his mistress sad as he, but with a heart from self as free as generous woman's only is, veiled her own fears to banish his:-- with frank rebuke but still more vain, did a rough warrior who stood by call to his mind this martial strain, his favorite once, ere beauty's eye had taught his soldier-heart to sigh:-- song. march! nor heed those arms that hold thee, tho' so fondly close they come; closer still will they enfold thee when thou bring'st fresh laurels home. dost thou dote on woman's brow? dost thou live but in her breath? march!--one hour of victory now wins thee woman's smile till death. oh what bliss when war is over beauty's long-missed smile to meet. and when wreaths our temples cover lay them shining at her feet. who would not that hour to reach breathe out life's expiring sigh,-- proud as waves that on the beach lay their war-crests down and die. there! i see thy soul is burning-- she herself who clasps thee so paints, even now, thy glad returning, and while clasping bids thee go. one deep sigh to passion given, one last glowing tear and then-- march!--nor rest thy sword till heaven brings thee to those arms again. * * * * * even then ere loath their hands could part a promise the youth gave which bore some balm unto the maiden's heart, that, soon as the fierce fight was o'er, to home he'd speed, if safe and free-- nay, even if dying, still would come, so the blest word of "victory!" might be the last he'd breathe at home. "by day," he cried, "thou'lt know my bark; "but should i come thro' midnight dark, "a blue light on the prow shall tell "that greece hath won and all is well!" fondly the maiden every night, had stolen to seek that promised light; nor long her eyes had now been turned from watching when the signal burned. signal of joy--for her, for all-- fleetly the boat now nears the land, while voices from the shore-edge call for tidings of the long-wished band. oh the blest hour when those who've been thro' peril's paths by land or sea locked in our arms again are seen smiling in glad security; when heart to heart we fondly strain, questioning quickly o'er and o'er-- then hold them off to gaze affain and ask, tho' answered oft before, if they _indeed_ are ours once more? such is the scene so full of joy which welcomes now this warrior-boy, as fathers, sisters, friends all run bounding to meet him--all but one who, slowest on his neck to fall, is yet the happiest of them all. and now behold him circled round with beaming faces at that board, while cups with laurel foliage crowned, are to the coming warriors poured-- coming, as he, their herald, told, with blades from victory scarce yet cold, with hearts untouched by moslem steel and wounds that home's sweet breath will heal. "ere morn," said he,--and while he spoke turned to the east, where clear and pale the star of dawn already broke-- "we'll greet on yonder wave their sail!" then wherefore part? all, all agree to wait them here beneath this bower; and thus, while even amidst their glee, each eye is turned to watch the sea, with song they cheer the anxious hour. song. "'tis the vine! 'tis the vine!" said the cup-loving boy as he saw it spring bright from the earth, and called the young genii of wit, love, and joy, to witness and hallow its birth. the fruit was full grown, like a ruby it flamed till the sunbeam that kist it looked pale; "'tis the vine! 'tis the vine!" every spirit exclaimed "hail, hail to the wine-tree, all hail!" first, fleet as a bird to the summons wit flew, while a light on the vine-leaves there broke in flashes so quick and so brilliant all knew t'was the light from his lips as he spoke. "bright tree! let thy nectar but cheer me," he cried, "and the fount of wit never can fail:" "'tis the vine! 'tis the vine!" hills and valleys reply, "hail, hail to the wine-tree, all hail!" next love as he leaned o'er the plant to admire each tendril and cluster it wore, from his rosy mouth sent such a breath of desire, as made the tree tremble all o'er. oh! never did flower of the earth, sea, or sky, such a soul-giving odor inhale: "'tis the vine! 'tis the vine!" all re-echo the cry, "hail, hail to the wine-tree, all hail!" last, joy, without whom even love and wit die, came to crown the bright hour with his ray; and scarce had that mirth-waking tree met his eye, when a laugh spoke what joy could not say;-- a laugh of the heart which was echoed around till like music it swelled on the gale: "t is the vine! 'tis the vine!" laughing myriads resound, "hail, hail to the wine-tree, all hail!" [ ] "_nerium oleander_. in cyprus it retains its ancient name, rhododaphne, and the cypriots adorn their churches with the flowers on feast-days."--_journal of dr. sibthorpe, walpole's, turkey_. [ ] _lonicera caprifolium_, used by the girls of patmos for garlands. [ ] _cuscuta europoea_. "from the twisting and twining of the stems, it is compared by the greeks to the dishevelled hair of the nereids."-- _walpole's turkey_. [ ] "the produce of the island in these acorns alone amounts annually to fifteen thousand quintals."--_clarke's travels_. [ ] now santa maura--the island, from whose cliffs sappho leaped into the sea. [ ] "the precipice, which is fearfully dizzy, is about one hundred and fourteen feet from the water, which is of a profound depth, as appears from the dark blue color and the eddy that plays round the pointed and projecting rocks."--_goodisson's ionian isles_. [ ] this word is defrauded here, i suspect, of a syllable; dr. clarke, if i recollect right, makes it "balalaika." [ ] "i saw above thirty parties engaged in dancing the romaika upon the sand; in some of these groups, the girl who led them chased the retreating wave."--douglas on the modern greeks. [ ] "in dancing the romaika [says mr. douglas] they begin in slow and solemn step till they have gained the time, but by degrees the air becomes more sprightly; the conductress of the dance sometimes setting to her partners, sometimes darting before the rest, and leading them through the most rapid revolutions: sometimes crossing under the hands, which are held up to let her pass, and giving as much liveliness and intricacy as she can to the figures, into which she conducts her companions, while their business is to follow her in all her movements, without breaking the chain, or losing the measure," [ ] the sword was the weapon chiefly used in this dance. [ ] it is said that leonidas and his companions employed themselves, on the eve of the battle, in music and the gymnastic exercises of their country. [ ] "this morning we paid our visit to the cave of trophonius, and the fountains of memory and oblivion, just upon the water of hercyna, which flows through stupendous rocks."--_williams's travels in greece_. [ ] this superstitious custom of the thessalians exists also, as pietro dello valle tells us, among the persians. [ ] an ancient city of zea, the walls of which were of marble. its remains (says clarke) "extend from the shore, quite into a valley watered by the streams of a fountain, whence ioulis received its name." [ ] zea was the birthplace of this poet, whose verses are by catullus called "tears." [ ] these "songs of the well," as they were called among the ancients, still exist in greece. _de guys_ tells us that he has seen "the young women in prince's island, assembled in the evening at a public well, suddenly strike up a dance, while others sung in concert to them." [ ] "the inhabitants of syra, both ancient and modern, may be considered as the worshippers of water. the old fountain, at which the nymphs of the island assembled in the earliest ages, exists in its original state; the same rendezvous as it was formerly, whether of love and gallantry, or of gossiping and tale-telling. it is near to the town, and the most limpid water gushes continually from the solid rock. it is regarded by the inhabitants with a degree of religious veneration; and they p reserve a tradition, that the pilgrims of old time, in their way to delos, resorted hither for purification."_--clarke_. [ ] "violet-crowned athens."--_pindar_. [ ] the whole of this scene was suggested by pliny's account of the artist pausias and his mistress glycera, _lib_. c. . [ ] the traveller shaw mentions a beautiful rill in barbary, which is received into a large basin called _shrub wee krub_, "drink and away"-- there being great danger of meeting with thieves and assassins in such places. [ ] the arabian shepherd has a peculiar ceremony in weaning the young camel; when the proper time arrives, he turns the camel towards the rising star, canopus, and says, "do you see canopus? from this moment you taste not another drop of milk."--_richardson_. [ ] "whoever returns from a pilgrimage to mecca hangs this plant (the mitre-shaped aloe) over his street door, as a token of his having performed this holy journey."--_hasselquist_. [ ] this form of notice to the caravans to prepare for marching was applied by hafiz to the necessity of relinquishing the pleasures of this world, and preparing for death:--"for me what room is there for pleasure in the bower of beauty, when every moment the bell makes proclamation, 'bind on your burden'?" [ ] the watchmen, in the camp of the caravans, go their rounds, crying one after another, "god is one," etc. [ ] "it was customary," says irwin, "to light up fires on the mountains, within view of cosseir, to give notice of the approach of the caravans that came from the nile." [ ] the hume. [ ] the name which the greeks give to the virgin mary. alciphron: a fragment. letter i. from alciphron at alexandria to cleon at athens. well may you wonder at my flight from those fair gardens in whose bowers lingers whate'er of wise and bright, of beauty's smile or wisdom's light, is left to grace this world of ours. well may my comrades as they roam on such sweet eyes as this inquire why i have left that happy home where all is found that all desire, and time hath wings that never tire: where bliss in all the countless shapes that fancy's self to bliss hath given comes clustering round like roadside grapes that woo the traveller's lip at even; where wisdom flings not joy away-- as pallas in the stream they say once flung her flute--but smiling owns that woman's lip can send forth tones worth all the music of those spheres so many dream of but none hears; where virtue's self puts on so well her sister pleasure's smile that, loath from either nymph apart to dwell, we finish by embracing both. yes, such the place of bliss, i own from all whose charms i just have flown; and even while thus to thee i write, and by the nile's dark flood recline, fondly, in thought i wing my flight back to those groves and gardens bright, and often think by this sweet light how lovelily they all must shine; can see that graceful temple throw down the green slope its lengthened shade, while on the marble steps below there sits some fair athenian maid, over some favorite volume bending; and by her side a youthful sage holds back the ringlets that descending would else o'ershadow all the page. but hence such thoughts!--nor let me grieve o'er scenes of joy that i but leave, as the bird quits awhile its nest to come again with livelier zest. and now to tell thee--what i fear thou'lt gravely smile at--_why_ i'm here tho' thro' my life's short, sunny dream, i've floated without pain or care like a light leaf down pleasure's stream, caught in each sparkling eddy there; tho' never mirth awaked a strain that my heart echoed not again; yet have i felt, when even most gay, sad thoughts--i knew not whence or why-- suddenly o'er my spirit fly, like clouds that ere we've time to say "how bright the sky is!" shade the sky. sometimes so vague, so undefined were these strange darkenings of my mind-- "while naught but joy around me beamed so causelessly they've come and flown, that not of life or earth they seemed, but shadows from some world unknown. more oft, however, 'twas the thought how soon that scene with all its play of life and gladness must decay-- those lips i prest, the hands i caught-- myself--the crowd that mirth had brought around me--swept like weeds away! this thought it was that came to shed o'er rapture's hour its worst alloys; and close as shade with sunshine wed its sadness with my happiest joys. oh, but for this disheartening voice stealing amid our mirth to say that all in which we most rejoice ere night may be the earthworm's prey-- _but_ for this bitter--only this-- full as the world is brimmed with bliss, and capable as feels my soul of draining to its dregs the whole, i should turn earth to heaven and be, if bliss made gods, a deity? thou know'st that night--the very last that 'mong my garden friends i past-- when the school held its feast of mirth to celebrate our founder's birth. and all that he in dreams but saw when he set pleasure on the throne of this bright world and wrote her law in human hearts was felt and known-- _not_ in unreal dreams but true, substantial joy as pulse e'er knew-- by hearts and bosoms, that each felt _itself_ the realm where pleasure dwelt. that night when all our mirth was o'er, the minstrels silent, and the feet of the young maidens heard no more-- so stilly was the time, so sweet, and such a calm came o'er that scene, where life and revel late had been-- lone as the quiet of some bay from which the sea hath ebbed away-- that still i lingered, lost in thought, gazing upon the stars of night, sad and intent as if i sought some mournful secret in their light; and asked them mid that silence why man, glorious man, alone must die while they, less wonderful than he, shine on thro' all eternity. that night--thou haply may'st forget its loveliness--but 'twas a night to make earth's meanest slave regret leaving a world so soft and bright. on one side in the dark blue sky lonely and radiant was the eye of jove himself, while on the other, 'mong stars that came out one by one, the young moon--like the roman mother among her living jewels--shone. "oh that from yonder orbs," i thought, "pure and eternal as they are, "there could to earth some power be brought, "some charm with their own essence fraught "to make man deathless as a star, "and open to his vast desires "a course, as boundless and sublime "as that which waits those comet-fires, "that burn and roam throughout all time!" while thoughts like these absorbed my mind, that weariness which earthly bliss however sweet still leaves behind, as if to show how earthly 'tis, came lulling o'er me and i laid my limbs at that fair statue's base-- that miracle, which art hath made of all the choice of nature's grace-- to which so oft i've knelt and sworn. that could a living maid like her unto this wondering world be born, i would myself turn worshipper. sleep came then o'er me--and i seemed to be transported far away to a bleak desert plain where gleamed one single, melancholy ray. throughout that darkness dimly shed from a small taper in the hand of one who pale as are the dead before me took his spectral stand, and said while awfully a smile came o'er the wanness of his cheek-- "go and beside the sacred nile "you'll find the eternal life you seek." soon as he spoke these words the hue of death o'er all his features grew like the pale morning when o'er night she gains the victory full of light; while the small torch he held became a glory in his hand whose flame brightened the desert suddenly, even to the far horizon's line-- along whose level i could see gardens and groves that seemed to shine as if then o'er them freshly played a vernal rainbow's rich cascade; and music floated every where, circling, as 'twere itself the air, and spirits on whose wings the hue of heaven still lingered round me flew, till from all sides such splendors broke, that with the excess of light i woke! such was my dream;--and i confess tho' none of all our creedless school e'er conned, believed, or reverenced less the fables of the priest-led fool who tells us of a soul, a mind, separate and pure within us shrined, which is to live--ah, hope too bright!-- for ever in yon fields of light; who fondly thinks the guardian eyes of gods are on him--as if blest and blooming in their own blue skies the eternal gods were not too wise to let weak man disturb their rest!-- tho' thinking of such creeds as thou and all our garden sages think, yet is there something, i allow, in dreams like this--a sort of link with worlds unseen which from the hour i first could lisp my thoughts till now hath mastered me with spell-like power. and who can tell, as we're combined of various atoms--some refined, like those that scintillate and play in the fixt stars--some gross as they that frown in clouds or sleep in clay-- who can be sure but 'tis the best and brightest atoms of our frame, those most akin to stellar flame, that shine out thus, when we're at rest;-- even as the stars themselves whose light comes out but in the silent night. or is it that there lurks indeed some truth in man's prevailing creed and that our guardians from on high come in that pause from toil and sin to put the senses' curtain by and on the wakeful soul look in! vain thought!--but yet, howe'er it be, dreams more than once have proved to me oracles, truer far than oak or dove or tripod ever spoke. and 'twas the words--thou'lt hear and smile-- the words that phantom seemed to speak-- "go and beside the sacred nile "you'll find the eternal life you seek"-- that haunting me by night, by day, at length as with the unseen hand of fate itself urged me away from athens to this holy land; where 'mong the secrets still untaught, the mysteries that as yet nor sun nor eye hath reached--oh, blessed thought!-- may sleep this everlasting one. farewell--when to our garden friends thou talk'st of the wild dream that sends the gayest of their school thus far, wandering beneath canopus' star, tell them that wander where he will or howsoe'er they now condemn his vague and vain pursuit he still is worthy of the school and them;-- still all their own--nor e'er forgets even while his heart and soul pursue the eternal light which never sets, the many meteor joys that _do_, but seeks them, hails them with delight where'er they meet his longing sight. and if his life _must_ wane away like other lives at least the day, the hour it lasts shall like a fire with incense fed in sweets expire. letter ii. from the same to the same. _memphis_. 'tis true, alas--the mysteries and the lore i came to study on this, wondrous shore. are all forgotten in the new delights. the strange, wild joys that fill my days and nights. instead of dark, dull oracles that speak from subterranean temples, those _i_ seek come from the breathing shrines where beauty lives, and love, her priest, the soft responses gives. instead of honoring isis in those rites at coptos held, i hail her when she lights her first young crescent on the holy stream-- when wandering youths and maidens watch her beam and number o'er the nights she hath to run, ere she again embrace her bridegroom sun. while o'er some mystic leaf that dimly lends a clew into past times the student bends, and by its glimmering guidance learns to tread back thro' the shadowy knowledge of the dead-- the only skill, alas, _i_ yet can claim lies in deciphering some new loved-one's name-- some gentle missive hinting time and place, in language soft as memphian reed can trace. and where--oh where's the heart that could withstand the unnumbered witcheries of this sun-born land, where first young pleasure's banner was unfurled and love hath temples ancient as the world! where mystery like the veil by beauty worn hides but to win and shades but to adorn; where that luxurious melancholy born of passion and of genius sheds a gloom making joy holy;--where the bower and tomb stand side by side and pleasure learns from death the instant value of each moment's breath. couldst thou but see how like a poet's dream this lovely land now looks!--the glorious stream that late between its banks was seen to glide 'mong shrines and marble cities on each side glittering like jewels strung along a chain hath now sent forth its waters, and o'er plain and valley like a giant from his bed rising with outstretched limbs hath grandly spread. while far as sight can reach beneath as clear and blue a heaven as ever blest our sphere, gardens and pillared streets and porphyry domes and high-built temples fit to be the homes of mighty gods, and pyramids whose hour outlasts all time above the waters tower! then, too, the scenes of pomp and joy that make one theatre of this vast, peopled lake, where all that love, religion, commerce gives of life and motion ever moves and lives. here, up the steps of temples from the wave ascending in procession slow and grave. priests in white garments go, with sacred wands and silver cymbals gleaming in their hands; while there, rich barks--fresh from those sunny tracts far off beyond the sounding cataracts-- glide with their precious lading to the sea, plumes of bright birds, rhinoceros ivory, gems from the isle of meroe, and those grains of gold washed down by abyssinian rains. here where the waters wind into a bay shadowy and cool some pilgrims on their way to saïs or bubastus among beds of lotus flowers that close above their heads push their light barks, and there as in a bower, sing, talk, or sleep away the sultry hour; oft dipping in the nile, when faint with heat, that leaf from which its waters drink most sweet.-- while haply not far off beneath a bank of blossoming acacias many a prank is played in the cool current by a train of laughing nymphs, lovely as she,[ ] whose chain around two conquerors of the world was cast, but, for a third too feeble, broke at last. for oh! believe not them who dare to brand as poor in charms the women of this land. tho' darkened by that sun whose spirit flows thro' every vein and tinges as it goes, 'tis but the embrowning of the fruit that tells how rich within the soul of ripeness dwells-- the hue their own dark sanctuaries wear, announcing heaven in half-caught glimpses there. and never yet did tell-tale looks set free the secret of young hearts more tenderly. such eyes!--long, shadowy, with that languid fall of the fringed lids which may be seen in all who live beneath the sun's too ardent rays-- lending such looks as on their marriage days young maids cast down before a bridegroom's gaze! then for their grace--mark but the nymph-like shapes of the young village girls, when carrying grapes from green anthylla or light urns of flowers-- not our own sculpture in her happiest hours e'er imaged forth even at the touch of him[ ] whose touch was life, more luxury of limb! then, canst thou wonder if mid scenes like these i should forget all graver mysteries, all lore but love's, all secrets but that best in heaven or earth, the art of being blest! yet are there times--tho' brief i own their stay, like summer-clouds that shine themselves away-- moments of gloom, when even these pleasures pall upon my saddening heart and i recall that garden dream--that promise of a power, oh, were there such!--to lengthen out life's hour, on, on, as thro' a vista far away opening before us into endless day! and chiefly o'er my spirit did this thought come on that evening--bright as ever brought light's golden farewell to the world--when first the eternal pyramids of memphis burst awfully on my sight-standing sublime twixt earth and heaven, the watch-towers of time, from whose lone summit when his reign hath past from earth for ever he will look his last! there hung a calm and solemn sunshine round those mighty monuments, a hushing sound in the still air that circled them which stole like music of past times into my soul. i thought what myriads of the wise and brave and beautiful had sunk into the grave, since earth first saw these wonders--and i said "are things eternal only for the dead? "hath man no loftier hope than this which dooms "his only lasting trophies to be tombs? "but _'tis_ not so--earth, heaven, all nature shows "he _may_ become immortal--_may_ unclose "the wings within him wrapt, and proudly rise "redeemed from earth, a creature of the skies! "and who can say, among the written spells "from hermes' hand that in these shrines and cells "have from the flood lay hid there may not be "some secret clew to immortality, "some amulet whose spell can keep life's fire "awake within us never to expire! "'tis known that on the emerald table, hid "for ages in yon loftiest pyramid, "the thrice-great[ ] did himself engrave of old "the chymic mystery that gives endless gold. "and why may not this mightier secret dwell "within the same dark chambers? who can tell "but that those kings who by the written skill "of the emerald table called forth gold at will "and quarries upon quarries heapt and hurled, "to build them domes that might outstand the world-- "who knows, but that the heavenlier art which shares "the life of gods with man was also theirs-- "that they themselves, triumphant o'er the power "of fate and death, are living at this hour; "and these, the giant homes they still possess. "not tombs but everlasting palaces "within whose depths hid from the world above "even now they wander with the few they love, "thro' subterranean gardens, by a light "unknown on earth which hath nor dawn nor night! "else, why those deathless structures? why the grand "and hidden halls that undermine this land? "why else hath none of earth e'er dared to go "thro' the dark windings of that realm below, "nor aught from heaven itself except the god "of silence thro' those endless labyrinths trod?" thus did i dream--wild, wandering dreams, i own, but such as haunt me ever, if alone, or in that pause 'twixt joy and joy i be, like a ship husht between two waves at sea. then do these spirit whisperings like the sound of the dark future come appalling round; nor can i break the trance that holds me then, till high o'er pleasure's surge i mount again! even now for new adventure, new delight, my heart is on the wing;--this very night, the temple on that island halfway o'er from memphis' gardens to the eastern shore sends up its annual rite[ ] to her whose beams bring the sweet time of night-flowers and dreams; the nymph who dips her urn in silent lakes and turns to silvery dew each drop it takes;-- oh! not our dian of the north who chains in vestal ice the current of young veins, but she who haunts the gay bubastian[ ] grove and owns she sees from her bright heaven above, nothing on earth to match that heaven but love. think then what bliss will be abroad to-night!-- besides those sparkling nymphs who meet the sight day after day, familiar as the sun, coy buds of beauty yet unbreathed upon and all the hidden loveliness that lies,-- shut up as are the beams of sleeping eyes within these twilight shrines--tonight shall be let loose like birds for this festivity! and mark, 'tis nigh; already the sun bids his evening farewell to the pyramids. as he hath done age after age till they alone on earth seem ancient as his ray; while their great shadows stretching from the light look like the first colossal steps of night stretching across the valley to invade the distant hills of porphyry with their shade. around, as signals of the setting beam, gay, gilded flags on every housetop gleam: while, hark!--from all the temples a rich swell of music to the moon--farewell--farewell. [ ] cleopatra. [ ] apellas. [ ] the hermes trismegistus. [ ] the great festival of the moon. [ ] bubastis, or isis, was the diana of the egyptian mythology. letter iii. from the same to the same. _memphis_. there is some star--or may it be that moon we saw so near last night-- which comes athwart my destiny for ever with misleading light. if for a moment pure and wise and calm i feel there quick doth fall a spark from some disturbing eyes, that thro' my heart, soul, being flies, and makes a wildfire of it all. i've seen--oh, cleon, that this earth should e'er have given such beauty birth!-- that man--but, hold--hear all that past since yester-night from first to last. the rising of the moon, calm, slow, and beautiful, as if she came fresh from the elysian bowers below, was with a loud and sweet acclaim welcomed from every breezy height, where crowds stood waiting for her light. and well might they who viewed the scene then lit up all around them, say that never yet had nature been caught sleeping in a lovelier ray or rivalled her own noontide face with purer show of moonlight grace. memphis--still grand, tho' not the same unrivalled memphis that could seize from ancient thebes the crown of fame, and wear it bright thro' centuries-- now, in the moonshine, that came down like a last smile upon that crown. memphis, still grand among her lakes, her pyramids and shrines of fire, rose like a vision that half breaks on one who dreaming still awakes to music from some midnight choir: while to the west--where gradual sinks in the red sands from libya rolled. some mighty column or fair sphynx, that stood in kingly courts of old-- it seemed as, mid the pomps that shone thus gayly round him time looked on, waiting till all now bright and blest, should sink beneath him like the rest. no sooner had the setting sun proclaimed the festal rite begun, and mid their idol's fullest beams the egyptian world was all afloat, than i who live upon these streams like a young nile-bird turned my boat to the fair island on whose shores thro' leafy palms and sycamores already shone the moving lights of pilgrims hastening to the rites. while, far around like ruby sparks upon the water, lighted barks, of every form and kind--from those that down syene's cataract shoots, to the grand, gilded barge that rows to tambour's beat and breath of flutes, and wears at night in words of flame on the rich prow its master's name;-- all were alive and made this sea of cities busy as a hill of summer ants caught suddenly in the overflowing of a rill. landed upon the isle, i soon thro' marble alleys and small groves of that mysterious palm she loves, reached the fair temple of the moon; and there--as slowly thro' the last dim-lighted vestibule i past-- between the porphyry pillars twined with palm and ivy, i could see a band of youthful maidens wind in measured walk half dancingly, round a small shrine on which was placed that bird[ ] whose plumes of black and white wear in their hue by nature traced a type of the moon's shadowed light. in drapery like woven snow these nymphs were clad; and each below the rounded bosom loosely wore a dark blue zone or bandelet, with little silver stars all o'er as are the skies at midnight set. while in their tresses, braided thro', sparkled that flower of egypt's lakes, the silvery lotus in whose hue as much delight the young moon takes as doth the day-god to behold the lofty bean-flower's buds of gold. and, as they gracefully went round the worshipt bird, some to the beat of castanets, some to the sound of the shrill sistrum timed their feet; while others at each step they took a tinkling chain of silver shook. they seemed all fair--but there was one on whom the light had not yet shone, or shone but partly--so downcast she held her brow, as slow she past. and yet to me there seemed to dwell a charm about that unseen face-- a something in the shade that fell over that brow's imagined grace which won me more than all the best outshining beauties of the rest. and _her_ alone my eyes could see enchained by this sweet mystery; and her alone i watched as round she glided o'er that marble ground, stirring not more the unconscious air than if a spirit were moving there. till suddenly, wide open flew the temple's folding gates and threw a splendor from within, a flood of glory where these maidens stood. while with that light--as if the same rich source gave birth to both--there came a swell of harmony as grand as e'er was born of voice and band, filling the gorgeous aisles around with luxury of light and sound. then was it, by the flash that blazed full o'er her features--oh 'twas then, as startingly her eyes she raised, but quick let fall their lids again, i saw--not psyche's self when first upon the threshold of the skies she paused, while heaven's glory burst newly upon her downcast eyes, could look more beautiful or blush with holier shame than did this maid, whom now i saw in all that gush of splendor from the aisles, displayed. never--tho' well thou know'st how much i've felt the sway of beauty's star-- never did her bright influence touch my soul into its depths so far; and had that vision lingered there one minute more i should have flown, forgetful _who_ i was and where. and at her feet in worship thrown proffered my soul thro' life her own. but scarcely had that burst of light and music broke on ear and sight, than up the aisle the bird took wing as if on heavenly mission sent, while after him with graceful spring like some unearthly creatures, meant to live in that mixt element of light and song the young maids went; and she who in my heart had thrown a spark to burn for life was flown. in vain i tried to follow;--bands of reverend chanters filled the aisle: where'er i sought to pass, their wands motioned me back, while many a file of sacred nymphs--but ah, not they whom my eyes looked for thronged the way. perplext, impatient, mid this crowd of faces, lights--the o'erwhelming cloud of incense round me, and my blood full of its new-born fire--i stood, nor moved, nor breathed, but when i caught a glimpse of some blue, spangled zone, or wreath of lotus, which i thought like those she wore at distance shone. but no, 'twas vain--hour after hour, till my heart's throbbing turned to pain, and my strained eyesight lost its power, i sought her thus, but all in vain. at length, hot--wildered--in despair, i rushed into the cool night-air, and hurrying (tho' with many a look back to the busy temple) took my way along the moonlight shore, and sprung into my boat once more. there is a lake that to the north of memphis stretches grandly forth, upon whose silent shore the dead have a proud city of their own,[ ] with shrines and pyramids o'erspread-- where many an ancient kingly head slumbers, immortalized in stone; and where thro' marble grots beneath the lifeless, ranged like sacred things, nor wanting aught of life but breath, lie in their painted coverings, and on each new successive race that visit their dim haunts below look with the same unwithering face they wore three thousand years ago. there. silence, thoughtful god, who loves the neighborhood of death in groves of asphodel lies hid and weaves his hushing spell among the leaves-- nor ever noise disturbs the air save the low, humming, mournful sound of priests within their shrines at prayer for the fresh dead entombed around. 'twas toward this place of death--in mood made up of thoughts, half bright, half dark-- i now across the shining flood unconscious turned my light-winged bark. the form of that young maid in all its beauty was before me still; and oft i thought, if thus to call her image to my mind at will, if but the memory of that one bright look of hers for ever gone, was to my heart worth all the rest of woman-kind, beheld, possest-- what would it be if wholly mine, within these arms as in a shrine, hallowed by love, i saw her shine-- an idol, worshipt by the light of her own beauties, day and night-- if 'twas a blessing but to see and lose again, what would _this_ be? in thoughts like these--but often crost by darker threads--my mind was lost, till near that city of the dead, waked from my trance, i saw o'erhead-- as if by some enchanter bid suddenly from the wave to rise-- pyramid over pyramid tower in succession to the skies; while one, aspiring, as if soon, 'twould touch the heavens, rose over all; and, on its summit, the white moon rested as on a pedestal! the silence of the lonely tombs and temples round where naught was heard but the high palm-tree's tufted plumes, shaken at times by breeze or bird, formed a deep contrast to the scene of revel where i late had been; to those gay sounds that still came o'er, faintly from many a distant shore, and the unnumbered lights that shone far o'er the flood from memphis on to the moon's isle and babylon. my oars were lifted and my boat lay rocked upon the rippling stream; while my vague thoughts alike afloat, drifted thro' many an idle dream. with all of which, wild and unfixt as was their aim, that vision mixt, that bright nymph of the temple--now, with the same innocence of brow she wore within the lighted fane-- now kindling thro' each pulse and vein with passion of such deep-felt fire as gods might glory to inspire;-- and now--oh darkness of the tomb, that must eclipse even light like hers! cold, dead, and blackening mid the gloom of those eternal sepulchres. scarce had i turned my eyes away from that dark death-place, at the thought, when by the sound of dashing spray from a light oar my ear was caught, while past me, thro' the moonlight, sailed. a little gilded bark that bore two female figures closely veiled and mantled towards that funeral shore. they landed--and the boat again put off across the watery plain. shall i confess--to _thee_ i may-- that never yet hath come the chance of a new music, a new ray from woman's voice, from woman's glance, which--let it find me how it might, in joy or grief--i did not bless, and wander after as a light leading to undreamt, happiness. and chiefly now when hopes so vain were stirring in my heart and brain, when fancy had allured my soul into a chase as vague and far as would be his who fixt his goal in the horizon or some star-- _any_ bewilderment that brought more near to earth my high-flown thought-- the faintest glimpse of joy, less pure, less high and heavenly, but more sure, came welcome--and was then to me what the first flowery isle must be to vagrant birds blown out to sea. quick to the shore i urged my bark, and by the bursts of moonlight shed between the lofty tombs could mark those figures as with hasty tread they glided on--till in the shade of a small pyramid, which thro' some boughs of palm its peak displayed, they vanisht instant from my view. i hurried to the spot--no trace of life was in that lonely place; and had the creed i hold by taught of other worlds i might have thought some mocking spirits had from thence come in this guise to cheat my sense. at length, exploring darkly round the pyramid's smooth sides, i found an iron portal--opening high 'twixt peak and base--and, with a prayer to the bliss-loving moon whose eye alone beheld me sprung in there. downward the narrow stairway led thro' many a duct obscure and dread, a labyrinth for mystery made, with wanderings onward, backward, round, and gathering still, where'er it wound. but deeper density of shade. scarce had i asked myself, "can aught "that man delights in sojourn here?"-- when, suddenly, far off, i caught a glimpse of light, remote, but clear-- whose welcome glimmer seemed to pour from some alcove or cell that ended the long, steep, marble corridor, thro' which i now, all hope, descended. never did spartan to his bride with warier foot at midnight glide. it seemed as echo's self were dead in this dark place, so mute my tread. reaching at length that light, i saw-- oh! listen to the scene now raised before my eyes--then guess the awe, the still, rapt awe with which i gazed. 'twas a small chapel, lined around with the fair, spangling marble found in many a ruined shrine that stands half seen above the libyan sands. the walls were richly sculptured o'er, and charactered with that dark lore of times before the flood, whose key was lost in the "universal sea."-- while on the roof was pictured bright the theban beetle as he shines, when the nile's mighty flow declines and forth the creature springs to light, with life regenerate in his wings:-- emblem of vain imaginings! of a new world, when this is gone, in which the spirit still lives on! direct beneath this type, reclined on a black granite altar, lay a female form, in crystal shrined, and looking fresh as if the ray of soul had fled but yesterday, while in relief of silvery hue graved on the altar's front were seen a branch of lotus, broken in two, as that fair creature's life had been, and a small bird that from its spray was winging like her soul away. but brief the glimpse i now could spare to the wild, mystic wonders round; for there was yet one wonder there that held me as by witchery bound. the lamp that thro' the chamber shed its vivid beam was at the head of her who on that altar slept; and near it stood when first i came-- bending her brow, as if she kept sad watch upon its silent flame-- a female form as yet so placed between the lamp's strong glow and me, that i but saw, in outline traced, the shadow of her symmetry. yet did my heart--i scarce knew why-- even at that shadowed shape beat high. nor was it long ere full in sight the figure turned; and by the light that touched her features as she bent over the crystal monument, i saw 'twas she--the same--the same-- that lately stood before me, brightening the holy spot where she but came and went again like summer lightning! upon the crystal o'er the breast of her who took that silent rest, there was a cross of silver lying-- another type of that blest home, which hope and pride and fear of dying build for us in a world to come:-- this silver cross the maiden raised to her pure lips:--then, having gazed some minutes on that tranquil face, sleeping in all death's mournful grace, upward she turned her brow serene, as if intent on heaven those eyes saw them nor roof nor cloud between their own pure orbits and the skies, and, tho' her lips no motion made, and that fixt look was all her speech, i saw that the rapt spirit prayed deeper within than words could reach. strange power of innocence, to turn to its own hue whate'er comes near, and make even vagrant passion burn with purer warmth within its sphere! she who but one short hour before had come like sudden wild-fire o'er my heart and brain--whom gladly even from that bright temple in the face of those proud ministers of heaven, i would have borne in wild embrace, and risked all punishment, divine and human, but to make her mine;-- she, she was now before me, thrown by fate itself into my arms-- there standing, beautiful, alone, with naught to guard her but her charms. yet did i, then--did even a breath from my parched lips, too parched to move, disturb a scene where thus, beneath earth's silent covering, youth and death held converse thro' undying love? no--smile and taunt me as thou wilt-- tho' but to gaze thus was delight, yet seemed it like a wrong, a guilt, to win by stealth so pure a sight: and rather than a look profane should then have met those thoughtful eyes, or voice or whisper broke the chain that linked her spirit with the skies, i would have gladly in that place from which i watched her heavenward face, let my heart break, without one beat that could disturb a prayer so sweet. gently, as if on every tread. my life, my more than life depended, back thro' the corridor that led to this blest scene i now ascended, and with slow seeking and some pain and many a winding tried in vain emerged to upper earth again. the sun had freshly risen, and down the marble hills of araby, scattered as from a conqueror's crown his beams into that living sea. there seemed a glory in his light, newly put on--as if for pride. of the high homage paid this night to his own isis, his young bride., now fading feminine away in her proud lord's superior ray. my mind's first impulse was to fly at once from this entangling net-- new scenes to range, new loves to try, or in mirth, wine and luxury of every sense that might forget. but vain the effort--spell-bound still, i lingered, without power or will to turn my eyes from that dark door, which now enclosed her 'mong the dead; oft fancying, thro' the boughs that o'er the sunny pile their flickering shed. 'twas her light form again i saw starting to earth--still pure and bright, but wakening, as i hoped, less awe, thus seen by morning's natural light, than in that strange, dim cell at night. but no, alas--she ne'er returned: nor yet--tho' still i watch--nor yet, tho' the red sun for hours hath burned, and now in his mid course hath met the peak of that eternal pile he pauses still at noon to bless, standing beneath his downward smile, like a great spirit shadowless!-- nor yet she comes--while here, alone, sauntering thro' this death-peopled place, where no heart beats except my own, or 'neath a palm-tree's shelter thrown, by turns i watch and rest and trace these lines that are to waft to thee my last night's wondrous history. dost thou remember, in that isle of our own sea where thou and i lingered so long, so happy a while, till all the summer flowers went by-- how gay it was when sunset brought to the cool well our favorite maids-- some we had won, and some we sought-- to dance within the fragrant shades, and till the stars went down attune their fountain hymns[ ] to the young moon? that time, too--oh, 'tis like a dream-- when from scamander's holy tide i sprung as genius of the stream, and bore away that blooming bride, who thither came, to yield her charms (as phrygian maids are wont ere wed) into the cold scamander's arms, but met and welcomed mine, instead-- wondering as on my neck she fell, how river-gods could love so well! who would have thought that he who roved like the first bees of summer then, rifling each sweet nor ever loved but the free hearts that loved again, readily as the reed replies to the least breath that round it sighs-- is the same dreamer who last night stood awed and breathless at the sight of one egyptian girl; and now wanders among these tombs with brow pale, watchful, sad, as tho' he just, himself, had risen from out their dust! yet so it is--and the same thirst for something high and pure, above this withering world, which from the first made me drink deep of woman's love-- as the one joy, to heaven most near of all our hearts can meet with here-- still burns me up, still keeps awake a fever naught but death can slake. farewell; whatever may befall-- or bright, or dark--thou'lt know it all. [ ] the ibis. [ ] necropolis, or the city of the dead, to the south of memphis. [ ] these songs of the well, as they were called by the ancients, are still common in the greek isles. letter iv. from orcus, high priest of memphis, to decius, the praetorian prefect. rejoice, my friend, rejoice;--the youthful chief of that light sect which mocks at all belief, and gay and godless makes the present hour its only heaven, is now within our power. smooth, impious school!--not all the weapons aimed, at priestly creeds, since first a creed was framed, e'er struck so deep as that sly dart they wield, the bacchant's pointed spear in laughing flowers concealed. and oh, 'twere victory to this heart, as sweet as any _thou _canst boast--even when the feet of thy proud war-steed wade thro' christian blood, to wrap this scoffer in faith's blinding hood, and bring him tamed and prostrate to implore the vilest gods even egypt's saints adore. what!--do these sages think, to _them_ alone the key of this world's happiness is known? that none but they who make such proud parade of pleasure's smiling favors win the maid, or that religion keeps no secret place, no niche in her dark fanes for love to grace? fools!--did they know how keen the zest that's given to earthly joy when seasoned well with heaven; how piety's grave mask improves the hue of pleasure's laughing features, half seen thro', and how the priest set aptly within reach of two rich worlds, traffics for bliss with each, would they not, decius--thou, whom the ancient tie 'twixt sword and altar makes our best ally-- would they not change their creed, their craft, for ours? leave the gross daylight joys that in their bowers languish with too much sun, like o'er-blown flowers, for the veiled loves, the blisses undisplayed that slyly lurk within the temple's shade? and, 'stead of haunting the trim garden's school-- where cold philosophy usurps a rule, like the pale moon's, o'er passion's heaving tide, till pleasure's self is chilled by wisdom's pride-- be taught by _us_, quit shadows for the true, substantial joys we sager priests pursue, who far too wise to theorize on bliss or pleasure's substance for its shade to miss. preach _other_ worlds but live for only _this_:- thanks to the well-paid mystery round us flung, which, like its type the golden cloud that hung o'er jupiter's love-couch its shade benign, round human frailty wraps a veil divine. still less should they presume, weak wits, that they alone despise the craft of us who pray;-- still less their creedless vanity deceive with the fond thought that we who pray believe. believe!--apis forbid--forbid it, all ye monster gods before whose shrines we fall-- deities framed in jest as if to try how far gross man can vulgarize the sky; how far the same low fancy that combines into a drove of brutes yon zodiac's signs, and turns that heaven itself into a place of sainted sin and deified disgrace, can bring olympus even to shame more deep, stock it with things that earth itself holds cheap. fish, flesh, and fowl, the kitchen's sacred brood, which egypt keeps for worship, not for food-- all, worthy idols of a faith that sees in dogs, cats, owls, and apes, divinities! believe!--oh, decius, thou, who feel'st no care for things divine beyond the soldier's share, who takes on trust the faith for which he bleeds, a good, fierce god to swear by, all he needs-- little canst thou, whose creed around thee hangs loose as thy summer war-cloak guess the pangs of loathing and self-scorn with which a heart stubborn as mine is acts the zealot's part-- the deep and dire disgust with which i wade thro' the foul juggling of this holy trade-- this mud profound of mystery where the feet at every step sink deeper in deceit. oh! many a time, when, mid the temple's blaze, o'er prostrate fools the sacred cist i raise, did i not keep still proudly in my mind the power this priestcraft gives me o'er mankind-- a lever, of more might, in skilful hand, to move this world, than archimede e'er planned-- i should in vengeance of the shame i feel at my own mockery crush the slaves that kneel besotted round; and--like that kindred breed of reverend, well-drest crocodiles they feed, at famed arsinoë[ ]--make my keepers bless, with their last throb, my sharp-fanged holiness. say, _is_ it to be borne, that scoffers, vain of their own freedom from the altar's chain, should mock thus all that thou thy blood hast sold. and i my truth, pride, freedom, to uphold? it must not be:--think'st thou that christian sect, whose followers quick as broken waves, erect their crests anew and swell into a tide, that threats to sweep away our shrines of pride-- think'st thou with all their wondrous spells even they would triumph thus, had not the constant play of wit's resistless archery cleared their way?-- that mocking spirit, worst of all the foes, our solemn fraud, our mystic mummery knows, whose wounding flash thus ever 'mong the signs of a fast-falling creed, prelusive shines, threatening such change as do the awful freaks of summer lightning ere the tempest breaks. but, to my point--a youth of this vain school, but one, whom doubt itself hath failed to cool down to that freezing point where priests despair of any spark from the altar catching there-- hath, some nights since--it was, me thinks, the night that followed the full moon's great annual rite-- thro' the dark, winding ducts that downward stray to these earth--hidden temples, tracked his way, just at that hour when, round the shrine, and me, the choir of blooming nymphs thou long'st to see, sing their last night-hymn in the sanctuary. the clangor of the marvellous gate that stands at the well's lowest depth--which none but hands of new, untaught adventurers, from above, who know not the safe path, e'er dare to move-- gave signal that a foot profane was nigh:-- 'twas the greek youth, who, by that morning's sky, had been observed, curiously wandering round the mighty fanes of our sepulchral ground. instant, the initiate's trials were prepared,-- the fire, air, water; all that orpheus dared, that plato, that the bright-haired samian[ ] past, with trembling hope, to come to--_what_, at last? go, ask the dupes of priestcraft; question him who mid terrific sounds and spectres dim walks at eleusis; ask of those who brave the dazzling miracles of mithra's cave with its seven starry gates; ask all who keep those terrible night-mysteries where they weep and howl sad dirges to the answering breeze. o'er their dead gods, their mortal deities-- amphibious, hybrid things that died as men, drowned, hanged, empaled, to rise as gods again;-- ask _them_, what mighty secret lurks below this seven-fold mystery--can they tell thee? no; gravely they keep that only secret, well and fairly kept--that they have none to tell; and duped themselves console their humbled pride by duping thenceforth all mankind beside. and such the advance in fraud since orpheus' time-- that earliest master of our craft sublime-- so many minor mysteries, imps of fraud, from the great orphic egg have winged abroad, that, still to uphold our temple's ancient boast, and seem most holy, we must cheat the most; work the best miracles, wrap nonsense round in pomp and darkness till it seems profound; play on the hopes, the terrors of mankind, with changeful skill; and make the human mind like our own sanctuary, where no ray but by the priest's permission wins its way-- where thro' the gloom as wave our wizard rods. monsters at will are conjured into gods; while reason like a grave-faced mummy stands with her arms swathed in hieroglyphic bands. but chiefly in that skill with which we use man's wildest passions for religion's views, yoking them to her car like fiery steeds, lies the main art in which our craft succeeds. and oh be blest, ye men of yore, whose toil hath, for our use, scooped out from egypt's soil this hidden paradise, this mine of fanes, gardens and palaces where pleasure reigns in a rich, sunless empire of her own, with all earth's luxuries lighting up her throne:-- a realm for mystery made, which undermines the nile itself and, 'neath the twelve great shrines that keep initiation's holy rite, spreads its long labyrinths of unearthly light. a light that knows no change--its brooks that run too deep for day, its gardens without sun, where soul and sense, by turns, are charmed, surprised. and all that bard or prophet e'er devised for man's elysium, priests have realized. here, at this moment--all his trials past. and heart and nerve unshrinking to the last-- our new initiate roves--as yet left free to wander thro' this realm of mystery; feeding on such illusions as prepare the soul, like mist o'er waterfalls, to wear all shapes and lines at fancy's varying will, thro' every shifting aspect, vapor still;-- vague glimpses of the future, vistas shown. by scenic skill, into that world unknown. which saints and sinners claim alike their own; and all those other witching, wildering arts, illusions, terrors, that make human hearts, ay, even the wisest and the hardiest quail to _any_ goblin throned behind a veil. yes--such the spells shall haunt his eye, his ear, mix wild his night-dreams, form his atmosphere; till, if our sage be not tamed down, at length, his wit, his wisdom, shorn of all their strength, like phrygian priests, in honor of the shrine-- if he become not absolutely mine, body and soul and like the tame decoy which wary hunters of wild doves employ draw converts also, lure his brother wits to the dark cage where his own spirit flits. and give us if not saints good hypocrites-- if i effect not this then be it said the ancient spirit of our craft hath fled, gone with that serpent-god the cross hath chased to hiss its soul out in the theban waste. [ ] for the trinkets with which the sacred crocodiles were ornamented see the "epicurean" chap x. [ ] pythagoras. lalla rookh to samuel rogers, esq. this eastern romance is inscribed by his very grateful and affectionate friend, thomas moore. lalla rookh in the eleventh year of the reign of aurungzebe, abdalla, king of the lesser bucharia, a lineal descendant from the great zingis, having abdicated the throne in favor of his son, set out on a pilgrimage to the shrine of the prophet; and, passing into india through the delightful valley of cashmere, rested for a short time at delhi on his way. he was entertained by aurungzebe in a style of magnificent hospitality, worthy alike of the visitor and the host, and was afterwards escorted with the same splendor to surat, where he embarked for arabia.[ ] during the stay of the royal pilgrim at delhi, a marriage was agreed upon between the prince, his son, and the youngest daughter of the emperor, lalla rookh; [ ]--a princess described by the poets of her time as more beautiful than leila,[ ] shirine,[ ] dewildé,[ ] or any of those heroines whose names and loves embellish the songs of persia and hindostan. it was intended that the nuptials should be celebrated at cashmere; where the young king, as soon as the cares of the empire would permit, was to meet, for the first time, his lovely bride, and, after a few months' repose in that enchanting valley, conduct her over the snowy hills into bucharia. the day of lalla rookh's departure from delhi was as splendid as sunshine and pageantry could make it. the bazaars and baths were all covered with the richest tapestry; hundreds of gilded barges upon the jumna floated with their banners shining in the water; while through the streets groups of beautiful children went strewing the most delicious flowers around, as in that persian festival called the scattering of the roses;[ ] till every part of the city was as fragrant as if a caravan of musk from khoten had passed through it. the princess, having taken leave of her kind father, who at parting hung a cornelian of yemen round her neck, on which was inscribed a verse from the koran, and having sent a considerable present to the fakirs, who kept up the perpetual lamp in her sister's tomb, meekly ascended the palankeen prepared for her; and while aurungzebe stood to take a last look from his balcony, the procession moved slowly on the road to lahore. seldom had the eastern world seen a cavalcade so superb. from the gardens in the suburbs to the imperial palace, it was one unbroken line of splendor. the gallant appearance of the rajahs and mogul lords, distinguished by those insignia of the emperor's favor,[ ] the feathers of the egret of cashmere in their turbans, and the small silver-rimm'd kettle-drums at the bows of their saddles;--the costly armor of their cavaliers, who vied, on this occasion, with the guards of the great keder khan,[ ] in the brightness of their silver battle-axes and the massiness of their maces of gold;--the glittering of the gilt pine-apple[ ] on the tops of the palankeens;--the embroidered trappings of the elephants, bearing on their backs small turrets, in the shape of little antique temples, within which the ladies of lalla rookh lay as it were enshrined; --the rose-colored veils of the princess's own sumptuous litter,[ ] at the front of which a fair young female slave sat fanning her through the curtains, with feathers of the argus pheasant's wing;[ ]--and the lovely troop of tartarian and cashmerian maids of honor, whom the young king had sent to accompany his bride, and who rode on each side of the litter, upon small arabian horses;--all was brilliant, tasteful, and magnificent, and pleased even the critical and fastidious fadladeen, great nazir or chamberlain of the haram, who was borne in his palankeen immediately after the princess, and considered himself not the least important personage of the pageant. fadladeen was a judge of everything,--from the pencilling of a circassian's eyelids to the deepest questions of science and literature; from the mixture of a conserve of rose-leaves to the composition of an epic poem: and such influence had his opinion upon the various tastes of the day, that all the cooks and poets of delhi stood in awe of him. his political conduct and opinions were founded upon that line of sadi,-- "should the prince at noon-day say, it is night, declare that you behold the moon and stars."--and his zeal for religion, of which aurungzebe was a munificent protector,[ ] was about as disinterested as that of the goldsmith who fell in love with the diamond eyes of the idol of jaghernaut.[ ] during the first days of their journey, lalla rookh, who had passed all her life within the shadow of the royal gardens of delhi,[ ] found enough in the beauty of the scenery through which they passed to interest her mind, and delight her imagination; and when at evening or in the heat of the day they turned off from the high road to those retired and romantic places which had been selected for her encampments,--sometimes, on the banks of a small rivulet, as clear as the waters of the lake of pearl;[ ] sometimes under the sacred shade of a banyan tree, from which the view opened upon a glade covered with antelopes; and often in those hidden, embowered spots, described by one from the isles of the west, [ ]as "places of melancholy, delight, and safety, where all the company around was wild peacocks and turtle-doves;"--she felt a charm in these scenes, so lovely and so new to her, which, for a time, made her indifferent to every other amusement. but lalla rookh was young, and the young love variety; nor could the conversation of her ladies and the great chamberlain, fadladeen,(the only persons, of course, admitted to her pavilion.) sufficiently enliven those many vacant hours, which were devoted neither to the pillow nor the palankeen. there was a little persian slave who sung sweetly to the vina, and who, now and then, lulled the princess to sleep with the ancient ditties of her country, about the loves of wavnak and ezra,[ ] the fair-haired zal and his mistress rodahver,[ ] not forgetting the combat of rustam with the terrible white demon.[ ] at other times she was amused by those graceful dancing-girls of delhi, who had been permitted by the bramins of the great pagoda to attend her, much to the horror of the good mussulman fadladeen, who could see nothing graceful or agreeable in idolaters, and to whom the very tinkling of their golden anklets[ ] was an abomination. but these and many other diversions were repeated till they lost all their charm, and the nights and noon-days were beginning to move heavily, when, at length, it was recollected that, among the attendants sent by the bridegroom, was a young poet of cashmere, much celebrated throughout the valley for his manner of reciting the stories of the east, on whom his royal master had conferred the privilege of being admitted to the pavilion of the princess, that he might help to beguile the tediousness of the journey by some of his most agreeable recitals. at the mention of a poet, fadladeen elevated his critical eyebrows, and, having refreshed his faculties with a dose of that delicious opium which is distilled from the black poppy of the thebais, gave orders for the minstrel to be forthwith introduced into the presence. the princess, who had once in her life seen a poet from behind the screens of gauze in her father's hall, and had conceived from that specimen no very favorable ideas of the caste, expected but little in this new exhibition to interest her;--she felt inclined, however, to alter her opinion on the very first appearance of feramorz. he was a youth about lalla rookh's own age, and graceful as that idol of women, crishna,[ ]--such as he appears to their young imaginations, heroic, beautiful, breathing music from his very eyes, and exalting the religion of his worshippers into love. his dress was simple, yet not without some marks of costliness; and the ladies of the princess were not long in discovering that the cloth, which encircled his high tartarian cap, was of the most delicate kind that the shawl-goats of tibet supply.[ ] here and there, too, over his vest, which was confined by a flowered girdle of kashan, hung strings of fine pearl, disposed with an air of studied negligence;--nor did the exquisite embroidery of his sandals escape the observation of these fair critics; who, however they might give way to fadladeen upon the unimportant topics of religion and government, had the spirit of martyrs in everything relating to such momentous matters as jewels and embroidery. for the purpose of relieving the pauses of recitation by music, the young cashmerian held in his hand a kitar;--such as, in old times, the arab maids of the west used to listen to by moonlight in the gardens of the alhambra--and, having premised, with much humility, that the story he was about to relate was founded on the adventures of that veiled prophet of khorassan,[ ] who, in the year of the hegira , created such alarm throughout the eastern empire, made an obeisance to the princess, and thus began:-- the veiled prophet of khorassan.[ ] in that delightful province of the sun, the first of persian lands he shines upon. where all the loveliest children of his beam, flowerets and fruits, blush over every stream,[ ] and, fairest of all streams, the murga roves among merou's[ ] bright palaces and groves;-- there on that throne, to which the blind belief of millions raised him, sat the prophet-chief, the great mokanna. o'er his features hung the veil, the silver veil, which he had flung in mercy there, to hide from mortal sight his dazzling brow, till man could bear its light. for, far less luminous, his votaries said, were even the gleams, miraculously shed o'er moussa's[ ] cheek, when down the mount he trod all glowing from the presence of his god! on either side, with ready hearts and hands, his chosen guard of bold believers stands; young fire-eyed disputants, who deem their swords, on points of faith, more eloquent than words; and such their zeal, there's not a youth with brand uplifted there, but at the chief's command, would make his own devoted heart its sheath, and bless the lips that doomed so dear a death! in hatred to the caliph's hue of night,[ ] their vesture, helms and all, is snowy white; their weapons various--some equipt for speed, with javelins of the light kathaian reed;[ ] or bows of buffalo horn and shining quivers filled with the stems[ ] that bloom on iran's rivers;[ ] while some, for war's more terrible attacks, wield the huge mace and ponderous battle-axe; and as they wave aloft in morning's beam the milk-white plumage of their helms, they seem like a chenar-tree grove[ ] when winter throws o'er all its tufted heads his feathery snows. between the porphyry pillars that uphold the rich moresque-work of the roof of gold, aloft the haram's curtained galleries rise, where thro' the silken net-work, glancing eyes, from time to time, like sudden gleams that glow thro' autumn clouds, shine o'er the pomp below.-- what impious tongue, ye blushing saints, would dare to hint that aught but heaven hath placed you there? or that the loves of this light world could bind, in their gross chain, your prophet's soaring mind? no--wrongful thought!--commissioned from above to people eden's bowers with shapes of love, (creatures so bright, that the same lips and eyes they wear on earth will serve in paradise,) there to recline among heaven's native maids, and crown the elect with bliss that never fades-- well hath the prophet-chief his bidding done; and every beauteous race beneath the sun, from those who kneel at brahma's burning fount,[ ] to the fresh nymphs bounding o'er yemen's mounts; from persia's eyes of full and fawnlike ray, to the small, half-shut glances of kathay;[ ] and georgia's bloom, and azab's darker smiles, and the gold ringlets of the western isles; all, all are there;--each land its flower hath given, to form that fair young nursery for heaven! but why this pageant now? this armed array? what triumph crowds the rich divan to-day with turbaned heads of every hue and race, bowing before that veiled and awful face, like tulip-beds,[ ] of different shape and dyes, bending beneath the invisible west-wind's sighs! what new-made mystery now for faith to sign and blood to seal, as genuine and divine, what dazzling mimicry of god's own power hath the bold prophet planned to grace this hour? not such the pageant now, tho' not less proud; yon warrior youth advancing from the crowd with silver bow, with belt of broidered crape and fur-bound bonnet of bucharian shape.[ ] so fiercely beautiful in form and eye, like war's wild planet in a summer sky; that youth to-day,--a proselyte, worth hordes of cooler spirits and less practised swords,-- is come to join, all bravery and belief, the creed and standard of the heaven-sent chief. tho' few his years, the west already knows young azim's fame;--beyond the olympian snows ere manhood darkened o'er his downy cheek, o'erwhelmed in fight and captive to the greek,[ ] he lingered there, till peace dissolved his chains;-- oh! who could even in bondage tread the plains of glorious greece nor feel his spirit rise kindling within him? who with heart and eyes could walk where liberty had been nor see the shining foot-prints of her deity, nor feel those god-like breathings in the air which mutely told her spirit had been there? not he, that youthful warrior,--no, too well for his soul's quiet worked the awakening spell; and now, returning to his own dear land, full of those dreams of good that, vainly grand, haunt the young heart,--proud views of human-kind, of men to gods exalted and refined,-- false views like that horizon's fair deceit where earth and heaven but _seem_, alas, to meet!-- soon as he heard an arm divine was raised to right the nations, and beheld, emblazed on the white flag mokanna's host unfurled, those words of sunshine, "freedom to the world," at once his faith, his sword, his soul obeyed the inspiring summons; every chosen blade that fought beneath that banner's sacred text seemed doubly edged for this world and the next; and ne'er did faith with her smooth bandage bind eyes more devoutly willing to be blind, in virtue's cause;--never was soul inspired with livelier trust in what it most desired, than his, the enthusiast there, who kneeling, pale with pious awe before that silver veil, believes the form to which he bends his knee some pure, redeeming angel sent to free this fettered world from every bond and stain, and bring its primal glories back again! low as young azim knelt, that motley crowd of all earth's nations sunk the knee and bowed, with shouts of "alla!" echoing long and loud; which high in air, above the prophet's head, hundreds of banners to the sunbeam spread waved, like the wings of the white birds that fan the flying throne of star-taught soliman.[ ] then thus he spoke:-"stranger, tho' new the frame "thy soul inhabits now. i've trackt its flame "for many an age,[ ] in every chance and change "of that existence, thro' whose varied range,-- "as thro' a torch-race where from hand to hand "the flying youths transmit their shining brand, "from frame to frame the unextinguisht soul "rapidly passes till it reach the goal! "nor think 'tis only the gross spirits warmed "with duskier fire and for earth's medium formed "that run this course;--beings the most divine "thus deign thro' dark mortality to shine. "such was the essence that in adam dwelt, "to which all heaven except the proud one knelt:[ ] "such the refined intelligence that glowed "in moussa's[ ] frame,--and thence descending flowed "thro' many a prophet's breast;--in issa[ ] shone "and in mohammed burned; till hastening on. "(as a bright river that from fall to fall "in many a maze descending bright thro' all, "finds some fair region where, each labyrinth past, "in one full lake of light it rests at last) "that holy spirit settling calm and free "from lapse or shadow centres all in me! again throughout the assembly at these words thousands of voices rung: the warrior's swords were pointed up at heaven; a sudden wind in the open banners played, and from behind those persian hangings that but ill could screen the harem's loveliness, white hands were seen waving embroidered scarves whose motion gave a perfume forth--like those the houris wave when beckoning to their bowers the immortal brave. "but these," pursued the chief "are truths sublime, "that claim a holier mood and calmer time "than earth allows us now;--this sword must first "the darkling prison-house of mankind burst. "ere peace can visit them or truth let in "her wakening daylight on a world of sin. "but then,--celestial warriors, then when all "earth's shrines and thrones before our banner fall, "when the glad slave shall at these feet lay down "his broken chain, the tyrant lord his crown, "the priest his book, the conqueror his wreath, "and from the lips of truth one mighty breath "shall like a whirlwind scatter in its breeze "that whole dark pile of human mockeries:-- "then shall the reign of mind commence on earth, "and starting fresh as from a second birth, "man in the sunshine of the world's new spring "shall walk transparent like some holy thing! "then too your prophet from his angel brow "shall cast the veil that hides its splendors now, "and gladdened earth shall thro' her wide expanse "bask in the glories of this countenance! "for thee, young warrior, welcome!--thou hast yet "some tasks to learn, some frailties to forget, "ere the white war-plume o'er thy brow can wave;-- "but, once my own, mine all till in the grave!" the pomp is at an end--the crowds are gone-- each ear and heart still haunted by the tone of that deep voice, which thrilled like alla's own! the young all dazzled by the plumes and lances, the glittering throne and haram's half-caught glances, the old deep pondering on the promised reign of peace and truth, and all the female train ready to risk their eyes could they but gaze a moment on that brow's miraculous blaze! but there was one among the chosen maids who blushed behind the gallery's silken shades, one, to whose soul the pageant of to-day has been like death:--you saw her pale dismay, ye wondering sisterhood, and heard the burst of exclamation from her lips when first she saw that youth, too well, too dearly known, silently kneeling at the prophet's throne. ah zelica! there was a time when bliss shone o'er thy heart from every look of his, when but to see him, hear him, breathe the air in which he dwelt was thy soul's fondest prayer; when round him hung such a perpetual spell, whate'er he did, none ever did so well. too happy days! when, if he touched a flower or gem of thine, 'twas sacred from that hour; when thou didst study him till every tone and gesture and dear look became thy own.-- thy voice like his, the changes of his face in thine reflected with still lovelier grace, like echo, sending back sweet music, fraught with twice the aerial sweetness it had brought! yet now he comes,--brighter than even he e'er beamed before,--but, ah! not bright for thee; no--dread, unlookt for, like a visitant from the other world he comes as if to haunt thy guilty soul with dreams of lost delight, long lost to all but memory's aching sight:-- sad dreams! as when the spirit of our youth returns in sleep, sparkling with all the truth and innocence once ours and leads us back, in mournful mockery o'er the shining track of our young life and points out every ray of hope and peace we've lost upon the way! once happy pair!--in proud bokhara's groves, who had not heard of their first youthful loves? born by that ancient flood,[ ]which from its spring in the dark mountains swiftly wandering, enriched by every pilgrim brook that shines with relics from bucharia's ruby mines. and, lending to the caspian half its strength, in the cold lake of eagles sinks at length;-- there, on the banks of that bright river born, the flowers that hung above its wave at morn blest not the waters as they murmured by with holier scent and lustre than the sigh and virgin-glance of first affection cast upon their youth's smooth current as it past! but war disturbed this vision,--far away from her fond eyes summoned to join the array of persia's warriors on the hills of thrace, the youth exchanged his sylvan dwelling-place for the rude tent and war-field's deathful clash; his zelica's sweet glances for the flash of grecian wild-fire, and love's gentle chains for bleeding bondage on byzantium's plains. month after month in widowhood of soul drooping the maiden saw two summers roll their suns away--but, ah, how cold and dim even summer suns when not beheld with him! from time to time ill-omened rumors came like spirit-tongues muttering the sick man's name just ere he dies:--at length those sounds of dread fell withering on her soul, "azim is dead!" oh grief beyond all other griefs when fate first leaves the young heart lone and desolate in the wide world without that only tie for which it loved to live or feared to die;-- lorn as the hung-up lute, that near hath spoken since the sad day its master-chord was broken! fond maid, the sorrow of her soul was such, even reason sunk,--blighted beneath its touch; and tho' ere long her sanguine spirit rose above the first dead pressure of its woes, tho' health and bloom returned, the delicate chain of thought once tangled never cleared again. warm, lively, soft as in youth's happiest day, the mind was still all there, but turned astray,-- a wandering bark upon whose pathway shone all stars of heaven except the guiding one! again she smiled, nay, much and brightly smiled, but 'twas a lustre, strange, unreal, wild; and when she sung to her lute's touching strain, 'twas like the notes, half ecstasy, half pain, the bulbul[ ] utters ere her soul depart, when, vanquisht by some minstrel's powerful art, she dies upon the lute whose sweetness broke her heart! such was the mood in which that mission found, young zelica,--that mission which around the eastern world in every region blest with woman's smile sought out its loveliest to grace that galaxy of lips and eyes which the veiled prophet destined for the skies:-- and such quick welcome as a spark receives dropt on a bed of autumn's withered leaves, did every tale of these enthusiasts find in the wild maiden's sorrow-blighted mind. all fire at once the maddening zeal she caught:-- elect of paradise! blest, rapturous thought! predestined bride, in heaven's eternal dome, of some brave youth--ha! durst they say "of _some_?" no--of the one, one only object traced in her heart's core too deep to be effaced; the one whose memory, fresh as life, is twined with every broken link of her lost mind; whose image lives tho' reason's self be wreckt safe mid the ruins of her intellect! alas, poor zelica! it needed all the fantasy which held thy mind in thrall to see in that gay haram's glowing maids a sainted colony for eden's shades; or dream that he,--of whose unholy flame thou wert too soon the victim,--shining came from paradise to people its pure sphere with souls like thine which he hath ruined here! no--had not reason's light totally set, and left thee dark thou hadst an amulet in the loved image graven on thy heart which would have saved thee from the tempter's art, and kept alive in all its bloom of breath that purity whose fading is love's death!-- but lost, inflamed,--a restless zeal took place of the mild virgin's still and feminine grace; first of the prophets favorites, proudly first in zeal and charms, too well the impostor nurst her soul's delirium in whose active flame, thus lighting up a young, luxuriant frame, he saw more potent sorceries to bind to his dark yoke the spirits of mankind, more subtle chains than hell itself e'er twined. no art was spared, no witchery;--all the skill his demons taught him was employed to fill her mind with gloom and ecstasy by turns-- that gloom, thro' which frenzy but fiercer burns, that ecstasy which from the depth of sadness glares like the maniac's moon whose light is madness! 'twas from a brilliant banquet where the sound of poesy and music breathed around, together picturing to her mind and ear the glories of that heaven, her destined sphere, where all was pure, where every stain that lay upon the spirit's light should pass away, and realizing more than youthful love e'er wisht or dreamed, she should for ever rove thro' fields of fragrance by her azim's side, his own blest, purified, eternal bride!-- t was from a scene, a witching trance like this, he hurried her away, yet breathing bliss, to the dim charnel-house;--thro' all its steams of damp and death led only by those gleams which foul corruption lights, as with design to show the gay and proud _she_ too can shine-- and passing on thro' upright ranks of dead which to the maiden, doubly crazed by dread, seemed, thro' the bluish death-light round them cast, to move their lips in mutterings as she past-- there in that awful place, when each had quaft and pledged in silence such a fearful draught, such--oh! the look and taste of that red bowl will haunt her till she dies--he bound her soul by a dark oath, in hell's own language framed, never, while earth his mystic presence claimed, while the blue arch of day hung o'er them both, never, by that all-imprecating oath, in joy or sorrow from his side to sever.-- she swore and the wide charnel echoed "never, never!" from that dread hour, entirely, wildly given to him and--she believed, lost maid!--to heaven; her brain, her heart, her passions all inflamed, how proud she stood, when in full haram named the priestess of the faith!--how flasht her eyes with light, alas, that was not of the skies, when round in trances only less than hers she saw the haram kneel, her prostrate worshippers. well might mokanna think that form alone had spells enough to make the world his own:-- light, lovely limbs to which the spirit's play gave motion, airy as the dancing spray, when from its stem the small bird wings away; lips in whose rosy labyrinth when she smiled the soul was lost, and blushes, swift and wild as are the momentary meteors sent across the uncalm but beauteous firmament. and then her look--oh! where's the heart so wise could unbewildered meet those matchless eyes? quick, restless, strange, but exquisite withal, like those of angels just before their fall; now shadowed with the shames of earth--now crost by glimpses of the heaven her heart had lost; in every glance there broke without control, the flashes of a bright but troubled soul, where sensibility still wildly played like lightning round the ruins it had made! and such was now young zelica--so changed from her who some years since delighted ranged the almond groves that shade bokhara's tide all life and bliss with azim by her side! so altered was she now, this festal day, when, mid the proud divan's dazzling array, the vision of that youth whom she had loved, had wept as dead, before her breathed and moved;-- when--bright, she thought, as if from eden's track but half-way trodden, he had wandered back again to earth, glistening with eden's light-- her beauteous azim shone before her sight. o reason! who shall say what spells renew, when least we look for it, thy broken clew! thro' what small vistas o'er the darkened brain thy intellectual day-beam bursts again; and how like forts to which beleaguerers win unhoped-for entrance thro' some friend within, one clear idea, wakened in the breast by memory's magic, lets in all the rest. would it were thus, unhappy girl, with thee! but tho' light came, it came but partially; enough to show the maze, in which thy sense wandered about,--but not to guide it thence; enough to glimmer o'er the yawning wave, but not to point the harbor which might save. hours of delight and peace, long left behind, with that dear form came rushing o'er her mind; but, oh! to think how deep her soul had gone in shame and falsehood since those moments shone; and then her oath--_there_ madness lay again, and shuddering, back she sunk into her chain of mental darkness, as if blest to flee from light whose every glimpse was agony! yet _one_ relief this glance of former years brought mingled with its pain,--tears, floods of tears, long frozen at her heart, but now like rills let loose in spring-time from the snowy hills, and gushing warm after a sleep of frost, thro' valleys where their flow had long been lost. sad and subdued, for the first time her frame trembled with horror when the summons came (a summons proud and rare, which all but she, and she, till now, had heard with ecstasy,) to meet mokanna at his place of prayer, a garden oratory cool and fair by the stream's side, where still at close of day the prophet of the veil retired to pray, sometimes alone--but oftener far with one, one chosen nymph to share his orison. of late none found such favor in his sight as the young priestess; and tho', since that night when the death-cavorns echoed every tone of the dire oath that made her all his own, the impostor sure of his infatuate prize had more than once thrown off his soul's disguise, and uttered such unheavenly, monstrous things, as even across the desperate wanderings of a weak intellect, whose lamp was out, threw startling shadows of dismay and doubt;-- yet zeal, ambition, her tremendous vow, the thought, still haunting her, of that bright brow, whose blaze, as yet from mortal eye concealed, would soon, proud triumph! be to her revealed, to her alone;--and then the hope, most dear, most wild of all, that her transgression here was but a passage thro' earth's grosser fire, from which the spirit would at last aspire, even purer than before,--as perfumes rise thro' flame and smoke, most welcome to the skies-- and that when azim's fond, divine embrace should circle her in heaven, no darkening trace would on that bosom he once loved remain. but all be bright, be pure, be _his_ again!-- these were the wildering dreams, whose curst deceit had chained her soul beneath the tempter's feet, and made her think even damning falsehood sweet. but now that shape, which had appalled her view, that semblance--oh how terrible, if true! which came across her frenzy's full career with shock of consciousness, cold, deep, severe. as when in northern seas at midnight dark an isle of ice encounters some swift bark, and startling all its wretches from their sleep by one cold impulse hurls them to the deep;-- so came that shock not frenzy's self could bear, and waking up each long-lulled image there, but checkt her headlong soul to sink it in despair! wan and dejected, thro' the evening dusk, she now went slowly to that small kiosk, where, pondering alone his impious schemes, mokanna waited her--too wrapt in dreams of the fair-ripening future's rich success, to heed the sorrow, pale and spiritless, that sat upon his victim's downcast brow, or mark how slow her step, how altered now from the quick, ardent priestess, whose light bound came like a spirit's o'er the unechoing ground,-- from that wild zelica whose every glance was thrilling fire, whose every thought a trance! upon his couch the veiled mokanna lay, while lamps around--not such as lend their ray, glimmering and cold, to those who nightly pray in holy koom,[ ] or mecca's dim arcades,-- but brilliant, soft, such lights as lovely maids. look loveliest in, shed their luxurious glow upon his mystic veil's white glittering flow. beside him, 'stead of beads and books of prayer, which the world fondly thought he mused on there, stood vases, filled with kisiimee's[ ] golden wine, and the red weepings of the shiraz vine; of which his curtained lips full many a draught took zealously, as if each drop they quaft like zemzem's spring of holiness[ ] had power to freshen the soul's virtues into flower! and still he drank and pondered--nor could see the approaching maid, so deep his revery; at length with fiendish laugh like that which broke from eblis at the fall of man he spoke:-- "yes, ye vile race, for hell's amusement given, "too mean for earth, yet claiming kin with heaven; "god's images, forsooth!--such gods as he "whom india serves, the monkey deity;[ ] "ye creatures of a breath, proud things of clay, "to whom if lucifer, as gran-dams say, "refused tho' at the forfeit of heaven's light "to bend in worship, lucifer was right! "soon shall i plant this foot upon the neck "of your foul race and without fear or check, "luxuriating in hate, avenge my shame, "my deep-felt, long-nurst loathing of man's name!-- "soon at the head of myriads, blind and fierce "as hooded falcons, thro' the universe "i'll sweep my darkening, desolating way, "weak man my instrument, curst man my prey! "ye wise, ye learned, who grope your dull way on "by the dim twinkling gleams of ages gone, "like superstitious thieves who think the light "from dead men's marrow guides them best at night[ ]-- "ye shall have honors--wealth--yes, sages, yes-- "i know, grave fools, your wisdom's nothingness; "undazzled it can track yon starry sphere, "but a gilt stick, a bauble blinds it here. "how i shall laugh, when trumpeted along "in lying speech and still more lying song, "by these learned slaves, the meanest of the throng; "their wits brought up, their wisdom shrunk so small, "a sceptre's puny point can wield it all! "ye too, believers of incredible creeds, "whose faith enshrines the monsters which it breeds; "who, bolder even than nemrod, think to rise "by nonsense heapt on nonsense to the skies; "ye shall have miracles, ay, sound ones too, "seen, heard, attested, everything--but true. "your preaching zealots too inspired to seek "one grace of meaning for the things they speak: "your martyrs ready to shed out their blood, "for truths too heavenly to be understood; "and your state priests, sole venders of the lore, "that works salvation;--as, on ava's shore, "where none _but_ priests are privileged to trade "in that best marble of which gods are made[ ]; "they shall have mysteries--ay precious stuff "for knaves to thrive by--mysteries enough; "dark, tangled doctrines, dark as fraud can weave, "which simple votaries shall on trust receive, "while craftier feign belief till they believe. "a heaven too ye must have, ye lords of dust,-- "a splendid paradise,--pure souls, ye must: "that prophet ill sustains his holy call, "who finds not heavens to suit the tastes of all; "houris for boys, omniscience for sages, "and wings and glories for all ranks and ages. "vain things!--as lust or vanity inspires, "the heaven of each is but what each desires, "and, soul or sense, whate'er the object be, "man would be man to all eternity! "so let him--eblis! grant this crowning curse, "but keep him what he is, no hell were worse." "oh my lost soul!" exclaimed the shuddering maid, whose ears had drunk like poison all he said: mokanna started--not abasht, afraid,-- he knew no more of fear than one who dwells beneath the tropics knows of icicles! but in those dismal words that reached his ear, "oh my lost soul!" there was a sound so drear, so like that voice among the sinful dead in which the legend o'er hell's gate is read, that, new as 'twas from her whom naught could dim or sink till now, it startled even him. "ha, my fair priestess!"--thus, with ready wile, the impostor turned to greet her--"thou whose smile "hath inspiration in its rosy beam "beyond the enthusiast's hope or prophet's dream, "light of the faith! who twin'st religion's zeal "so close with love's, men know not which they feel, "nor which to sigh for, in their trance of heart, "the heaven thou preachest or the heaven thou art! "what should i be without thee? without thee "how dull were power, how joyless victory! "tho' borne by angels, if that smile of thine "blest not my banner 'twere but half divine. "but--why so mournful, child? those eyes that shone "all life last night--what!--is their glory gone? "come, come--this morn's fatigue hath made them pale, "they want rekindling--suns themselves would fail "did not their comets bring, as i to thee, "from light's own fount supplies of brilliancy. "thou seest this cup--no juice of earth is here, "but the pure waters of that upper sphere, "whose rills o'er ruby beds and topaz flow, "catching the gem's bright color as they go. "nightly my genii come and fill these urns-- "nay, drink--in every drop life's essence burns; "'twill make that soul all fire, those eyes all light-- "come, come, i want thy loveliest smiles to-night: "there is a youth--why start?--thou saw'st him then; "lookt he not nobly? such the godlike men, "thou'lt have to woo thee in the bowers above;-- "tho' _he_, i fear, hath thoughts too stern for love, "too ruled by that cold enemy of bliss "the world calls virtue--we must conquer this; "nay, shrink not, pretty sage! 'tis not for thee "to scan the mazes of heaven's mystery: "the steel must pass thro' fire, ere it can yield "fit instruments for mighty hands to wield. "this very night i mean to try the art "of powerful beauty on that warrior's heart. "all that my haram boasts of bloom and wit, "of skill and charms, most rare and exquisite, "shall tempt the boy;--young mirzala's blue eyes "whose sleepy lid like snow on violets lies; "arouya's cheeks warm as a spring-day sun "and lips that like the seal of solomon "have magic in their pressure; zeba's lute, "and lilla's dancing feet that gleam and shoot "rapid and white as sea-birds o'er the deep-- "all shall combine their witching powers to steep "my convert's spirit in that softening trance, "from which to heaven is but the next advance;-- "that glowing, yielding fusion of the breast. "on which religion stamps her image best. "but hear me, priestess!--tho' each nymph of these "hath some peculiar, practised power to please, "some glance or step which at the mirror tried "first charms herself, then all the world beside: "there still wants _one_ to make the victory sure, "one who in every look joins every lure, "thro' whom all beauty's beams concentred pass, "dazzling and warm as thro' love's burning glass; "whose gentle lips persuade without a word, "whose words, even when unmeaning, are adored. "like inarticulate breathings from a shrine, "which our faith takes for granted are divine! "such is the nymph we want, all warmth and light, "to crown the rich temptations of to-night; "such the refined enchantress that must be "this hero's vanquisher,--and thou art she!" with her hands claspt, her lips apart and pale, the maid had stood gazing upon the veil from which these words like south winds thro' a fence of kerzrah flowers, came filled with pestilence;[ ] so boldly uttered too! as if all dread of frowns from her, of virtuous frowns, were fled, and the wretch felt assured that once plunged in, her woman's soul would know no pause in sin! at first, tho' mute she listened, like a dream seemed all he said: nor could her mind whose beam as yet was weak penetrate half his scheme. but when at length he uttered, "thou art she!" all flasht at once and shrieking piteously, "oh not for worlds! "she cried--"great god! to whom "i once knelt innocent, is this my doom? "are all my dreams, my hopes of heavenly bliss, "my purity, my pride, then come to this,-- "to live, the wanton of a fiend! to be "the pander of his guilt--oh infamy! "and sunk myself as low as hell can steep "in its hot flood, drag others down as deep! "others--ha! yes--that youth who came to-day-- "_not_ him i loved--not him--oh! do but say, "but swear to me this moment 'tis not he, "and i will serve, dark fiend, will worship even thee!" "beware, young raving thing!--in time beware, "nor utter what i can not, must not bear, "even from _thy_ lips. go--try thy lute, thy voice, "the boy must feel their magic;--i rejoice "to see those fires, no matter whence they rise, "once more illuming my fait priestess' eyes; "and should the youth whom soon those eyes shall warm, "indeed resemble thy dead lover's form, "so much the happier wilt thou find thy doom, "as one warm lover full of life and bloom "excels ten thousand cold ones in the tomb. "nay, nay, no frowning, sweet!--those eyes were made "for love, not anger--i must be obeyed." "obeyed!--'tis well--yes, i deserve it all-- "on me, on me heaven's vengeance can not fall "too heavily--but azim, brave and true "and beautiful--must _he_ be ruined too? "must _he_ too, glorious as he is, be driven "a renegade like me from love and heaven? "like me?--weak wretch, i wrong him--not like me; "no--he's all truth and strength and purity! "fill up your maddening hell-cup to the brim, "its witchery, fiends, will have no charm for him. "let loose your glowing wantons from their bowers, "he loves, he loves, and can defy their powers! "wretch as i am, in his heart still i reign "pure as when first we met, without a stain! "tho' ruined--lost--my memory like a charm "left by the dead still keeps his soul from harm. "oh! never let him know how deep the brow "he kist at parting is dishonored now;-- "ne'er tell him how debased, how sunk is she. "whom once he loved--once!--_still_ loves dotingly. "thou laugh'st, tormentor,--what!--thou it brand my name? "do, do--in vain--he'll not believe my shame-- "he thinks me true, that naught beneath god's sky "could tempt or change me, and--so once thought i. "but this is past--tho' worse than death my lot, "than hell--'tis nothing while _he_ knows it not. "far off to some benighted land i'll fly, "where sunbeam ne'er shall enter till i die; "where none will ask the lost one whence she came, "but i may fade and fall without a name. "and thou--curst man or fiend, whate'er thou art, "who found'st this burning plague-spot in my heart, "and spread'st it--oh, so quick!--thro' soul and frame, "with more than demon's art, till i became "a loathsome thing, all pestilence, all flame!-- "if, when i'm gone"--"hold, fearless maniac, hold, "nor tempt my rage--by heaven, not half so bold "the puny bird that dares with teasing hum "within the crocodile's stretched jaws to come![ ] "and so thou'lt fly, forsooth?--what!--give up all "thy chaste dominion in the haram hall, "where now to love and now to alla given, "half mistress and half saint, thou hang'st as even "as doth medina's tomb, 'twixt hell and heaven! "thou'lt fly?--as easily may reptiles run, "the gaunt snake once hath fixt his eyes upon; "as easily, when caught, the prey may be "pluckt from his loving folds, as thou from me. "no, no, 'tis fixt--let good or ill betide, "thou'rt mine till death, till death mokanna's bride! "hast thou forgot thy oath?"-- at this dread word, the maid whose spirit his rude taunts had stirred thro' all its depths and roused an anger there, that burst and lightened even thro' her despair-- shrunk back as if a blight were in the breath that spoke that word and staggered pale as death. "yes, my sworn bride, let others seek in bowers "their bridal place--the charnel vault was ours! "instead of scents and balms, for thee and me "rose the rich steams of sweet mortality, "gay, flickering death-lights shone while we were wed. "and for our guests a row of goodly dead, "(immortal spirits in their time, no doubt,) "from reeking shrouds upon the rite looked out! "that oath thou heard'st more lips than thine repeat-- "that cup--thou shudderest, lady,--was it sweet? "that cup we pledged, the charnel's choicest wine, "hath bound thee--ay--body and soul all mine; "bound thee by chains that, whether blest or curst "no matter now, not hell itself shall burst! "hence, woman, to the haram, and look gay, "look wild, look--anything but sad; yet stay-- "one moment more--from what this night hath past, "i see thou know'st me, know'st me _well_ at last. "ha! ha! and so, fond thing, thou thought'st all true, "and that i love mankind?--i do, i do-- "as victims, love them; as the sea-dog dotes "upon the small, sweet fry that round him floats; "or, as the nile-bird loves the slime that gives "that rank and venomous food on which she lives!-- "and, now thou seest my _soul's_ angelic hue, "'tis time these _features_ were uncurtained too;-- "this brow, whose light--oh rare celestial light! "hath been reserved to bless thy favored sight; "these dazzling eyes before whose shrouded might "thou'st seen immortal man kneel down and quake-- "would that they _were_ heaven's lightnings for his sake! "but turn and look--then wonder, if thou wilt, "that i should hate, should take revenge, by guilt, "upon the hand whose mischief or whose mirth "sent me thus mained and monstrous upon earth; "and on that race who, tho' more vile they be "than moving apes, are demigods to me! "here--judge if hell, with all its power to damn, "can add one curse to the foul thing i am!"-- he raised his veil--the maid turned slowly round, looked at him--shrieked--and sunk upon the ground! on their arrival next night at the place of encampment they were surprised and delighted to find the groves all around illuminated; some artists of yamtcheou[ ] having been sent on previously for the purpose. on each side of the green alley, which led to the royal pavilion, artificial sceneries of bamboo-work were erected, representing arches, minarets, towers, from which hung thousands of silken lanterns painted by the most delicate pencils of canton.--nothing could be more beautiful than the leaves of the mango-trees and acacias shining in the light of the bamboo-scenery which shed a lustre round as soft as that of the nights of peristan. lalla rookh, however, who was too much occupied by the sad story of zelica and her lover to give a thought to anything else, except perhaps him who related it, hurried on through this scene of splendor to her pavilion,--greatly to the mortification of the poor artists of yamtcheou,--and was followed with equal rapidity by the great chamberlain, cursing, as he went, that ancient mandarin, whose parental anxiety in lighting up the shores of the lake, where his beloved daughter had wandered and been lost, was the origin of these fantastic chinese illuminations.[ ] without a moment's delay, young feramorz was introduced, and fadladeen, who could never make up his mind as to the merits of a poet till he knew the religious sect to which he belonged, was about to ask him whether he was a shia or a sooni when lalla kookh impatiently clapped her hands for silence, and the youth being seated upon the musnud near her proceeded:-- prepare thy soul, young azim!--thou hast braved the bands of greece, still mighty tho' enslaved; hast faced her phalanx armed with all its fame,-- her macedonian pikes and globes of fame, all this hast fronted with firm heart and brow, but a more perilous trial waits thee now,-- woman's bright eyes, a dazzling host of eyes from every land where woman smiles or sighs; of every hue, as love may chance to raise his black or azure banner in their blaze; and each sweet mode of warfare, from the flash that lightens boldly thro' the shadowy lash, to the sly, stealing splendors almost hid like swords half-sheathed beneath the downcast lid;-- such, azim, is the lovely, luminous host now led against thee; and let conquerors boast their fields of fame, he who in virtue arms a young, warm spirit against beauty's charms, who feels her brightness, yet defies her thrall, is the best, bravest conqueror of them all. now, thro' the haram chambers, moving lights and busy shapes proclaim the toilet's rites;-- from room to room the ready handmaids hie, some skilled to wreath the turban tastefully, or hang the veil in negligence of shade o'er the warm blushes of the youthful maid, who, if between the folds but one eye shone, like seba's queen could vanquish with that one:[ ]-- while some bring leaves of henna to imbue the fingers' ends with a bright roseate hue,[ ] so bright that in the mirror's depth they seem like tips of coral branches in the stream: and others mix the kohol's jetty dye, to give that long, dark languish to the eye,[ ] which makes the maids whom kings are proud to call from fair circassia's vales, so beautiful. all is in motion; rings and plumes and pearls are shining everywhere:--some younger girls are gone by moonlight to the garden-beds, to gather fresh, cool chaplets for their heads;-- gay creatures! sweet, tho' mournful, 'tis to see how each prefers a garland from that tree which brings to mind her childhood's innocent day and the dear fields and friendships far away. the maid of india, blest again to hold in her full lap the champac's leaves of gold,[ ] thinks of the time when, by the ganges' flood, her little playmates scattered many a bud upon her long black hair with glossy gleam just dripping from the consecrated stream; while the young arab haunted by the smell of her own mountain flowers as by a spell,-- the sweet alcaya[ ] and that courteous tree which bows to all who seek its canopy,[ ] sees called up round her by these magic scents the well, the camels, and her father's tents; sighs for the home she left with little pain, and wishes even its sorrow back again! meanwhile thro' vast illuminated halls, silent and bright, where nothing but the falls of fragrant waters gushing with cool sound from many a jasper fount is heard around, young azim roams bewildered,--nor can guess what means this maze of light and loneliness. here the way leads o'er tesselated floors or mats of cairo thro' long corridors, where ranged in cassolets and silver urns sweet wood of aloe or of sandal burns, and spicy rods such as illume at night the bowers of tibet[ ] send forth odorous light, like peris' wands, when pointing out the road for some pure spirit to its blest abode:-- and here at once the glittering saloon bursts on his sight, boundless and bright as noon; where in the midst reflecting back the rays in broken rainbows a fresh fountain plays high as the enamelled cupola which towers all rich with arabesques of gold and flowers: and the mosaic floor beneath shines thro' the sprinkling of that fountain's silvery dew, like the wet, glistening shells of every dye that on the margin of the red sea lie. here too he traces the kind visitings of woman's love in those fair, living things of land and wave, whose fate--in bondage thrown for their weak loveliness--is like her own! on one side gleaming with a sudden grace thro' water brilliant as the crystal vase in which it undulates, small fishes shine like golden ingots from a fairy mine;-- while, on the other, latticed lightly in with odoriferous woods of comorin, each brilliant bird that wings the air is seen;-- gay, sparkling loories such as gleam between the crimson blossoms of the coral-tree[ ] in the warm isles of india's sunny sea: mecca's blue sacred pigeon,[ ] and the thrush of hindostan[ ] whose holy warblings gush at evening from the tall pagoda's top;-- those golden birds that in the spice time drop about the gardens, drunk with that sweet food[ ] whose scent hath lured them o'er the summer flood;[ ] and those that under araby's soft sun build their high nests of budding cinnamon;[ ] in short, all rare and beauteous things that fly thro' the pure element here calmly lie sleeping in light, like the green birds[ ] that dwell in eden's radiant fields of asphodel! so on, thro' scenes past all imagining, more like the luxuries of that impious king,[ ] whom death's dark angel with his lightning torch struck down and blasted even in pleasure's porch, than the pure dwelling of a prophet sent armed with heaven's sword for man's enfranchisement-- young azim wandered, looking sternly round, his simple garb and war-boots clanking sound but ill according with the pomp and grace and silent lull of that voluptuous place. "is this, then," thought the youth, "is this the way "to free man's spirit from the deadening sway "of worldly sloth,--to teach him while he lives "to know no bliss but that which virtue gives, "and when he dies to leave his lofty name "a light, a landmark on the cliffs of fame? "it was not so, land of the generous thought "and daring deed, thy god-like sages taught; "it was not thus in bowers of wanton ease "thy freedom nurst her sacred energies; "oh! not beneath the enfeebling, withering glow "of such dull luxury did those myrtles grow "with which she wreathed her sword when she would dare "immortal deeds; but in the bracing air "of toil,--of temperance,--of that high, rare, "ethereal virtue, which alone can breathe "life, health, and lustre into freedom's wreath. "who that surveys this span of earth we press.-- "this speck of life in time's great wilderness, "this narrow isthmus 'twixt two boundless seas, "the past, the future, two eternities!-- "would sully the bright spot, or leave it bare, "when he might build him a proud temple there, "a name that long shall hallow all its space, "and be each purer soul's high resting-place. "but no--it cannot be, that one whom god "has sent to break the wizard falsehood's rod,-- "a prophet of the truth, whose mission draws "its rights from heaven, should thus profane its cause "with the world's vulgar pomps;--no, no,--i see-- "he thinks me weak--this glare of luxury "is but to tempt, to try the eaglet gaze "of my young soul--shine on, 'twill stand the blaze!" so thought the youth;--but even while he defied this witching scene he felt its witchery glide thro' every sense. the perfume breathing round, like a pervading spirit;--the still sound of falling waters, lulling as the song of indian bees at sunset when they throng around the fragrant nilica, and deep in its blue blossoms hum themselves to sleep;[ ] and music, too--dear music! that can touch beyond all else the soul that loves it much-- now heard far off, so far as but to seem like the faint, exquisite music of a dream; all was too much for him, too full of bliss, the heart could nothing feel, that felt not this; softened he sunk upon a couch and gave his soul up to sweet thoughts like wave on wave succeeding in smooth seas when storms are laid; he thought of zelica, his own dear maid, and of the time when full of blissful sighs they sat and lookt into each other's eyes, silent and happy--as if god had given naught else worth looking at on this side heaven. "oh, my loved mistress, thou whose spirit still "is with me, round me, wander where i will-- "it is for thee, for thee alone i seek "the paths of glory; to light up thy cheek "with warm approval--in that gentle look "to read my praise as in an angel's book, "and think all toils rewarded when from thee "i gain a smile worth immortality! "how shall i bear the moment, when restored "to that young heart where i alone am lord. "tho' of such bliss unworthy,--since the best "alone deserve to be the happiest:-- "when from those lips unbreathed upon for years "i shall again kiss off the soul-felt tears, "and find those tears warm as when last they started, "those sacred kisses pure as when we parted. "o my own life!--why should a single day, "a moment keep me from those arms away?" while thus he thinks, still nearer on the breeze come those delicious, dream-like harmonies, each note of which but adds new, downy links to the soft chain in which his spirit sinks. he turns him toward the sound, and far away thro' a long vista sparkling with the play of countless lamps,--like the rich track which day leaves on the waters, when he sinks from us, so long the path, its light so tremulous;-- he sees a group of female forms advance, some chained together in the mazy dance by fetters forged in the green sunny bowers, as they were captives to the king of flowers;[ ] and some disporting round, unlinkt and free, who seemed to mock their sisters' slavery; and round and round them still in wheeling flight went like gay moths about a lamp at night; while others waked, as gracefully along their feet kept time, the very soul of song from psaltery, pipe, and lutes of heavenly thrill, or their own youthful voices heavenlier still. and now they come, now pass before his eye, forms such as nature moulds when she would vie with fancy's pencil and give birth to things lovely beyond its fairest picturings. awhile they dance before him, then divide, breaking like rosy clouds at eventide around the rich pavilion of the sun,-- till silently dispersing, one by one, thro' many a path that from the chamber leads to gardens, terraces and moonlight meads, their distant laughter comes upon the wind, and but one trembling nymph remains behind,-- beckoning them back in vain--for they are gone and she is left in all that light alone; no veil to curtain o'er her beauteous brow, in its young bashfulness more beauteous now; but a light golden chain-work round her hair,[ ] such as the maids of yezd and shiras wear,[ ] from which on either side gracefully hung a golden amulet in the arab tongue, engraven o'er with some immortal line from holy writ or bard scarce less divine; while her left hand, as shrinkingly she stood, held a small lute of gold and sandal-wood, which once or twice she touched with hurried strain, then took her trembling fingers off again. but when at length a timid glance she stole at azim, the sweet gravity of soul she saw thro' all his features calmed her fear, and like a half-tamed antelope more near, tho' shrinking still, she came;--then sat her down upon a musnud's[ ] edge, and, bolder grown. in the pathetic mode of isfahan[ ] touched a preluding strain and thus began:-- there's a bower of roses by bendemeer's[ ] stream, and the nightingale sings round it all the day long; in the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet dream, to sit in the roses and hear the bird's song. that bower and its music, i never forget, but oft when alone in the bloom of the year i think--is the nightingale singing there yet? are the roses still bright by the calm bendemeer? no, the roses soon withered that hung o'er the wave, but some blossoms were gathered while freshly they shone. and a dew was distilled from their flowers that gave all the fragrance of summer when summer was gone. thus memory draws from delight ere it dies an essence that breathes of it many a year; thus bright to my soul, as 'twas then to my eyes, is that bower on the banks of the calm bendemeer! "poor maiden!" thought the youth, "if thou wert sent "with thy soft lute and beauty's blandishment "to wake unholy wishes in this heart, "or tempt its truth, thou little know'st the art. "for tho' thy lips should sweetly counsel wrong, "those vestal eyes would disavow its song. "but thou hast breathed such purity, thy lay "returns so fondly to youth's virtuous day, "and leads thy soul--if e'er it wandered thence-- "so gently back to its first innocence, "that i would sooner stop the unchained dove, "when swift returning to its home of love, "and round its snowy wing new fetters twine. "than turn from virtue one pure wish of thine!" scarce had this feeling past, when sparkling thro' the gently open'd curtains of light blue that veiled the breezy casement, countless eyes peeping like stars thro' the blue evening skies, looked laughing in as if to mock the pair that sat so still and melancholy there:-- and now the curtains fly apart and in from the cool air mid showers of jessamine which those without fling after them in play, two lightsome maidens spring,--lightsome as they who live in the air on odors,--and around the bright saloon, scarce conscious of the ground, chase one another in a varying dance of mirth and languor, coyness and advance, too eloquently like love's warm pursuit:-- while she who sung so gently to the lute her dream of home steals timidly away, shrinking as violets do in summer's ray,-- but takes with her from azim's heart that sigh we sometimes give to forms that pass us by in the world's crowd, too lovely to remain, creatures of light we never see again! around the white necks of the nymphs who danced hung carcanets of orient gems that glanced more brilliant than the sea-glass glittering o'er the hills of crystal on the caspian shore;[ ] while from their long, dark tresses, in a fall of curls descending, bells as musical as those that on the golden-shafted trees of eden shake in the eternal breeze,[ ] rung round their steps, at every bound more sweet. as 'twere the ecstatic language of their feet. at length the chase was o'er, and they stood wreathed within each other's arms; while soft there breathed thro' the cool casement, mingled with the sighs of moonlight flowers, music that seemed to rise from some still lake, so liquidly it rose; and as it swelled again at each faint close the ear could track thro' all that maze of chords and young sweet voices these impassioned words:-- a spirit there is whose fragrant sigh is burning now thro' earth and air; where cheeks are blushing the spirit is nigh, where lips are meeting the spirit is there! his breath is the soul of flowers like these, and his floating eyes--oh! they resemble[ ] blue water-lilies,[ ] when the breeze is making the stream around them tremble. hail to thee, hail to thee, kindling power! spirit of love, spirit of bliss! thy holiest time is the moonlight hour, and there never was moonlight so sweet as this. by the fair and brave who blushing unite, like the sun and wave, when they meet at night; by the tear that shows when passion is nigh, as the rain-drop flows from the heat of the sky; by the first love-beat of the youthful heart, by the bliss to meet, and the pain to part; by all that thou hast to mortals given, which--oh, could it last, this earth were heaven! we call thee thither, entrancing power! spirit of love! spirit of bliss! thy holiest time is the moonlight hour, and there never was moonlight so sweet as this. impatient of a scene whose luxuries stole, spite of himself, too deep into his soul, and where, midst all that the young heart loves most, flowers, music, smiles, to yield was to be lost, the youth had started up and turned away from the light nymphs and their luxurious lay to muse upon the pictures that hung round,--[ ] bright images, that spoke without a sound, and views like vistas into fairy ground. but here again new spells came o'er his sense:-- all that the pencil's mute omnipotence could call up into life, of soft and fair, of fond and passionate, was glowing there; nor yet too warm, but touched with that fine art which paints of pleasure but the purer part; which knows even beauty when half-veiled is best,-- like her own radiant planet of the west, whose orb when half retired looks loveliest.[ ] _there_ hung the history of the genii-king, traced thro' each gay, voluptuous wandering with her from saba's bowers, in whose bright eyes he read that to be blest is to be wise;-- _here_ fond zuleika woos with open arms[ ] the hebrew boy who flies from her young charms, yet flying turns to gaze and half undone wishes that heaven and she could _both_ be won; and here mohammed born for love and guile forgets the koran in his mary's smile;-- then beckons some kind angel from above with a new text to consecrate their love.[ ] with rapid step, yet pleased and lingering eye, did the youth pass these pictured stories by, and hastened to a casement where the light of the calm moon came in and freshly bright the fields without were seen sleeping as still as if no life remained in breeze or rill. here paused he while the music now less near breathed with a holier language on his ear, as tho' the distance and that heavenly ray thro' which the sounds came floating took away all that had been too earthly in the lay. oh! could he listen to such sounds unmoved, and by that light--nor dream of her he loved? dream on, unconscious boy! while yet thou may'st; 'tis the last bliss thy soul shall ever taste. clasp yet awhile her image to thy heart, ere all the light that made it dear depart. think of her smiles as when thou saw'st them last, clear, beautiful, by naught of earth o'ercast; recall her tears to thee at parting given, pure as they weep, _if_ angels weep in heaven. think in her own still bower she waits thee now with the same glow of heart and bloom of brow, yet shrined in solitude--thine all, thine only, like the one star above thee, bright and lonely. oh! that a dream so sweet, so long enjoyed, should be so sadly, cruelly destroyed! the song is husht, the laughing nymphs are flown, and he is left musing of bliss alone;-- alone?--no, not alone--that heavy sigh, that sob of grief which broke from some one nigh-- whose could it be?--alas! is misery found here, even here, on this enchanted ground? he turns and sees a female form close veiled, leaning, as if both heart and strength had failed, against a pillar near;--not glittering o'er with gems and wreaths such as the others wore, but in that deep-blue, melancholy dress.[ ] bokhara's maidens wear in mindfulness of friends or kindred, dead or far away;-- and such as zelica had on that day he left her--when with heart too full to speak he took away her last warm tears upon his cheek. a strange emotion stirs within him,--more than mere compassion ever waked before; unconsciously he opes his arms while she springs forward as with life's last energy, but, swooning in that one convulsive bound, sinks ere she reach his arms upon the ground;-- her veil falls off--her faint hands clasp his knees-- 'tis she herself!--it is zelica he sees! but, ah, so pale, so changed--none but a lover could in that wreck of beauty's shrine discover the once adorned divinity--even he stood for some moments mute, and doubtingly put back the ringlets from her brow, and gazed upon those lids where once such lustre blazed, ere he could think she was _indeed_ his own, own darling maid whom he so long had known in joy and sorrow, beautiful in both; who, even when grief was heaviest--when loath he left her for the wars--in that worst hour sat in her sorrow like the sweet night-flower,[ ] when darkness brings its weeping glories out, and spreads its sighs like frankincense about. "look up, my zelica--one moment show "those gentle eyes to me that i may know "thy life, thy loveliness is not all gone, "but _there_ at least shines as it ever shone. "come, look upon thy azim--one dear glance, "like those of old, were heaven! whatever chance "hath brought thee here, oh, 'twas a blessed one! "there--my loved lips--they move--that kiss hath run "like the first shoot of life thro' every vein, "and now i clasp her, mine, all mine again. "oh the delight--now, in this very hour, "when had the whole rich world been in my power, "i should have singled out thee only thee, "from the whole world's collected treasury-- "to have thee here--to hang thus fondly o'er "my own, best, purest zelica once more!" it was indeed the touch of those fond lips upon her eyes that chased their short eclipse. and gradual as the snow at heaven's breath melts off and shows the azure flowers beneath, her lids unclosed and the bright eyes were seen gazing on his--not, as they late had been, quick, restless, wild, but mournfully serene; as if to lie even for that tranced minute so near his heart had consolation in it; and thus to wake in his beloved caress took from her soul one half its wretchedness. but, when she heard him call her good and pure, oh! 'twas too much--too dreadful to endure! shuddering she broke away from his embrace. and hiding with both hands her guilty face said in a tone whose anguish would have riven a heart of very marble, "pure!--oh heaven!"-- that tone--those looks so changed--the withering blight, that sin and sorrow leave where'er they light: the dead despondency of those sunk eyes, where once, had he thus met her by surprise, he would have seen himself, too happy boy, reflected in a thousand lights of joy: and then the place,--that bright, unholy place, where vice lay hid beneath each winning grace and charm of luxury as the viper weaves its wily covering of sweet balsam leaves,[ ]-- all struck upon his heart, sudden and cold as death itself;--it needs not to be told-- no, no--he sees it all plain as the brand of burning shame can mark--whate'er the hand, that could from heaven and him such brightness sever, 'tis done--to heaven and him she's lost for ever! it was a dreadful moment; not the tears, the lingering, lasting misery of years could match that minute's anguish--all the worst of sorrow's elements in that dark burst broke o'er his soul and with one crash of fate laid the whole hopes of his life desolate. "oh! curse me not," she cried, as wild he tost his desperate hand towards heav'n--"tho' i am lost, "think not that guilt, that falsehood made me fall, "no, no--'twas grief, 'twas madness did it all! "nay, doubt me not--tho' all thy love hath ceased-- "i know it hath--yet, yet believe, at least, "that every spark of reason's light must be "quenched in this brain ere i could stray from thee. "they told me thou wert dead--why, azim, why "did we not, both of us, that instant die "when we were parted? oh! couldst thou but know "with what a deep devotedness of woe "i wept thy absence--o'er and o'er again "thinking of thee, still thee, till thought grew pain, "and memory like a drop that night and day "falls cold and ceaseless wore my heart away. "didst thou but know how pale i sat at home, "my eyes still turned the way thou wert to come, "and, all the long, long night of hope and fear, "thy voice and step still sounding in my ear-- "oh god! thou wouldst not wonder that at last, "when every hope was all at once o'ercast, "when i heard frightful voices round me say "_azim is dead_!--this wretched brain gave way, "and i became a wreck, at random driven, "without one glimpse of reason or of heaven-- "all wild--and even this quenchless love within "turned to foul fires to light me into sin!-- "thou pitiest me--i knew thou wouldst--that sky "hath naught beneath it half so lorn as i. "the fiend, who lured me hither--hist! come near. "or thou too, _thou_ art lost, if he should hear-- "told me such things--oh! with such devilish art. "as would have ruined even a holier heart-- "of thee, and of that ever-radiant sphere, "where blest at length, if i but served him here, "i should for ever live in thy dear sight. "and drink from those pure eyes eternal light. "think, think how lost, how maddened i must be, "to hope that guilt could lead to god or thee! "thou weep'st for me--do weep--oh, that i durst "kiss off that tear! but, no--these lips are curst, "they must not touch thee;--one divine caress, "one blessed moment of forgetfulness "i've had within those arms and _that_ shall lie "shrined in my soul's deep memory till i die; "the last of joy's last relics here below, "the one sweet drop, in all this waste of woe, "my heart has treasured from affection's spring, "to soothe and cool its deadly withering! "but thou--yes, thou must go--for ever go; "this place is not for thee--for thee! oh no, "did i but tell thee half, thy tortured brain "would burn like mine, and mine go wild again! "enough that guilt reigns here--that hearts once good "now tainted, chilled and broken are his food.-- "enough that we are parted--that there rolls "a flood of headlong fate between our souls, "whose darkness severs me as wide from thee "as hell from heaven to all eternity!" "zelica, zelica!" the youth exclaimed. in all the tortures of a mind inflamed almost to madness--"by that sacred heaven, "where yet, if prayers can move, thou'lt be forgiven, "as thou art here--here, in this writhing heart, "all sinful, wild, and ruined as thou art! "by the remembrance of our once pure love, "which like a church-yard light still burns above "the grave of our lost souls--which guilt in thee "cannot extinguish nor despair in me! "i do conjure, implore thee to fly hence-- "if thou hast yet one spark of innocence, "fly with me from this place"-- "with thee! oh bliss! "'tis worth whole years of torment to hear this. "what! take the lost one with thee?--let her rove "by thy dear side, as in those days of love, "when we were both so happy, both so pure-- "too heavenly dream! if there's on earth a cure "for the sunk heart, 'tis this--day after day "to be the blest companion of thy way; "to hear thy angel eloquence--to see "those virtuous eyes for ever turned on me; "and in their light re-chastened silently, "like the stained web that whitens in the sun, "grow pure by being purely shone upon! "and thou wilt pray for me--i know thou wilt-- "at the dim vesper hour when thoughts of guilt "come heaviest o'er the heart thou'lt lift thine eyes "full of sweet tears unto the darkening skies "and plead for me with heaven till i can dare "to fix my own weak, sinful glances there; "till the good angels when they see me cling "for ever near thee, pale and sorrowing, "shall for thy sake pronounce my soul forgiven, "and bid thee take thy weeping slave to heaven! "oh yes, i'll fly with thee"-- scarce had she said these breathless words when a voice deep and dread as that of monker waking up the dead from their first sleep--so startling 'twas to both-- rang thro' the casement near, "thy oath! thy oath!" oh heaven, the ghastliness of that maid's look!-- "'tis he," faintly she cried, while terror shook her inmost core, nor durst she lift her eyes, tho' thro' the casement, now naught but the skies and moonlight fields were seen, calm as before-- "'tis he, and i am his--all, all is o'er-- "go--fly this instant, or thou'rt ruin'd too-- "my oath, my oath, oh god! 'tis all too true, "true as the worm in this cold heart it is-- "i am mokanna's bride--his, azim, his-- "the dead stood round us while i spoke that vow, "their blue lips echoed it--i hear them now! "their eyes glared on me, while i pledged that bowl, "'twas burning blood--i feel it in my soul! "and the veiled bridegroom--hist! i've seen to-night "what angels know not of--so foul a sight. "so horrible--oh! never may'st thou see "what _there_ lies hid from all but hell and me! "but i must hence--off, off--i am not thine, "nor heaven's, nor love's, nor aught that is divine-- "hold me not--ha! think'st thou the fiends that sever "hearts cannot sunder hands?--thus, then--for ever!" with all that strength which madness lends the weak she flung away his arm; and with a shriek whose sound tho' be should linger out more years than wretch e'er told can never leave his ears-- flew up thro' that long avenue of light, fleetly as some dark, ominous bird of night, across the sun; and soon was out of sight! lalla rookh could think of nothing all day but the misery of those two young lovers. her gayety was gone, and she looked pensively even upon fadlapeen. she felt, too, without knowing why, a sort of uneasy pleasure in imagining that azim must have been just such a youth as feramorz; just as worthy to enjoy all the blessings, without any of the pangs, of that illusive passion, which too often like the sunny apples of istkahar[ ] is all sweetness on one side and all bitterness on the other. as they passed along a sequestered river after sunset they saw a young hindoo girl upon the bank, whose employment seemed to them so strange that they stopped their palankeens to observe her. she had lighted a small lamp filled with oil of cocoa, and placing it in an earthen dish adorned with a wreath of flowers, had committed it with a trembling hand to the stream; and was now anxiously watching its progress down the current, heedless of the gay cavalcade which had drawn up beside her. lalla rookh was all curiosity;--when one of her attendants, who had lived upon the banks of the ganges, (where this ceremony is so frequent that often in the dusk of the evening the river is seen glittering all over with lights, like the oton-tala or sea of stars,)[ ] informed the princess that it was the usual way in which the friends of those who had gone on dangerous voyages offered up vows for their safe return. if the lamp sunk immediately the omen was disastrous; but if it went shining down the stream and continued to burn till entirely out of sight, the return of the beloved object was considered as certain. lalla rookh as they moved on more than once looked back to observe how the young hindoo's lamp proceeded; and while she saw with pleasure that it was still unextinguished she could not help fearing that all the hopes of this life were no better than that feeble light upon the river. the remainder of the journey was passed in silence. she now for the first time felt that shade of melancholy which comes over the youthful maiden's heart as sweet and transient as her own breath upon a mirror; nor was it till she heard the lute of feramokz, touched lightly at the door of her pavilion that she waked from the revery in which she had been wandering. instantly her eyes were lighted up with pleasure; and after a few unheard remarks from fadladeen upon the indecorum of a poet seating himself in presence of a princess everything was arranged as on the preceding evening and all listened with eagerness while the story was thus continued:-- whose are the gilded tents that crowd the way, where all was waste and silent yesterday? this city of war which, in a few short hours, hath sprung up here, as if the magic powers[ ] of him who, in the twinkling of a star, built the high pillared halls of chilminar,[ ] had conjur'd up, far as the eye can see, this world of tents and domes and sunbright armory:-- princely pavilions screened by many a fold of crimson cloth and topt with balls of gold:-- steeds with their housings of rich silver spun, their chains and poitrels glittering in the sun; and camels tufted o'er with yemen's shells[ ] shaking in every breeze their light-toned bells! but yester-eve, so motionless around, so mute was this wide plain that not a sound but the far torrent or the locust bird[ ] hunting among thickets could be heard;-- yet hark! what discords now of every kind, shouts, laughs, and screams are revelling in the wind; the neigh of cavalry;--the tinkling throngs of laden camels and their drivers' songs;-- ringing of arms, and flapping in the breeze of streamers from ten thousand canopies;--[ ] war-music bursting out from time to time with gong and tymbalon's tremendous chime;-- or in the pause when harsher sounds are mute, the mellow breathings of some horn or flute, that far off, broken by the eagle note of the abyssinian trumpet, swell and float.[ ] who leads this mighty army?--ask ye "who?" and mark ye not those banners of dark hue, the night and shadow, over yonder tent?--[ ] it is the caliph's glorious armament. roused in his palace by the dread alarms, that hourly came, of the false prophet's arms, and of his host of infidels who hurled defiance fierce at islam and the world,[ ] tho' worn with grecian warfare, and behind the veils of his bright palace calm reclined, yet brooked he not such blasphemy should stain, thus unrevenged, the evening of his reign; but having sworn upon the holy grave[ ] to conquer or to perish, once more gave his shadowy banners proudly to the breeze, and with an army nurst in victories, here stands to crush the rebels that o'errun his blest and beauteous province of the sun. ne'er did the march of mahadi display such pomp before;--not even when on his way to mecca's temple, when both land and sea were spoiled to feed the pilgrim's luxury;[ ] when round him mid the burning sands he saw fruits of the north in icy freshness thaw, and cooled his thirsty lip beneath the glow of mecca's sun with urns of persian snow:-- nor e'er did armament more grand than that pour from the kingdoms of the caliphat. first, in the van, the people of the rock[ ] on their light mountain steeds of royal stock:[ ] then chieftains of damascus proud to see the flashing of their swords' rich marquetry;--[ ] men from the regions near the volga's mouth mixt with the rude, black archers of the south; and indian lancers in white-turbaned ranks from the far sinde or attock's sacred banks, with dusky legions from the land of myrrh,[ ] and many a mace-armed moor and midsea islander. nor less in number tho' more new and rude in warfare's school was the vast multitude that, fired by zeal or by oppression wronged, round the white standard of the impostor thronged. beside his thousands of believers--blind, burning and headlong as the samiel wind-- many who felt and more who feared to feel the bloody islamite's converting steel, flockt to his banner;--chiefs of the uzbek race, waving their heron crests with martial grace;[ ] turkomans, countless as their flocks, led forth from the aromatic pastures of the north; wild warriors of the turquoise hills,--and those[ ] who dwell beyond the everlasting snows of hindoo kosh, in stormy freedom bred, their fort the rock, their camp the torrent's bed. but none of all who owned the chief's command rushed to that battle-field with bolder hand or sterner hate than iran's outlawed men, her worshippers of fire--all panting then[ ] for vengeance on the accursed saracen; vengeance at last for their dear country spurned, her throne usurpt, and her bright shrines o'erturned. from yezd's eternal mansion of the fire[ ] where aged saints in dreams of heaven expire: from badku and those fountains of blue flame that burn into the caspian, fierce they came,[ ] careless for what or whom the blow was sped, so vengeance triumpht and their tyrants bled. such was the wild and miscellaneous host that high in air their motley banners tost around the prophet-chief--all eyes still bent upon that glittering veil, where'er it went, that beacon thro' the battle's stormy flood, that rainbow of the field whose showers were blood! twice hath the sun upon their conflict set and risen again and found them grappling yet; while streams of carnage in his noontide blaze, smoke up to heaven--hot as that crimson haze by which the prostrate caravan is awed[ ] in the red desert when the wind's abroad. "oh, swords of god!" the panting caliph calls,-- "thrones for the living--heaven for him who falls!"-- "on, brave avengers, on," mokanna cries, "and eblis blast the recreant slave that flies!" now comes the brunt, the crisis of the day-- they clash--they strive--the caliph's troops give way! mokanna's self plucks the black banner down, and now the orient world's imperial crown is just within his grasp--when, hark, that shout! some hand hath checkt the flying moslem's rout; and now they turn, they rally--at their head a warrior, (like those angel youths who led, in glorious panoply of heaven's own mail, the champions of the faith thro beder's vale,)[ ] bold as if gifted with ten thousand lives, turns on the fierce pursuers' blades, and drives at once the multitudinous torrent back-- while hope and courage kindle in his track; and at each step his bloody falchion makes terrible vistas thro' which victory breaks! in vain mokanna, midst the general flight, stands like the red moon on some stormy night among the fugitive clouds that hurrying by leave only her unshaken in the sky-- in vain he yells his desperate curses out, deals death promiscuously to all about, to foes that charge and coward friends that fly, and seems of _all_ the great archenemy. the panic spreads--"a miracle!" throughout the moslem ranks, "a miracle!" they shout, all gazing on that youth whose coming seems a light, a glory, such as breaks in dreams; and every sword, true as o'er billows dim the needle tracks the lode-star, following him! right towards mokanna now he cleaves his path, impatient cleaves as tho' the bolt of wrath he bears from heaven withheld its awful burst from weaker heads and souls but half way curst, to break o'er him, the mightiest and the worst! but vain his speed--tho', in that hour of blood, had all god's seraphs round mokanna stood with swords o'fire ready like fate to fall, mokanna's soul would have defied them all; yet now, the rush of fugitives, too strong for human force, hurries even _him_ along; in vain he struggles mid the wedged array of flying thousands--he is borne away; and the sole joy his baffled spirit knows, in this forced flight, is--murdering as he goes! as a grim tiger whom the torrent's might surprises in some parched ravine at night, turns even in drowning on the wretched flocks swept with him in that snow-flood from the rocks, and, to the last, devouring on his way, bloodies the stream lie hath not power to stay. "alla illa alla!"--the glad shout renew-- "alla akbar"--the caliph's in merou.[ ] hang out your gilded tapestry in the streets, and light your shrines and chant your ziraleets.[ ] the swords of god have triumpht--on his throne your caliph sits and the veiled chief hath flown. who does not envy that young warrior now to whom the lord of islam bends his brow, in all the graceful gratitude of power, for his throne's safety in that perilous hour? who doth not wonder, when, amidst the acclaim of thousands heralding to heaven his name-- mid all those holier harmonies of fame which sound along the path of virtuous souls, like music round a planet as it rolls,-- he turns away--coldly, as if some gloom hung o'er his heart no triumphs can illume;-- some sightless grief upon whose blasted gaze tho' glory's light may play, in vain it plays. yes, wretched azim! thine is such a grief, beyond all hope, all terror, all relief! a dark, cold calm, which nothing now can break. or warm or brighten,--like that syrian lake[ ] upon whose surface morn and summer shed their smiles in vain, for all beneath is dead!-- hearts there have been o'er which this weight of woe came by long use of suffering, tame and slow; but thine, lost youth! was sudden--over thee it broke at once, when all seemed ecstasy; when hope lookt up and saw the gloomy past melt into splendor and bliss dawn at last-- 'twas then, even then, o'er joys so freshly blown this mortal blight of misery came down; even then, the full, warm gushings of thy heart were checkt--like fount-drops, frozen as they start-- and there like them cold, sunless relics hang, each fixt and chilled into a lasting pang. one sole desire, one passion now remains to keep life's fever still within his veins, vengeance!--dire vengeance on the wretch who cast o'er him and all he loved that ruinous blast. for this, when rumors reached him in his flight far, far away, after that fatal night,-- rumors of armies thronging to the attack of the veiled chief,--for this he winged him back, fleet as the vulture speeds to flags unfurled, and when all hope seemed desperate, wildly hurled himself into the scale and saved a world. for this he still lives on, careless of all the wreaths that glory on his path lets fall; for this alone exists--like lightning-fire, to speed one bolt of vengeance and expire! but safe as yet that spirit of evil lives; with a small band of desperate fugitives, the last sole stubborn fragment left unriven of the proud host that late stood fronting heaven, he gained merou--breathed a short curse of blood o'er his lost throne--then past the jihon's flood,[ ] and gathering all whose madness of belief still saw a saviour in their down-fallen chief, raised the white banner within neksheb's gates,[ ] and there, untamed, the approaching conqueror waits. of all his haram, all that busy hive, with music and with sweets sparkling alive, he took but one, the partner of his flight, one--not for love--not for her beauty's light-- no, zelica stood withering midst the gay. wan as the blossom that fell yesterday from the alma tree and dies, while overhead to-day's young flower is springing in its stead.[ ] oh, not for love--the deepest damned must be touched with heaven's glory ere such fiends as he can feel one glimpse of love's divinity. but no, she is his victim; _there_ lie all her charms for him-charms that can never pall, as long as hell within his heart can stir, or one faint trace of heaven is left in her. to work an angel's ruin,--to behold as white a page as virtue e'er unrolled blacken beneath his touch into a scroll of damning sins, sealed with a burning soul-- this is his triumph; this the joy accurst, that ranks him among demons all but first: this gives the victim that before him lies blighted and lost, a glory in his eyes, a light like that with which hellfire illumes the ghastly, writhing wretch whom it consumes! but other tasks now wait him--tasks that need all the deep daringness of thought and deed with which the divs have gifted him--for mark,[ ] over yon plains which night had else made dark, those lanterns countless as the winged lights that spangle india's field on showery nights,--[ ] far as their formidable gleams they shed, the mighty tents of the beleaguerer spread, glimmering along the horizon's dusky line and thence in nearer circles till they shine among the founts and groves o'er which the town in all its armed magnificence looks down. yet, fearless, from his lofty battlements mokanna views that multitude of tents; nay, smiles to think that, tho' entoiled, beset, not less than myriads dare to front him yet;-- that friendless, throneless, he thus stands at bay, even thus a match for myriads such as they. "oh, for a sweep of that dark angel's wing, "who brushed the thousands of the assyrian king[ ] "to darkness in a moment that i might "people hell's chambers with yon host to-night! "but come what may, let who will grasp the throne, "caliph or prophet, man alike shall groan; "let who will torture him, priest--caliph--king-- "alike this loathsome world of his shall ring "with victims' shrieks and howlings of the slave,-- "sounds that shall glad me even within my grave!" thus, to himself--but to the scanty train still left around him, a far different strain:-- "glorious defenders of the sacred crown "i bear from heaven whose light nor blood shall drown "nor shadow of earth eclipse;--before whose gems "the paly pomp of this world's diadems, "the crown of gerashid. the pillared throne "of parviz[ ] and the heron crest that shone[ ] "magnificent o'er ali's beauteous eyes.[ ] "fade like the stars when morn is in the skies: "warriors, rejoice--the port to which we've past "o'er destiny's dark wave beams out at last! "victory's our own--'tis written in that book "upon whose leaves none but the angels look, "that islam's sceptre shall beneath the power "of her great foe fall broken in that hour "when the moon's mighty orb before all eyes "from neksheb's holy well portentously shall rise! "now turn and see!"--they turned, and, as he spoke, a sudden splendor all around them broke, and they beheld an orb, ample and bright, rise from the holy well and cast its light[ ] round the rich city and the plain for miles,-- flinging such radiance o'er the gilded tiles of many a dome and fair-roofed imaret as autumn suns shed round them when they set. instant from all who saw the illusive sign a murmur broke--"miraculous! divine!" the gheber bowed, thinking his idol star had waked, and burst impatient thro' the bar of midnight to inflame him to the war; while he of moussa's creed saw in that ray the glorious light which in his freedom's day had rested on the ark, and now again[ ] shone out to bless the breaking of his chain. "to victory!" is at once the cry of all-- nor stands mokanna loitering at that call; but instant the huge gates are flung aside, and forth like a diminutive mountain-tide into the boundless sea they speed their course right on into the moslem's mighty force. the watchmen of the camp,--who in their rounds had paused and even forgot the punctual sounds of the small drum with which they count the night,[ ] to gaze upon that supernatural light,-- now sink beneath an unexpected arm, and in a death-groan give their last alarm. "on for the lamps that light yon lofty screen[ ] "nor blunt your blades with massacre so mean; "_there_ rests the caliph--speed--one lucky lance "may now achieve mankind's deliverance." desperate the die--such as they only cast who venture for a world and stake their last. but fate's no longer with him--blade for blade springs up to meet them thro' the glimmering shade, and as the clash is heard new legions soon pour to the spot, like bees of kauzeroon[ ] to the shrill timbrel's summons,--till at length the mighty camp swarms out in all its strength. and back to neksheb's gates covering the plain with random slaughter drives the adventurous train; among the last of whom the silver veil is seen glittering at times, like the white sail of some tost vessel on a stormy night catching the tempest's momentary light! and hath not this brought the proud spirit low! nor dashed his brow nor checkt his daring? no. tho' half the wretches whom at night he led to thrones and victory lie disgraced and dead, yet morning hears him with unshrinking crest. still vaunt of thrones and victory to the rest;-- and they believe him!--oh, the lover may distrust that look which steals his soul away;-- the babe may cease to think that it can play with heaven's rainbow;--alchymists may doubt the shining gold their crucible gives out; but faith, fanatic faith, once wedded fast to some dear falsehood hugs it to the last. and well the impostor knew all lures and arts, that lucifer e'er taught to tangle hearts; nor, mid these last bold workings of his plot against men's souls, is zelica forgot. ill-fated zelica! had reason been awake, thro' half the horrors thou hast seen, thou never couldst have borne it--death had come at once and taken thy wrung spirit home. but 'twas not so--a torpor, a suspense of thought, almost of life, came o'er the intense and passionate struggles of that fearful night, when her last hope of peace and heaven took flight: and tho' at times a gleam of frenzy broke,-- as thro' some dull volcano's veil of smoke ominous flashings now and then will start, which show the fire's still busy at its heart; yet was she mostly wrapt in solemn gloom,-- not such as azim's, brooding o'er its doom and calm without as is the brow of death while busy worms are gnawing underneath-- but in a blank and pulseless torpor free from thought or pain, a sealed-up apathy which left her oft with scarce one living thrill the cold, pale victim of her torturer's will. again, as in merou, he had her deckt gorgeously out, the priestess of the sect; and led her glittering forth before the eyes of his rude train as to a sacrifice,-- pallid as she, the young, devoted bride of the fierce nile, when, deckt in all the pride of nuptial pomp, she sinks into his tide.[ ] and while the wretched maid hung down her head, and stood as one just risen from the dead amid that gazing crowd, the fiend would tell his credulous slaves it was some charm or spell possest her now,--and from that darkened trance should dawn ere long their faith's deliverance. or if at times goaded by guilty shame, her soul was roused and words of wildness came, instant the bold blasphemer would translate her ravings into oracles of fate, would hail heaven's signals in her flashing eyes and call her shrieks the language of the skies! but vain at length his arts--despair is seen gathering around; and famine comes to glean all that the sword had left unreaped;--in vain at morn and eve across the northern plain he looks impatient for the promised spears of the wild hordes and tartar mountaineers; they come not--while his fierce beleaguerers pour engines of havoc in, unknown before,[ ] and horrible as new;--javelins, that fly[ ] enwreathed with smoky flames thro' the dark sky, and red-hot globes that opening as they mount discharge as from a kindled naphtha fount[ ] showers of consuming fire o'er all below; looking as thro' the illumined night they go like those wild birds that by the magians oft[ ] at festivals of fire were sent aloft into the air with blazing fagots tied to their huge wings, scattering combustion wide. all night the groans of wretches who expire in agony beneath these darts of fire ring thro' the city--while descending o'er its shrines and domes and streets of sycamore,-- its lone bazars, with their bright cloths of gold, since the last peaceful pageant left unrolled,-- its beauteous marble baths whose idle jets. now gush with blood,--and its tall minarets that late have stood up in the evening glare of the red sun, unhallowed by a prayer;-- o'er each in turn the dreadful flame-bolts fall, and death and conflagration throughout all the desolate city hold high festival! mokanna sees the world is his no more;-- one sting at parting and his grasp is o'er, "what! drooping now?"--thus, with unblushing cheek, he hails the few who yet can hear him speak, of all those famished slaves around him lying, and by the light of blazing temples dying; "what!--drooping now!--now, when at length we press "home o'er the very threshold of success; "when alla from our ranks hath thinned away "those grosser branches that kept out his ray "of favor from us and we stand at length "heirs of his light and children of his strength, "the chosen few who shall survive the fall "of kings and thrones, triumphant over all! "have you then lost, weak murmurers as you are, "all faith in him who was your light, your star? "have you forgot the eye of glory hid "beneath this veil, the flashing of whose lid "could like a sun-stroke of the desert wither "millions of such as yonder chief brings hither? "long have its lightnings slept--too long--but now "all earth shall feel the unveiling of this brow! "to-night--yes, sainted men! this very night, "i bid you all to a fair festal rite, "where--having deep refreshed each weary limb "with viands such as feast heaven's cherubim "and kindled up your souls now sunk and dim "with that pure wine the dark-eyed maids above "keep, sealed with precious musk, for those they love,--[ ] "i will myself uncurtain in your sight "the wonders of this brow's ineffable light; "then lead you forth and with a wink disperse "yon myriads howling thro' the universe!" eager they listen--while each accent darts new life into their chilled and hope-sick hearts; such treacherous life as the cool draught supplies to him upon the stake who drinks and dies! wildly they point their lances to the light of the fast sinking sun, and shout "to-night!"-- "to-night," their chief re-echoes in a voice of fiend-like mockery that bids hell rejoice. deluded victims!--never hath this earth seen mourning half so mournful as their mirth. _here_, to the few whose iron frames had stood this racking waste of famine and of blood, faint, dying wretches clung, from whom the shout of triumph like a maniac's laugh broke out:-- _there_, others, lighted by the smouldering fire, danced like wan ghosts about a funeral pyre among the dead and dying strewed around;-- while some pale wretch lookt on and from his wound plucking the fiery dart by which he bled, in ghastly transport waved it o'er his head! 'twas more than midnight now--a fearful pause had followed the long shouts, the wild applause, that lately from those royal gardens burst, where the veiled demon held his feast accurst, when zelica, alas, poor ruined heart, in every horror doomed to bear its part!-- was bidden to the banquet by a slave, who, while his quivering lip the summons gave, grew black, as tho' the shadows of the grave compast him round and ere he could repeat his message thro', fell lifeless at her feet! shuddering she went--a soul-felt pang of fear a presage that her own dark doom was near, roused every feeling and brought reason back once more to writhe her last upon the rack. all round seemed tranquil even the foe had ceased as if aware of that demoniac feast his fiery bolts; and tho' the heavens looked red, 'twas but some distant conflagration's spread. but hark--she stops--she listens--dreadful tone! 'tis her tormentor's laugh--and now, a groan, a long death-groan comes with it--can this be the place of mirth, the bower of revelry? she enters--holy alla, what a sight was there before her! by the glimmering light of the pale dawn, mixt with the flare of brands that round lay burning dropt from lifeless hands, she saw the board in splendid mockery spread, rich censers breathing--garlands overhead-- the urns, the cups, from which they late had quaft all gold and gems, but--what had been the draught? oh! who need ask that saw those livid guests, with their swollen heads sunk blackening on their breasts, or looking pale to heaven with glassy glare, as if they sought but saw no mercy there; as if they felt, tho' poison racked them thro', remorse the deadlier torment of the two! while some, the bravest, hardiest in the train of their false chief, who on the battle-plain would have met death with transport by his side, here mute and helpless gasped;--but as they died lookt horrible vengeance with their eyes' last strain, and clenched the slackening hand at him in vain. dreadful it was to see the ghastly stare, the stony look of horror and despair, which some of these expiring victims cast upon their souls' tormentor to the last; upon that mocking fiend whose veil now raised, showed them as in death's agony they gazed, not the long promised light, the brow whose beaming was to come forth, all conquering, all redeeming, but features horribler than hell e'er traced on its own brood;--no demon of the waste,[ ] no church-yard ghoul caught lingering in the light of the blest sun, e'er blasted human sight with lineaments so foul, so fierce as those the impostor now in grinning mockery shows:-- "there, ye wise saints, behold your light, your star-- "ye _would_ be dupes and victims and ye _are_. "is it enough? or must i, while a thrill "lives in your sapient bosoms, cheat you still? "swear that the burning death ye feel within "is but the trance with which heaven's joys begin: "that this foul visage, foul as e'er disgraced "even monstrous men, is--after god's own taste; "and that--but see!--ere i have half-way said "my greetings thro', the uncourteous souls are fled. "farewell, sweet spirits! not in vain ye die, "if eblis loves you half so well as i.-- "ha, my young bride!--'tis well--take thou thy seat; "nay come--no shuddering--didst thou never meet "the dead before?--they graced our wedding, sweet; "and these, my guests to-night, have brimmed so true "their parting cups, that _thou_ shalt pledge one too. "but--how is this?--all empty? all drunk up? "hot lips have been before thee in the cup, "young bride,--yet stay--one precious drop remains, "enough to warm a gentle priestess' veins;-- "here, drink--and should thy lover's conquering arms "speed hither ere thy lip lose all its charms, "give him but half this venom in thy kiss, "and i'll forgive my haughty rival's bliss! "for, _me_--i too must die--but not like these "vile rankling things to fester in the breeze; "to have this brow in ruffian triumph shown, "with all death's grimness added to its own, "and rot to dust beneath the taunting eyes "of slaves, exclaiming, 'there his godship lies!' "no--cursed race--since first my soul drew breath, "they've been my dupes and _shall_ be even in death. "thou seest yon cistern in the shade--'tis filled "with burning drugs for this last hour distilled; "there will i plunge me, in that liquid flame-- "fit bath to lave a dying prophet's frame!-- "there perish, all--ere pulse of thine shall fail-- "nor leave one limb to tell mankind the tale. "so shall my votaries, wheresoe'er they rave, "proclaim that heaven took back the saint it gave;-- "that i've but vanished from this earth awhile, "to come again with bright, unshrouded smile! "so shall they build me altars in their zeal, "where knaves shall minister and fools shall kneel; "where faith may mutter o'er her mystic spell, "written in blood--and bigotry may swell "the sail he spreads for heaven with blasts from hell! "so shall my banner thro' long ages be "the rallying sign of fraud and anarchy;-- "kings yet unborn shall rue mokanna's name, "and tho' i die my spirit still the same "shall walk abroad in all the stormy strife, "and guilt and blood that were its bliss in life. "but hark! their battering engine shakes the wall-- "why, _let_ it shake--thus i can brave them all. "no trace of me shall greet them when they come, "and i can trust thy faith, for--thou'lt be dumb. "now mark how readily a wretch like me "in one bold plunge commences deity!" he sprung and sunk as the last words were said-- quick closed the burning waters o'er his head, and zelica was left--within the ring of those wide walls the only living thing; the only wretched one still curst with breath in all that frightful wilderness of death! more like some bloodless ghost--such as they tell, in the lone cities of the silent dwell,[ ] and there unseen of all but alla sit each by its own pale carcass watching it. but morn is up and a fresh warfare stirs throughout the camp of the beleaguerers. their globes of fire (the dread artillery lent by greece to conquering mahadi) are spent; and now the scorpion's shaft, the quarry sent from high balistas and the shielded throng of soldiers swinging the huge ram along, all speak the impatient islamite's intent to try, at length, if tower and battlement and bastioned wall be not less hard to win, less tough to break down than the hearts within. first he, in impatience and in toil is the burning azim--oh! could he but see the impostor once alive within his grasp, not the gaunt lion's hug nor boa's clasp could match thy gripe of vengeance or keep pace with the fell heartiness of hate's embrace! loud rings the ponderous ram against the walls; now shake the ramparts, now a buttress falls, but, still no breach--"once more one mighty swing "of all your beams, together thundering!" there--the wall shakes--the shouting troops exult, "quick, quick discharge your weightiest catapult "right on that spot and neksheb is our own!" 'tis done--the battlements come crashing down, and the huge wall by that stroke riven in two yawning like some old crater rent anew, shows the dim, desolate city smoking thro'. but strange! no sign of life--naught living seen above, below--what can this stillness mean? a minute's pause suspends all hearts and eyes-- "in thro' the breach," impetuous azim cries; but the cool caliph fearful of some wile in this blank stillness checks the troops awhile.-- just then a figure with slow step advanced forth from the ruined walls and as there glanced a sunbeam over it all eyes could see the well-known silver veil!--"'tis he, 'tis he, "mokanna and alone!" they shout around; young azim from his steed springs to the ground-- "mine, holy caliph! mine," he cries, "the task "to crush yon daring wretch--'tis all i ask." eager he darts to meet the demon foe who still across wide heaps of ruin slow and falteringly comes, till they are near; then with a bound rushes on azim's spear, and casting off the veil in falling shows-- oh!--'tis his zelica's life-blood that flows! "i meant not, azim," soothingly she said, as on his trembling arm she leaned her head, and looking in his face saw anguish there beyond all wounds the quivering flesh can bear-- "i meant not _thou_ shouldst have the pain of this:-- "tho' death with thee thus tasted is a bliss "thou wouldst not rob me of, didst thou but know "how oft i've prayed to god i might die so! "but the fiend's venom was too scant and slow;-- "to linger on were maddening--and i thought "if once that veil--nay, look not on it--caught "the eyes of your fierce soldiery, i should be "struck by a thousand death-darts instantly. "but this is sweeter--oh! believe me, yes-- "i would not change this sad, but dear caress. "this death within thy arms i would not give "for the most smiling life the happiest live! "all that stood dark and drear before the eye "of my strayed soul is passing swiftly by; "a light comes o'er me from those looks of love, "like the first dawn of mercy from above; "and if thy lips but tell me i'm forgiven, "angels will echo the blest words in heaven! "but live, my azim;--oh! to call thee mine "thus once again! _my_ azim--dream divine! "live, if thou ever lovedst me, if to meet "thy zelica hereafter would be sweet, "oh, live to pray for her--to bend the knee "morning and night before that deity "to whom pure lips and hearts without a stain, "as thine are, azim, never breathed in vain,-- "and pray that he may pardon her,--may take "compassion on her soul for thy dear sake, "and naught remembering but her love to thee, "make her all thine, all his, eternally! "go to those happy fields where first we twined "our youthful hearts together--every wind "that meets thee there fresh from the well-known flowers "will bring the sweetness of those innocent hours "back to thy soul and thou mayst feel again "for thy poor zelica as thou didst then. "so shall thy orisons like dew that flies "to heaven upon the morning's sunshine rise "with all love's earliest ardor to the skies! "and should they--but, alas, my senses fail-- "oh for one minute!--should thy prayers prevail-- "if pardoned souls may from that world of bliss "reveal their joy to those they love in this-- "i'll come to thee--in some sweet dream--and tell-- "oh heaven--i die--dear love! farewell, farewell." time fleeted--years on years had past away, and few of those who on that mournful day had stood with pity in their eyes to see the maiden's death and the youth's agony, were living still--when, by a rustic grave, beside the swift amoo's transparent wave, an aged man who had grown aged there by that lone grave, morning and night in prayer, for the last time knelt down--and tho' the shade of death hung darkening over him there played a gleam of rapture on his eye and cheek, that brightened even death--like the last streak of intense glory on the horizon's brim, when night o'er all the rest hangs chill and dim. his soul had seen a vision while he slept; she for whose spirit he had prayed and wept so many years had come to him all drest in angel smiles and told him she was blest! for this the old man breathed his thanks and died.-- and there upon the banks of that loved tide, he and his zelica sleep side by side. the story of the veiled prophet of khorassan being ended, they were now doomed to hear fadladeen's criticisms upon it. a series of disappointments and accidents had occurred to this learned chamberlain during the journey. in the first place, those couriers stationed, as in the reign of shah jehan, between delhi and the western coast of india, to secure a constant supply of mangoes for the royal table, had by some cruel irregularity failed in their duty; and to eat any mangoes but those of mazagong was of course impossible.[ ] in the next place, the elephant laden with his fine antique porcelain,[ ] had, in an unusual fit of liveliness, shattered the whole set to pieces:--an irreparable loss, as many of the vessels were so exquisitely old, as to have been used under the emperors yan and chun, who reigned many ages before the dynasty of tang. his koran too, supposed to be the identical copy between the leaves of which mahomet's favorite pigeon used to nestle, had been mislaid by his koran-bearer three whole days; not without much spiritual alarm to fadladeen who though professing to hold with other loyal and orthodox mussulmans that salvation could only be found in the koran was strongly suspected of believing in his heart that it could only be found in his own particular copy of it. when to all these grievances is added the obstinacy of the cooks in putting the pepper of canara into his dishes instead of the cinnamon of serendib, we may easily suppose that he came to the task of criticism with at least a sufficient degree of irritability for the purpose. "in order," said he, importantly swinging about his chaplet of pearls, "to convey with clearness my opinion of the story this young man has related, it is necessary to take a review of all the stories that have ever"---"my good fadladeen!" exclaimed the princess, interrupting him, "we really do not deserve that you should give yourself so much trouble. your opinion of the poem we have just heard, will i have no doubt be abundantly edifying without any further waste of your valuable erudition."--"if that be all," replied the critic,--evidently mortified at not being allowed to show how much he knew about everything but the subject immediately before him--"if that be all that is required the matter is easily despatched." he then proceeded to analyze the poem, in that strain (so well known to the unfortunate bards of delhi), whose censures were an infliction from which few recovered and whose very praises were like the honey extracted from the bitter flowers of the aloe. the chief personages of the story were, if he rightly understood them, an ill-favored gentleman with a veil over his face;--a young lady whose reason went and came according as it suited the poet's convenience to be sensible or otherwise;--and a youth in one of those hideous bokharian bonnets, who took the aforesaid gentleman in a veil for a divinity. "from such materials," said he, "what can be expected?--after rivalling each other in long speeches and absurdities through some thousands of lines as indigestible as the filberts of berdaa, our friend in the veil jumps into a tub of aquafortis; the young lady dies in a set speech whose only recommendation is that it is her last; and the lover lives on to a good old age for the laudable purpose of seeing her ghost which he at last happily accomplishes, and expires. this you will allow is a fair summary of the story; and if nasser, the arabian merchant, told no better, our holy prophet (to whom be all honor and glory!) had no need to be jealous of his abilities for story-telling." with respect to the style, it was worthy of the matter;--it had not even those politic contrivances of structure which make up for the commonness of the thoughts by the peculiarity of the manner nor that stately poetical phraseology by which sentiments mean in themselves, like the blacksmith's [ ] apron converted into a banner, are so easily gilt and embroidered into consequence. then as to the versification it was, to say no worse of it, execrable: it had neither the copious flow of ferdosi, the sweetness of hafez, nor the sententious march of sadi; but appeared to him in the uneasy heaviness of its movements to have been modelled upon the gait of a very tired dromedary. the licenses too in which it indulged were unpardonable;--for instance this line, and the poem abounded with such;-- like the faint, exquisite music of a dream. "what critic that can count," said fadladeen, "and has his full complement of fingers to count withal, would tolerate for an instant such syllabic superfluities?"--he here looked round, and discovered that most of his audience were asleep; while the glimmering lamps seemed inclined to follow their example. it became necessary therefore, however painful to himself, to put an end to his valuable animadversions for the present and he accordingly concluded with an air of dignified candor, thus:-- "notwithstanding the observations which i have thought it my duty to make, it is by no means my wish to discourage the young man:--so far from it indeed that if he will but totally alter his style of writing and thinking i have very little doubt that i shall be vastly pleased with him." some days elapsed after this harangue of the great chamberlain before lalla rookh could venture to ask for another story. the youth was still a welcome guest in the pavilion--to _one_ heart perhaps too dangerously welcome;--but all mention of poetry was as if by common consent avoided. though none of the party had much respect for fadladeen, yet his censures thus magisterially delivered evidently made an impression on them all. the poet himself to whom criticism was quite a new operation, (being wholly unknown in that paradise of the indies, cashmere,) felt the shock as it is generally felt at first, till use has made it more tolerable to the patient;--the ladies began to suspect that they ought not to be pleased and seemed to conclude that there must have been much good sense in what fadladeen said from its having set them all so soundly to sleep;--while the self-complacent chamberlain was left to triumph in the idea of having for the hundred and fiftieth time in his life extinguished a poet. lalla rookh alone--and love knew why--persisted in being delighted with all she had heard and in resolving to hear more as speedily as possible. her manner however of first returning to the subject was unlucky. it was while they rested during the heat of noon near a fountain on which some hand had rudely traced those well-known words from the garden of sadi.--"many like me have viewed this fountain, but they are gone and their eyes are closed for ever!"--that she took occasion from the melancholy beauty of this passage to dwell upon the charms of poetry in general. "it is true," she said, "few poets can imitate that sublime bird which flies always in the air and never touches the earth:[ ]--it is only once in many ages a genius appears whose words, like those on the written mountain last for ever:[ ]--but still there are some as delightful perhaps, though not so wonderful, who if not stars over our head are at least flowers along our path and whose sweetness of the moment we ought gratefully to inhale without calling upon them for a brightness and a durability beyond their nature. in short," continued she, blushing as if conscious of being caught in an oration, "it is quite cruel that a poet cannot wander through his regions of enchantment without having a critic for ever, like the old man of the sea, upon his back!"[ ]--fadladeen, it was plain took this last luckless allusion to himself and would treasure it up in his mind as a whetstone for his next criticism. a sudden silence ensued; and the princess, glancing a look at feramorz, saw plainly she must wait for a more courageous moment. but the glories of nature and her wild, fragrant airs playing freshly over the current of youthful spirits will soon heal even deeper wounds than the dull fadladeens of this world can inflict. in an evening or two after, they came to the small valley of gardens which had been planted by order of the emperor for his favorite sister rochinara during their progress to cashmere some years before; and never was there a more sparkling assemblage of sweets since the gulzar-e-irem or rose-bower of irem. every precious flower was there to be found that poetry or love or religion has ever consecrated; from the dark hyacinth to which hafez compares his mistress's hair to be _cámalatá_ by whose rosy blossoms the heaven of indra is scented.[ ] as they sat in the cool fragrance of this delicious spot and lalla rookh remarked that she could fancy it the abode of that flower-loving nymph whom they worship in the temples of kathay, [ ] or of one of those peris, those beautiful creatures of the air who live upon perfumes and to whom a place like this might make some amends for the paradise they have lost,--the young poet in whose eyes she appeared while she spoke to be one of the bright spiritual creatures she was describing said hesitatingly that he remembered a story of a peri, which if the princess had no objection he would venture to relate. "it is," said he, with an appealing look to fadladeen, "in a lighter and humbler strain than the other:" then, striking a few careless but melancholy chords on his kitar, he thus began:-- paradise and the peri. one morn a peri at the gate of eden stood disconsolate; and as she listened to the springs of life within like music flowing and caught the light upon her wings thro' the half-open portal glowing, she wept to think her recreant race should e'er have lost that glorious place! "how happy," exclaimed this child of air, "are the holy spirits who wander there "mid flowers that never shall fade or fall; "tho' mine are the gardens of earth and sea "and the stars themselves have flowers for me, "one blossom of heaven out-blooms them all! "tho' sunny the lake of cool cashmere "with its plane-tree isle reflected clear,[ ] "and sweetly the founts of that valley fall; "tho' bright are the waters of sing-su-hay and the golden floods that thitherward stray,[ ] yet--oh, 'tis only the blest can say how the waters of heaven outshine them all! "go, wing thy flight from star to star, from world to luminous world as far as the universe spreads its flaming wall: take all the pleasures of all the spheres and multiply each thro' endless years one minute of heaven is worth them all!" the glorious angel who was keeping the gates of light beheld her weeping, and as he nearer drew and listened to her sad song, a tear-drop glistened within his eyelids, like the spray from eden's fountain when it lies on the blue flower which--bramins say-- blooms nowhere but in paradise.[ ] "nymph of a fair but erring line!" gently he said--"one hope is thine. 'tis written in the book of fate, _the peri yet may be forgiven who brings to this eternal gate the gift that is most dear to heaven_! go seek it and redeem thy sin-- 'tis sweet to let the pardoned in." rapidly as comets run to the embraces of the sun;-- fleeter than the starry brands flung at night from angel hands[ ] at those dark and daring sprites who would climb the empyreal heights, down the blue vault the peri flies, and lighted earthward by a glance that just then broke from morning's eyes, hung hovering o'er our world's expanse. but whither shall the spirit go to find this gift for heaven;--"i know the wealth," she cries, "of every urn in which unnumbered rubies burn beneath the pillars of chilminar:[ ] i know where the isles of perfume are[ ] many a fathom down in the sea, to the south of sun-bright araby;[ ] i know too where the genii hid the jewelled cup of their king jamshid,[ ] "with life's elixir sparkling high-- "but gifts like these are not for the sky. "where was there ever a gem that shone "like the steps of alla's wonderful throne? "and the drops of life--oh! what would they be "in the boundless deep of eternity?" while thus she mused her pinions fanned the air of that sweet indian land whose air is balm, whose ocean spreads o'er coral rocks and amber beds,[ ] whose mountains pregnant by the beam of the warm sun with diamonds teem, whose rivulets are like rich brides, lovely, with gold beneath their tides, whose sandal groves and bowers of spice might be a peri's paradise! but crimson now her rivers ran with human blood--the smell of death came reeking from those spicy bowers, and man the sacrifice of man mingled his taint with every breath upwafted from the innocent flowers. land of the sun! what foot invades thy pagods and thy pillared shades-- thy cavern shrines and idol stones, thy monarch and their thousand thrones?[ ] 'tis he of gazna[ ], fierce in wrath he comes and india's diadems lie scattered in his ruinous path.- his bloodhounds he adorns with gems, torn from the violated necks of many a young and loved sultana;[ ] maidens within their pure zenana, priests in the very fane he slaughters, and chokes up with the glittering wrecks of golden shrines the sacred waters! downward the peri turns her gaze, and thro' the war-field's bloody haze beholds a youthful warrior stand alone beside his native river,-- the red blade broken in his hand and the last arrow in his quiver. "live," said the conqueror, "live to share "the trophies and the crowns i bear!" silent that youthful warrior stood-- silent he pointed to the flood all crimson with his country's blood, then sent his last remaining dart, for answer, to the invader's heart. false flew the shaft tho' pointed well; the tyrant lived, the hero fell!-- yet marked the peri where he lay, and when the rush of war was past swiftly descending on a ray of morning light she caught the last-- last glorious drop his heart had shed before its free-born spirit fled! "be this," she cried, as she winged her flight, "my welcome gift at the gates of light. "tho' foul are the drops that oft distil "on the field of warfare, blood like this "for liberty shed so holy is, "it would not stain the purest rill "that sparkles among the bowers of bliss! "oh, if there be on this earthly sphere "a boon, an offering heaven holds dear, "'tis the last libation liberty draws "from the heart that bleeds and breaks in her cause!" "sweet," said the angel, as she gave the gift into his radiant hand, "sweet is our welcome of the brave "who die thus for their native land.-- "but see--alas! the crystal bar "of eden moves not--holier far "than even this drop the boon must be "that opes the gates of heaven for thee!" her first fond hope of eden blighted, now among afric's lunar mountains[ ] far to the south the peri lighted and sleeked her plumage at the fountains of that egyptian tide whose birth is hidden from the sons of earth deep in those solitary woods where oft the genii of the floods dance round the cradle of their nile and hail the new-born giant's smile.[ ] thence over egypt's palmy groves her grots, and sepulchres of kings,[ ] the exiled spirit sighing roves and now hangs listening to the doves in warm rosetta's vale;[ ] now loves to watch the moonlight on the wings of the white pelicans that break the azure calm of moeris' lake.[ ] 'twas a fair scene: a land more bright never did mortal eye behold! who could have thought that saw this night those valleys and their fruits of gold basking in heaven's serenest light, those groups of lovely date-trees bending languidly their leaf-crowned heads, like youthful maids, when sleep descending warns them to their silken beds,[ ] those virgin lilies all the night bathing their beauties in the lake that they may rise more fresh and bright, when their beloved sun's awake, those ruined shrines and towers that seem the relics of a splendid dream, amid whose fairy loneliness naught but the lapwing's cry is heard,-- naught seen but (when the shadows flitting, fast from the moon unsheath its gleam,) some purple-winged sultana sitting[ ] upon a column motionless and glittering like an idol bird!-- who could have thought that there, even there, amid those scenes so still and fair, the demon of the plague hath cast from his hot wing a deadlier blast, more mortal far than ever came from the red desert's sands of flame! so quick that every living thing of human shape touched by his wing, like plants, where the simoom hath past at once falls black and withering! the sun went down on many a brow which, full of bloom and freshness then, is rankling in the pest-house now and ne'er will feel that sun again, and, oh! to see the unburied heaps on which the lonely moonlight sleeps-- the very vultures turn away, and sicken at so foul a prey! only the fierce hyaena stalks[ ] throughout the city's desolate walks[ ] at midnight and his carnage plies:-- woe to the half-dead wretch who meets the glaring of those large blue eyes amid the darkness of the streets! "poor race of men!" said the pitying spirit, "dearly ye pay for your primal fall-- "some flowerets of eden ye still inherit, "but the trail of the serpent is over them all!" she wept--the air grew pure and clear around her as the bright drops ran, for there's a magic in each tear such kindly spirits weep for man! just then beneath some orange trees whose fruit and blossoms in the breeze were wantoning together, free, like age at play with infancy-- beneath that fresh and springing bower close by the lake she heard the moan of one who at this silent hour, had thither stolen to die alone. one who in life where'er he moved, drew after him the hearts of many; yet now, as tho' he ne'er were loved, dies here unseen, unwept by any! none to watch near him--none to slake the fire that in his bosom lies, with even a sprinkle from that lake which shines so cool before his eyes. no voice well known thro' many a day to speak the last, the parting word which when all other sounds decay is still like distant music heard;-- that tender farewell on the shore of this rude world when all is o'er, which cheers the spirit ere its bark puts off into the unknown dark. deserted youth! one thought alone shed joy around his soul in death that she whom he for years had known, and loved and might have called his own was safe from this foul midnight's breath,-- safe in her father's princely halls where the cool airs from fountain falls, freshly perfumed by many a brand of the sweet wood from india's land, were pure as she whose brow they fanned. but see--who yonder comes by stealth, this melancholy bower to seek, like a young envoy sent by health with rosy gifts upon her cheek? 'tis she--far off, thro' moonlight dim he knew his own betrothed bride, she who would rather die with him than live to gain the world beside!-- her arms are round her lover now, his livid cheek to hers she presses and dips to bind his burning brow in the cool lake her loosened tresses. ah! once, how little did he think an hour would come when he should shrink with horror from that dear embrace, those gentle arms that were to him holy as is the cradling place of eden's infant cherubim! and now he yields--now turns away, shuddering as if the venom lay all in those proffered lips alone-- those lips that then so fearless grown never until that instant came near his unasked or without shame. "oh! let me only breathe the air. "the blessed air, that's breathed by thee, "and whether on its wings it bear "healing or death 'tis sweet to me! "there--drink my tears while yet they fall-- "would that my bosom's blood were balm, "and, well thou knowst, i'd shed it all "to give thy brow one minute's calm. "nay, turn not from me that dear face-- "am i not thine--thy own loved bride-- "the one, the chosen one, whose place "in life or death is by thy side? "thinkst thou that she whose only light, "in this dim world from thee hath shone "could bear the long, the cheerless night "that must be hers when thou art gone? "that i can live and let thee go, "who art my life itself?--no, no-- "when the stem dies the leaf that grew "out of its heart must perish too! "then turn to me, my own love, turn, "before, like thee, i fade and burn; "cling to these yet cool lips and share "the last pure life that lingers there!" she fails--she sinks--as dies the lamp in charnel airs or cavern-damp, so quickly do his baleful sighs quench all the sweet light of her eyes, one struggle--and his pain is past-- her lover is no longer living! one kiss the maiden gives, one last, long kiss, which she expires in giving! "sleep," said the peri, as softly she stole the farewell sigh of that vanishing soul, as true as e'er warmed a woman's breast-- "sleep on, in visions of odor rest "in balmier airs than ever yet stirred "the enchanted pile of that lonely bird "who sings at the last his own death-lay[ ] "and in music and perfume dies away!" thus saying, from her lips she spread unearthly breathings thro' the place and shook her sparkling wreath and shed such lustre o'er each paly face that like two lovely saints they seemed, upon the eve of doomsday taken from their dim graves in ordor sleeping; while that benevolent peri beamed like their good angel calmly keeping watch o'er them till their souls would waken. but morn is blushing in the sky; again the peri soars above, bearing to heaven that precious sigh of pure, self-sacrificing love. high throbbed her heart with hope elate the elysian palm she soon shall win. for the bright spirit at the gate smiled as she gave that offering in; and she already hears the trees of eden with their crystal bells ringing in that ambrosial breeze that from the throne of alla swells; and she can see the starry bowls that lie around that lucid lake upon whose banks admitted souls their first sweet draught of glory take![ ] but, ah! even peris' hopes are vain-- again the fates forbade, again the immortal barrier closed--"not yet," the angel said as with regret he shut from her that glimpse of glory-- "true was the maiden, and her story "written in light o'er alla's head "by seraph eyes shall long be read. "but, peri, see--the crystal bar "of eden moves not--holier far "than even this sigh the boon must be "that opes the gates of heaven for thee." now upon syria's land of roses[ ] softly the light of eve reposes, and like a glory the broad sun hangs over sainted lebanon, whose head in wintry grandeur towers and whitens with eternal sleet, while summer in a vale of flowers is sleeping rosy at his feet. to one who looked from upper air o'er all the enchanted regions there, how beauteous must have been the glow, the life, the sparkling from below! fair gardens, shining streams, with ranks of golden melons on their banks, more golden where the sunlight falls;-- gay lizards, glittering on the walls[ ] of ruined shrines, busy and bright as they were all alive with light; and yet more splendid numerous flocks of pigeons settling on the rocks with their rich restless wings that gleam variously in the crimson beam of the warm west,--as if inlaid with brilliants from the mine or made of tearless rainbows such as span the unclouded skies of peristan. and then the mingling sounds that come, of shepherd's ancient reed,[ ] with hum of the wild bees of palestine,[ ] banqueting thro' the flowery vales; and, jordan, those sweet banks of thine and woods so full of nightingales.[ ] but naught can charm the luckless peri; her soul is sad--her wings are weary-- joyless she sees the sun look down on that great temple once his own,[ ] whose lonely columns stand sublime, flinging their shadows from on high like dials which the wizard time had raised to count his ages by! yet haply there may lie concealed beneath those chambers of the sun some amulet of gems, annealed in upper fires, some tablet sealed with the great name of solomon, which spelled by her illumined eyes, may teach her where beneath the moon, in earth or ocean, lies the boon, the charm, that can restore so soon an erring spirit to the skies. cheered by this hope she bends her thither;-- still laughs the radiant eye of heaven, nor have the golden bowers of even in the rich west begun to wither;-- when o'er the vale of balbec winging slowly she sees a child at play, among the rosy wild flowers singing, as rosy and as wild as they; chasing with eager hands and eyes the beautiful blue damsel-flies,[ ] that fluttered round the jasmine stems like winged flowers or flying gems:-- and near the boy, who tired with play now nestling mid the roses lay. she saw a wearied man dismount from his hot steed and on the brink of a small imaret's rustic fount impatient fling him down to drink. then swift his haggard brow he turned to the fair child who fearless sat, tho' never yet hath day-beam burned upon a brow more fierce than that,-- sullenly fierce--a mixture dire like thunder-clouds of gloom and fire; in which the peri's eye could read dark tales of many a ruthless deed; the ruined maid--the shrine profaned-- oaths broken--and the threshold stained with blood of guests!--_there_ written, all, black as the damning drops that fall from the denouncing angel's pen, ere mercy weeps them out again. yet tranquil now that man of crime (as if the balmy evening time softened his spirit) looked and lay, watching the rosy infant's play:-- tho' still whene'er his eye by chance fell on the boy's, its lucid glance met that unclouded, joyous gaze, as torches that have burnt all night tho' some impure and godless rite, encounter morning's glorious rays. but, hark! the vesper call to prayer, as slow the orb of daylight sets, is rising sweetly on the air. from syria's thousand minarets! the boy has started from the bed of flowers where he had laid his head. and down upon the fragrant sod kneels[ ] with his forehead to the south lisping the eternal name of god from purity's own cherub mouth, and looking while his hands and eyes are lifted to the glowing skies like a stray babe of paradise just lighted on that flowery plain and seeking for its home again. oh! 'twas a sight--that heaven--that child-- a scene, which might have well beguiled even haughty eblis of a sigh for glories lost and peace gone by! and how felt _he_, the wretched man reclining there--while memory ran o'er many a year of guilt and strife, flew o'er the dark flood of his life, nor found one sunny resting-place. nor brought him back one branch of grace. "there _was_ a time," he said, in mild, heart-humbled tones--"thou blessed child! "when young and haply pure as thou "i looked and prayed like thee--but now"-- he hung his head--each nobler aim and hope and feeling which had slept from boyhood's hour that instant came fresh o'er him and he wept--he wept! blest tears of soul-felt penitence! in whose benign, redeeming flow is felt the first, the only sense of guiltless joy that guilt can know. "there's a drop," said the peri, "that down from the moon "falls thro' the withering airs of june "upon egypt's land,[ ] of so healing a power, "so balmy a virtue, that even in the hour "that drop descends contagion dies "and health reanimates earth and skies!-- "oh, is it not thus, thou man of sin, "the precious tears of repentance fall? "tho' foul thy fiery plagues within "one heavenly drop hath dispelled them all!" and now--behold him kneeling there by the child's side, in humble prayer, while the same sunbeam shines upon the guilty and the guiltless one. and hymns of joy proclaim thro' heaven the triumph of a soul forgiven! 'twas when the golden orb had set, while on their knees they lingered yet, there fell a light more lovely far than ever came from sun or star, upon the tear that, warm and meek, dewed that repentant sinner's cheek. to mortal eye this light might seem a northern flash or meteor beam-- but well the enraptured peri knew 'twas a bright smile the angel threw from heaven's gate to hail that tear her harbinger of glory near! "joy, joy for ever! my task is done-- "the gates are past and heaven is won! "oh! am i not happy? i am, i am-- "to thee, sweet eden! how dark and sad "are the diamond turrets of shadukiam,[ ] "and the fragrant bowers of amberabad! "farewell ye odors of earth that die "passing away like a lover's sigh;-- "my feast is now of the tooba tree[ ] "whose scent is the breath of eternity! "farewell, ye vanishing flowers that shone "in my fairy wreath so bright an' brief;-- "oh! what are the brightest that e'er have blown "to the lote-tree springing by alla's throne[ ] "whose flowers have a soul in every leaf. "joy, joy for ever.--my task is done-- "the gates are past and heaven is won!" "and this," said the great chamberlain, "is poetry! this flimsy manufacture of the brain, which in comparison with the lofty and durable monuments of genius is as the gold filigree-work of zamara beside the eternal architecture of egypt!" after this gorgeous sentence, which, with a few more of the same kind, fadladeen kept by him for rare and important occasions, he proceeded to the anatomy of the short poem just recited. the lax and easy kind of metre in which it was written ought to be denounced, he said, as one of the leading causes of the alarming growth of poetry in our times. if some check were not given to this lawless facility we should soon be overrun by a race of bards as numerous and as shallow as the hundred and twenty thousand streams of basra.[ ] they who succeeded in this style deserved chastisement for their very success;--as warriors have been punished even after gaining a victory because they had taken the liberty of gaining it in an irregular or unestablished manner. what then was to be said to those who failed? to those who presumed as in the present lamentable instance to imitate the licence and ease of the bolder sons of song without any of that grace or vigor which gave a dignity even to negligence;--who like them flung the jereed[ ] carelessly, but not, like them, to the mark;--"and who," said he, raising his voice to excite a proper degree of wakefulness in his hearers, "contrive to appear heavy and constrained in the midst of all the latitude they allow themselves, like one of those young pagans that dance before the princess, who is ingenious enough to move as if her limbs were fettered, in a pair of the lightest and loosest drawers of masulipatam!" it was but little suitable, he continued, to the grave march of criticism to follow this fantastical peri of whom they had just heard, through all her flights and adventures between earth and heaven, but he could not help adverting to the puerile conceitedness of the three gifts which she is supposed to carry to the skies,--a drop of blood, forsooth, a sigh, and a tear! how the first of these articles was delivered into the angel's "radiant hand" he professed himself at a loss to discover; and as to the safe carriage of the sigh and the tear, such peris and such poets were beings by far too incomprehensible for him even to guess how they managed such matters. "but, in short," said he, "it is a waste of time and patience to dwell longer upon a thing so incurably frivolous,--puny even among its own puny race, and such as only the banyan hospital[ ] for sick insects should undertake." in vain did lalla rookh try to soften this inexorable critic; in vain did she resort to her most eloquent commonplaces, reminding him that poets were a timid and sensitive race whose sweetness was not to be drawn forth like that of the fragrant grass near the ganges by crushing and trampling upon them,[ ] that severity often extinguished every chance of the perfection which it demanded, and that after all perfection was like the mountain of the talisman,--no one had ever yet reached its summit.[ ] neither these gentle axioms nor the still gentler looks with which they were inculcated could lower for one instant the elevation of fadladeen's eyebrows or charm him into anything like encouragement or even toleration of her poet. toleration, indeed, was not among the weaknesses of fadladeen:--he carried the same spirit into matters of poetry and of religion, and though little versed in the beauties or sublimities of either was a perfect master of the art of persecution in both. his zeal was the same too in either pursuit, whether the game before him was pagans or poetasters, worshippers of cows, or writers of epics. they had now arrived at the splendid city of lahore whose mausoleums and shrines, magnificent and numberless where death appeared to share equal honors with heaven would have powerfully affected the heart and imagination of lalla rookh, if feelings more of this earth had not taken entire possession of her already. she was here met by messengers despatched from cashmere who informed her that the king had arrived in the valley and was himself superintending the sumptuous preparations that were then making in the saloons of the shalimar for her reception. the chill she felt on receiving this intelligence,--which to a bride whose heart was free and light would have brought only images of affection and pleasure,--convinced her that her peace was gone for ever and that she was in love, irretrievably in love, with young feramorz. the veil had fallen off in which this passion at first disguises itself, and to know that she loved was now as painful as to love without knowing it had been delicious. feramorz, too,--what misery would be his, if the sweet hours of intercourse so imprudently allowed them should have stolen into his heart the same fatal fascination as into hers;--if, notwithstanding her rank and the modest homage he always paid to it, even _he_ should have yielded to the influence of those long and happy interviews where music, poetry, the delightful scenes of nature,--all had tended to bring their hearts close together and to waken by every means that too ready passion which often like the young of the desert-bird is warmed into life by the eyes alone! [ ] she saw but one way to preserve herself from being culpable as well as unhappy, and this however painful she was resolved to adopt. feramorz must no more be admitted to her presence. to have strayed so far into the dangerous labyrinth was wrong, but to linger in it while the clew was yet in her hand would be criminal. though the heart she had to offer to the king of bucharia might be cold and broken, it should at least be pure, and she must only endeavor to forget the short dream of happiness she had enjoyed,--like that arabian shepherd who in wandering into the wilderness caught a glimpse of the gardens of irim and then lost them again for ever! the arrival of the young bride at lahore was celebrated in the most enthusiastic manner. the rajas and omras in her train, who had kept at a certain distance during the journey and never encamped nearer to the princess than was strictly necessary for her safeguard here rode in splendid cavalcade through the city and distributed the most costly presents to the crowd. engines were erected in all the squares which cast forth showers of confectionery among the people, while the artisans in chariots[ ] adorned with tinsel and flying streamers exhibited the badges of their respective trades through the streets. such brilliant displays of life and pageantry among the palaces and domes and gilded minarets of lahore made the city altogether like a place of enchantment;--particularly on the day when lalla rookh set out again upon her journey, when she was accompanied to the gate by all the fairest and richest of the nobility and rode along between ranks of beautiful boys and girls who kept waving over their heads plates of gold and silver flowers,[ ] and then threw them around to be gathered by the populace. for many days after their departure from lahore a considerable degree of gloom hung over the whole party. lalla rookh, who had intended to make illness her excuse for not admitting the young minstrel, as usual, to the pavilion, soon found that to feign indisposition was unnecessary;-- fadladeen felt the loss of the good road they had hitherto travelled and was very near cursing jehan-guire (of blessed memory!) for not having continued his delectable alley of trees[ ] a least as far as the mountains of cashmere;--while the ladies who had nothing now to do all day but to be fanned by peacocks' feathers and listen to fadladeen seemed heartily weary of the life they led and in spite of all the great chamberlain's criticisms were so tasteless as to wish for the poet again. one evening as they were proceeding to their place of rest for the night the princess who for the freer enjoyment of the air had mounted her favorite arabian palfrey, in passing by a small grove heard the notes of a lute from within its leaves and a voice which she but too well knew singing the following words:-- tell me not of joys above, if that world can give no bliss, truer, happier than the love which enslaves our souls in this. tell me not of houris' eyes;-- far from me their dangerous glow. if those looks that light the skies wound like some that burn below. who that feels what love is here, all its falsehood--all its pain-- would, for even elysium's sphere, risk the fatal dream again? who that midst a desert's heat sees the waters fade away would not rather die than meet streams again as false as they? the tone of melancholy defiance in which these words were uttered went to lalla rookh's heart;--and as she reluctantly rode on she could not help feeling it to be a sad but still sweet certainty that feramorz was to the full as enamored and miserable as herself. the place where they encamped that evening was the first delightful spot they had come to since they left lahore. on one side of them was a grove full of small hindoo temples and planted with the most graceful trees of the east, where the tamarind, the cassia, and the silken plantains of ceylon were mingled in rich contrast with the high fan-like foliage of the palmyra,--that favorite tree of the luxurious bird that lights up the chambers of its nest with fire-flies.[ ]. in the middle of the lawn where the pavilion stood there was a tank surrounded by small mango-trees on the clear cold waters of which floated multitudes of the beautiful red lotus,[ ] while at a distance stood the ruins of a strange and awful- looking tower which seemed old enough to have been the temple of some religion no longer known and which spoke the voice of desolation in the midst of all that bloom and loveliness. this singular ruin excited the wonder and conjectures of all. lalla rookh guessed in vain, and the all- pretending fadladeen who had never till this journey been beyond the precincts of delhi was proceeding most learnedly to show that he knew nothing whatever about the matter, when one of the ladies suggested that perhaps feramorz could satisfy their curiosity. they were now approaching his native mountains and this tower might perhaps be a relic of some of those dark superstitions which had prevailed in that country before the light of islam dawned upon it. the chamberlain who usually preferred his own ignorance to the best knowledge that any one else could give him was by no means pleased with this officious reference, and the princess too was about to interpose a faint word of objection, but before either of them could speak a slave was despatched for feramorz, who in a very few minutes made his appearance before them--looking so pale and unhappy in lalla rookh's eyes that she repented already of her cruelty in having so long excluded him. that venerable tower he told them was the remains of an ancient fire- temple, built by those ghebers or persians of the old religion, who many hundred years since had fled hither from the arab conquerors, preferring liberty and their altars in a foreign land to the alternative of apostasy or persecution in their own. it was impossible, he added, not to feel interested in the many glorious but unsuccessful struggles which had been made by these original natives of persia to cast off the yoke of their bigoted conquerors. like their own fire in the burning field at bakou when suppressed in one place they had but broken out with fresh flame in another; and as a native of cashmere, of that fair and holy valley which had in the same manner become the prey of strangers[ ] and seen her ancient shrines and native princes swept away before the march of her intolerant invaders he felt a sympathy, he owned, with the sufferings of the persecuted ghebers which every monument like this before them but tended more powerfully to awaken. it was the first time that feramorz had ever ventured upon so much _prose_ before fadladeen and it may easily be conceived what effect such prose as this must have produced upon that most orthodox and most pagan- hating personage. he sat for some minutes aghast, ejaculating only at intervals, "bigoted conquerors!--sympathy with fire-worshippers!"[ ]-- while feramorz happy to take advantage of this almost speechless horror of the chamberlain proceeded to say that he knew a melancholy story connected with the events of one of those struggles of the brave fire-worshippers against their arab masters, which if the evening was not too far advanced he should have much pleasure in being allowed to relate to the princess. it was impossible for lalla rookh to refuse;--he had never before looked half so animated, and when he spoke of the holy valley his eyes had sparkled she thought like the talismanic characters on the scimitar of solomon. her consent was therefore most readily granted; and while fadladeen sat in unspeakable dismay, expecting treason and abomination in every line, the poet thus began his story of the fire-worshippers: the fire-worshippers. 'tis moonlight over oman's sea;[ ] her banks of pearl and palmy isles bask in the night-beam beauteously and her blue waters sleep in smiles. 'tis moonlight in harmozia's[ ] walls, and through her emir's porphyry halls where some hours since was heard the swell of trumpets and the clash of zel[ ] bidding the bright-eyed sun farewell;-- the peaceful sun whom better suits the music of the bulbul's nest or the light touch of lovers' lutes to sing him to his golden rest. all husht--there's not a breeze in motion; the shore is silent as the ocean. if zephyrs come, so light they come. nor leaf is stirred nor wave is driven;-- the wind-tower on the emir's dome[ ] can hardly win a breath from heaven. even he, that tyrant arab, sleeps calm, while a nation round him weeps, while curses load the air he breathes and falchions from unnumbered sheaths are starting to avenge the shame his race hath brought on iran's[ ]name. hard, heartless chief, unmoved alike mid eyes that weep and swords that strike; one of that saintly, murderous brood, to carnage and the koran given, who think thro' unbelievers' blood lies their directest path to heaven,-- one who will pause and kneel unshod in the warm blood his hand hath poured, to mutter o'er some text of god engraven on his reeking sword;[ ] nay, who can coolly note the line, the letter of those words divine, to which his blade with searching art had sunk into its victim's heart! just alla! what must be thy look when such a wretch before thee stands unblushing, with thy sacred book,-- turning the leaves with bloodstained hands, and wresting from its page sublime his creed of lust and hate and crime;-- even as those bees of trebizond, which from the sunniest flowers that glad with their pure smile the gardens round, draw venom forth that drives men mad.[ ] never did fierce arabia send a satrap forth more direly great; never was iran doomed to bend beneath a yoke of deadlier weight. her throne had fallen--her pride was crusht-- her sons were willing slaves, nor blusht, in their own land,--no more their own,-- to crouch beneath a stranger's throne. her towers where mithra once had burned. to moslem shrines--oh shame!--were turned, where slaves converted by the sword, their mean, apostate worship poured, and curst the faith their sires adored. yet has she hearts, mid all this ill, o'er all this wreck high buoyant still with hope and vengeance;--hearts that yet-- like gems, in darkness, issuing rays they've treasured from the sun that's set,-- beam all the light of long-lost days! and swords she hath, nor weak nor slow to second all such hearts can dare: as he shall know, well, dearly know. who sleeps in moonlight luxury there, tranquil as if his spirit lay becalmed in heaven's approving ray. sleep on--for purer eyes than thine those waves are husht, those planets shine; sleep on and be thy rest unmoved by the white moonbeam's dazzling power;-- none but the loving and the loved should be awake at this sweet hour. and see--where high above those rocks that o'er the deep their shadows fling. yon turret stands;--where ebon locks, as glossy as the heron's wing upon the turban of a king,[ ] hang from the lattice, long and wild,-- 'tis she, that emir's blooming child, all truth and tenderness and grace, tho' born of such ungentle race;-- an image of youth's radiant fountain springing in a desolate mountain![ ] oh what a pure and sacred thing is beauty curtained from the sight of the gross world, illumining one only mansion with her light! unseen by man's disturbing eye,-- the flower that blooms beneath the sea, too deep for sunbeams, doth not lie hid in more chaste obscurity. so, hinda. have thy face and mind, like holy mysteries, lain enshrined. and oh! what transport for a lover to lift the veil that shades them o'er!-- like those who all at once discover in the lone deep some fairy shore where mortal never trod before, and sleep and wake in scented airs no lip had ever breathed but theirs. beautiful are the maids that glide on summer-eves thro' yemen's[ ] dales, and bright the glancing looks they hide behind their litters' roseate veils;-- and brides as delicate and fair as the white jasmine flowers they wear, hath yemen in her blissful clime, who lulled in cool kiosk or bower,[ ] before their mirrors count the time[ ] and grow still lovelier every hour. but never yet hath bride or maid in araby's gay haram smiled. whose boasted brightness would not fade before al hassan's blooming child. light as the angel shapes that bless an infant's dream, yet not the less rich in all woman's loveliness;-- with eyes so pure that from their ray dark vice would turn abasht away, blinded like serpents when they gaze upon the emerald's virgin blaze;[ ]-- yet filled with all youth's sweet desires, mingling the meek and vestal fires of other worlds with all the bliss, the fond, weak tenderness of this: a soul too more than half divine, where, thro' some shades of earthly feeling, religion's softened glories shine, like light thro' summer foliage stealing, shedding a glow of such mild hue, so warm and yet so shadowy too, as makes the very darkness there more beautiful than light elsewhere. such is the maid who at this hour hath risen from her restless sleep and sits alone in that high bower, watching the still and shining deep. ah! 'twas not thus,--with tearful eyes and beating heart,--she used to gaze on the magnificent earth and skies, in her own land, in happier days. why looks she now so anxious down among those rocks whose rugged frown blackens the mirror of the deep? whom waits she all this lonely night? too rough the rocks, too bold the steep, for man to scale that turret's height!-- so deemed at least her thoughtful sire, when high, to catch the cool night-air after the day-beam's withering fire,[ ] he built her bower of freshness there, and had it deckt with costliest skill and fondly thought it safe as fair:-- think, reverend dreamer! think so still, nor wake to learn what love can dare;-- love, all defying love, who sees no charm in trophies won with ease;-- whose rarest, dearest fruits of bliss are plucked on danger's precipice! bolder than they who dare not dive for pearls but when the sea's at rest, love, in the tempest most alive, hath ever held that pearl the best he finds beneath the stormiest water. yes, araby's unrivalled daughter, tho' high that tower, that rock-way rude, there's one who but to kiss thy cheek would climb the untrodden solitude of ararat's tremendous peak,[ ] and think its steeps, tho' dark and dread, heaven's pathways, if to thee they led! even now thou seest the flashing spray, that lights his oar's impatient way;-- even now thou hearest the sudden shock of his swift bark against the rock, and stretchest down thy arms of snow as if to lift him from below! like her to whom at dead of night the bridegroom with his locks of light[ ] came in the flush of love and pride and scaled the terrace of his bride;-- when as she saw him rashly spring, and midway up in danger cling, she flung him down her long black hair, exclaiming breathless, "there, love, there!" and scarce did manlier nerve uphold the hero zal in that fond hour, than wings the youth who, fleet and bold, now climbs the rocks to hinda's bower. see-light as up their granite steeps the rock-goats of arabia clamber,[ ] fearless from crag to crag he leaps, and now is in the maiden's chamber. she loves--but knows not whom she loves, nor what his race, nor whence he came;-- like one who meets in indian groves some beauteous bird without a name; brought by the last ambrosial breeze from isles in the undiscovered seas, to show his plumage for a day to wondering eyes and wing away! will he thus fly--her nameless lover? alla forbid! 'twas by a moon as fair as this, while singing over some ditty to her soft kanoon, alone, at this same witching hour, she first beheld his radiant eyes gleam thro' the lattice of the bower, where nightly now they mix their sighs; and thought some spirit of the air (for what could waft a mortal there?) was pausing on his moonlight way to listen to her lonely lay! this fancy ne'er hath left her mind: and--tho', when terror's swoon had past, she saw a youth of mortal kind before her in obeisance cast,-- yet often since, when he hath spoken strange, awful words,--and gleams have broken from his dark eyes, too bright to bear, oh! she hath feared her soul was given to some unhallowed child of air, some erring spirit cast from heaven, like those angelic youths of old who burned for maids of mortal mould, bewildered left the glorious skies and lost their heaven for woman's eyes. fond girl! nor fiend nor angel he who woos thy young simplicity; but one of earth's impassioned sons, as warm in love, as fierce in ire as the best heart whose current runs full of the day-god's living fire. but quenched to-night that ardor seems, and pale his cheek and sunk his brow;-- never before but in her dreams had she beheld him pale as now: and those were dreams of troubled sleep from which 'twas joy to wake and weep; visions that will not be forgot, but sadden every waking scene like warning ghosts that leave the spot all withered where they once have been. "how sweetly," said the trembling maid, of her own gentle voice afraid, so long had they in silence stood looking upon that tranquil flood-- "how sweetly does the moonbeam smile "to-night upon yon leafy isle! "oft, in my fancy's wanderings, "i've wisht that little isle had wings, "and we within its fairy bowers "were wafted off to seas unknown, "where not a pulse should beat but ours, "and we might live, love, die, alone! "far from the cruel and the cold,-- "where the bright eyes of angels only "should come around us to behold "a paradise so pure and lonely. "would this be world enough for thee?"-- playful she turned that he might see the passing smile her cheek put on; but when she markt how mournfully his eye met hers, that smile was gone; and bursting into heart-felt tears, "yes, yes," she cried, "my hourly fears, "my dreams have boded all too right-- "we part--for ever part--tonight! "i knew, i knew it _could_ not last-- "'twas bright, 'twas heavenly, but 'tis past! "oh! ever thus from childhood's hour "i've seen my fondest hopes decay; "i never loved a tree or flower, "but 'twas the first to fade away. "i never nurst a dear gazelle "to glad me with its soft black eye "but when it came to know me well "and love me it was sure to die i "now too--the joy most like divine "of all i ever dreamt or knew, "to see thee, hear thee, call thee mine,-- "oh misery! must i lose _that_ too? "yet go--on peril's brink we meet;-- "those frightful rocks--that treacherous sea-- "no, never come again--tho' sweet, "tho' heaven, it may be death to thee. "farewell--and blessings on thy way, "where'er thou goest, beloved stranger! "better to sit and watch that ray "and think thee safe, tho' far away, "than have thee near me and in danger!" "danger!--oh, tempt me not to boast"-- the youth exclaimed--"thou little know'st "what he can brave, who, born and nurst "in danger's paths, has dared her worst; "upon whose ear the signal-word "of strife and death is hourly breaking; "who sleeps with head upon the sword "his fevered hand must grasp in waking. "danger!"-- "say on--thou fearest not then, "and we may meet--oft meet again?" "oh! look not so--beneath the skies "i now fear nothing but those eyes. "if aught on earth could charm or force "my spirit from its destined course,-- "if aught could make this soul forget "the bond to which its seal is set, "'twould be those eyes;--they, only they, "could melt that sacred seal away! "but no--'tis fixt--_my_ awful doom "is fixt--on this side of the tomb "we meet no more;--why, why did heaven "mingle two souls that earth has riven, "has rent asunder wide as ours? "oh, arab maid, as soon the powers "of light and darkness may combine. "as i be linkt with thee or thine! "thy father"-- "holy alla save "his gray head from that lightning glance! "thou knowest him not--he loves the brave; "nor lives there under heaven's expanse "one who would prize, would worship thee "and thy bold spirit more than he. "oft when in childhood i have played "with the bright falchion by his side, "i've heard him swear his lisping maid "in time should be a warrior's bride. "and still whene'er at haram hours "i take him cool sherbets and flowers, "he tells me when in playful mood "a hero shall my bridegroom be, "since maids are best in battle wooed, "and won with shouts of victory! "nay, turn not from me--thou alone "art formed to make both hearts thy own. "go--join his sacred ranks--thou knowest "the unholy strife these persians wage:-- "good heaven, that frown!--even now thou glowest "with more than mortal warrior's rage. "haste to the camp by morning's light, "and when that sword is raised in fight, "oh still remember, love and i "beneath its shadow trembling lie! "one victory o'er those slaves of fire, "those impious ghebers whom my sire "abhors"-- "hold, hold--thy words are death"-- the stranger cried as wild he flung his mantle back and showed beneath the gheber belt that round him clung.[ ]-- "here, maiden, look--weep--blush to see "all that thy sire abhors in me! "yes--_i_ am of that impious race, "those slaves of fire who, morn and even, "hail their creator's dwelling-place "among the living lights of heaven:[ ] "yes--_i_ am of that outcast few, "to iran and to vengeance true, "who curse the hour your arabs came "to desolate our shrines of flame, "and swear before god's burning eye "to break our country's chains or die! "thy bigot sire,--nay, tremble not,-- "he who gave birth to those dear eyes "with me is sacred as the spot "from which our fires of worship rise! "but know--'twas he i sought that night, "when from my watch-boat on the sea "i caught this turret's glimmering light, "and up the rude rocks desperately "rusht to my prey--thou knowest the rest-- "i climbed the gory vulture's nest, "and found a trembling dove within;-- "thine, thine the victory--thine the sin-- "if love hath made one thought his own, "that vengeance claims first--last--alone! "oh? had we never, never met, "or could this heart even now forget "how linkt, how blest we might have been, "had fate not frowned so dark between! "hadst thou been born a persian maid, "in neighboring valleys had we dwelt, "thro' the same fields in childhood played, "at the same kindling altar knelt,-- "then, then, while all those nameless ties "in which the charm of country lies "had round our hearts been hourly spun, "till iran's cause and thine were one; "while in thy lute's awakening sigh "i heard the voice of days gone by, "and saw in every smile of thine "returning hours of glory shine;-- "while the wronged spirit of our land "lived, lookt, and spoke her wrongs thro' thee,-- "god! who could then this sword withstand? "its very flash were victory! "but now--estranged, divorced for ever, "far as the grasp of fate can sever; "our only ties what love has wove,-- "in faith, friends, country, sundered wide; "and then, then only, true to love, "when false to all that's dear beside! "thy father ikan's deadliest foe-- "thyself, perhaps, even now--but no-- "hate never looked so lovely yet! no--sacred to thy soul will be "the land of him who could forget "all but that bleeding land for thee. "when other eyes shall see, unmoved, "her widows mourn, her warriors fall, "thou'lt think how well one gheber loved. "and for _his_ sake thou'lt weep for all! "but look"-- with sudden start he turned and pointed to the distant wave where lights like charnel meteors burned bluely as o'er some seaman's grave; and fiery darts at intervals[ ] flew up all sparkling from the main as if each star that nightly falls were shooting back to heaven again. "my signal lights!--i must away-- "both, both are ruined, if i stay. "farewell--sweet life! thou clingest in vain-- "now, vengeance, i am thine again!" fiercely he broke away, nor stopt, nor lookt--but from the lattice dropt down mid the pointed crags beneath as if he fled from love to death. while pale and mute young hinda stood, nor moved till in the silent flood a momentary plunge below startled her from her trance of woe;-- shrieking she to the lattice flew, "i come--i come--if in that tide "thou sleepest to-night, i'll sleep there too "in death's cold wedlock by thy side. "oh! i would ask no happier bed "than the chill wave my love lies under:-- "sweeter to rest together dead, "far sweeter than to live asunder!" but no--their hour is not yet come-- again she sees his pinnace fly, wafting him fleetly to his home, where'er that ill-starred home may lie; and calm and smooth it seemed to win its moonlight way before the wind as if it bore all peace within nor left one breaking heart behind! the princess whose heart was sad enough already could have wished that feramorz had chosen a less melancholy story; as it is only to the happy that tears are a luxury. her ladies however were by no means sorry that love was once more the poet's theme; for, whenever he spoke of love, they said, his voice was as sweet as if he had chewed the leaves of that enchanted tree, which grows over the tomb of the musician, tan-sein.[ ] their road all the morning had lain through a very dreary country;-- through valleys, covered with a low bushy jungle, where in more than one place the awful signal of the bamboo staff[ ] with the white flag at its top reminded the traveller that in that very spot the tiger had made some human creature his victim. it was therefore with much pleasure that they arrived at sunset in a safe and lovely glen and encamped under one of those holy trees whose smooth columns and spreading roofs seem to destine them for natural temples of religion. beneath this spacious shade some pious hands had erected a row of pillars ornamented with the most beautiful porcelain[ ] which now supplied the use of mirrors to the young maidens as they adjusted their hair in descending from the palankeens. here while as usual the princess sat listening anxiously with fadladeen in one of his loftiest moods of criticism by her side the young poet leaning against a branch of the tree thus continued his story:-- the morn hath risen clear and calm and o'er the green sea[ ] palely shines, revealing bahrein's groves of palm and lighting kishma's amber vines. fresh smell the shores of araby, while breezes from the indian sea blow round selama's[ ] sainted cape and curl the shining flood beneath,-- whose waves are rich with many a grape and cocoa-nut and flowery wreath which pious seamen as they past had toward that holy headland cast-- oblations to the genii there for gentle skies and breezes fair! the nightingale now bends her flight[ ] from the high trees where all the night she sung so sweet with none to listen; and hides her from the morning star where thickets of pomegranate glisten in the clear dawn,--bespangled o'er with dew whose night-drops would not stain the best and brightest scimitar[ ] that ever youthful sultan wore on the first morning of his reign. and see--the sun himself!--on wings of glory up the east he springs. angel of light! who from the time those heavens began their march sublime, hath first of all the starry choir trod in his maker's steps of fire! where are the days, thou wondrous sphere, when iran, like a sun-flower, turned to meet that eye where'er it burned?-- when from the banks of bendemeer to the nut-groves of samarcand thy temples flamed o'er all the land? where are they? ask the shades of them who, on cadessia's[ ] bloody plains, saw fierce invaders pluck the gem from iran's broken diadem, and bind her ancient faith in chains:-- ask the poor exile cast alone on foreign shores, unloved, unknown, beyond the caspian's iron gates, or on the snowy mossian mountains, far from his beauteous land of dates, her jasmine bowers and sunny fountains: yet happier so than if he trod his own beloved but blighted sod beneath a despot stranger's nod!-- oh, he would rather houseless roam where freedom and his god may lead, than be the sleekest slave at home that crouches to the conqueror's creed! is iran's pride then gone for ever, quenched with the flame in mithra's caves? no--she has sons that never--never-- will stoop to be the moslem's slaves while heaven has light or earth has graves;-- spirits of fire that brood not long but flash resentment back for wrong; and hearts where, slow but deep, the seeds of vengeance ripen into deeds, till in some treacherous hour of calm they burst like zeilan's giant palm[ ] whose buds fly open with a sound that shakes the pigmy forests round! yes, emir! he, who scaled that tower, and had he reached thy slumbering breast had taught thee in a gheber's power how safe even tyrant heads may rest-- is one of many, brave as he, who loathe thy haughty race and thee; who tho' they knew the strife is vain, who tho' they know the riven chain snaps but to enter in the heart of him who rends its links apart, yet dare the issue,--blest to be even for one bleeding moment free and die in pangs of liberty! thou knowest them well--'tis some moons since thy turbaned troops and blood-red flags, thou satrap of a bigot prince, have swarmed among these green sea crags; yet here, even here, a sacred band ay, in the portal of that land thou, arab, darest to call thy own, their spears across thy path have thrown; here--ere the winds half winged thee o'er-- rebellion braved thee from the shore. rebellion! foul, dishonoring word, whose wrongful blight so oft has stained the holiest cause that tongue or sword of mortal ever lost or gained. how many a spirit born to bless hath sunk beneath that withering name, whom but a day's, an hour's success had wafted to eternal fame! as exhalations when they burst from the warm earth if chilled at first, if checkt in soaring from the plain darken to fogs and sink again;-- but if they once triumphant spread their wings above the mountain-head, become enthroned in upper air, and turn to sun-bright glories there! and who is he that wields the might of freedom on the green sea brink, before whose sabre's dazzling light[ ] the eyes of yemen's warriors wink? who comes embowered in the spears of kerman's hardy mountaineers? those mountaineers that truest, last, cling to their country's ancient rites, as if that god whose eyelids cast their closing gleam on iran's heights, among her snowy mountains threw the last light of his worship too! 'tis hafed--name of fear, whose sound chills like the muttering of a charm!-- shout but that awful name around, and palsy shakes the manliest arm. 'tis hafed, most accurst and dire (so rankt by moslem hate and ire) of all the rebel sons of fire; of whose malign, tremendous power the arabs at their mid-watch hour such tales of fearful wonder tell that each affrighted sentinel pulls down his cowl upon his eyes, lest hafed in the midst should rise! a man, they say, of monstrous birth, a mingled race of flame and earth, sprung from those old, enchanted kings[ ] who in their fairy helms of yore a feather from the mystic wings of the simoorgh resistless wore; and gifted by the fiends of fire, who groaned to see their shrines expire with charms that all in vain withstood would drown the koran's light in blood! such were the tales that won belief, and such the coloring fancy gave to a young, warm, and dauntless chief,-- one who, no more than mortal brave, fought for the land his soul adored, for happy homes and altars free,-- his only talisman, the sword, his only spell-word, liberty! one of that ancient hero line, along whose glorious current shine names that have sanctified their blood: as lebanon's small mountain-flood is rendered holy by the ranks of sainted cedars on its banks.[ ] 'twas not for him to crouch the knee tamely to moslem tyranny; 'twas not for him whose soul was cast in the bright mould of ages past, whose melancholy spirit fed with all the glories of the dead tho' framed for iran's happiest years. was born among her chains and tears!-- 'twas not for him to swell the crowd of slavish heads, that shrinking bowed before the moslem as he past like shrubs beneath the poison-blast-- no--far he fled--indignant fled the pageant of his country's shame; while every tear her children shed fell on his soul like drops of flame; and as a lover hails the dawn of a first smile, so welcomed he the sparkle of the first sword drawn for vengeance and for liberty! but vain was valor--vain the flower of kerman, in that deathful hour, against al hassan's whelming power.-- in vain they met him helm to helm upon the threshold of that realm he came in bigot pomp to sway, and with their corpses blockt his way-- in vain--for every lance they raised thousands around the conqueror blazed; for every arm that lined their shore myriads of slaves were wafted o'er,-- a bloody, bold, and countless crowd, before whose swarm as fast they bowed as dates beneath the locust cloud. there stood--but one short league away from old harmozia's sultry bay-- a rocky mountain o'er the sea-- of oman beetling awfully;[ ] a last and solitary link of those stupendous chains that reach from the broad caspian's reedy brink down winding to the green sea beach. around its base the bare rocks stood like naked giants, in the flood as if to guard the gulf across; while on its peak that braved the sky a ruined temple towered so high that oft the sleeping albatross[ ] struck the wild ruins with her wing, and from her cloud-rockt slumbering started--to find man's dwelling there in her own silent fields of air! beneath, terrific caverns gave dark welcome to each stormy wave that dasht like midnight revellers in;-- and such the strange, mysterious din at times throughout those caverns rolled,-- and such the fearful wonders told of restless sprites imprisoned there, that bold were moslem who would dare at twilight hour to steer his skiff beneath the gheber's lonely cliff.[ ] on the land side those towers sublime, that seemed above the grasp of time, were severed from the haunts of men by a wide, deep, and wizard glen, so fathomless, so full of gloom, no eye could pierce the void between: it seemed a place where ghouls might come with their foul banquets from the tomb and in its caverns feed unseen. like distant thunder, from below the sound of many torrents came, too deep for eye or ear to know if 'twere the sea's imprisoned flow, or floods of ever-restless flame. for each ravine, each rocky spire of that vast mountain stood on fire;[ ] and tho' for ever past the days when god was worshipt in the blaze-- that from its lofty altar shone,-- tho' fled the priests, the votaries gone, still did the mighty flame burn on,[ ] thro' chance and change, thro' good and ill, like its own god's eternal will, deep, constant, bright, unquenchable! thither the vanquisht hafed led his little army's last remains;-- "welcome, terrific glen!" he said, "thy gloom, that eblis' self might dread, "is heaven to him who flies from chains!" o'er a dark, narrow bridge-way known to him and to his chiefs alone they crost the chasm and gained the towers;-- "this home," he cried, "at least is ours; "here we may bleed, unmockt by hymns "of moslem triumph o'er our head; "here we may fall nor leave our limbs "to quiver to the moslem's tread. "stretched on this rock while vultures' beaks "are whetted on our yet warm cheeks, "here--happy that no tyrant's eye "gloats on our torments--we may die!"-- 'twas night when to those towers they came, and gloomily the fitful flame that from the ruined altar broke glared on his features as he spoke:-- "'tis o'er--what men could do, we've done-- "if iran _will_ look tamely on "and see her priests, her warriors driven "before a sensual bigot's nod, "a wretch who shrines his lusts in heaven "and makes a pander of his god; "if her proud sons, her high-born souls, "men in whose veins--oh last disgrace! "the blood of zal and rustam[ ] rolls.-- "if they _will_ court this upstart race "and turn from mithra's ancient ray "to kneel at shrines of yesterday; "if they _will_ crouch to iran's foes, "why, let them--till the land's despair "cries out to heaven, and bondage grows "too vile for even the vile to bear! "till shame at last, long hidden, burns "their inmost core, and conscience turns "each coward tear the slave lets fall "back on his heart in drops of gall. "but here at least are arms unchained "and souls that thraldom never stained;-- "this spot at least no foot of slave "or satrap ever yet profaned, "and tho' but few--tho' fast the wave "of life is ebbing from our veins, "enough for vengeance still remains. "as panthers after set of sun "rush from the roots of lebanon "across the dark sea-robber's way,[ ] "we'll bound upon our startled prey. "and when some hearts that proudest swell "have felt our falchion's last farewell, "when hope's expiring throb is o'er "and even despair can prompt no more, "this spot shall be the sacred grave "of the last few who vainly brave "die for the land they cannot save!" his chiefs stood round--each shining blade upon the broken altar laid-- and tho' so wild and desolate those courts where once the mighty sate: nor longer on those mouldering towers was seen the feast of fruits and flowers with which of old the magi fed the wandering spirits of their dead;[ ] tho' neither priest nor rites were there, nor charmed leaf of pure pomegranate,[ ] nor hymn, nor censer's fragrant air, nor symbol of their worshipt planet;[ ] yet the same god that heard their sires heard _them_ while on that altar's fires they swore the latest, holiest deed of the few hearts, still left to bleed, should be in iran's injured name to die upon that mount of flame-- the last of all her patriot line, before her last untrampled shrine! brave, suffering souls! they little knew how many a tear their injuries drew from one meek maid, one gentle foe, whom love first touched with others' woe-- whose life, as free from thought as sin, slept like a lake till love threw in his talisman and woke the tide and spread its trembling circles wide. once, emir! thy unheeding child mid all this havoc bloomed and smiled,-- tranquil as on some battle plain the persian lily shines and towers[ ] before the combat's reddening stain hath fallen upon her golden flowers. light-hearted maid, unawed, unmoved, while heaven but spared the sire she loved, once at thy evening tales of blood unlistening and aloof she stood-- and oft when thou hast paced along thy haram halls with furious heat, hast thou not curst her cheerful song, that came across thee, calm and sweet, like lutes of angels touched so near hell's confines that the damned can hear! far other feelings love hath brought-- her soul all flame, her brow all sadness, she now has but the one dear thought, and thinks that o'er, almost to madness! oft doth her sinking heart recall his words--"for _my_ sake weep for all;" and bitterly as day on day of rebel carnage fast succeeds, she weeps a lover snatched away in every gheber wretch that bleeds. there's not a sabre meets her eye but with his life-blood seems to swim; there's not an arrow wings the sky but fancy turns its point to him. no more she brings with footsteps light al hassan's falchion for the fight; and--had he lookt with clearer sight, had not the mists that ever rise from a foul spirit dimmed his eyes-- he would have markt her shuddering frame, when from the field of blood he came, the faltering speech--the look estranged-- voice, step and life and beauty changed-- he would have markt all this, and known such change is wrought by love alone! ah! not the love that should have blest so young, so innocent a breast; not the pure, open, prosperous love, that, pledged on earth and sealed above, grows in the world's approving eyes, in friendship's smile and home's caress, collecting all the heart's sweet ties into one knot of happiness! no, hinda, no,--thy fatal flame is nurst in silence, sorrow, shame;-- a passion without hope or pleasure, in thy soul's darkness buried deep, it lies like some ill-gotten treasure,-- some idol without shrine or name, o'er which its pale-eyed votaries keep unholy watch while others sleep. seven nights have darkened oman's sea, since last beneath the moonlight ray she saw his light oar rapidly hurry her gheber's bark away,-- and still she goes at midnight hour to weep alone in that high bower and watch and look along the deep for him whose smiles first made her weep;-- but watching, weeping, all was vain, she never saw his bark again. the owlet's solitary cry, the night-hawk flitting darkly by, and oft the hateful carrion bird, heavily flapping his clogged wing, which reeked with that day's banqueting-- was all she saw, was all she heard. 'tis the eighth morn--al hassan's brow is brightened with unusual joy-- what mighty mischief glads him now, who never smiles but to destroy? the sparkle upon herkend's sea, when tost at midnight furiously,[ ] tells not of wreck and ruin nigh, more surely than that smiling eye! "up, daughter, up--the kerna's[ ] breath "has blown a blast would waken death, "and yet thou sleepest--up, child, and see "this blessed day for heaven and me, "a day more rich in pagan blood "than ever flasht o'er oman's flood. "before another dawn shall shine, "his head--heart--limbs--will all be mine; "this very night his blood shall steep "these hands all over ere i sleep!"-- "_his_ blood!" she faintly screamed--her mind still singling _one_ from all mankind-- "yes--spite of his ravines and towers, "hafed, my child, this night is ours. "thanks to all-conquering treachery, "without whose aid the links accurst, "that bind these impious slaves, would be "too strong for alla's self to burst! "that rebel fiend whose blade has spread "my path with piles of moslem dead, "whose baffling spells had almost driven "back from their course the swords of heaven, "this night with all his band shall know "how deep an arab's steel can go, "when god and vengeance speed the blow. "and--prophet! by that holy wreath "thou worest on ohod's field of death,[ ] "i swear, for every sob that parts "in anguish from these heathen hearts, "a gem from persia's plundered mines "shall glitter on thy shrine of shrines. "but, ha!--she sinks--that look so wild-- "those livid lips--my child, my child, "this life of blood befits not thee, "and thou must back to araby. "ne'er had i riskt thy timid sex "in scenes that man himself might dread, "had i not hoped our every tread "would be on prostrate persian necks-- "curst race, they offer swords instead! "but cheer thee, maid,--the wind that now "is blowing o'er thy feverish brow "to-day shall waft thee from the shore; "and ere a drop of this night's gore "have time to chill in yonder towers, "thou'lt see thy own sweet arab bowers!" his bloody boast was all too true; there lurkt one wretch among the few whom hafed's eagle eye could count around him on that fiery mount,-- one miscreant who for gold betrayed the pathway thro' the valley's shade to those high towers where freedom stood in her last hold of flame and blood. left on the field last dreadful night, when sallying from their sacred height the ghebers fought hope's farewell fight, he lay--but died not with the brave; that sun which should have gilt his grave saw him a traitor and a slave;-- and while the few who thence returned to their high rocky fortress mourned for him among the matchless dead they left behind on glory's bed, he lived, and in the face of morn laught them and faith and heaven to scorn. oh for a tongue to curse the slave whose treason like a deadly blight comes o'er the councils of the brave and blasts them in their hour of might! may life's unblessed cup for him be drugged with treacheries to the brim.-- with hopes that but allure to fly, with joys that vanish while he sips, like dead-sea fruits that tempt the eye, but turn to ashes on the lips![ ] his country's curse, his children's shame, outcast of virtue, peace and fame, may he at last with lips of flame on the parched desert thirsting die,-- while lakes that shone in mockery nigh,[ ] are fading off, untouched, untasted, like the once glorious hopes he blasted! and when from earth his spirit flies, just prophet, let the damned-one dwell full in the sight of paradise beholding heaven and feeling hell! lalla rookh had the night before been visited by a dream which in spite of the impending fate of poor hafed made her heart more than usually cheerful during the morning and gave her cheeks all the freshened animation of a flower that the bidmusk had just passed over.[ ] she fancied that she was sailing on that eastern ocean where the sea-gypsies who live for ever on the water[ ] enjoy a perpetual summer in wandering from isle to isle when she saw a small gilded bark approaching her. it was like one of those boats which the maldivian islanders send adrift, at the mercy of winds and waves, loaded with perfumes, flowers, and odoriferous wood, as an offering to the spirit whom they call king of the sea. at first, this little bark appeared to be empty but on coming nearer-- she had proceeded thus far in relating the dream to her ladies, when feramorz appeared at the door of the pavilion. in his presence of course everything else was forgotten and the continuance of the story was instantly requested by all. fresh wood of aloes was set to burn in the cassolets;--the violet sherbets[ ] were hastily handed round, and after a short prelude on his lute in the pathetic measure of nava,[ ] which is always used to express the lamentations of absent lovers, the poet thus continued:-- the day is lowering--stilly black sleeps the grim wave, while heaven's rack, disperst and wild, 'twixt earth and sky hangs like a shattered canopy. there's not a cloud in that blue plain but tells of storm to come or past;-- here flying loosely as the mane of a young war-horse in the blast;-- there rolled in masses dark and swelling, as proud to be the thunder's dwelling! while some already burst and riven seen melting down the verge of heaven; as tho' the infant storm had rent the mighty womb that gave him birth, and having swept the firmament was now in fierce career for earth. on earth 'twas yet all calm around, a pulseless silence, dread, profound, more awful than the tempest's sound. the diver steered for ormus' bowers, and moored his skiff till calmer hours; the sea-birds with portentous screech flew fast to land;--upon the beach the pilot oft had paused, with glance turned upward to that wild expanse;-- and all was boding, drear and dark as her own soul when hinda's bark went slowly from the persian shore.-- no music timed her parting oar,[ ] nor friends upon the lessening strand lingering to wave the unseen hand or speak the farewell, heard no more;-- but lone, unheeded, from the bay the vessel takes its mournful way, like some ill-destined bark that steers in silence thro' the gate of tears.[ ] and where was stern al hassan then? could not that saintly scourge of men from bloodshed and devotion spare one minute for a farewell there? no--close within in changeful fits of cursing and of prayer he sits in savage loneliness to brood upon the coming night of blood,-- with that keen, second-scent of death, by which the vulture snuffs his food in the still warm and living breath![ ] while o'er the wave his weeping daughter is wafted from these scenes of slaughter,-- as a young bird of babylon,[ ] let loose to tell of victory won, flies home, with wing, ah! not unstained by the red hands that held her chained. and does the long-left home she seeks light up no gladness on her cheeks? the flowers she nurst--the well-known groves, where oft in dreams her spirit roves-- once more to see her dear gazelles come bounding with their silver bells; her birds' new plumage to behold and the gay, gleaming fishes count, she left all filleted with gold shooting around their jasper fount;[ ] her little garden mosque to see, and once again, at evening hour, to tell her ruby rosary in her own sweet acacia bower.-- can these delights that wait her now call up no sunshine on her brow? no,--silent, from her train apart,-- as if even now she felt at heart the chill of her approaching doom,-- she sits, all lovely in her gloom as a pale angel of the grave; and o'er the wide, tempestuous wave looks with a shudder to those towers where in a few short awful hours blood, blood, in streaming tides shall run, foul incense for to-morrow's sun! "where art thou, glorious stranger! thou, "so loved, so lost, where art thou now? "foe--gheber--infidel--whate'er "the unhallowed name thou'rt doomed to bear, "still glorious--still to this fond heart "dear as its blood, whate'er thou art! "yes--alla, dreadful alla! yes-- "if there be wrong, be crime in this, "let the black waves that round us roll, "whelm me this instant ere my soul "forgetting faith--home--father--all "before its earthly idol fall, "nor worship even thyself above him-- "for, oh, so wildly do i love him, "thy paradise itself were dim "and joyless, if not shared with him!" her hands were claspt--her eyes upturned, dropping their tears like moonlight rain; and, tho' her lip, fond raver! burned with words of passion, bold, profane. yet was there light around her brow, a holiness in those dark eyes, which showed,--tho' wandering earthward now,-- her spirit's home was in the skies. yes--for a spirit pure as hers is always pure, even while it errs; as sunshine broken in the rill tho' turned astray is sunshine still! so wholly had her mind forgot all thoughts but one she heeded not the rising storm--the wave that cast a moment's midnight as it past-- nor heard the frequent shout, the tread of gathering tumult o'er her head-- clasht swords and tongues that seemed to vie with the rude riot of the sky.-- but, hark!--that war-whoop on the deck-- that crash as if each engine there, mast, sails and all, were gone to wreck, mid yells and stampings of despair! merciful heaven! what _can_ it be? 'tis not the storm, tho' fearfully the ship has shuddered as she rode o'er mountain-waves--"forgive me, god! "forgive me"--shrieked the maid and knelt, trembling all over--for she felt as if her judgment hour was near; while crouching round half dead with fear, her handmaids clung, nor breathed nor stirred-- when, hark!--a second crash--a third-- and now as if a bolt of thunder had riven the laboring planks asunder, the deck falls in--what horrors then! blood, waves and tackle, swords and men come mixt together thro' the chasm,-- some wretches in their dying spasm still fighting on--and some that call "for god and iran!" as they fall! whose was the hand that turned away the perils of the infuriate fray, and snatcht her breathless from beneath this wilderment of wreck and death? she knew not--for a faintness came chill o'er her and her sinking frame amid the ruins of that hour lay like a pale and scorched flower beneath the red volcano's shower. but, oh! the sights and sounds of dread that shockt her ere her senses fled! the yawning deck--the crowd that strove upon the tottering planks above-- the sail whose fragments, shivering o'er the stragglers' heads all dasht with gore fluttered like bloody flags--the clash of sabres and the lightning's flash upon their blades, high tost about like meteor brands[ ]--as if throughout the elements one fury ran, one general rage that left a doubt which was the fiercer, heaven or man! once too--but no--it could not be-- 'twas fancy all--yet once she thought, while yet her fading eyes could see high on the ruined deck she caught a glimpse of that unearthly form, that glory of her soul,--even then, amid the whirl of wreck and storm, shining above his fellow-men, as on some black and troublous night the star of egypt,[ ] whose proud light never hath beamed on those who rest in the white islands of the west, burns thro' the storm with looks of flame that put heaven's cloudier eyes to shame. but no--'twas but the minute's dream-- a fantasy--and ere the scream had half-way past her pallid lips, a death-like swoon, a chill eclipse of soul and sense its darkness spread around her and she sunk as dead. how calm, how beautiful comes on the stilly hour when storms are gone, when warring winds have died away, and clouds beneath the glancing ray melt off and leave the land and sea sleeping in bright tranquillity,-- fresh as if day again were born, again upon the lap of morn!-- when the light blossoms rudely torn and scattered at the whirlwind's will, hang floating in the pure air still, filling it all with precious balm, in gratitude for this sweet calm;-- and every drop the thundershowers have left upon the grass and flowers sparkles, as 'twere that lightning-gem[ ] whose liquid flame is born of them! when, 'stead of one unchanging breeze, there blow a thousand gentle airs and each a different perfume bears,-- as if the loveliest plants and trees had vassal breezes of their own to watch and wait on them alone, and waft no other breath than theirs: when the blue waters rise and fall, in sleepy sunshine mantling all; and even that swell the tempest leaves is like the full and silent heaves of lovers' hearts when newly blest, too newly to be quite at rest. such was the golden hour that broke upon the world when hinda woke from her long trance and heard around no motion but the water's sound rippling against the vessel's side, as slow it mounted o'er the tide.-- but where is she?--her eyes are dark, are wilder still--is this the bark, the same, that from harmozia's bay bore her at morn--whose bloody way the sea-dog trackt?--no--strange and new is all that meets her wondering view. upon a galliot's deck she lies, beneath no rich pavilion's shade,-- no plumes to fan her sleeping eyes, nor jasmine on her pillow laid. but the rude litter roughly spread with war-cloaks is her homely bed, and shawl and sash on javelins hung for awning o'er her head are flung. shuddering she lookt around--there lay a group of warriors in the sun, resting their limbs, as for that day their ministry of death were done. some gazing on the drowsy sea lost in unconscious revery; and some who seemed but ill to brook that sluggish calm with many a look to the slack sail impatient cast, as loose it bagged around the mast. blest alla! who shall save her now? there's not in all that warrior band one arab sword, one turbaned brow from her own faithful moslem land. their garb--the leathern belt that wraps each yellow vest[ ]--that rebel hue-- the tartar fleece upon their caps[ ]-- yes--yes--her fears are all too true, and heaven hath in this dreadful hour abandoned her to hafed's power;-- hafed, the gheber!--at the thought her very heart's blood chills within; he whom her soul was hourly taught to loathe as some foul fiend of sin, some minister whom hell had sent to spread its blast where'er he went and fling as o'er our earth he trod his shadow betwixt man and god! and she is now his captive,--thrown in his fierce hands, alive, alone; his the infuriate band she sees, all infidels--all enemies! what was the daring hope that then crost her like lightning, as again with boldness that despair had lent she darted tho' that armed crowd a look so searching, so intent, that even the sternest warrior bowed abasht, when he her glances caught, as if he guessed whose form they sought. but no--she sees him not--'tis gone, the vision that before her shone thro' all the maze of blood and storm, is fled--'twas but a phantom form-- one of those passing, rainbow dreams, half light, half shade, which fancy's beams paint on the fleeting mists that roll in trance or slumber round the soul. but now the bark with livelier bound scales the blue wave--the crew's in motion. the oars are out and with light sound break the bright mirror of the ocean, scattering its brilliant fragments round. and now she sees--with horror sees, their course is toward that mountain-hold,-- those towers that make her life-blood freeze, where mecca's godless enemies lie like beleaguered scorpions rolled in their last deadly, venomous fold! amid the illumined land and flood sunless that mighty mountain stood; save where above its awful head, there shone a flaming cloud, blood-red, as 'twere the flag of destiny hung out to mark where death would be! had her bewildered mind the power of thought in this terrific hour, she well might marvel where or how man's foot could scale that mountain's brow, since ne'er had arab heard or known of path but thro' the glen alone.-- but every thought was lost in fear, when, as their bounding bark drew near the craggy base, she felt the waves hurry them toward those dismal caves that from the deep in windings pass beneath that mount's volcanic mass;-- and loud a voice on deck commands to lower the mast and light the brands!-- instantly o'er the dashing tide within a cavern's mouth they glide, gloomy as that eternal porch thro' which departed spirits go:-- not even the flare of brand and torch its flickering light could further throw than the thick flood that boiled below. silent they floated--as if each sat breathless, and too awed for speech in that dark chasm where even sound seemed dark,--so sullenly around the goblin echoes of the cave muttered it o'er the long black wave as 'twere some secret of the grave! but soft--they pause--the current turns beneath them from its onward track;-- some mighty, unseen barrier spurns the vexed tide all foaming back, and scarce the oar's redoubled force can stem the eddy's whirling course; when, hark!--some desperate foot has sprung among the rocks--the chain is flung-- the oars are up--the grapple clings, and the tost bark in moorings swings. just then, a day-beam thro' the shade broke tremulous--but ere the maid can see from whence the brightness steals, upon her brow she shuddering feels a viewless hand that promptly ties a bandage round her burning eyes; while the rude litter where she lies, uplifted by the warrior throng, o'er the steep rocks is borne along. blest power of sunshine!--genial day, what balm, what life is in thy ray! to feel thee is such real bliss, that had the world no joy but this to sit in sunshine calm and sweet.-- it were a world too exquisite for man to leave it for the gloom, the deep, cold shadow of the tomb. even hinda, tho' she saw not where or whither wound the perilous road, yet knew by that awakening air, which suddenly around her glowed, that they had risen from the darkness there, and breathed the sunny world again! but soon this balmy freshness fled-- for now the steepy labyrinth led thro' damp and gloom--mid crash of boughs, and fall of loosened crags that rouse the leopard from his hungry sleep, who starting thinks each crag a prey, and long is heard from steep to steep chasing them down their thundering way! the jackal's cry--the distant moan of the hyena, fierce and lone-- and that eternal saddening sound of torrents in the glen beneath, as 'twere the ever-dark profound that rolls beneath the bridge of death! all, all is fearful--even to see, to gaze on those terrific things she now but blindly hears, would be relief to her imaginings; since never yet was shape so dread, but fancy thus in darkness thrown and by such sounds of horror fed could frame more dreadful of her own. but does she dream? has fear again perplext the workings of her brain, or did a voice, all music, then come from the gloom, low whispering near-- "tremble not, love, thy gheber's here?" she _does_ not dream--all sense, all ear, she drinks the words, "thy gheber's here." 'twas his own voice--she could not err-- throughout the breathing world's extent there was but _one_ such voice for her, so kind, so soft, so eloquent! oh, sooner shall the rose of may mistake her own sweet nightingale, and to some meaner minstrel's lay open her bosom's glowing veil,[ ] than love shall ever doubt a tone, a breath of the beloved one! though blest mid all her ills to think she has that one beloved near, whose smile tho' met on ruin's brink hath power to make even ruin dear,-- yet soon this gleam of rapture crost by fears for him is chilled and lost. how shall the ruthless hafed brook that one of gheber blood should look, with aught but curses in his eye, on her--a maid of araby-- a moslem maid--the child of him, whose bloody banners' dire success hath left their altars cold and dim, and their fair land a wilderness! and worse than all that night of blood which comes so fast--oh! who shall stay the sword, that once hath tasted food of persian hearts or turn its way? what arm shall then the victim cover, or from her father shield her lover? "save him, my god!" she inly cries-- "save him this night--and if thine eyes "have ever welcomed with delight "the sinner's tears, the sacrifice "of sinners' hearts--guard him this night, "and here before thy throne i swear "from my heart's inmost core to tear "love, hope, remembrance, tho' they be "linkt with each quivering life-string there, "and give it bleeding all to thee! "let him but live,--the burning tear, "the sighs, so sinful, yet so dear, "which have been all too much his own, "shall from this hour be heaven's alone. "youth past in penitence and age "in long and painful pilgrimage "shall leave no traces of the flame "that wastes me now--nor shall his name "e'er bless my lips but when i pray "for his dear spirit, that away "casting from its angelic ray "the eclipse of earth, he too may shine "redeemed, all glorious and all thine! "think--think what victory to win "one radiant soul like his from sin, "one wandering star of virtue back "to its own native, heavenward track! "let him but live, and both are thine, "together thine--for blest or crost, "living or dead, his doom is mine, "and if _he_ perish, both are lost!" the next evening lalla rookh was entreated by her ladies to continue the relation of her wonderful dream; but the fearful interest that hung round the fate of hinda and her lover had completely removed every trace of it from her mind;--much to the disappointment of a fair seer or two in her train, who prided themselves on their skill in interpreting visions, and who had already remarked, as an unlucky omen, that the princess, on the very morning after the dream, had worn a silk dyed with the blossoms of the sorrowful tree, nilica.[ ] fadladeen, whose indignation had more than once broken out during the recital of some parts of this heterodox poem, seemed at length to have made up his mind to the infliction; and took his seat this evening with all the patience of a martyr while the poet resumed his profane and seditious story as follows:-- to tearless eyes and hearts at ease the leafy shores and sun-bright seas that lay beneath that mountain's height had been a fair enchanting sight. 'twas one of those ambrosial eyes a day of storm so often leaves at its calm setting--when the west opens her golden bowers of rest, and a moist radiance from the skies shoots trembling down, as from the eyes of some meek penitent whose last bright hours atone for dark ones past, and whose sweet tears o'er wrong forgiven shine as they fall with light from heaven! 'twas stillness all--the winds that late had rushed through kerman's almond groves, and shaken from her bowers of date that cooling feast the traveller loves.[ ] now lulled to languor scarcely curl the green sea wave whose waters gleam limpid as if her mines of pearl were melted all to form the stream: and her fair islets small and bright with their green shores reflected there look like those peri isles of light that hang by spell-work in the air but vainly did those glories burst on hinda's dazzled eyes, when first the bandage from her brow was taken, and, pale and awed as those who waken in their dark tombs--when, scowling near, the searchers of the grave[ ] appear.-- she shuddering turned to read her fate in the fierce eyes that flasht around; and saw those towers all desolate, that o'er her head terrific frowned, as if defying even the smile of that soft heaven to gild their pile. in vain with mingled hope and fear, she looks for him whose voice so dear had come, like music, to her ear,-- strange, mocking dream! again 'tis fled. and oh, the shoots, the pangs of dread that thro' her inmost bosom run, when voices from without proclaim "hafed, the chief"--and, one by one, the warriors shout that fearful name! he comes--the rock resounds his tread-- how shall she dare to lift her head or meet those eyes whose scorching glare not yemen's boldest sons can bear? in whose red beam, the moslem tells, such rank and deadly lustre dwells as in those hellish fires that light the mandrake's charnel leaves at night.[ ] how shall she bear that voice's tone, at whose loud battle-cry alone whole squadrons oft in panic ran, scattered like some vast caravan, when stretched at evening round the well they hear the thirsting tiger's yell. breathless she stands with eyes cast down shrinking beneath the fiery frown which, fancy tells her, from that brow is flashing o'er her fiercely now: and shuddering as she hears the tread of his retiring warrior band.-- never was pause full of dread; till hafed with a trembling hand took hers and leaning o'er her said, "hinda;"--that word was all he spoke. and 'twas enough--the shriek that broke from her full bosom told the rest.-- panting with terror, joy, surprise, the maid but lifts her wandering eyes, to hide them on her gheber's breast! 'tis he, 'tis he--the man of blood, the fellest of the fire-fiend's brood, hafed, the demon of the fight, whose voice unnerves, whose glances blight,-- is her own loved gheber, mild and glorious as when first he smiled in her lone tower and left such beams of his pure eye to light her dreams, that she believed her bower had given rest to some wanderer from heaven! moments there are, and this was one, snatched like a minute's gleam of sun amid the black simoom's eclipse-- or like those verdant spots that bloom around the crater's burning lips. sweetening the very edge of doom! the past, the future--all that fate can bring of dark or desperate around such hours but makes them cast intenser radiance while they last! even he, this youth--tho' dimmed and gone each star of hope that cheered him on-- his glories lost--his cause betrayed-- iran, his dear-loved country, made a land of carcasses and slaves, one dreary waste of chains and graves! himself but lingering, dead at heart, to see the last, long struggling breath of liberty's great soul depart, then lay him down and share her death-- even he so sunk in wretchedness with doom still darker gathering o'er him, yet, in this moment's pure caress, in the mild eyes that shone before him, beaming that blest assurance worth all other transports known on earth. that he was loved-well, warmly loved-- oh! in this precious hour he proved how deep, how thorough-felt the glow of rapture kindling out of woe;-- how exquisite one single drop of bliss thus sparkling to the top of misery's cup--how keenly quaft, tho' death must follow on the draught! she too while gazing on those eyes that sink into her soul so deep, forgets all fears, all miseries, or feels them like the wretch in sleep, whom fancy cheats into a smile. who dreams of joy and sobs the while! the mighty ruins where they stood upon the mount's high, rocky verge lay open towards the ocean flood, where lightly o'er the illumined surge many a fair bark that, all the day, had lurkt in sheltering creek or bay now bounded on and gave their sails, yet dripping to the evening gales; like eagles when the storm is done, spreading their wet wings in the sun. the beauteous clouds, tho' daylight's star had sunk behind the hills of lar, were still with lingering glories bright.-- as if to grace the gorgeous west the spirit of departing light that eve had left his sunny vest behind him ere he winged his flight. never was scene so formed for love! beneath them waves of crystal move in silent swell--heaven glows above and their pure hearts, to transport given, swell like the wave and glow like heaven. but ah! too soon that dream is past-- again, again her fear returns;-- night, dreadful night, is gathering fast, more faintly the horizon burns, and every rosy tint that lay on the smooth sea hath died away hastily to the darkening skies a glance she casts--then wildly cries "_at night_, he said--and look, 'tis near-- "fly, fly--if yet thou lovest me, fly-- "soon will his murderous band be here. "and i shall see thee bleed and die.-- "hush! heardest thou not the tramp of men "sounding from yonder fearful glen?-- "perhaps, even now they climb the wood-- "fly, fly--tho' still the west is bright, "he'll come--oh! yes--he wants thy blood-- "i know him--he'll not wait for night!" in terrors even to agony she clings around the wondering chief;-- "alas, poor wildered maid! to me "thou owest this raving trance of grief. "lost as i am, naught ever grew "beneath my shade but perisht too-- "my doom is like the dead sea air, "and nothing lives that enters there! "why were our barks together driven "beneath this morning's furious heaven? "why when i saw the prize that chance "had thrown into my desperate arms,-- "when casting but a single glance "upon thy pale and prostrate charms, "i vowed (tho' watching viewless o'er "thy safety thro' that hour's alarms) "to meet the unmanning sight no more-- "why have i broke that heart-wrung vow? "why weakly, madly met thee now? "start not--that noise is but the shock "of torrents thro' yon valley hurled-- "dread nothing here--upon this rock "we stand above the jarring world, "alike beyond its hope--its dread-- "in gloomy safety like the dead! "or could even earth and hell unite "in league to storm this sacred height, "fear nothing thou--myself, tonight, "and each o'erlooking star that dwells "near god will be thy sentinels;-- "and ere to-morrow's dawn shall glow, "back to thy sire"-- "to-morrow!--no"-- the maiden screamed--"thou'lt never see "to-morrow's sun--death, death will be "the night-cry thro' each reeking tower, "unless we fly, ay, fly this hour! "thou art betrayed--some wretch who knew "that dreadful glen's mysterious clew- "nay, doubt not--by yon stars, 'tis true-- "hath sold thee to my vengeful sire; "this morning, with that smile so dire "he wears in joy he told me all "and stampt in triumph thro' our hall, "as tho' thy heart already beat "its last life-throb beneath his feet! "good heaven, how little dreamed i then "his victim was my own loved youth!-- "fly--send--let some one watch the glen-- "by all my hopes of heaven 'tis truth!" oh! colder than the wind that freezes founts that but now in sunshine played, is that congealing pang which seizes the trusting bosom, when betrayed. he felt it--deeply felt--and stood, as if the tale had frozen his blood, so mazed and motionless was he;-- like one whom sudden spells enchant, or some mute, marble habitant of the still halls of ishmonie![ ] but soon the painful chill was o'er, and his great soul herself once more lookt from his brow in all the rays of her best, happiest, grandest days. never in moment most elate did that high spirit loftier rise:-- while bright, serene, determinate, his looks are lifted to the skies, as if the signal lights of fate were shining in those awful eyes! 'tis come--his hour of martyrdom in iran's sacred cause is come; and tho' his life hath past away like lightning on a stormy day, yet shall his death-hour leave a track of glory permanent and bright to which the brave of after-times, the suffering brave, shall long look back with proud regret,--and by its light watch thro' the hours of slavery's night for vengeance on the oppressor's crimes. this rock, his monument aloft, shall speak the tale to many an age; and hither bards and heroes oft shall come in secret pilgrimage, and bring their warrior sons and tell the wondering boys where hafed fell; and swear them on those lone remains of their lost country's ancient fanes, never--while breath of life shall live within them--never to forgive the accursed race whose ruthless chain hath left on iran's neck a stain blood, blood alone can cleanse again! such are the swelling thoughts that now enthrone themselves on hafed's brow; and ne'er did saint of issa [ ] gaze on the red wreath for martyrs twined. more proudly than the youth surveys that pile which thro' the gloom behind, half lighted by the altar's fire, glimmers--his destined funeral pyre! heaped by his own, his comrades hands, of every wood of odorous breath. there, by the fire-god's shrine it stands, ready to fold in radiant death the few still left of those who swore to perish there when hope was o'er-- the few to whom that couch of flame, which rescues them from bonds and shame, is sweet and welcome as the bed for their own infant prophet spread, when pitying heaven to roses turned the death-flames that beneath him burned![ ] with watchfulness the maid attends his rapid glance where'er it bends-- why shoot his eyes such awful beams? what plans he now? what thinks or dreams? alas! why stands he musing here, when every moment teems with fear? "hafed, my own beloved lord," she kneeling cries--"first, last adored! "if in that soul thou'st ever felt "half what thy lips impassioned swore, "here on my knees that never knelt "to any but their god before, "i pray thee, as thou lovest me, fly-- "now, now--ere yet their blades are nigh. "oh haste--the bark that bore me hither "can waft us o'er yon darkening sea "east--west--alas, i care not whither, "so thou art safe, and i with thee! "go where we will, this hand in thine, "those eyes before me smiling thus, "thro' good and ill, thro' storm and shine, "the world's a world of love for us! "on some calm, blessed shore we'll dwell, "where 'tis no crime to love too well; "where thus to worship tenderly "an erring child of light like thee "will not be sin--or if it be "where we may weep our faults away, "together kneeling, night and day, "thou, for _my_ sake, at alla's shrine, "and i--at _any_ god's, for thine!" wildly these passionate words she spoke-- then hung her head and wept for shame; sobbing as if a heart-string broke with every deep-heaved sob that came, while he, young, warm--oh! wonder not if, for a moment, pride and fame; his oath--his cause--that shrine of flame, and iran's self are all forgot for her, whom at his feet he sees kneeling in speechless agonies. no, blame him not if hope awhile dawned in his soul and threw her smile o'er hours to come--o'er days and nights, winged with those precious, pure delights which she who bends all beauteous there was born to kindle and to share. a tear or two which as he bowed to raise the suppliant, trembling stole, first warned him of this dangerous cloud of softness passing o'er his soul. starting he brusht the drops away unworthy o'er that cheek to stray;-- like one who on the morn of fight shakes from his sword the dews of night, that had but dimmed not stained its light. yet tho' subdued the unnerving thrill, its warmth, its weakness lingered still so touching in each look and tone, that the fond, fearing, hoping maid half counted on the flight she prayed, half thought the hero's soul was grown as soft, as yielding as her own, and smiled and blest him while he said,-- "yes--if there be some happier sphere "where fadeless truth like ours is dear.-- "if there be any land of rest "for those who love and ne'er forget, "oh! comfort thee--for safe and blest "we'll meet in that calm region yet!" scarce had she time to ask her heart if good or ill these words impart, when the roused youth impatient flew to the tower-wall, where high in view a ponderous sea-horn[ ] hung, and blew a signal deep and dread as those the storm-fiend at his rising blows.-- full well his chieftains, sworn and true thro' life and death, that signal knew; for 'twas the appointed warning-blast, the alarm to tell when hope was past and the tremendous death-die cast! and there upon the mouldering tower hath hung this sea-horn many an hour, ready to sound o'er land and sea that dirge-note of the brave and free. they came--his chieftains at the call came slowly round and with them all-- alas, how few!--the worn remains of those who late o'er kerman's plains when gayly prancing to the clash of moorish zel and tymbalon catching new hope from every flash of their long lances in the sun, and as their coursers charged the wind and the white ox-tails streamed behind,[ ] looking as if the steeds they rode were winged and every chief a god! how fallen, how altered now! how wan each scarred and faded visage shone, as round the burning shrine they came;-- how deadly was the glare it cast, as mute they paused before the flame to light their torches as they past! 'twas silence all--the youth hath planned the duties of his soldier-band; and each determined brow declares his faithful chieftains well know theirs. but minutes speed--night gems the skies-- and oh, how soon, ye blessed eyes that look from heaven ye may behold sights that will turn your star-fires cold! breathless with awe, impatience, hope, the maiden sees the veteran group her litter silently prepare, and lay it at her trembling feet;-- and now the youth with gentle care, hath placed her in the sheltered seat and prest her hand--that lingering press of hands that for the last time sever; of hearts whose pulse of happiness when that hold breaks is dead for ever. and yet to _her_ this sad caress gives hope--so fondly hope can err! 'twas joy, she thought, joy's mute excess-- their happy flight's dear harbinger; 'twas warmth--assurance--tenderness-- 'twas any thing but leaving her. "haste, haste!" she cried, "the clouds grow dark, "but still, ere night, we'll reach the bark; "and by to-morrow's dawn--oh bliss! "with thee upon the sun-bright deep, "far off, i'll but remember this, "as some dark vanisht dream of sleep; "and thou"--but ah!--he answers not-- good heaven!--and does she go alone? she now has reached that dismal spot, where some hours since his voice's tone had come to soothe her fears and ills, sweet as the angel israfil's,[ ] when every leaf on eden's tree is trembling to his minstrelsy-- yet now--oh, now, he is not nigh.-- "hafed! my hafed!--if it be "thy will, thy doom this night to die "let me but stay to die with thee "and i will bless thy loved name, "till the last life-breath leave this frame. "oh! let our lips, our cheeks be laid "but near each other while they fade; "let us but mix our parting breaths, "and i can die ten thousand deaths! "you too, who hurry me away "so cruelly, one moment stay-- "oh! stay--one moment is not much-- "he yet may come--for _him_ i pray-- "hafed! dear hafed!"--all the way in wild lamentings that would touch a heart of stone she shrieked his name to the dark woods--no hafed came:-- no--hapless pair--you've lookt your last:-- your hearts should both have broken then:-- the dream is o'er--your doom is cast-- you'll never meet on earth again! alas for him who hears her cries! still half-way down the steep he stands, watching with fixt and feverish eyes the glimmer of those burning brands that down the rocks with mournful ray, light all he loves on earth away! hopeless as they who far at sea by the cold moon have just consigned the corse of one loved tenderly to the bleak flood they leave behind, and on the deck still lingering stay, and long look back with sad delay to watch the moonlight on the wave that ripples o'er that cheerless grave. but see--he starts--what heard he then? that dreadful shout!--across the glen from the land-side it comes and loud rings thro' the chasm, as if the crowd of fearful things that haunt that dell its ghouls and divs and shapes of hell, and all in one dread howl broke out, so loud, so terrible that shout! "they come--the moslems come!"--he cries, his proud soul mounting to his eyes,-- "now, spirits of the brave, who roam "enfranchised thro' yon starry dome, "rejoice--for souls of kindred fire "are on the wing to join your choir!" he said--and, light as bridegrooms bound to their young loves, reclined the steep and gained the shrine--his chiefs stood round-- their swords, as with instinctive leap, together at that cry accurst had from their sheaths like sunbeams burst. and hark!--again--again it rings; near and more near its echoings peal thro' the chasm--oh! who that then had seen those listening warrior-men, with their swords graspt, their eyes of flame turned on their chief--could doubt the shame, the indignant shame with which they thrill to hear those shouts and yet stand still? he read their thoughts--they were his own-- "what! while our arms can wield these blades, "shall we die tamely? die alone? "without one victim to our shades, "one moslem heart, where buried deep "the sabre from its toil may sleep? "no--god of iran's burning skies! "thou scornest the inglorious sacrifice. "no--tho' of all earth's hope bereft, "life, swords, and vengeance still are left. "we'll make yon valley's reeking caves "live in the awe-struck minds of men "till tyrants shudder, when their slaves "tell of the gheber's bloody glen, "follow, brave hearts!--this pile remains "our refuge still from life and chains; "but his the best, the holiest bed, "who sinks entombed in moslem dead!" down the precipitous rocks they sprung, while vigor more than human strung each arm and heart.--the exulting foe still thro' the dark defiles below, trackt by his torches' lurid fire, wound slow, as thro' golconda's vale the mighty serpent in his ire glides on with glittering, deadly trail. no torch the ghebers need--so well they know each mystery of the dell, so oft have in their wanderings crost the wild race that round them dwell, the very tigers from their delves look out and let them pass as things untamed and fearless like themselves! there was a deep ravine that lay yet darkling in the moslem's way; fit spot to make invaders rue the many fallen before the few. the torrents from that morning's sky had filled the narrow chasm breast-high, and on each side aloft and wild huge cliffs and toppling crags were piled,-- the guards with which young freedom lines the pathways to her mountain-shrines, here at this pass the scanty band; of iran's last avengers stand; here wait in silence like the dead and listen for the moslem's tread so anxiously the carrion-bird above them flaps his wing unheard! they come--that plunge into the water gives signal for the work of slaughter. now, ghebers, now--if e'er your blades had point or prowess prove them now-- woe to the file that foremost wades! they come--a falchion greets each brow, and as they tumble trunk on trunk beneath the gory waters sunk, still o'er their drowning bodies press new victims quick and numberless; till scarce an arm in hafed's band, so fierce their toil, hath power to stir, but listless from each crimson hand the sword hangs clogged with massacre. never was horde of tyrants met with bloodier welcome--never yet to patriot vengeance hath the sword more terrible libations poured! all up the dreary, long ravine, by the red, murky glimmer seen of half-quenched brands, that o'er the flood lie scattered round and burn in blood, what ruin glares! what carnage swims! heads, blazing turbans, quivering limbs, lost swords that dropt from many a hand, in that thick pool of slaughter stand;-- wretches who wading, half on fire from the tost brands that round them fly, 'twixt flood and flame in shrieks expire;-- and some who grasp by those that die sink woundless with them, smothered o'er in their dead brethren's gushing gore! but vainly hundreds, thousands bleed, still hundreds, thousands more succeed; countless as toward some flame at night the north's dark insects wing their flight and quench or perish in its light, to this terrific spot they pour-- till, bridged with moslem bodies o'er, it bears aloft their slippery tread, and o'er the dying and the dead, tremendous causeway! on they pass. then, hapless ghebers, then, alas, what hope was left for you? for you, whose yet warm pile of sacrifice is smoking in their vengeful eyes;-- whose swords how keen, how fierce they knew. and burned with shame to find how few. crusht down by that vast multitude some found their graves where first they stood; while some with hardier struggle died, and still fought on by hafed's side, who fronting to the foe trod back towards the high towers his gory track; and as a lion swept away by sudden swell of jordan's pride from the wild covert where he lay,[ ] long battles with the o'erwhelming tide, so fought he back with fierce delay and kept both foes and fate at bay. but whither now? their track is lost, their prey escaped--guide, torches gone-- by torrent-beds and labyrinths crost, the scattered crowd rush blindly on-- "curse on those tardy lights that wind," they panting cry, "so far behind; "oh, for a bloodhound's precious scent, "to track the way the ghebers went!" vain wish--confusedly along they rush more desperate as more wrong: till wildered by the far-off lights, yet glittering up those gloomy heights, their footing mazed and lost they miss, and down the darkling precipice are dasht into the deep abyss; or midway hang impaled on rocks, a banquet yet alive for flocks of ravening vultures,--while the dell re-echoes with each horrible yell. those sounds--the last, to vengeance dear. that e'er shall ring in hafed's ear,-- now reached him as aloft alone upon the steep way breathless thrown, he lay beside his reeking blade, resigned, as if life's task were o'er, its last blood-offering amply paid, and iran's self could claim no more. one only thought, one lingering beam now broke across his dizzy dream of pain and weariness--'twas she, his heart's pure planet shining yet above the waste of memory when all life's other lights were set. and never to his mind before her image such enchantment wore. it seemed as if each thought that stained, each fear that chilled their loves was past, and not one cloud of earth remained between him and her radiance cast;-- as if to charms, before so bright, new grace from other worlds was given. and his soul saw her by the light now breaking o'er itself from heaven! a voice spoke near him--'twas the tone of a loved friend, the only one of all his warriors left with life from that short night's tremendous strife.-- "and must we then, my chief, die here? "foes round us and the shrine so near!" these words have roused the last remains of life within him:--"what! not yet "beyond the reach of moslem chains!" the thought could make even death forget his icy bondage:--with a bound he springs all bleeding from the ground and grasps his comrade's arm now grown even feebler, heavier than his own. and up the painful pathway leads, death gaining on each step he treads. speed them, thou god, who heardest their vow! they mount--they bleed--oh save them now-- the crags are red they've clambered o'er, the rock-weed's dripping with their gore;-- thy blade too, hafed, false at length, how breaks beneath thy tottering strength! haste, haste--the voices of the foe come near and nearer from below-- one effort more--thank heaven! 'tis past, they've gained the topmost steep at last. and now they touch the temple's walls. now hafed sees the fire divine-- when, lo!--his weak, worn comrade falls dead on the threshold of the shrine. "alas, brave soul, too quickly fled! "and must i leave thee withering here, "the sport of every ruffian's tread, "the mark for every coward's spear? "no, by yon altar's sacred beams!" he cries and with a strength that seems not of this world uplifts the frame of the fallen chief and toward the flame bears him along; with death-damp hand the corpse upon the pyre he lays, then lights the consecrated brand and fires the pile whose sudden blaze like lightning bursts o'er oman's sea.-- "now, freedom's god! i come to thee," the youth exclaims and with a smile of triumph vaulting on the pile, in that last effort ere the fires have harmed one glorious limb expires! what shriek was that on oman's tide? it came from yonder drifting bark, that just hath caught upon her side the death-light--and again is dark. it is the boat--ah! why delayed?-- that bears the wretched moslem maid; confided to the watchful care of a small veteran band with whom their generous chieftain would not share the secret of his final doom, but hoped when hinda safe and free was rendered to her father's eyes, their pardon full and prompt would be the ransom of so dear a prize.-- unconscious thus of hafed's fate, and proud to guard their beauteous freight, scarce had they cleared the surfy waves that foam around those frightful caves when the curst war-whoops known so well came echoing from the distant dell-- sudden each oar, upheld and still, hung dripping o'er the vessel's side, and driving at the current's will, they rockt along the whispering tide; while every eye in mute dismay was toward that fatal mountain turned. where the dim altar's quivering ray as yet all lone and tranquil burned. oh! 'tis not, hinda, in the power of fancy's most terrific touch to paint thy pangs in that dread hour-- thy silent agony--'twas such as those who feel could paint too well, but none e'er felt and lived to tell! 'twas not alone the dreary state of a lorn spirit crusht by fate, when tho' no more remains to dread the panic chill will not depart;-- when tho' the inmate hope be dead, her ghost still haunts the mouldering heart; no--pleasures, hopes, affections gone, the wretch may bear and yet live on like things within the cold rock found alive when all's congealed around. but there's a blank repose in this, a calm stagnation, that were bliss to the keen, burning, harrowing pain, now felt thro' all thy breast and brain;-- that spasm of terror, mute, intense, that breathless, agonized suspense from whose hot throb whose deadly aching, the heart hath no relief but breaking! calm is the wave--heaven's brilliant lights reflected dance beneath the prow;-- time was when on such lovely nights she who is there so desolate now could sit all cheerful tho' alone and ask no happier joy than seeing that starlight o'er the waters thrown-- no joy but that to make her blest, and the fresh, buoyant sense of being which bounds in youth's yet careless breast,-- itself a star not borrowing light but in its own glad essence bright. how different now!--but, hark! again the yell of havoc rings--brave men! in vain with beating hearts ye stand on the bark's edge--in vain each hand half draws the falchion from its sheath; all's o'er--in rust your blades may lie:-- he at whose word they've scattered death even now this night himself must die! well may ye look to yon dim tower, and ask and wondering guess what means the battle-cry at this dead hour-- ah! she could tell you--she who leans unheeded there, pale, sunk, aghast, with brow against the dew-cold mast;-- too well she knows--her more than life, her soul's first idol and its last lies bleeding in that murderous strife. but see--what moves upon the height? some signal!--'tis a torch's light what bodes its solitary glare? in gasping silence toward the shrine all eyes are turned--thine, hinda, thine fix their last fading life-beams there. 'twas but a moment--fierce and high the death-pile blazed into the sky and far-away o'er rock and flood its melancholy radiance sent: while hafed like a vision stood revealed before the burning pyre. tall, shadowy, like a spirit of fire shrined in its own grand element! "'tis he!"--the shuddering maid exclaims,-- but while she speaks he's seen no more; high burst in air the funeral flames, and iran's hopes and hers are o'er! one wild, heart-broken shriek she gave; then sprung as if to reach that blaze where still she fixt her dying gaze, and gazing sunk into the wave.-- deep, deep,--where never care or pain shall reach her innocent heart again! * * * * * farewell--farewell to thee. araby's daughter! (thus warbled a peri beneath the dark sea,) no pearl ever lay under oman's green water more pure in its shell than thy spirit in thee. oh! fair as the sea-flower close to thee growing, how light was thy heart till love's witchery came, like the wind of the south[ ] o'er a summer lute blowing, and husht all its music and withered its frame! but long upon araby's green sunny highlands shall maids and their lovers remember the doom of her who lies sleeping among the pearl islands with naught but the sea-star[ ] to light up her tomb. and still when the merry date-season is burning and calls to the palm-groves the young and the old, the happiest there from their pastime returning at sunset will weep when thy story is told. the young village-maid when with flowers she dresses her dark flowing hair for some festival day will think of thy fate till neglecting her tresses she mournfully turns from the mirror away. nor shall iran, beloved of her hero! forget thee-- tho' tyrants watch over her tears as they start, close, close by the side of that hero she'll set thee, embalmed in the innermost shrine of her heart. farewell--be it ours to embellish thy pillow with everything beauteous that grows in the deep; each flower of the rock and each gem of the billow shall sweeten thy bed and illumine thy sleep. around thee shall glisten the loveliest amber that ever the sorrowing sea-bird has wept;[ ] with many a shell in whose hollow-wreathed chamber we peris of ocean by moonlight have slept. we'll dive where the gardens of coral lie darkling and plant all the rosiest stems at thy head; we'll seek where the sands of the caspian[ ] are sparkling and gather their gold to strew over thy bed. farewell--farewell!--until pity's sweet fountain is lost in the hearts of the fair and the brave, they'll weep for the chieftain who died on that mountain, they'll weep for the maiden who sleeps in this wave. the singular placidity with which fadladeen had listened during the latter part of this obnoxious story surprised the princess and feramorz exceedingly; and even inclined towards him the hearts of these unsuspicious young persons who little knew the source of a complacency so marvellous. the truth was he had been organizing for the last few days a most notable plan of persecution against the poet in consequence of some passages that had fallen from him on the second evening of recital,--which appeared to this worthy chamberlain to contain language and principles for which nothing short of the summary criticism of the chabuk[ ] would be advisable. it was his intention therefore immediately on their arrival at cashmere to give information to the king of bucharia of the very dangerous sentiments of his minstrel; and if unfortunately that monarch did not act with suitable vigor on the occasion, (that is, if he did not give the chabuk to feramorz and a place to fadladeen.) there would be an end, he feared, of all legitimate government in bucharia. he could not help however auguring better both for himself and the cause of potentates in general; and it was the pleasure arising from these mingled anticipations that diffused such unusual satisfaction through his features and made his eyes shine out like poppies of the desert over the wide and lifeless wilderness of that countenance. having decided upon the poet's chastisement in this manner he thought it but humanity to spare him the minor tortures of criticism. accordingly when they assembled the following evening in the pavilion and lalla rookh was expecting to see all the beauties of her bard melt away one by one in the acidity of criticism, like pearls in the cup of the egyptian queen.-- he agreeably disappointed her by merely saying with an ironical smile that the merits of such a poem deserved to be tried at a much higher tribunal; and then suddenly passed off into a panegyric upon all mussulman sovereigns, more particularly his august and imperial master, aurungzebe, --the wisest and best of the descendants of timur,--who among other great things he had done for mankind had given to him, fadladeen, the very profitable posts of betel-carrier and taster of sherbets to the emperor, chief holder of the girdle of beautiful forms,[ ] and grand nazir or chamberlain of the haram. they were now not far from that forbidden river[ ] beyond which no pure hindoo can pass, and were reposing for a time in the rich valley of hussun abdaul, which had always been a favorite resting-place of the emperors in their annual migrations to cashmere. here often had the light of the faith, jehan-guire, been known to wander with his beloved and beautiful nourmahal, and here would lalla rookh have been happy to remain for ever, giving up the throne of bucharia and the world for feramorz and love in this sweet, lonely valley. but the time was now fast approaching when she must see him no longer,--or, what was still worse, behold him with eyes whose every look belonged to another, and there was a melancholy preciousness in these last moments, which made her heart cling to them as it would to life. during the latter part of the journey, indeed, she had sunk into a deep sadness from which nothing but the presence of the young minstrel could awake her. like those lamps in tombs which only light up when the air is admitted, it was only at his approach that her eyes became smiling and animated. but here in this dear valley every moment appeared an age of pleasure; she saw him all day and was therefore all day happy,-- resembling, she often thought, that people of zinge[ ] who attribute the unfading cheerfulness they enjoy to one genial star that rises nightly over their heads.[ ] the whole party indeed seemed in their liveliest mood during the few days they passed in this delightful solitude. the young attendants of the princess who were here allowed a much freer range than they could safely be indulged with in a less sequestered place ran wild among the gardens and bounded through the meadows lightly as young roes over the aromatic plains of tibet. while fadladeen, in addition to the spiritual comfort derived by him from a pilgrimage to the tomb of the saint from whom the valley is named, had also opportunities of indulging in a small way his taste for victims by putting to death some hundreds of those unfortunate little lizards,[ ] which all pious mussulmans make it a point to kill;-- taking for granted that the manner in which the creature hangs its head is meant as a mimicry of the attitude in which the faithful say their prayers. about two miles from hussun abdaul were those royal gardens which had grown beautiful under the care of so many lovely eyes, and were beautiful still though those eyes could see them no longer. this place, with its flowers and its holy silence interrupted only by the dipping of the wings of birds in its marble basins filled with the pure water of those hills, was to lalla rookh all that her heart could fancy of fragrance, coolness, and almost heavenly tranquillity. as the prophet said of damascus, "it was too delicious;"[ ]--and here in listening to the sweet voice of feramorz or reading in his eyes what yet he never dared to tell her, the most exquisite moments of her whole life were passed. one evening when they had been talking of the sultana nourmahal, the light of the haram, [ ] who had so often wandered among these flowers, and fed with her own hands in those marble basins the small shining fishes of which she was so fond,--the youth in order to delay the moment of separation proposed to recite a short story or rather rhapsody of which this adored sultana was the heroine. it related, he said, to the reconcilement of a sort of lovers' quarrel which took place between her and the emperor during a feast of roses at cashmere; and would remind the princess of that difference between haroun-al-raschid and his fair mistress marida, which was so happily made up by the soft strains of the musician moussali. as the story was chiefly to be told in song and feramorz had unluckily forgotten his own lute in the valley, he borrowed the vina of lalla rookh's little persian slave, and thus began:-- the light of the haram. who has not heard of the vale of cashmere, with its roses the brightest that earth ever gave,[ ] its temples and grottos and fountains as clear as the love-lighted eyes that hang over their wave? oh! to see it at sunset,--when warm o'er the lake its splendor at parting a summer eve throws, like a bride full of blushes when lingering to take a last look of her mirror at night ere she goes!-- when the shrines thro' the foliage are gleaming half shown, and each hallows the hour by some rites of its own. here the music of prayer from a minaret swells, here the magian his urn full of perfume is swinging, and here at the altar a zone of sweet bells round the waist of some fair indian dancer is ringing.[ ] or to see it by moonlight when mellowly shines the light o'er its palaces, gardens, and shrines, when the water-falls gleam like a quick fall of stars and the nightingale's hymn from the isle of chenars is broken by laughs and light echoes of feet from the cool, shining walks where the young people meet.-- or at morn when the magic of daylight awakes a new wonder each minute as slowly it breaks, hills, cupolas, fountains, called forth every one out of darkness as if but just born of the sun. when the spirit of fragrance is up with the day from his haram of night-flowers stealing away; and the wind full of wantonness wooes like a lover the young aspen-trees,[ ] till they tremble all over. when the east is as warm as the light of first hopes, and day with his banner of radiance unfurled shines in thro' the mountainous portal[ ] that opes, sublime, from that valley of bliss to the world! but never yet by night or day, in dew of spring or summer's ray, did the sweet valley shine so gay as now it shines--all love and light, visions by day and feasts by night! a happier smile illumes each brow; with quicker spread each heart uncloses, and all is ecstasy--for now the valley holds its feast of roses;[ ] the joyous time when pleasures pour profusely round and in their shower hearts open like the season's rose,-- the floweret of a hundred leaves[ ] expanding while the dew-fall flows and every leaf its balm receives. 'twas when the hour of evening came upon the lake, serene and cool, when day had hid his sultry flame behind the palms of baramoule, when maids began to lift their heads. refresht from their embroidered beds where they had slept the sun away, and waked to moonlight and to play. all were abroad:--the busiest hive on bela's[ ] hills is less alive when saffron-beds are full in flower, than lookt the valley in that hour. a thousand restless torches played thro' every grove and island shade; a thousand sparkling lamps were set on every dome and minaret; and fields and pathways far and near were lighted by a blaze so clear that you could see in wandering round the smallest rose-leaf on the ground, yet did the maids and matrons leave their veils at home, that brilliant eve; and there were glancing eyes about and cheeks that would not dare shine out in open day but thought they might look lovely then, because 'twas night. and all were free and wandering and all exclaimed to all they met, that never did the summer bring so gay a feast of roses yet;-- the moon had never shed a light so clear as that which blest them there; the roses ne'er shone half so bright, nor they themselves lookt half so fair. and what a wilderness of flowers! it seemed as tho' from all the bowers and fairest fields of all the year, the mingled spoil were scattered here. the lake too like a garden breathes with the rich buds that o'er it lie,-- as if a shower of fairy wreaths had fallen upon it from the sky! and then the sounds of joy,--the beat of tabors and of dancing feet;-- the minaret-crier's chant of glee sung from his lighted gallery,[ ] and answered by a ziraleet from neighboring haram, wild and sweet;-- the merry laughter echoing from gardens where the silken swing[ ] wafts some delighted girl above the top leaves of the orange-grove; or from those infant groups at play among the tents[ ] that line the way, flinging, unawed by slave or mother, handfuls of roses at each other.-- then the sounds from the lake,--the low whispering in boats, as they shoot thro' the moonlight,--the dipping of oars and the wild, airy warbling that everywhere floats thro' the groves, round the islands, as if all the shores like those of kathay uttered music and gave an answer in song to the kiss on each wave.[ ] but the gentlest of all are those sounds full of feeling that soft from the lute of some lover are stealing,-- some lover who knows all the heart-touching power of a lute and a sigh in this magical hour. oh! best of delights as it everywhere is to be near the loved _one_,--what a rapture is his who in moonlight and music thus sweetly may glide o'er the lake of cashmere with that _one_ by his side! if woman can make the worst wilderness dear, think, think what a heaven she must make of cashmere! so felt the magnificent son of acbar, when from power and pomp and the trophies of war he flew to that valley forgetting them all with the light of the haram, his young nourmahal. when free and uncrowned as the conqueror roved by the banks of that lake with his only beloved he saw in the wreaths she would playfully snatch from the hedges a glory his crown could not match, and preferred in his heart the least ringlet that curled down her exquisite neck to the throne of the world. there's a beauty for ever unchangingly bright, like the long, sunny lapse of a summer-day's light, shining on, shining on, by no shadow made tender till love falls asleep in its sameness of splendor. this _was_ not the beauty--oh, nothing like this that to young nourmahal gave such magic of bliss! but that loveliness ever in motion which plays like the light upon autumn's soft shadowy days, now here and now there, giving warmth as it flies from the lip to the cheek, from the cheek to the eyes; now melting in mist and now breaking in gleams, like the glimpses a saint hath of heaven in his dreams. when pensive it seemed as if that very grace, that charm of all others, was born with her face! and when angry,--for even in the tranquillest climes light breezes will ruffle the blossoms sometimes-- the short, passing anger but seemed to awaken new beauty like flowers that are sweetest when shaken. if tenderness touched her, the dark of her eye at once took a darker, a heavenlier dye, from the depth of whose shadow like holy revealings from innermost shrines came the light of her feelings. then her mirth--oh! 'twas sportive as ever took wing from the heart with a burst like the wild-bird in spring; illumed by a wit that would fascinate sages, yet playful as peris just loosed from their cages.[ ] while her laugh full of life, without any control but the sweet one of gracefulness, rung from her soul; and where it most sparkled no glance could discover, in lip, cheek, or eyes, for she brightened all over,-- like any fair lake that the breeze is upon when it breaks into dimples and, laughs in the sun. such, such were the peerless enchantments that gave nourmahal the proud lord of the east for her slave: and tho' bright was his haram,--a living parterre of the flowers[ ] of this planet--tho' treasures were there, for which soliman's self might have given all the store that the navy from ophir e'er winged to his shore, yet dim before _her_ were the smiles of them all and the light of his haram was young nourmahal! but where is she now, this night of joy, when bliss is every heart's employ?-- when all around her is so bright, so like the visions of a trance, that one might think, who came by chance into the vale this happy night, he saw that city of delight[ ] in fairy-land, whose streets and towers are made of gems and light and flowers! where is the loved sultana? where, when mirth brings out the young and fair, does she, the fairest, hide her brow in melancholy stillness now? alas!--how light a cause may move dissension between hearts that love! hearts that the world in vain had tried and sorrow but more closely tied; that stood the storm when waves were rough yet in a sunny hour fall off, like ships that have gone down at sea when heaven was all tranquillity! a something light as air--a look, a word unkind or wrongly taken-- oh! love that tempests never shook, a breath, a touch like this hath shaken. and ruder words will soon rush in to spread the breach that words begin; and eyes forget the gentle ray they wore in courtship's smiling day; and voices lose the tone that shed a tenderness round all they said; till fast declining one by one the sweetnesses of love are gone, and hearts so lately mingled seem like broken clouds,--or like the stream that smiling left the mountain's brow as tho' its waters ne'er could sever, yet ere it reach the plain below, breaks into floods that part for ever. oh, you that have the charge of love, keep him in rosy bondage bound, as in the fields of bliss above he sits with flowerets fettered round;-- loose not a tie that round him clings. nor ever let him use his wings; for even an hour, a minute's flight will rob the plumes of half their light. like that celestial bird whose nest is found beneath far eastern skies, whose wings tho' radiant when at rest lose all their glory when he flies![ ] some difference of this dangerous kind,-- by which, tho' light, the links that bind the fondest hearts may soon be riven; some shadow in love's summer heaven, which, tho' a fleecy speck at first may yet in awful thunder burst;-- such cloud it is that now hangs over the heart of the imperial lover, and far hath banisht from his sight his nourmahal, his haram's light! hence is it on this happy night when pleasure thro' the fields and groves has let loose all her world of loves and every heart has found its own he wanders joyless and alone and weary as that bird of thrace whose pinion knows no resting place.[ ] in vain the loveliest cheeks and eyes this eden of the earth supplies come crowding round--the cheeks are pale, the eyes are dim:--tho' rich the spot with every flower this earth has got what is it to the nightingale if there his darling rose is not?[ ] in vain the valley's smiling throng worship him as he moves along; he heeds them not--one smile of hers is worth a world of worshippers. they but the star's adorers are, she is the heaven that lights the star! hence is it too that nourmahal, amid the luxuries of this hour, far from the joyous festival sits in her own sequestered bower, with no one near to soothe or aid, but that inspired and wondrous maid, namouna, the enchantress;--one o'er whom his race the golden sun for unremembered years has run, yet never saw her blooming brow younger or fairer than 'tis now. nay, rather,--as the west wind's sigh freshens the flower it passes by,-- time's wing but seemed in stealing o'er to leave her lovelier than before. yet on her smiles a sadness hung, and when as oft she spoke or sung of other worlds there came a light from her dark eyes so strangely bright that all believed nor man nor earth were conscious of namouna's birth! all spells and talismans she knew, from the great mantra,[ ] which around the air's sublimer spirits drew, to the gold gems[ ] of afric, bound upon the wandering arab's arm to keep him from the siltim's[ ] harm. and she had pledged her powerful art,-- pledged it with all the zeal and heart of one who knew tho' high her sphere, what 'twas to lose a love so dear,-- to find some spell that should recall her selim's[ ] smile to nourmahal! 'twas midnight--thro' the lattice wreathed with woodbine many a perfume breathed from plants that wake when others sleep. from timid jasmine buds that keep their odor to themselves all day but when the sunlight dies away let the delicious secret out to every breeze that roams about;-- when thus namouna:--"'tis the hour "that scatters spells on herb and flower, "and garlands might be gathered now, "that twined around the sleeper's brow "would make him dream of such delights, "such miracles and dazzling sights "as genii of the sun behold "at evening from their tents of gold "upon the horizon--where they play "till twilight comes and ray by ray "their sunny mansions melt away. "now too a chaplet might be wreathed "of buds o'er which the moon has breathed, "which worn by her whose love has strayed "might bring some peri from the skies, "some sprite, whose very soul is made "of flowerets' breaths and lovers' sighs, "and who might tell"-- "for me, for me," cried nourmahal impatiently,-- "oh! twine that wreath for me to-night." then rapidly with foot as light as the young musk-roe's out she flew to cull each shining leaf that grew beneath the moonlight's hallowing beams for this enchanted wreath of dreams. anemones and seas of gold,[ ] and new-blown lilies of the river, and those sweet flowerets that unfold their buds on camadeva's quiver;[ ]-- the tuberose, with her silvery light, that in the gardens of malay is called the mistress of the night,[ ] so like a bride, scented and bright, she comes out when the sun's away:-- amaranths such as crown the maids that wander thro' zamara's shades;[ ]-- and the white moon-flower as it shows, on serendib's high crags to those who near the isle at evening sail, scenting her clove-trees in the gale; in short all flowerets and all plants, from the divine amrita tree[ ] that blesses heaven's habitants with fruits of immortality, down to the basil tuft[ ] that waves its fragrant blossom over graves, and to the humble rosemary whose sweets so thanklessly are shed to scent the desert[ ]and the dead:-- all in that garden bloom and all are gathered by young nourmahal, who heaps her baskets with the flowers and leaves till they can hold no more; then to namouna flies and showers upon her lap the shining store. with what delight the enchantress views so many buds bathed with the dews and beams of that blest hour!--her glance spoke something past all mortal pleasures, as in a kind of holy trance she hung above those fragrant treasures, bending to drink their balmy airs, as if she mixt her soul with theirs. and 'twas indeed the perfume shed from flowers and scented flame that fed her charmed life--for none had e'er beheld her taste of mortal fare, nor ever in aught earthly dip, but the morn's dew, her roseate lip. filled with the cool, inspiring smell, the enchantress now begins her spell, thus singing as she winds and weaves in mystic form the glittering leaves:-- i know where the winged visions dwell that around the night-bed play; i know each herb and floweret's bell, where they hide their wings by day. then hasten we, maid, to twine our braid, to-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade. the image of love that nightly flies to visit the bashful maid, steals from the jasmine flower that sighs its soul like her in the shade. the dream of a future, happier hour that alights on misery's brow, springs out of the silvery almond-flower that blooms on a leafless bough.[ ] then hasten we, maid, to twine our braid, to-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade. the visions that oft to worldly eyes the glitter of mines unfold inhabit the mountain-herb[ ] that dyes the tooth of the fawn like gold. the phantom shapes--oh touch not them-- that appal the murderer's sight, lurk in the fleshly mandrake's stem, that shrieks when pluckt at night! then hasten we, maid, to twine our braid, to-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade. the dream of the injured, patient mind that smiles at the wrongs of men is found in the bruised and wounded rind of the cinnamon, sweetest then. then hasten we, maid, to twine our braid, to-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade. no sooner was the flowery crown placed on her head than sleep came down, gently as nights of summer fall, upon the lids of nourmahal;-- and suddenly a tuneful breeze as full of small, rich harmonies as ever wind that o'er the tents of azab[ ] blew was full of scents, steals on her ear and floats and swells like the first air of morning creeping into those wreathy, red-sea shells where love himself of old lay sleeping;[ ] and now a spirit formed, 'twould seem, of music and of light,--so fair, so brilliantly his features beam, and such a sound is in the air of sweetness when he waves his wings,-- hovers around her and thus sings: from chindara's[ ] warbling fount i come, called by that moonlight garland's spell; from chindara's fount, my fairy home, wherein music, morn and night, i dwell. where lutes in the air are heard about and voices are singing the whole day long, and every sigh the heart breathes out is turned, as it leaves the lips, to song! hither i come from my fairy home, and if there's a magic in music's strain i swear by the breath of that moonlight wreath thy lover shall sigh at thy feet again. for mine is the lay that lightly floats and mine are the murmuring, dying notes that fall as soft as snow on the sea and melt in the heart as instantly:-- and the passionate strain that, deeply going, refines the bosom it trembles thro' as the musk-wind over the water blowing ruffles the wave but sweetens it too. mine is the charm whose mystic sway the spirits of past delight obey;-- let but the tuneful talisman sound, and they come like genii hovering round. and mine is the gentle song that bears from soul to soul the wishes of love, as a bird that wafts thro' genial airs the cinnamon-seed from grove to grove.[ ] 'tis i that mingle in one sweet measure the past, the present and future of pleasure; when memory links the tone that is gone with the blissful tone that's still in the ear; and hope from a heavenly note flies on to a note more heavenly still that is near. the warrior's heart when touched by me, can as downy soft and as yielding be as his own white plume that high amid death thro' the field has shone--yet moves with a breath! and oh, how the eyes of beauty glisten. when music has reached her inward soul, like the silent stars that wink and listen while heaven's eternal melodies roll. so hither i come from my fairy home, and if there's a magic in music's strain, i swear by the breath of that moonlight wreath thy lover shall sigh at thy feet again. 'tis dawn--at least that earlier dawn whose glimpses are again withdrawn,[ ] as if the morn had waked, and then shut close her lids of light again. and nourmahal is up and trying the wonders of her lute whose strings-- oh, bliss!--now murmur like the sighing from that ambrosial spirit's wings. and then her voice--'tis more than human-- never till now had it been given to lips of any mortal woman to utter notes so fresh from heaven; sweet as the breath of angel sighs when angel sighs are most divine.-- "oh! let it last till night," she cries, "and he is more than ever mine." and hourly she renews the lay, so fearful lest its heavenly sweetness should ere the evening fade away,-- for things so heavenly have such fleetness! but far from fading it but grows richer, diviner as it flows; till rapt she dwells on every string and pours again each sound along, like echo, lost and languishing, in love with her own wondrous song. that evening, (trusting that his soul might be from haunting love released by mirth, by music and the bowl,) the imperial selim held a feast in his magnificent shalimar:[ ]-- in whose saloons, when the first star of evening o'er the waters trembled, the valley's loveliest all assembled; all the bright creatures that like dreams glide thro' its foliage and drink beams of beauty from its founts and streams;[ ] and all those wandering minstrel-maids, who leave--how _can_ they leave?--the shades of that dear valley and are found singing in gardens of the south[ ] those songs that ne'er so sweetly sound as from a young cashmerian's mouth. there too the haram's inmates smile;-- maids from the west, with sun-bright hair, and from the garden of the nile, delicate as the roses there;[ ]-- daughters of love from cyprus rocks, with paphian diamonds in their locks;[ ]-- light peri forms such as there are on the gold meads of candahar;[ ] and they before whose sleepy eyes in their own bright kathaian bowers sparkle such rainbow butterflies that they might fancy the rich flowers that round them in the sun lay sighing had been by magic all set flying.[ ] every thing young, every thing fair from east and west is blushing there, except--except--oh, nourmahal! thou loveliest, dearest of them all, the one whose smile shone out alone, amidst a world the only one; whose light among so many lights was like that star on starry nights, the seaman singles from the sky, to steer his bark for ever by! thou wert not there--so selim thought, and every thing seemed drear without thee; but, ah! thou wert, thou wert,--and brought thy charm of song all fresh about thee, mingling unnoticed with a band of lutanists from many a land, and veiled by such a mask as shades the features of young arab maids,[ ]-- a mask that leaves but one eye free, to do its best in witchery,-- she roved with beating heart around and waited trembling for the minute when she might try if still the sound of her loved lute had magic in it. the board was spread with fruits and wine, with grapes of gold, like those that shine on casbin hills;[ ]--pomegranates full of melting sweetness, and the pears, and sunniest apples[ ] that caubul in all its thousand gardens[ ] bears;-- plantains, the golden and the green, malaya's nectared mangusteen;[ ] prunes of bockhara, and sweet nuts from the far groves of samarcand, and basra dates, and apricots, seed of the sun,[ ] from iran's land;-- with rich conserve of visna cherries,[ ] of orange flowers, and of those berries that, wild and fresh, the young gazelles feed on in erac's rocky dells.[ ] all these in richest vases smile, in baskets of pure santal-wood, and urns of porcelain from that isle[ ] sunk underneath the indian flood, whence oft the lucky diver brings vases to grace the halls of kings. wines too of every clime and hue around their liquid lustre threw; amber rosolli,[ ]--the bright dew from vineyards of the green-sea gushing;[ ] and shiraz wine that richly ran as if that jewel large and rare, the ruby for which kublai-khan offered a city's wealth,[ ] was blushing melted within the goblets there! and amply selim quaffs of each, and seems resolved the flood shall reach his inward heart,--shedding around a genial deluge, as they run, that soon shall leave no spot undrowned for love to rest his wings upon. he little knew how well the boy can float upon a goblet's streams, lighting them with his smile of joy;-- as bards have seen him in their dreams, down the blue ganges laughing glide upon a rosy lotus wreath,[ ] catching new lustre from the tide that with his image shone beneath. but what are cups without the aid of song to speed them as they flow? and see--a lovely georgian maid with all the bloom, the freshened glow of her own country maidens' looks, when warm they rise from teflis' brooks;[ ] and with an eye whose restless ray full, floating, dark--oh, he, who knows his heart is weak, of heaven should pray to guard him from such eyes as those!-- with a voluptuous wildness flings her snowy hand across the strings of a syrinda[ ] and thus sings:-- come hither, come hither--by night and by day, we linger in pleasures that never are gone; like the waves of the summer as one dies away another as sweet and as shining comes on. and the love that is o'er, in expiring gives birth to a new one as warm, as unequalled in bliss; and, oh! if there be an elysium on earth, it is this, it is this.[ ] here maidens are sighing, and fragrant their sigh as the flower of the amra just oped by a bee;[ ] and precious their tears as that rain from the sky,[ ] which turns into pearls as it falls in the sea. oh! think what the kiss and the smile must be worth when the sigh and the tear are so perfect in bliss, and own if there be an elysium on earth, it is this, it is this. here sparkles the nectar that hallowed by love could draw down those angels of old from their sphere, who for wine of this earth[ ] left the fountains above, and forgot heaven's stars for the eyes we have here. and, blest with the odor our goblet gives forth, what spirit the sweets of his eden would miss? for, oh! if there be an elysium on earth, it is this, it is this. the georgian's song was scarcely mute, when the same measure, sound for sound, was caught up by another lute and so divinely breathed around that all stood husht and wondering, and turned and lookt into the air, as if they thought to see the wing of israfil[ ] the angel there;-- so powerfully on every soul that new, enchanted measure stole. while now a voice sweet as the note of the charmed lute was heard to float along its chords and so entwine its sounds with theirs that none knew whether the voice or lute was most divine, so wondrously they went together:-- there's a bliss beyond all that the minstrel has told, when two that are linkt in one heavenly tie, with heart never changing and brow never cold, love on thro' all ills and love on till they die! one hour of a passion so sacred is worth whole ages of heartless and wandering bliss; and, oh! if there be an elysium on earth, it is this, it is this. 'twas not the air, 'twas not the words, but that deep magic in the chords and in the lips that gave such power as music knew not till that hour. at once a hundred voices said, "it is the maskt arabian maid!" while selim who had felt the strain deepest of any and had lain some minutes rapt as in a trance after the fairy sounds were o'er. too inly touched for utterance, now motioned with his hand for more:-- fly to the desert, fly with me, our arab's tents are rude for thee; but oh! the choice what heart can doubt, of tents with love or thrones without? our rocks are rough, but smiling there the acacia waves her yellow hair, lonely and sweet nor loved the less for flowering in a wilderness. our sands are bare, but down their slope the silvery-footed antelope as gracefully and gayly springs as o'er the marble courts of kings. then come--thy arab maid will be the loved and lone acacia-tree. the antelope whose feet shall bless with their light sound thy loneliness. oh! there are looks and tones that dart an instant sunshine thro' the heart,-- as if the soul that minute caught some treasure it thro' life had sought; as if the very lips and eyes, predestined to have all our sighs and never be forgot again, sparkled and spoke before us then! so came thy every glance and tone, when first on me they breathed and shone, new as if brought from other spheres yet welcome as if loved for years. then fly with me,--if thou hast known no other flame nor falsely thrown a gem away, that thou hadst sworn should ever in thy heart be worn. come if the love thou hast for me is pure and fresh as mine for thee,-- fresh as the fountain under ground, when first 'tis by the lapwing found.[ ] but if for me thou dost forsake some other maid and rudely break her worshipt image from its base, to give to me the ruined place;-- then fare thee well--i'd rather make my bower upon some icy lake when thawing suns begin to shine than trust to love so false as thine. there was a pathos in this lay, that, even without enchantment's art, would instantly have found its way deep in to selim's burning heart; but breathing as it did a tone to earthly lutes and lips unknown; with every chord fresh from the touch of music's spirit,--'twas too much! starting he dasht away the cup,-- which all the time of this sweet air his hand had held, untasted, up, as if 'twere fixt by magic there-- and naming her, so long unnamed, so long unseen, wildly exclaimed, "oh nourmahal! oh nourmahal! "hadst thou but sung this witching strain, "i could forget--forgive thee all "and never leave those eyes again." the mask is off--the charm is wrought-- and selim to his heart has caught, in blushes, more than ever bright, his nourmahal, his haram's light! and well do vanisht frowns enhance the charm of every brightened glance; and dearer seems each dawning smile for having lost its light awhile: and happier now for all her sighs as on his arm her head reposes she whispers him, with laughing eyes, "remember, love, the feast of roses!" fadladeen, at the conclusion of this light rhapsody, took occasion to sum up his opinion of the young cashmerian's poetry,--of which, he trusted, they had that evening heard the last. having recapitulated the epithets, "frivolous"--"inharmonious"--"nonsensical," he proceeded to say that, viewed in the most favorable light it resembled one of those maldivian boats, to which the princess had alluded in the relation of her dream,-- a slight, gilded thing, sent adrift without rudder or ballast, and with nothing but vapid sweets and faded flowers on board. the profusion, indeed, of flowers and birds, which this poet had ready on all occasions, --not to mention dews, gems, etc.--was a most oppressive kind of opulence to his hearers; and had the unlucky effect of giving to his style all the glitter of the flower garden without its method, and all the flutter of the aviary without its song. in addition to this, he chose his subjects badly, and was always most inspired by the worst parts of them. the charms of paganism, the merits of rebellion,--these were the themes honored with his particular enthusiasm; and, in the poem just recited, one of his most palatable passages was in praise of that beverage of the unfaithful, wine;--"being, perhaps," said he, relaxing into a smile, as conscious of his own character in the haram on this point, "one of those bards, whose fancy owes all its illumination to the grape, like that painted porcelain,[ ] so curious and so rare, whose images are only visible when liquor is poured into it." upon the whole, it was his opinion, from the specimens which they had heard, and which, he begged to say, were the most tiresome part of the journey, that--whatever other merits this well-dressed young gentleman might possess--poetry was by no means his proper avocation; "and indeed," concluded the critic, "from his fondness for flowers and for birds, i would venture to suggest that a florist or a bird-catcher is a much more suitable calling for him than a poet." they had now begun to ascend those barren mountains, which separate cashmere from the rest of india; and, as the heats were intolerable, and the time of their encampments limited to the few hours necessary for refreshment and repose, there was an end to all their delightful evenings, and lalla rookh saw no more of feramorz. she now felt that her short dream of happiness was over, and that she had nothing but the recollection of its few blissful hours, like the one draught of sweet water that serves the camel across the wilderness, to be her heart's refreshment during the dreary waste of life that was before her. the blight that had fallen upon her spirits soon found its way to her cheek, and her ladies saw with regret--though not without some suspicion of the cause--that the beauty of their mistress, of which they were almost as proud as of their own, was fast vanishing away at the very moment of all when she had most need of it. what must the king of bucharia feel, when, instead of the lively and beautiful lalla rookh, whom the poets of delhi had described as more perfect than the divinest images in the house of azor,[ ] he should receive a pale and inanimate victim, upon whose cheek neither health nor pleasure bloomed, and from whose eyes love had fled,--to hide himself in her heart? if any thing could have charmed away the melancholy of her spirits, it would have been the fresh airs and enchanting scenery of that valley, which the persians so justly called the unequalled.[ ] but neither the coolness of its atmosphere, so luxurious after toiling up those bare and burning mountains,--neither the splendor of the minarets and pagodas, that shone put from the depth of its woods, nor the grottoes, hermitages, and miraculous fountains,[ ] which make every spot of that region holy ground,--neither the countless waterfalls, that rush into the valley from all those high and romantic mountains that encircle it, nor the fair city on the lake, whose houses, roofed with flowers,[ ] appeared at a distance like one vast and variegated parterre;--not all these wonders and glories of the most lovely country under the sun could steal her heart for a minute from those sad thoughts which but darkened and grew bitterer every step she advanced. the gay pomps and processions that met her upon her entrance into the valley, and the magnificence with which the roads all along were decorated, did honor to the taste and gallantry of the young king. it was night when they approached the city, and, for the last two miles, they had passed under arches, thrown from hedge to hedge, festooned with only those rarest roses from which the attar gul, more precious than gold, is distilled, and illuminated in rich and fanciful forms with lanterns of the triple-colored tortoise-shell of pegu.[ ] sometimes, from a dark wood by the side of the road, a display of fireworks would break out, so sudden and so brilliant, that a brahmin might fancy he beheld that grove, in whose purple shade the god of battles was born, bursting into a flame at the moment of his birth;--while, at other times, a quick and playful irradiation continued to brighten all the fields and gardens by which they passed, forming a line of dancing lights along the horizon; like the meteors of the north as they are seen by those hunters who pursue the white and blue foxes on the confines of the icy sea. these arches and fireworks delighted the ladies of the princess exceedingly; and, with their usual good logic, they deduced from his taste for illuminations, that the king of bucharia would make the most exemplary husband imaginable. nor, indeed, could lalla rookh herself help feeling the kindness and splendor with which the young bridegroom welcomed her;--but she also felt how painful is the gratitude which kindness from those we cannot love excites; and that their best blandishments come over the heart with all that chilling and deadly sweetness which we can fancy in the cold, odoriferous wind[ ] that is to blow over this earth in the last days. the marriage was fixed for the morning after her arrival, when she was, for the first time, to be presented to the monarch in that imperial palace beyond the lake, called the shalimar. though never before had a night of more wakeful and anxious thought been passed in the happy valley, yet, when she rose in the morning, and her ladies came around her, to assist in the adjustment of the bridal ornaments, they thought they had never seen her look half so beautiful. what she had lost of the bloom and radiancy of her charms was more than made up by that intellectual expression, that soul beaming forth from the eyes, which is worth all the rest of loveliness. when they had tinged her fingers with the henna leaf, and placed upon her brow a small coronet of jewels, of the shape worn by the ancient queens of bucharia, they flung over her head the rose-colored bridal veil, and she proceeded to the barge that was to convey her across the lake;--first kissing, with a mournful look, the little amulet of cornelian, which her father at parting had hung about her neck. the morning was as fresh and fair as the maid on whose nuptials it rose, and the shining lake, all covered with boats, the minstrels playing upon the shores of the islands, and the crowded summer-houses on the green hills around, with shawls and banners waving from their roofs, presented such a picture of animated rejoicing, as only she, who was the object of it all, did not feel with transport. to lalla rookh alone it was a melancholy pageant; nor could she have even borne to look upon the scene, were it not for a hope that among the crowds around, she might once more perhaps catch a glimpse of feramorz. so much was her imagination haunted by this thought that there was scarcely an islet or boat she passed on the way at which her heart did not flutter with the momentary fancy that he was there. happy, in her eyes, the humblest slave upon whom the light of his dear looks fell!--in the barge immediately after the princess sat fadladeen, with his silken curtains thrown widely apart, that all might have the benefit of his august presence, and with his head full of the speech he was to deliver to the king, "concerning feramorz and literature and the chabuk as connected therewith." they now had entered the canal which leads from the lake to the splendid domes and saloons of the shalimar and went gliding on through the gardens that ascended from each bank, full of flowering shrubs that made the air all perfume; while from the middle of the canal rose jets of water, smooth and unbroken, to such a dazzling height that they stood like tall pillars of diamond in the sunshine. after sailing under the arches of various saloons they at length arrived at the last and most magnificent, where the monarch awaited the coming of his bride; and such was the agitation of her heart and frame that it was with difficulty she could walk up the marble steps which were covered with cloth of gold for her ascent from the barge. at the end of the hall stood two thrones, as precious as the cerulean throne of koolburga,[ ] on one of which sat aliris, the youthful king of bucharia, and on the other was in a few minutes to be placed the most beautiful princess in the world. immediately upon the entrance of lalla rookh into the saloon the monarch descended from his throne to meet her; but scarcely had he time to take her hand in his when she screamed with surprise and fainted at his feet. it was feramorz, himself, who stood before her! feramorz, was, himself, the sovereign of bucharia, who in this disguise had accompanied his young bride from delhi, and having won her love as an humble minstrel now amply deserved to enjoy it as a king. the consternation of fadladeen at this discovery was, for the moment, almost pitiable. but change of opinion is a resource too convenient in courts for this experienced courtier not to have learned to avail himself of it. his criticisms were all, of course, recanted instantly: he was seized with an admiration of the king's verses, as unbounded as, he begged him to believe, it was disinterested; and the following week saw him in possession of an additional place, swearing by all the saints of islam that never had there existed so great a poet as the monarch aliris, and moreover ready to prescribe his favorite regimen of the chabuk for every man, woman and child that dared to think otherwise. of the happiness of the king and queen of bucharia, after such a beginning, there can be but little doubt; and among the lesser symptoms it is recorded of lalla rookh that to the day of her death in memory of their delightful journey she never called the king by any other name than feramorz. [ ] these particulars of the visit of the king of bucharia to aurungzebe are found in _dow's "history of hindostan_," vol. iii. p. . [ ] tulip cheek. [ ] the mistress of mejnoun, upon whose story so many romances in all the languages of the east are founded. [ ] for the loves of this celebrated beauty with khosrou and with ferhad, see _d'herbelot, gibbon, oriental collections_, etc. [ ] "the history of the loves of dewildé and chizer, the son of the emperor alla, is written in an elegant poem, by the noble chusero."�- _ferishta_. [ ] gul reazee. [ ] "one mark of honor or knighthood bestowed by the emperor is the permission to wear a small kettle-drum at the bows of their saddles, which at first was invented for the training of hawks, and to call them to the lure, and is worn in the field by all sportsmen to that end."--_fryer's_ travels. "those on whom the king has conferred the privilege must wear an ornament of jewels on the right side of the turban, surmounted by a high plume of the feathers of a kind of egret. this bird is found only in cashmere, and the feathers are carefully collected for the king, who bestows them on his nobles."--_elphinstone's_ account of cabul. [ ] "khedar khan, the khakan, or king of turquestan beyond the gibon (at the end of the eleventh century), whenever he appeared abroad was preceded by seven hundred horsemen with silver battle-axes, and was followed by an equal number bearing maces of gold. he was a great patron of poetry, and it was he who used to preside at public exercises of genius, with four basins of gold and silver by him to distribute among the poets who excelled."--_richardson's_ dissertation prefixed to his dictionary. [ ] "the kubdeh, a large golden knob, generally in the shape of a pine- apple, on the top of the canopy over the litter or palanquin."--_scott's_ notes on the bahardanush. [ ] in the poem of zohair, in the moallakat, there is the following lively description of "a company of maidens seated on camels." "they are mounted in carriages covered with costly awnings, and with rose-colored veils, the linings of which have the hue of crimson andem-wood. "when they ascend from the bosom of the vale, they sit forward on the saddlecloth, with every mark of a voluptuous gayety. "now, when they have reached the brink of yon blue-gushing rivulet, they fix the poles of their tents like the arab with a settled mansion." [ ] see _bernier's_ description of the attendants on rauchanara begum, in her progress to cashmere. [ ] this hypocritical emperor would have made a worthy associate of certain holy leagues.--"he held the cloak of religion [says dow] between his actions and the vulgar; and impiously thanked the divinity for a success which he owed to his own wickedness. when he was murdering and persecuting his brothers and their families, he was building a magnificent mosque at delhi, as an offering to god for his assistance to him in the civil wars. he acted as high priest at the consecration of this temple; and made a practice of attending divine service there, in the humble dress of a fakeer. but when he lifted one hand to the divinity, he, with the other, signed warrants for the assassination of his relations."--"_history of hindostan_,". vol. iii. p. . see also the curious letter of aurungzebe, given in the _oriental collections_, vol. i. p. . [ ] "the idol at jaghernat has two fine diamonds for eyes. no goldsmith is suffered to enter the pagoda, one having stole one of these eyes, being locked up all night with the idol."--_tavernier_. [ ] see a description of these royal gardens in "an account of the present state of delhi, by lieut. w. franklin."--_asiat. research_, vol. iv. p. . [ ] "in the neighborhood is notte gill, or the lake of pearl, which receives this name from its pellucid water."--_pennant's_ "hindostan." "nasir jung encamped in the vicinity of the lake of tonoor, amused himself with sailing on that clear and beautiful water, and gave it the fanciful name of motee talah, 'the lake of pearls,' which it still retains."-- _wilks's_ "south of india." [ ] sir thomas roe, ambassador from james i. to jehanguire. [ ] "the romance wemakweazra, written in persian verse, which contains the loves of wamak and ezra, two celebrated lovers who lived before the time of mahomet."--_note on the oriental tales_. [ ] their amour is recounted in the shah-namêh of ferdousi; and there is much beauty in the passage which describes the slaves of rodahver sitting on the bank of the river and throwing flowers into the stream, in order to draw the attention of the young hero who is encamped on the opposite side.--see _champion's_ translation. [ ] rustam is the hercules of the persians. for the particulars of his victory over the sepeed deeve, or white demon, see _oriental collections_, vol. ii. p. .--near the city of shiraz is an immense quadrangular monument, in commemoration of this combat, called the kelaat-i-deev sepeed, or castle of the white giant, which father angelo, in his "_gazophilacium persicum_," p. , declares to have been the most memorable monument of antiquity which he had seen in persia.--see _ouseley's_ "persian miscellanies." [ ] "the women of the idol, or dancing girls of the pagoda, have little golden bells, fastened to their feet, the soft harmonious tinkling of which vibrates in unison with the exquisite melody of their voices."-- _maurice's_ "indian antiquities." "the arabian courtesans, like the indian women, have little golden bells fastened round their legs, neck, and elbows, to the sound of which they dance before the king. the arabian princesses wear golden rings on their fingers, to which little bells are suspended, as well as in the flowing tresses of their hair, that their superior rank may be known and they themselves receive in passing the homage due to them."--see _calmet's_ dictionary, art. "bells." [ ] the indian apollo.� "he and the three ramas are described as youths of perfect beauty, and the princesses of hindustan were all passionately in love with chrishna, who continues to this hour the darling god of the indan women."--_sir w. jones_, on the gods of greece, italy, and india. [ ] see _turner's_ embassy for a description of this animal, "the most beautiful among the whole tribe of goats." the material for the shawls (which is carried to cashmere) is found next the skin. [ ] for the real history of this impostor, whose original name was hakem ben haschem, and who was called mocanna from the veil of silver gauze (or, as others say, golden) which he always wore, see _d'herbelot_. [ ] khorassan signifies, in the old persian language, province or region of the sun.--_sir w. jones_. [ ] "the fruits of meru are finer than those of any other place: and one cannot see in any other city such palaces with groves, and streams, and gardens."--_ebn haukal's_ geography. [ ] one of the royal cities of khorassan. [ ] moses. [ ] black was the color adopted by the caliphs of the house of abbas, in their garments, turbans, and standards. [ ] "our dark javelins, exquisitely wrought of khathaian reeds, slender and delicate."--_poem of amru_. [ ] pichula, used anciently for arrows by the persians. [ ] the persians call this plant gaz. the celebrated shaft of isfendiar, one of their ancient heroes, was made of it.--"nothing can be more beautiful than the appearance of this plant in flower during the rains on the banks of rivers, where it is usually interwoven with a lovely twining asclepias."--_sir w. jones_.. [ ] the oriental plane. "the chenar is a delightful tree; its bole is of a fine white and smooth bark; and its foliage, which grows in a tuft at the summit, is of a bright green."--_morier's travels_.. [ ] the burning fountains of brahma near chittogong, esteemed as holy.--_turner_. [ ] china. [ ] "the name of tulip is said to be of turkish extraction, and given to the flower on account of its resembling a turban."--_beckmann_'s history of inventions. [ ] "the inhabitants of bucharia wear a round cloth bonnet, shaped much after the polish fashion, having a large fur border. they tie their kaftans about the middle with a girdle of a kind of silk crape, several times round the body."--_account of independent tartary, in pinkerton's collection_. [ ] in the war of the caliph mahadi against the empress irene, for an account of which _vide gibbon_, vol. x. [ ] when soliman travelled, the eastern writers say, "he had a carpet of green silk on which his throne was placed, being of a prodigious length and breadth, and sufficient for all his forces to stand upon, the men placing themselves on his right hand, and the spirits on his left; and that when all were in order, the wind, at his command, took up the carpet, and transported it, with all that were upon it, wherever he pleased; the army of birds at the same time flying over their heads, and forming a kind of canopy to shade them from the sun."--sale's koran, vol. ii. p. , note. [ ] the transmigration of souls was one of his doctrines.--_vide d'herbelot_.. [ ] "and when we said unto the angels. worship adam, they all worshipped him except eblis (lucifer), who refused." _the. koran_, chap. ii. [ ] moses. [ ] jesus. [ ] the amu, which rises in the belur tag, or dark mountains, and running nearly from east to west, splits into two branches; one of which falls into the caspian sea, and the other into aral nahr, or the lake of eagles. [ ] the nightingale. [ ] the cities of com (or koom) and cashan are full of mosques, mausoleums and sepulchres of the descendants of ali, the saints of persia --_chardin_.. [ ] an island in the persian gulf, celebrated for its white wine. [ ] the miraculous well at mecca: so called, says sale, from the murmuring of its waters. [ ] the god hannaman.--"apes are in many parts of india highly venerated, out of respect to the god hannaman, a deity partaking of the form of that race."--_pennant's_ hindoostan. see a curious account in _stephen's persia_, of a solemn embassy from some part of the indies to goa when the portuguese were there, offering vast treasures for the recovery of a monkey's tooth, which they held in great veneration, and which had been taken away upon the conquest of the kingdom of jafanapatan. [ ] a kind of lantern formerly used by robbers, called the hand of glory, the candle for which was made of the fat of a dead malefactor. this, however, was rather a western than an eastern superstition. [ ] the material of which images of gaudma (the birman deity) are made, is held sacred. "birmans may not purchase the marble in mass, but are suffered, and indeed encouraged, to buy figures of the deity ready made." --_sytnes's_ "ava," vol. ii. p. . [ ] "it is commonly said in persia, that if a man breathe in the hot south wind, which in june or july passes over that flower (the kerzereh), it will kill him."--_thevenot_. [ ] the humming bird is said to run this risk for the purpose of picking the crocodile's teeth. the same circumstance is related of the lapwing, as a fact to which he was witness, by _paul lucas, "voyage fait en_ ." the ancient story concerning the trochilus, or humming-bird, entering with impunity into the mouth of the crocodile, is firmly believed at java.--_barrow's "cochin-china_." [ ] "the feast of lanterns celebrated at yamtcheou with more magnificence than anywhere else! and the report goes that the illuminations there are so splendid, that an emperor once, not daring openly to leave his court to go thither, committed himself with the queen and several princesses of his family into the hands of a magician, who promised to transport them thither in a trice. he made them in the night to ascend magnificent thrones that were borne up by swans, which in a moment arrived at yamtcheou. the emperor saw at his leisure all the solemnity, being carried upon a cloud that hovered over the city and descended by degrees; and came back again with the same speed and equipage, nobody at court perceiving his absence."--_the present state of china_," p. . [ ] "the vulgar ascribe it to an accident that happened in the family of a famous mandarin, whose daughter, walking one evening upon the shore of a lake, fell in and was drowned: this afflicted father, with his family, ran thither, and the better to find her, he caused a great company of lanterns to be lighted. all the inhabitants of the place thronged after him with torches. the year ensuing they made fires upon the shores the same day; they continued the ceremony every year, every one lighted his lantern, and by degrees it commenced into a custom."--_the present state of china_." [ ] "thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes."--_sol. song_. [ ] "they tinged the ends of her fingers scarlet with henna, so that they resembled branches of coral."--_story of prince futtun in bahardanush_. [ ] "the women blacken the inside of their eyelids with a powder named the black kohol."--_russell_. "none of these ladies," says _shaw_, "take themselves to be completely dressed, till they have tinged their hair and edges of their eyelids with the powder of lead ore. now, as this operation is performed by dipping first into the powder a small wooden bodkin of the thickness of a quill, and then drawing it afterwards through the eyelids over the ball of the eye, we shall have a lively image of what the prophet (jer. iv. ) may be supposed to mean by _rending the eyes with painting_. this practice is no doubt of great antiquity; for besides the instance already taken notice of, we find that where jezebel is said ( kings ix. .) _to have painted her face_, the original words are, _she adjusted her eyes with the powder of lead-ore_."--_shaw's_ travels. [ ] "the appearance of the blossoms of the gold-colored campac on the black hair of the indian women has supplied the sanscrit poets with many elegant allusions."--see _asiatic researches_, vol. iv. [ ] a tree famous for its perfume, and common on the hills of yemen.--_niebuhr_. [ ] of the genus mimosa "which droops its branches whenever any person approaches it, seeming as if it saluted those who retire under its shade."--_niebuhr_. [ ] cloves are a principal ingredient in the composition of the perfumed rods, which men of rank keep constantly burning in their presence.-- _turner's_ "tibet." [ ] "thousands of variegated loories visit the coral-trees."--_barrow_. [ ] "in mecca there are quantities of blue pigeons, which none will affright or abuse, much less kill."--_pitt's_ account of the mahometans. [ ] "the pagoda thrush is esteemed among the first choristers of india. it sits perched on the sacred pagodas, and from thence delivers its melodious song."--_pennant's_ "hindostan." [ ] _tavernier_ adds, that while the birds of paradise lie in this intoxicated state, the emmets come and eat off their legs; and that hence it is they are said to have no feet. [ ] birds of paradise, which, at the nutmeg season, come in flights from the southern isles to india; and "the strength of the nutmeg," says _tavernier_, "so intoxicates them that they fall dead drunk to the earth." [ ] "that bird which liveth in arabia, and buildeth its nest with cinnamon."--_brown's_ vulgar errors. [ ] "the spirits of the martyrs will be lodged in the crops of green birds."--_gibbon_, vol. ix. p. . [ ] shedad, who made the delicious gardens of irim, in imitation of paradise, and was destroyed by lightning the first time he attempted to enter them. [ ] "my pandits assure me that the plant before us (the nilica) is their sephalica, thus named because the bees are supposed to sleep on its blossoms."--_sir w. jones_. [ ] they deterred it till the king of flowers should ascend his throne of enamelled foliage."--_the bahardanush_". [ ] "one of the head-dresses of the persian women is composed of a light golden chain-work, set with small pearls, with a thin gold plate pendant, about the bigness of a crown-piece, on which is impressed an arabian prayer, and which hangs upon the cheek below the ear."--_hanway's_ travels. [ ] "certainly the women of yezd are the handsomest women in persia. the proverb is, that to live happy a man must have a wife of yezd, eat the bread of yezdecas, and drink the wine of shiraz."--_tavernier_. [ ] musnuds are cushioned seats, usually reserved for persons of distinction. [ ] the persians, like the ancient greeks call their musical modes or perdas by the names of different countries or cities, as the mode of isfahan, the mode of irak, etc. [ ] a river which flows near the ruins of chilminar. [ ] "to the north of us (on the coast of the caspian, near badku,) was a mountain, which sparkled like diamonds, arising from the sea-glass and crystals with which it abounds."--_journey of the russian ambassador to persia_, . [ ] "to which will be added, the sound of the bells, hanging on the trees, which will be put in motion by the wind proceeding from the throne of god, as often as the blessed wish for music."--_sale_. [ ] "whose wanton eyes resemble blue water-lilies, agitated by the breeze."--_jayadeva_. [ ] the blue lotos, which grows in cashmere and in persia. [ ] it has been generally supposed that the mahometans prohibit all pictures of animals; but _toderini_ shows that, though the practice is forbidden by the koran, they are not more averse to painted figures and images than other people. from mr. murphy's work, too, we find that the arabs of spain had no objection to the introduction of figures into painting. [ ] this is not quite astronomically true. "dr. hadley [says keil] has shown that venus is brightest when she is about forty degrees removed from the sun; and that then but _only a fourth part_ of her lucid disk is to be seen from the earth." [ ] the wife of potiphar, thus named by the orientals. the passion which this frail beauty of antiquity conceived for her young hebrew slave has given rise to a much esteemed poem in the persian language, entitled _yusef vau zelikha_, by _noureddin jami;_ the manuscript copy of which, in the bodleian library at oxford, is supposed to be the finest in the whole world."--_note upon nott's translation of hafez_." [ ] the particulars of mahomet's amour with mary, the coptic girl, in justification of which he added a new chapter to the koran, may be found in _gagnier's notes upon abulfeda_, p. . [ ] "deep blue is their mourning color." _hanway_. [ ] the sorrowful nyctanthes, which begins to spread its rich odor after sunset. [ ] "concerning the vipers, which pliny says were frequent among the balsam-trees, i made very particular inquiry; several were brought me alive both to yambo and jidda."--_bruce_. [ ] in the territory of istkahar there is a kind of apple, half of which is sweet and half sour.--_ebn haukal_. [ ] "the place where the whangho, a river of tibet, rises, and where there are more than a hundred springs, which sparkle like stars; whence it is called hotun-nor, that is, the sea of stars."--_description of tibet in pinkerton_. [ ] "the lescar or imperial camp is divided, like a regular town, into squares, alleys, and streets, and from a rising ground furnishes one of the most agreeable prospects in the world. starting up in a few hours in an uninhabited plain, it raises the idea of a city built by enchantment. even those who leave their houses in cities to follow the prince in his progress are frequently so charmed with the lescar, when situated in a beautiful and convenient place, that they cannot prevail with themselves to remove. to prevent this inconvenience to the court, the emperor, after sufficient time is allowed to the tradesmen to follow, orders them to be burnt out of their tents."--_dow's hindostan_. [ ] the edifices of chilminar and balbec are supposed to have been built by the genii, acting under the orders of jan ben jan, who governed the world long before the time of adam. [ ] "a superb camel, ornamented with strings and tufts of small shells."--_ali bey_. [ ] a native of khorassan, and allured southward by means of the water of a fountain between shiraz and ispahan, called the fountain of birds, of which it is so fond that it will follow wherever that water is carried. [ ] "some of the camels have bells about their necks, and some about their legs, like those which our carriers put about their fore-horses' necks, which together with the servants (who belong to the camels, and travel on foot), singing all night, make a pleasant noise, and the journey passes away delightfully."--_pitt's_ account of the mahometans. "the camel-driver follows the camels singing, and sometimes playing upon his pipe; the louder he sings and pipes, the faster the camels go. nay, they will stand still when he gives over his music."--_tavernier_. [ ] "this trumpet is often called, in abyssinia, _nesser cano_, which signifies the note of the eagle."--_note of bruce's editor_. [ ] the two black standards borne before the caliphs of the house of abbas were called, allegorically, the night and the shadow.--see _gibbon_. [ ] the mohometan religion. [ ] "the persians swear by the tomb of shad besade, who is buried at casbin; and when one desires another to asseverate a matter he will ask him, if he dare swear by the holy grave."--_struy_. [ ] mahadi, in a single pilgrimage to mecca, expended six millions of dinars of gold. [ ] the inhabitants of hejaz or arabia petraea, called by an eastern writer "the people of the rock."--_ebn haukal_. [ ] "those horses, called by the arabians kochlani, of whom a written genealogy has been kept for years. they are said to derive their origin from king solomon's steeds."--_niebuhr_. [ ] "many of the figures on the blades of their swords are wrought in gold or silver, or in marquetry with small gems."--_asiat. misc_. v. i. [ ] azab or saba. [ ] "the chiefs of the uzbek tartars wear a plume of white heron's feathers in their turbans."--_account of independent tartary_. [ ] in the mountains of nishapour and tous in (khorassan) they find turquoises.--_ebn huukal_. [ ] the ghebers or guebres, those original natives of persia, who adhered to their ancient faith, the religion of zoroaster, and who, after the conquest of their country by the arabs, were either persecuted at home, or forced to become wanderers abroad. [ ] "yezd, the chief residence of those ancient natives who worship the sun and the fire, which latter they have carefully kept lighted, without being once extinguished for a moment, about years, on a mountain near yezd, called ater quedah, signifying the house or mansion of the fire. he is reckoned very unfortunate who dies off that mountain."--_stephen's persia_. [ ] when the weather is hazy, the springs of naphtha (on an island near baku) boil up the higher, and the naphtha often takes fire on the surface of the earth, and runs in a flame into the sea to a distance almost incredible."--_hanway on the everlasting fire at baku_. [ ] _savary_ says of the south wind, which blows in egypt from february to may, "sometimes it appears only in the shape of an impetuous whirlwind, which passes rapidly, and is fatal to the traveller, surprised in the middle of the deserts. torrents of burning sand roll before it, the firmament is enveloped in a thick veil, and the sun appears of the color of blood. sometimes whole caravans are buried in it." [ ] in the great victory gained by mahomed at beder, he was assisted, say the mussulmans, by three thousand angels led by gabriel mounted on his horse hiazum.--see _the koran and its commentators_. [ ] the techir, or cry of the arabs. "alla acbar!" says ockley, means, "god is most mighty." [ ] the ziraleet is a kind of chorus, which the women of the east sing upon joyful occasions. [ ] the dead sea, which contains neither animal nor vegetable life. [ ] the ancient oxus. [ ] a city of transoxiana. [ ] "you never can cast your eyes on this tree, but you meet there either blossoms or fruit; and as the blossom drops underneath on the ground (which is frequently covered with these purple-colored flowers), others come forth in their stead," etc.--_nieuhoff_. [ ] the demons of the persian mythology. [ ] carreri mentions the fire-flies in india during the rainy season.--see his travels. [ ] sennacherib, called by the orientals king of moussal.--_d'herbelot_. [ ] chosroes. for the description of his throne or palace, see _gibbon and d'herbelot_. there were said to be under this throne or palace of khosrou parviz a hundred vaults filled with "treasures so immense that some mahometan writers tell us, their prophet to encourage his disciples carried them to a rock which at his command opened and gave them a prospect through it of the treasures of khosrou."--_universal history_. [ ] "the crown of gerashid is cloudy and tarnished before the heron tuft of thy turban."--from one of the elegies or songs in praise of ali, written in characters of gold round the gallery of abbas's tomb.--see _chardin_. [ ] the beauty of ali's eyes was so remarkable, that whenever the persians would describe anything as very lovely, they say it is ayn hali, or the eyes of ali.--_chardin_. [ ] "nakshab, the name of a city in transoxiana, where they say there is a well, in which the appearance of the moon is to be seen night and day." [ ] the shechinah, called sakfnat in the koran.--see _sale's note_, chap. ii. [ ] the parts of the night are made known as well by instruments of music, as by the rounds of the watchmen with cries and small drums.--see _burder's oriental customs_, vol. i. p. . [ ] the serrapurda, high screens of red cloth, stiffened with cane, used to enclose a considerable space round the royal tents.--_notes on the bakardanush. the tents of princes were generally illuminated. norden tells us that the tent of the bey of girge was distinguished from the other tents by forty lanterns being suspended before it.--see _harmer's observations on job_. [ ] "from the groves of orange trees at kauzeroon the bees cull a celebrated honey.--_morier's travels_. [ ] "a custom still subsisting at this day, seems to me to prove that the egyptians formerly sacrificed a young virgin to the god of the nile; for they now make a statue of earth in shape of a girl, to which they give the name of the betrothed bride, and throw it into the river."--_savary_. [ ] that they knew the secret of the greek fire among the mussulmans early in the eleventh century, appears from _dow's_ account of mamood i. "when he at moultan, finding that the country of the jits was defended by great rivers, he ordered fifteen hundred boats to be built, each of which he armed with six iron spikes, projecting from their prows and sides, to prevent their being boarded by the enemy, who were very expert in that kind of war. when he had launched this fleet, he ordered twenty archers into each boat, and five others with fire-balls, to burn the craft of the jits, and naphtha to set the whole river on fire." [ ] the greek fire, which was occasionally lent by the emperors to their allies. "it was," says gibbon, "either launched in red-hot balls of stone and iron, or darted in arrows and javelins, twisted round with flax and tow, which had deeply imbibed the imflammable oil." [ ] see _hanway's_ account of the springs of naphtha at baku (which is called by _lieutenant pottinger_ joala mookee, or, the flaming mouth), taking fire and running into the sea. _dr. cooke_, in his journal, mentions some wells in circassia, strongly impregnated with this inflammable oil, from which issues boiling water. "though the weather," he adds, "was now very cold, the warmth of these wells of hot water produced near them the verdure and flowers of spring.' [ ] "at the great festival of fire, called the sheb seze, they used to set fire to large bunches of dry combustibles, fastened round wild beasts and birds, which being then let loose, the air and earth appeared one great illumination; and as these terrified creatures naturally fled to the woods for shelter, it is easy to conceive the conflagrations they produced."--_richardson's dissertation_. [ ] "the righteous shall be given to drink of pure wine, sealed: the seal whereof shall be musk."--_koran_, chap lxxxiii. [ ] the afghans believe each of the numerous solitudes and deserts of their country to be inhabited by a lonely demon, whom they call the ghoolee beeabau, or spirit of the waste. they often illustrate the wildness of any sequestered tribe, by saying they are wild as the demon of the waste."--_elphinstone's caubul_. [ ] "they have all a great reverence for burial-grounds, which they sometimes call by the poetical name of cities of the silent, and which they people with the ghosts of the departed, who sit each at the head of his own grave, invisible to mortal eyes."--_elphinstone_. [ ] the celebrity of mazagong is owing to its mangoes, which are certainly the best i ever tasted. the parent-tree, from which all those of this species have been grafted, is honored during the fruit-season by a guard of sepoys; and, in the reign of shah jehan, couriers ware stationed between delhi and the mahratta coast, to secure an abundant and fresh supply of mangoes for the royal table."--_mrs. graham's_ journal of residence in india. [ ] this old porcelain is found in digging, and "if it is esteemed, it is not because it has acquired any new degree of beauty in the earth, but because it has retained its ancient beauty; and this alone is of great importance in china, where they give large sums for the smallest vessels which were used under the emperors yan and chun, who reigned many ages before the dynasty of tang, at which time porcelain began to be used by the emperors" (about the year ).--_dunn's_ collection of curious observations, etc. [ ] the blacksmith gao, who successfully resisted the tyrant zohak, and whose apron became the royal standard of persia. [ ] "the huma, a bird peculiar to the east. it is supposed to fly constantly in the air, and never touch the ground; it is looked upon as a bird of happy omen; and that every head it overshades will in time wear a crown."--_richardson_. in the terms of alliance made by fuzel oola khan with hyder in , one of the stipulations was, "that he should have the distinction of two honorary attendants standing behind him, holding fans composed of the feathers of the humma, according to the practice of his family."-- _wilks's_ south of india. he adds in a note;--"the humma is a fabulous bird. the head over which its shadow once passes will assuredly be circled with a crown. the splendid little bird suspended over the throne of tippoo sultaun, found at seringapatam in , was intended to represent this poetical fancy." [ ] "to the pilgrims to mount sinai we must attribute the inscriptions, figures, etc., on those rocks, which have from thence acquired the name of the written mountain."--_volney_. m. gebelin and others have been at much pains to attach some mysterious and important meaning to these inscriptions; but niebuhr, as well as volney, thinks that they must have been executed at idle hours by the travellers to mount sinai, "who were satisfied with cutting the unpolished rock with any pointed instrument; adding to their names and the date of their journeys some rude figures, which bespeak the hand of a people but little skilled in the arts."--_niebuhr_. [ ] the story of sinbad. [ ] "the cámalatá (called by linnaeus, ipomaea) is the most beautiful of its order, both in the color and form of its leaves and flowers; its elegant blossoms are 'celestial rosy red, love's proper hue,' and have justly procured is the name of cámalatá, or love's creeper."--_sir w. jones_. [ ] "according to father premare, in his tract on chinese mythology, the mother of fo-hi was the daughter of heaven, surnamed flower-loving; and as the nymph was walking alone on the bank of a river, she found herself encircled by a rainbow, after which she became pregnant, and, at the end of twelve years, was delivered of a son radiant as herself."--_asiat. res_. [ ] "numerous small islands emerge from the lake of cashmere. one is called char chenaur, from the plane trees upon it.--_foster_. [ ] "the altan kol or golden river of tibet, which runs into the lakes of sing-su-hay, has abundance of gold in its sands, which employs the inhabitants all the summer in gathering it."--_description of tibet in pinkerton_. [ ] "the brahmins of this province insist that the blue campac flowers only in paradise."--_sir w. jones_. it appears, however, from a curious letter of the sultan of menangeabow, given by marsden, that one place on earth may lay claim to the possession of it. "this is the sultan, who keeps the flower champaka that is blue, and to be found in no other country but his, being yellow elsewhere."--_marsden's_ sumatra. [ ] "the mahometans suppose that falling stars are the firebrands wherewith the good angels drive away the bad, when they approach too near the empyrean or verge or the heavens."--_fryer_. [ ] the forty pillars; so the persians call the ruins of persepolis. it is imagined by them that this palace and the edifices at balbec were built by genii, for the purpose of hiding in their subterraneous caverns immense treasures, which still remain there.--_d'herbelot, volney_. [ ] _diodorus_ mentions the isle of panchai, to the south of arabia felix, where there was a temple of jupiter. this island, or rather cluster of isles, has disappeared, "sunk [says _grandpré_] in the abyss made by the fire beneath their foundations."--_voyage to the indian ocean_. [ ] the isles of panchaia. [ ] "the cup of jamshid, discovered, they say, when digging for the foundations of persepolis."-_richardson_. [ ] "it is not like the sea of india, whose bottom is rich with pearls and ambergris, whose mountains of the coast are stored with gold and precious stones, whose gulfs breed creatures that yield ivory, and among the plants of whose shores are ebony, red wood, and the wood of hairzan, aloes, camphor, cloves, sandal-wood, and all other spices and aromatics; where parrots and peacocks are birds of the forest, and musk and civit are collected upon the lands."--_travels of two mohammedans_. [ ] "with this immense treasure mamood returned to ghizni and in the year prepared a magnificent festival, where he displayed to the people his wealth in golden thrones and in other ornaments, in a great plain without the city of ghizni." _ferishta_. [ ] "mahmood of gazna, or chizni, who conquered india in the beginning of the th century."--see his history in _dow_ and sir _j. malcolm_. [ ] "it is reported that the hunting equipage of the sultan mahmood was so magnificent, that he kept greyhounds and bloodhounds each of which wore a collar set with jewels and a covering edged with gold and pearls."--_universal history_, vol. iii. [ ] "the mountains of the moon, or the _montes lunae_ of antiquity, at the foot of which the nile is supposed to arise."--_bruce_. [ ] "the nile, which the abyssinians know by the names of abey and alawy or the giant."--_asiat. research_. vol. i. p. . [ ] see perry's view of the levant for an account of the sepulchres in upper thebes, and the numberless grots, covered all over with hieroglyphics in the mountains of upper egypt. [ ] "the orchards of rosetta are filled with turtle-doves.--_sonnini_. [ ] savary mentions the pelicans upon lake moeris. [ ] "the superb date-tree, whose head languidly reclines, like that of a handsome woman overcome with sleep."--_dafard el hadad_. [ ] "that beautiful bird, with plumage of the finest shining blue, with purple beak and legs, the natural and living ornament of the temples and palaces of the greeks and romans, which, from the stateliness of its part, as well as the brilliancy of its colors, has obtained the title of sultana,"--_sonnini_. [ ] jackson, speaking of the plague that occurred in west barbary, when he was there, says, "the birds of the air fled away from the abodes of men. the hyaenas, on the contrary, visited the cemeteries," etc. [ ] "gondar was full of hyaenas from the time it turned dark, till the dawn of day, seeking the different pieces of slaughtered carcasses, which this cruel and unclean people expose in the streets without burial, and who firmly believe that these animals are falashta from the neighboring mountains, transformed by magic, and come down to eat human flesh in the dark in safety."--_bruce_. [ ] "in the east, they suppose the phoenix to have fifty orifices in his bill, which are continued to his tail; and that, after living one thousand years, he builds himself a funeral pile, sings a melodious air of different harmonies through his fifty organ pipes, flaps his wings with a velocity which sets fire to the wood and consumes himself."--_richardson_. [ ] "on the shores of a quadrangular lake stand a thousand goblets, made of stars, out of which souls predestined to enjoy felicity drink the crystal wave."--from _chateaubriand's_ description of the mahometan paradise, in his _"beauties of christianity_." [ ] richardson thinks that syria had its name from suri, a beautiful and delicate species of rose, for which that country has always been famous;--hence, suristan, the land of roses. [ ] "the number of lizards i saw one day in the great court of the temple of the sun at balbec amounted to many thousands; the ground, the walls, and stones of the ruined buildings, were covered with them."--_bruce_. [ ] "the syrinx or pan's pipes is still a pastoral instrument in syria."--_russel_. [ ] "wild bees, frequent in palestine, in hollow trunks or branches of trees, and the clefts of rocks. thus it is said (psalm lxxxi.), _'honey out of the stony rock.'_"--_burder's_ oriental customs. [ ] "the river jordan is on both sides beset with little, thick, and pleasant woods, among which thousands of nightingales warble all together."_--thevenot_. [ ] the temple of the sun at balbec. [ ] "you behold there a considerable number of a remarkable species of beautiful insects, the elegance of whose appearance and their attire procured for them the name of damsels.--_sonnini_. [ ] "such turks as at the common hours of prayer are on the road, or so employed as not to find convenience to attend the mosques, are still obliged to execute that duty; nor are they ever known to fail, whatever business they are then about, but pray immediately when the hour alarms them, whatever they are about, in that very place they chance to stand on; insomuch that when a janissary, whom you have to guard you up and down the city, hears the notice which is given him from the steeples, he will turn about, stand still, and beckon with his hand, to tell his charge he must have patience for awhile; when, taking out his handkerchief, he spreads it on the ground, sits cross-legged thereupon, and says his prayers, though in the open market, which, having ended he leaps briskly up, salutes the person whom he undertook to convey, and renews his journey with the mild expression of _ghell yelinnum ghell_, or come, dear, follow me."--_aaron hill's_ travels. [ ] the nucta, or miraculous drop, which falls in egypt precisely on st. john's day in june and is supposed to have the effect of stopping the plague. [ ] the country of delight--the name of a province in the kingdom of jinnistan, or fairy land, the capital of which is called the city of jewels. amberabad is another of the cities of jinnistan. [ ] the tree tooba, that stands in paradise, in the palace of mahomet. see _sale's prelim. disc_.--tooba, says _d'herbelot_, signifies beatitude, or eternal happiness. [ ] mahomet is described, in the d chapter of the koran, as having seen the angel gabriel "by the lote-tree, beyond which there is no passing: near it is the garden of eternal abode." this tree, say the commentators, stands in the seventh heaven, on the right hand of the throne of god. [ ] "it is said that the rivers or streams of basra were reckoned in the time of peisl ben abi bordeh, and amounted to the number of one hundred and twenty thousand streams."--_ebn haukal_. [ ] the name of the javelin with which the easterns exercise. see _castellan, "moeurs des ottomans," tom_. iii. p. . [ ] "this account excited a desire of visiting the banyan hospital, as i had heard much of their benevolence to all kinds of animals that were either sick, lame, or infirm, through age or accident. on my arrival, there were presented to my view many horses, cows, and oxen, in one apartment; in another, dogs, sheep, goats, and monkeys, with clean straw for them to repose on. above stairs were depositories for seeds of many sorts, and flat, broad dishes for water, for the use of birds and insects."--_parson_'s travels. it is said that all animals know the banyans, that the most timid approach them, and that birds will fly nearer to them than to other people.--see _grandpré_. [ ] "a very fragrant grass from the banks of the ganges, near heridwar, which in some places covers whole acres, and diffuses, when crushed, a strong odor."--_sir w. jones_ on the spikenard of the ancients. [ ] "near this is a curious hill, called koh talism, the mountain of the talisman, because, according to the traditions of the country, no person ever succeeded in gaining its summit."--_kinneir_. [ ] "the arabians believe that the ostriches hatch their young by only looking at them." [ ] oriental tales. [ ] ferishta. "or rather," says _scott_, upon the passage of ferishta, from which this is taken, "small coins, stamped with the figure of a flower. they are still used in india to distribute in charity and on occasion thrown by the purse-bearers of the great among the populace." [ ] the fine road made by the emperor jehan-guire from agra to lahore, planted with trees on each side. this road is leagues in length. it has "little pyramids or turrets," says _bernier_, "erected every half league, to mark the ways, and frequent wells to afford drink to passengers, and to water the young trees." [ ] the baya, or indian grosbeak.--_sir w. jones_. [ ] "here is a large pagoda by a tank, on the water of which float multitudes of the beautiful red lotus: the flower is larger than that of the white water-lily, and is the most lovely of the nymphaeas i have seen."--_mrs. graham's_ journal of a residence in india. [ ] "cashmere (says its historian) had its own princes years before its conquest by akbar in . akbar would have found some difficulty to reduce this paradise of the indies, situated as it is within such a fortress of mountains, but its monarch, yusef-khan, was basely betrayed by his omrahs."--_pennant_. [ ] voltaire tells us that in his tragedy, "_les guèbres_," he was generally supposed to have alluded to the jansenists. i should not be surprised if this story of the fire worshippers were found capable of a similar doubleness of application. [ ] the persian gulf, sometimes so called, which separates the shores of persia and arabia. [ ] the present gombaroon, a town on the persian side of the gulf. [ ] a moorish instrument of music. [ ] "at gombaroon and other places in persia, they have towers for the purpose of catching the wind and cooling the houses.--_le bruyn_. [ ] "iran is the true general name for the empire of persia.--_asiat. res. disc. _. [ ] "on the blades of their scimitars some verse from the koran is usually inscribed.--_russel_. [ ] there is a kind of rhododendros about trebizond, whose flowers the bee feeds upon, and the honey thence drives people mad;"--_tournefort_. [ ] their kings wear plumes of black herons' feathers, upon the right side, as a badge of sovereignty "--_hanway_. [ ] "the fountain of youth, by a mahometan tradition, is situated in some dark region of the east."--_richardson_. [ ] arabia felix. [ ] "in the midst of the garden is the chiosk, that is, a large room, commonly beautified with a fine fountain in the midst of it. it is raised nine or ten steps, and enclosed with gilded lattices, round which vines, jessamines, and honeysuckles, make a sort of green wall; large trees are planted round this place, which is the scene of their greatest pleasures."--_lady m. w. montagu_. [ ] the women of the east are never without their looking-glasses. "in barbary," says _shaw_, "they are so fond of their looking-glasses, which they hang upon their breasts, that they will not lay them aside, even when after the drudgery of the day they are obliged to go two or three miles with a pitcher or a goat's skin to fetch water."--_travels_. [ ] "they say that if a snake or serpent fix his eyes on the lustre of those stones (emeralds), he immediately becomes blind."--_ahmed ben abdalaziz_, treatise on jewels. [ ] "at gombaroon and the isle of ormus, it is sometimes so hot, that the people are obliged to lie all day in the water."--_marco polo_. [ ] this mountain is generally supposed to be inaccessible. _struy_ says, "i can well assure the reader that their opinion is not true, who suppose this mount to be inaccessible." he adds, that "the lower part of the mountain is cloudy, misty, and dark, the middlemost part very cold, and like clouds of snow, but the upper regions perfectly calm."--it was on this mountain that the ark was supposed to have rested after the deluge, and part of it, they say, exists there still, which struy thus gravely accounts for:--"whereas none can remember that the air on the top of the hill did ever change or was subject either to wind or rain, which is presumed to be the reason that the ark has endured so long without being rotten."--see _carreri's_ travels, where the doctor laughs at this whole account of mount ararat. [ ] in one of the books of the shâh nâmeh, when zal (a celebrated hero of persia, remarkable for his white hair,) comes to the terrace of his mistress rodahver at night, she lets down her long tresses to assist him in his ascent;--he, however, manages it in a less romantic way by fixing his crook in a projecting beam.--see _champion's_ ferdosi. [ ] "on the lofty hills of arabia petraea, are rock-goats."--_niebuhr_. [ ] "they (the ghebers) lay so much stress on their cushee or girdle, as not to dare to be an instant without it."--_grose's_ voyage. [ ] "they suppose the throne of the almighty is seated in the sun, and hence their worship of that luminary."--_hanway_. [ ] the mameluks that were in the other boat, when it was dark used to shoot up a sort of fiery arrows into the air which in some measure resembled lightning or falling stars."--_baumgarten_. [ ] "within the enclosure which surrounds his monument (at gualior) is a small tomb to the memory of tan-sein, a musician of incomparable skill, who flourished at the court of akbar. the tomb is overshadowed by a tree, concerning which a superstitious notion prevails, that the chewing of its leaves will give an extraordinary melody to the voice."--_narrative of a journey from agra to ouzein, by w. hunter, esq_. [ ] "it is usual to place a small white triangular flag, fixed to a bamboo staff of ten or twelve feet long, at the place where a tiger has destroyed a man. it is common for the passengers also to throw each a stone or brick near the spot, so that in the course of a little time a pile equal to a good wagon-load is collected. the sight of these flags and piles of stones imparts a certain melancholy, not perhaps altogether void of apprehension."--_oriental field sports_, vol. ii. [ ] "the ficus indica is called the pagod tree of councils; the first, from the idols placed under its shade; the second, because meetings were held under its cool branches. in some places it is believed to be the haunt of spectres, as the ancient spreading oaks of wales have been of fairies; in others are erected beneath the shade pillars of stone, or posts, elegantly carved, and ornamented with the most beautiful porcelain to supply the use of mirrors."--_pennant_. [ ] the persian gulf.--"to dive for pearls in the green sea, or persian gulf."--_sir w. jones_. [ ] or selemeh, the genuine name of the headland at the entrance of the gulf, commonly called cape musseldom. "the indians when they pass the promontory throw cocoa-nuts, fruits, or flowers into the sea to secure a propitious voyage."--_morier_. [ ] "the nightingale sings from the pomegranate-groves in the daytime and from the loftiest trees at night."--_russel's_ "aleppo." [ ] in speaking of the climate of shiraz, francklin says, "the dew is of such a pure nature, that if the brightest scimitar should be exposed to it all night, it would not receive the least rust." [ ] the place where the persians were finally defeated by the arabs, and their ancient monarchy destroyed. [ ] the talpot or talipot tree. "this beautiful palm-tree, which grows in the heart of the forests, may be classed among the loftiest trees, and becomes still higher when on the point of bursting forth from its leafy summit. the sheath which then envelopes the flower is very large, and, when it bursts, makes an explosion like the report of a cannon."-- _thunberg_. [ ] "when the bright scimitars make the eyes of our heroes wink."--_the moallakat, poem of amru_. [ ] tahmuras, and other ancient kings of persia; whose adventures in fairy-land among the peris and divs may be found in richardson's curious dissertation. the griffin simoorgh, they say, took some feathers from her breast for tahmuras, with which he adorned his helmet, and transmitted them afterwards to his descendants. [ ] this rivulet, says dandini, is called the holy river from the "cedar-saints" among which it rises. [ ] this mountain is my own creation, as the "stupendous chain," of which i suppose it a link, does not extend quite so far as the shores of the persian gulf. [ ] these birds sleep in the air. they are most common about the cape of good hope. [ ] "there is an extraordinary hill in this neighborhood, called kohé gubr, or the guebre's mountain. it rises in the form of a lofty cupola, and on the summit of it, they say, are the remains of an atush kudu or fire temple. it is superstitiously held to be the residence or deeves or sprites, and many marvellous stories are recounted of the injury and witchcraft suffered by those who essayed in former days to ascend or explore it."--_pottinger's_ "beloochistan." [ ] the ghebers generally built their temples over subterraneous fires. [ ] "at the city of yezd, in persia, which is distinguished by the appellation of the darub abadut, or seat of religion, the guebres are permitted to have an atush kudu or fire temple (which, they assert, has had the sacred fire in it since the days of zoroaster) in their own compartment of the city; but for this indulgence they are indebted to the avarice, not the tolerance of the persian government, which taxes them at twenty-five rupees each man."--_pottinger's_ "beloochistan." [ ] ancient heroes of persia. "among the guebres there are some who boast their descent from rustam."--_stephen's persia_. [ ] see russel's account of the panther's attacking travellers in the night on the sea-shore about the roots of lebanon. [ ] "among other ceremonies the magi used to place upon the tops of high towers various kinds of rich viands, upon which it was supposed the peris and the spirits of their departed heroes regaled themselves."-- _richardson_. [ ] in the ceremonies of the ghebers round their fire, as described by lord, "the daroo," he says, "giveth them water to drink, and a pomegranate leaf to chew in the mouth, to cleanse them from inward uncleanness." [ ] "early in the morning, they (the parsees or ghebers at oulam) go in crowds to pay their devotions to the sun, to whom upon all the altars there are spheres consecrated, made by magic, resembling the circles of the sun, and when the sun rises, these orbs seem to be inflamed, and to turn round with a great noise. they have every one a censer in their hands, and offer incense to the sun.'--_rabbi benjamin_. [ ] a vivid verdure succeeds the autumnal rains, and the ploughed fields are covered with the persian lily, of a resplendent yellow color."-- _russel's_ "aleppo." [ ] it is observed, with respect to the sea of herkend, that when it is tossed by tempestuous winds it sparkles like fire."--_travels of two mohammedans_. [ ] a kind of trumpet;--it "was that used by tamerlane, the sound of which is described as uncommonly dreadful, and so loud as to be heard at a distance of several miles."--_richardson_. [ ] "mohammed had two helmets, an interior and exterior one; the latter of which, called al mawashah, the fillet, wreath, or wreathed garland, he wore at the battle of ohod."--_universal history_. [ ] "they say that there are apple-trees upon the sides of this sea, which bear very lovely fruit, but within are all full of ashes."-- _thevenot_. [ ] "the suhrab or water of the desert is said to be caused by the rarefaction of the atmosphere from extreme heat; and, which augments the delusion, it is most frequent in hollows, where water might be expected to lodge. i have seen bushes and trees reflected in it, with as much accuracy is though it had been the face of a clear and still lake."--_pottinger_. [ ] "a wind which prevails in february, called bidmusk, from a small and odoriferous flower of that name."--"the wind which blows these flowers commonly lasts till the end of the month."--_le bruyn_. [ ] "the biajús are of two races: the one is settled on borneo, and are a rude but warlike and industrious nation, who reckon themselves the original possessors of the island of borneo. the other is a species of sea-gypsies or itinerant fishermen, who live in small covered boats, and enjoy a perpetual summer on the eastern ocean, shifting to leeward from island to island, with the variations of the monsoon. [ ] "the sweet-scented violet is one of the plants most esteemed, particularly for its great use in sorbet, which they make of violet sugar."--_hassequist_. [ ] "last of all she took a guitar, and sang a pathetic air in the measure called nava, which is always used to express the lamentations of absent lovers."--_persian tales_. [ ] "the easterns used to set out on their longer voyages with music."--_harmer_. [ ] "the gate of tears, the straits or passage into the red sea, commonly called babelmandel. it received this name from the old arabians, on account of the danger of the navigation and the number of shipwrecks by which it was distinguished; which induced them to consider as dead, and to wear mourning for all who had the boldness to hazard the passage through it into the ethiopic ocean."--_richardson_. [ ] "i have been told that whensoever an animal falls down dead, one or more vultures, unseen before, instantly appears."--_pennant_. [ ] "they fasten some writing to the wings of a bagdat, or babylonian pigeon."--_travels of certain englishmen_. [ ] "the empress of jehan-guire used to divert herself with feeding tame fish in her canals, some of which were many years afterwards known by fillets of gold, which she caused to be put round them."--_harris_. [ ] the meteors that pliny calls "_faces_." [ ] "the brilliant canopus, unseen in european climates."--_brown_. [ ] a precious stone of the indies, called by the ancients, ceraunium, because it was supposed to be found in places where thunder had fallen. tertullian says it has a glittering appearance, as if there had fire in it; and the author of the dissertation of harris's voyages, supposes it to be the opal. [ ] "the guebres are known by a dark yellow color, which the men affect in their clothes."--_thevenot_. [ ] "the kolah, or cap, worn by the persians, is made of the skin of the sheep of tartary."--_waring_. [ ] a frequent image among the oriental poets. "the nightingales warbled their enchanting notes, and rent the thin veils of the rose-bud, and the rose."--_jami_. [ ] "blossoms of the sorrowful nyctanthes give a durable color to silk."--_remarks on the husbandry of bengal_, p. . nilica is one of the indian names of this flower.--_sir w. jones_. the persians call it gul.--carreri. [ ] "in parts of kerman, whatever dates are shaken from the trees by the wind they do not touch, but leave them for those who have not any, or for travellers.--ebn haukal. [ ] the two terrible angels, monkir and nakir, who are called "the searchers of the grave" in the "creed of the orthodox mahometans" given by ockley, vol. ii. [ ] "the arabians call the mandrake 'the devil's candle,' on account of its shining appearance in the night."--_richardson_. [ ] for an account of ishmonie, the petrified city in upper egypt, where it is said there are many statues of men, women, etc., to be seen to this day, see _perry's "views of the levant_." [ ] jesus. [ ] the ghebers say that when abraham, their great prophet, was thrown into the fire by order of nimrod, the flame turned instantly into "a bed of roses, where the child sweetly reposed."--_tavernier_. [ ] "the shell called siiankos, common to india, africa, and the mediterranean, and still used in many parts as a trumpet for blowing alarms or giving signals: it sends forth a deep and hollow sound."-- _pennant_. [ ] "the finest ornament for the horses is made of six large flying tassels of long white hair, taken out of the tails of wild oxen, that are to be found in some places of the indies."--_thevenot_. [ ] "the angel israfll, who has the most melodious voice of all god's creatures."--_sale_. [ ] "in this thicket upon the banks of the jordan several sorts of wild beasts are wont to harbor themselves, whose being washed out of the covert by the overflowings of the river, gave occasion to that allusion of jeremiah, _he shall come up like a lion from the smelling of jordan_."--_maundrell's "aleppo."_ [ ] "this wind (the samoor) so softens the strings of lutes, that they can never be tuned while it lasts."--_stephen's persia_. [ ] "one of the greatest curiosities found in the persian gulf is a fish which the english call star-fish. it is circular, and at night very luminous, resembling the full moon surrounded by rays."--_mirza abu taleb_. [ ] some naturalists have imagined that amber is a concretion of the tears of birds.--see _trevoux, chambers_. [ ] "the bay kieselarke, which is otherwise called the golden bay, the sand whereof shines as fire."--_struy_. [ ] "the application of whips or rods."--_dubois_. [ ] kempfer mentions such an officer among the attendants of the king of persia, and calls him "_formae corporis estimator_." his business was, at stated periods, to measure the ladies of the haram by a sort of regulation-girdle whose limits it was not thought graceful to exceed. if any of them outgrew this standard of shape, they were reduced by abstinence till they came within proper bounds. [ ] "akbar on his way ordered a fort to be built upon the nilab, which he called attock, which means in the indian language forbidden; for, by the superstition of the hindoos, it was held unlawful to cross that river."--_dow's_ hindostan. [ ] "the inhabitants of this country (zinge) are never afflicted with sadness or melancholy; on this subject the sheikh _abu-al-kheir-azhari_ has the following distich:-- "'who is the man without care or sorrow, (tell) that i may rub my hand to him. "'(behold) the zingians, without care and sorrow, frolicsome with tipsiness and mirth.'" [ ] the star soheil, or canopus. [ ] "the lizard stellio. the arabs call it hardun. the turks kill it, for they imagine that by declining the head it mimics them when they say their prayers."--_hasselquist_. [ ] "as you enter at that bazar, without the gate of damascus, you see the green mosque, so called because it hath a steeple faced with green glazed bricks, which render it very resplendent: it is covered at top with a pavilion of the same stuff. the turks say this mosque was made in that place, because mahomet being come so far, would not enter the town, saying it was too delicious."--_thevenot_. [ ] nourmahal signifies light of the haram. she was afterwards called nourjehan, or the light of the world. [ ] "the rose of kashmire for its brilliancy and delicacy of odor has long been proverbial in the east."--foster. [ ] "tied round her waist the zone of bells, that sounded with ravishing melody."--_song of jayadeva_. [ ] "the little isles in the lake of cachemire are set with arbors and large-leaved aspen-trees, slender and tall."--_bernier_. [ ] "the tuckt suliman, the name bestowed by the mahommetans on this hill, forms one side of a grand portal to the lake."--_forster_. [ ] "the feast of roses continues the whole time of their remaining in bloom."--see _pietro de la valle_. [ ] "gul sad berk, the rose of a hundred leaves. i believe a particular species."--_ouseley_. [ ] a place mentioned in the toozek jehangeery, or memoirs of jehan- guire, where there is an account of the beds of saffron-flowers about cashmere. [ ] "it is the custom among the women to employ the maazeen to chant from the gallery of the nearest minaret, which on that occasion is illuminated, and the women assembled at the house respond at intervals with a ziraleet or joyous chorus."--_russel_. [ ] "the swing is a favorite pastime in the east, as promoting a circulation of air, extremely refreshing in those sultry climates."-- _richardson_. [ ] at the keeping of the feast of roses we beheld an infinite number of tents pitched, with such a crowd of men, women, boys, and girls, with music, dances, etc."--_herbert_. [ ] "an old commentator of the chou-king says, the ancients having remarked that a current of water made some of the stones near its banks send forth a sound, they detached some of them, and being charmed with the delightful sound they emitted, constructed king or musical instruments of them,"--_grosier_. [ ] in the wars of the divs with the peris, whenever the former took the latter prisoners, "they shut them up in iron cages, and hung them on the highest trees. here they were visited by their companions, who brought them the choicest odors."--_richardson_. [ ] in the malay language the same word signifies women and flowers. [ ] the capital of shadukiam. [ ] "among the birds of tonquin is a species of goldfinch, which sings so melodiously that it is called the celestial bird. its wings, when it is perched, appear variegated with beautiful colors, but when it flies they lose all their splendor."--_grosier_. [ ] "as these birds on the bosphorus are never known to rest, they are called by the french '_les âmes damnées_.'"--_dalloway_. [ ] "you may place a hundred handfuls of fragrant herbs and flowers before the nightingale, yet he wishes not in his constant heart for more than the sweet breath of his beloved rose."--_jami_. [ ] "he is said to have found the great _mantra_, spell or talisman, through which he ruled over the elements and spirits of all denominations."--_wilford_. [ ] "the gold jewels of jinnie, which are called by the arabs el herrez, from the supposed charm they contain."--_jackson_. [ ] "a demon, supposed to haunt woods, etc., in a human shape."-- _richardson_. [ ] the name of jehan-guire before his accession to the throne. [ ] "hemasagara, or the sea of gold, with flowers of the brightest gold color."--_sir w. jones_. [ ] "this tree (the nagacesara) is one of the most delightful on earth, and the delicious odor of its blossoms justly gives them a place in the quiver of camadeva, or the god of love."--_id_. [ ] "the malayans style the tuberose (_polianthes tuberosa_) sandal malam, or the mistress of the night."--_pennant_. [ ] the people of the batta country in sumatra (of which zamara is one of the ancient names), "when not engaged in war, lead an idle, inactive life, passing the day in playing on a kind of flute, crowned with garlands of flowers, among which the globe-amaranthus, a native of the country, mostly prevails,"--_marsden_. [ ] "the largest and richest sort (of the jambu or rose-apple) is called amrita, or immortal, and the mythologists of tibet apply the same word to a celestial tree, bearing ambrosial fruit."--_sir w. jones_. [ ] sweet basil, called rayhan in persia, and generally found in churchyards. [ ] "in the great desert are found many stalks of lavender and rosemary."--_asiat. res_. [ ] "the almond-tree, with white flowers, blossoms on the bare branches."--_hasselquist_. [ ] an herb on mount libanus, which is said to communicate a yellow golden hue to the teeth of the goat and other animals that graze upon it. [ ] the myrrh country. [ ] "this idea (of deities living in shells) was not unknown to the greeks, who represent the young nerites, one of the cupids, as living in shells on the shores of the red sea."--_wilford_. [ ] "a fabulous fountain, where instruments are said to be constantly playing."--_richardson_. [ ] "the pompadour pigeon is the species, which, by carrying the fruit of the cinnamon to different places, is a great disseminator of this valuable tree."--see _brown's_ illustr. tab. . [ ] "the persians have two mornings, the soobhi kazim and the soobhi sadig, the false and the real daybreak. they account for this phenomenon in a most whimsical manner. they say that as the sun rises from behind the kohi qaf (mount caucasus), it passes a hole perforated through that mountain, and that darting its rays through it, it is the cause of the soobhi kazim, or this temporary appearance of daybreak. as it ascends, the earth is again veiled in darkness, until the sun rises above the mountain, and brings with it the soobhi sadig, or real morning."--_scott waring_. [ ] "in the centre of the plain, as it approaches the lake, one of the delhi emperors, i believe shan jehan, constructed a spacious garden called the shalimar, which is abundantly stored with fruit-trees and flowering shrubs. some of the rivulets which intersect the plain are led into a canal at the back of the garden, and flowing through its centre, or occasionally thrown into a variety of water-works, compose the chief beauty of the shalimar."--_forster_. [ ] "the waters of cachemir are the more renowned from its being supposed that the cachemirians are indebted for their beauty to them."--_ali yezdi_. [ ] "from him i received the following little gazzel, or love song, the notes of which he committed to paper from the voice of one of those singing girls of cashmere, who wander from that delightful valley over the various parts of india."--_persian miscellanies_. [ ] "the roses of the jinan nile, or garden of the nile (attached to the emperor of morocco's palace) are unequalled, and mattresses are made of their leaves for the men of rank to recline upon."--_jackson_. [ ] "on the side of a mountain near paphos there is a cavern which produces the most beautiful rock-crystal. on account of its brilliancy it has been called the paphian diamond."--_mariti_. [ ] "these is a part of candahar, called peria, or fairy land."-- _thevenot_. in some of those countries to the north of india vegetable gold is supposed to be produced. [ ] "these are the butterflies which are called in the chinese language flying leaves. some of them have such shining colors, and are so variegated, that they may be called flying flowers; and indeed they are always produced in the finest flower-gardens."--_dunn_. [ ] "the arabian women wear black masks with little clasps prettily ordered."--_carreri_. niebuhr mentions their showing but one eye in conversation. [ ] "the golden grapes of casbin."--_description of persia_. [ ] "the fruits exported from caubul are apples, pears, pomegranates," etc.--_elphinstone_. [ ] "we sat down under a tree, listened to the birds, and talked with the son of our mehmaundar about our country and caubul, of which he gave an enchanting account; that city and its , gardens," etc.--_ib_. [ ] "the mangusteen, the most delicate fruit in the world; the pride of the malay islands."--_marsden_. [ ] "a delicious kind of apricot, called by the persians tokmekshems, signifying sun's seed."--_description of persia_. [ ] "sweetmeats, in a crystal cup, consisting of rose-leaves in conserve, with iemon of visna cherry, orange flowers," etc.--_russel_. [ ] "antelopes cropping the fresh berries of erac."--the _moallakat_, poem of tarafa. [ ] "mauri-ga-sima, an island near formosa, supposed to have been sunk in the sea for the crimes of its inhabitants. the vessels which the fishermen and divers bring up from it are sold at an immense price in china and japan."--see _kempfer_. [ ] persian tales. [ ] the white wine of kishma. [ ] "the king of zeilan is said to have the very finest ruby that was ever seen. kublai-khan sent and offered the value of a city for it, but the king answered he would not give it for the treasure of the world."--_marco polo_. [ ] the indians feign that cupid was first seen floating down the ganges on the nymphaea nelumbo.--see _pennant_. [ ] teflis is celebrated for its natural warm baths.--see _ebn haukal_. [ ] "the indian syrinda, or guitar."--_symez_. [ ] "around the exterior of the dewan khafs (a building of shah allum's) in the cornice are the following lines in letters of gold upon a ground of white marble--'_if there be a paradise upon earth, it is this, it is this.'"--franklin_. [ ] "delightful are the flowers of the amra trees on the mountain tops while the murmuring bees pursue their voluptuous toil."--_song of jayadera_. [ ] "the nison or drops of spring rain, which they believe to produce pearls if they fall into shells."--_richardson_. [ ] for an account of the share which wine had in the fall of the angels, see _mariti_. [ ] the angel of music. [ ] the hudhud, or lapwing, is supposed to have the power of discovering water under ground. [ ] "the chinese had formerly the art of painting on the sides of porcelain vessels fish and other animals, which were only perceptible when the vessel was full of some liquor, they call this species kia-tsin, that is, _azure is put in press_, on account of the manner in which the azure is laid on."--"they are every now and then trying to discover the art of this magical painting, but to no purpose."--_dunn_. [ ] an eminent carver of idols, said in the koran to be father to abraham. "i have such a lovely idol as is not to be met with in the house of azor."--_hafiz_. [ ] kachmire be nazeer.--_forster_. [ ] jehan-guire mentions "a fountain in cashmere called tirnagh, which signifies a snake; probably because some large snake had formerly been seen there."--"during the lifetime of my father, i went twice to this fountain, which is about twenty coss from the city of cashmere. the vestiges of places of worship and sanctity are to be traced without number amongst the ruins and the caves which are interspersed in its neighborhood."--_toozek jehangeery_.--v. _asiat. misc_. vol. ii. [ ] "on a standing roof of wood is laid a covering of fine earth, which shelters the building from the great quantity of snow that falls in the winter season. this fence communicates an equal warmth in winter, as a refreshing coolness in the summer season, when the tops of the houses, which are planted with a variety of flowers, exhibit at a distance the spacious view of a beautifully checkered parterre."--_forster_. [ ] "two hundred slaves there are, who have no other office than to hunt the woods and marshes for triple-colored tortoises for the king's vivary. of the shells of these also lanterns are made."--_vincent le blanc's_ travels. [ ] this wind, which is to blow from syria damascena, is, according to the mahometans, one of the signs of the last day's approach. another of the signs is, "great distress in the world, so that a man when he passes by another's grave shall say, would to god i were in his place!"--_sale's_ preliminary discourse. [ ] "on mahommed shaw's return to koolburga (the capital of dekkan), he made a great festival, and mounted this throne with much pomp and magnificence, calling it firozeh or cerulean. i have heard some old persons, who saw the throne firozeh in the reign of sultan mamood bhamenee, describe it. they say that it was in length nine feet, and three in breadth; made of ebony covered with plates of pure gold, and set with precious stones of immense value. every prince of the house of bhamenee, who possessed this throne, made a point of adding to it some rich stones; so that when in the reign of sultan mamood it was taken to pieces to remove some of the jewels to be set in vases and cups, the jewellers valued it at one corore of oons (nearly four millions sterling). i learned also that it was called firozeh from being partly enamelled of a sky-blue color which was in time totally concealed by the number of jewels."-- _ferishta_. the loves of the angels. preface. the eastern story of the angels harut and marut and the rabbinical fictions of the loves of uzziel and shámchazai are the only sources to which i need refer for the origin of the notion on which this romance is founded. in addition to the fitness of the subject for poetry, it struck me also as capable of affording an allegorical medium through which might be shadowed out (as i have endeavored to do in the following stories) the fall of the soul from its original purity[ ]--the loss of light and happiness which it suffers, in the pursuit of this world's perishable pleasures--and the punishments both from conscience and divine justice with which impurity, pride, and presumptuous inquiry into the awful secrets of heaven are sure to be visited--the beautiful story of cupid and psyche owes its chief charm to this sort of "veiled meaning," and it has been my wish (however i may have failed in the attempt) to communicate to the following pages the same _moral_ interest. among the doctrines or notions derived by plato from the east, one of the most natural and sublime is that which inculcates the pre-existence of the soul and its gradual descent into this dark material world from that region of spirit and light which it is supposed to have once inhabited and to which after a long lapse of purification and trial it will return. this belief under various symbolical forms may be traced through almost all the oriental theologies. the chaldeans represent the soul as originally endowed with wings which fall away when it sinks from its native element and must be re-produced before it can hope to return. some disciples of zoroaster once inquired of him, "how the wings of the soul might be made to grow again?" "by sprinkling them," he replied, "with the waters of life." "but where are those waters to be found?" they asked. "in the garden of god," replied zoroaster. the mythology of the persians has allegorized the same doctrine, in the history of those genii of light who strayed from their dwellings in the stars and obscured their original nature by mixture with this material sphere; while the egyptians connecting it with the descent and ascent of the sun in the zodiac considered autumn as emblematic of the soul's decline toward darkness and the re-appearance of spring as its return to life and light. besides the chief spirits of the mahometan heaven, such as gabriel the angel of revelation, israfil by whom the last trumpet is to be sounded, and azrael the angel of death, there were also a number of subaltern intelligences of which tradition has preserved the names, appointed to preside over the different stages of ascents into which the celestial world was supposed to be divided.[ ] thus kelail governs the fifth heaven; while sadiel, the presiding spirit of the third, is also employed in steadying the motions of the earth which would be in a constant state of agitation if this angel did not keep his foot planted upon its orb. among other miraculous interpositions in favor of mahomet we find commemorated in the pages of the koran the appearance of five thousand angels on his side at the battle of bedr. the ancient persians supposed that ormuzd appointed thirty angels to preside successively over the days of the month and twelve greater ones to assume the government of the months themselves; among whom bahman (to whom ormuzd committed the custody of all animals, except man) was the greatest. mihr, the angel of the th month, was also the spirit that watched over the affairs of friendship and love;--chûr had the care of the disk of the sun;--mah was agent for the concerns of the moon;--isphandârmaz (whom cazvin calls the spirit of the earth) was the tutelar genius of good and virtuous women, etc. for all this the reader may consult the th and th chapters of hyde, "_de religione veterum persarum_," where the names and attributes of these daily and monthly angels are with much minuteness and erudition explained. it appears from the zend-avesta that the persians had a certain office or prayer for every day of the month (addressed to the particular angel who presided over it), which they called the sirouzé. the celestial hierarchy of the syrians, as described by kircher, appears to be the most regularly graduated of any of these systems. in the sphere of the moon they placed the angels, in that of mercury the archangels, venus and the sun contained the principalities and the powers;--and so on to the summit of the planetary system, where, in the sphere of saturn, the thrones had their station. above this was the habitation of the cherubim in the sphere of the fixed stars; and still higher, in the region of those stars which are so distant as to be imperceptible, the seraphim, we are told, the most perfect of all celestial creatures, dwelt. the sabeans also (as d'herbelot tells us) had their classes of angels, to whom they prayed as mediators, or intercessors; and the arabians worshipped _female_ angels, whom they called benab hasche, or, daughters of god. [ ] the account which macrobius gives of the downward journey of the soul, through that gate of the zodiac which opens into the lower spheres, is a curious specimen of the wild fancies that passed for philosophy in ancient times. [ ] "we adorned the lower heaven with lights, and placed therein a guard of angels."--_koran, chap. xli_. the loves of the angels 'twas when the world was in its prime, when the fresh stars had just begun their race of glory and young time told his first birth-days by the sun; when in the light of nature's dawn rejoicing, men and angels met on the high hill and sunny lawn,-- ere sorrow came or sin had drawn 'twixt man and heaven her curtain yet! when earth lay nearer to the skies than in these days of crime and woe, and mortals saw without surprise in the mid-air angelic eyes gazing upon this world below. alas! that passion should profane even then the morning of the earth! that, sadder still, the fatal stain should fall on hearts of heavenly birth-- and that from woman's love should fall so dark a stain, most sad of all! one evening, in that primal hour, on a hill's side where hung the ray of sunset brightening rill and bower, three noble youths conversing lay; and, as they lookt from time to time to the far sky where daylight furled his radiant wing, their brows sublime bespoke them of that distant world-- spirits who once in brotherhood of faith and bliss near alla stood, and o'er whose cheeks full oft had blown the wind that breathes from alla's throne,[ ] creatures of light such as _still_ play, like motes in sunshine, round the lord, and thro' their infinite array transmit each moment, night and day, the echo of his luminous word! of heaven they spoke and, still more oft, of the bright eyes that charmed them thence; till yielding gradual to the soft and balmy evening's influence-- the silent breathing of the flowers-- the melting light that beamed above, as on their first, fond, erring hours,-- each told the story of his love, the history of that hour unblest, when like a bird from its high nest won down by fascinating eyes, for woman's smile he lost the skies. the first who spoke was one, with look the least celestial of the three-- a spirit of light mould that took the prints of earth most yieldingly; who even in heaven was not of those nearest the throne but held a place far off among those shining rows that circle out thro' endless space, and o'er whose wings the light from him in heaven's centre falls most dim.[ ] still fair and glorious, he but shone among those youths the unheavenliest one-- a creature to whom light remained from eden still, but altered, stained, and o'er whose brow not love alone a blight had in his transit cast, but other, earthlier joys had gone, and left their foot-prints as they past. sighing, as back thro' ages flown, like a tomb-searcher, memory ran, lifting each shroud that time had thrown o'er buried hopes, he thus began:-- first angel's story. 'twas in a land that far away into the golden orient lies, where nature knows not night's delay, but springs to meet her bridegroom, day, upon the threshold of the skies, one morn, on earthly mission sent,[ ] and mid-way choosing where to light, i saw from the blue element-- oh beautiful, but fatal sight!-- one of earth's fairest womankind, half veiled from view, or rather shrined in the clear crystal of a brook; which while it hid no single gleam of her young beauties made them look more spirit-like, as they might seem thro' the dim shadowing of a dream. pausing in wonder i lookt on, while playfully around her breaking the waters that like diamonds shone she moved in light of her own making. at length as from that airy height i gently lowered my breathless flight, the tremble of my wings all o'er (for thro' each plume i felt the thrill) startled her as she reached the shore of that small lake--her mirror still-- above whose brink she stood, like snow when rosy with a sunset glow, never shall i forget those eyes!-- the shame, the innocent surprise of that bright face when in the air uplooking she beheld me there. it seemed as if each thought and look and motion were that minute chained fast to the spot, such root she took, and--like a sunflower by a brook, with face upturned--so still remained! in pity to the wondering maid, tho' loath from such a vision turning, downward i bent, beneath the shade of my spread wings to hide the burning of glances, which--i well could feel-- for me, for her, too warmly shone; but ere i could again unseal my restless eyes or even steal one sidelong look the maid was gone-- hid from me in the forest leaves, sudden as when in all her charms of full-blown light some cloud receives the moon into his dusky arms. 'tis not in words to tell the power, the despotism that from that hour passion held o'er me. day and night i sought around each neighboring spot; and in the chase of this sweet light, my task and heaven and all forgot;-- all but the one, sole, haunting dream of her i saw in that bright stream. nor was it long ere by her side i found myself whole happy days listening to words whose music vied with our own eden's seraph lays, when seraph lays are warmed by love, but wanting _that_ far, far above!-- and looking into eyes where, blue and beautiful, like skies seen thro' the sleeping wave, for me there shone a heaven, more worshipt than my own. oh what, while i could hear and see such words and looks, was heaven to me? tho' gross the air on earth i drew, 'twas blessed, while she breathed it too; tho' dark the flowers, tho' dim the sky, love lent them light while she was nigh. throughout creation i but knew two separate worlds--the _one_, that small, beloved and consecrated spot where lea was--the other, all the dull, wide waste where she was _not_! but vain my suit, my madness vain; tho' gladly, from her eyes to gain one earthly look, one stray desire, i would have torn the wings that hung furled at my back and o'er the fire in gehim's[ ] pit their fragments flung;-- 'twas hopeless all--pure and unmoved she stood as lilies in the light of the hot noon but look more white;-- and tho' she loved me, deeply loved, 'twas not as man, as mortal--no, nothing of earth was in that glow-- she loved me but as one, of race angelic, from that radiant place she saw so oft in dreams--that heaven to which her prayers at morn were sent and on whose light she gazed at even, wishing for wings that she might go out of this shadowy world below to that free, glorious element! well i remember by her side sitting at rosy even-tide, when,--turning to the star whose head lookt out as from a bridal bed, at that mute, blushing hour,--she said, "oh! that it were my doom to be "the spirit of yon beauteous star, "dwelling up there in purity, "alone as all such bright things are;-- "my sole employ to pray and shine, "to light my censer at the sun, "and cast its fire towards the shrine "of him in heaven, the eternal one!" so innocent the maid, so free from mortal taint in soul and frame, whom 'twas my crime--my destiny-- to love, ay, burn for, with a flame to which earth's wildest fires are tame. had you but seen her look when first from my mad lips the avowal burst; not angered--no!--the feeling came from depths beyond mere anger's flame-- it was a _sorrow_ calm as deep, a mournfulness that could not weep, so filled her heart was to the brink, so fixt and frozen with grief to think that angel natures--that even i whose love she clung to, as the tie between her spirit and the sky-- should fall thus headlong from the height of all that heaven hath pure and bright! that very night--my heart had grown impatient of its inward burning; the term, too, of my stay was flown, and the bright watchers near the throne. already, if a meteor shone between them and this nether zone, thought 'twas their herald's wing returning. oft did the potent spell-word, given to envoys hither from the skies, to be pronounced when back to heaven it is their time or wish to rise, come to my lips that fatal day; and once too was so nearly spoken, that my spread plumage in the ray and breeze of heaven began to play;-- when my heart failed--the spell was broken-- the word unfinisht died away, and my checkt plumes ready to soar, fell slack and lifeless as before. how could i leave a world which she, or lost or won, made all to me? no matter where my wanderings were, so there she lookt, breathed, moved about-- woe, ruin, death, more sweet with her, than paradise itself, without! but to return--that very day a feast was held, where, full of mirth, came--crowding thick as flowers that play in summer winds--the young and gay and beautiful of this bright earth. and she was there and mid the young and beautiful stood first, alone; tho' on her gentle brow still hung the shadow i that morn had thrown-- the first that ever shame or woe had cast upon its vernal snow. my heart was maddened;--in the flush of the wild revel i gave way to all that frantic mirth--that rush of desperate gayety which they, who never felt how pain's excess can break out thus, think happiness! sad mimicry of mirth and life whose flashes come but from the strife of inward passions--like the light struck out by clashing swords in fight. then too that juice of earth, the bane and blessing of man's heart and brain-- that draught of sorcery which brings phantoms of fair, forbidden things-- whose drops like those of rainbows smile upon the mists that circle man, brightening not only earth the while, but grasping heaven too in their span!-- then first the fatal wine-cup rained its dews of darkness thro' my lips, casting whate'er of light remained to my lost soul into eclipse; and filling it with such wild dreams, such fantasies and wrong desires, as in the absence of heaven's beams haunt us for ever--like wildfires that walk this earth when day retires. now hear the rest;--our banquet done, i sought her in the accustomed bower, where late we oft, when day was gone and the world husht, had met alone, at the same silent, moonlight hour. her eyes as usual were upturned to her loved star whose lustre burned purer than ever on that night; while she in looking grew more bright as tho' she borrowed of its light. there was a virtue in that scene, a spell of holiness around, which had my burning brain not been thus maddened would have held me bound, as tho' i trod celestial ground. even as it was, with soul all flame and lips that burned in their own sighs, i stood to gaze with awe and shame-- the memory of eden came full o'er me when i saw those eyes; and tho' too well each glance of mine to the pale, shrinking maiden proved how far, alas! from aught divine, aught worthy of so pure a shrine, was the wild love with which i loved, yet must she, too, have seen--oh yes, 'tis soothing but to _think_ she saw the deep, true, soul-felt tenderness, the homage of an angel's awe to her, a mortal, whom pure love then placed above him--far above-- and all that struggle to repress a sinful spirit's mad excess, which workt within me at that hour, when with a voice where passion shed all the deep sadness of her power, her melancholy power--i said, "then be it so; if back to heaven "i must unloved, unpitied fly. "without one blest memorial given "to soothe me in that lonely sky; "one look like those the young and fond "give when they're parting--which would be, "even in remembrance far beyond "all heaven hath left of bliss for me! "oh, but to see that head recline "a minute on this trembling arm, "and those mild eyes look up to mine, "without a dread, a thought of harm! "to meet but once the thrilling touch "of lips too purely fond to fear me-- "or if that boon be all too much, "even thus to bring their fragrance near me! "nay, shrink not so--a look--a word-- "give them but kindly and i fly; "already, see, my plumes have stirred "and tremble for their home on high. "thus be our parting--cheek to cheek-- "one minute's lapse will be forgiven, "and thou, the next, shalt hear me speak "the spell that plumes my wing for heaven!" while thus i spoke, the fearful maid, of me and of herself afraid, had shrinking stood like flowers beneath the scorching of the south-wind's breath: but when i named--alas, too well, i now recall, tho' wildered then,-- instantly, when i named the spell her brow, her eyes uprose again; and with an eagerness that spoke the sudden light that o'er her broke, "the spell, the spell!--oh, speak it now. "and i will bless thee!" she exclaimed-- unknowing what i did, inflamed, and lost already, on her brow i stampt one burning kiss, and named the mystic word till then ne'er told to living creature of earth's mould! scarce was it said when quick a thought, her lips from mine like echo caught the holy sound--her hands and eyes were instant lifted to the skies, and thrice to heaven she spoke it out with that triumphant look faith wears, when not a cloud of fear or doubt, a vapor from this vale of tears. between her and her god appears! that very moment her whole frame all bright and glorified became, and at her back i saw unclose two wings magnificent as those that sparkle around alla's throne, whose plumes, as buoyantly she rose above me, in the moon-beam shone with a pure light; which--from its hue, unknown upon this earth--i knew was light from eden, glistening thro'! most holy vision! ne'er before did aught so radiant--since the day when eblis in his downfall, bore the third of the bright stars away-- rise in earth's beauty to repair that loss of light and glory there! but did i tamely view her flight? did not i too proclaim out thrice the powerful words that were that night,-- oh even for heaven too much delight!-- again to bring us, eyes to eyes and soul to soul, in paradise? i did--i spoke it o'er and o'er-- i prayed, i wept, but all in vain; for me the spell had power no more. there seemed around me some dark chain which still as i essayed to soar baffled, alas, each wild endeavor; dead lay my wings as they have lain since that sad hour and will remain-- so wills the offended god--for ever! it was to yonder star i traced her journey up the illumined waste-- that isle in the blue firmament to which so oft her fancy went in wishes and in dreams before, and which was now--such, purity, thy blest reward--ordained to be her home of light for evermore! once--or did i but fancy so?-- even in her flight to that fair sphere, mid all her spirit's new-felt glow, a pitying look she turned below on him who stood in darkness here; him whom perhaps if vain regret can dwell in heaven she pities yet; and oft when looking to this dim and distant world remembers him. but soon that passing dream was gone; farther and farther off she shone, till lessened to a point as small as are those specks that yonder burn,-- those vivid drops of light that fall the last from day's exhausted urn. and when at length she merged, afar, into her own immortal star, and when at length my straining sight had caught her wing's last fading ray, that minute from my soul the light of heaven and love both past away; and i forgot my home, my birth, profaned my spirit, sunk my brow, and revelled in gross joys of earth till i became--what i am now! the spirit bowed his head in shame; a shame that of itself would tell-- were there not even those breaks of flame, celestial, thro' his clouded frame-- how grand the height from which he fell! that holy shame which ne'er forgets the unblenched renown it used to wear; whose blush remains when virtue sets to show her sunshine _has_ been there. once only while the tale he told were his eyes lifted to behold that happy stainless, star where she dwelt in her bower of purity! one minute did he look and then-- as tho' he felt some deadly pain from its sweet light thro' heart and brain-- shrunk back and never lookt again. who was the second spirit? he with the proud front and piercing glance-- who seemed when viewing heaven's expanse as tho' his far-sent eye could see on, on into the immensity behind the veils of that blue sky where alla's grandest secrets lie?-- his wings, the while, tho' day was gone, flashing with many a various hue of light they from themselves alone, instinct with eden's brightness drew. 'twas rubi--once among the prime and flower of those bright creatures, named spirits of knowledge,[ ] who o'er time and space and thought an empire claimed, second alone to him whose light was even to theirs as day to night; 'twixt whom and them was distance far and wide as would the journey be to reach from any island star to vague shores of infinity 'twas rubi in whose mournful eye slept the dim light of days gone by; whose voice tho' sweet fell on the ear like echoes in some silent place when first awaked for many a year; and when he smiled, if o'er his face smile ever shone, 'twas like the grace of moonlight rainbows, fair, but wan, the sunny life, the glory gone. even o'er his pride tho' still the same, a softening shade from sorrow came; and tho' at times his spirit knew the kindlings of disdain and ire, short was the fitful glare they threw-- like the last flashes, fierce but few, seen thro' some noble pile on fire! such was the angel who now broke the silence that had come o'er all, when he the spirit that last spoke closed the sad history of his fall; and while a sacred lustre flown for many a day relumed his cheek-- beautiful as in days of old; and not those eloquent lips alone but every feature seemed to speak-- thus his eventful story told:-- second angel's story. you both remember well the day when unto eden's new-made bowers alla convoked the bright array of his supreme angelic powers to witness the one wonder yet, beyond man, angel, star, or sun, he must achieve, ere he could set his seal upon the world as done-- to see the last perfection rise, that crowning of creation's birth, when mid the worship and surprise of circling angels woman's eyes first open upon heaven and earth; and from their lids a thrill was sent, that thro' each living spirit went like first light thro' the firmament! can you forget how gradual stole the fresh-awakened breath of soul throughout her perfect form--which seemed to grow transparent as there beamed that dawn of mind within and caught new loveliness from each new thought? slow as o'er summer seas we trace the progress of the noontide air, dimpling its bright and silent face each minute into some new grace, and varying heaven's reflections there-- or like the light of evening stealing o'er some fair temple which all day hath slept in shadow, slow revealing its several beauties ray by ray, till it shines out, a thing to bless, all full of light and loveliness. can you forget her blush when round thro' eden's lone, enchanted ground she lookt, and saw the sea--the skies-- and heard the rush of many a wing, on high behests then vanishing; and saw the last few angel eyes, still lingering--mine among the rest,-- reluctant leaving scenes so blest? from that miraculous hour the fate of this new, glorious being dwelt for ever with a spell-like weight upon my spirit--early, late, whate'er i did or dreamed or felt, the thought of what might yet befall that matchless creature mixt with all.-- nor she alone but her whole race thro' ages yet to come--whate'er of feminine and fond and fair should spring from that pure mind and face, all waked my soul's intensest care; their forms, souls, feelings, still to me creation's strangest mystery! it was my doom--even from the first, when witnessing the primal burst of nature's wonders, i saw rise those bright creations in the skies,-- those worlds instinct with life and light, which man, remote, but sees by night,-- it was my doom still to be haunted by some new wonder, some sublime and matchless work, that for the time held all my soul enchained, enchanted, and left me not a thought, a dream, a word but on that only theme! the wish to know--that endless thirst, which even by quenching is awaked, and which becomes or blest or curst as is the fount whereat 'tis slaked-- still urged me onward with desire insatiate, to explore, inquire-- whate'er the wondrous things might be that waked each new idolatry-- their cause, aim, source, whenever sprung-- their inmost powers, as tho' for me existence on that knowledge hung. oh what a vision were the stars when first i saw them born on high, rolling along like living cars of light for gods to journey by![ ] they were like my heart's first passion--days and nights unwearied, in their rays have i hung floating till each sense seemed full of their bright influence. innocent joy! alas, how much of misery had i shunned below, could i have still lived blest with such; nor, proud and restless, burned to know the knowledge that brings guilt and woe. often--so much i loved to trace the secrets of this starry race-- have i at morn and evening run along the lines of radiance spun like webs between them and the sun, untwisting all the tangled ties of light into their different dyes-- the fleetly winged i off in quest of those, the farthest, loneliest, that watch like winking sentinels,[ ] the void, beyond which chaos dwells; and there with noiseless plume pursued their track thro' that grand solitude, asking intently all and each what soul within their radiance dwelt, and wishing their sweet light were speech, that they might tell me all they felt. nay, oft, so passionate my chase, of these resplendent heirs of space, oft did i follow--lest a ray should 'scape me in the farthest night-- some pilgrim comet on his way to visit distant shrines of light, and well remember how i sung exultingly when on my sight new worlds of stars all fresh and young as if just born of darkness sprung! such was my pure ambition then, my sinless transport night and morn ere yet this newer world of men, and that most fair of stars was born which i in fatal hour saw rise among the flowers of paradise! thenceforth my nature all was changed, my heart, soul, senses turned below; and he who but so lately ranged yon wonderful expanse where glow worlds upon worlds,--yet found his mind even in that luminous range confined,-- now blest the humblest, meanest sod of the dark earth where woman trod! in vain my former idols glistened from their far thrones; in vain these ears to the once-thrilling music listened, that hymned around my favorite spheres-- to earth, to earth each thought was given, that in this half-lost soul had birth; like some high mount, whose head's in heaven while its whole shadow rests on earth! nor was it love, even yet, that thralled my spirit in his burning ties; and less, still less could it be called that grosser flame, round which love flies nearer and near till he dies-- no, it was wonder, such as thrilled at all god's works my dazzled sense; the same rapt wonder, only filled with passion, more profound, intense,-- a vehement, but wandering fire, which, tho' nor love, nor yet desire,-- tho' thro' all womankind it took its range, its lawless lightnings run, yet wanted but a touch, a look, to fix it burning upon _one_. then too the ever-restless zeal, the insatiate curiosity, to know how shapes so fair must feel-- to look but once beneath the seal of so much loveliness and see what souls belonged to such bright eyes-- whether as sunbeams find their way into the gem that hidden lies, those looks could inward turn their ray, and make the soul as bright as they: all this impelled my anxious chase. and still the more i saw and knew of woman's fond, weak, conquering race, the intenser still my wonder grew. i had beheld their first, their eve, born in that splendid paradise, which sprung there solely to receive the first light of her waking eyes. i had seen purest angels lean in worship o'er her from above; and man--oh yes, had envying seen proud man possest of all her love. i saw their happiness, so brief, so exquisite,--her error, too, that easy trust, that prompt belief in what the warm heart wishes true; that faith in words, when kindly said. by which the whole fond sex is led mingled with--what i durst not blame, for 'tis my own--that zeal to _know_, sad, fatal zeal, so sure of woe; which, tho' from heaven all pure it came, yet stained, misused, brought sin and shame on her, on me, on all below! i had seen this; had seen man, armed as his soul is with strength and sense, by her first words to ruin charmed; his vaunted reason's cold defence, like an ice-barrier in the ray of melting summer, smiled away. nay, stranger yet, spite of all this-- tho' by her counsels taught to err, tho' driven from paradise for her, (and _with_ her--_that_ at least was bliss,) had i not heard him ere he crost the threshold of that earthly heaven, which by her bewildering smile he lost-- so quickly was the wrong forgiven-- had i not heard him, as he prest the frail, fond trembler to a breast which she had doomed to sin and strife, call her--even then--his life! his life![ ] yes, such a love-taught name, the first, that ruined man to woman gave, even in his outcast hour, when curst by her fond witchery, with that worst and earliest boon of love, the grave! she who brought death into the world there stood before him, with the light of their lost paradise still bright upon those sunny locks that curled down her white shoulders to her feet-- so beautiful in form, so sweet in heart and voice, as to redeem the loss, the death of all things dear, except herself--and make it seem life, endless life, while she was near! could i help wondering at a creature, thus circled round with spells so strong-- one to whose every thought, word, feature. in joy and woe, thro' right and wrong, such sweet omnipotence heaven gave, to bless or ruin, curse or save? nor did the marvel cease with her-- new eves in all her daughters came, as strong to charm, as weak to err, as sure of man thro' praise and blame, whate'er they brought him, pride or shame, he still the unreasoning worshipper, and they, throughout all time, the same enchantresses of soul and frame, into whose hands, from first to last, this world with all its destinies, devotedly by heaven seems cast, to save or ruin as they please! oh! 'tis not to be told how long, how restlessly i sighed to find some _one_ from out that witching throng, some abstract of the form and mind of the whole matchless sex, from which, in my own arms beheld, possest, i might learn all the powers to witch, to warm, and (if my fate unblest _would_ have it) ruin, of the rest! into whose inward soul and sense, i might descend, as doth the bee into the flower's deep heart, and thence rifle in all its purity the prime, the quintessence, the whole of wondrous woman's frame and soul! at length my burning wish, my prayer-- (for such--oh! what will tongues not dare, when hearts go wrong?--this lip preferred)-- at length my ominous prayer was heard-- but whether heard in heaven or hell, listen--and thou wilt know _too_ well. there was a maid, of all who move like visions o'er this orb most fit. to be a bright young angel's love-- herself so bright, so exquisite! the pride too of her step, as light along the unconscious earth she went, seemed that of one born with a right to walk some heavenlier element, and tread in places where her feet a star at every step should meet. 'twas not alone that loveliness by which the wildered sense is caught-- of lips whose very breath could bless; of playful blushes that seemed naught but luminous escapes of thought; of eyes that, when by anger stirred, were fire itself, but at a word of tenderness, all soft became as tho' they could, like the sun's bird, dissolve away in their own flame-- of form, as pliant as the shoots of a young tree, in vernal flower; yet round and glowing as the fruits, that drop from it in summer's hour;-- 'twas not alone this loveliness that falls to loveliest women's share, tho' even here her form could spare from its own beauty's rich excess enough to make even _them_ more fair-- but 'twas the mind outshining clear thro' her whole frame--the soul, still near, to light each charm, yet independent of what it lighted, as the sun that shines on flowers would be resplendent were there no flowers to shine upon-- 'twas this, all this, in one combined-- the unnumbered looks and arts that form the glory of young womankind, taken, in their perfection, warm, ere time had chilled a single charm, and stampt with such a seal of mind, as gave to beauties that might be too sensual else, too unrefined, the impress of divinity! 'twas this--a union, which the hand of nature kept for her alone, of every thing most playful, bland, voluptuous, spiritual, grand, in angel-natures and her own-- oh! this it was that drew me nigh one, who seemed kin to heaven as i, a bright twin-sister from on high-- one in whose love, i felt, were given the mixt delights of either sphere, all that the spirit seeks in heaven, and all the senses burn for here. had we--but hold!--hear every part of our sad tale--spite of the pain remembrance gives, when the fixt dart is stirred thus in the wound again-- hear every step, so full of bliss, and yet so ruinous, that led down to the last, dark precipice, where perisht both--the fallen, the dead! from the first hour she caught my sight, i never left her--day and night hovering unseen around her way, and mid her loneliest musings near, i soon could track each thought that lay, gleaming within her heart, as clear as pebbles within brooks appear; and there among the countless things that keep young hearts for ever glowing-- vague wishes, fond imaginings, love-dreams, as yet no object knowing-- light, winged hopes that come when bid, and rainbow joys that end in weeping; and passions among pure thoughts hid, like serpents under flowerets sleeping:-- 'mong all these feelings--felt where'er young hearts are beating--i saw there proud thoughts, aspirings high--beyond whate'er yet dwelt in soul so fond-- glimpses of glory, far away into the bright, vague future given; and fancies, free and grand, whose play, like that of eaglets, is near heaven! with this, too--what a soul and heart to fall beneath the tempter's art!-- a zeal for knowledge, such as ne'er enshrined itself in form so fair, since that first, fatal hour, when eve, with every fruit of eden blest save one alone--rather than leave that _one_ unreached, lost all the rest. it was in dreams that first i stole with gentle mastery o'er her mind-- in that rich twilight of the soul, when reason's beam, half hid behind the clouds of sleep, obscurely gilds each shadowy shape that fancy builds-- 'twas then by that soft light i brought vague, glimmering visions to her view,-- catches of radiance lost when caught, bright labyrinths that led to naught, and vistas with no pathway thro';-- dwellings of bliss that opening shone, then closed, dissolved, and left no trace-- all that, in short, could tempt hope on, but give her wing no resting-place; myself the while with brow as yet pure as the young moon's coronet, thro' every dream _still_ in her sight. the enchanter of each mocking scene, who gave the hope, then brought the blight, who said, "behold yon world of light," then sudden dropt a veil between! at length when i perceived each thought, waking or sleeping, fixt on naught but these illusive scenes and me-- the phantom who thus came and went, in half revealments, only meant to madden curiosity-- when by such various arts i found her fancy to its utmost wound. one night--'twas in a holy spot which she for prayer had chosen--a grot of purest marble built below her garden beds, thro' which a glow from lamps invisible then stole, brightly pervading all the place-- like that mysterious light the soul, itself unseen, sheds thro' the face. there at her altar while she knelt, and all that woman ever felt, when god and man both claimed her sighs-- every warm thought, that ever dwelt, like summer clouds, 'twixt earth and skies, too pure to fall, too gross to rise, spoke in her gestures, tones, and eyes-- then, as the mystic light's soft ray grew softer still, as tho' its ray was breathed from her, i heard her say:-- "o idol of my dreams! whate'er "thy nature be--human, divine, "or but half heavenly--still too fair, "too heavenly to be ever mine! "wonderful spirit who dost make "slumber so lovely that it seems "no longer life to live awake, "since heaven itself descends in dreams, "why do i ever lose thee? why "when on thy realms and thee i gaze "still drops that veil, which i could die, "oh! gladly, but one hour to raise? "long ere such miracles as thou "and thine came o'er my thoughts, a thirst "for light was in this soul which now "thy looks have into passion burst. "there's nothing bright above, below, "in sky--earth--ocean, that this breast "doth not intensely burn to know, "and thee, thee, thee, o'er all the rest! "then come, oh spirit, from behind "the curtains of thy radiant home, "if thou wouldst be as angel shrined, "or loved and claspt as mortal, come! "bring all thy dazzling wonders here, "that i may, waking, know and see; "or waft me hence to thy own sphere, "thy heaven or--ay, even _that_ with thee! "demon or god, who hold'st the book "of knowledge spread beneath thine eye, "give me, with thee, but one bright look "into its leaves and let me die! "by those ethereal wings whose way "lies thro' an element so fraught "with living mind that as they play "their every movement is a thought! "by that bright, wreathed hair, between "whose sunny clusters the sweet wind "of paradise so late hath been "and left its fragrant soul behind! "by those impassioned eyes that melt "their light into the inmost heart, "like sunset in the waters, felt "as molten fire thro' every part-- "i do implore thee, oh most bright "and worshipt spirit, shine but o'er "my waking, wondering eyes this night "this one blest night--i ask no more!" exhausted, breathless, as she said these burning words, her languid head upon the altar's steps she cast, as if that brain-throb were its last--- till, startled by the breathing, nigh, of lips that echoed back her sigh, sudden her brow again she raised; and there, just lighted on the shrine, beheld me--not as i had blazed around her, full of light divine, in her late dreams, but softened down into more mortal grace;--my crown of flowers, too radiant for this world, left hanging on yon starry steep; my wings shut up, like banners furled, when peace hath put their pomp to sleep; or like autumnal clouds that keep their lightnings sheathed rather than mar the dawning hour of some young star; and nothing left but what beseemed the accessible, tho' glorious mate of mortal woman--whose eyes beamed back upon hers, as passionate; whose ready heart brought flame for flame, whose sin, whose madness was the same; and whose soul lost in that one hour for her and for her love--oh more of heaven's light than even the power of heaven itself could now restore! and yet, that hour!-- the spirit here stopt in his utterance as if words gave way beneath the wild career of his then rushing thoughts--like chords, midway in some enthusiast's song, breaking beneath a touch too strong; while the clenched hand upon the brow told how remembrance throbbed there now! but soon 'twas o'er--that casual blaze from the sunk fire of other days-- that relic of a flame whose burning had been too fierce to be relumed, soon passt away, and the youth turning to his bright listeners thus resumed:-- days, months elapsed, and, tho' what most on earth i sighed for was mine, all-- yet--was i happy? god, thou know'st, howe'er they smile and feign and boast, what happiness is theirs, who fall! 'twas bitterest anguish--made more keen even by the love, the bliss, between whose throbs it came, like gleams of hell in agonizing cross-light given athwart the glimpses, they who dwell in purgatory[ ] catch of heaven! the only feeling that to me seemed joy--or rather my sole rest from aching misery--was to see my young, proud, blooming lilis blest. she, the fair fountain of all ill to my lost soul--whom yet its thirst fervidly panted after still, and found the charm fresh as at first-- to see _her_ happy--to reflect whatever beams still round me played of former pride, of glory wreckt, on her, my moon, whose light i made, and whose soul worshipt even my shade-- this was, i own, enjoyment--this my sole, last lingering glimpse of bliss. and proud she was, fair creature!--proud, beyond what even most queenly stirs in woman's heart, nor would have bowed that beautiful young brow of hers to aught beneath the first above, so high she deemed her cherub's love! then too that passion hourly growing stronger and stronger--to which even her love at times gave way--of knowing everything strange in earth and heaven; not only all that, full revealed, the eternal alla loves to show, but all that he hath wisely sealed in darkness for man _not_ to know-- even this desire, alas! ill-starred and fatal as it was, i sought to feed each minute, and unbarred such realms of wonder on her thought as ne'er till then had let their light escape on any mortal's sight! in the deep earth--beneath the sea-- thro' caves of fire--thro' wilds of air-- wherever sleeping mystery had spread her curtain, we were there-- love still beside us as we went, at home in each new element and sure of worship everywhere! then first was nature taught to lay the wealth of all her kingdoms down at woman's worshipt feet and say "bright creature, this is all thine own!" then first were diamonds from the night, of earth's deep centre brought to light and made to grace the conquering way of proud young beauty with their ray. then too the pearl from out its shell unsightly, in the sunless sea, (as 'twere a spirit, forced to dwell in form unlovely) was set free, and round the neck of woman threw a light it lent and borrowed too. for never did this maid--whate'er the ambition of the hour--forget her sex's pride in being fair; nor that adornment, tasteful, rare, which makes the mighty magnet, set in woman's form, more mighty yet. nor was there aught within the range of my swift wing in sea or air, of beautiful or grand or strange, that, quickly as her wish could change, i did not seek, with such fond care, that when i've seen her look above at some bright star admiringly, i've said, "nay, look not there, my love,[ ] "alas, i _can not_ give it thee!" but not alone the wonders found thro' nature's realm--the unveiled, material, visible glories, that abound thro' all her vast, enchanted ground-- but whatsoe'er unseen, ethereal, dwells far away from human sense, wrapt in its own intelligence-- the mystery of that fountainhead, from which all vital spirit runs, all breath of life, where'er 'tis spread thro' men or angels, flowers or suns-- the workings of the almighty mind, when first o'er chaos he designed the outlines of this world, and thro' that depth of darkness--like the bow, called out of rain-clouds hue by hue[ ] saw the grand, gradual picture grow;-- the covenant with human kind by alla made--the chains of fate he round himself and them hath twined, till his high task he consummate;-- till good from evil, love from hate, shall be workt out thro' sin and pain, and fate shall loose her iron chain and all be free, be bright again! such were the deep-drawn mysteries, and some, even more obscure, profound, and wildering to the mind than these, which--far as woman's thought could sound, or a fallen, outlawed spirit reach-- she dared to learn and i to teach. till--filled with such unearthly lore, and mingling the pure light it brings with much that fancy had before shed in false, tinted glimmerings-- the enthusiast girl spoke out, as one inspired, among her own dark race, who from their ancient shrines would run, leaving their holy rites undone, to gaze upon her holier face. and tho' but wild the things she spoke, yet mid that play of error's smoke into fair shapes by fancy curled, some gleams of pure religion broke-- glimpses that have not yet awoke, but startled the still dreaming world! oh! many a truth, remote, sublime, which heaven would from the minds of men have kept concealed till its own time, stole out in these revealments then-- revealments dim that have forerun, by ages, the great, sealing one![ ] like that imperfect dawn or light[ ] escaping from the zodiac's signs, which makes the doubtful east half bright, before the real morning shines! thus did some moons of bliss go by-- of bliss to her who saw but love and knowledge throughout earth and sky; to whose enamored soul and eye i seemed--as is the sun on high-- the light of all below, above, the spirit of sea and land and air, whose influence, felt everywhere, spread from its centre, her own heart, even to the world's extremest part; while thro' that world her rainless mind had now careered so fast and far, that earth itself seemed left behind and her proud fancy unconfined already saw heaven's gates ajar! happy enthusiast! still, oh! still spite of my own heart's mortal chill, spite of that double-fronted sorrow which looks at once before and back, beholds the yesterday, the morrow, and sees both comfortless, both black-- spite of all this, i could have still in her delight forgot all ill; or if pain _would_ not be forgot, at least have borne and murmured not. when thoughts of an offended heaven, of sinfulness, which i--even i, while down its steep most headlong driven-- well knew could never be forgiven, came o'er me with an agony beyond all reach of mortal woe-- a torture kept for those who know. know _every_ thing, and--worst of all-- know and love virtue while they fall! even then her presence had the power to soothe, to warm--nay, even to bless-- if ever bliss could graft its flower on stem so full of bitterness-- even then her glorious smile to me brought warmth and radiance if not balm; like moonlight o'er a troubled sea. brightening the storm it cannot calm. oft too when that disheartening fear, which all who love, beneath yon sky, feel when they gaze on what is dear-- the dreadful thought that it must die! that desolating thought which comes into men's happiest hours and homes; whose melancholy boding flings death's shadow o'er the brightest things, sicklies the infant's bloom and spreads the grave beneath young lovers' heads! this fear, so sad to all--to me most full of sadness from the thought that i most still live on,[ ] when she would, like the snow that on the sea fell yesterday, in vain be sought; that heaven to me this final seal of all earth's sorrow would deny, and i eternally must feel the death-pang without power to die! even this, her fond endearments--fond as ever cherisht the sweet bond 'twixt heart and heart--could charm away; before her looks no clouds would stay, or if they did their gloom was gone, their darkness put a glory on! but 'tis not, 'tis not for the wrong, the guilty, to be happy long; and she too now had sunk within the shadow of her tempter's sin, too deep for even omnipotence to snatch the fated victim thence! listen and if a tear there be left in your hearts weep it for me. 'twas on the evening of a day, which we in love had dreamt away; in that same garden, where--the pride of seraph splendor laid aside, and those wings furled, whose open light for mortal gaze were else too bright-- i first had stood before her sight, and found myself--oh, ecstasy, which even in pain i ne'er forget-- worshipt as only god should be, and loved as never man was yet! in that same garden where we now, thoughtfully side by side reclining, her eyes turned upward and her brow with its own silent fancies shining. it was an evening bright and still as ever blusht on wave or bower, smiling from heaven as if naught ill could happen in so sweet an hour. yet i remember both grew sad in looking at that light--even she, of heart so fresh and brow so glad, felt the still hour's solemnity, and thought she saw in that repose the death-hour not alone of light, but of this whole fair world--the close of all things beautiful and bright-- the last, grand sunset, in whose ray nature herself died calm away! at length, as tho' some livelier thought had suddenly her fancy caught, she turned upon me her dark eyes, dilated into that full shape they took in joy, reproach, surprise, as 'twere to let more soul escape, and, playfully as on my head her white hand rested, smiled and said:-- "i had last night a dream of thee, "resembling those divine ones, given, "like preludes to sweet minstrelsy, "before thou camest thyself from heaven. "the same rich wreath was on thy brow, "dazzling as if of starlight made; "and these wings, lying darkly now, "like meteors round thee flasht and played. "thou stoodest, all bright, as in those dreams, "as if just wafted from above, "mingling earth's warmth with heaven's beams, "and creature to adore and love. "sudden i felt thee draw me near "to thy pure heart, where, fondly placed, "i seemed within the atmosphere "of that exhaling light embraced; "and felt methought the ethereal flame "pass from thy purer soul to mine; "till--oh, too blissful--i became, "like thee, all spirit, all divine! "say, why did dream so blest come o'er me, "if, now i wake, 'tis faded, gone? "when will my cherub shine before me "thus radiant, as in heaven he shone? "when shall i, waking, be allowed "to gaze upon those perfect charms, "and clasp thee once without a cloud, "a chill of earth, within these arms? "oh what a pride to say, this, this "is my own angel--all divine, "and pure and dazzling as he is "and fresh from heaven--he's mine, he's mine! "thinkest thou, were lilis in thy place, "a creature of yon lofty skies, "she would have hid one single grace, "one glory from her lover's eyes? "no, no--then, if thou lovest like me, "shine out, young spirit in the blaze "of thy most proud divinity, "nor think thou'lt wound this mortal gaze. "too long and oft i've looked upon "those ardent eyes, intense even thus-- "too near the stars themselves have gone, "to fear aught grand or luminous. "then doubt me not--oh! who can say "but that this dream may yet come true "and my blest spirit drink thy ray, "till it becomes all heavenly too? "let me this once but feel the flame "of those spread wings, the very pride "will change my nature, and this frame "by the mere touch be deified!" thus spoke the maid, as one not used to be by earth or heaven refused-- as one who knew her influence o'er all creatures, whatsoe'er they were, and tho' to heaven she could not soar, at least would bring down heaven to her. little did she, alas! or i-- even i, whose soul, but halfway yet immerged in sin's obscurity was as the earth whereon we lie, o'er half whose disk the sun is set-- little did we foresee the fate, the dreadful--how can it be told? such pain, such anguish to relate is o'er again to feel, behold! but, charged as 'tis, my heart must speak its sorrow out or it will break! some dark misgivings _had_, i own, past for a moment thro' my breast-- fears of some danger, vague, unknown, to one, or both--something unblest to happen from this proud request. but soon these boding fancies fled; nor saw i aught that could forbid my full revealment save the dread of that first dazzle, when, unhid, such light should burst upon a lid ne'er tried in heaven;--and even this glare she might, by love's own nursing care, be, like young eagles, taught to bear. for well i knew, the lustre shed from cherub wings, when proudliest spread, was in its nature lambent, pure, and innocent as is the light the glow-worm hangs out to allure her mate to her green bower at night. oft had i in the mid-air swept thro' clouds in which the lightning slept, as in its lair, ready to spring, yet waked it not--tho' from my wing a thousand sparks fell glittering! oft too when round me from above the feathered snow in all its whiteness, fell like the moultings of heaven's dove,[ ]-- so harmless, tho' so full of brightness, was my brow's wreath that it would shake from off its flowers each downy flake as delicate, unmelted, fair, and cool as they had lighted there. nay even with lilis--had i not around her sleep all radiant beamed, hung o'er her slumbers nor forgot to kiss her eyelids as she dreamed? and yet at morn from that repose, had she not waked, unscathed and bright, as doth the pure, unconscious rose tho' by the fire-fly kist all night? thus having--as, alas! deceived by my sin's blindness, i believed-- no cause for dread and those dark eyes now fixt upon me eagerly as tho' the unlocking of the skies then waited but a sign from me-- how could i pause? how even let fall a word; a whisper that could stir in her proud heart a doubt that all i brought from heaven belonged to her? slow from her side i rose, while she arose too, mutely, tremblingly, but not with fear--all hope, and pride, she waited for the awful boon, like priestesses at eventide watching the rise of the full moon whose light, when once its orb hath shone, 'twill madden them to look upon! of all my glories, the bright crown which when i last from heaven came down was left behind me in yon star that shines from out those clouds afar-- where, relic sad, 'tis treasured yet, the downfallen angel's coronet!-- of all my glories, this alone was wanting:--but the illumined brow, the sun-bright locks, the eyes that now had love's spell added to their own, and poured a light till then unknown;-- the unfolded wings that in their play shed sparkles bright as alla's throne; all i could bring of heaven's array, of that rich panoply of charms a cherub moves in, on the day of his best pomp, i now put on; and, proud that in her eyes i shone thus glorious, glided to her arms; which still (tho', at a sight so splendid, her dazzled brow had instantly sunk on her breast), were wide extended to clasp the form she durst not see![ ] great heaven! how _could_ thy vengeance light so bitterly on one so bright? how could the hand that gave such charms, blast them again in love's own arms? scarce had i touched her shrinking frame, when--oh most horrible!--i felt that every spark of that pure flame-- pure, while among the stars i dwelt-- was now by my transgression turned into gross, earthly fire, which burned, burned all it touched as fast as eye could follow the fierce, ravening flashes; till there--oh god, i still ask why such doom was hers?--i saw her lie blackening within my arms to ashes! that brow, a glory but to see-- those lips whose touch was what the first fresh cup of immortality is to a new-made angel's thirst! those clasping arms, within whose round-- my heart's horizon--the whole bound of its hope, prospect, heaven was found! which, even in this dread moment, fond as when they first were round me cast, loosed not in death the fatal bond, but, burning, held me to the last! all, all, that, but that morn, had seemed as if love's self there breathed and beamed, now parched and black before me lay, withering in agony away; and mine, oh misery! mine the flame from which this desolation came;-- i, the curst spirit whose caress had blasted all that loveliness! 'twas maddening!--but now hear even worse-- had death, death only, been the curse i brought upon her--had the doom but ended here, when her young bloom lay in the dust--and did the spirit no part of that fell curse inherit, 'twere not so dreadful--but, come near-- too shocking 'tis for earth to hear-- just when her eyes in fading took their last, keen, agonized farewell, and looked in mine with--oh, that look! great vengeful power, whate'er the hell thou mayst to human souls assign, the memory of that look is mine!-- in her last struggle, on my brow her ashy lips a kiss imprest, so withering!--i feel it now-- 'twas fire--but fire, even more unblest than was my own, and like that flame, the angels shudder but to name, hell's everlasting element! deep, deep it pierced into my brain, maddening and torturing as it went; and here, mark here, the brand, the stain it left upon my front--burnt in by that last kiss of love and sin-- a brand which all the pomp and pride of a fallen spirit cannot hide! but is it thus, dread providence-- _can_ it indeed be thus, that she who, (but for _one_ proud, fond offence,) had honored heaven itself, should be now doomed--i cannot speak it--no, merciful alla! _'tis_ not so-- never could lips divine have said the fiat of a fate so dread. and yet, that look--so deeply fraught with more than anguish, with despair-- that new, fierce fire, resembling naught in heaven or earth--this scorch i bear!-- oh--for the first time that these knees have bent before thee since my fall, great power, if ever thy decrees thou couldst for prayer like mine recall, pardon that spirit, and on me, on me, who taught her pride to err, shed out each drop of agony thy burning phial keeps for her! see too where low beside me kneel two other outcasts who, tho' gone and lost themselves, yet dare to feel and pray for that poor mortal one. alas, too well, too well they know the pain, the penitence, the woe that passion brings upon the best, the wisest, and the loveliest.-- oh! who is to be saved, if such bright, erring souls are not forgiven; so loath they wander, and so much their very wanderings lean towards heaven! again i cry. just power, transfer that creature's sufferings all to me-- mine, mine the guilt, the torment be, to save one minute's pain to her, let mine last all eternity! he paused and to the earth bent down his throbbing head; while they who felt that agony as 'twere their own, those angel youths, beside him knelt, and in the night's still silence there, while mournfully each wandering air played in those plumes that never more to their lost home in heaven must soar, breathed inwardly the voiceless prayer, unheard by all but mercy's ear-- and which if mercy _did not_ hear, oh, god would _not_ be what this bright and glorious universe of his, this world of beauty, goodness, light and endless love proclaims he _is_! not long they knelt, when from a wood that crowned that airy solitude, they heard a low, uncertain sound, as from a lute, that just had found some happy theme and murmured round the new-born fancy, with fond tone, scarce thinking aught so sweet its own! till soon a voice, that matched as well that gentle instrument, as suits the sea-air to an ocean-shell, (so kin its spirit to the lute's), tremblingly followed the soft strain, interpreting its joy, its pain, and lending the light wings of words to many a thought that else had lain unfledged and mute among the chords. all started at the sound--but chief the third young angel in whose face, tho' faded like the others, grief had left a gentler, holier trace; as if, even yet, thro' pain and ill, hope had not fled him--as if still her precious pearl in sorrow's cup unmelted at the bottom lay, to shine again, when, all drunk up, the bitterness should pass away. chiefly did he, tho' in his eyes there shone more pleasure than surprise, turn to the wood from whence that sound of solitary sweetness broke; then, listening, look delighted round to his bright peers, while thus it spoke:-- "come, pray with me, my seraph love, "my angel-lord, come pray with me: "in vain to-night my lips hath strove "to send one holy prayer above-- "the knee may bend, the lip may move, "but pray i cannot, without thee! "i've fed the altar in my bower "with droppings from the incense tree; "i've sheltered it from wind and shower, "but dim it burns the livelong hour, "as if, like me, it had no power "of life or lustre without thee! "a boat at midnight sent alone "to drift upon the moonless sea, "a lute, whose leading chord is gone, "a wounded bird that hath but one "imperfect wing to soar upon, "are like what i am without thee! "then ne'er, my spirit-love, divide, "in life or death, thyself from me; "but when again in sunny pride "thou walk'st thro' eden, let me glide, "a prostrate shadow, by thy side-- "oh happier thus than without thee!" the song had ceased when from the wood which sweeping down that airy height, reached the lone spot whereon they stood-- there suddenly shone out a light from a clear lamp, which, as it blazed across the brow of one, who raised its flame aloft (as if to throw the light upon that group below), displayed two eyes sparkling between the dusky leaves, such as are seen by fancy only, in those faces, that haunt a poet's walk at even, looking from out their leafy places upon his dreams of love and heaven. 'twas but a moment--the blush brought o'er all her features at the thought of being seen thus, late, alone, by any but the eyes she sought, had scarcely for an instant shore thro' the dark leaves when she was gone-- gone, like a meteor that o'erhead suddenly shines, and, ere we've said, "behold, how beautiful!"--'tis fled, yet ere she went the words, "i come, "i come, my nama," reached her ear, in that kind voice, familiar, dear, which tells of confidence, of home,-- of habit, that hath drawn hearts near, till they grow _one_,--of faith sincere, and all that love most loves to hear; a music breathing of the past, the present and the time to be, where hope and memory to the last lengthen out life's true harmony! nor long did he whom call so kind summoned away remain behind: nor did there need much time to tell what they--alas! more fallen than he from happiness and heaven--knew well, his gentler love's short history! thus did it run--_not_ as he told the tale himself, but as 'tis graved upon the tablets that, of old, by seth[ ] were from the deluge saved, all written over with sublime and saddening legends of the unblest but glorious spirits of that time, and this young angel's 'mong the rest. third angel's story. among the spirits, of pure flame, that in the eternal heavens abide-- circles of light that from the same unclouded centre sweeping wide, carry its beams on every side-- like spheres of air that waft around the undulations of rich sound-- till the far-circling radiance be diffused into infinity! first and immediate near the throne of alla, as if most his own, the seraphs stand[ ] this burning sign traced on their banner, "love divine!" their rank, their honors, far above even those to high-browed cherubs given, tho' knowing all;--so much doth love transcend all knowledge, even in heaven! 'mong these was zaraph once--and none e'er felt affection's holy fire, or yearned towards the eternal one, with half such longing, deep desire. love was to his impassioned soul not as with others a mere part of its existence, but the whole-- the very life-breath of his heart! oft, when from alla's lifted brow a lustre came, too bright to bear, and all the seraph ranks would bow, to shade their dazzled sight nor dare to look upon the effulgence there-- this spirit's eyes would court the blaze (such pride he in adoring took), and rather lose in that one gaze the power of looking than _not_ look! then too when angel voices sung the mercy of their god and strung their harps to hail with welcome sweet that moment, watched for by all eyes, when some repentant sinner's feet first touched the threshold of the skies, oh! then how clearly did the voice of zaraph above all rejoice! love was in every buoyant tone-- such love as only could belong to the blest angels and alone could, even from angels, bring such song! alas! that it should e'er have been in heaven as 'tis too often here, where nothing fond or bright is seen, but it hath pain and peril near;-- where right and wrong so close resemble, that what we take for virtue's thrill is often the first downward tremble of the heart's balance unto ill; where love hath not a shrine so pure, so holy, but the serpent, sin, in moments, even the most secure, beneath his altar may glide in! so was it with that angel--such the charm, that sloped his fall along, from good to ill, from loving much, too easy lapse, to loving wrong.-- even so that amorous spirit, bound by beauty's spell where'er 'twas found, from the bright things above the moon down to earth's beaming eyes descended, till love for the creator soon in passion for the creature ended. 'twas first at twilight, on the shore of the smooth sea, he heard the lute and voice of her he loved steal o'er the silver waters that lay mute, as loath, by even a breath, to stay the pilgrimage of that sweet lay; whose echoes still went on and on, till lost among the light that shone far off beyond the ocean's brim-- there where the rich cascade of day had o'er the horizon's golden rim, into elysium rolled away! of god she sung and of the mild attendant mercy that beside his awful throne for ever smiled, ready with her white hand to guide his bolts of vengeance to their prey-- that she might quench them on the way! of peace--of that atoning love, upon whose star, shining above this twilight world of hope and fear, the weeping eyes of faith are fixt so fond that with her every tear the light of that love-star is mixt!-- all this she sung, and such a soul of piety was in that song that the charmed angel as it stole tenderly to his ear, along those lulling waters where he lay, watching the daylight's dying ray, thought 'twas a voice from out the wave, an echo, that some sea-nymph gave to eden's distant harmony, heard faint and sweet beneath the sea! quickly, however, to its source, tracking that music's melting course, he saw upon the golden sands of the sea-shore a maiden stand, before whose feet the expiring waves flung their last offering with a sigh-- as, in the east, exhausted slaves lay down the far-brought gift and die-- and while her lute hung by her hushed as if unequal to the tide of song that from her lips still gushed, she raised, like one beatified, those eyes whose light seemed rather given to be adored than to adore-- such eyes as may have lookt _from_ heaven but ne'er were raised to it before! oh love, religion, music--all that's left of eden upon earth-- the only blessings, since the fall of our weak souls, that still recall a trace of their high, glorious birth-- how kindred are the dreams you bring! how love tho' unto earth so prone, delights to take religion's wing, when time or grief hath stained his own! how near to love's beguiling brink too oft entranced religion lies! while music, music is the link they _both_ still hold by to the skies, the language of their native sphere which they had else forgotten here. how then could zaraph fail to feel that moment's witcheries?--one, so fair, breathing out music, that might steal heaven from itself, and rapt in prayer that seraphs might be proud to share! oh, he _did_ feel it, all too well-- with warmth, that far too dearly cost-- nor knew he, when at last he fell, to which attraction, to which spell, love, music, or devotion, most his soul in that sweet hour was lost. sweet was the hour, tho' dearly won, and pure, as aught of earth could be, for then first did the glorious sun before religion's altar see two hearts in wedlock's golden tie self-pledged, in love to live and die. blest union! by that angel wove, and worthy from such hands to come; safe, sole, asylum, in which love, when fallen or exiled from above, in this dark world can find a home. and, tho' the spirit had transgrest, had, from his station 'mong the blest won down by woman's smile, allow'd terrestrial passion to breathe o'er the mirror of his heart, and cloud god's image there so bright before-- yet never did that power look down on error with a brow so mild; never did justice wear a frown, thro' which so gently mercy smiled. for humble was their love--with awe and trembling like some treasure kept, that was not theirs by holy law-- whose beauty with remorse they saw and o'er whose preciousness they wept. humility, that low, sweet root, from which all heavenly virtues shoot, was in the hearts of both--but most in nama's heart, by whom alone those charms, for which a heaven was lost. seemed all unvalued and unknown; and when her seraph's eyes she caught, and hid hers glowing on his breast, even bliss was humbled by the thought-- "what claim have i to be so blest"? still less could maid, so meek, have nurst desire of knowledge--that vain thirst, with which the sex hath all been curst from luckless eve to her who near the tabernacle stole to hear the secrets of the angels: no-- to love as her own seraph loved, with faith, the same thro' bliss and woe-- faith that were even its light removed, could like the dial fixt remain and wait till it shone out again;-- with patience that tho' often bowed by the rude storm can rise anew; and hope that even from evil's cloud see sunny good half breaking thro'! this deep, relying love, worth more in heaven than all a cherub's lore-- this faith more sure than aught beside was the sole joy, ambition, pride of her fond heart--the unreasoning scope of all its views, above, below-- so true she felt it that to _hope_, to _trust_, is happier than to _know_. and thus in humbleness they trod, abasht but pure before their god; nor e'er did earth behold a sight so meekly beautiful as they, when with the altar's holy light full on their brows they knelt to pray, hand within hand and side by side, two links of love awhile untied from the great chain above, but fast holding together to the last!-- two fallen splendors from that tree[ ] which buds with such eternally, shaken to earth yet keeping all their light and freshness in the fall. their only punishment, (as wrong, however sweet, must bear its brand.) their only doom was this--that, long as the green earth and ocean stand, they both shall wander here--the same, throughout all time, in heart and frame-- still looking to that goal sublime, whose light remote but sure they see; pilgrims of love whose way is time, whose home is in eternity! subject the while to all the strife true love encounters in this life-- the wishes, hopes, he breathes in vain; the chill that turns his warmest sighs to earthly vapor ere they rise; the doubt he feeds on and the pain that in his very sweetness lies:-- still worse, the illusions that betray his footsteps to their shining brink; that tempt him on his desert way thro' the bleak world, to bend and drink, where nothing meets his lips, alas!-- but he again must sighing pass on to that far-off home of peace, in which alone his thirst will cease. all this they bear but not the less have moments rich in happiness-- blest meetings, after many a day of widowhood past far away, when the loved face again is seen close, close, with not a tear between-- confidings frank, without control, poured mutually from soul to soul; as free from any fear or doubt as is that light from chill or strain the sun into the stars sheds out to be by them shed back again!-- that happy minglement of hearts, where, changed as chymic compounds are, each with its own existence parts to find a new one, happier far! such are their joys--and crowning all that blessed hope of the bright hour, when, happy and no more to fall, their spirits shall with freshened power rise up rewarded for their trust in him from whom all goodness springs, and shaking off earth's soiling dust from their emancipated wings, wander for ever thro' those skies of radiance where love never dies! in what lone region of the earth, these pilgrims now may roam or dwell, god and the angels who look forth to watch their steps, alone can tell. but should we in our wanderings meet a young pair whose beauty wants but the adornment of bright wings to look like heaven's inhabitants-- who shine where'er they tread and yet are humble in their earthly lot, as is the way-side violet, that shines unseen, and were it not for its sweet breath would be forgot whose hearts in every thought are one, whose voices utter the same wills-- answering, as echo doth some tone of fairy music 'mong the hills, so like itself we seek in vain which is the echo, which the strain-- whose piety is love, whose love tho' close as 'twere their souls' embrace. is not of earth but from above-- like two fair mirrors face to face, whose light from one to the other thrown, is heaven's reflection, not their own-- should we e'er meet with aught so pure, so perfect here, we may be sure 'tis zaraph and his bride we see; and call young lovers round to view the pilgrim pair as they pursue their pathway towards eternity. [ ] "to which will be joined the sound of the bells hanging on the trees, which will be put in motion by the wind proceeding from the throne, so often as the blessed wish for music."--see _sale's koran, prelim. dissert_. [ ] the ancient persians supposed that this throne was placed in the sun, and that through the stars were distributed the various classes of angels that encircled it. the basilidians supposed that there were three hundred and sixty-five orders of angels. [ ] it appears that, in most languages, the term employed for an angel means also a messenger. [ ] the name given by the mahometans to the infernal regions, over which, they say, the angel tabliek presides. [ ] the kerubilna, as the mussulmans call them, are often joined indiscriminately with the asrafil or seraphim, under one common name of azazil, by which all spirits who approach near the throne of alla are designated. [ ] a belief that the stars are either spirits or the vehicles of spirits, was common to all the religions and heresies of the east. kircher has given the names and stations of the seven archangels, who were by the cabala of the jews distributed through the planets. [ ] according to the cosmogony of the ancient persians, there were four stars set as sentinels in the four quarters of the heavens, to watch over the other fixed stars, and superintend the planets in their course. the names of these four sentinel stars are, according to the boundesh, taschter, for the east; satevis, for the west; venand, for the south; and haftorang. for the north. [ ] chavah, or, as it is arabic, havah (the name by which adam called the woman after their transgression), means "life". [ ] called by the mussulmans al araf--a sort of wall or partition which, according to the th chapter of the koran, separates hell from paradise, and where they, who have not merits sufficient to gain them immediate admittance into heaven, are supposed to stand for a certain period, alternately tantalized and tormented by the sights that are on either side presented to them. [ ] i am aware that this happy saying of lord albemarle's loses much of its grace and playfulness, by being put into the mouth of any but a human lover. [ ] according to whitehurst's theory, the mention of rainbows by an antediluvian angel is an anachronism; as he says, "there was no rain before the flood, and consequently no rainbow, which accounts for the novelty of this sight after the deluge." [ ] in acknowledging the authority of the great prophets who had preceded him, mahomet represented his own mission as the final "_seal_," or consummation of them all. [ ] the zodiacal light. [ ] pococke, however, gives it as the opinion of the mahometan doctors, that all souls, not only of men and of animals, living either on land or in the sea, but of angels also, must necessarily taste of death. [ ] the dove, or pigeon which attended mahomet as his familiar, and was frequently seen to whisper into his ear, was, if i recollect right, one of that select number of animals [including also the ant of solomon, the dog of the seven sleepers, etc.] which were thought by the prophet worthy of admission into paradise. [ ] "mohammed [says sale], though a prophet, was not able to bear the sight of gabriel, when he appeared in his proper form, much less would others be able to support it." [ ] seth is a favorite personage among the orientals, and acts a conspicuous part in many of their most extravagant romances. the syrians pretended to have a testament of this patriarch in their possession, in which was explained the whole theology of angels, their different orders, etc. the curds, too (as hyde mentions in his appendix), have a book, which contains all the rites of their religion, and which they call sohuph sheit, or the book of seth. [ ] the seraphim, or spirits of divine love. [ ] an allusion to the sephiroths or splendors of the jewish cabala, represented as a tree, of which god is the crown or summit. rhymes on the road. extracted from the journal of a travelling member of the poco-curante society, . the greater part of the following rhymes were written or composed in an old _calêche_ for the purpose of beguiling the _ennui_ of solitary travelling; and as verses made by a gentleman in his sleep, have been lately called "a _psychological_ curiosity," it is to be hoped that verses, composed by a gentleman to keep himself awake, may be honored with some appellation equally greek. rhymes on the road introductory rhymes. _different attitudes in which authors compose.--bayes, henry stevens, herodotus, etc.--writing in bed--in the fields.--plato and sir richard blackmore.--fiddling with gloves and twigs.--madame de staël.--rhyming on the road, in an old calêche_. what various attitudes and ways and tricks we authors have in writing! while some write sitting, some like bayes usually stand while they're inditing, poets there are who wear the floor out, measuring a line at every stride; while some like henry stephens pour out rhymes by the dozen while they ride. herodotus wrote most in bed; and richerand, a french physician, declares the clock-work of the head goes best in that reclined position. if you consult montaigne and pliny on the subject, 'tis their joint opinion that thought its richest harvest yields abroad among the woods and fields, that bards who deal in small retail at home may at their counters stop; but that the grove, the hill, the vale, are poesy's true wholesale shop. and verily i think they're right-- for many a time on summer eves, just at that closing hour of light, when, like an eastern prince, who leaves for distant war his haram bowers, the sun bids farewell to the flowers, whose heads are sunk, whose tears are flowing mid all the glory of his going!-- even _i_ have felt, beneath those beams, when wandering thro' the fields alone, thoughts, fancies, intellectual gleams, which, far too bright to be my own, seemed lent me by the sunny power that was abroad at that still hour. if thus i've felt, how must _they_ feel, the few whom genuine genius warms, upon whose soul he stamps his seal, graven with beauty's countless forms;-- the few upon this earth, who seem born to give truth to plato's dream, since in their thoughts, as in a glass, shadows of heavenly things appear. reflections of bright shapes that pass thro' other worlds, above our sphere! but this reminds me i digress;-- for plato, too, produced, 'tis said, (as one indeed might almost guess), his glorious visions all in bed.[ ] 'twas in his carriage the sublime sir richard blackmore used to rhyme; and (if the wits don�t do him wrong) twixt death and epics past his time,[ ] scribbling and killing all day long-- like phoebus in his car, at ease, now warbling forth a lofty song, now murdering the young niobes. there was a hero 'mong the danes, who wrote, we're told, mid all the pains and horrors of exenteration, nine charming odes, which, if you'll look, you'll find preserved with a translation by bartholinos in his book. in short 'twere endless to recite the various modes in which men write. some wits are only in the mind. when beaus and belles are round them prating; some when they dress for dinner find their muse and valet both in waiting and manage at the self-same time to adjust a neckcloth and a rhyme. some bards there are who cannot scribble without a glove to tear or nibble or a small twig to whisk about-- as if the hidden founts of fancy, like wells of old, were thus found out by mystic trick of rhabdomancy. such was the little feathery wand,[ ] that, held for ever in the hand of her who won and wore the crown[ ] of female genius in this age, seemed the conductor that drew down those words of lightning to her page. as for myself--to come, at last, to the odd way in which _i_ write-- having employ'd these few months past chiefly in travelling, day and night, i've got into the easy mode of rhyming thus along the road-- making a way-bill of my pages, counting my stanzas by my stages-- 'twixt lays and _re_-lays no time lost-- in short, in two words, _writing post_. [ ] the only authority i know for imputing this practice to plato and herodotus, is a latin poem by m. de valois on his bed, in which he says:-- _lucifer herodotum vidit vesperque cubantem, desedit totos heic plato saepe dies_. [ ] sir richard blackmore was a physician, as well as a bad poet. [ ] made of paper, twisted up like a fan or feather. [ ] madame de staël. extract i. geneva. _view of the lake of geneva from the jura.[ ]--anxious to reach it before the sun went down.--obliged to proceed on foot.--alps.--mont blanc.--effect of the scene_. 'twas late--the sun had almost shone his last and best when i ran on anxious to reach that splendid view before the daybeams quite withdrew and feeling as all feel on first approaching scenes where, they are told, such glories on their eyes will burst as youthful bards in dreams behold. 'twas distant yet and as i ran full often was my wistful gaze turned to the sun who now began to call in all his out-posts rays, and form a denser march of light, such as beseems a hero's flight. oh, how i wisht for joshua's power, to stay the brightness of that hour? but no--the sun still less became, diminisht to a speck as splendid and small as were those tongues of flame, that on the apostles' heads descended! 'twas at this instant--while there glowed this last, intensest gleam of light-- suddenly thro' the opening road the valley burst upon my sight! that glorious valley with its lake and alps on alps in clusters swelling, mighty and pure and fit to make the ramparts of a godhead's dwelling. i stood entranced--as rabbins say this whole assembled, gazing world will stand, upon that awful day, when the ark's light aloft unfurled among the opening clouds shall shine, divinity's own radiant sign! mighty mont blanc, thou wert to me that minute, with thy brow in heaven, as sure a sign of deity as e'er to mortal gaze was given. nor ever, were i destined yet to live my life twice o'er again, can i the deep-felt awe forget, the dream, the trance that rapt me then! 'twas all that consciousness of power and life, beyond this mortal hour;-- those mountings of the soul within at thoughts of heaven--as birds begin by instinct in the cage to rise, when near their time for change of skies;-- that proud assurance of our claim to rank among the sons of light, mingled with shame--oh bitter shame!-- at having riskt that splendid right, for aught that earth thro' all its range of glories offers in exchange! 'twas all this, at that instant brought like breaking sunshine o'er my thought-- 'twas all this, kindled to a glow of sacred zeal which could it shine thus purely ever man might grow, even upon earth a thing divine, and be once more the creature made to walk unstained the elysian shade! no, never shall i lose the trace of what i've felt in this bright place. and should my spirit's hope grow weak, should i, oh god! e'er doubt thy power, this mighty scene again i'll seek, at the same calm and glowing hour, and here at the sublimest shrine that nature ever reared to thee rekindle all that hope divine and _feel_ my immortality! [ ] between vattay and gex. extract ii. geneva. fate of geneva in the year . a fragment. yes--if there yet live some of those, who, when this small republic rose, quick as a startled hive of bees, against her leaguering enemies--[ ] when, as the royal satrap shook his well-known fetters at her gates, even wives and mothers armed and took their stations by their sons and mates; and on these walls there stood--yet, no, shame to the traitors--_would_ have stood as firm a band as e'er let flow at freedom's base their sacred blood; if those yet live, who on that night when all were watching, girt for fight, stole like the creeping of a pest from rank to rank, from breast to breast, filling the weak, the old with fears, turning the heroine's zeal to tears,-- betraying honor to that brink, where, one step more, and he must sink-- and quenching hopes which tho' the last, like meteors on a drowning mast, would yet have led to death more bright, than life e'er lookt, in all its light! till soon, too soon, distrust, alarms throughout the embattled thousands ran, and the high spirit, late in arms, the zeal that might have workt such charms, fell like a broken talisman-- their gates, that they had sworn should be the gates of death, that very dawn, gave passage widely, bloodlessly, to the proud foe--nor sword was drawn, nor even one martyred body cast to stain their footsteps, as they past; but of the many sworn at night to do or die, some fled the sight, some stood to look with sullen frown, while some in impotent despair broke their bright armor and lay down, weeping, upon the fragments there!-- if those, i say, who brought that shame, that blast upon geneva's name be living still--tho' crime so dark shall hang up, fixt and unforgiven, in history's page, the eternal mark for scorn to pierce--so help me, heaven, i wish the traitorous slaves no worse, no deeper, deadlier disaster from all earth's ills no fouler curse than to have *********** their master! [ ] in the year , when the forces of berne, sardinia, and france laid siege to geneva, and when, after a demonstration of heroism and self-devotion, which promised to rival the feats of their ancestors in against savoy, the genevans, either panic-struck or betrayed, to the surprise of all europe, opened their gates to the besiegers, and submitted without a struggle to the extinction of their liberties--see an account of this revolution in coxe's switzerland. extract iii. geneva. _fancy and truth--hippomenes and atalanta. mont blanc.--clouds_. even here in this region of wonders i find that light-footed fancy leaves truth far behind; or at least like hippomenes turns her astray by the golden illusions he flings in her way. what a glory it seemed the first evening i gazed! mont blanc like a vision then suddenly raised on the wreck of the sunset--and all his array of high-towering alps, touched still with a light far holier, purer than that of the day, as if nearness to heaven had made them so bright! then the dying at last of these splendors away from peak after peak, till they left but a ray, one roseate ray, that, too precious to fly, o'er the mighty of mountains still glowingly hung, like the last sunny step of astraea, when high, from the summit of earth to elysium she sprung! and those infinite alps stretching out from the sight till they mingled with heaven, now shorn of their light, stood lofty and lifeless and pale in the sky, like the ghosts of a giant creation gone by! that scene--i have viewed it this evening again, by the same brilliant light that hung over it then-- the valley, the lake in their tenderest charms-- mont blanc in his awfullest pomp--and the whole a bright picture of beauty, reclined in the arms of sublimity, bridegroom elect of her soul! but where are the mountains that round me at first one dazzling horizon of miracles burst? those alps beyond alps, without end swelling on like the waves of eternity--where are _they_ gone? clouds--clouds--they were nothing but clouds, after all![ ] that chain of mont blanc's, which my fancy flew o'er, with a wonder that naught on this earth can recall, were but clouds of the evening and now are no more. what a picture of life's young illusions! oh, night, drop thy curtain at once and hide _all_ from my sight. [ ] it is often very difficult to distinguish between clouds and alps; and on the evening when i first saw this magnificent scene, the clouds were so disposed along the whole horizon, as to deceive me into an idea of the stupendous extent of these mountains, which my subsequent observation was very far, of course, from confirming. extract iv. milan. _the picture gallery.--albano's rape of proserpine.--reflections.-- universal salvation.--abraham sending away agar, by guercino.--genius_. went to the _brera_--saw a dance of loves by smooth albano! him whose pencil teems with cupids numerous as in summer groves the leaflets are or motes in summer beams. 'tis for the theft of enna's flower from earth, these urchins celebrate their dance of mirth round the green tree, like fays upon a heath-- those that are nearest linkt in order bright, cheek after cheek, like rose-buds in a wreath; and those more distant showing from beneath the others' wings their little eyes of light. while see! among the clouds, their eldest brother but just flown up tells with a smile of bliss this prank of pluto to his charmed mother who turns to greet the tidings with a kiss! well might the loves rejoice--and well did they who wove these fables picture in their weaving that blessed truth, (which in a darker day origen lost his saintship for believing,[ ])-- that love, eternal love, whose fadeless ray nor time nor death nor sin can overcast, even to the depths of hell will find his way, and soothe and heal and triumph there at last! guercino's agar--where the bondmaid hears from abram's lips that he and she must part, and looks at him with eyes all full of tears that seem the very last drops from her heart. exquisite picture!--let me not be told of minor faults, of coloring tame and cold-- if thus to conjure up a face so fair,[ ] so full of sorrow; with the story there of all that woman suffers when the stay her trusting heart hath leaned on falls away-- if thus to touch the bosom's tenderest spring, by calling into life such eyes as bring back to our sad remembrance some of those we've smiled and wept with in their joys and woes, thus filling them with tears, like tears we've known, till all the pictured grief becomes our own-- if _this_ be deemed the victory of art-- if thus by pen or pencil to lay bare the deep, fresh, living fountains of the heart before all eyes be genius--it is _there_! [ ] the extension of the divine love ultimately even to the regions of the damned. [ ] it is probable that this fine head is a portrait, as we find it repeated in a picture by guercino, which is in the possession of signor carnuccini, the brother of the celebrated painter at rome. extract v. padua. _fancy and reality.--rain-drops and lakes.--plan of a story.--where to place the scene of it.--in some unknown region.--psalmanazar's imposture with respect to the island of formosa_. the more i've viewed this world the more i've found, that, filled as 'tis with scenes and creatures rare. fancy commands within her own bright round a world of scenes and creatures far more fair. nor is it that her power can call up there a single charm, that's not from nature won, no more than rainbows in their pride can wear a single hue unborrowed from the sun-- but 'tis the mental medium it shines thro' that lends to beauty all its charm and hue; as the same light that o'er the level lake one dull monotony of lustre flings, will, entering in the rounded raindrop, make colors as gay as those on peris' wings! and such, i deem, the difference between real, existing beauty and that form ideal which she assumes when seen by poets' eyes, like sunshine in the drop--with all those dyes which fancy's variegating prism supples. i have a story of two lovers, filled with all the pure romance, the blissful sadness, and the sad, doubtful bliss that ever thrilled two young and longing hearts in that sweet madness. but where to choose the region of my vision in this wide, vulgar world--what real spot can be found out sufficiently elysian for two such perfect lovers i know not. oh for some fair formosa, such as he, the young jew fabled of, in the indian sea, by nothing but its name of beauty known, and which queen fancy might make all her own, her fairy kingdom--take its people, lands, and tenements into her own bright hands, and make at least one earthly corner fit for love to live in, pure and exquisite! extract vi. venice. _the fall of venice not to be lamented--former glory.--expedition against constantinople.--giustinianis.--republic.--characteristics of the old government.--golden book.--brazen mouths.--spies.--dungeons.--present desolation_. mourn not for venice--let her rest in ruin, 'mong those states unblest, beneath whose gilded hoofs of pride, where'er they trampled, freedom died. no--let us keep our tears for them, where'er they pine, whose fall hath been not from a blood-stained diadem, like that which deckt this ocean-queen, but from high daring in the cause of human rights--the only good and blessed strife, in which man draws his mighty sword on land or flood. mourn not for venice; tho' her fall be awful, as if ocean's wave swept o'er her, she deserves it all, and justice triumphs o'er her grave. thus perish every king and state that run the guilty race she ran, strong but in ill and only great by outrage against god and man! true, her high spirit is at rest, and all those days of glory gone, when the world's waters, east and west, beneath her white-winged commerce shone; when with her countless barks she went to meet the orient empire's might.[ ] and her giustinianis sent their hundred heroes to that fight. vanisht are all her pomps, 'tis true, but mourn them not--for vanisht too (thanks to that power, who soon or late, hurls to the dust the guilty great,) are all the outrage, falsehood, fraud, the chains, the rapine, and the blood, that filled each spot, at home, abroad, where the republic's standard stood. desolate venice! when i track thy haughty course thro' centuries back; thy ruthless power, obeyed but curst-- the stern machinery of thy state, which hatred would, like steam, have burst, had stronger fear not chilled even hate;-- thy perfidy, still worse than aught thy own unblushing sarpi[ ] taught;-- thy friendship which, o'er all beneath its shadow, rained down dews of death;[ ]-- thy oligarchy's book of gold, closed against humble virtue's name, but opened wide for slaves who sold their native land to thee and shame;[ ]-- thy all-pervading host of spies watching o'er every glance and breath, till men lookt in each others' eyes, to read their chance of life or death;-- thy laws that made a mart of blood, and legalized the assassin's knife;[ ]-- thy sunless cells beneath the flood, and racks and leads that burnt out life;-- when i review all this and see the doom that now hath fallen on thee; thy nobles, towering once so proud, themselves beneath the yoke now bowed,-- a yoke by no one grace redeemed, such as of old around thee beamed, but mean and base as e'er yet galled earth's tyrants when themselves enthralled,-- i feel the moral vengeance sweet. and smiling o'er the wreck repeat:-- "thus perish every king and state "that tread the steps which venice trod, "strong but in ill and only great, "by outrage against man and god!" [ ] under the doge michaeli, in . [ ] the celebrated fra paolo. the collections of maxims which this bold monk drew up at the request of the venetian government, for the guidance of the secret inquisition of state, are so atrocious as to seem rather an over-charged satire upon despotism, than a system of policy, seriously inculcated, and but too readily and constantly pursued. [ ] conduct of venice towards her allies and dependencies, particularly to unfortunate padua. [ ] among those admitted to the honor of being inscribed in the _libro d'oro_ were some families of brescia, treviso, and other places, whose only claim to that distinction was the zeal with which they prostrated themselves and their country at the feet of the republic. [ ] by the infamous statutes of the state inquisition, not only was assassination recognized as a regular mode of punishment, but this secret power over life was delegated to their minions at a distance, with nearly as much facility as a licence is given under the game laws of england. the only restriction seems to have been the necessity of applying for a new certificate, after every individual exercise of the power. extract vii. venice. _lord byron's memoirs, written by himself.--reflections, when about to read them_. let me a moment--ere with fear and hope of gloomy, glorious things, these leaves i ope-- as one in fairy tale to whom the key of some enchanter's secret halls is given, doubts while he enters slowly, tremblingly, if he shall meet with shapes from hell or heaven-- let me a moment think what thousands live o'er the wide earth this instant who would give, gladly, whole sleepless nights to bend the brow over these precious leaves, as i do now. how all who know--and where is he unknown? to what far region have his songs not flown, like psaphon's birds[ ] speaking their master's name, in every language syllabled by fame?-- how all who've felt the various spells combined within the circle of that mastermind,-- like spells derived from many a star and met together in some wondrous amulet,-- would burn to know when first the light awoke in his young soul,--and if the gleams that broke from that aurora of his genius, raised most pain or bliss in those on whom they blazed; would love to trace the unfolding of that power, which had grown ampler, grander, every hour; and feel in watching o'er his first advance as did the egyptian traveller[ ] when he stood by the young nile and fathomed with his lance the first small fountains of that mighty flood. they too who mid the scornful thoughts that dwell in his rich fancy, tingeing all its streams,-- as if the star of bitterness which fell on earth of old,[ ] had touched them with its beams,-- can track a spirit which tho' driven to hate, from nature's hands came kind, affectionate; and which even now, struck as it is with blight, comes out at times in love's own native light;-- how gladly all who've watched these struggling rays of a bright, ruined spirit thro' his lays, would here inquire, as from his own frank lips, what desolating grief, what wrongs had driven that noble nature into cold eclipse; like some fair orb that, once a sun in heaven. and born not only to surprise but cheer with warmth and lustre all within its sphere, is now so quenched that of its grandeur lasts naught but the wide, cold shadow which it casts. eventful volume! whatsoe'er the change of scene and clime--the adventures bold and strange-- the griefs--the frailties but too frankly told-- the loves, the feuds thy pages may unfold, if truth with half so prompt a hand unlocks his virtues as his failings, we shall find the record there of friendships held like rocks, and enmities like sun-touched snow resigned; of fealty, cherisht without change or chill, in those who served him, young, and serve him still; of generous aid given, with that noiseless art which wakes not pride, to many a wounded heart; of acts--but, no--_not_ from himself must aught of the bright features of his life be sought. while they who court the world, like milton's cloud, "turn forth their silver lining" on the crowd, this gifted being wraps himself in night; and keeping all that softens and adorns and gilds his social nature hid from sight, turns but its darkness on a world he scorns. [ ] psaphon, in order to attract the attention of the world, taught multitudes of birds to speak his name, and then let them fly away in various directions; whence the proverb, "psaphonis aves." [ ] bruce. [ ] "and the name of the star is called wormwood, and the third part of the waters became wormwood."--_rev_. viii. extract viii. venice. _female beauty at venice.--no longer what it was in the time of titian.-- his mistress.--various forms in which he has painted her.--venus.--divine and profane love.--la fragilita d'amore--paul veronese.--his women.-- marriage of cana.--character of italian beauty.--raphael's fornarina.-- modesty_. thy brave, thy learned have passed away: thy beautiful!--ah, where are they? the forms, the faces that once shone, models of grace, in titian's eye, where are they now, while flowers live on in ruined places, why, oh! why must beauty thus with glory die? that maid whose lips would still have moved, could art have breathed a spirit through them; whose varying charms her artist loved more fondly every time he drew them, (so oft beneath his touch they past, each semblance fairer than the last); wearing each shape that fancy's range offers to love--yet still the one fair idol seen thro' every change, like facets of some orient stone,-- in each the same bright image shown. sometimes a venus, unarrayed but in her beauty[ ]--sometimes deckt in costly raiment, as a maid that kings might for a throne select.[ ] now high and proud, like one who thought the world should at her feet be brought; now with a look reproachful sad,[ ]-- unwonted look from brow so glad,-- and telling of a pain too deep for tongue to speak or eyes to weep. sometimes thro' allegory's veil, in double semblance seemed to shine, telling a strange and mystic tale of love profane and love divine[ ]-- akin in features, but in heart as far as earth and heaven apart. or else (by quaint device to prove the frailty of all worldly love) holding a globe of glass as thin as air-blown bubbles in her hand, with a young love confined therein, whose wings seem waiting to expand-- and telling by her anxious eyes that if that frail orb break he flies.[ ] thou too with touch magnificent, paul of verona!--where are they? the oriental forms[ ] that lent thy canvas such a bright array? noble and gorgeous dames whose dress seems part of their own loveliness; like the sun's drapery which at eve the floating clouds around him weave of light they from himself receive! where is there now the living face like those that in thy nuptial throng[ ] by their superb, voluptuous grace, make us forget the time, the place, the holy guests they smile among,-- till in that feast of heaven-sent wine we see no miracles but thine. if e'er, except in painting's dream, there bloomed such beauty here, 'tis gone,-- gone like the face that in the stream of ocean for an instant shone, when venus at that mirror gave a last look ere she left the wave. and tho', among the crowded ways, we oft are startled by the blaze of eyes that pass with fitful light. like fire-flies on the wing at night[ ] 'tis not that nobler beauty given to show how angels look in heaven. even in its shape most pure and fair, 'tis beauty with but half her zone, all that can warm the sense is there, but the soul's deeper charm has flown:-- 'tis raphael's fornarina,--warm, luxuriant, arch, but unrefined; a flower round which the noontide swarm of young desires may buzz and wind, but where true love no treasure meets worth hoarding in his hive of sweets. ah no,--for this and for the hue upon the rounded cheek, which tells how fresh within the heart this dew of love's unrifled sweetness dwells, we must go back to our own isles, where modesty, which here but gives a rare and transient grace to smiles, in the heart's holy centre lives; and thence as from her throne diffuses o'er thoughts and looks so bland a reign, that not a thought or feeling loses its freshness in that gentle chain. [ ] in the tribune at florence. [ ] in the palazzo pitti. [ ] alludes particularly to the portrait of her in the sciarra collection at rome, where the look of mournful reproach in those full, shadowy eyes, as if she had been unjustly accused of something wrong, is exquisite. [ ] the fine picture in the palazzo borghese, called (it is not easy to say why) "sacred and profane love," in which the two figures, sitting on the edge of the fountain, are evidently portraits of the same person. [ ] this fanciful allegory is the subject of a picture by titian in the possession of the marquis cambian at turin, whose collection, though small, contains some beautiful specimens of all the great masters. [ ] as paul veronese gave but little into the _beau idéal_, his women may be regarded as pretty close imitations of the living models which venice afforded in his time. [ ] the marriage of cana. [ ] "certain it is [as arthur young truly and feelingly says] one now and then meets with terrible eyes in italy." extract ix. venice. _the english to be met with everywhere.--alps and threadneedle street.--the simplon and the stocks.--rage for travelling.--blue stockings among the wahabees.--parasols and pyramids.--mrs. hopkins and the wall of china_. and is there then no earthly place, where we can rest in dream elysian, without some curst, round english face, popping up near to break the vision? mid northern lakes, mid southern vines, unholy cits we're doomed to meet; nor highest alps nor apennines are sacred from threadneedle street! if up the simplon's path we wind, fancying we leave this world behind, such pleasant sounds salute one's ear as--"baddish news from 'change, my dear-- "the funds--(phew i curse this ugly hill)-- "are lowering fast--(what, higher still?)-- "and--(zooks, we're mounting up to heaven!)-- "will soon be down to sixty-seven." go where we may--rest where we will. eternal london haunts us still. the trash of almack's or fleet ditch-- and scarce a pin's head difference _which_-- mixes, tho' even to greece we run, with every rill from helicon! and if this rage for travelling lasts, if cockneys of all sects and castes, old maidens, aldermen, and squires, _will_ leave their puddings and coal fires, to gape at things in foreign lands no soul among them understands; if blues desert their coteries, to show off 'mong the wahabees; if neither sex nor age controls, nor fear of mamelukes forbids young ladies with pink parasols to glide among the pyramids-- why, then, farewell all hope to find a spot that's free from london-kind! who knows, if to the west we roam, but we may find some _blue_ "at home" among the blacks of carolina-- or flying to the eastward see some mrs. hopkins taking tea and toast upon the wall of china! extract x. mantua. _verses of hippolyta to her husband_. they tell me thou'rt the favored guest of every fair and brilliant throng; no wit like thine to wake the jest, no voice like thine to breathe the song. and none could guess, so gay thou art, that thou and i are far apart. alas, alas! how different flows, with thee and me the time away! not that i wish thee sad, heaven knows-- still if thou canst, be light and gay; i only know that without thee the sun himself is dark for me. do i put on the jewels rare thou'st always loved to see me wear? do i perfume the locks that thou so oft hast braided o'er my brow, thus deckt thro' festive crowds to run, and all the assembled world to see,-- all but the one, the absent one, worth more than present worlds to me! no, nothing cheers this widowed heart-- my only joy from thee apart, from thee thyself, is sitting hours and days before thy pictured form-- that dream of thee, which raphael's powers have made with all but life-breath warm! and as i smile to it, and say the words i speak to thee in play, i fancy from their silent frame, those eyes and lips give back the same: and still i gaze, and still they keep smiling thus on me--till i weep! our little boy too knows it well, for there i lead him every day and teach his lisping lips to tell the name of one that's far away. forgive me, love, but thus alone my time is cheered while thou art gone. extract xi. florence. no--'tis not the region where love's to be found-- they have bosoms that sigh, they have glances that rove, they have language a sappho's own lip might resound, when she warbled her best--but they've nothing like love. nor is't that pure _sentiment_ only they want, which heaven for the mild and the tranquil hath made-- calm, wedded affection, that home-rooted plant which sweetens seclusion and smiles in the shade; that feeling which, after long years have gone by, remains like a portrait we've sat for in youth, where, even tho' the flush of the colors may fly, the features still live in their first smiling truth; that union where all that in woman is kind, with all that in man most ennoblingly towers, grow wreathed into one--like the column, combined of the _strength_ of the shaft and the capital's _flowers_. of this--bear ye witness, ye wives, everywhere, by the arno, the po, by all italy's streams-- of this heart-wedded love, so delicious to share, not a husband hath even one glimpse in his dreams. but it _is_ not this only;--born full of the light of a sun from whose fount the luxuriant festoons of these beautiful valleys drink lustre so bright that beside him our suns of the north are but moons,-- we might fancy at least, like their climate they burned; and that love tho' unused in this region of spring to be thus to a tame household deity turned, would yet be all soul when abroad on the wing. and there _may_ be, there _are_ those explosions of heart which burst when the senses have first caught the flame; such fits of the blood as those climates impart, where love is a sun-stroke that maddens the frame. but that passion which springs in the depth of the soul; whose beginnings are virginly pure as the source of some small mountain rivulet destined to roll as a torrent ere long, losing peace in its course-- a course to which modesty's struggle but lends a more headlong descent without chance of recall; but which modesty even to the last edge attends, and then throws a halo of tears round its fall! this exquisite passion--ay, exquisite, even mid the ruin its madness too often hath made, as it keeps even then a bright trace of the heaven, that heaven of virtue from which it has strayed-- this entireness of love which can only be found, where woman like something that's holy, watched over, and fenced from her childhood with purity round, comes body and soul fresh as spring to a lover! where not an eye answers, where not a hand presses, till spirit with spirit in sympathy move; and the senses asleep in their sacred recesses can only be reached thro' the temple of love!-- this perfection of passion-how can it be found, where the mystery nature hath hung round the tie by which souls are together attracted and bound, is laid open for ever to heart, ear and eye;-- where naught of that innocent doubt can exist, that ignorance even than knowledge more bright, which circles the young like the morn's sunny mist, and curtains them round in their own native light;-- where experience leaves nothing for love to reveal, or for fancy in visions to gleam o'er the thought: but the truths which alone we would die to conceal from the maiden's young heart are the only ones taught. no, no, 'tis not here, howsoever we sigh, whether purely to hymen's one planet we pray, or adore, like sabaeans, each light of love's sky, here is not the region to fix or to stray. for faithless in wedlock, in gallantry gross, without honor to guard, to reserve, to restrain, what have they a husband can mourn as a loss? what have they a lover can prize as a gain? extract xii. florence. _music in italy.--disappointed by it.--recollections or other times and friends.--dalton.--sir john stevenson.--his daughter.--musical evenings together_. if it be true that music reigns, supreme, in italy's soft shades, 'tis like that harmony so famous, among the spheres, which he of samos declared had such transcendent merit that not a soul on earth could hear it; for, far as i have come--from lakes, whose sleep the tramontana breaks, thro' milan and that land which gave the hero of the rainbow vest[ ]-- by mincio's banks, and by that wave, which made verona's bard so blest-- places that (like the attic shore, which rung back music when the sea struck on its marge) should be all o'er thrilling alive with melody-- i've heard no music--not a note of such sweet native airs as float in my own land among the throng and speak our nation's soul for song. nay, even in higher walks, where art performs, as 'twere, the gardener's part, and richer if not sweeter makes the flowers she from the wild-hedge takes-- even there, no voice hath charmed my ear, no taste hath won my perfect praise, like thine, dear friend[ ]--long, truly dear-- thine, and thy loved olivia's lays. she, always beautiful, and growing still more so every note she sings-- like an inspired young sibyl,[ ] glowing with her own bright imaginings! and thou, most worthy to be tied in music to her, as in love, breathing that language by her side, all other language far above, eloquent song--whose tones and words in every heart find answering chords! how happy once the hours we past, singing or listening all daylong, till time itself seemed changed at last to music, and we lived in song! turning the leaves of haydn o'er, as quick beneath her master hand they opened all their brilliant store, like chambers, touched by fairy wand; or o'er the page of mozart bending, now by his airy warblings cheered, now in his mournful _requiem_ blending voices thro' which the heart was heard. and still, to lead our evening choir, was he invoked, thy loved-one's sire[ ]-- he who if aught of grace there be in the wild notes i write or sing, first smoothed their links of harmony, and lent them charms they did not bring;-- he, of the gentlest, simplest heart, with whom, employed in his sweet art, (that art which gives this world of ours a notion how they speak in heaven.) i've past more bright and charmed hours than all earth's wisdom could have given. oh happy days, oh early friends, how life since then hath lost its flowers! but yet--tho' time _some_ foliage rends, the stem, the friendship, still is ours; and long may it endure, as green and fresh as it hath always been! how i have wandered from my theme! but where is he, that could return to such cold subjects from a dream, thro' which these best of feelings burn?-- not all the works of science, art, or genius in this world are worth one genuine sigh that from the heart friendship or love draws freshly forth. [ ] bermago--the birthplace, it is said, of harlequin. [ ] edward tuite dalton, the first husband of sir john stevenson's daughter, the late marchioness of headfort. [ ] such as those of domenichino in the palazza borghese, at the capitol, etc. [ ] sir john stevenson. extract xiii. rome. _reflections on reading du cerceau's account of the conspiracy of rienzi, in .--the meeting of the conspirators on the night of the th of may.--their procession in the morning to the capitol.--rienzi's speech_. 'twas a proud moment--even to hear the words of truth and freedom mid these temples breathed, and see once more the forum shine with swords in the republic's sacred name unsheathed-- that glimpse, that vision of a brighter day for his dear rome, must to a roman be, short as it was, worth ages past away in the dull lapse of hopeless slavery. 'twas on a night of may, beneath that moon which had thro' many an age seen time untune the strings of this great empire, till it fell from his rude hands, a broken, silent shell-- the sound of the church clock near adrian's tomb summoned the warriors who had risen for rome, to meet unarmed,--with none to watch them there, but god's own eye,--and pass the night in prayer. holy beginning of a holy cause, when heroes girt for freedom's combat pause before high heaven, and humble in their might call down its blessing on that coming fight. at dawn, in arms went forth the patriot band; and as the breeze, fresh from the tiber, fanned their gilded gonfalons, all eyes could see the palm-tree there, the sword, the keys of heaven-- types of the justice, peace and liberty, that were to bless them when their chains were riven. on to the capitol the pageant moved, while many a shade of other times, that still around that grave of grandeur sighing roved, hung o'er their footsteps up the sacred hill and heard its mournful echoes as the last high-minded heirs of the republic past. 'twas then that thou, their tribune,[ ] (name which brought dreams of lost glory to each patriot's thought,) didst, with a spirit rome in vain shall seek to wake up in her sons again, thus speak:-- "romans, look round you--on this sacred place "there once stood shrines and gods and godlike men. "what see you now? what solitary trace "is left of all that made rome's glory then? "the shrines are sunk, the sacred mount bereft "even of its name--and nothing now remains "but the deep memory of that glory, left "to whet our pangs and aggravate our chains! "but _shall_ this be?--our sun and sky the same,-- "treading the very soil our fathers trod,-- "what withering curse hath fallen on soul and frame, "what visitation hath there come from god "to blast our strength and rot us into slaves, "_here_ on our great forefathers' glorious graves? "it cannot be--rise up, ye mighty dead,-- "if we, the living, are too weak to crush "these tyrant priests that o'er your empire tread, "till all but romans at rome's tameness blush! "happy, palmyra, in thy desert domes "where only date-trees sigh and serpents hiss; "and thou whose pillars are but silent homes "for the stork's brood, superb persepolis! "thrice happy both, that your extinguisht race "have left no embers--no half-living trace-- "no slaves to crawl around the once proud spot, "till past renown in present shame's forgot. "while rome, the queen of all, whose very wrecks, "if lone and lifeless thro' a desert hurled, "would wear more true magnificence than decks "the assembled thrones of all the existing world-- "rome, rome alone, is haunted, stained and curst, "thro' every spot her princely tiber laves, "by living human things--the deadliest, worst, "this earth engenders--tyrants and their slaves! "and we--oh shame!--we who have pondered o'er "the patriot's lesson and the poet's lay;[ ] "have mounted up the streams of ancient lore, "tracking our country's glories all the way-- "even _we_ have tamely, basely kist the ground "before that papal power,--that ghost of her, "the world's imperial mistress--sitting crowned "and ghastly on her mouldering sepulchre![ ] "but this is past:--too long have lordly priests "and priestly lords led us, with all our pride "withering about us--like devoted beasts, "dragged to the shrine, with faded garlands tied. "'tis o'er--the dawn of our deliverance breaks! "up from his sleep of centuries awakes "the genius of the old republic, free "as first he stood, in chainless majesty, "and sends his voice thro' ages yet to come, "proclaiming rome, rome, rome, eternal rome!" [ ] rienzi. [ ] the fine canzone of petrarch, beginning _"spirto gentil,"_ is supposed, by voltaire and others, to have been addressed to rienzi; but there is much more evidence of its having been written, as ginguené asserts, to the young stephen colonna, on his being created a senator of rome. [ ] this image is borrowed from hobbes, whose words are, as near as i can recollect:--"for what is the papacy, but the ghost of the old roman empire, sitting crowned on the grave thereof?" extract xiv. rome. _fragment of a dream.--the great painters supposed to be magicians.--the beginnings of the art.--gildings on the glories and draperies.-- improvements under giotto, etc.--the first dawn of the true style in masaccio.--studied by all the great artists who followed him.--leonardo da vinci, with whom commenced the golden age of painting.--his knowledge of mathematics and of music.--his female heads all like each other.-- triangular faces.--portraits of mona lisa, etc.--picture of vanity and modesty.--his_ chef-d'oeuvre, _the last supper.--faded and almost effaced_. filled with the wonders i had seen in rome's stupendous shrines and halls, i felt the veil of sleep serene come o'er the memory of each scene, as twilight o'er the landscape falls. nor was it slumber, sound and deep, but such as suits a poet's rest-- that sort of thin, transparent sleep, thro' which his day-dreams shine the best. methought upon a plain i stood, where certain wondrous men, 'twas said, with strange, miraculous power endued, were coming each in turn to shed his art's illusions o'er the sight and call up miracles of light. the sky above this lonely place, was of that cold, uncertain hue, the canvas wears ere, warmed apace, its bright creation dawns to view. but soon a glimmer from the east proclaimed the first enchantments nigh;[ ] and as the feeble light increased, strange figures moved across the sky, with golden glories deckt and streaks of gold among their garments' dyes;[ ] and life's resemblance tinged their cheeks, but naught of life was in their eyes;-- like the fresh-painted dead one meets, borne slow along rome's mournful streets. but soon these figures past away; and forms succeeded to their place with less of gold in their array, but shining with more natural grace, and all could see the charming wands had past into more gifted hands. among these visions there was one,[ ] surpassing fair, on which the sun, that instant risen, a beam let fall, which thro' the dusky twilight trembled. and reached at length the spot where all those great magicians stood assembled. and as they turned their heads to view the shining lustre, i could trace the bright varieties it threw on each uplifted studying face:[ ] while many a voice with loud acclaim called forth, "masaccio" as the name of him, the enchanter, who had raised this miracle on which all gazed. 'twas daylight now--the sun had risen from out the dungeon of old night.-- like the apostle from his prison led by the angel's hand of light; and--as the fetters, when that ray of glory reached them, dropt away.[ ] so fled the clouds at touch of day! just then a bearded sage came forth,[ ] who oft in thoughtful dream would stand, to trace upon the dusky earth strange learned figures with his wand; and oft he took the silver lute his little page behind him bore, and waked such music as, when mute, left in the soul a thirst for more! meanwhile his potent spells went on, and forms and faces that from out a depth of shadow mildly shone were in the soft air seen about. tho' thick as midnight stars they beamed, yet all like living sisters seemed, so close in every point resembling each other's beauties--from the eyes lucid as if thro' crystal trembling, yet soft as if suffused with sighs, to the long, fawn-like mouth, and chin, lovelily tapering, less and less, till by this very charm's excess, like virtue on the verge of sin, it touched the bounds of ugliness. here lookt as when they lived the shades of some of arno's dark-eyed maids-- such maids as should alone live on in dreams thus when their charms are gone: some mona lisa on whose eyes a painter for whole years might gaze,[ ] nor find in all his pallet's dyes one that could even approach their blaze! here float two spirit shapes,[ ] the one, with her white fingers to the sun outspread as if to ask his ray whether it e'er had chanced to play on lilies half so fair as they! this self-pleased nymph was vanity-- and by her side another smiled, in form as beautiful as she, but with that air subdued and mild, that still reserve of purity, which is to beauty like the haze of evening to some sunny view, softening such charms as it displays and veiling others in that hue, which fancy only can see thro'! this phantom nymph, who could she be, but the bright spirit, modesty? long did the learned enchanter stay to weave his spells and still there past, as in the lantern's shifting play group after group in close array, each fairer, grander, than the last. but the great triumph of his power was yet to come:--gradual and slow, (as all that is ordained to tower among the works of man must grow,) the sacred vision stole to view, in that half light, half shadow shown, which gives to even the gayest hue a sobered, melancholy tone. it was a vision of that last,[ ] sorrowful night which jesus past with his disciples when he said mournfully to them--"i shall be "betrayed by one who here hath fed "this night at the same board with me." and tho' the saviour in the dream spoke not these words, we saw them beam legibly in his eyes (so well the great magician workt his spell), and read in every thoughtful line imprinted on that brow divine. the meek, the tender nature, grieved, not angered to be thus deceived-- celestial love requited ill for all its care, yet loving still-- deep, deep regret that there should fall from man's deceit so foul a blight upon that parting hour--and all _his_ spirit must have felt that night. who, soon to die for human-kind, thought only, mid his mortal pain, how many a soul was left behind for whom he died that death in vain! such was the heavenly scene--alas! that scene so bright so soon should pass but pictured on the humid air, its tints, ere long, grew languid there;[ ] and storms came on, that, cold and rough, scattered its gentlest glories all-- as when the baffling winds blow off the hues that hang o'er terni's fall,-- till one by one the vision's beams faded away and soon it fled. to join those other vanisht dreams that now flit palely 'mong the dead,-- the shadows of those shades that go. around oblivion's lake below! [ ] the paintings of those artists who were introduced into venice and florence from greece. [ ] margaritone of orezzo, who was a pupil and imitator of the greeks, is said to have invented this art of gilding the ornaments of pictures, a practice which, though it gave way to a purer taste at the beginning of the th century, was still occasionally used by many of the great masters: as by raphael in the ornaments of the fornarina, and by rubens not unfrequently in glories and flames. [ ] the works of masaccio.--for the character of this powerful and original genius, see sir joshua reynolds's twelfth discourse. his celebrated frescoes are in the church of st. pietro del carmine, at florence. [ ] all the great artists studies, and many of them borrowed from masaccio. several figures in the cartoons of raphael are taken, with but little alteration, from his frescoes. [ ] "and a light shined in the prison ... and his chains fell off from his hands."--_acts_. [ ] leonardo da vinci. [ ] he is said to have been four years employed upon the portrait of this fair florentine, without being able, after all, to come up to his idea of her beauty. [ ] vanity and modesty in the collection of cardinal fesch, at rome. the composition of the four hands here is rather awkward, but the picture, altogether, is very delightful. there is a repetition of the subject in the possession of lucien bonaparte. [ ] the last supper of leonardo da vinci, which is in the refectory of the convent delle grazie at milan. [ ] leonardo appears to have used a mixture of oil and varnish for this picture, which alone, without the various other causes of its ruin, would have prevented any long duration of its beauties. it is now almost entirely effaced. extract xv. rome. _mary magdalen.--her story.--numerous pictures of her.--correggio--guido --raphael, etc.--canova's two exquisite statues.--the somariva magdalen. --chantrey's admiration of canova's works_. no wonder, mary, that thy story touches all hearts--for there we see thee. the soul's corruption and its glory, its death and life combine in thee. from the first moment when we find thy spirit haunted by a swarm of dark desires,--like demons shrined unholily in that fair form,-- till when by touch of heaven set free, thou camest, with those bright locks of gold (so oft the gaze of bethany), and covering in their precious fold thy saviour's feet didst shed such tears as paid, each drop, the sins of years!-- thence on thro' all thy course of love to him, thy heavenly master,--him whose bitter death-cup from above had yet this cordial round the brim, that woman's faith and love stood fast and fearless by him to the last:-- till, oh! blest boon for truth like thine! thou wert of all the chosen one, before whose eyes that face divine when risen from the dead first shone; that thou might'st see how, like a cloud, had past away its mortal shroud, and make that bright revealment known to hearts less trusting than thy own. all is affecting, cheering, grand; the kindliest record ever given, even under god's own kindly hand, of what repentance wins from heaven! no wonder, mary, that thy face, in all its touching light of tears, should meet us in each holy place, where man before his god appears, hopeless--were he not taught to see all hope in him who pardoned thee! no wonder that the painter's skill should oft have triumpht in the power of keeping thee all lovely still even in thy sorrow's bitterest hour; that soft correggio should diffuse his melting shadows round thy form; that guido's pale, unearthly hues should in portraying thee grow warm; that all--from the ideal, grand, inimitable roman hand, down to the small, enameling touch of smooth carlino--should delight in picturing her, "who loved so much," and was, in spite of sin, so bright! but mary, 'mong these bold essays of genius and of art to raise a semblance of those weeping eyes-- a vision worthy of the sphere thy faith has earned thee in the skies, and in the hearts of all men here,-- none e'er hath matched, in grief or grace, canova's day-dream of thy face, in those bright sculptured forms, more bright with true expression's breathing light, than ever yet beneath the stroke of chisel into life awoke. the one,[ ] portraying what thou wert in thy first grief,--while yet the flower of those young beauties was unhurt by sorrow's slow, consuming power; and mingling earth's seductive grace with heaven's subliming thoughts so well, we doubt, while gazing, in _which_ place such beauty was most formed to dwell!-- the other, as thou look'dst, when years of fasting, penitence and tears had worn thy frame;--and ne'er did art with half such speaking power express the ruin which a breaking heart spreads by degrees o'er loveliness. those wasting arms, that keep the trace, even still, of all their youthful grace, that loosened hair of which thy brow was once so proud,--neglected now!-- those features even in fading worth the freshest bloom to others given, and those sunk eyes now lost to earth but to the last still full of heaven! wonderful artist! praise, like mine-- tho' springing from a soul that feels deep worship of those works divine where genius all his light reveals-- how weak 'tis to the words that came from him, thy peer in art and fame,[ ] whom i have known, by day, by night, hang o'er thy marble with delight; and while his lingering hand would steal o'er every grace the taper's rays[ ] give thee with all the generous zeal such master spirits only feel, that best of fame, a rival's prize! [ ] this statue is one of the last works of canova, and was not yet in marble when i left rome. the other, which seems to prove, in contradiction to very high authority, that expression of the intensest kind is fully within the sphere of sculpture, was executed many years ago, and is in the possession of the count somariva at paris. [ ] chantrey. [ ] canova always shows his fine statue, the venere vincitrice, by the light of a small candle. extract xvi. les charmettes. _a visit to the house where rousseau lived with madame de warrens.-- their menage.--its grossness.--claude anet.--reverence with which the spot is now visited.--absurdity of this blind devotion to fame.--feelings excited by the beauty and seclusion of the scene. disturbed by its associations with rousseau's history.--impostures of men of genius.--their power of mimicking all the best feelings, love, independence, etc_. strange power of genius, that can throw round all that's vicious, weak, and low, such magic lights, such rainbows dyes as dazzle even the steadiest eyes. * * * * * 'tis worse than weak--'tis wrong, 'tis shame, this mean prostration before fame; this casting down beneath the car of idols, whatsoe'er they are, life's purest, holiest decencies, to be careered o'er as they please. no--give triumphant genius all for which his loftiest wish can call: if he be worshipt, let it be for attributes, his noblest, first; not with that base idolatry which sanctifies his last and worst. i may be cold;--may want that glow of high romance which bards should know; that holy homage which is felt in treading where the great have dwelt; this reverence, whatsoe'er it be, i fear, i feel, i have it _not_:-- for here at this still hour, to me the charms of this delightful spot, its calm seclusion from the throng, from all the heart would fain forget, this narrow valley and the song of its small murmuring rivulet, the flitting to and fro of birds, tranquil and tame as they were once in eden ere the startling words of man disturbed their orisons, those little, shadowy paths that wind up the hillside, with fruit-trees lined and lighted only by the breaks the gay wind in the foliage makes, or vistas here and there that ope thro' weeping willows, like the snatches of far-off scenes of light, which hope even tho' the shade of sadness catches!-- all this, which--could i once but lose the memory of those vulgar ties whose grossness all the heavenliest hues of genius can no more disguise than the sun's beams can do away the filth of fens o'er which they play-- this scene which would have filled my heart with thoughts of all that happiest is;-- of love where self hath only part, as echoing back another's bliss; of solitude secure and sweet. beneath whose shade the virtues meet. which while it shelters never chills our sympathies with human woe, but keeps them like sequestered rills purer and fresher in their flow; of happy days that share their beams 'twixt quiet mirth and wise employ; of tranquil nights that give in dreams the moonlight of the morning's joy!-- all this my heart could dwell on here, but for those gross mementoes near; those sullying truths that cross the track of each sweet thought and drive them back full into all the mire and strife and vanities of that man's life, who more than all that e'er have glowed with fancy's flame (and it was _his_, in fullest warmth and radiance) showed what an impostor genius is; how with that strong, mimetic art which forms its life and soul, it takes all shapes of thought, all hues of heart, nor feels itself one throb it wakes; how like a gem its light may smile o'er the dark path by mortals trod, itself as mean a worm the while as crawls at midnight o'er the sod; what gentle words and thoughts may fall from its false lip, what zeal to bless, while home, friends, kindred, country, all, lie waste beneath its selfishness; how with the pencil hardly dry from coloring up such scenes of love and beauty as make young hearts sigh and dream and think thro' heaven they rove, they who can thus describe and move, the very workers of these charms, nor seek nor know a joy above some maman's or theresa's arms! how all in short that makes the boast of their false tongues they want the most; and while with freedom on their lips, sounding their timbrels, to set free this bright world, laboring in the eclipse of priestcraft and of slavery,-- they may themselves be slaves as low as ever lord or patron made to blossom in his smile or grow like stunted brushwood in his shade. out on the craft!--i'd rather be one of those hinds that round me tread, with just enough of sense to see the noonday sun that's o'er his head, than thus with high-built genius curst, that hath no heart for its foundation, be all at once that's brightest, worst, sublimest, meanest in creation! corruption, and intolerance. two poems. addressed to an englishman by an irishman. preface. the practice which has been lately introduced into literature, of writing very long notes upon very indifferent verses, appears to me a rather happy invention, as it supplies us with a mode of turning dull poetry to account; and as horses too heavy for the saddle may yet serve well enough to draw lumber, so poems of this kind make excellent beasts of burden and will bear notes though they may not bear reading. besides, the comments in such cases are so little under the necessity of paying any servile deference to the text, that they may even adopt that socratic, "_quod supra nos nihil ad nos."_ in the first of the two following poems, i have ventured to speak of the revolution of , in language which has sometimes been employed by tory writers and which is therefore neither very new nor popular. but however an englishman might be reproached with ingratitude for depreciating the merits and results of a measure which he is taught to regard as the source of his liberties--however ungrateful it might appear in alderman birch to question for a moment the purity of that glorious era to which he is indebted for the seasoning of so many orations--yet an irishman who has none of these obligations to acknowledge, to whose country the revolution brought nothing but injury and insult, and who recollects that the book of molyneux was burned by order of william's whig parliament for daring to extend to unfortunate ireland those principles on which the revolution was professedly founded--an irishman _may_ be allowed to criticise freely the measures of that period without exposing himself either to the imputation of ingratitude or to the suspicion of being influenced by any popish remains of jacobitism. no nation, it is true, was ever blessed with a more golden opportunity of establishing and securing its liberties for ever than the conjuncture of eighty-eight presented to the people of great britain. but the disgraceful reigns of charles and james had weakened and degraded the national character. the bold notions of popular right which had arisen out of the struggles between charles the first and his parliament were gradually supplanted by those slavish doctrines for which lord hawkesbury eulogizes the churchmen of that period, and as the reformation had happened too soon for the purity of religion, so the revolution came too late for the spirit of liberty. its advantages accordingly were for the most part specious and transitory, while the evils which it entailed are still felt and still increasing. by rendering unnecessary the frequent exercise of prerogative,--that unwieldy power which cannot move a step without alarm,--it diminished the only interference of the crown, which is singly and independently exposed before the people, and whose abuses therefore are obvious to their senses and capabilities. like the myrtle over a celebrated statue in minerva's temple at athens, it skilfully veiled from the public eye the only obtrusive feature of royalty. at the same time, however, that the revolution abridged this unpopular attribute, it amply compensated by the substitution of a new power, as much more potent in its effect as it is more secret in its operations. in the disposal of an immense revenue and the extensive patronage annexed to it, the first foundations of this power of the crown were laid; the innovation of a standing army at once increased and strengthened it, and the few slight barriers which the act of settlement opposed to its progress have all been gradually removed during the whiggish reigns that succeeded; till at length this spirit of influence has become the vital principle of the state,--an agency, subtle and unseen, which pervades every part of the constitution, lurks under all its forms and regulates all its movements, and, like the invisible sylph or grace which presides over the motions of beauty, "_illam, quicquid agit, quoquo westigia flectit, componit furlim subsequiturque."_ the cause of liberty and the revolution are so habitually associated in the minds of englishmen that probably in objecting to the latter i may be thought hostile or indifferent to the former. but assuredly nothing could be more unjust than such a suspicion. the very object indeed which my humble animadversions would attain is that in the crisis to which i think england is now hastening, and between which and foreign subjugation she may soon be compelled to choose, the errors and omissions of should be remedied; and, as it was then her fate to experience a revolution without reform, so she may now endeavor to accomplish a reform without revolution. in speaking of the parties which have so long agitated england, it will be observed that i lean as little to the whigs as to their adversaries. both factions have been equally cruel to ireland and perhaps equally insincere in their efforts for the liberties of england. there is one name indeed connected with whiggism, of which i can never think but with veneration and tenderness. as justly, however, might the light of the sun be claimed by any particular nation as the sanction of that name be monopolized by any party whatsoever. mr. fox belonged to mankind and they have lost in him their ablest friend. with respect to the few lines upon intolerance, which i have subjoined, they are but the imperfect beginning of a long series of essays with which i here menace my readers upon the same important subject. i shall look to no higher merit in the task than that of giving a new form to claims and remonstrances which have often been much more eloquently urged and which would long ere now have produced their effect, but that the minds of some of our statesmen, like the pupil of the human eye, contract themselves the more, the stronger light is shed upon them. corruption, an epistle. boast on, my friend--tho' stript of all beside, thy struggling nation still retains her pride: that pride which once in genuine glory woke when marlborough fought and brilliant st. john spoke; that pride which still, by time and shame unstung, outlives even whitelocke's sword and hawkesbury's tongue! boast on, my friend, while in this humbled isle[ ] where honor mourns and freedom fears to smile, where the bright light of england's fame is known but by the shadow o'er our fortunes thrown; where, doomed ourselves to naught but wrongs and slights,[ ] we hear you boast of britain's glorious rights, as wretched slaves that under hatches lie hear those on deck extol the sun and sky! boast on, while wandering thro' my native haunts, i coldly listen to thy patriot vaunts; and feel, tho' close our wedded countries twine, more sorrow for my own than pride from thine. yet pause a moment--and if truths severe can find an inlet to that courtly ear, which hears no news but ward's gazetted lies, and loves no politics in rhyme but pye's,-- if aught can please thee but the good old saws of "church and state," and "william's matchless laws," and "acts and rights of glorious eighty-eight,"-- things which tho' now a century out of date still serve to ballast with convenient words, a few crank arguments for speeching lords,-- turn while i tell how england's freedom found, where most she lookt for life, her deadliest wound; how brave she struggled while her foe was seen, how faint since influence lent that foe a screen; how strong o'er james and popery she prevailed, how weakly fell when whigs and gold assailed. while kings were poor and all those schemes unknown which drain the people to enrich the throne; ere yet a yielding commons had supplied those chains of gold by which themselves are tied, then proud prerogative, untaught to creep with bribery's silent foot on freedom's sleep, frankly avowed his bold enslaving plan and claimed a right from god to trample man! but luther's schism had too much roused mankind for hampden's truths to linger long behind; nor then, when king-like popes had fallen so low, could pope-like kings escape the levelling blow.[ ] that ponderous sceptre (in whose place we bow to the light talisman of influence now), too gross, too visible to work the spell which modern power performs, in fragments fell: in fragments lay, till, patched and painted o'er with fleurs-de-lis, it shone and scourged once more. 'twas then, my friend, thy kneeling nation quaft long, long and deep, the churchman's opiate draught of passive, prone obedience--then took flight all sense of man's true dignity and right; and britons slept so sluggish in their chain that freedom's watch-voice called almost in vain. oh england! england! what a chance was thine, when the last tyrant of that ill-starred line fled from his sullied crown and left thee free to found thy own eternal liberty! how nobly high in that propitious hour might patriot hands have raised the triple tower[ ] of british freedom on a rock divine which neither force could storm nor treachery mine! but no--the luminous, the lofty plan, like mighty babel, seemed too bold for man; the curse of jarring tongues again was given to thwart a work which raised men nearer heaven. while tories marred what whigs had scarce begun, while whigs undid what whigs themselves had done. the hour was lost and william with a smile saw freedom weeping o'er the unfinisht pile! hence all the ills you suffer,--hence remain such galling fragments of that feudal chain[ ] whose links, around you by the norman flung, tho' loosed and broke so often, still have clung. hence sly prerogative like jove of old has turned his thunder into showers of gold, whose silent courtship wins securer joys, taints by degrees, and ruins without noise. while parliaments, no more those sacred things which make and rule the destiny of kings. like loaded dice by ministers are thrown, and each new set of sharpers cog their own. hence the rich oil that from the treasury steals drips smooth o'er all the constitution's wheels, giving the old machine such pliant play[ ] that court and commons jog one joltless way, while wisdom trembles for the crazy car, so gilt, so rotten, carrying fools so far; and the duped people, hourly doomed to pay the sums that bribe their liberties away,[ ]-- like a young eagle who has lent his plume to fledge the shaft by which he meets his doom,-- see their own feathers pluckt, to wing the dart which rank corruption destines for their heart! but soft! methinks i hear thee proudly say, "what! shall i listen to the impious lay "that dares with tory license to profane "the bright bequests of william's glorious reign? "shall the great wisdom of our patriot sires, "whom hawkesbury quotes and savory birch admires, "be slandered thus? shall honest steele agree "with virtuous rose to call us pure and free, "yet fail to prove it? shall our patent pair "of wise state-poets waste their words in air, "and pye unheeded breathe his prosperous strain, "and canning _take the people's sense_ in vain?" the people!--ah! that freedom's form should stay where freedom's spirit long hath past away! that a false smile should play around the dead and flush the features when the soul hath fled![ ] when rome had lost her virtue with her rights, when her foul tyrant sat on capreae's heights,[ ] amid his ruffian spies and doomed to death each noble name they blasted with their breath,-- even then, (in mockery of that golden time, when the republic rose revered, sublime, and her proud sons, diffused from zone to zone, gave kings to every nation but their own,) even then the senate and the tribunes stood, insulting marks, to show how high the flood of freedom flowed, in glory's bygone day, and how it ebbed,--for ever ebbed away![ ] look but around--tho' yet a tyrant's sword nor haunts our sleep nor glitters o'er our board, tho' blood be better drawn, by modern quacks, with treasury leeches than with sword or axe; yet say, could even a prostrate tribune's power or a mock senate in rome's servile hour insult so much the claims, the rights of man, as doth that fettered mob, that free divan, of noble tools and honorable knaves, of pensioned patriots and privileged slaves;-- that party-colored mass which naught can warm but rank corruption's heat--whose quickened swarm spread their light wings in bribery's golden sky, buzz for a period, lay their eggs and die;-- that greedy vampire which from freedom's tomb comes forth with all the mimicry of bloom upon its lifeless cheek and sucks and drains a people's blood to feel its putrid veins! thou start'st, my friend, at picture drawn so dark-- "is there no light?"--thou ask'st--"no lingering spark "of ancient fire to warm us? lives there none, "to act a marvell's part?"[ ]--alas! not one. _to_ place and power all public spirit tends, _in_ place and power all public spirit ends; like hardy plants that love the air and sky, when _out_, 'twill thrive--but taken _in_, 'twill die! not bolder truths of sacred freedom hung from sidney's pen or burned on fox's tongue, than upstart whigs produce each market-night, while yet their conscience, as their purse, is light; while debts at home excite their care for those which, dire to tell, their much-loved country owes, and loud and upright, till their prize be known, they thwart the king's supplies to raise their own. but bees on flowers alighting cease their hum-- so, settling upon places, whigs grow dumb. and, tho' most base is he who, 'neath the shade of freedom's ensign plies corruption's trade, and makes the sacred flag he dares to show his passport to the market of her foe, yet, yet, i own, so venerably dear are freedom's grave old anthems to my ear, that i enjoy them, tho' by traitors sung, and reverence scripture even from satan's tongue. nay, when the constitution has expired, i'll have such men, like irish wakers, hired to chant old "_habeas corpus_" by its side, and ask in purchased ditties why it died? see yon smooth lord whom nature's plastic pains would seem to've fashioned for those eastern reigns when eunuchs flourisht, and such nerveless things as men rejected were the chosen of kings;--[ ] even _he_, forsooth, (oh fraud, of all the worst!) dared to assume the patriot's name at first-- thus pitt began, and thus begin his apes; thus devils when _first_ raised take pleasing shapes. but oh, poor ireland! if revenge be sweet for centuries of wrong, for dark deceit and withering insult--for the union thrown into thy bitter cup when that alone of slavery's draught was wanting[ ]--if for this revenge be sweet, thou _hast_ that daemon's bliss; for sure 'tis more than hell's revenge to fee that england trusts the men who've ruined thee:-- that in these awful days when every hour creates some new or blasts some ancient power, when proud napoleon like the enchanted shield whose light compelled each wondering foe to yield, with baleful lustre blinds the brave and free and dazzles europe into slavery,-- that in this hour when patriot zeal should guide, when mind should rule and--fox should _not_ have died, all that devoted england can oppose to enemies made fiends and friends made foes, is the rank refuse, the despised remains of that unpitying power, whose whips and chains drove ireland first to turn with harlot glance towards other shores and woo the embrace of france;-- those hacked and tainted tools, so foully fit for the grand artisan of mischief, pitt, so useless ever but in vile employ, so weak to save, so vigorous to destroy-- such are the men that guard thy threatened shore, oh england! sinking england! boast no more. [ ] england began very early to feel the effects of cruelty towards her dependencies. "the severity of her government [says macpherson] contributed more to deprive her of the continental dominions of the family of the plantagenet than the arms of france."--see his _history_, vol. i. [ ] "by the total reduction of the kingdom of ireland in [says burke], the ruin of the native irish, and in a great measure, too, of the first races of the english, was completely accomplished. the new english interested was settled with as solid a stability as anything in human affairs can look for. all the penal laws of that unparalleled code of oppression, which were made after the last event, were manifestly the effects of national hatred and scorn towards a conquered people, whom the victors delighted to trample upon, and were not at all afraid to provoke." yet this is the era to which the wise common council of dublin refer us for "invaluable blessings," etc. [ ] the drivelling correspondence between james i and his "dog steenie" (the duke of buckingham), which we find among the hardwicke papers, sufficiently shows, if we wanted any such illustration, into what doting, idiotic brains the plan at arbitrary power may enter. [ ] tacitus has expressed his opinion, in a passage very frequently quoted, that such a distribution of power as the theory of the british constitution exhibits is merely a subject of bright speculation, "a system more easily praised than practised, and which, even could it happen to exist, would certainly not prove permanent;" and, in truth, a review of england's annals would dispose us to agree with the great historian's remark. for we find that at no period whatever has this balance of the three estates existed; that the nobles predominated till the policy of henry vii, and his successor reduced their weight by breaking up the feudal system of property; that the power of the crown became then supreme and absolute, till the bold encroachments of the commons subverted the fabric altogether; that the alternate ascendency of prerogative and privilege distracted the period which followed the restoration; and that lastly, the acts of , by laying the foundation of an unbounded court- influence, have secured a preponderance to the throne, which every succeeding year increases. so that the vaunted british constitution has never perhaps existed but in mere theory. [ ] the last great wound given to the feudal system was the act of the th of charles ii, which abolished the tenure of knight's service _in capite_, and which blackstone compares, for its salutary influence upon property, to the boasted provisions of magna charta itself. yet even in this act we see the effects of that counteracting spirit which has contrived to weaken every effort of the english nation towards liberty. [ ] "they drove so fast [says wellwood of the ministers of charles i.], that it was no wonder that the wheels and chariot broke."--(_memoirs_ p. .) [ ] among those auxiliaries which the revolution of marshalled on the side of the throne, the bugbear of popery has not been the least convenient and serviceable. those unskilful tyrants, charles and james, instead of profiting by that useful subserviency which has always distinguished the ministers of our religious establishment, were so infatuated as to plan the ruin of this best bulwark of their power and moreover connected their designs upon the church so undisguisedly with their attacks upon the constitution that they identified in the minds of the people the interests of their religion and their liberties. during those times therefore "no popery" was the watchword of freedom and served to keep the public spirit awake against the invasions of bigotry and prerogative. [ ] "it is a scandal [said sir charles sedley in william's reign] that a government so sick at heart as ours is should look so well in the face." [ ] the senate still continued, during the reign of tiberius, to manage all the business of the public: the money was then and long after coined by their authority, and every other public affair received their sanction. [ ] there is something very touching in what tacitus tells us of the hopes that revived in a few patriot bosoms, when the death of augustus was near approaching, and the fond expectation with which they already began "_bona libertatis incassum disserere_." [ ] andrew marvell, the honest opposer of the court during the reign of charles the second, and the last member of parliament who, according to the ancient mode, took wages from his constituents. the commons have, since then, much changed their pay-masters. [ ] according to xenophon, the chief circumstance which recommended these creatures to the service of eastern princes was the ignominious station they held in society, and the probability of their being, upon this account, more devoted to the will and caprice of a master, from whose notice alone they derived consideration, and in whose favor they might seek refuge from the general contempt of mankind. [ ] among the many measures, which, since the revolution, have contributed to increase the influence of the throne, and to feed up this "aaron's serpent" of the constitution to its present healthy and respectable magnitude, there have been few more nutritive than the scotch and irish unions. intolerance, a satire. "this clamor which pretends to be raised for the safety of religion has almost worn put the very appearance of it, and rendered us not only the most divided but the most immoral people upon the face of the earth." addison, _freeholder_, no. . start not, my friend, nor think the muse will stain her classic fingers with the dust profane of bulls, decrees and all those thundering scrolls which took such freedom once with royal souls,[ ] when heaven was yet the pope's exclusive trade, and kings were _damned_ as fast as now they're _made_, no, no--let duigenan search the papal chair for fragrant treasures long forgotten there; and, as the witch of sunless lapland thinks that little swarthy gnomes delight in stinks, let sallow perceval snuff up the gale which wizard duigenan's gathered sweets exhale. enough for me whose heart has learned to scorn bigots alike in rome or england born, who loathe the venom whence-soe'er it springs, from popes or lawyers,[ ] pastrycooks or kings,-- enough for me to laugh and weep by turns, as mirth provokes or indignation burns, as canning vapors or as france succeeds, as hawkesbury proses, or as ireland bleeds! and thou, my friend, if, in these headlong days, when bigot zeal her drunken antics plays so near a precipice, that men the while look breathless on and shudder while they smile-- if in such fearful days thou'lt dare to look to hapless ireland, to this rankling nook which heaven hath freed from poisonous things in vain, while gifford's tongue and musgrave's pen remain-- if thou hast yet no golden blinkers got to shade thine eyes from this devoted spot, whose wrongs tho' blazoned o'er the world they be, placemen alone are privileged _not_ to see-- oh! turn awhile, and tho' the shamrock wreathes my homely harp, yet shall the song it breathes of ireland's slavery and of ireland's woes live when the memory of her tyrant foes shall but exist, all future knaves to warn, embalmed in hate and canonized by scorn. when castlereagh in sleep still more profound than his own opiate tongue now deals around, shall wait the impeachment of that awful day which even _his_ practised hand can't bribe away. yes, my dear friend, wert thou but near me now, to see how spring lights up on erin's brow smiles that shine out unconquerably fair even thro' the blood-marks left by camden there,--[ ] couldst thou but see what verdure paints the sod which none but tyrants and their slaves have trod, and didst thou know the spirit, kind and brave, that warms the soul of each insulted slave, who tired with struggling sinks beneath his lot and seems by all but watchful france forgot--[ ] thy heart would burn--yes, even thy pittite heart would burn to think that such a blooming part of the world's garden, rich in nature's charms and filled with social souls and vigorous arms, should be the victim of that canting crew, so smooth, so godly,--yet so devilish too; who, armed at once with prayer-books and with whips, blood on their hands and scripture on their lips, tyrants by creed and tortures by text, make _this_ life hell in honor of the _next_! your redesdales, percevals,--great, glorious heaven, if i'm presumptuous, be my tongue forgiven, when here i swear by my soul's hope of rest, i'd rather have been born ere man was blest with the pure dawn of revelation's light, yes,--rather plunge me back in pagan night, and take my chance with socrates for bliss,[ ] than be the christian of a faith like this, which builds on heavenly cant its earthly sway and in a convert mourns to lose a prey; which, grasping human hearts with double hold,-- like danäe's lover mixing god and gold,[ ]-- corrupts both state and church and makes an oath the knave and atheist's passport into both; which, while it dooms dissenting souls to know nor bliss above nor liberty below, adds the slave's suffering to the sinner's fear, and lest he 'scape hereafter racks him here! but no--far other faith, far milder beams of heavenly justice warm the christian's dreams; _his_ creed is writ on mercy's page above, by the pure hands of all-atoning love; _he_ weeps to see abused religion twine round tyranny's coarse brow her wreath divine; and _he_, while round him sects and nations raise to the one god their varying notes of praise, blesses each voice, whate'er its tone may be, that serves to swell the general harmony.[ ] such was the spirit, gently, grandly bright, that filled, oh fox! thy peaceful soul with light; while free and spacious as that ambient air which folds our planet in its circling care, the mighty sphere of thy transparent mind embraced the world, and breathed for all mankind. last of the great, farewell!--yet _not_ the last-- tho' britain's sunshine hour with thee be past, ierne still one ray of glory gives and feels but half thy loss while grattan lives. [ ] the king-deposing doctrine, notwithstanding its many mischievous absurdities, was of no little service to the cause of political liberty, by inculcating the right of resistance to tyrants and asserting the will of the people to be the only true fountain of power. [ ] when innocent x. was entreated to decide the controversy between the jesuits and the jansenists, he answered, that "he had been bred a lawyer, and had therefore nothing to do with divinity." it were to be wished that some of our english pettifoggers knew their own fit element as well as pope innocent x. [ ] not the camden who speaks thus of ireland:--"to wind up all, whether we regard the fruitfulness of the soil, the advantage of the sea, with so many commodious havens, or the natives themselves, who are warlike, ingenious, handsome, and well-complexioned, soft-skinned and very nimble, by reason of the pliantness of their muscles, this island is in many respects so happy, that giraldus might very well say, 'nature had regarded with more favorable eyes than ordinary this kingdom of zephyr.'" [ ] the example of toleration, which bonaparte has held forth, will, i fear, produce no other effect than that of determining the british government to persist, from the very spirit of opposition, in their own old system of intolerance and injustice: just as the siamese blacken their teeth, "because," as they say, "the devil has white ones." [ ] in a singular work, written by one franciscus collius, "upon the souls of the pagans," the author discusses, with much coolness and erudition, all the probable chances of salvation upon which a heathen philosopher might calculate. consigning to perdition without much difficulty plato, socrates, etc., the only sage at whose fate he seems to hesitate is pythagoras, in consideration of his golden thigh, and the many miracles which he performed. but having balanced a little his claims and finding reason to father all these miracles on the devil, he at length, in the twenty-fifth chapter, decides upon damning him also. [ ] mr. fox, in his speech on the repeal of the test act ( ), thus condemns the intermixture of religion with the political constitution of a state:--"what purpose [he asks] can it serve, except the baleful purpose of communicating and receiving contamination? under such an alliance corruption must alight upon the one, and slavery overwhelm the other." [ ] both bayle and locke would have treated the subject of toleration in a manner much more worthy of themselves and of the cause if they had written in an age less distracted by religious prejudices. the sceptic, a philosophical satire. preface. the sceptical philosophy of the ancients has been no less misrepresented than the epicurean. pyrrho may perhaps have carried it to rather an irrational excess;--but we must not believe with beattie all the absurdities imputed to this philosopher; and it appears to me that the doctrines of the school, as explained by sextus empiricus, are far more suited to the wants and infirmities of human reason as well as more conducive to the mild virtues of humility and patience, than any of those systems of philosophy which preceded the introduction of christianity. the sceptics may be said to have held a middle path between the dogmatists and academicians; the former of whom boasted that they had attained the truth while the latter denied that any attainable truth existed. the sceptics however, without either asserting or denying its existence, professed to be modestly and anxiously in search of it; or, as st. augustine expresses it, in his liberal tract against the manichaeans, "_nemo nostrum dicat jam se invenisse veritatem; sic eam quoeramus quasi ab utrisque nesciatur_." from this habit of impartial investigation and the necessity which it imposed upon them of studying not only every system of philosophy but every art and science which professed to lay its basis in truth, they necessarily took a wider range of erudition and were far more travelled in the regions of philosophy than those whom conviction or bigotry had domesticated in any particular system. it required all the learning of dogmatism to overthrow the dogmatism of learning; and the sceptics may be said to resemble in this respect that ancient incendiary who stole from the altar the fire with which he destroyed the temple. this advantage over all the other sects is allowed to them even by lipsius, whose treatise on the miracles of the virgo hallensis will sufficiently save him from all suspicion of scepticism. "_labore, ingenio, memoria_," he says, "_supra omnes pene philosophos fuisse.--quid nonne omnia aliorum secta tenere debuerunt et inquirere, si poterunt refellere? res dicit nonne orationes varias, raras, subtiles inveniri ad tam receptas, claras, certas (ut videbatur) sententias evertendas?" etc.--"manuduct. ad philosoph. stoic." dissert_. . between the scepticism of the ancients and the moderns the great difference is that the former doubted for the purpose of investigating, as may be exemplified by the third book of aristotle's metaphysics, while the latter investigate for the purpose of doubting, as may be seen through most of the philosophical works of hume. indeed the pyrrhonism of latter days is not only more subtle than that of antiquity, but, it must be confessed, more dangerous in its tendency. the happiness of a christian depends so essentially upon his belief, that it is but natural he should feel alarm at the progress of doubt, lest it should steal by degrees into that region from which he is most interested in excluding it, and poison at last the very spring of his consolation and hope. still however the abuses of doubting ought not to deter a philosophical mind from indulging mildly and rationally in its use; and there is nothing surely more consistent with the meek spirit of christianity than that humble scepticism which professes not to extend its distrust beyond the circle of human pursuits and the pretensions of human knowledge. a follower of this school may be among the readiest to admit the claims of a superintending intelligence upon his faith and adoration: it is only to the wisdom of this weak world that he refuses or at least delays his assent;--it is only in passing through the shadow of earth that his mind undergoes the eclipse of scepticism. no follower of pyrrho has ever spoken more strongly against the dogmatists than st. paul himself, in the first epistle to the corinthians; and there are passages in ecclesiastes and other parts of scripture, which justify our utmost diffidence in all that human reason originates. even the sceptics of antiquity refrained carefully from the mysteries of theology, and in entering the temples of religion laid aside their philosophy at the porch. sextus empiricus declares the acquiescence of his sect in the general belief of a divine and foreknowing power:--in short it appears to me that this rational and well-regulated scepticism is the only daughter of the schools that can safely be selected as a handmaid for piety. he who distrusts the light of reason will be the first to follow a more luminous guide; and if with an ardent love for truth he has sought her in vain through the ways of this life, he will but turn with the more hope to that better world where all is simple, true and everlasting: for there is no parallax at the zenith;--it is only near our troubled horizon that objects deceive us into vague and erroneous calculations. the sceptic as the gay tint that decks the vernal rose[ ] not in the flower but in our vision glows; as the ripe flavor of falernian tides not in the wine but in our taste resides; so when with heartfelt tribute we declare that marco's honest and that susan's fair, 'tis in our minds and not in susan's eyes or marco's life the worth or beauty lies: for she in flat-nosed china would appear as plain a thing as lady anne is here; and one light joke at rich loretto's dome would rank good marco with the damned at rome. there's no deformity so vile, so base, that 'tis not somewhere thought a charm, a grace; no foul reproach that may not steal a beam from other suns to bleach it to esteem. ask who is wise?--you'll find the self-same man a sage in france, a madman in japan; and _here_ some head beneath a mitre swells, which _there_ had tingled to a cap and bells: nay, there may yet some monstrous region be, unknown to cook and from napoleon free, where castlereagh would for a patriot pass and mouthing musgrave scarce be deemed an ass! "list not to reason (epicurus cries), "but trust the senses, _there_ conviction lies:"[ ]-- alas! _they_ judge not by a purer light, nor keep their fountains more untinged and bright: habit so mars them that the russian swain will sigh for train-oil while he sips champagne; and health so rules them, that a fever's heat would make even sheridan think water sweet. just as the mind the erring sense[ ] believes, the erring mind in turn the sense deceives; and cold disgust can find but wrinkles there, where passion fancies all that's smooth and fair. p * * * *, who sees, upon his pillow laid, a face for which ten thousand pounds were paid, can tell how quick before a jury flies the spell that mockt the warm seducer's eyes. self is the medium thro' which judgment's ray can seldom pass without being turned astray. the smith of ephesus[ ] thought dian's shrine, by which his craft most throve, the most divine; and even the _true_ faith seems not half so true, when linkt with _one_ good living as with _two_. had wolcot first been pensioned by the throne, kings would have suffered by his praise alone; and paine perhaps, for something snug _per ann_., had laught like wellesley at all rights of man. but 'tis not only individual minds,-- whole nations too the same delusion blinds. thus england, hot from denmark's smoking meads, turns up her eyes at gallia's guilty deeds; thus, self-pleased still, the same dishonoring chain she binds in ireland she would break in spain; while praised at distance, but at home forbid, rebels in cork are patriots at madrid. if grotius be thy guide, shut, shut the book,-- in force alone for laws of nations look. let shipless danes and whining yankees dwell on naval rights, with grotius and vattel. while cobbet's pirate code alone appears sound moral sense to england and algiers. woe to the sceptic in these party days who wafts to neither shrine his puffs of praise! for him no pension pours its annual fruits, no fertile sinecure spontaneous shoots; not _his_ the meed that crowned don hookham's rhyme, nor sees he e'er in dreams of future time those shadowy forms of sleek reversions rise, so dear to scotchmen's second-sighted eyes. yet who that looks to history's damning leaf, where whig and tory, thief opposed to thief, on either side in lofty shame are seen,[ ] while freedom's form lies crucified between-- who, burdett, who such rival rogues can see, but flies from _both_ to honesty and thee? if weary of the world's bewildering maze,[ ] hopeless of finding thro' its weedy ways one flower of truth, the busy crowd we shun, and to the shades of tranquil learning run, how many a doubt pursues! how oft we sigh when histories charm to think that histories lie! that all are grave romances, at the best, and musgrave's but more clumsy than the rest. by tory hume's seductive page beguiled, we fancy charles was just and strafford mild;[ ] and fox himself with party pencil draws monmouth a hero, "for the good old cause!" then rights are wrongs and victories are defeats, as french or english pride the tale repeats; and when they tell corunna's story o'er, they'll disagree in all but honoring moore: nay, future pens to flatter future courts may cite perhaps the park-guns' gay reports, to prove that england triumphs on the morn which found her junot's jest and europe's scorn. in science too--how many a system, raised like neva's icy domes, awhile hath blazed with lights of fancy and with forms of pride, then, melting, mingled with the oblivious tide! _now_ earth usurps the centre of the sky, _now_ newton puts the paltry planet by; _now_ whims revive beneath descartes's[ ] pen, which _now_, assailed by locke's, expire again. and when perhaps in pride of chemic powers, we think the keys of nature's kingdom ours, some davy's magic touch the dream unsettles, and turns at once our alkalis to metals. or should we roam in metaphysic maze thro' fair-built theories of former days, some drummond from the north, more ably skilled, like other goths, to ruin than to build, tramples triumphant thro' our fanes o'erthrown, nor leaves one grace, one glory of its own. oh! learning, whatsoe'er thy pomp and boast, _un_lettered minds have taught and charmed men most. the rude, unread columbus was our guide to worlds, which learned lactantius had denied; and one wild shakespeare following nature's lights is worth whole planets filled with stagyrites. see grave theology, when once she strays from revelation's path, what tricks she plays; what various heavens,--all fit for bards to sing,-- have churchmen dreamed, from papias,[ ] down to king![ ] while hell itself, in india naught but smoke[ ] in spain's a furnace and in france--a joke. hail! modest ignorance, thou goal and prize, thou last, best knowledge of the simply wise! hail! humble doubt, when error's waves are past, how sweet to reach thy sheltered port at last, and there by changing skies nor lured nor awed. smile at the battling winds that roar abroad. _there_ gentle charity who knows how frail the bark of virtue, even in summer's gale, sits by the nightly fire whose beacon glows for all who wander, whether friends or foes. _there_ faith retires and keeps her white sail furled, till called to spread it for a better world; while patience watching on the weedy shore, and mutely waiting till the storm be o'er, oft turns to hope who still directs her eye to some blue spot just breaking in the sky! such are the mild, the blest associates given to him who doubts,--and trusts in naught but heaven! [ ] "the particular bulk, number, figure, and motion of the parts of fire or snow are really in them, whether any one perceives them or not, and therefore they may be called real qualities because they really exist in those bodies; but light, heat, whiteness or coldness are no more really in them than sickness or pain is in manna. take away the sensation of them; let not the eye see light or colors, nor the ears hear sounds; let the palate not taste nor the nose smell, and all colors, tastes, odors and sounds, as they are such particular ideas, vanish and cease."--_locke_, book ii. chap . [ ] this was the creed also of those modern epicureans, whom ninon de l'enclos collected around her in the rue des tournelles, and whose object seems to have been to decry the faculty of reason, as tending only to embarrass our wholesome use of pleasures, without enabling us, in any degree, to avoid their abuse. madame des houlières, the fair pupil of des barreaux in the arts of poetry and gallantry, has devoted most of her verses to this laudable purpose, and is even such a determined foe to reason, that, in one of her pastorals, she congratulates her sheep on the want of it. [ ] socrates and plato were the grand sources of ancient scepticism. according to cicero ("_de orator_," lib. iii.), they supplied arcesilas with the doctrines of the middle academy; and how closely these resembled the tenets of the sceptics, may be seen even in sextus empiricus (lib. i. cap. ), who with all his distinctions can scarcely prove any difference. it appears strange that epicurus should have been a dogmatist; and his natural temper would most probably have led him to the repose of scepticism had not the stoics by their violent opposition to his doctrines compelled him to be as obstinate as themselves. [ ] _acts_, chap. xix. "for a certain man named demetrius, a silversmith, which made silver shrines for diana, brought no small gain unto the craftsmen." [ ] "those two thieves," says ralph,� between whom the nation is crucified."--"_use and abuse of parliaments_." [ ] the agitation of the ship is one of the chief difficulties which impede the discovery of the longitude at sea; and the tumult and hurry of life are equally unfavorable to that calm level of mind which is necessary to an inquirer after truth. [ ] he defends stafford's conduct as "innocent and even laudable." in the same spirit, speaking of the arbitary sentences of the star chamber, he says,--"the severity of the star chamber, which was generally ascribed to laud's passionate disposition, was perhaps in itself somewhat blamable." [ ] descartes, who is considered as the parent of modern scepticism, says, that there is nothing in the whole range of philosophy which does not admit of two opposite opinions, and which is not involved in doubt and uncertainty. gassendi is likewise to be added to the list of modern sceptics, and wedderkopff, has denounced erasmus also as a follower of pyrrho, for his opinions upon the trinity, and some other subjects. to these if we add the names of bayle, malebranche, dryden, locke, etc., i think there is no one who need be ashamed of insulting in such company. [ ] papias lived about the time of the apostles, and is supposed to have given birth to the heresy of the chiliastae, whose heaven was by no means of a spiritual nature, but rather an anticipation of the prophet of hera's elysium. [ ] king, in his "morsels of criticisms," vol. i., supposes the sun to be the receptacle of blessed spirits. [ ] the indians call hell "the house of smoke." twopenny post-bag, by thomas brown, the younger. _elapsae manibus secidere tabellae_.--ovid. dedication. to stephen woolriche, esq. my dear woolriche,-- it is now about seven years since i promised (and i grieve to think it is almost as long since we met) to dedicate to you the very first book, of whatever size or kind i should publish. who could have thought that so many years would elapse, without my giving the least signs of life upon the subject of this important promise? who could have imagined that a volume of doggerel, after all, would be the first offering that gratitude would lay upon the shrine of friendship? if you continue, however, to be as much interested about me and my pursuits as formerly, you will be happy to hear that doggerel is not my _only_ occupation; but that i am preparing to throw my name to the swans of the temple of immortality, leaving it of course to the said swans to determine whether they ever will take the trouble of picking it from the stream. in the meantime, my dear woolriche, like an orthodox lutheran, you must judge of me rather by my _faith_ than my _works_; and however trifling the tribute which i here offer, never doubt the fidelity with which i am and always shall be your sincere and attached friend, the author. _march , _. preface. the bag, from which the following letters are selected, was dropped by a twopenny postman about two months since, and picked up by an emissary of the society for the suppression of vice, who supposing it might materially assist the private researches of that institution, immediately took it to his employers and was rewarded handsomely for his trouble. such a treasury of secrets was worth a whole host of informers; and, accordingly, like the cupids of the poet (if i may use so profane a simile) who "fell at odds about the sweet-bag of a bee,"[ ] those venerable suppressors almost fought with each other for the honor and delight of first ransacking the post-bag. unluckily, however, it turned out upon examination that the discoveries of profligacy which it enabled them to make, lay chiefly in those upper regions of society which their well-bred regulations forbid them to molest or meddle with.--in consequence they gained but very few victims by their prize, and after lying for a week or two under mr. hatchard's counter the bag with its violated contents was sold for a trifle to a friend of mine. it happened that i had been just then seized with an ambition (having never tried the strength of my wing but in a newspaper) to publish something or other in the shape of a book; and it occurred to me that, the present being such a letter-writing era, a few of these twopenny-post epistles turned into easy verse would be as light and popular a task as i could possibly select for a commencement. i did not, however, think it prudent to give too many letters at first and accordingly have been obliged (in order to eke out a sufficient number of pages) to reprint some of those trifles, which had already appeared in the public journals. as in the battles of ancient times, the shades of the departed were sometimes seen among the combatants, so i thought i might manage to remedy the thinness of my ranks, by conjuring up a few dead and forgotten ephemerons to fill them. such are the motives and accidents that led to the present publication; and as this is the first time my muse has ever ventured out of the go-cart of a newspaper, though i feel all a parent's delight at seeing little miss go alone, i am also not without a parent's anxiety lest an unlucky fall should be the consequence of the experiment; and i need not point out how many living instances might be found of muses that have suffered very severely in their heads from taking rather too early and rashly to their feet. besides, a book is so very different a thing from a newspaper!--in the former, your doggerel without either company or shelter must stand shivering in the middle of a bleak page by itself; whereas in the latter it is comfortably backed by advertisements and has sometimes even a speech of mr. stephen's, or something equally warm, for a _chauffe-pieds_--so that, in general, the very reverse of "_laudatur et alget_" is its destiny. ambition, however, must run some risks and i shall be very well satisfied if the reception of these few letters should have the effect of sending me to the post-bag for more. [ ] herrick. intercepted letters, etc. letter i. from the princess charlotte of wales to the lady barbara ashler.[ ] my dear lady bab, you'll be shockt i'm afraid, when you hear the sad rumpus your ponies have made; since the time of horse-consuls (now long out of date), no nags ever made such a stir in the state. lord eldon first heard--and as instantly prayed he to "god and his king"--that a popish young lady (for tho' you've bright eyes and twelve thousand a year, it is still but too true you're a papist, my dear,) had insidiously sent, by a tall irish groom, two priest-ridden ponies just landed from rome, and so full, little rogues, of pontifical tricks that the dome of st. paul was scarce safe from their kicks. off at once to papa in a flurry he flies-- for papa always does what these statesmen advise on condition that they'll be in turn so polite as in no case whate'er to advise him _too right_-- "pretty doings are here, sir (he angrily cries, while by dint of dark eyebrows he strives to look wise)-- "'tis a scheme of the romanists, so help me god! "to ride over your _most_ royal highness roughshod-- "excuse, sir, my tears--they're from loyalty's source- "bad enough 'twas for troy to be sackt by a _horse_, "but for us to be ruined by _ponies_ still worse!" quick a council is called--the whole cabinet sits-- the archbishops declare, frightened out of their wits, that if once popish ponies should eat at my manger, from that awful moment the church is in danger! as, give them but stabling and shortly no stalls will suit their proud stomachs but those at st. paul's. the doctor,[ ] and he, the devout man of leather,[ ] vansittart, now laying their saint-heads together, declare that these skittish young abominations are clearly foretold in chap. vi. revelations-- nay, they verily think they could point out the one which the doctor's friend death was to canter upon. lord harrowby hoping that no one imputes to the court any fancy to persecute brutes, protests on the word of himself and his cronies that had these said creatures been asses, not ponies, the court would have started no sort of objection, as asses were, _there_, always sure of protection. "if the princess _will_ keep them (says lord castlereagh), "to make them quite harmless, the only true way "is (as certain chief justices do with their wives) "to flog them within half an inch of their lives. "if they've any bad irish blood lurking about, "this (he knew by experience) would soon draw it out." should this be thought cruel his lordship proposes "the new _veto_ snaffle[ ] to bind down their noses-- "a pretty contrivance made out of old chains, "which appears to indulge while it doubly restrains; "which, however high-mettled, their gamesomeness checks "(adds his lordship humanely), or else breaks their necks!" this proposal received pretty general applause from the statesmen around-and the neck-breaking clause had a vigor about it, which soon reconciled even eldon himself to a measure so mild. so the snaffles, my dear, were agreed to _nem. con_., and my lord castlereagh, having so often shone in the _fettering line_, is to buckle them on. i shall drive to your door in these _vetoes_ some day, but, at present, adieu!-i must hurry away to go see my mamma, as i'm suffered to meet her for just half an hour by the queen's best repeater. charlotte. [ ] this young lady, who is a roman catholic, had lately made a present of some beautiful ponies to the princess. [ ] mr. addington, so nicknamed. [ ] alluding to a tax lately laid upon leather. [ ] the question whether a veto was to be allowed to the crown in the appointment of irish catholic bishops was, at this time, very generally and actively agitated. letter ii. from colonel m'mahon to gould francis leckie, esq. dear sir-- i've just had time to look into your very learned book, wherein--as plain as man can speak. whose english is half modern greek-- you prove that we can ne'er intrench our happy isles against the french, till royalty in england's made a much more independent trade;-- in short until the house of guelph lays lords and commons on the shelf, and boldly sets up for itself. all that can well be understood in this said book is vastly good; and as to what's incomprehensible, i dare be sworn 'tis full as sensible. but to your work's immortal credit the prince, good sir, the prince has read it (the only book, himself remarks, which he has read since mrs. clarke's). last levee-morn he lookt it thro', during that awful hour or two of grave tonsorial preparation, which to a fond, admiring nation sends forth, announced by trump and drum, the best-wigged prince in christendom. he thinks with you, the imagination of _partnership_ in legislation could only enter in the noddles of dull and ledger-keeping twaddles, whose heads on _firms_ are running so, they even must have a king and co., and hence most eloquently show forth on _checks_ and _balances_ and so forth. but now, he trusts, we're coming near a far more royal, loyal era; when england's monarch need but say, "whip me those scoundrels, castlereagh!" or, "hang me up those papists, eldon," and 'twill be done--ay, faith, and well done. with view to which i've his command to beg, sir, from your travelled hand, (round which the foreign graces swarm)[ ] a plan of radical reform; compiled and chosen as best you can, in turkey or at ispahan, and quite upturning, branch and root, lords, commons, and burdett to boot. but, pray, whate'er you may impart, write somewhat more brief than major cartwright: else, tho' the prince be long in rigging, 'twould take at least a fortnight's wigging,-- two wigs to every paragraph-- before he well could get thro' half. you'll send it also speedily-- as truth to say 'twixt you and me, his highness, heated by your work, already thinks himself grand turk! and you'd have laught, had you seen how he scared the chancellor just now, when (on his lordship's entering puft) he slapt his back and called him "mufti!" the tailors too have got commands to put directly into hands all sorts of dulimans and pouches, with sashes, turbans and paboutches, (while yarmouth's sketching out a plan of new _moustaches à l'ottomane_) and all things fitting and expedient to _turkify_ our gracious regent! you therefore have no time to waste-- so, send your system.-- yours in haste. postscript. before i send this scrawl away, i seize a moment just to say there's some parts of the turkish system so vulgar 'twere as well you missed 'em. for instance--in _seraglio_ matters-- your turk whom girlish fondness flatters, would fill his haram (tasteless fool!) with tittering, red-cheekt things from school. but _here_ (as in that fairy land, where love and age went hand in hand;[ ] where lips, till sixty, shed no honey, and grandams were worth any money,) _our_ sultan has much riper notions-- so, let your list of _she_-promotions include those only plump and sage, who've reached the _regulation_-age; that is, (as near as one can fix from peerage dates) full fifty-six. this rule's for _favorites_--nothing more-- for, as to _wives_, a grand signor, tho' not decidedly _without_ them, need never care one curse about them. [ ] "the truth indeed seems to be, that having lived so long abroad as evidently to have lost, in a great degree, the use of his native language, mr. leckie has gradually come not only to speak, but to feel, like a foreigner."--_edinburgh review_. [ ] the learned colonel must allude here to a description of the mysterious isle, in the history of abdalla, son of hanif, where such inversions of the order of nature are said to have taken place.--"a score of old women and the same number of old men played here and there in the court, some at chuck-farthing, others at tip-cat or at cockles."--and again, "there is nothing, believe me, more engaging than those lovely wrinkles."--see "_tales of the east_," vol. iii. pp. , . letter iii. from george prince regent to the earl of yarmouth.[ ] we missed you last night at the "hoary old sinner's," who gave us as usual the cream of good dinners; his soups scientific, his fishes quite _prime_-- his _pâtés_ superb, and his cutlets sublime! in short, 'twas the snug sort of dinner to stir a stomachic orgasm in my lord ellenborough, who _set to_, to be sure, with miraculous force, and exclaimed between mouthfuls, "a _he-cook_, of course!-- "while you live--(what's there under that cover? pray, look)-- "while you live--(i'll just taste it)--ne'er keep a she-cook. "'tis a sound salic law--(a small bit of that toast)-- "which ordains that a female shall ne'er rule the roast; "for cookery's a secret--(this turtle's uncommon)-- "like masonry, never found out by a woman!" the dinner you know was in gay celebration of _my_ brilliant triumph and hunt's condemnation; a compliment too to his lordship the judge for his speech to the jury--and zounds! who would grudge turtle soup tho' it came to five guineas a bowl, to reward such a loyal and complaisant soul? we were all in high gig--roman punch and tokay travelled round till our heads travelled just the same way; and we cared not for juries or libels--no--damme! nor even for the threats of last sunday's examiner! more good things were eaten than said--but tom tyrrhitt in quoting joe miller you know has some merit; and hearing the sturdy judiciary chief say--sated with turtle--"i'll now try the beef"-- tommy whispered him (giving his lordship a sly hit) "i fear 'twill be _hung_-beef, my lord, if you _try_ it!" and camden was there, who that morning had gone to fit his new marquis's coronet on; and the dish set before him--oh! dish well-devised!-- was what old mother glasse calls, "a calf's head surprised!" the _brains_ were near sherry and _once_ had been fine, but of late they had lain so long soaking in wine, that tho' we from courtesy still chose to call these brains very fine they were no brains at all. when the dinner was over, we drank, every one in a bumper, "the venial delights of crim. con.;" at which headfort with warm reminiscences gloated, and ellenb'rough chuckled to hear himself quoted. our next round of toasts was a fancy quite new, for we drank--and you'll own 'twas benevolent too-- to those well-meaning husbands, cits, parsons or peers, whom we've any time honored by courting their dears: this museum of wittols was comical rather; old headfort gave massey, and _i_ gave your father. in short, not a soul till this morning would budge-- we were all fun and frolic, and even the judge laid aside for the time his juridical fashion, and thro' the whole night wasn't _once_ in a passion! i write this in bed while my whiskers are airing, and mac[ ] has a sly dose of jalap preparing for poor tommy tyrrhitt at breakfast to quaff-- as i feel i want something to give me a laugh, and there's nothing so good as old tommy kept close to his cornwall accounts after taking a dose. [ ] this letter, as the reader will perceive, was written the day after a dinner given by the marquis of headfort. [ ] colonel m'mahon. letter iv. from the right hon. patrick duigenan to the right hon. sir john nichol. last week, dear nichol, making merry at dinner with our secretary, when all were drunk or pretty near (the time for doing business here), says he to me, "sweet bully bottom! "these papist dogs--hiccup--'od rot 'em!-- "deserve to be bespattered--hiccup-- "with all the dirt even _you_ can pick up. "but, as the prince (here's to him--fill-- "hip, hip, hurra!)--is trying still "to humbug them with kind professions, "and as _you_ deal in _strong_ expressions-- "_rogue"--"traitor_"--hiccup--and all that-- "you must be muzzled, doctor pat!-- "you must indeed--hiccup--that's flat."-- yes--"muzzled" was the word sir john-- these fools have clapt a muzzle on the boldest mouth that e'er run o'er with slaver of the times of yore![ ]-- was it for this that back i went as far as lateran and trent, to prove that they who damned us then ought now in turn be damned again? the silent victim still to sit of grattan's fire and canning's wit, to hear even noisy mathew gabble on, nor mention once the whore of babylon! oh! 'tis too much--who now will be the nightman of no-popery? what courtier, saint or even bishop such learned filth will ever fish up? if there among our ranks be one to take my place, 'tis _thou_, sir john; thou who like me art dubbed right hon. like me too art a lawyer civil that wishes papists at the devil. to whom then but to thee, my friend, should patrick[ ] his port-folio send? take it--'tis thine--his learned port-folio, with all its theologic olio of bulls, half irish and half roman-- of doctrines now believed by no man-- of councils held for men's salvation, yet always ending in damnation-- (which shows that since the world's creation your priests, whate'er their gentle shamming, have always had a taste for damning,) and many more such pious scraps, to prove (what _we've_ long proved, perhaps,) that mad as christians used to be about the thirteenth century, there still are christians to be had in this, the nineteenth, just as mad! farewell--i send with this, dear nichol, a rod or two i've had in pickle wherewith to trim old grattan's jacket.-- the rest shall go by monday's packet. p. d. _among the enclosures in the foregoing letter was the following "unanswerable argument against the papists_." we're told the ancient roman nation made use of spittle in lustration; (_vide "lactantium ap. gallaeum"_[ ]-- _i. e_. you need not _read_ but _see_ 'em;) now irish papists--fact surprising-- make use of spittle in baptizing; which proves them all, o'finns, o'fagans, connors and tooles all downright pagans. this fact's enough; let no one tell us to free such sad, _salivous_ fellows.-- no, no--the man, baptized with spittle, hath no truth in him--not a tittle! [ ] in sending this sheet to the press, however, i learn that the "muzzle" has been taken off, and the right hon. doctor again let loose! [ ] a bad name for poetry; but duigenan is still worse. [ ] i have taken the trouble of examining the doctor's reference here, and find him for once correct. letter v. from the countess dowager of cork to lady---. my dear lady---! i've been just sending out about five hundred cards for a snug little rout-- (by the by, you've seen "rokeby"?--this moment got mine-- the "mail-coach edition"--prodigiously fine!) but i can't conceive how in this very cold weather i'm ever to bring my five hundred together; as, unless the thermometer's near boiling heat, one can never get half of one's hundreds to meet. (apropos--you'd have thought to see townsend last night, escort to their chairs, with his staff, so polite, the "three maiden miseries," all in a fright; poor townsend, like mercury, filling two posts, supervisor of _thieves_ and chief-usher of _ghosts_!) but, my dear lady----, can't you hit on some notion, at least for one night to set london in motion?-- as to having the regent, _that_ show is gone by-- besides, i've remarkt that (between you and i) the marchesa and he, inconvenient in more ways, have taken much lately to whispering in doorways; which--considering, you know, dear, the _size_ of the two-- makes a block that one's company _cannot_ get thro'; and a house such as mine is, with door-ways so small, has no room for such cumbersome love-work at all.-- (apropos, tho', of love-work--you've heard it, i hope, that napoleon's old mother's to marry the pope,-- "what a comical pair!)--but, to stick to my rout, 'twill be hard if some novelty can't be struck out. is there no algerine, no kamchatkan arrived? no plenipo pacha, three-tailed and ten-wived? no russian whose dissonant consonant name almost rattles to fragments the trumpet of fame? i remember the time three or four winters back, when--provided their wigs were but decently black-- a few patriot monsters from spain were a sight that would people one's house for one, night after night. but--whether the ministers _pawed_ them too much-- (and you--know how they spoil whatsoever they touch) or, whether lord george (the young man about town) has by dint of bad poetry written them down. one has certainly lost one's _peninsular_ rage; and the only stray patriot seen for an age has been at such places (think, how the fit cools!) as old mrs. vaughan's or lord liverpool's. but, in short, my dear, names like wintztschitstopschinzoudhoff are the only things now make an evening go smooth off: so, get me a russian--till death i'm your debtor-- if he brings the whole alphabet, so much the better. and--lord! if he would but, _in character_, sup off his fish-oil and candles, he'd quite set me up! _au revoir_, my sweet girl--i must leave you in haste-- little gunter has brought me the liqueurs to taste. postscript. by the by, have you found any friend that can conster that latin account, t'other day, of a monster?[ ] if we can't get a russian, and _that think_ in latin be not _too_ improper, i think i'll bring that in. [ ] alluding, i suppose, to the latin advertisement of a _lusus naturae_ in the newspapers lately. letter vi. from abdallah,[ ] in london, to mohassan, in ispahan. whilst thou, mohassan, (happy thou!) dost daily bend thy loyal brow before our king--our asia's treasure! nutmeg of comfort: rose of pleasure!-- and bearest as many kicks and bruises as the said rose and nutmeg chooses; thy head still near the bowstring's borders. and but left on till further orders-- thro' london streets with turban fair, and caftan floating to the air, i saunter on, the admiration of this short-coated population-- this sewed-up race--this buttoned nation-- who while they boast their laws so free leave not one limb at liberty, but live with all their lordly speeches the slaves of buttons and tight breeches. yet tho' they thus their knee-pans fetter (they're christians and they know no better) in _some_ things they're a thinking nation; and on religious toleration. i own i like their notions _quite_, they are so persian and so right! you know our sunnites,[ ] hateful dogs! whom every pious shiite flogs or longs to flog--'tis true, they pray to god, but in an ill-bred way; with neither arms nor legs nor faces stuck in their right, canonic places.[ ] 'tis true, they worship ali's name-- _their_ heaven and _ours_ are just the same-- (a persian's heaven is easily made, 'tis but black eyes and lemonade.) yet tho' we've tried for centuries back-- we can't persuade this stubborn pack, by bastinadoes, screws or nippers, to wear the establisht pea-green slippers.[ ] then, only think, the libertines! they wash their toes--they comb their chins, with many more such deadly sins; and what's the worst, (tho' last i rank it) believe the chapter of the blanket! yet spite of tenets so flagitious, (which _must_ at bottom be seditious; since no man living would refuse green slippers but from treasonous views; nor wash his toes but with intent to overturn the government,)-- such is our mild and tolerant way, we only curse them twice a day (according to a form that's set), and, far from torturing, only let all orthodox believers beat 'em, and twitch their beards where'er they meet 'em. as to the rest, they're free to do whate'er their fancy prompts them to, provided they make nothing of it towards rank or honor, power or profit; which things we naturally expect, belong to us, the establisht sect, who disbelieve (the lord be thanked!) the aforesaid chapter of the blanket. the same mild views of toleration inspire, i find, this buttoned nation, whose papists (full as given to rogue, and only sunnites with a brogue) fare just as well, with all their fuss, as rascal sunnites do with us. the tender gazel i enclose is for my love, my syrian rose-- take it when night begins to fall, and throw it o'er her mother's wall. gazel. rememberest thou the hour we past,-- that hour the happiest and the last? oh! not so sweet the siha thorn to summer bees at break of morn, not half so sweet, thro' dale and dell, to camels' ears the tinkling bell, as is the soothing memory of that one precious hour to me. how can we live, so far apart? oh! why not rather, heart to heart, united live and die-- like those sweet birds, that fly together, with feather always touching feather, linkt by a hook and eye![ ] [ ] i have made many inquiries about this persian gentleman, but cannot satisfactorily ascertain who he is. from his notions of religious liberty, however, i conclude that he is an importation of ministers; and he has arrived just in time to assist the prince and mr. leckie in their new oriental plan of reform.--see the second of these letters.--how abdallah's epistle to ispahan found its way into the twopenny post-bag is more than i can pretend to account for. [ ] sunnites and shiites are the two leading sects into which the mahometan world is divided; and they have gone on cursing and persecuting each other, without any intermission, for about eleven hundred years. the _sunni_ is the established sect in turkey, and the _shia_ in persia; and the differences between them turn chiefly upon those important points, which our pious friend abdallah, is the true spirit of shiite ascendency, reprobates in this letter. [ ] "in contradistinction to the sounis, who in their prayers cross their hands on the lower part of the breasts, the schiahs drop their arms in straight lines; and as the sounis, at certain periods of the prayer, press their foreheads on the ground or carpet, the schiahs," etc.--_forster's voyage_. [ ] "the shiites wear green slippers, which the sunnites consider as a great abomination."--_mariti_. [ ] this will appear strange to an english reader, but it is literally translated from abdallah's persian, and the curious bird to which he alludes is the _juftak_, of which i find the following account in richardson:--"a sort of bird, that is said to have but one wing; on the opposite side to which the male has a hook and the female a ring, so that, when they fly, they are fastened together." letter vii. from messrs. lackington and co. to thomas moore, esq. per post, sir, we send your ms.--look it thro'-- very sorry--but can't undertake--'twouldn't do. clever work, sir!--would _get up_ prodigiously well-- its only defect is--it never would sell. and tho' _statesmen_ may glory in being _unbought_, in an _author_ 'tis not so desirable thought. hard times, sir, most books are too dear to be read-- tho' the _gold_ of good-sense and wit's _small-change_ are fled, yet the paper we publishers pass, in their stead, rises higher each day, and ('tis frightful to think it) not even such names as fitzgerald's can sink it! however, sir--if you're for trying again, and at somewhat that's vendible--we are your men. since the chevalier carr[ ] took to marrying lately, the trade is in want of a _traveller_ greatly-- no job, sir, more easy--your _country_ once planned, a month aboard ship and a fortnight on land puts your quarto of travels, sir, clean out of hand. an east-india pamphlet's a thing that would tell-- and a lick at the papists is _sure_ to sell well. or--supposing you've nothing _original_ in you-- write parodies, sir, and such fame it will win you, you'll get to the blue-stocking routs of albinia![ ] (mind--_not_ to her _dinners_--a _second-hand_ muse mustn't think of aspiring to _mess_ with the _blues_.) or--in case nothing else in this world you can do-- the deuce is in't, sir, if you can not _review_! should you feel any touch of _poetical_ glow, we've a scheme to suggest--mr. scott, you must know, (who, we're sorry to say it, now works for _the row_.[ ]) having quitted the borders to seek new renown, is coming by long quarto stages to town; and beginning with "rokeby" (the job's sure to pay) means to _do_ all the gentlemen's seats on the way. now, the scheme is (tho' none of our hackneys can beat him) to start a fresh poet thro' highgate to _meet_ him; who by means of quick proofs--no revises--long coaches-- may do a few villas before scott approaches. indeed if our pegasus be not curst shabby, he'll reach, without foundering, at least woburn abbey. such, sir, is our plan--if you're up to the freak, 'tis a match! and we'll put you _in training_ next week. at present, no more--in reply to this letter, a line will oblige very much yours, _et cetera_. _temple of the muses_. [ ] sir john carr, the author of "tours in ireland, holland. sweden," etc. [ ] this alludes, i believe, to a curious correspondence, which is said to have passed lately between albina, countess of buckinghamshire, and a certain ingenious parodist. [ ] paternoster row. letter viii. from colonel thomas to ---- skeffington, esq. come to our fête and bring with thee thy newest, best embroidery. come to our fête and show again that pea-green coat, thou pink of men, which charmed all eyes that last surveyed it; when brummel's self inquired "who made it?"-- when cits came wondering from the east and thought thee poet pye _at least_! oh! come, (if haply 'tis thy week for looking pale,) with paly cheek; tho' more we love thy roseate days, when the rich rouge-pot pours its blaze full o'er thy face and amply spread, tips even thy whisker-tops with red-- like the last tints of dying day that o'er some darkling grove delay. bring thy best lace, thou gay philander, (that lace, like harry alexander, too precious to be washt,) thy _rings_, thy seals--in short, thy prettiest things! put all thy wardrobe's glories on, and yield in frogs and fringe to none but the great regent's self alone; who--by particular desire-- _for that night only_, means to hire a dress from, romeo coates, esquire.[ ] hail, first of actors! best of regents! born for each other's fond allegiance! _both_ gay lotharios--both good dressers-- of serious farce _both_ learned professors-- _both_ circled round, for use or show, with cock's combs, wheresoe'er they go![ ] thou knowest the time, thou man of lore! it takes to chalk a ball-room floor-- thou knowest the time, too, well-a-day! it takes to dance that chalk away.[ ] the ball-room opens--far and nigh comets and suns beneath us lie; o'er snow-white moons and stars we walk, and the floor seems one sky of chalk! but soon shall fade that bright deceit, when many a maid, with busy feet that sparkle in the lustre's ray, o'er the white path shall bound and play like nymphs along the milky way:-- with every step a star hath fled, and suns grow dim beneath their tread, so passeth life--(thus scott would write, and spinsters read him with delight,)-- hours are not feet, yet hours trip on, time is not chalk, yet time's soon gone! but, hang this long digressive flight!-- i meant to say, thou'lt see that night what falsehood rankles in their hearts, who say the prince neglects the arts-- neglects the arts?--no, strahlweg,[ ] no; _thy_ cupids answer "'tis not so;" and every floor that night shall tell how quick thou daubest and how well. shine as thou mayst in french vermilion, thou'rt _best_ beneath a french cotillion; and still comest off, whate'er thy faults, with _flying colors_ in a waltz. nor needest thou mourn the transient date to thy best works assigned by fate. while _some chef-d'oeuvres_ live to weary one, _thine_ boast a short life and a merry one; their hour of glory past and gone with "molly put the kettle on!"[ ] but, bless my soul! i've scarce a leaf of paper left--so must be brief. this festive fête, in fact, will be the former fête's _facsimile_;[ ] the same long masquerade of rooms, all trickt up in such odd costumes, (these, porter,[ ] are thy glorious works!) you'd swear egyptians, moors and turks, bearing good-taste some deadly malice, had clubbed to raise a pic-nic palace; and each to make the olio pleasant had sent a state-room as a present. the same _fauteuils_ and girondoles-- the same gold asses,[ ]pretty souls! that in this rich and classic dome appear so perfectly at home. the same bright river 'mong the dishes, but _not_--ah! not the same dear fishes-- late hours and claret killed the old ones-- so 'stead of silver and of gold ones, (it being rather hard to raise fish of that _specie_ now-a-days) some sprats have been by yarmouth's wish, promoted into _silver_ fish, and gudgeons (so vansittart told the regent) are as good as _gold_! so, prithee, come--our fête will be but half a fête if wanting thee. [ ] an amateur actor of much risible renown. [ ] the crest of mr. coates, the very amusing amateur tragedian here alluded to, was a cock; and most profusely were his liveries, harness, etc. covered wit this ornament. [ ] to those who neither go to balls nor read _the morning post_, it may be necessary to mention, that the floors of ballrooms, in general, are chalked for safety and for ornament with various fanciful devices. [ ] a foreign artist much patronized by the prince regent. [ ] the name of a popular country-dance. [ ] "carleton house will exhibit a complete _facsimile_ in respect to interior ornament, to what it did at the last fête. the same splendid draperies," etc.--_morning post_. [ ] mr. walsh porter, to whose taste was left the furnishing of the rooms of carletone house. [ ] the salt-cellars on the prince's _own_ table were in the form of an ass with panniers. * * * * * appendix. letter iv. page . among the papers, enclosed in dr. duigenan's letter, was found an heroic epistle in latin verse, from pope joan to her lover, of which, as it is rather a curious document, i shall venture to give some account. this female pontiff was a native of england, (or, according to others of germany,) who at an early age disguised herself in male attire and followed her lover, a young ecclesiastic, to athens where she studied with such effect that upon her arrival at rome she was thought worthy of being raised to the pontificate. this epistle is addressed to her lover (whom she had elevated to the dignity of cardinal), soon after the fatal _accouchement_, by which her fallibility was betrayed. she begins by reminding him tenderly of the time, when they were together at athens--when, as she says, --"by ilissus' stream "we whispering walkt along, and learned to speak "the tenderest feelings in the purest greek; "ah! then how little did we think or hope, "dearest of men, that i should e'er be pope![ ] "that i, the humble joan, whose housewife art "seemed just enough to keep thy house and heart, "(and those, alas! at sixes and at sevens,) "should soon keep all the keys of all the heavens!" still less (she continues to say) could they have foreseen, that such a catastrophe as had happened in council would befall them--that she "should thus surprise the conclave's grave decorum, "and let a _little pope_ pop out before 'em-- "pope _innocent_! alas, the only one "that name could e'er be justly fixt upon." she then very pathetically laments the downfall of her greatness, and enumerates the various treasures to which she is doomed to bid farewell forever:-- "but oh, more dear, more precious ten times over-- "farewell my lord, my cardinal, my lover! "i made _thee_ cardinal--thou madest _me_--ah! "thou madest the papa of the world mamma!" i have not time at present to translate any more of this epistle; but i presume the argument which the right hon. doctor and his friends mean to deduce from it, is (in their usual convincing strain) that romanists must be unworthy of emancipation _now_, because they had a petticoat pope in the ninth century. nothing can be more logically clear, and i find that horace had exactly the same views upon the subject. romanus (_eheu posteri negabitis_!) emancipatus foeminae _fert vallum_! [ ] spanheim attributes the unanimity with which joan was elected to that innate and irresistible charm by which her sex, though latent, operated upon the instinct of the cardinals. letter vii. page . the manuscript, found enclosed in the bookseller's letter, turns out to be a melo-drama, in two acts, entitled "the book,"[ ] of which the theatres, of course, had had the refusal, before it was presented to messrs. lackington and co. this rejected drama however possesses considerable merit and i shall take the liberty of laying a sketch of it before my readers. the first act opens in a very awful manner--_time_, three o'clock in the morning--_scene_, the bourbon chamber[ ] in carleton house-- enter the prince regent _solus_--after a few broken sentences, he thus exclaims:-- away--away-- thou haunt'st my fancy so, thou devilish book, i meet thee--trace thee, whereso'er i look. i see thy damned _ink_ in eldon's brows-- i see thy _foolscap_ on my hertford's spouse-- vansittart's head recalls thy _leathern_ case, and all thy _blank-leaves_ stare from r--d--r's face! while, turning here (_laying his hand on his heart_,) i find, ah wretched elf, thy _list_ of dire _errata_ in myself. (_walks the stage in considerable agitation_.) oh roman punch! oh potent curaçoa! oh mareschino! mareschino oh! delicious drams! why have you not the art to kill this gnawing _book-worm_ in my heart? he is here interrupted in his soliloquy by perceiving on the ground some scribbled fragments of paper, which he instantly collects, and "by the light of two magnificent candelabras" discovers the following unconnected words, "_wife neglected"--"the book"--"wrong measures"--"the queen"--"mr. lambert"--"the regent_." ha! treason in my house!--curst words, that wither my princely soul, (_shaking the papers violently_) what demon brought you hither? "my wife;"--"the book" too!--stay--a nearer look-- (_holding the fragments closer to the candelabras_) alas! too plain, b, double o, k, book-- death and destruction! he here rings all the bells, and a whole legion of valets enter. a scene of cursing and swearing (very much in the german style) ensues, in the course of which messengers are despatched, in different directions, for the lord chancellor, the duke of cumberland, etc. the intermediate time is filled up by another soliloquy, at the conclusion of which the aforesaid personages rush on alarmed; the duke with his stays only half-laced, and the chancellor with his wig thrown hastily over an old red night-cap, "to maintain the becoming splendor of his office."[ ] the regent produces the appalling fragments, upon which the chancellor breaks out into exclamations of loyalty and tenderness, and relates the following portentous dream: 'tis scarcely two hours since i had a fearful dream of thee, my prince!-- methought i heard thee midst a courtly crowd say from thy throne of gold, in mandate loud, "worship my whiskers!"--(_weeps_) not a knee was there but bent and worshipt the illustrious pair, which curled in conscious majesty! (_pulls out his handkerchief_)-- while cries of "whiskers; whiskers!" shook the echoing skies.-- just in that glorious hour, me-thought, there came, with looks of injured pride, a princely dame and a young maiden, clinging by her side, as if she feared some tyrant would divide two hearts that nature and affection tied! the matron came--within her _right_ hand glowed a radiant torch; while from her _left_ a load of papers hung--(_wipes his eyes_) collected in her veil-- the venal evidence, the slanderous tale, the wounding hint, the current lies that pass from _post_ to _courier_, formed the motley mass; which with disdain before the throne she throws, and lights the pile beneath thy princely nose. (_weeps_.) heavens, how it blazed!--i'd ask no livelier fire, (with animation) to roast a papist by, my gracious sire!-- but ah! the evidence--_(weeps again)_ i mourned to see-- cast as it burned, a deadly light on thee: and tales and hints their random sparkles flung, and hissed and crackled, like an old maid's tongue; while _post_ and _courier_, faithful to their fame, made up in stink for what they lackt in flame. when, lo, ye gods! the fire ascending brisker, now singes _one_ now lights the _other_ whisker. ah! where was then the sylphid that unfurls her fairy standard in defence of curls? throne, whiskers, wig soon vanisht into smoke, the watchman cried "past one," and--i awoke. here his lordship weeps more profusely than ever, and the regents (who has been very much agitated during the recital of the dream) by a movement as characteristic as that of charles xii. when he was shot, claps his hands to his whiskers to feel if all be really safe. a privy council is held-- all the servants, etc. are examined, and it appears that a tailor, who had come to measure the regent for a dress (which takes three whole pages of the best superfine _clinquant_ in describing) was the only person who had been in the bourbon chamber during the day. it is, accordingly, determined to seize the tailor, and the council breaks up with a unanimous resolution to be vigorous. the commencement of the second act turns chiefly upon the trial and imprisonment of two brothers[ ]--but as this forms the _under_ plot of the drama, i shall content myself with extracting from it the following speech, which is addressed to the two brothers, as they "_exeunt_ severally" to prison:-- go to your prisons--tho' the air of spring no mountain coolness to your cheeks shall bring; tho' summer flowers shall pass unseen away, and all your portion of the glorious day may be some solitary beam that falls at morn or eve upon your dreary walls-- some beam that enters, trembling as if awed, to tell how gay the young world laughs abroad! yet go--for thoughts as blessed as the air of spring or summer flowers await you there; thoughts such as he who feasts his courtly crew in rich conservatories _never_ knew; pure self-esteem--the smiles that light within-- the zeal, whose circling charities begin with the few loved-ones heaven has placed it near, and spread till all mankind are in its sphere; the pride that suffers without vaunt or plea. and the fresh spirit that can warble free thro' prison-bars its hymn to liberty! the scene next changes to a tailor's workshop, and a fancifully-arranged group of these artists is discovered upon the shop-board--their task evidently of a _royal_ nature, from the profusion of gold-lace, frogs, etc., that lie about--they all rise and come forward, while one of them sings the following stanzas to the tune of "derry down." my brave brother tailors, come, straighten your knees, for a moment, like gentlemen, stand up at ease, while i sing of our prince (and a fig for his railers), the shop-board's delight! the maecenas of tailors! derry down, down, down derry down. some monarchs take roundabout ways into note, while _his_ short cut to fame is--the cut of his coat; philip's son thought the world was too small for his soul, but our regent's finds room in a laced button-hole. derry down, etc. look thro' all europe's kings--those, at least, who go loose-- not a king of them all's such a friend to the goose. so, god keep him increasing in size and renown, still the fattest and best fitted prince about town! derry down, etc. during the "derry down" of this last verse, a messenger from the secretary of state's office rushes on, and the singer (who, luckily for the effect of the scene, is the very tailor suspected of the mysterious fragments) is interrupted in the midst of his laudatory exertions and hurried away, to the no small surprise and consternation of his comrades. the plot now hastens rapidly in its development--the management of the tailor's examination is highly skilful, and the alarm which he is made to betray is natural without being ludicrous. the explanation too which he finally gives is not more simple than satisfactory. it appears that the said fragments formed part of a self-exculpatory note, which he had intended to send to colonel m'mahon upon subjects purely professional, and the corresponding bits (which still lie luckily in his pocket) being produced and skilfully laid beside the others, the following _billet-doux_ is the satisfactory result of their juxtaposition, honored colonel--my wife, who's the queen of all slatterns, neglected to put up the book of new patterns. she sent the wrong measures too--shamefully wrong-- they're the same used for poor mr. lambert, when young; but, bless you! they wouldn�t go half round the regent-- so, hope you'll excuse yours till death, most obedient. this fully explains the whole mystery--the regent resumes his wonted smiles, and the drama terminates as usual to the satisfaction of all parties. [ ] there was, in like manner, a mysterious book, in the th century, which employed all the anxious curiosity of the learned of that time. every one spoke of it; many wrote against it; though it does not appear that anybody had ever seen it; and grotius is of opinion that no such book ever existed. it was entitled, "_liber de tribus impostoribus_." (see morhof. cap. "_de libris damnatis_.") [ ] the same chamber, doubtless, that was prepared for the reception of the bourbons at the first grand fête, and which was ornamented (all "for the deliverance of europe") with _fleurs de-lys_. [ ] "to enable the individual who holds the office of chancellor to maintain it in becoming splendor." (_a loud laugh_.)--lord castlereagh's _speech upon the vice chancellor's bill_. [ ] mr. leigh hunt and his brother. satirical and humorous poems. the insurrection of the papers. a dream. "it would be impossible for his royal highness to disengage his person from the accumulating pile of papers that encompassed it." --lord castlereagh's _speech upon colonel m mahon's appointment, april , _. last night i tost and turned in bed, but could not sleep--at length i said, "i'll think of viscount castlereagh, "and of his speeches--that's the way." and so it was, for instantly i slept as sound as sound could be. and then i dreamt--so dread a dream! fuseli has no such theme; lewis never wrote or borrowed any horror half so horrid! methought the prince in whiskered state before me at his breakfast sate; on one side lay unread petitions, on t'other, hints from five physicians! _here_ tradesmen's bills,--official papers, notes from my lady, drams for vapors _there_ plans of saddles, tea and toast. death-warrants and _the morning post_. when lo! the papers, one and all. as if at some magician's call. began to flutter of themselves from desk and table, floor and shelves, and, cutting each some different capers, advanced, oh jacobinic papers! as tho' they said, "our sole design is "to suffocate his royal highness!" the leader of this vile sedition was a huge catholic petition, with grievances so full and heavy, it threatened worst of all the bevy; then common-hall addresses came in swaggering sheets and took their aim right at the regent's well-drest head, as if _determined_ to be read. next tradesmen's bills began to fly, and tradesmen's bills, we know, mount high; nay even death-warrants thought they'd best be lively too and join the rest. but, oh the basest of defections! his letter about "predilections"!-- his own dear letter, void of grace, now flew up in its parent's face! shocked with this breach of filial duty, he just could murmur "_et_ tu _brute_?" then sunk, subdued upon the floor at fox's bust, to rise no more! i waked--and prayed, with lifted hand, "oh! never may this dream prove true; "tho' paper overwhelms the land, "let it not crush the sovereign, too!" parody of a celebrated letter.[ ] at length, dearest freddy, the moment is night when, with perceval's leave, i may throw my chains by; and, as time now is precious, the first thing i do is to sit down and write a wise letter to you. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * i meant before now to have sent you this letter, but yarmouth and i thought perhaps 'twould be better to wait till the irish affairs are decided-- (that is, till both houses had prosed and divided, with all due appearance of thought and digestion)-- for, tho' hertford house had long settled the question, i thought it but decent, between me and you, that the two _other_ houses should settle it too. i need not remind you how cursedly bad our affairs were all looking, when father went mad;[ ] a strait waistcoat on him and restrictions on me, a more _limited_ monarchy could not well be. i was called upon then, in that moment of puzzle. to choose my own minister--just as they muzzle a playful young bear, and then mock his disaster by bidding him choose out his own dancing-master. i thought the best way, as a dutiful son, was to do as old royalty's self would have done.[ ] so i sent word to say, i would keep the whole batch in, the same chest of tools, without cleansing or patching: for tools of this kind, like martinus's sconce.[ ] would loose all their beauty if purified once; and think--only think--if our father should find. upon graciously coming again to his mind,[ ] that improvement had spoiled any favorite adviser-- that rose was grown honest, or westmoreland wiser-- that r--d--r was, even by one twinkle, the brighter-- or liverpool speeches but half a pound lighter-- what a shock to his old royal heart it would be! no!--far were such dreams of improvement from me: and it pleased me to find, at the house, where, you know,[ ] there's such good mutton cutlets, and strong curaçoa,[ ] that the marchioness called me a duteous old boy, and my yarmouth's red whiskers grew redder for joy. you know, my dear freddy, how oft, if i _would_, by the law of last sessions i _might_ have done good. i _might_ have withheld these political noodles from knocking their heads against hot yankee doodles; i _might_ have told ireland i pitied her lot, might have soothed her with hope--but you know i did not. and my wish is, in truth, that the best of old fellows should not, on recovering, have cause to be jealous, but find that while he has been laid on the shelf we've been all of us nearly as mad as himself. you smile at my hopes--but the doctors and i are the last that can think the king _ever_ will die.[ ] a new era's arrived[ ]--tho' you'd hardly believe it-- and all things of course must be new to receive it. new villas, new fêtes (which even waithman attends)-- new saddles, new helmets, and--why not _new friends_? * * * * * i repeat it, "new friends"--for i cannot describe the delight i am in with this perceval tribe. such capering!--such vaporing!--such rigor!--such vigor! north, south, east, and west, they have cut such a figure, that soon they will bring the whole world round our ears, and leave us no friends--but old nick and algiers. when i think of the glory they've beamed on my chains, 'tis enough quite to turn my illustrious brains. it is true we are bankrupts in commerce and riches, but think how we find our allies in new breeches! we've lost the warm hearts of the irish, 'tis granted, but then we've got java, an island much wanted, to put the last lingering few who remain, of the walcheren warriors, out of their pain. then how wellington fights! and how squabbles his brother! _for_ papists the one and _with_ papists the other; _one_ crushing napoleon by taking a city, while t'other lays waste a whole catholic committee. oh deeds of renown!--shall i boggle or flinch, with such prospects before me? by jove, not an inch. no--let _england's_ affairs go to rack, if they will, we'll look after the affairs of the _continent_ still; and with nothing at home but starvation and riot, find lisbon in bread and keep sicily quiet. i am proud to declare i have no predilections,[ ] my heart is a sieve where some scattered affections are just danced about for a moment or two, and the _finer_ they are, the more sure to run thro'; neither feel i resentments, nor wish there should come ill to mortal--except (now i think on't) beau brummel, who threatened last year, in a superfine passion, to cut _me_ and bring the old king into fashion. this is all i can lay to my conscience at present; when such is my temper, so neutral, so pleasant, so royally free from all troublesome feelings, so little encumbered by faith in my dealings (and that i'm consistent the world will allow, what i was at newmarket the same i am now). when such are my merits (you know i hate cracking), i hope, like the vender of best patent blacking, "to meet with the generous and kind approbation "of a candid, enlightened, and liberal nation." by the by, ere i close this magnificent letter, (no man, except pole, could have writ you a better,) 'twould please me if those, whom i've humbugged so long[ ] with the notion (good men!) that i knew right from wrong, would a few of them join me--mind, only a few-- to let _too_ much light in on me never would do; but even grey's brightness shan't make me afraid, while i've camden and eldon to fly to for shade; nor will holland's clear intellect do us much harm, while there's westmoreland near him to weaken the charm. as for moira's high spirit, if aught can subdue it. sure joining with hertford and yarmouth will do it! between r-d-r and wharton let sheridan sit, and the fogs will soon quench even sheridan's wit: and against all the pure public feeling that glows even in whitbread himself we've a host in george rose! so in short if they wish to have places, they may, and i'll thank you to tell all these matters to grey.[ ] who, i doubt not, will write (as there's no time to lose) by the twopenny post to tell grenville the news; and now, dearest fred (tho' i've no predilection), believe me yours always with truest affection. p.s. a copy of this is to perceval going[ ] good lord, how st. stephen's will ring with his crowing! [ ] letter from his royal highness the prince regent to the duke of york, feb. , . [ ] "i think it hardly necessary to call your recollection to the recent circumstances under which i assumed the authority delegated to me by parliament.--_prince's letter_. [ ] "my sense of duty to our royal father solely decided that choice."-- _ibid_. [ ] the antique shield of martinus scriblerus, which, upon scouring, turned out to be only an old sconce. [ ] "i waived any personal gratification, in order that his majesty might resume, on his restoration to health, every power and prerogative," etc.-- _prince's letter_. [ ] "and i have the satisfaction of knowing that such was the opinion of persons for whose judgment," etc--_ibid_. [ ] the letter-writer's favorite luncheon. [ ] i certainly am the last person in the kingdom to whom it can be permitted to despair of our royal father's recovery."--_prince's letter_. [ ] "a new era is now arrived, and i cannot but reflect with satisfaction," etc.--_ibid_. [ ] "i have no predilections to indulge,--no resentments to gratify."-- _prince's letter_. [ ] "i cannot conclude without expressing the gratification i should feel if some of those persons with whom the early habits of my public life were formed would strengthen my hands, and constitute a part of my government"-- _prince's letter_. [ ] "you are authorized to communicate these sentiments to lord grey, who, i have no doubt, will make them known to lord grenville."-- _prince's letter_. [ ] "i shall send a copy of this letter immediately to mr. perceval."- _prince's letter_. anacreontic to a plumassier. fine and feathery artisan, best of plumists (if you can with your art so far presume) make for me a prince's plume-- feathers soft and feathers rare, such as suits a prince to wear. first thou downiest of men, seek me out a fine pea-hen; such a hen, so tall and grand, as by juno's side might stand, if there were no cocks at hand. seek her feathers, soft as down, fit to shine on prince's crown; if thou canst not find them, stupid! ask the way of prior's cupid. ranging these in order due, pluck me next an old cuckoo; emblem of the happy fates of easy, kind, cornuted mates. pluck him well--be sure you do-- _who_ wouldn�t be an old cuckoo, thus to have his plumage blest, beaming on a royal crest? bravo, plumist!--now what bird shall we find for plume the third? you must get a learned owl, bleakest of black-letter fowl-- bigot bird that hates the light,[ ] foe to all that's fair and bright. seize his quills, (so formed to pen books[ ] that shun the search of men; books that, far from every eye, in "sweltered venom sleeping" lie,) stick them in between the two, proud pea-hen and old cuckoo. now you have the triple feather, bind the kindred stems together with a silken tie whose hue once was brilliant buff and blue; sullied now--alas, how much! only fit for yarmouth's touch. there--enough--thy task is done; present, worthy george's son; now, beneath, in letters neat, write "i serve," and all's complete. [ ] perceval. [ ] in allusion to "the book" which created such a sensation at that period. extracts from the diary of a politician. _wednesday_. thro' manchester square took a canter just now-- met the _old yellow chariot_[ ] and made a low bow. this i did, of course, thinking 'twas loyal and civil, but got such a look--oh! 'twas black as the devil! how unlucky!--_incog_. he was travelling about, and i like a noodle, must go find him out. _mem_.--when next by the old yellow chariot i ride, to remember there _is_ nothing princely inside. _thursday_. at levee to-day made another sad blunder-- what _can_ be come over me lately, i wonder? the prince was as cheerful as if all his life he had never been troubled with friends or a wife-- "fine weather," says he--to which i, who _must_ prate, answered, "yes, sir, but _changeable_ rather, of late." he took it, i fear, for he lookt somewhat gruff, and handled his new pair of whiskers so rough, that before all the courtiers i feared they'd come off, and then, lord, how geramb[ ] would triumphantly scoff! _mem_.--to buy for son dicky some unguent or lotion to nourish his whiskers--sure road to promotion![ ] _saturday_. last night a concert--vastly gay-- given by lady castlereagh. my lord loves music, and we know has "two strings always to his bow."[ ] in choosing songs, the regent named "_had i a heart for falsehood framed_." while gentle hertford begged and prayed for "_young i am and sore afraid_." [ ] the _incog_. vehicle of the prince. [ ] baron geramb, the rival of his r. h. in whiskers. [ ] england is not the only country where merit of this kind is noticed and rewarded. "i remember," says tavernier, "to have seen one of the king of persia's porters, whose mustaches were so long that he could tie them behind his neck, for which reason he had a double pension." [ ] a rhetorical figure used by lord castlereagh, in one of his speeches. epigram. what news to-day?--"oh! worse and worse-- "mac[ ] is the prince's privy purse!"-- the prince's _purse_! no, no, you fool, you mean the prince's _ridicule_. [ ] colonel m'mahon. king crack[ ] and his idols. written after the late negotiation for a new ministry. king crack was the best of all possible kings, (at least, so his courtiers would swear to you gladly,) but crack now and then would do heterodox things, and at last took to worshipping _images_ sadly. some broken-down idols, that long had been placed in his father's old _cabinet_, pleased him so much, that he knelt down and worshipt, tho'--such was his taste!-- they were monstrous to look at and rotten to touch. and these were the beautiful gods of king crack!-- but his people disdaining to worship such things cried aloud, one and all, "come, your godships must pack-- "you'll not do for _us_, tho' you _may_ do for _kings_." then trampling these images under their feet, they sent crack a petition, beginning "great caesar! "we're willing to worship; but only entreat "that you'll find us some _decenter_ godheads than these are." "i'll try," says king crack--so they furnisht him models of better shaped gods but he sent them all back; some were chiselled too fine, some had heads stead of noddles, in short they were all _much_ too godlike for crack. so he took to his darling old idols again, and just mending their legs and new bronzing their faces, in open defiance of gods and of man, set the monsters up grinning once more in their places. [ ] one of these antediluvian princes, with whom manetho and whiston seem so intimately acquainted. if we had the memoirs of thoth, from which manetho compiled his history, we should find, i dare say, that crack was only a regent, and that he, perhaps, succeeded typhon, who (as whiston says) was the last king of the antediluvian dynasty. what's my thought like? _quest_. why is a pump like viscount castlereagh? _answ_. because it is a slender thing of wood, that up and down its awkward arm doth sway, and coolly spout and spout and spout away, in one weak, washy, everlasting flood! epigram. dialogue between a catholic delegate and his royal highness the duke of cumberland. said his highness to ned,[ ] with that grim face of his, "why refuse us the _veto_, dear catholic neddy?" "because, sir," said ned, looking full in his phiz, "you're forbidding enough, in all conscience, already!" [ ] edward byrne the head of the delegates of the irish catholics. wreaths for the ministers. an anacreontic. hither, flora, queen of flowers! haste thee from old brompton's bowers-- or, (if sweeter that abode) from the king's well-odored road, where each little nursery bud breathes the dust and quaffs the mud. hither come and gayly twine brightest herbs and flowers of thine into wreaths for those who rule us, those who rule and (some say) fool us-- flora, sure, will love to please england's household deities![ ] first you must then, willy-nilly, fetch me many an orange lily-- orange of the darkest dye irish gifford can supply;-- choose me out the longest sprig, and stick it in old eldon's wig. find me next a poppy posy, type of his harangues so dozy, garland gaudy, dull and cool, to crown the head of liverpool. 'twill console his brilliant brows for that loss of laurel boughs, which they suffered (what a pity!) on the road to paris city. next, our castlereagh to crown, bring me from the county down, withered shamrocks which have been gilded o'er to hide the green-- (such as headfort brought away from pall-mall last patrick's day)[ ]-- stitch the garland thro' and thro' with shabby threads _of every hue_-- and as, goddess!--_entre nous_-- his lordship loves (tho' best of men) a little _torture_ now and then, crimp the leaves, thou first of syrens, crimp them with thy curling-irons. that's enough--away, away-- had i leisure, i could say how the _oldest rose_ that grows must be pluckt to deck old rose-- how the doctor's[ ] brow should smile crowned with wreaths of camomile. but time presses--to thy taste i leave the rest, so, prithee, haste! [ ] the ancients, in like manner, crowned their lares, or household gods. [ ] certain tinsel imitations of the shamrock which are distributed by the servants of carleton house every patrick's day. [ ] the _sobriquet_ given to lord sidmouth. epigram. dialogue between a dowager and her maid on the night of lord yarmouth's fete. "i want the court guide," said my lady, "to look "if the house, seymour place, be at . or ."-- "we've lost the _court guide_, ma'am, but here's _the red book_. "where you'll find, i dare say, seymour _places_ in plenty!" horace, ode xi. lib. ii. freely translated by the prince regent.[ ] come, yarmouth, my boy, never trouble your brains, about what your old crony, the emperor boney, is doing or brewing on muscovy's plains; nor tremble, my lad, at the state of our granaries: should there come famine, still plenty to cram in you always shall have, my dear lord of the stannaries. brisk let us revel, while revel we may; for the gay bloom of fifty soon passes away, and then people get fat, and infirm, and--all that, and a wig (i confess it) so clumsily sits, that it frightens the little loves out of their wits; thy whiskers, too, yarmouth!--alas, even they, tho' so rosy they burn, too quickly must turn (what a heart-breaking change for thy whiskers!) to grey. then why, my lord warden, oh! why should you fidget your mind about matters you don�t understand? or why should you write yourself down for an idiot, because "_you_," forsooth, "_have the pen in your hand_!" think, think how much better than scribbling a letter, (which both you and i should avoid by the by,) how much pleasanter 'tis to sit under the bust of old charley,[ ] my friend here, and drink like a new one; while charley looks sulky and frowns at me, just as the ghost in the pantomime frowns at don juan. to crown us, lord warden, in cumberland's garden grows plenty of _monk's hood_ in venomous sprigs: while otto of roses refreshing all noses shall sweetly exhale from our whiskers and wigs. what youth of the household will cool our noyau in that streamlet delicious, that down midst the dishes, all full of gold fishes, romantic doth flow?-- or who will repair unto manchester square, and see if the gentle _marchesa_ be there? go--bid her haste hither, and let her bring with her the newest no-popery sermon that's going-- oh! let her come, with her dark tresses flowing, all gentle and juvenile, curly and gay, in the manner of--ackerman's dresses for may! [ ] this and the following are extracted from a work, which may, some time or other, meet the eye of the public--entitled "odes of horace, done into english by several persons of fashion." [ ] charles fox. horace, ode xxii. lib. i. freely translated by lord eldon. the man who keeps a conscience pure, (if not his own, at least his prince's,) thro' toil and danger walks secure, looks big and black and never winces. no want has he of sword or dagger, cockt hat or ringlets of geramb; tho' peers may laugh and papists swagger, he doesn�t care one single damn. whether midst irish chairmen going. or thro' st. giles's alleys dim, mid drunken sheelahs, blasting, blowing, no matter, 'tis all one to him. for instance, i, one evening late, upon a gay vacation sally, singing the praise of church and state, got (god knows how) to cranbourne alley. when lo! an irish papist darted across my path, gaunt, grim, and big-- i did but frown and off he started, scared at me even without my wig. yet a more fierce and raw-boned dog goes not to mass in dublin city, nor shakes his brogue o'er allen's bog, nor spouts in catholic committee. oh! place me midst o'rourkes, o'tooles, the ragged royal-blood of tara; or place me where dick martin rules the houseless wilds of connemara;[ ] of church and state i'll warble still, though even dick martin's self should grumble; sweet church and state, like jack and jill, so lovingly upon a hill-- ah! ne'er like jack and jill to tumble![ ] [ ] i must here remark, that the said dick martin being a very good fellow, it was not at all fair to make a "_malus jupiter_" of him. [ ] there cannot be imagined a more happy illustration of the inseparability of church and state, and their (what is called) "standing and falling together," than this ancient apologue of jack and jill. jack, of course, represents the state in this ingenious little allegory. jack fell down, and broke his _crown_, and jill came tumbling after. the new costume of the ministers. --_nova monstra creavit_. ovid. "_metamorph_." . i. v. . having sent off the troops of brave major camac, with a swinging horse-tail at each valorous back. and such helmets, god bless us! as never deckt any male creature before, except signor giovanni-- "let's see," said the regent (like titus, perplext with the duties of empire,) "whom _shall_ i dress next?" he looks in the glass--but perfection is there, wig, whiskers, and chin-tufts all right to a hair;[ ] not a single _ex_-curl on his forehead he traces-- for curls are like ministers, strange as the case is, the _falser_ they are, the more firm in their places. his coat he next views--but the coat who could doubt? for his yarmouth's own frenchified hand cut it out; every pucker and seam were made matters of state, and a grand household council was held on each plait. then whom shall he dress? shall he new-rig his brother, great cumberland's duke, with some kickshaw or other? and kindly invent him more christianlike shapes for his feather-bed neckcloths and pillory capes. ah! no--here his ardor would meet with delays, for the duke had been lately packt up in new stays, so complete for the winter, he saw very plain 'twould be devilish hard work to _un_pack him again. so what's to be done?--there's the ministers, bless 'em!-- as he _made_ the puppets, why shouldn�t he _dress_ 'em? "an excellent thought!--call the tailors--be nimble-- "let cum bring his spy-glass, and hertford her thimble; "while yarmouth shall give us, in spite of all quizzers, "the last paris cut with his true gallic scissors." so saying, he calls castlereagh and the rest of his heaven-born statesmen, to come and be drest. while yarmouth, with snip-like and brisk expedition, cuts up all at once a large catholic petition in long tailors' measures, (the prince crying "well-done!") and first _puts in hand_ my lord chancellor eldon. [ ] that model of princes, the emperor commodus, was particularly luxurious in the dressing and ornamenting of his hair. his conscience, however, would not suffer him to trust himself with a barber, and he used, accordingly, to burn off his beard. correspondence between a lady and gentleman, upon the advantage of (what is called) "having law[ ] on one's side." _the gentleman's proposal_. _legge aurea, s'ei piace, ei lice_." come fly to these arms nor let beauties so bloomy to one frigid owner be tied; your prudes may revile and your old ones look gloomy, but, dearest, we've _law_ on our side. oh! think the delight of two lovers congenial, whom no dull decorums divide; their error how sweet and their raptures how _venial_, when once they've got law on their side. 'tis a thing that in every king's reign has been done too: then why should it now be decried? if the father has done it why shouldn�t the son too? for so argues law on our side. and even should our sweet violation of duty by cold-blooded jurors be tried, they can _but_ bring it in "misfortune," my beauty, as long as we've law on our side. _the lady's answer_. hold, hold, my good sir, go a little more slowly; for grant me so faithless a bride, such sinners as we, are a little too _lovely_, to hope to have law on our side. had you been a great prince, to whose star shining o'er 'em the people should look for their guide, then your highness (and welcome!) might kick down decorum-- you'd always have law on your side. were you even an old marquis, in mischief grown hoary, whose heart tho' it long ago died to the _pleasures_ of vice, is alive to its _glory_-- you still would have law on your side. but for _you_, sir, crim. con. is a path full of troubles; by _my_ advice therefore abide, and leave the pursuit to those princes and nobles who have _such_ a _law_ on their side. [ ] in allusion to lord ellenborough. occasional address for the opening of the new theatre of st. stephen, intended to have been spoken by the proprietor in full costume, on the th of november, . this day a new house for your edification we open, most thinking and right-headed nation! excuse the materials--tho' rotten and bad, they're the best that for money just now could be had; and if _echo_ the charm of such houses should be, you will find it shall echo my speech to a t. as for actors, we've got the old company yet, the same motley, odd, tragicomical set; and considering they all were but clerks t'other day, it is truly surprising how well they can play. our manager,[ ] (he who in ulster was nurst, and sung _erin go bragh_ for the galleries first, but on finding _pitt_-interest a much better thing, changed his note of a sudden to _god save the king_,) still wise as he's blooming and fat as he's clever, himself and his speeches as _lengthy_ as ever. here offers you still the full use of his breath, your devoted and long-winded proser till death. you remember last season, when things went perverse on. we had to engage (as a block to rehearse on) one mr. vansittart, a good sort of person, who's also employed for this season to play, in "raising the wind," and "the devil to pay."[ ] we expect too--at least we've been plotting and planning-- to get that great actor from liverpool, canning; and, as at the circus there's nothing attracts like a good _single combat_ brought in 'twixt the acts, if the manager should, with the help of sir popham, get up new _diversions_ and canning should stop 'em, who knows but we'll have to announce in the papers, "grand fight--second time--with additional capers." be your taste for the ludicrous, humdrum, or sad, there is plenty of each in this house to be had. where our manager ruleth, there weeping will be, for a _dead hand at tragedy_ always was he; and there never was dealer in dagger and cup, who so _smilingly_ got all his tragedies up. his powers poor ireland will never forget, and the widows of walcheren weep o'er them yet. so much for the actors;--for secret machinery, traps, and deceptions, and shifting of scenery, yarmouth and cum are the best we can find, to transact all that trickery business behind. the former's employed too to teach us french jigs, keep the whiskers in curl and look after the wigs. in taking my leave now, i've only to say, a few _seats in the house_, not as yet sold away, may be had of the manager, pat castlereagh. [ ] lord castlereagh. [ ] he had recently been appointed chancellor of the exchequer. the sale of the tools. _instrumenta regni_.--tacitus. here's a choice set of tools for you, ge'mmen and ladies, they'll fit you quite handy, whatever your trade is; (except it be _cabinet-making_;--no doubt, in that delicate service they're rather worn out; tho' their owner, bright youth! if he'd had his own will, would have bungled away with them joyously still.) you see they've been pretty well _hackt_--and alack! what tool is there job after job will not hack? their edge is but dullish it must be confest, and their temper, like ellenborough's, none of the best; but you'll find them good hardworking tools, upon trying, were't but for their _brass_ they are well worth the buying; they're famous for making _blinds_, _sliders_, and _screens_, and are some of them excellent _turning_ machines. the first tool i'll put up (they call it a _chancellor_), heavy concern to both purchaser _and_ seller. tho' made of pig iron yet worthy of note 'tis, 'tis ready to _melt_ at a half minute's notice.[ ] who bids? gentle buyer! 'twill turn as thou shapest; 'twill make a good thumb-screw to torture a papist; or else a cramp-iron to stick in the wall of some church that old women are fearful will fall; or better, perhaps, (for i'm guessing at random,) a heavy _drag-chain_ for some lawyer's old _tandem_. will nobody bid? it is cheap, i am sure, sir-- once, twice,--going, going,--thrice, gone!--it is yours, sir. to pay ready money you sha'n't be distrest, as a _bill_ at _long date_ suits the chancellor best. come, where's the next tool?-- oh! 'tis here in a trice-- this implement, ge'mmen, at first was a _vice_; (a tenacious and close sort of tool that will let nothing out of its grasp it once happens to get;) but it since has received a new coating of _tin_, bright enough for a prince to behold himself in. come, what shall we say for it? briskly! bid on, we'll the sooner get rid of it--going--quite gone. god be with it, such tools, if not quickly knockt down, might at last cost their owner--how much? why, a _crown_! the next tool i'll set up has hardly had handsel or trial as yet and is _also_ a chancellor-- such dull things as these should be sold by the gross; yet, dull as it is, 'twill be found to _shave close_, and like _other_ close shavers, some courage to gather, this _blade_ first began by a flourish on _leather_.[ ] you shall have it for nothing--then, marvel with me at the terrible _tinkering_ work there must be, where a tool such as this is (i'll leave you to judge it) is placed by ill luck at the top of _the budget_! [ ] an allusion to lord eldon's lachrymose tendencies. [ ] of the taxes proposed by mr. vansittart, that principally opposed in parliament was the additional duty on leather."--_ann. register_. little man and little soul. a ballad. _to the tune of "there was a little man, and he wooed a little maid."_ dedicated to the rt. hon. charles abbot. _arcades ambo et cantare pares_ . there was a little man and he had a little soul, and he said, "little soul, let us try, try, try. "whether it's within our reach "to make up a little speech, "just between little you and little i, i, i, "just between little you and little i!" then said his little soul, peeping from her little hole, "i protest, little man, you are stout, stout, stout, "but, if it's not uncivil, "pray tell me what the devil, "must our little, little speech be about, bout, bout, "must our little, little speech be about?" the little man lookt big, with the assistance of his wig, and he called his little soul to order, order, order, till she feared he'd make her jog in to jail, like thomas croggan, (as she wasn't duke or earl) to reward her, ward her, ward her, as she wasn't duke or earl, to reward her. the little man then spoke, "little soul, it is no joke, "for as sure as jacky fuller loves a sup, sup, sup, "i will tell the prince and people "what i think of church and steeple. "and my little patent plan to prop them up, up, up, "and my little patent plan to prop them up." away then, cheek by jowl, little man and little soul went and spoke their little speech to a tittle, tittle, tittle, and the world all declare that this priggish little pair never yet in all their lives lookt so little, little, little. never yet in all their lives lookt so little! reinforcements for lord wellington. _suosque tibi commendat, troja penates hos cape fatorum comites_. vergil. . as recruits in these times are not easily got and the marshal _must_ have them--pray, why should we not, as the last and, i grant it, the worst of our loans to him, ship off the ministry, body and bones to him? there's not in all england, i'd venture to swear, any men we could half so conveniently spare; and tho' they've been helping the french for years past, we may thus make them useful to england at last. castlereagh in our sieges might save some disgraces, being used to the _taking_ and _keeping_ of _places_; and volunteer canning, still ready for joining, might show off his talent for sly _under-mining_. could the household but spare us its glory and pride, old headfort at _horn-works_ again might be tried, and as chief justice make a _bold charge_ at his side: while vansittart could victual the troops _upon tick_, and the doctor look after the baggage and sick. nay, i do not see why the great regent himself should in times such as these stay at home on the shelf: tho' thro' narrow defiles he's not fitted to pass, yet who could resist, if he bore down _en masse_? and tho' oft of an evening perhaps he might prove, like our spanish confederates, "unable to move,"[ ] yet there's _one_ thing in war of advantage unbounded, which is, that he could not with ease be _surrounded_. in my next i shall sing of their arms and equipment: at present no more, but--good luck to the shipment! [ ] the character given to the spanish soldier, in sir john murray's memorable despatch. horace, ode i. lib. iii. a fragment. _odi profanum, valgus et arceo; favete linguis: carmina non prius audila musarum sacerdos virginibus puerisque canto. regum timendorum in proprios greges, reges in ipsos imperium est jovis_. . i hate thee, oh, mob, as my lady hates delf; to sir francis i'll give up thy claps and thy hisses, leave old magna charta to shift for itself, and, like godwin, write books for young masters and misses. oh! it _is_ not high rank that can make the heart merry, even monarchs themselves are not free from mishap: tho' the lords of westphalia must quake before jerry, poor jerry himself has to quake before nap. horace, ode xxxviii. lib. i. a fragment. _persico odi, puer, adparatus; displicent nexae philyra coronae;_ mitte sectari, _rosa_ quo locorum sera moretur. translated by a treasury clerk, while waiting dinner for the right hon. george robe. boy, tell the cook that i hate all nicknackeries. fricassees, vol-au-vents, puffs, and gim-crackeries-- six by the horse-guards!--old georgy is late-- but come--lay the table-cloth--zounds! do not wait, nor stop to inquire, while the dinner is staying, at which of his places old rose is delaying! * * * * * impromptu. upon being obliged to leave a pleasant party, from the want of a pair of breeches to dress for dinner in. . between adam and me the great difference is, tho' a paradise each has been forced to resign, that he never wore breeches, till turned out of his, while for want of my breeches, i'm banisht from mine. lord wellington and the ministers. . so gently in peace alcibiades smiled, while in battle he shone forth so terribly grand, that the emblem they graved on his seal, was a child with a thunderbolt placed in its innocent hand. oh wellington, long as such ministers wield your magnificent arm, the same emblem will do; for while _they_'re in the council and _you_ in the field. we've the _babies_ in _them_, and the _thunder_ in _you_! the following trifles, having enjoyed in their circulation through the newspapers all the celebrity and length of life to which they were entitled, would have been suffered to pass quietly into oblivion without pretending to any further distinction, had they not already been published, in a collective form, both in london and paris, and, in each case, been mixed up with a number of other productions, to which, whatever may be their merit, the author of the following pages has no claim. a natural desire to separate his own property, worthless as it is, from that of others, is, he begs to say, the chief motive of the publication of this volume. to sir hudson lowe. _effare causam nominis, utrumne mores hoc tui nomen dedere, an nomen hoc secuta morum regula_. ausonius. . sir hudson lowe, sir hudson _low_, (by name, and ah! by nature so) as thou art fond of persecutions, perhaps thou'st read, or heard repeated, how captain gulliver was treated, when thrown among the lilliputians. they tied him down--these little men did-- and having valiantly ascended upon the mighty man's protuberance, they did so strut!--upon my soul, it must have been extremely droll to see their pigmy pride's exuberance! and how the doughty mannikins amused themselves with sticking pins and needles in the great man's breeches: and how some _very_ little things, that past for lords, on scaffoldings got up and worried him with speeches, alas, alas! that it should happen to mighty men to be caught napping!-- tho' different too these persecutions; for gulliver, _there_, took the nap, while, _here_, the _nap_, oh sad mishap, is taken by the lilliputians! amatory colloquy between bank and government. . bank. is all then forgotten? those amorous pranks you and i in our youth, my dear government, played; when you called me the fondest, the truest of banks, and enjoyed the endearing _advances_ i made! when left to ourselves, unmolested and free, to do all that a dashing young couple should do, a law against _paying_ was laid upon me, but none against _owing_, dear helpmate, on you. and is it then vanisht?--that "hour (as othello so happily calls it) of love and _direction_?" and must we, like other fond doves, my dear fellow, grow good in our old age and cut the connection? government. even so, my beloved mrs. bank, it must be; this paying in cash plays the devil with wooing: we've both had our swing, but i plainly foresee there must soon be a stop to our _bill_ing and cooing. propagation in reason--a small child or two-- even reverend malthus himself is a friend to; the issue of some folks is moderate and few-- but _ours_, my dear corporate bank, there's no end to! so--hard tho' it be on a pair, who've already disposed of so many pounds, shillings and pence; and in spite of that pink of prosperity, freddy,[ ] so lavish of cash and so sparing of sense-- the day is at hand, my papyria[ ] venus, when--high as we once used to carry our capers-- those soft _billet-doux_ we're now passing between us, will serve but to keep mrs. coutts in curl-papers: and when--if we _still_ must continue our love, (after all that has past)--our amour, it is clear, like that which miss danäe managed with jove, must all be transacted in _bullion_, my dear! _february, _. [ ] honorable fredrick robinson. [ ] so called, to distinguish her from the aure or _golden_ venus. dialogue between a sovereign and a one pound note. _"o ego non felix, quam tu fugis, ut pavet acres agna lupos, capreaeque leones."_--hor. said a sovereign to a note, in the pocket of his coat, where they met in a neat purse of leather, "how happens it, i prithee, "that, tho' i'm wedded _with_ thee, "fair pound, we can never live together? "like your sex, fond of _change_ "with silver you can range, "and of lots of young sixpences be mother; "while with _me_--upon my word, "not my lady and my lord "of westmouth see so little of each other!" the indignant note replied (lying crumpled by his side), "shame, shame, it is _yourself_ that roam, sir-- "one cannot look askance, "but, whip! you're off to france, "leaving nothing but old rags at home, sir. "your scampering began "from the moment parson van, "poor man, made us _one_ in love's fetter; "'for better or for worse' "is the usual marriage curse, "but ours is all 'worse' and no 'better.' "in vain are laws past, "there's nothing holds you fast, "tho' you know, sweet sovereign, i adore you-- "at the smallest hint in life, "you forsake your lawful wife, "as _other_ sovereigns did before you. "i flirt with silver, true-- "but what can ladies do, "when disowned by their natural protectors? "and as to falsehood, stuff! "i shall soon be _false_ enough, "when i get among those wicked bank directors." the sovereign, smiling on her, now swore upon his honor, to be henceforth domestic and loyal; but, within an hour or two, why--i sold him to a jew, and he's now at no. , palais royal. an expostulation to lord king. _"quem das finem, rex magne, laborum?"_ vergil. . how _can_ you, my lord, thus delight to torment all the peers of the realm about cheapening their corn,[ ] when you know, if one hasn't a very high rental, 'tis hardly worth while being very high born? why bore them so rudely, each night of your life, on a question, my lord, there's so much to abhor in? a question-like asking one, "how is your wife?"-- at once so confounded _domestic_ and _foreign_. as to weavers, no matter how poorly they feast; but peers and such animals, fed up for show, (like the well-physickt elephant, lately deceased,) take a wonderful quantum of cramming, you know. you might see, my dear baron, how bored and distrest were their high noble hearts by your merciless tale, when the force of the agony wrung even a jest from the frugal scotch wit of my lord lauderdale![ ] bright peer! to whom nature and berwickshire gave a humor endowed with effects so provoking, that when the whole house looks unusually grave you may always conclude that lord lauderdale's joking! and then, those unfortunate weavers of perth-- not to know the vast difference providence dooms between weavers of perth and peers of high birth, 'twixt those who have _heir_looms, and those who've but looms! "to talk _now_ of starving!"--as great athol said[ ]-- (and the nobles all cheered and the bishops all wondered,) "when some years ago he and others had fed "of these same hungry devils about fifteen hundred!" it follows from hence--and the duke's very words should be publisht wherever poor rogues of this craft are-- that weavers, _once_ rescued from starving by lords, are bound to be starved by said lords ever after. when rome was uproarious, her knowing patricians made "bread and the circus" a cure for each _row_; but not so the plan of _our_ noble physicians, "no bread and the treadmill,"'s the regimen now. so cease, my dear baron of ockham, your prose, as i shall my poetry--_neither_ convinces; and all we have spoken and written but shows, when you tread on a nobleman's _corn_,[ ] how he winces. [ ] see the proceedings of the lords, wednesday, march , , when lord king was severely reproved by several of the noble peers, for making so many speeches against the corn laws. [ ] this noble earl said, that "when he heard the petition came from ladies' boot and shoe-makers, he thought it must be against the 'corns' which they inflicted on the fair sex." [ ] the duke of athol said, that "at a former period, when these weavers were in great distress, the landed interest of perth had supported of them, it was a poor return for these very men now to petition against the persons who had fed them." [ ] an improvement, we flatter ourselves, on lord l.'s joke. the sinking fund cried. "now what, we ask, is become of this sinking fund--these eight millions of surplus above expenditure, which were to reduce the interest of the national debt by the amount of four hundred thousand pounds annually? where, indeed, is the sinking fund itself?" --_the times_. take your bell, take your bell, good crier, and tell to the bulls and the bears, till their ears are stunned, that, lost or stolen, or fallen thro' a hole in the treasury floor, is the sinking fund! o yes! o yes! can anybody guess what the deuce has become of this treasury wonder? it has pitt's name on't, all brass, in the front, and robinson's scrawled with a goose-quill under. folks well knew what would soon be its lot, when frederick and jenky set hob-nobbing,[ ] and said to each other, "suppose, dear brother, "we make this funny old fund worth robbing." we are come, alas! to a very pretty pass-- eight hundred millions of score, to pay, with but five in the till, to discharge the bill, and even that five, too, whipt away! stop thief! stop thief!-- from the sub to the chief, these _gemmen_ of finance are plundering cattle-- call the watch--call brougham, tell joseph hume, that best of charleys, to spring his rattle. whoever will bring this aforesaid thing to the well-known house of robinson and jenkin, shall be paid, with thanks, in the notes of banks, whose funds have all learned "the art of sinking." o yes! o yes! can anybody guess what the devil has become of this treasury wonder? it has pitt's name on't, all brass, in the front, and robinson's, scrawled with a goose-quill under. [ ] in , when the sinking fund was raised by the imposition of new taxes to the sum of five millions. ode to the goddess ceres. by sir thomas lethbridge. "legiferoe cereri phoeboque."--vergil. dear goddess of corn whom the ancients, we know, (among other odd whims of those comical bodies,) adorned with somniferous poppies to show thou wert always a true country-gentleman's goddess. behold in his best shooting-jacket before thee an eloquent 'squire, who most humbly beseeches. great queen of mark-lane (if the thing doesn�t bore thee), thou'lt read o'er the last of his--_never_-last speeches. ah! ceres, thou knowest not the slander and scorn now heapt upon england's 'squirearchy, so boasted; improving on hunt,[ ] 'tis no longer the corn, 'tis the _growers_ of corn that are now, alas! roasted. in speeches, in books, in all shapes they attack us-- reviewers, economists--fellows no doubt that you, my dear ceres and venus and bacchus and gods of high fashion, know little about. there's bentham, whose english is all his own making,-- who thinks just as little of settling a nation as he would of smoking his pipe or of taking (what he himself calls) his "postprandial vibration."[ ] there are two mr. mills to whom those that love reading thro' all that's unreadable call very clever;-- and whereas mill senior makes war on _good_ breeding, mill junior makes war on all _breeding_ whatever! in short, my dear goddess, old england's divided between _ultra_ blockheads and superfine sages;-- with _which_ of these classes we landlords have sided thou'lt find in my speech if thou'lt read a few pages. for therein i've proved to my own satisfaction and that of all 'squires i've the honor of meeting that 'tis the most senseless and foul-mouthed detraction to say that poor people are fond of cheap eating. on the contrary, such the "_chaste_ notions"[ ] of food that dwell in each pale manufacturer's heart, they would scorn any law, be it ever so good, that would make thee, dear goddess, less dear than thou art! and, oh! for monopoly what a blest day, whom the land and the silk[ ] shall in fond combination (like _sulky_ and _silky_, that pair in the play,)[ ] cry out with one voice for high rents and starvation! long life to the minister!--no matter who, or how dull he may be, if with dignified spirit he keeps the ports shut--and the people's mouths too-- we shall all have a long run of freddy's prosperity, and, as for myself, who've, like hannibal, sworn to hate the whole crew who would take our rents from us, had england but _one_ to stand by thee, dear corn, that last, honest uni-corn[ ] would be sir thomas! [ ] a sort of "breakfast-power," composed of roasted corn, was about this time introduced by mr. hunt, as a substitute for coffee. [ ] the venerable jeremy's phrase for his after-dinner walk. [ ] a phrase in one of sir thomas's last speeches. [ ] great efforts were, at that time, making for the exclusion of foreign silk. [ ] "road to ruin." [ ] this is meant not so much for a pun, as in allusion to the natural history of the unicorn, which is supposed to be, something between the _bos_ and the _asinus_, and, as rees's cyclopaedia assures us, has a particular liking for everything "chaste." a hymn of welcome after the recess. _"animas sapientiores fieri quiescendo."_ and now-cross-buns and pancakes o'er-- hail, lords and gentlemen, once more! thrice hail and welcome, houses twain! the short eclipse of april-day having (god grant it!) past away, collective wisdom, shine again! come, ayes and noes, thro' thick and thin,-- with paddy holmes for whipper-in,-- whate'er the job, prepared to back it; come, voters of supplies--bestowers of jackets upon trumpet-blowers, at eighty mortal pounds the jacket![ ] come--free, at length, from joint-stock cares-- ye senators of many shares, whose dreams of premium knew no boundary; so fond of aught like _company_, that you would even have taken _tea_ (had you been askt) with mr. goundry.[ ] come, matchless country-gentlemen; come, wise sir thomas--wisest then when creeds and corn-lords are debated; come, rival even the harlot red, and show how wholly into _bread_ a 'squire is _transubstantiated_, come, lauderdale, and tell the world, that--surely as thy scratch is curled as never scratch was curled before-- cheap eating does more harm than good, and working-people spoiled by food, the less they eat, will work the more. come, goulburn, with thy glib defence (which thou'dst have made for peter's pence) of church-rates, worthy of a halter; two pipes of port (_old_ port, 'twas said by honest _new_port)[ ] bought and paid by papists for the orange altar![ ] come, horton, with thy plan so merry for peopling canada from kerry-- not so much rendering ireland quiet, as grafting on the dull canadians that liveliest of earth's contagions, the _bull_-pock of hibernian riot! come all, in short, ye wondrous men of wit and wisdom, come again; tho' short your absence, all deplore it-- oh, come and show, whate'er men say, that you can _after_ april-day, be just as--sapient as _before_ it. [ ] an item of expense which mr. hume in vain endeavored tog et rid of:-- trumpeters, it appears like the men of all-souls, must be "_bene vestiti_." [ ] the gentleman, lately before the public, who kept his _joint_-stock tea company all to himself, singing "te _solo adoro_." [ ] sir john newport. [ ] this charge of two pipes of port for the sacramental wine is a precious specimen of the sort of rates levied upon their catholic fellow- parishioners by the irish protestants. "the thirst that from the soul doth rise doth ask a drink divine." memorabilia of last week. monday, march , . the budget--quite charming and witty--no hearing, for plaudits and laughs, the good things that were in it;-- great comfort to find, tho' the speech isn't _cheering_, that all its gay auditors _were_ every minute. what, _still_ more prosperity!--mercy upon us, "this boy'll be the death of me"--oft as, already, such smooth budgeteers have genteelly undone us, for _ruin made easy_ there's no one like freddy. tuesday. much grave apprehension exprest by the peers, lest--calling to life the old peachums and lockitts-- the large stock of gold we're to have in three years, should all find its way into highwaymen's pockets![ ] wednesday. little doing--for sacred, oh wednesday, thou art to the seven-o'-clock joys of full many a table-- when _the members_ all meet, to make much of that part, with which they so rashly fell out in the fable. it appeared, tho', to-night, that--as church-wardens yearly, eat up a small baby--those cormorant sinners. the bankrupt commissioners, _bolt_ very nearly a moderate-sized bankrupt, _tout chaud_, for their dinners![ ] _nota bene_--a rumor to-day, in the city, "mr. robinson just has resigned"--what a pity! the bulls and the bears all fell a sobbing, when they heard of the fate of poor cock _robin_: while thus, to the nursery tune, so pretty, a murmuring _stock_-dove breathed her ditty:-- alas, poor _robin_, he crowed as long and as sweet as a prosperous cock could crow; but his _note_ was _small_ and the _gold_-finch's song was a pitch too high for robin to go. who'll make his shroud? "i," said the bank, "tho' he played me a prank, "while i have a rag, poor _rob_ shall be rolled in't, "with many a pound i'll paper him round, "like a plump rouleau--_without_ the gold in it." [ ] "another objection to a metallic currency was, that it produced a greater number of highway robberies."--_debate in the lords_. [ ] mr. abercromby's statement of the enormous tavern bills of the commissioners of bankrupts. all in the family way. a new pastoral ballad. (sung in the character of britannia.) "the public debt is due from ourselves to ourselves, and resolves itself into a family account."--_sir robert peel's letter_. tune--_my banks are all furnisht with bees_. my banks are all furnisht with rags, so thick, even freddy can't thin 'em; i've torn up my old money-bags, having little or nought to put in 'em. my tradesmen are smashing by dozens, but this is all nothing, they say; for bankrupts since adam are cousins,-- so, it's all in the family way. my debt not a penny takes from me. as sages the matter explain;-- bob owes it to tom, and then tommy just owes it to bob back again. since all have thus taken to _owing_, there's nobody left that can _pay_; and this is the way to keep going,-- all quite in the family way. my senators vote away millions, to put in prosperity's budget; and tho' it were billions or trillions, the generous rogues wouldn�t grudge it. 'tis all but a family _hop_, 'twas pitt began dancing the hay; hands round!--why the deuce should we stop? 'tis all in the family way. my laborers used to eat mutton, as any great man of the state does; and now the poor devils are put on small rations of tea and potatoes. but cheer up, john, sawney, and paddy, the king is your father, they say; so even if you starve for your daddy, 'tis all in the family way. my rich manufacturers tumble, my poor ones have nothing to chew; and even if themselves do not grumble their stomachs undoubtedly do. but coolly to fast _en famille_, is as good for the soul as to pray; and famine itself is genteel, when one starves in a family way. i have found out a secret for freddy, a secret for next budget day; tho' perhaps he may know it already, as he too's a sage in his way. when next for the treasury scene he announces "the devil to pay," let him write on the bills, "_nota bene_, "'tis all in the family way." ballad for the cambridge election. "i authorized my committee to take the step which they did, of proposing a fair comparison of strength, upon the understanding that _whichever of the two should prove to be the weakest_, should give way to the other." --_extract from mr. w. j. bankes's letter to mr. goulbourn_. bankes is weak, and goulbourn too, no one e'er the fact denied;-- which is "weakest" of the two, cambridge can alone decide. choose between them, cambridge, pray, which is weakest, cambridge, say. goulbourn of the pope afraid is, bankes, as much afraid as he; never yet did two old ladies on this point so well agree. choose between them, cambridge, pray, which is weakest. cambridge, say. each a different mode pursues, each the same conclusion reaches; bankes is foolish in reviews, goulbourn foolish in his speeches. choose between them, cambridge, pray, which is weakest, cambridge, say. each a different foe doth damn, when his own affairs have gone ill; bankes he damneth buckingham, goulbourn damneth dan o'connell. choose between them, cambridge, pray, which is weakest, cambridge, say. once we know a horse's neigh fixt the election to a throne, so whichever first shall _bray_ choose him, cambridge, for thy own. choose him, choose him by his bray, thus elect him, cambridge, pray. _june_, . mr. roger dodsworth. . to the editor of the times. sir--having just heard of the wonderful resurrection of mr. roger dodsworth from under an _avalanche_, where he had remained, _bien frappe_, it seems, for the last years, i hasten to impart to you a few reflections on the subject.--yours, etc. _laudator temporis acti_. what a lucky turn-up!--just as eldon's withdrawing, to find thus a gentleman, frozen in the year sixteen hundred and sixty, who only wants thawing to serve for _our_ times quite as well as the peer;-- to bring thus to light, not the wisdom alone of our ancestors, such as 'tis found on our shelves, but in perfect condition, full-wigged and full-grown, to shovel up one of those wise bucks themselves! oh thaw mr. dodsworth and send him safe home-- let him learn nothing useful or new on the way; with his wisdom kept snug from the light let him come, and our tories will hail him with "hear!" and "hurrah!" what a god-send to _them_!--a good, obsolete man, who has never of locke or voltaire been a reader;-- oh thaw mr. dodsworth as fast as you can, and the lonsdales and hertfords shall choose him for leader. yes, sleeper of ages, thou _shalt_ be their chosen; and deeply with thee will they sorrow, good men, to think that all europe has, since thou wert frozen, so altered thou hardly wilt know it again. and eldon will weep o'er each sad innovation such oceans of tears, thou wilt fancy that he has been also laid up in a long congelation, and is only now thawing, dear roger, like thee. copy of an intercepted despatch. from his excellency don strepitoso diabolo, envoy extraordinary to his satanic majesty. st. james's street, july , . great sir, having just had the good luck to catch an official young demon, preparing to go, ready booted and spurred, with a black-leg despatch from the hell here at crockford's, to _our_ hell below-- i write these few lines to your highness satanic, to say that first having obeyed your directions and done all the mischief i could in "the panic," my next special care was to help the elections. well knowing how dear were those times to thy soul, when every good christian tormented his brother, and caused, in thy realm, such a saving of coal, from all coming down, ready grilled by each other; remembering besides how it pained thee to part with the old penal code--that _chef-d'oeuvre_ of law, in which (tho' to own it too modest thou art) we could plainly perceive the fine touch of thy claw; i thought, as we ne'er can those good times revive, (tho' eldon, with help from your highness would try,) 'twould still keep a taste for hell's music alive, could we get up a thundering no-popery cry;-- that yell which when chorused by laics and clerics, so like is to _ours_, in its spirit and tone. that i often nigh laugh myself into hysterics, to think that religion should make it her own. so, having sent down for the original notes of the chorus as sung by your majesty's choir with a few pints of lava to gargle the throats of myself and some others who sing it "with fire,"[ ] thought i, "if the marseillais hymn could command "such audience, tho' yelled by a _sans-culotte_ crew "what wonders shall _we_ do, who've men in our band, "that not only wear breeches but petticoats too." such _then_ were my hopes, but with sorrow, your highness, i'm forced to confess--be the cause what it will, whether fewness of voices or hoarseness or shyness,-- our beelzebub chorus has gone off but ill. the truth is no placeman now knows his right key, the treasury pitch-pipe of late is so various; and certain _base_ voices, that lookt for a fee at the _york_ music-meeting now think it precarious. even some of our reverends _might_ have been warmer,-- tho' one or two capital roarers we've had; doctor wise[ ]is for instance a charming performer, and _huntingdon_ maberley's yell was not bad! altogether however the thing was not hearty;-- even eldon allows we got on but so so; and when next we attempt a no-popery party, we _must_, please your highness, recruit _from below_. but hark! the young black-leg is cracking his whip-- excuse me, great sir-there's no time to be civil;-- the next opportunity shan't be let slip, but, till then, i'm, in haste, your most dutiful devil. _july, _ [ ] _con fuoco_--a music-book direction. [ ] this reverend gentleman distinguished himself at the reading election. the millennium. suggested by the late work of the reverend mr. irving "on prophecy." a millennium at hand!--i'm delighted to hear it-- as matters both public and private now go, with multitudes round us all starving or near it. a good, rich millennium will come _à-propos_. only think, master fred, what delight to behold, instead of thy bankrupt old city of rags, a bran-new jerusalem built all of gold, sound bullion throughout from the roof to the flags-- a city where wine and cheap corn[ ] shall abound-- a celestial _cocaigne_ on whose buttery shelves we may swear the best things of this world will be found, as your saints seldom fail to take care of themselves! thanks, reverend expounder of raptures elysian, divine squintifobus who, placed within reach of two opposite worlds, by a twist of your vision can cast at the same time a sly look at each;-- thanks, thanks for the hope thou affordest, that we may even in our own times a jubilee share. which so long has been promist by prophets like thee, and so often postponed, we began to despair. there was whiston[ ] who learnedly took prince eugene for the man who must bring the millennium about; there's faber whose pious productions have been all belied ere his book's first edition was out;-- there was counsellor dobbs, too, an irish m. p., who discoursed on the subject with signal _eclat_, and, each day of his life sat expecting to see a millennium break out in the town of armagh![ ] there was also--but why should i burden my lay with your brotherses, southcotes, and names less deserving, when all past millenniums henceforth must give way to the last new millennium of orator irving. go on, mighty man,--doom them all to the shelf,-- and when next thou with prophecy troublest thy sconce, oh forget not, i pray thee, to prove that thyself art the beast (chapter iv.) that sees nine ways at once. [ ] "a measure of wheat for a penny, and three measures of barley for a penny."--rev. vi. [ ] when whiston presented to prince eugene the essay in which he attempted to connect his victories over the turks with revelation, the prince is said to have replied, that "he was not aware he had ever had ever had honor of being known to st. john". [ ] mr. dobbs was a member of the irish parliament, and, on all other subjects but the millennium, a very sensible person: he chose armagh as the scene of his millennium on account of the name armageddon mentioned in revelation. the three doctors. _doctoribus loetamur tribus_. . tho' many great doctors there be, there are three that all doctors out-top, doctor eady, that famous m. d., doctor southey, and dear doctor slop.[ ] the purger, the proser, the bard-- all quacks in a different style; doctor southey writes books by the yard. doctor eady writes puffs by the mile![ ] doctor slop, in no merit outdone by his scribbling or physicking brother, can dose us with stuff like the one. ay, and _doze_ us with stuff like the other. doctor eady good company keeps with "no popery" scribes, on the walls; doctor southey as gloriously sleeps with "no popery" scribes on the stalls. doctor slop, upon subjects divine, such bedlamite slaver lets drop, taat if eady should take the _mad_ line, he'll be sure of a patient in slop. seven millions of papists, no less, doctor southey attacks, like a turk; doctor eady, less bold, i confess, attacks but his maid-of-all-work doctor southey, for _his_ grand attack, both a laureate and pensioner is; while poor doctor eady, alack, has been _had up_ to bow-street for his! and truly, the law does so blunder, that tho' little blood has been spilt, he may probably suffer as, under the _chalking_ act, _known_ to be guilty. so much for the merits sublime (with whose catalogue ne'er should i stop) of the three greatest lights of our time, doctor eady and southey and slop! should you ask me, to _which_ of the three great doctors the preference should fall, as a matter of course i agree doctor eady must go to _the wall_. but as southey with laurels is crowned, and slop with a wig and a tail is, let eady's bright temples be bound with a swingeing "corona _muralis_!"[ ] [ ] the editor of the morning herald, so nicknamed. [ ] alluding to the display of this doctor's name, in chalk, on all the walls round the metropolis. [ ] a crown granted as a reward among the romans to persons who performed any extraordinary exploits upon wall, such as scaling them, battering them, etc.--no doubt, writing upon them, to the extent dr. eady does, would equally establish a claim to the honor. epitaph on a tuft-hunter. lament, lament, sir isaac heard, put mourning round thy page, debrett, for here lies one who ne'er preferred a viscount to a marquis yet. beside him place the god of wit, before him beauty's rosiest girls, apollo for a _star_ he'd quit, and love's own sister for an earl's. did niggard fate no peers afford, he took of course to peers' relations; and rather than not sport a lord put up with even the last creations; even irish names could he but tag 'em with "lord" and "duke," were sweet to call; and at a pinch lord ballyraggum was better than no lord at all. heaven grant him now some noble nook, for rest his soul! he'd rather be genteelly damned beside a duke, than saved in vulgar company. ode to a hat. --_altum aedificat caput_." juvenal . hail, reverent hat!--sublime mid all the minor felts that round thee grovel;-- thou that the gods "a delta" call while meaner mortals call the "shovel." when on thy shape (like pyramid, cut horizontally in two)[ ] i raptured gaze, what dreams unbid of stalls and mitres bless my view! that brim of brims so sleekly good-- not flapt, like dull wesleyans', down, but looking (as all churchmen's should) devoutly upward--towards the _crown_. gods! when i gaze upon that brim, so redolent of church all over, what swarms of tithes in vision dim,-- some-pig-tailed, some like cherubim, with ducklings' wings--around it hover! tenths of all dead and living things, that nature into being brings, from calves and corn to chitterlings. say, holy hat, that hast, of cocks, the very cock most orthodox. to _which_ of all the well-fed throng of zion,[ ] joy'st thou to belong? thou'rt _not_ sir harcourt lees's--no- for hats grow like the heads that wear 'em: and hats, on heads like his, would grow particularly _harum-scarum_. who knows but thou mayst deck the pate of that famed doctor ad-mth-te, (the reverend rat, whom we saw stand on his hind-legs in westmoreland,) who changed so quick from _blue_ to _yellow_, and would from _yellow_ back to _blue_, and back again, convenient fellow, if 'twere his interest so to do. or haply smartest of triangles, thou art the hat of doctor owen; the hat that, to his vestry wrangles, that venerable priest doth go in,-- and then and there amid the stare of all st. olave's, takes the chair and quotes with phiz right orthodox the example of his reverend brothers, to prove that priests all fleece their flocks and _he_ must fleece as well as others. blest hat! (whoe'er thy lord may be) thus low i take off mine to thee, the homage of a layman's _castor_, to the spruce _delta_ of his pastor. oh mayst thou be, as thou proceedest, still smarter cockt, still brusht the brighter, till, bowing all the way, thou leadest thy sleek possessor to a mitre! [ ] so described by a reverend historian of the church:--"a delta hat like the horizontal section of a pyramid."--grant's "history of the english church." [ ] archbishop magee affectionately calls the church establishment of ireland "the little zion." news for country cousins. dear coz, as i know neither you nor miss draper, when parliament's up, ever take in a paper, but trust for your news to such stray odds and ends as you chance to pick up from political friends- being one of this well-informed class, i sit down to transmit you the last newest news that's in town. as to greece and lord cochrane, things couldn't look better-- his lordship (who promises now to fight faster) has just taken rhodes and despatched off a letter to daniel o'connell, to make him grand master; engaging to change the old name, if he can, from the knights of st. john to the knights of st. dan;-- or if dan should prefer (as a still better whim) being made the colossus, 'tis all one to him. from russia the last accounts are that the tsar-- most generous and kind as all sovereigns are, and whose first princely act (as you know, i suppose) was to give away all his late brother's old clothes[ ]-- is now busy collecting with brotherly care the late emperor's nightcaps, and thinks, of bestowing one nightcap apiece (if he has them to spare) on all the distinguisht old ladies now going. (while i write, an arrival from riga--the "brothers"-- having nightcaps on board for lord eldon and others.) last advices from india--sir archy, 'tis thought, was near catching a tartar (the first ever caught in n. lat. l.)--and his highness burmese, being very hard prest to shell out the rupees, and not having rhino sufficient, they say, meant to pawn his august golden foot[ ] for the payment. (how lucky for monarchs, that thus when they choose can establish a _running_ account with the jews!) the security being what rothschild calls "goot," a loan will be shortly, of course, set _on foot_; the parties are rothschild, a. baring and co. with three other great pawnbrokers: each takes a toe, and engages (lest gold-foot should give us _leg_-bail, as he did once before) to pay down _on the nail_. * * * * * this is all for the present--what vile pens and paper! yours truly, dear cousin--best love to miss draper. _september_, . [ ] a distribution was made of the emperor alexander's military wardrobe by his successor. [ ] this potentate styles himself the monarch of the golden foot. a vision. by the author of "christabel." "up!" said the spirit and ere i could pray one hasty orison, whirled me away to a limbo, lying--i wist not where-- above or below, in earth or air; for it glimmered o'er with a _doubtful_ light, one couldn't say whether 'twas day or night; and 'twas crost by many a mazy track, one didn't know how to get on or back; and i felt like a needle that's going astray (with its _one_ eye out) thro' a bundle of hay; when the spirit he grinned, and whispered me, "thou'rt now in the court of chancery!" around me flitted unnumbered swarms of shapeless, bodiless, tailless forms; (like bottled-up babes that grace the room of that worthy knight, sir everard home)-- all of them, things half-killed in rearing; some were lame--some wanted _hearing_; some had thro' half a century run, tho' they hadn't a leg to stand upon. others, more merry, as just beginning, around on a _point of law_ were spinning; or balanced aloft, 'twixt _bill_ and _answer_, lead at each end, like a tight-rope dancer. some were so _cross_ that nothing could please 'em;- some gulpt down _affidavits_ to ease 'em-- all were in motion, yet never a one, let it _move_ as it might, could ever move _on_, "these," said the spirit, "you plainly see, "are what they call suits in chancery!" i heard a loud screaming of old and young, like a chorus by fifty vellutis sung; or an irish dump ("the words by moore ") at an amateur concert screamed in score;-- so harsh on my ear that wailing fell of the wretches who in this limbo dwell! it seemed like the dismal symphony of the shapes' aeneas in hell did see; or those frogs whose legs a barbarous cook cut off and left the frogs in the brook, to cry all night, till life's last dregs, "give us our legs!--give us our legs!" touched with the sad and sorrowful scene, i askt what all this yell might mean, when the spirit replied, with a grin of glee, "'tis the cry of the suitors in chancery!" i lookt and i saw a wizard rise,[ ] with a wig like a cloud before men's eyes. in his aged hand he held a wand, wherewith he beckoned his embryo band, and they moved and moved as he waved it o'er, but they never get on one inch the more. and still they kept limping to and fro, like ariels round old prospero-- saying, "dear master, let us go," but still old prospero answered "no." and i heard the while that wizard elf muttering, muttering spells to himself, while o'er as many old papers he turned, as hume e'er moved for or omar burned. he talkt of his virtue--"tho' some, less nice, (he owned with a sigh) preferred his _vice_"-- and he said, "i think"--"i doubt"--"i hope," called god to witness, and damned the pope; with many more sleights of tongue and hand i couldn't for the soul of me understand. amazed and posed, i was just about to ask his name, when the screams without, the merciless clack of the imps within, and that conjuror's mutterings, made such a din, that, startled, i woke--leapt up in my bed-- found the spirit, the imps, and the conjuror fled, and blest my stars, right pleased to see, that i wasn't as yet in chancery. [ ] the lord chancellor eldon. the petition of the orangemen of ireland. . to the people of england, the humble petition of ireland's disconsolate orangemen, showing-- that sad, very sad, is our present condition;-- our jobbing all gone and our noble selves going;-- that forming one seventh, within a few fractions, of ireland's seven millions of hot heads and hearts, we hold it the basest of all base transactions to keep us from murdering the other six parts;-- that as to laws made for the good of the many, we humbly suggest there is nothing less true; as all human laws (and our own, more than any) are made _by_ and _for_ a particular few:-- that much it delights every true orange brother to see you in england such ardor evince, in discussing _which_ sect most tormented the other, and burned with most _gusto_ some hundred years since;-- that we love to behold, while old england grows faint, messrs. southey and butler nigh coming to blows, to decide whether dunstan, that strong-bodied saint, ever truly and really pulled the de'il's nose; whether t'other saint, dominic, burnt the de'il's paw-- whether edwy intrigued with elgiva's odd mother-- and many such points, from which southey can draw conclusions most apt for our hating each other. that 'tis very well known this devout irish nation has now for some ages, gone happily on believing in two kinds of substantiation, one party in _trans_ and the other in _con_;[ ] that we, your petitioning _cons_, have in right of the said monosyllable ravaged the lands and embezzled the goods and annoyed, day and night, both the bodies and souls of the sticklers for _trans_;-- that we trust to peel, eldon, and other such sages, for keeping us still in the same state of mind; pretty much as the world used to be in those ages, when still smaller syllables maddened mankind;-- when the words _ex_ and _per_[ ] served as well to annoy one's neighbors and friends with, as _con_ and _trans_ now; and christians, like southey, who stickled for _oi_, cut the throats of all christians who stickled for _ou_.[ ] that relying on england whose kindness already so often has helpt us to play this game o'er, we have got our red coats and our carabines ready, and wait but the word to show sport as before. that as to the expense--the few millions or so, which for all such diversions john bull has to pay-- 'tis at least a great comfort to john bull to know that to orangemen's pockets 'twill all find its way. for which your petitioners ever will pray, etc., etc., etc., etc., etc. [ ] consubstantiation--the true reformed belief; at least, the belief of luther, and, as mosheim asserts, of melancthon also. [ ] when john of ragusa went to constantinople (at the time this dispute between "_ex_" and "_per_" was going on), he found the turks, we are told, "laughing at the christians for being divided by two such insignificant particles." [ ] the arian controversy.--before that time, says hooker, "in order to be a sound believing christian, men were not curious what syllables or particles of speech they used." cotton and corn. a dialogue. said cotton to corn, t'other day, as they met and exchanged a salute-- (squire corn in his carriage so gay, poor cotton half famished on foot): "great squire, if it isn't uncivil "to hint at starvation before you, "look down on a poor hungry devil, "and give him some bread, i implore you!" quoth corn then in answer to cotton, perceiving he meant to make _free_-- "low fellow, you've surely forgotten "the distance between you and me! "to expect that we peers of high birth "should waste our illustrious acres, "for no other purpose on earth "than to fatten curst calico-makers!-- "that bishops to bobbins should bend-- "should stoop from their bench's sublimity, "great dealers in _lawn_, to befriend "such contemptible dealers in dimity! "no--vile manufacture! ne'er harbor "a hope to be fed at our boards;-- "base offspring of arkwright the barber, "what claim canst _thou_ have upon lords? "no--thanks to the taxes and debt, "and the triumph of paper o'er guineas, "our race of lord jemmys, as yet, "may defy your whole rabble of _jennys_!" so saying--whip, crack, and away went corn in his chaise thro' the throng, so headlong, i heard them all say, "squire corn will be _down_ before long." the canonization of saint butterworth. "a christian of the best edition."--rabelais. canonize him!--yea, verily, we'll canonize him, tho' cant is his hobby and meddling his bliss, tho' sages may pity and wits may despise him, he'll ne'er make a bit the worse saint for all this. descend, all ye spirits, that ever yet spread the dominion of humbug o'er land and o'er sea, descend on our butterworth's biblical head, thrice-great, bibliopolist, saint, and m. p. come, shade of joanna, come down from thy sphere. and bring little shiloh--if 'tisn't too far-- such a sight will to butterworth's bosom be dear, _his_ conceptions and _thine_ being much on a par. nor blush, saint joanna, once more to behold a world thou hast honored by cheating so many; thou'lt find still among us one personage old, who also by tricks and the _seals_[ ] makes a penny. thou, too, of the shakers, divine mother lee![ ] thy smiles to beatified butterworth deign; two "lights of the gentiles" are thou, anne, and he, _one_ hallowing fleet street, and _t'other_ toad lane![ ] the heathen, we know, made their gods out of wood, and saints may be framed of as handy materials;-- old women and butterworths make just as good as any the pope ever _bookt_ as ethereals. stand forth, man of bibles!--not mahomet's pigeon, when perched on the koran, he dropt there, they say, strong marks of his faith, ever shed o'er religion such glory as butterworth sheds every day. great galen of souls, with what vigor he crams down erin's idolatrous throats, till they crack again, bolus on bolus, good man!--and then damns both their stomachs and souls, if they dare cast them back again. how well might his shop--as a type representing the creed of himself and his sanctified clan-- on its counter exhibit "the art of tormenting," bound neatly, and lettered "whole duty of man!" canonize him!--by judas, we _will_ canonize him; for cant is his hobby and twaddling his bliss; and tho' wise men may pity and wits may despise him, he'll make but the better _shop_-saint for all this. call quickly together the whole tribe of canters, convoke all the _serious_ tag-rag of the nation; bring shakers and snufflers and jumpers and ranters to witness their butterworth's canonization! yea, humbly i've ventured his merits to paint, yea, feebly have tried all his gifts to portray, and they form a sum-total for making a saint. that the devil's own advocate could not gainsay. jump high, all ye jumpers, ye ranters all roar, while butterworth's spirit, upraised from your eyes, like a kite made of foolscap, in glory shall soar, with a long tail of rubbish behind, to the skies! [ ] a great part of the income of joanna southcott arose from the seals of the lord's protection which she sold to her followers. [ ] mrs. anne lee, the "chosen vessel" of the shakers, and "mother of all the children of regeneration." [ ] toad lane, in manchester, where mother lee was born. in her "address to young believers," she says, that "it is a matter of no importance with them from whence the means of their deliverance come, whether from a stable in bethlehem, or from toad lane, manchester." an incantation. sung by the bubble spirit. air.--_come with me, and we will go where the rocks of coral grow_. come with me and we will blow lots of bubbles as we go; bubbles bright as ever hope drew from fancy--or from soap; bright as e'er the south sea sent from its frothy element! come with me and we will blow lots of bubbles as we go. mix the lather, johnny wilks, thou, who rhym'st so well to bilks;[ ] mix the lather--who can be fitter for such tasks than thee, great m. p. for _suds_bury! now the frothy charm is ripe, puffing peter,[ ] bring thy pipe,-- thou whom ancient coventry once so dearly loved that she knew not which to her was sweeter, peeping tom or puffing peter;-- puff the bubbles high in air, puff thy best to keep them there. bravo, bravo, peter more! now the rainbow humbugs[ ] soar. glittering all with golden hues such as haunt the dreams of jews;-- some reflecting mines that lie under chili's glowing sky, some, those virgin pearls that sleep cloistered in the southern deep; others, as if lent a ray from the streaming milky way, glistening o'er with curds and whey from the cows of alderney. now's the moment--who shall first catch the bubbles ere they burst? run, ye squires, ye viscounts, run, brogden, teynham, palmerston;-- john wilks junior runs beside ye! take the good the knaves provide ye! see, with upturned eyes and hands, where the _share_man, brogden, stands, gaping for the froth to fall down his gullet--_lye_ and all. see!-- but, hark, my time is out-- now, like some great water-spout, scattered by the cannon's thunder, burst ye bubbles, all asunder! [_here the stage darkens--a discordant crash is heard from the orchestra --the broken bubbles descend in a saponaceous but uncleanly mist over the heads of the_ dramatis personae_, and the scene drops, leaving the bubble-hunters--all in the suds_.] [ ] strong indications of character may be sometimes traced in the rhymes to names. marvell thought so when he wrote "sir edward button, the foolish knight who rhymes to mutton." [ ] the member, during a long period, for coventry. [ ] an humble imitation of one of our modern poets, who, in a poem against war, after describing the splendid habiliments of the soldier, thus apostrophizes him--"thou rainbow ruffian!" a dream of turtle. by sir w. curtis. . 'twas evening time, in the twilight sweet i sailed along, when--whom should i meet but a turtle journeying o'er the sea, "on the service of his majesty."[ ] when spying him first thro' twilight dim, i didn't know what to make of him; but said to myself, as slow he plied his fins and rolled from side to side conceitedly o'er the watery path-- "'tis my lord of stowell taking a bath, "and i hear him now, among the fishes, "quoting vatel and burgersdicius!" but, no--'twas, indeed, a turtle wide and plump as ever these eyes descried; a turtle juicy as ever yet glued up the lips of a baronet! and much did it grieve my soul to see that an animal of such dignity, like an absentee abroad should roam, when he _ought_ to stay and be ate at home. but now "a change came o'er my dream," like the magic lantern's shifting slider; i lookt and saw by the evening beam on the back of that turtle sat a rider-- a goodly man with an eye so merry, i knew 'twas our foreign secretary,[ ] who there at his ease did sit and smile, like waterton on his crocodile;[ ] cracking such jokes, at every motion, as made the turtle squeak with glee and own they gave him a lively notion of what his _forced_-meat balls would be. so, on the sec. in his glory went. over that briny element, waving his hand as he took farewell with graceful air, and bidding me tell inquiring friends that the turtle and he were gone on a foreign embassy-- to soften the heart of a _diplomat_, who is known to dote upon verdant fat, and to let admiring europe see, that _calipash_ and _calipee_ are the english forms of diplomacy. [ ] we are told that the passport of this grand diplomatic turtle (sent by the secretary for foreign affairs to a certain noble envoy) described him as "on his majesty's service." [ ] mr. canning. [ ] _wanderings in south america_. "it was the first and last time [says mr. waterton] i was ever on a crocodile's back." the donkey and his panniers. a fable. --_"fessus jam sudat asellus, "parce illi; vestrum delicium est asinus."_ vergil. _copa_. a donkey whose talent for burdens was wondrous, so much that you'd swear he rejoiced in a load, one day had to jog under panniers so ponderous, that--down the poor donkey fell smack on the road! his owners and drivers stood round in amaze what! neddy, the patient, the prosperous neddy, so easy to drive thro' the dirtiest ways for every description of job-work so ready! one driver (whom ned might have "hailed" as a "brother")[ ] had just been proclaiming his donkey's renown for vigor, for spirit, for one thing or other-- when, lo! mid his praises the donkey came down! but how to upraise him?--_one_ shouts, _t'other_ whistles, while jenky, the conjuror, wisest of all, declared that an "over-production of thistles[ ]-- (here ned gave a stare)--was the cause of his fall." another wise solomon cries as he passes-- "there, let him alone and the fit will soon cease; "the beast has been fighting with other jack-asses, "and this is his mode of '_transition to peace_.'" some lookt at his hoofs, and with learned grimaces pronounced that too long without shoes he had gone-- "let the blacksmith provide him a _sound metal basis_," (the wise-acres said), "and he's sure to jog on." meanwhile, the poor neddy in torture and fear lay under his panniers, scarce able to groan; and--what was still dolefuller--lending an ear to advisers whose ears were a match for his own. at length a plain rustic whose wit went so far as to see others' folly, roared out, as he past-- "quick--off with the panniers, all dolts as ye are, "or your prosperous neddy will soon kick his last!" october, . [ ] alluding to an early poem of mr. coleridge's, addressed to an ass, and beginning, "i hail thee, brother!" [ ] a certain country gentleman having said in the house, "that we must return at last to the food of our ancestors," somebody asked mr. t. "what food the gentleman meant?"--"thistles, i suppose," answered mr. t. ode to the sublime porte. . great sultan, how wise are thy state compositions! and oh! above all i admire that decree, in which thou command'st that all _she_ politicians shall forthwith be strangled and cast in the sea. 'tis my fortune to know a lean benthamite spinster-- a maid who her faith in old jeremy puts, who talks with a lisp of "the last new west_minster_," and hopes you're delighted with "mill upon gluts;" who tells you how clever one mr. funblank is, how charming his articles 'gainst the nobility;-- and assures you that even a gentleman's rank is in jeremy's school, of no sort of _utility_. to see her, ye gods, a new number perusing-- art. .--"on the _needle's_ variations," by pl--ce;[ ] art. .--by her favorite funblank[ ]--"so amusing! "dear man! he makes poetry quite a _law_ case." art. .--"upon fallacies," jeremy's own-- (chief fallacy being his hope to find readers);- art. .--"upon honesty," author unknown;-- art. .--(by the young mr. mill) "hints to breeders." oh, sultan, oh, sultan, tho' oft for the bag and the bowstring, like thee, i am tempted to call-- tho' drowning's too good for each blue-stocking hag, i would bag this _she_ benthamite first of them all! and lest she should ever again lift her head from the watery bottom, her clack to renew-- as a clog, as a sinker, far better than lead, i would hang around her neck her own darling review. [ ] a celebrated political tailor. [ ] this pains-taking gentleman has been at the trouble of counting, with the assistance of cocker, the number of metaphors in moore's "_life of sheridan_," and has found them to amount, as nearly as possible, to -- and some _fractions_. corn and catholics. _utrum horum dirius_ borun? _incerti auctoris_. what! _still_ those two infernal questions, that with our meals our slumbers mix-- that spoil our tempers and digestions-- eternal corn and catholics! gods! were there ever two such bores? nothing else talkt of night or morn-- nothing _in_ doors or _out_ of doors, but endless catholics and corn! never was such a brace of pests-- while ministers, still worse than either, skilled but in feathering their nests, plague us with both and settle neither. so addled in my cranium meet popery and corn that oft i doubt, whether, this year, 'twas bonded wheat, or bonded papists, they let out. _here_, landlords, _here_ polemics nail you, armed with all rubbish they can rake up; _prices_ and _texts_ at once assail you-- from daniel _these_, and _those_ from jacob, and when you sleep, with head still torn between the two, their shapes you mix, till sometimes catholics seem corn-- then corn again seems catholics. now dantsic wheat before you floats-- now jesuits from california-- now ceres linkt with titus _oats_, comes dancing thro' the "porta _corn_ea."[ ] oft too the corn grows animate, and a whole crop of heads appears, like papists, _bearding_ church and state-- themselves, together _by the ears_! in short these torments never cease, and oft i wish myself transferred off to some far, lonely land of peace where corn or papists ne'er were heard of. yes, waft me, parry, to the pole; for--if my fate is to be chosen 'twixt bores and icebergs--on my soul, i'd rather, of the two, be frozen! [ ] the horn gate, through which the ancients supposed all true dreams (such as those of the popish plot, etc.) to pass. a case of libel. "the greater the truth, the worse the libel." a certain sprite, who dwells below, ('twere a libel perhaps to mention where,) came up _incog_. some years ago to try for a change the london air. so well he lookt and drest and talkt, and hid his tail and horns so handy, you'd hardly have known him as he walkt from c----e, or any other dandy. (his horns, it seems, are made to unscrew; so he has but to take them out of the socket, and--just as some fine husbands do-- conveniently clap them into his pocket.) in short, he lookt extremely natty, and even contrived--to his own great wonder-- by dint of sundry scents from gattie, to keep the sulphurous _hogo_ under. and so my gentleman hoofed about, unknown to all but a chosen few at white's and crockford's, where no doubt he had many _post-obits_ falling due. alike a gamester and a wit, at night he was seen with crockford's crew, at morn with learned dames would sit-- so past his time 'twixt _black_ and _blue_. some wisht to make him an m. p., but, finding wilks was also one, he swore, in a rage, "he'd be damned, if he "would ever sit in one house with johnny." at length as secrets travel fast, and devils, whether he or she, are sure to be found out at last, the affair got wind most rapidly. the press, the impartial press, that snubs alike a fiend's or an angel's capers-- miss paton's soon as beelzebub's, fired off a squib in the morning papers: "we warn good men to keep aloof "from a grim old dandy seen about "with a fire-proof wig and a cloven hoof "thro' a neat-cut hoby smoking out." now,--the devil being gentleman, who piques himself on well-bred dealings,-- you may guess, when o'er these lines he ran, how much they hurt and shockt his feelings. away he posts to a man of law, and 'twould make you laugh could you have seen 'em, as paw shook hand, and hand shook paw, and 'twas "hail, good fellow, well met," between 'em. straight an indictment was preferred-- and much the devil enjoyed the jest, when, asking about the bench, he heard that, of all the judges, his own was _best_.[ ] in vain defendant proffered proof that plaintiff's self was the father of evil-- brought hoby forth to swear to the hoof and stultz to speak to the tail of the devil. the jury (saints, all snug and rich, and readers of virtuous sunday papers) found for the plaintiff--on hearing which the devil gave one of his loftiest capers. for oh, 'twas nuts to the father of lies (as this wily fiend is named in the bible) to find it settled by laws so wise, that the greater the truth, the worse the libel! [ ] a celebrated judge, so named. literary advertisement. wanted--authors of all-work to job for the season, no matter which party, so faithful to neither; good hacks who, if posed for a rhyme or a reason. can manage, like ******, to do without either. if in jail, all the better for out-o'-door topics; your jail is for travellers a charming retreat; they can take a day's rule for a trip to the tropics, and sail round the world at their ease in the fleet. for a dramatist too the most useful of schools-- he can study high life in the king's bench community; aristotle could scarce keep him more _within rules_, and of _place_ he at least must adhere to the _unity_. any lady or gentleman, come to an age to have good "reminiscences" (three-score or higher) will meet with encouragement--so much, _per_ page, and the spelling and grammar both found by the buyer. no matter with _what_ their remembrance is stockt, so they'll only remember the _quantum_ desired;-- enough to fill handsomely two volumes, _oct_., price twenty-four shillings, is all that's required. they may treat us, like kelly, with old _jeu-d'esprits_, like dibdin, may tell of each farcical frolic; or kindly inform us, like madame genlis,[ ] that gingerbread-cakes always give them the colic. wanted also a new stock of pamphlets on corn by "farmers" and "landholders"--(worthies whose lands enclosed all in bow-pots their attics adorn, or whose share of the soil maybe seen on their hands). no-popery sermons, in ever so dull a vein, sure of a market;--should they too who pen 'em be renegade papists, like murtagh o'sullivan,[ ] something _extra_ allowed for the additional venom. funds, physics, corn, poetry, boxing, romance, all excellent subjects for turning a penny;-- to write upon _all_ is an author's sole chance for attaining, at last, the least knowledge of _any_. nine times out of ten, if his _title_ is good, the material _within_ of small consequence is;-- let him only write fine, and, if not understood, why--that's the concern of the reader, not his. _nota bene_--an essay, now printing, to show, that horace (as clearly as words could express it) was for taxing the fund-holders, ages ago, when he wrote thus--"quodcunque _in fund is, assess it."_ [ ] this lady also favors us, in her memoirs, with the address of those apothecaries, who have, from time to time, given her pills that agreed with her; always desiring that the pills should be ordered "_comme pour elle_." [ ] a gentleman, who distinguished himself by his evidence before the irish committees. the irish slave.[ ] . i heard as i lay, a wailing sound, "he is dead--he is dead," the rumor flew; and i raised my chain and turned me round, and askt, thro' the dungeon-window, "who?" i saw my livid tormentors pass; their grief 'twas bliss to hear and see! for never came joy to them alas! that didn't bring deadly bane to me. eager i lookt thro' the mist of night, and askt, "what foe of my race hath died? "is it he--that doubter of law and right, "whom nothing but wrong could e'er decide-- "who, long as he sees but wealth to win, "hath never yet felt a qualm or doubt "what suitors for justice he'd keep in, "or what suitors for freedom he'd shut out-- "who, a clog for ever on truth's advance, "hangs round her (like the old man of the sea "round sinbad's neck[ ]), nor leaves a chance "of shaking him off--is't he? is't he?" ghastly my grim tormentors smiled, and thrusting me back to my den of woe, with a laughter even more fierce and wild than their funeral howling, answered "no." but the cry still pierced my prison-gate, and again i askt, "what scourge is gone? "is it he--that chief, so coldly great, "whom fame unwillingly shines upon-- "whose name is one of the ill-omened words "they link with hate on his native plains; "and why?--they lent him hearts and swords, "and he in return gave scoffs and chains! "is it he? is it he?" i loud inquired, when, hark!--there sounded a royal knell; and i knew what spirit had just expired, and slave as i was my triumph fell. he had pledged a hate unto me and mine, he had left to the future nor hope nor choice, but sealed that hate with a name divine, and he now was dead and--i _couldn't_ rejoice! he had fanned afresh the burning brands of a bigotry waxing cold and dim; he had armed anew my torturers' hands, and _them_ did i curse--but sighed for him. for, _his_ was the error of head not heart; and--oh! how beyond the ambushed foe, who to enmity adds the traitor's part, and carries a smile with a curse below! if ever a heart made bright amends for the fatal fault of an erring head-- go, learn _his_ fame from the lips of friends, in the orphan's tear be his glory read. a prince without pride, a man without guile, to the last unchanging, warm, sincere, for worth he had ever a hand and smile, and for misery ever his purse and tear. touched to the heart by that solemn toll, i calmly sunk in my chains again; while, still as i said, "heaven rest his soul!" my mates of the dungeon sighed "amen!" january, . [ ] written on the death of the duke of york. [ ] "you fell, said they, into the hands of the old man of the sea, and are the first who ever escaped strangling by his malicious tricks."--_story of sinbad_. ode to ferdinand. . quit the sword, thou king of men, grasp the needle once again; making petticoats is far safer sport than making war; trimming is a better thing, than the _being_ trimmed, oh king! grasp the needle bright with which thou didst for the virgin stitch garment, such as ne'er before monarch stitched or virgin wore, not for her, oh semster nimble! do i now invoke thy thimble; not for her thy wanted aid is, but for certain grave old ladies, who now sit in england's cabinet, waiting to be clothed in tabinet, or whatever choice _étoffe_ is fit for dowagers in office. first, thy care, oh king, devote to dame eldon's petticoat. make it of that silk whose dye shifts for ever to the eye, just as if it hardly knew whether to be pink or blue. or--material fitter yet-- if thou couldst a remnant get of that stuff with which, of old, sage penelope, we're told, still by doing and undoing, kept her _suitors_ always wooing-- that's the stuff which i pronounce, is fittest for dame eldon's flounces. after this, we'll try thy hand, mantua-making ferdinand, for old goody westmoreland; one who loves, like mother cole, church and state with all her soul; and has past her life in frolics worthy of our apostolics. choose, in dressing this old flirt, something that won't show the dirt, as, from habit, every minute goody westmoreland is in it. this is all i now shall ask, hie thee, monarch, to thy task; finish eldon's frills and borders, then return for further orders. oh what progress for our sake, kings in millinery make! ribands, garters, and such things, are supplied by _other_ kings-- ferdinand his rank denotes by providing petticoats. hat _versus_ wig. . "at the interment of the duke of york, lord eldon, in order to guard against the effects of the damp, stood upon his hat during the whole of the ceremony." --_metus omnes et inexorabile fatum subjecit pedibus, strepitumque acherontis avari_. 'twixt eldon's hat and eldon's wig there lately rose an altercation,-- each with its own importance big, disputing _which_ most serves the nation. quoth wig, with consequential air, "pooh! pooh! you surely can't design, "my worthy beaver, to compare "your station in the state with mine. "who meets the learned legal crew? "who fronts the lordly senate's pride? "the wig, the wig, my friend--while you "hang dangling on some peg outside. "oh! 'tis the wig, that rules, like love, "senate and court, with like _éclat_-- "and wards below and lords above, "for law is wig and wig is law! "who tried the long, _long_ wellesley suit, "which tried one's patience, in return? "not thou, oh hat!--tho' _couldst_ thou do't, "of other _brims_[ ] than thine thou'dst learn. "'twas mine our master's toil to share; "when, like 'truepenny,' in the play,[ ] "he, every minute, cried out 'swear,' "and merrily to swear went they;--[ ] "when, loath poor wellesley to condemn, he "with nice discrimination weighed, "whether 'twas only 'hell and jemmy,' or 'hell and tommy' that he played. "no, no, my worthy beaver, no-- "tho' cheapened at the cheapest hatter's, "and smart enough as beavers go "thou ne'er wert made for public matters." here wig concluded his oration, looking, as wigs do, wondrous wise; while thus, full cockt for declamation, the veteran hat enraged replies:-- "ha! dost thou then so soon forget "what thou, what england owes to me? "ungrateful wig!--when will a debt, "so deep, so vast, be owed thee? "think of that night, that fearful night, "when, thro' the steaming vault below, "our master dared, in gout's despite, "to venture his podagric toe! "who was it then, thou boaster, say "when thou hadst to thy box sneaked off, "beneath his feet protecting lay, "and saved him from a mortal cough? "think, if catarrh had quenched that sun, "how blank this world had been to thee! "without that head to shine upon, "oh wig, where would thy glory be? "you, too, ye britons,--had this hope "of church and state been ravisht from ye, "oh think, how canning and the pope "would then have played up 'hell and tommy'! "at sea, there's but a plank, they say, "'twixt seamen and annihilation; "a hat, that awful moment, lay "'twixt england and emancipation! "oh!!!--" at this "oh!!!" _the times_ reporter was taken poorly, and retired; which made him cut hat's rhetoric shorter, than justice to the case required. on his return, he found these shocks of eloquence all ended quite; and wig lay snoring in his box, and hat was--hung up for the night. [ ] "_brim_--a naughty woman."--grose. [ ]"_ghost_[beneath].--swear! "_hamlet_.--ha, ha! say'st thou so! art thou there, truepenny? come on." [ ] his lordship's demand for fresh affidavits was incessant. the periwinkles and the locusts. a salmagundian hymn. "to panurge was assigned the laird-ship of salmagundi, which was yearly worth , , , ryals besides the revenue of the _locusts_ and _periwinkles_, amounting one year with another to the value of , , ," etc.--rabelais. "hurra! hurra!" i heard them say, and they cheered and shouted all the way, as the laird of salmagundi went. to open in state his parliament. the salmagundians once were rich, or thought they were--no matter which-- for, every year, the revenue from their periwinkles larger grew; and their rulers, skilled in all the trick and legerdemain of arithmetic, knew how to place , , , , , , , , and and , such various ways, behind, before, that they made a unit seem a score, and proved themselves most wealthy men! so, on they went, a prosperous crew, the people wise, the rulers clever-- and god help those, like me and you, who dared to doubt (as some now do) that the periwinkle revenue would thus go flourishing on for ever. "hurra! hurra!" i heard them say, and they cheered and shouted all the way, as the great panurge in glory went to open his own dear parliament. but folks at length began to doubt what all this conjuring was about; for, every day, more deep in debt they saw their wealthy rulers get:-- "let's look (said they) the items thro' "and see if what we're told be true "of our periwinkle revenue," but, lord! they found there wasn't a tittle of truth in aught they heard before; for they gained by periwinkles little and lost by locusts ten times more! these locusts are a lordly breed some salmagundians love to feed. of all the beasts that ever were born, your locust most delights in _corn_; and tho' his body be but small, to fatten him takes the devil and all! "oh fie! oh fie!" was now the cry, as they saw the gaudy show go by, as the laird of salmagundi went to open his locust parliament! new creation of peers. batch the first. "his 'prentice han' he tried on man, and then he made the lasses." . "and now," quoth the minister, (eased of his panics, and ripe for each pastime the summer affords,) "having had our full swing at destroying mechanics, "by way of _set-off_, let us make a few lords. "'tis pleasant--while nothing but mercantile fractures, "some simple, some _compound_, is dinned in our ears-- "to think that, tho' robbed all coarse manufactures, "we still have our fine manufacture of peers;-- "those _gotielin_ productions which kings take a pride "in engrossing the whole fabrication and trade of; "choice tapestry things very grand on _one_ side, "but showing, on t'other, what rags they are made of. the plan being fixt, raw material was sought,-- no matter how middling, if tory the creed be; and first, to begin with, squire w---, 'twas thought, for a lord was as raw a material as need be. next came with his _penchant_ for painting and pelf the tasteful sir charles,[ ] so renowned far and near for purchasing pictures and selling himself-- and _both_ (as the public well knows) very dear. beside him sir john comes, with equal _éclat_, in;-- stand forth, chosen pair, while for titles we measure ye; both connoisseur baronets, both fond of _drawing_, sir john, after nature, sir charles, on the treasury. but, bless us!--behold a new candidate come-- in his hand he upholds a prescription, new written: he poiseth a pill-box 'twixt finger and thumb, and he asketh a seat 'mong the peers of great britain! "forbid it," cried jenky, "ye viscounts, ye earls! "oh rank, how thy glories would fall disenchanted, "if coronets glistend with pills stead of pearls, "and the strawberry-leaves were by rhubarb supplanted! "no--ask it not, ask it not, dear doctor holford-- "if naught but a peerage can gladden thy life, "and young master holford as yet is too small for't, "sweet doctor, we'll make a _she_ peer of thy wife. "next to bearing a coronet on our _own_ brows "is to bask in its light from the brows of another; "and grandeur o'er thee shall reflect from thy spouse, "as o'er vesey fitzgerald 'twill shine thro' his mother."[ ] thus ended the _first_ batch--and jenky, much tired (it being no joke to make lords by the heap), took a large dram of ether--the same that inspired his speech 'gainst the papists--and prosed off to sleep. [ ] created lord farnborough. [ ] among the persons mentioned as likely to be raised to the peerage are the mother of mr. vesey fitzgerald, etc. speech on the umbrella question.[ ] by lord eldon. . "_vos_ inumbrelles _video_."--_ex juvenil_. georgii canningii.[ ] my lords, i'm accused of a trick that god knows is the last into which at my age i could fall-- of leading this grave house of peers by their noses, wherever i choose, princes, bishops and all. my lords, on the question before us at present, no doubt i shall hear, "'tis that cursed old fellow, "that bugbear of all that is liberal and pleasant, "who won't let the lords give the man his umbrella!" god forbid that your lordships should knuckle to me; i am ancient--but were i as old as king priam, not much, i confess, to your credit 'twould be, to mind such a twaddling old trojan as i am. i own, of our protestant laws i am jealous, and long as god spares me will always maintain, that _once_ having taken men's rights, or umbrellas, we ne'er should consent to restore them again. what security have you, ye bishops and peers, if thus you give back mr. bell's _parapluie_, that he mayn't with its stick, come about all your ears, and then--_where_ would your protestant periwigs be? no! heaven be my judge, were i dying to-day, ere i dropt in the grave, like a medlar that's mellow, "for god's sake"--at that awful moment i'd say-- "for god's sake, _don't_ give mr. bell his umbrella." ["this address," says a ministerial journal, "delivered with amazing emphasis and earnestness, occasioned an extraordinary sensation in the house. nothing since the memorable address of the duke of york has produced so remarkable an impression."] [ ] a case which interested the public very much at this period. a gentleman, of the name, of bell, having left his umbrella behind him in the house of lords, the doorkeepers (standing, no doubt, on the privileges of that noble body) refused to restore it to him; and the above speech, which may be considered as a _pendant_ to that of the learned earl on the catholic question, arose out of the transaction. [ ] from mr. canning's translation of jekyl's-- "i say, my good fellows, as you've no umbrellas." a pastoral ballad. by john bull. _dublin, march , _.--friday, after the arrival of the packet bringing the account of the defeat of the catholic question, in the house of commons, orders were sent to the pigeon-house to forward , , rounds of musket-ball cartridge to the different garrisons round the country.--_freeman's journal_. i have found out a gift for my erin, a gift that will surely content her:-- sweet pledge of a love so endearing! five millions of bullets i've sent her. she askt me for freedom and right, but ill she her wants understood;-- ball cartridges, morning and night, is a dose that will do her more good. there is hardly a day of our lives but we read, in some amiable trials, how husbands make love to their wives thro' the medium of hemp and of vials. _one_ thinks, with his mistress or mate a good halter is sure to agree-- that love-knot which, early and late, i have tried, my dear erin, on thee. while _another_, whom hymen has blest with a wife that is not over placid, consigns the dear charmer to rest, with a dose of the best prussic acid. thus, erin! my love do i show-- thus quiet thee, mate of my bed! and, as poison and hemp are too slow, do thy business with bullets instead. should thy faith in my medicine be shaken, ask roden, that mildest of saints; he'll tell thee, lead, inwardly taken, alone can remove thy complaints;-- that, blest as thou art in thy lot, nothing's wanted to make it more pleasant but being hanged, tortured and shot, much oftener than thou art at present. even wellington's self hath averred thou art yet but half sabred and hung, and i loved him the more when i heard such tenderness fall from his tongue. so take the five millions of pills, dear partner, i herewith inclose; 'tis the cure that all quacks for thy ill, from cromwell to eldon, propose. and you, ye brave bullets that go, how i wish that, before you set out, the _devil_ of the freischütz could know the good work you are going about. for he'd charm ye, in spite of your lead. into such supernatural wit. that you'd all of you know, as you sped, where a bullet of sense _ought_ to hit. a late scene at swanage.[ ] _regnis_ ex _sul ademptis_.--verg. . to swanage--that neat little town in whose bay fair thetis shows off in her best silver slippers-- lord bags[ ] took his annual trip t'other day, to taste the sea breezes and chat with the dippers. there--learned as he is in conundrums and laws-- quoth he to his dame (whom he oft plays the wag on), "why are chancery suitors like bathers?"--"because their _suits_ are _put off_, till they haven't a rag on." thus on he went chatting--but, lo! while he chats, with a face full of wonder around him he looks; for he misses his parsons, his dear shovel hats, who used to flock round him at swanage like rooks. "how is this, lady bags?--to this region aquatic "last year they came swarming to make me their bow, "as thick as burke's cloud o'er the vales of carnatic, "deans, rectors, d.d.'s--where the devil are they now?" "my dearest lord bags!" saith his dame, "_can_ you doubt? "i am loath to remind you of things so unpleasant; "but _don't_ you perceive, dear, the church have found out "that you're one of the people called _ex's_, at present?" "ah, true--you have hit it--i _am_, indeed, one "of those ill-fated _ex's_ (his lordship replies), "and with tears, i confess--god forgive me the pun!-- "we x's have proved ourselves _not_ to be y's." [ ] a small bathing-place on the coast of dorsetshire, long a favorite summer resort of the ex-nobleman in question and, _till this season_, much frequented also by gentlemen of the church. [ ] the lord chancellor eldon. wo! wo![ ] wo, wo unto him who would check or disturb it-- that beautiful light which is now on its way; which beaming, at first, o'er the bogs of belturbet, now brightens sweet ballinafad with its ray! oh farnham, saint farnham, how much do we owe thee! how formed to all tastes are thy various employs. the old, as a catcher of catholics, know thee; the young, as an amateur scourger of boys. wo, wo to the man who such doings would smother!-- on, luther of bavan! on, saint of kilgroggy! with whip in one hand and with bible in t'other, like mungo's tormentor, both "preachee and floggee." come, saints from all quarters, and marshal his way; come, lorton, who, scorning profane erudition, popt shakespeare, they say, in the river one day, tho' 'twas only old bowdler's _velluti_ edition. come, roden, who doubtest--so mild are thy views-- whether bibles or bullets are best for the nation; who leav'st to poor paddy no medium to choose 'twixt good _old_ rebellion and _new_ reformation. what more from her saints can hibernia require? st. bridget of yore like a dutiful daughter supplied her, 'tis said, with perpetual fire,[ ] and saints keep her _now_ in eternal hot water. wo, wo to the man who would check their career, or stop the millennium that's sure to await us, when blest with an orthodox crop every year, we shall learn to raise protestants fast as potatoes. in kidnapping papists, our rulers, we know, had been trying their talent for many a day; till farnham, when all had been tried, came to show, like the german flea-catcher, "anoder goot way." and nothing's more simple than farnham's receipt;-- "catch your catholic, first--soak him well in _poteen_, "add _salary_ sauce,[ ] and the thing is complete. "you may serve up your protestant smoking and clean." "wo, wo to the wag, who would laugh at such cookery!" thus, from his perch, did i hear a black crow[ ] caw angrily out, while the rest of the rookery opened their bills and re-echoed "wo! wo!" [ ] suggested by a speech of the bishop of chester on the subject of the new reformation in ireland, in which his lordship denounced "wo! wo! wo!" pretty abundantly on all those who dared to interfere with its progress. [ ] the inextenguishable fire of st. bridget, at kildare. [ ] "we understand that several applications have lately been made to the protestant clergymen of this town by fellows, inquiring 'what are they giving a head for converts?'"--_wexford post_. [ ] of the rook species--_corvus frugilegus_, i.e. a great consumer of corn. tout pour la tripe. "if in china or among the natives of india, we claimed civil advantages which were connected with religious usages, little as we might value those forms in our hearts, we should think common decency required us to abstain from treating them with offensive contumely; and, though unable to consider them sacred, we would not sneer at the name of _fot_, or laugh at the imputed divinity of _visthnou_."--_courier, tuesday. jan_. . . come take my advice, never trouble your cranium, when "civil advantages" are to be gained, what god or what goddess may help to obtain you 'em, hindoo or chinese, so they're only obtained. in this world (let me hint in your organ auricular) all the good things to good hypocrites fall; and he who in swallowing creeds is particular, soon will have nothing to swallow at all. oh place me where _fo_ (or, as some call him, _fot_) is the god from whom "civil advantages" flow, and you'll find, if there's anything snug to be got, i shall soon be on excellent terms with old _fo_. or were i where _vishnu_, that four-handed god, is the quadruple giver of pensions and places, i own i should feel it unchristian and odd not to find myself also in _vishnu's_ good graces. for among all the gods that humanely attend to our wants in this planet, the gods to _my_ wishes are those that, like _vishnu_ and others, descend in the form so attractive, of loaves and of fishes![ ] so take my advice--for if even the devil should tempt men again as an idol to try him, 'twere best for us tories even then to be civil, as nobody doubts we should get something by him. [ ] vishnu was (as sir w. jones calls him) "a pisciform god,"--his first avatar being in the shape of a fish. enigma. _monstrum nulla virtute_ redemptum. come, riddle-me-ree, come, riddle-me-ree, and tell me what my name may be. i am nearly one hundred and thirty years old, and therefore no chicken, as you may suppose;-- tho' a dwarf in my youth (as my nurses have told), i have, every year since, been out-growing my clothes: till at last such a corpulent giant i stand, that if folks were to furnish me now with a suit, it would take every morsel of _scrip_ in the land but to measure my bulk from the head to the foot. hence they who maintain me, grown sick of my stature, to cover me nothing but _rags_ will supply; and the doctors declare that in due course of nature about the year in rags i shall die. meanwhile, i stalk hungry and bloated around, an object of _interest_ most painful to all; in the warehouse, the cottage, the place i'm found, holding citizen, peasant, and king in nay thrall. then riddle-me-ree, oh riddle-me-ree, come tell me what my name may be. when the lord of the counting-house bends o'er his book, bright pictures of profit delighting to draw, o'er his shoulders with large cipher eyeballs i look, and down drops the pen from his paralyzed paw! when the premier lies dreaming of dear waterloo, and expects thro' _another_ to caper and prank it, you'd laugh did you see, when i bellow out "boo!" how he hides his brave waterloo head in the blanket. when mighty belshazzar brims high in the hall his cup, full of gout, to the gaul's overthrow, lo, "_eight hundred millions_" i write on the wall, and the cup falls to earth and--the gout to his toe! but the joy of my heart is when largely i cram my maw with the fruits of the squirearchy's acres, and knowing who made me the thing that i am, like the monster of frankenstein, worry my makers. then riddle-me-ree, come, riddle-me-ree, and tell, if thou know'st, who _i_ may be. dog-day reflections. by a dandy kept in town. _"vox clamantis in deserto."_ . said malthus one day to a clown lying stretched on the beach in the sun,-- "what's the number of souls in this town?"-- "the number! lord bless you, there's none. "we have nothing but _dabs_ in this place, "of them a great plenty there are;-- but the _soles_, please your reverence and grace, "are all t'other side of the bar." and so 'tis in london just now, not a soul to be seen up or down;-- of _dabs_? a great glut, i allow, but your _soles_, every one, out of town. east or west nothing wondrous or new, no courtship or scandal worth knowing; mrs. b---, and a mermaid[ ] or two, are the only loose fish that are going. ah, where is that dear house of peers that some weeks ago kept us merry? where, eldon, art thou with thy tears? and thou with thy sense, londonderry? wise marquis, how much the lord mayor, in the dog-days, with _thee_ must be puzzled!-- it being his task to take care that such animals shan't go unmuzzled. thou too whose political toils are so worthy a captain of horse-- whose amendments[ ] (like honest sir boyle's) are "_amendments_, that make matters _worse_;"[ ] great chieftain, who takest such pains to prove--what is granted, _nem_. _con_.-- with how moderate a portion of brains some heroes contrive to get on. and thou too my redesdale, ah! where is the peer with a star at his button, whose _quarters_ could ever compare with redesdale's five quarters of mutton?[ ] why, why have ye taken your flight, ye diverting and dignified crew? how ill do three farces a night, at the haymarket, pay us for you! for what is bombastes to thee, my ellenbro', when thou look'st big or where's the burletta can be like lauderdale's wit and his wig? i doubt if even griffinhoof[ ] could (tho' griffin's a comical lad) invent any joke half so good as that precious one, "this is too bad!" then come again, come again spring! oh haste thee, with fun in thy train; and--of all things the funniest--bring these exalted grimaldis again! [ ] one of the shows of london. [ ] more particularly his grace's celebrated amendment to the corn bill: for which, and the circumstances connected with it, see annual register for a. d. . [ ] from a speech of sir boyle roche's, in the irish house of commons. [ ] the learning his lordship displayed on the subject of the butcher's "fifth quarter" of mutton will not speedily be forgotten. [ ] the _nom de guerre_ under which colman has written some of his best farces. the "living dog" and "the dead lion." . next week will be published (as "lives" are the rage) the whole reminiscences, wondrous and strange, of a small puppy-dog that lived once in the cage of the late noble lion at exeter 'change. tho' the dog is a dog of the kind they call "sad," 'tis a puppy that much to good breeding pretends; and few dogs have such opportunities had of knowing how lions behave--among friends; how that animal eats, how he snores, how he drinks, is all noted down by this boswell so small; and 'tis plain from each sentence, the puppy-dog thinks that the lion was no such great things after all. tho' he roared pretty well--this the puppy allows-- it was all, he says, borrowed--all second-hand roar; and he vastly prefers his own little bow-wows to the loftiest war-note the lion could pour. 'tis indeed as good fun as a _cynic_ could ask, to see how this cockney-bred setter of rabbits takes gravely the lord of the forest to task, and judges of lions by puppy-dog habits. nay, fed as he was (and this makes it a dark case) with sops every day from the lion's own pan, he lifts up his leg at the noble beast's carcass. and does all a dog so diminutive can. however, the book's a good book, being rich in examples and warnings to lions high-bred, how they suffer small mongrelly curs in their kitchen, who'll feed on them living and foul them when dead. t. pidcock _exeter 'change_, ode to don miguel. et tu, _brute_! .[ ] what! miguel, _not_ patriotic! oh, fy! after so much good teaching 'tis quite a _take-in_, sir; first schooled as you were under metternich's eye, and then (as young misses say) "finisht" at windsor![ ] i ne'er in my life knew a case that was harder;-- such feasts as you had when you made us a call! three courses each day from his majesty's larder,-- and now to turn absolute don after all!! some authors, like bayes, to the style and the matter of each thing they _write_ suit the way that they _dine_, roast sirloin for epic, broiled devils for satire, and hotchpotch and _trifle_ for rhymes such as mine. that rulers should feed the same way, i've no doubt;-- great despots on _bouilli_ served up _à la russe_,[ ] your small german princes on frogs and sour crout, and your viceroy of hanover always on _goose_. _some_ dons too have fancied (tho' this may be fable) a dish rather dear, if in cooking they blunder it;-- not content with the common _hot_ meat _on_ a table, they're partial (eh, mig?) to a dish of _cold under_ it![ ] no wonder a don of such appetites found even windsor's collations plebeianly plain; where the dishes most _high_ that my lady sends round are here _maintenon_ cutlets and soup _à la reine_. alas! that a youth with such charming beginnings, should sink all at once to so sad a conclusion, and what is still worse, throw the losings and winnings of worthies on 'change into so much confusion! the bulls, in hysterics--the bears just as bad-- the few men who _have_, and the many who've _not_ tick, all shockt to find out that that promising lad, prince metternich's pupil, is--_not_ patriotic! [ ] at the commencement of this year, the designs of don miguel and his partisans against the constitution established by his brother had begun more openly to declare themselves. [ ] don miguel had paid a visit to the english court at the close of the year . [ ] dressed with a pint of the strongest spirits--a favorite dish of the great frederick of prussia, and which he persevered in eating even on his death-bed, much to the horror of his physician zimmerman. [ ] this quiet case of murder, with all its particulars--the hiding the body under the dinner-table, etc.--is, no doubt, well known to the reader. thoughts on the present government of ireland. . oft have i seen, in gay, equestrian pride, some well-rouged youth round astley's circus ride two stately steeds--standing, with graceful straddle, like him of rhodes, with foot on either saddle, while to soft tunes--some jigs and some _andantes_-- he steers around his light-paced rosinantes. so rides along, with canter smooth and pleasant, that horseman bold, lord anglesea, at present;-- _papist_ and _protestant_ the coursers twain, that lend their necks to his impartial rein, and round the ring--each honored, as they go, with equal pressure from his gracious toe-- to the old medley tune, half "patrick's day" and half "boyne water," take their cantering way, while peel, the showman in the middle, cracks his long-lasht whip to cheer the doubtful hacks. ah, ticklish trial of equestrian art! how blest, if neither steed would bolt or start;-- if _protestant's_ old restive tricks were gone, and _papist's_ winkers could be still kept on! but no, false hopes--not even the great ducrow 'twixt two such steeds could 'scape an overthrow: if _solar_ hacks played phaëton a trick, what hope, alas, from hackneys _lunatic_? if once my lord his graceful balance loses, or fails to keep each foot where each horse chooses; if peel but gives one _extra_ touch of whip to _papist's_ tail or _protestant's_ ear-tip-- that instant ends their glorious horsmanship! off bolt the severed steeds, for mischief free. and down between them plumps lord anglesea! the limbo of lost reputations. a dream. "_cio che si perde qui, là si raguna_." ariosto. "---a valley, where he sees things that on earth were lost." milton. . knowest thou not him[ ] the poet sings, who flew to the moon's serene domain, and saw that valley where all the things, that vanish on earth are found again-- the hopes of youth, the resolves of age, the vow of the lover, the dream of the sage, the golden visions of mining cits, the promises great men strew about them; and, packt in compass small, the wits of monarchs who rule as well without them!-- like him, but diving with wing profound, i have been to a limbo underground, where characters lost on earth, (and _cried_, in vain, like harris's, far and wide,) in heaps like yesterday's orts, are thrown and there, so worthless and flyblown that even the imps would not purloin them, lie till their worthy owners join them. curious it was to see this mass of lost and torn-up reputations;-- some of them female wares, alas! mislaid at _innocent_ assignations; some, that had sighed their last amen from the canting lips of saints that would be; and some once owned by "the best of men," who had proved-no better than they should be. 'mong others, a poet's fame i spied, once shining fair, now soakt and black-- "no wonder" (an imp at my elbow cried), "for i pickt it out of a butt of sack!" just then a yell was heard o'er head, like a chimney-sweeper's lofty summons; and lo! a devil right downward sped, bringing within his claws so red two statesmen's characters, found, he said, last night, on the floor of the house of commons; the which, with black official grin, he now to the chief imp handed in;-- _both_ these articles much the worse for their journey down, as you may suppose; but _one_ so devilish rank--"odd's curse!". said the lord chief imp, and held his nose. "ho, ho!" quoth he, "i know full well "from whom these two stray matters fell;"-- then, casting away, with loathful shrug, the uncleaner waif (as he would a drug the invisible's own dark hand had mixt), his gaze on the other[ ] firm he fixt, and trying, tho' mischief laught in his eye, to be moral because of the _young_ imps by, "what a pity!" he cried--"so fresh its gloss, "so long preserved--'tis a public loss! "this comes of a man, the careless blockhead, "keeping his character in his pocket; "and there--without considering whether "there's room for that and his gains together-- "cramming and cramming and cramming away, "till--out slips character some fine day! "however"--and here he viewed it round-- "this article still may pass for sound. "some flaws, soon patched, some stains are all "the harm it has had in its luckless fall. "here, puck!" and he called to one of his train-- "the owner may have this back again. "tho' damaged for ever, if used with skill, "it may serve perhaps to _trade on_ still; "tho' the gem can never as once be set, "it will do for a tory cabinet." [ ] astolpho. [ ] huskisson. how to write by proxy. _qui facit per alium facit per se_. 'mong our neighbors, the french, in the good olden time when nobility flourisht, great barons and dukes often set up for authors in prose and in rhyme, but ne'er took the trouble to write their own books. poor devils were found to do this for their betters;-- and one day a bishop, addressing a _blue_, said, "ma'am, have you read my new pastoral letters?" to which the _blue_ answered--"no, bishop, have you?" the same is now done by _our_ privileged class; and to show you how simple the process it needs, if a great major-general[ ] wishes to pass for an author of history, thus he proceeds:-- first, scribbling his own stock of notions as well as he can, with a _goose_-quill that claims him as _kin_, he settles his neckcloth--takes snuff--rings the bell, and yawningly orders a subaltern in. the subaltern comes--sees his general seated, in all the self-glory of authorship swelling;-- "there look," saith his lordship, "my work is completed,-- "it wants nothing now but the grammar and spelling." well used to a _breach_, the brave subaltern dreads awkward breaches of syntax a hundred times more; and tho' often condemned to see breaking of heads, he had ne'er seen such breaking of priscian's before. however, the job's sure to _pay_--that's enough-- so, to it he sets with his tinkering hammer, convinced that there never was job half so tough as the mending a great major-general's grammar. but lo! a fresh puzzlement starts up to view-- new toil for the sub.--for the lord new expense: 'tis discovered that mending his _grammar_ won't do, as the subaltern also must find him in _sense_! at last--even this is achieved by his aid; friend subaltern pockets the cash and--the story; drums beat--the new grand march of intellect's played-- and off struts my lord, the historian, in glory! [ ] or lieutenant-general, as it may happen to be. imitation of the inferno of dante. _"cosi quel fiato gli spiriti mali di quà, di là, di giu, di su gli mena."_ _inferno_, canto . i turned my steps and lo! a shadowy throng of ghosts came fluttering towards me--blown along, like cockchafers in high autumnal storms, by many a fitful gust that thro' their forms whistled, as on they came, with wheezy puff, and puft as--tho' they'd never puff enough. "whence and what are ye?" pitying i inquired of these poor ghosts, who, tattered, tost, and tired with such eternal puffing, scarce could stand on their lean legs while answering my demand. "we once were authors"--thus the sprite, who led this tag-rag regiment of spectres, said-- "authors of every sex, male, female, neuter, "who, early smit with love of praise and--_pewter_,[ ] "on c--lb--n's shelves first saw the light of day, "in ---'s puffs exhaled our lives away-- "like summer windmills, doomed to dusty peace, "when the brisk gales that lent them motion, cease. "ah! little knew we then what ills await "much-lauded scribblers in their after-state; "bepuft on earth--how loudly str--t can tell-- "and, dire reward, now doubly puft in hell!" touched with compassion for this ghastly crew, whose ribs even now the hollow wind sung thro' in mournful prose,--such prose as rosa's[ ] ghost still, at the accustomed hour of eggs and toast, sighs thro' the columns of the _morning post_,-- pensive i turned to weep, when he who stood foremost of all that flatulential brood, singling a _she_-ghost from the party, said, "allow me to present miss x. y. z.,[ ] "one of our _lettered_ nymphs--excuse the pun-- "who gained a name on earth by--having none; "and whose initials would immortal be, "had she but learned those plain ones, a. b. c. "yon smirking ghost, like mummy dry and neat, "wrapt in his own dead rhymes--fit winding-sheet-- "still marvels much that not a soul should care "one single pin to know who wrote 'may fair;'-- "while this young gentleman," (here forth he drew a dandy spectre, puft quite thro' and thro', as tho' his ribs were an aeolian lyre for the whole row's soft _trade_winds to inspire,) "this modest genius breathed one wish alone, "to have his volume read, himself unknown; "but different far the course his glory took, "all knew the author, and--none read the book. "behold, in yonder ancient figure of fun, "who rides the blast, sir jonah barrington;-- "in tricks to raise the wind his life was spent, "and now the wind returns the compliment. "this lady here, the earl of ---'s sister, "is a dead novelist; and this is mister-- "beg pardon--_honorable_ mister lister, "a gentleman who some weeks since came over "in a smart puff (wind s. s. e.) to dover. "yonder behind us limps young vivian grey, "whose life, poor youth, was long since blown away-- "like a torn paper-kite on which the wind "no further purchase for a puff can find." "and thou, thyself"--here, anxious, i exclaimed-- "tell us, good ghost, how thou, thyself, art named." "me, sir!" he blushing cried--"ah! there's the rub-- "know, then--a waiter once at brooks's club, "a waiter still i might have long remained, "and long the club-room's jokes and glasses drained; "but ah! in luckless hour, this last december, "i wrote a book,[ ] and colburn dubbed me 'member'-- "'member of brooks's!'--oh promethean puff, "to what wilt thou exalt even kitchen-stuff! "with crumbs of gossip, caught from dining wits, "and half-heard jokes, bequeathed, like half-chewed bits, "to be, each night, the waiter's perquisites;-- "with such ingredients served up oft before, "but with fresh fudge and fiction garnisht o'er, "i managed for some weeks to dose the town, "till fresh reserves of nonsense ran me down; "and ready still even waiters' souls to damn, "the devil but rang his bell, and--here i am;-- "yes--'coming _up_, sir,' once my favorite cry, "exchanged for 'coming _down_, sir,' here am i!" scarce had the spectre's lips these words let drop, when, lo! a breeze--such as from ---'s shop blows in the vernal hour when puffs prevail, and speeds the _sheets_ and swells the lagging _sale_-- took the poor waiter rudely in the poop, and whirling him and all his grisly group of literary ghosts--miss x. y. z.-- the nameless author, better known than read-- sir jo--the honorable mr. lister, and last, not least, lord nobody's twin-sister-- blew them, ye gods, with all their prose and rhymes and sins about them, far into those climes "where peter pitched his waistcoat"[ ] in old times, leaving me much in doubt as on i prest, with my great master, thro' this realm unblest, whether old nick or colburn puffs the best. [ ] the classical term for money. [ ] rosa matilda, who was for many years the writer of the political articles in the journal alluded to, and whose spirit still seems to preside--"_regnat rosa_"--over its pages. [ ] _not_ the charming l. e. l., and still less, mrs. f. h., whose poetry is among the most beautiful of the present day. [ ] "history of the clubs of london," announced as by "a member of brooks's." [ ]a _dantesque_ allusion to the old saying "nine miles beyond hell, where peter pitched his waistcoat." lament for the loss of lord bathurst's tail.[ ] all _in_ again--unlookt for bliss! yet, ah! _one_ adjunct still we miss;-- one tender tie, attached so long to the same head, thro' right and wrong. why, bathurst, why didst thou cut off that memorable tail of thine? why--as if _one_ was not enough-- thy pig-tie with thy place resign, and thus at once both _cut_ and _run_? alas! my lord, 'twas not well done, 'twas not, indeed,--tho' sad at heart, from office and its sweets to part, yet hopes of coming in again, sweet tory hopes! beguiled our pain; but thus to miss that tail of thine, thro' long, long years our rallying sign-- as if the state and all its powers by tenancy _in tail_ were ours-- to see it thus by scissors fall, _this_ was "the unkindest _cut_ of all!" it seemed as tho' the ascendant day of toryism had past away, and proving samson's story true, she lost her vigor with her _queue_. parties are much like fish, 'tis said-- the tail directs them, not the head; then how could _any_ party fail, that steered its course by bathurst's tail? not murat's plume thro' wagram's fight e'er shed such guiding glories from it, as erst in all true tories sight, blazed from our old colonial comet! if you, my lord, a bashaw were, (as wellington will be anon) thou mightst have had a tail to spare; but no! alas! thou hadst but one, and _that_--like troy, or babylon, a tale of other times--is gone! yet--weep ye not, ye tories true-- fate has not yet of all bereft us; though thus deprived of bathurst's _queue_, we've ellenborough's _curls_ still left us:-- sweet curls, from which young love, so vicious, his shots, as from nine-pounders, issues; grand, glorious curls, which in debate surcharged with all a nation's fate, his lordship shakes, as homer's god did,[ ] and oft in thundering talk comes near him; except that there the _speaker_ nodded and here 'tis only those who hear him. long, long, ye ringlets, on the soil of that fat cranium may ye flourish, with plenty of macassar oil thro' many a year your growth to nourish! and ah! should time too soon unsheath his barbarous shears such locks to sever, still dear to tories even in death, their last loved relics we'll bequeath, a _hair_-loom to our sons for ever. [ ] the noble lord, as is well known, cut off this much-respected appendage on his retirement from office some months since. [ ] "shakes his ambrosial curls, and gives the nod."--pope's _homer_. the cherries. a parable.[ ] . see those cherries, how they cover yonder sunny garden wall;-- had they not that network over, thieving birds would eat them all. so to guard our posts and pensions, ancient sages wove a net, thro' whose holes of small dimensions only _certain_ knaves can get. shall we then this network widen; shall we stretch these sacred holes, thro' which even already slide in lots of small dissenting souls? "god forbid!" old testy crieth; "god forbid!" so echo i; every ravenous bird that flieth then would at our cherries fly. ope but half an inch or so, and, behold! what bevies break in;-- _here_ some curst old popish crow pops his long and lickerish beak in; _here_ sly arians flock unnumbered, and socinians, slim and spare, who with small belief encumbered slip in easy anywhere;-- methodists, of birds the aptest, where there's _pecking_ going on; and that water-fowl, the baptist-- all would share our fruits anon; every bird of every city, that for years with ceaseless din, hath reverst the starling's ditty, singing out "i can't get in." "god forbid!" old _testy_ snivels; "god forbid!" i echo too; rather may ten thousand devils seize the whole voracious crew! if less costly fruits won't suit 'em, hips and haws and such like berries, curse the cormorants! stone 'em, shoot 'em, anything--to save our cherries. [ ] written during the late discussion on the test and corporation acts. stanzas written in anticipation of defeat.[ ] . go seek for some abler defenders of wrong, if we _must_ run the gantlet thro' blood and expense; or, goths as ye are, in your multitude strong, be content with success and pretend not to sense. if the words of the wise and the generous are vain, if truth by the bowstring _must_ yield up her breath, let mutes do the office--and spare her the pain of an inglis or tyndal to talk her to death. chain, persecute, plunder--do all that you will-- but save us, at least, the old womanly lore of a foster, who, dully prophetic of ill, is at once the _two_ instruments, augur[ ] and bore. bring legions of squires--if they'll only be mute-- and array their thick heads against reason and right, like the roman of old, of historic repute,[ ] who with droves of dumb animals carried the fight; pour out from each corner and hole of the court your bedchamber lordlings, your salaried slaves, who, ripe for all job-work, no matter what sort, have their consciences tackt to their patents and staves. catch all the small fry who, as juvenal sings, are the treasury's creatures, wherever they swim; with all the base, time-serving _toadies_ of kings, who, if punch were the monarch, would worship even him; and while on the _one_ side each name of renown that illumines and blesses our age is combined; while the foxes, the pitts, and the cannings look down, and drop o'er the cause their rich mantles of mind; let bold paddy holmes show his troops on the other, and, counting of noses the quantum desired, let paddy but say, like the gracchi's famed mother, "come forward, my _jewels_"--'tis all that's required. and thus let your farce be enacted hereafter-- thus honestly persecute, outlaw and chain; but spare even your victims the torture of laughter, and never, oh never, try _reasoning_ again! [ ] during the discussion of the catholic question in the house of commons last session. [ ] this rhyme is more for the ear than the eye, as the carpenter's tool is spelt _auger_. [ ] fabius, who sent droves of bullock against the enemy. ode to the woods and forests. by one of the board. . let other bards to groves repair, where linnets strain their tuneful throats; mine be the woods and forests where the treasury pours its sweeter _notes_. no whispering winds have charms for me, nor zephyr's balmy sighs i ask; to raise the wind for royalty be all our sylvan zephyr's task! and 'stead of crystal brooks and floods, and all such vulgar irrigation, let gallic rhino thro' our woods divert its "course of liquidation." ah, surely, vergil knew full well what woods and forests _ought_ to be, when sly, he introduced in hell his guinea-plant, his bullion-tree;[ ]-- nor see i why, some future day, when short of cash, we should not send our herries down--he knows the way-- to see if woods in hell will _lend_. long may ye flourish, sylvan haunts, beneath whose "_branches_ of expense" our gracious king gets all he wants,-- _except_ a little taste and sense. long, in your golden shade reclined. like him of fair armida's bowers, may wellington some _wood_-nymph find, to cheer his dozenth lustrum's hours; to rest from toil the great untaught, and soothe the pangs his warlike brain must suffer, when, unused to thought, it tries to think and--tries in vain. oh long may woods and forests be preserved in all their teeming graces, to shelter tory bards like me who take delight in sylvan _places_! [ ] called by vergil, botanically, "species _aurifrondentis_." stanzas from the banks of the shannon.[ ] . "take back the virgin page." moore's _irish melodies_. no longer dear vesey, feel hurt and uneasy at hearing it said by the treasury brother, that thou art a sheet of blank paper, my vesey, and he, the dear, innocent placeman, another.[ ] for lo! what a service we irish have done thee;-- thou now art a sheet of blank paper no more; by st. patrick, we've scrawled such a lesson upon thee as never was scrawled upon foolscap before. come--on with your spectacles, noble lord duke, (or o'connell has _green_ ones he haply would lend you,) read vesey all o'er (as you _can't_ read a book) and improve by the lesson we bog-trotters send you; a lesson, in large _roman_ characters traced, whose awful impressions from you and your kin of blank-sheeted statesmen will ne'er be effaced-- unless, 'stead of _paper_, you're mere _asses' skin_. shall i help you to construe it? ay, by the gods, could i risk a translation, you _should_ have a rare one; but pen against sabre is desperate odds, and you, my lord duke (as you _hinted_ once), wear one. again and again i say, read vesey o'er;-- you will find him worth all the old scrolls of papyrus that egypt e'er filled with nonsensical lore, or the learned champollion e'er wrote of, to tire us. all blank as he was, we've returned him on hand, scribbled o'er with a warning to princes and dukes, whose plain, simple drift if they _won't_ understand, tho' carest at st. james's, they're fit for st. luke's. talk of leaves of the sibyls!--more meaning conveyed is in one single leaf such as now we have spelled on, than e'er hath been uttered by all the old ladies that ever yet spoke, from the sibyls to eldon. [ ] these verses were suggested by the result of the clare election, in the year , when the right honorable w. vesey fitzgerald was rejected, and mr. o'connell returned. [ ] some expressions to this purport, in a published letter of one of these gentlemen, had then produced a good deal of amusement. the annual pill. supposed to be sung by old prosy, the jew, in the character of major cartwright. vill nobodies try my nice _annual pill_, dat's to purify every ting nashty avay? pless ma heart, pless ma heart, let ma say vat i vill, not a chrishtian or shentleman minds vat i say. 'tis so pretty a bolus!--just down let it go, and, at vonce, such a _radical_ shange you vill see, dat i'd not be surprished, like de horse in de show, if your heads all vere found, vere your tailsh ought to be! vill nobodies try my nice _annual pill_, etc. 'twill cure all electors and purge away clear dat mighty bad itching dey've got in deir hands-- 'twill cure too all statesmen of dulness, ma tear, tho' the case vas as desperate as poor mister van's. dere is noting at all vat dis pill vill not reach-- give the sinecure ghentleman van little grain, pless ma heart, it vill act, like de salt on de leech, and he'll throw de pounds, shillings, and pence, up again! vill nobodies try my nice _annual pill_, etc. 'twould be tedious, ma tear, all its peauties to paint-- "but, among oder tings _fundamentally_ wrong, it vill cure de proad pottom[ ]--a common complaint among m.p.'s and weavers--from _sitting_ too long. should symptoms of _speeching_ preak out on a dunce (vat is often de case), it vill stop de disease, and pring avay all de long speeches at vonce, dat else vould, like tape-worms, come by degrees! vill nobodies try my nice _annual pill_, dat's to purify every ting nashty avay? pless ma heart, pless ma heart, let me say vat i vill, not a chrishtian or shentleman minds vat i say! [ ] meaning, i presume, _coalition_ administrations. "if" and "perhaps."[ ] oh tidings of freedom! oh accents of hope! waft, waft them, ye zephyrs, to erin's blue sea, and refresh with their sounds every son of the pope, from dingle-a-cooch to far donaghadee. "_if_ mutely the slave will endure and obey, "nor clanking his fetters nor breathing his pains, "his masters _perhaps_ at some far distant day "may _think_ (tender tyrants!) of loosening his chains." wise "if" and "perhaps!"--precious salve for our wounds, if he who would rule thus o'er manacled mutes, could check the free spring-tide of mind that resounds, even now at his feet, like the sea at canute's. but, no, 'tis in vain--the grand impulse is given-- man knows his high charter, and knowing will claim; and if ruin _must_ follow where fetters are riven, be theirs who have forged them the guilt and the shame. "_if_ the slave will be silent!"--vain soldier, beware-- there _is_ a dead silence the wronged may assume, when the feeling, sent back from the lips in despair, but clings round the heart with a deadlier gloom;-- when the blush that long burned on the suppliant's cheek, gives place to the avenger's pale, resolute hue; and the tongue that once threatened, disdaining to _speak_, consigns to the arm the high office--to _do_. _if_ men in that silence should think of the hour when proudly their fathers in panoply stood, presenting alike a bold front-work of power to the despot on land and the foe on the flood:-- that hour when a voice had come forth from the west, to the slave bringing hopes, to the tyrant alarms; and a lesson long lookt for was taught the opprest, that kings are as dust before freemen in arms! _if_, awfuller still, the mute slave should recall that dream of his boyhood, when freedom's sweet day at length seemed to break thro' a long night of thrall, and union and hope went abroad in its ray;-- _if_ fancy should tell him, that dayspring of good, tho' swiftly its light died away from his chain, tho' darkly it set in a nation's best blood, now wants but invoking to shine out again; _if--if_, i say--breathings like these should come o'er the chords of remembrance, and thrill as they come, then,--_perhaps_--ay, _perhaps_--but i dare not say more; thou hast willed that thy slaves should be mute--i am dumb. [ ] written after hearing a celebrated speech in the house of lords, june , , when the motion in favor of catholic emancipation, brought forward by the marquis of lansdowne, was rejected by the house of lords. write on, write on. a ballad. air.--"_sleep on, sleep on, my kathleen dear. salvete, fratres asini_. st. francis. write on, write on, ye barons dear, ye dukes, write hard and fast; the good we've sought for many a year your quills will bring at last. one letter more, newcastle, pen, to match lord kenyon's _two_, and more than ireland's host of men, one brace of peers will do. write on, write on, etc. sure never since the precious use of pen and ink began, did letters writ by fools produce such signal good to man. while intellect, 'mong high and low, is marching _on_, they say, give _me_ the dukes and lords who go like crabs, the _other_ way. write on, write on, etc. even now i feel the coming light-- even now, could folly lure my lord mountcashel too to write, emancipation's sure. by geese (we read in history), old rome was saved from ill; and now to _quills_ of geese we see old rome indebted still. write on, write on, etc. write, write, ye peers, nor stoop to style, nor beat for sense about-- things little worth a noble's while you're better far without. oh ne'er, since asses spoke of yore, such miracles were done; for, write but four such letters more, and freedom's cause is won! song of the departing spirit of tithe. "the parting genius is with sighing sent." milton. it is o'er, it is o'er, my reign is o'er; i hear a voice, from shore to shore, from dunfanaghy to baltimore, and it saith, in sad, parsonic tone, "great tithe and small are dead and gone!" even now i behold your vanishing wings, ye tenths of all conceivable things, which adam first, as doctors deem, saw, in a sort of night-mare dream,[ ] after the feast of fruit abhorred-- first indigestion on record!-- ye decimate ducks, ye chosen chicks, ye pigs which, tho' ye be catholics, or of calvin's most select depraved, in the church must have your bacon saved;-- ye fields, where labor counts his sheaves, and, whatsoever _himself_ believes, must bow to the establisht _church_ belief, that the tenth is always a _protestant_ sheaf;-- ye calves of which the man of heaven takes _irish_ tithe, one calf in seven;[ ] ye tenths of rape, hemp, barley, flax, eggs, timber, milk, fish and bees' wax; all things in short since earth's creation, doomed, by the church's dispensation, to suffer eternal decimation-- leaving the whole _lay_-world, since then, reduced to nine parts out of ten; or--as we calculate thefts and arsons-- just _ten per cent_. the worse for parsons! alas! and is all this wise device for the saving of souls thus gone in a trice?-- the whole put down, in the simplest way, by the souls resolving _not_ to pay! and even the papist, thankless race who have had so much the easiest case-- to _pay_ for our sermons doomed, 'tis true, but not condemned to _hear them_, too-- (our holy business being, 'tis known, with the ears of their barley, not their own,) even _they_ object to let us pillage by right divine their tenth of tillage, and, horror of horrors, even decline to find us in sacramental wine![ ] it is o'er, it is o'er, my reign is o'er, ah! never shall rosy rector more, like the shepherds of israel, idly eat, and make of his flock "a prey and meat."[ ] no more shall be his the pastoral sport of suing his flock in the bishop's court, thro' various steps, citation, libel-- _scriptures_ all, but _not_ the bible; working the law's whole apparatus, to get at a few predoomed potatoes, and summoning all the powers of wig, to settle the fraction of a pig!-- till, parson and all committed deep in the case of "shepherds _versus_ sheep," the law usurps the gospel's place, and on sundays meeting face to face, while plaintiff fills the preacher's station, defendants form the congregation. so lives he, mammon's priest, not heaven's, for _tenths_ thus all at _sixes_ and _sevens_, seeking what parsons love no less than tragic poets--a good _distress_. instead of studying st. augustin, gregory nyss., or old st. justin (books fit only to hoard dust in), his reverence stints his evening readings to learned reports of tithe proceedings, sipping the while that port so ruddy, which forms his only _ancient_ study;-- port so old, you'd swear its tartar was of the age of justin martyr, and, had he sipt of such, no doubt his martyrdom would have been--to gout. is all then lost?--alas, too true-- ye tenths beloved, adieu, adieu! my reign is o'er, my reign is o'er-- like old thumb's ghost, "i can no more." [ ] a reverend prebendary of hereford, in an essay on the revenues of the church of england, has assigned the origin of tithes to "some unrecorded revelation made to adam." [ ] "the tenth calf is due to the parson of common right; and if there are seven he shall have one."--rees's _cyclopaedia_, art. "_tithes_." [ ] among the specimens laid before parliament of the sort of church rates levied upon catholics in ireland, was a charge of two pipes of port for sacramental wine. [ ] ezekiel, xxxiv., .--"neither shall the shepherds feed themselves any more; for i will deliver my flock from their mouth, that they may not be meat for them." the euthanasia of van. "we are told that the bigots are growing old and fast wearing out. if it be so why not let us die in peace?" --lord bexley's _letter to the freeholders of kent_. stop, intellect, in mercy stop, ye curst improvements, cease; and let poor nick vansittart drop into his grave in peace. hide, knowledge, hide thy rising sun, young freedom, veil thy head; let nothing good be thought or done, till nick vansittart's dead! take pity on a dotard's fears, who much doth light detest; and let his last few drivelling years be dark as were the rest. you too, ye fleeting one-pound notes, speed not so fast away-- ye rags on which old nicky gloats, a few months longer stay. together soon, or much i err, you _both_ from life may go-- the notes unto the scavenger, and nick--to nick below. ye liberals, whate'er your plan, be all reforms suspended; in compliment to dear old van, let nothing bad be mended. ye papists, whom oppression wrings, your cry politely cease, and fret your hearts to fiddle-strings that van may die in peace. so shall he win a fame sublime by few old rag-men gained; since all shall own, in nicky's time, nor sense nor justice reigned. so shall his name thro' ages past, and dolts ungotten yet, date from "the days of nicholas," with fond and sad regret;-- and sighing say, "alas, had he "been spared from pluto's bowers, "the blessed reign of bigotry "and rags might still be ours!" to the reverend ----. one of the sixteen requisitionists of nottingham. . what, _you_, too, my ******, in hashes so knowing, of sauces and soups aristarchus profest! are _you_, too, my savory brunswicker, going to make an old fool of yourself with the rest? far better to stick to your kitchen receipts; and--if you want _something_ to tease--for variety, go study how ude, in his "cookery," treats live eels when he fits them for polisht society. just snuggling them in, 'twixt the bars of the fire, he leaves them to wriggle and writhe on the coals,[ ] in a manner that horner himself would admire, and wish, 'stead of _eels_, they were catholic souls. ude tells us the fish little suffering feels; while papists of late have more sensitive grown; so take my advice, try your hand at live eels, and for _once_ let the other poor devils alone. i have even a still better receipt for your cook-- how to make a goose die of confirmed _hepatitis;_[ ] and if you'll, for once, _fellow_-feelings o'erlook, a well-tortured goose a most capital sight is. first, catch him, alive--make a good steady fire-- set your victim before it, both legs being tied, (as if left to himself he _might_ wish to retire,) and place a large bowl of rich cream by his side. there roasting by inches, dry, fevered, and faint, having drunk all the cream you so civilly laid, off, he dies of as charming a liver complaint as ever sleek person could wish a pie made of. besides, only think, my dear one of sixteen, what an emblem this bird, for the epicure's use meant. presents of the mode in which ireland has been made a tid-bit for yours and your brethren's amusement: tied down to the stake, while her limbs, as they quiver, a slow fire of tyranny wastes by degrees-- no wonder disease should have swelled up her liver, no wonder you, gourmands, should love her disease. [ ] the only way, monsieur ude assures us, to get rid of the oil so objectionable in this fish. [ ] a liver complaint. the process by which the livers of geese are enlarged for the famous _pates de foie d'oie_. irish antiquities. according to some learned opinions the irish once were carthaginians; but trusting to more late descriptions i'd rather say they were egyptians. my reason's this:--the priests of isis, when forth they marched in long array, employed, 'mong other grave devices, a sacred ass to lead the way; and still the antiquarian traces 'mong irish lords this pagan plan, for still in all religious cases they put lord roden in the van. a curious fact. the present lord kenyon (the peer who writes letters, for which the waste-paper folks much are his debtors) hath one little oddity well worth reciting, which puzzleth observers even more than his writing. whenever lord kenyon doth chance to behold a cold apple-pie--mind, the pie _must_ be cold-- his lordship looks solemn (few people know why), and he makes a low bow to the said apple-pie. this idolatrous act in so "vital" a peer, is by most serious protestants thought rather queer-- pie-worship, they hold, coming under the head (vide _crustium_, chap, iv.) of the worship of bread. some think 'tis a tribute, as author he owes for the service that pie-crust hath done to his prose;-- the only good things in his pages, they swear, being those that the pastry-cook sometimes put there. _others_ say, 'tis a homage, thro' piecrust conveyed, to our glorious deliverer's much-honored shade; as that protestant hero (or saint, if you please) was as fond of cold pie as he was of green pease,[ ] and 'tis solely in loyal remembrance of that, my lord kenyon to apple-pie takes off his hat. while others account for this kind salutation;"-- by what tony lumpkin calls "concatenation;" a certain good-will that, from sympathy's ties, 'twixt old _apple_-women and _orange_-men lies. but 'tis needless to add, these are all vague surmises, for thus, we're assured, the whole matter arises: lord kenyon's respected old father (like many respected old fathers) was fond of a penny; and loved so to save,[ ] that--there's not the least question-- his death was brought on by a bad indigestion, from cold apple-pie-crust his lordship _would_ stuff in at breakfast to save the expense of hot muffin. hence it is, and hence only, that cold apple-pies are beheld by his heir with such reverent eyes-- just as honest king stephen his beaver might doff to the fishes that carried his kind uncle off-- and while _filial_ piety urges so many on, 'tis pure _apple_-pie-ety moves my lord kenyon. [ ] see the anecdote, which the duchess of marlborough relates in her memoirs, of this polite hero appropriating to himself one day, at dinner, a whole dish of green peas--the first of the season--while the poor princess anne, who was then in a longing condition, sat by vainly entreating with her eyes for a share. [ ] the same prudent propensity characterizes his descendant, who (as is well known) would not even go to the expense of a diphthong on his father's monument, but had the inscription spelled, economically, thus:--"_mors janua vita_" new-fashioned echoes. sir,-- most of your readers are no doubt acquainted with the anecdote told of a certain not over-wise judge who, when in the act of delivering a charge in some country court-house, was interrupted by the braying of an ass at the door. "what noise is that?" asked the angry judge. "only an extraordinary _echo_ there is in court, my lord," answered one of the counsel. as there are a number of such "extraordinary echoes" abroad just now, you will not, perhaps, be unwilling, mr. editor, to receive the following few lines suggested by them. yours, etc. s. _huc coeamus,[ ] ait; nullique libentius unquam responsura sono, coeamus, retulit echo_. ovid. there are echoes, we know, of all sorts, from the echo that "dies in the dale," to the "airy-tongued babbler" that sports up the tide of the torrent her "tale." there are echoes that bore us, like blues, with the latest smart _mot_ they have heard; there are echoes extremely like shrews letting nobody have the last word. in the bogs of old paddy-land, too. certain "talented" echoes[ ] there dwell, who on being askt, "how do you do?" politely reply, �pretty well," but why should i talk any more of such old-fashioned echoes as these, when britain has new ones in store, that transcend them by many degrees? for of all repercussions of sound concerning which bards make a pother, there's none like that happy rebound when one blockhead echoes an other;-- when kenyon commences the bray, and the borough-duke follows his track; and loudly from dublin's sweet bay rathdowne brays, with interest, back!-- and while, of _most_ echoes the sound on our ear by reflection doth fall, these brunswickers[ ] pass the bray round, without any reflection at all. oh scott, were i gifted like you, who can name all the echoes there are from benvoirlich to bold benvenue, from benledi to wild uamvar; i might track thro' each hard irish name the rebounds of this asinine strain, till from neddy to neddy, it came to the _chief_ neddy, kenyon, again; might tell how it roared in rathdowne, how from dawson it died off genteelly-- how hollow it hung from the crown of the fat-pated marquis of ely; how on hearing my lord of glandine, thistle-eaters the stoutest gave way, outdone in their own special line by the forty-ass power of his bray! but, no--for so humble a bard 'tis a subject too trying to touch on; such noblemen's names are too hard, and their noddles too soft to dwell much on. oh echo, sweet nymph of the hill, of the dell and the deep-sounding shelves; if in spite of narcissus you still take to fools who are charmed with themselves, who knows but, some morning retiring, to walk by the trent's wooded side, you may meet with newcastle, admiring his own lengthened ears in the tide! or, on into cambria straying, find kenyon, that double tongued elf, in his love of _ass_-cendency, braying a brunswick duet with himself! [ ] "let us from clubs." [ ] commonly called "paddy blake's echoes". [ ] anti-catholic associations, under the title of brunswick clubs, were at this time becoming numerous both in england and ireland. incantation. from the new tragedy of "the brunswickers." scene.--_penenden plain. in the middle, a caldron boiling. thunder.-- enter three brunswickers_. _ st bruns_.--thrice hath scribbling kenyon scrawled, _ d bruns_.--once hath fool newcastle bawled, _ d bruns_.--bexley snores:--'tis time, 'tis time, _ st bruns_.--round about the caldron go; in the poisonous nonsense throw. bigot spite that long hath grown like a toad within a stone, sweltering in the heart of scott, boil we in the brunswick pot. _all_.--dribble, dribble, nonsense dribble, eldon, talk, and kenyon, scribble. _ d bruns_.--slaver from newcastle's quill in the noisome mess distil, brimming high our brunswick broth both with venom and with froth. mix the brains (tho' apt to hash ill, being scant) of lord mountcashel, with that malty stuff which chandos drivels as no other man does. catch (_i. e._ if catch you can) one idea, spick and span, from my lord of salisbury,-- one idea, tho' it be smaller than the "happy flea" which his sire in sonnet terse wedded to immortal verse.[ ] tho' to rob the son is sin, put his _one_ idea in; and, to keep it company, let that conjuror winchelsea drop but _half_ another there, if he hath so much to spare. dreams of murders and of arsons, hatched in heads of irish parsons, bring from every hole and corner, where ferocious priests like horner purely for religious good cry aloud for papist's blood, blood for wells, and such old women, at their ease to wade and swim in. _all_.--dribble, dribble, nonsense dribble, bexley, talk, and kenyon, scribble. _ d bruns_.--now the charm begin to brew; sisters, sisters, add thereto scraps of lethbridge's old speeches, mixt with leather from his breeches, rinsings of old bexley's brains, thickened (if you'll take the pains) with that pulp which rags create, in their middle _nympha_ state, ere, like insects frail and sunny, forth they wing abroad as money. there--the hell-broth we've enchanted-- now but _one_ thing more is wanted. squeeze o'er all that orange juice, castlereagh keeps corkt for use, which, to work the better spell, is colored deep with blood of ----, blood, of powers far more various, even than that of januarius, since so great a charm hangs o'er it, england's parsons bow before it, _all_.--dribble, dribble, nonsense dribble, bexley, talk, and kenyon, scribble. _ d bruns_.--cool it now with ----'s blood, so the charm is firm and good. [_exeunt_. [ ] alluding to a well-known lyric composition of the late marquis, which, with a slight alteration, might be addressed either to a flea or a fly. how to make a good politician. whene'er you're in doubt, said a sage i once knew, 'twixt two lines of conduct _which_ course to pursue, ask a woman's advice, and, whate'er she advise, do the very reverse and you're sure to be wise. of the same use as guides the brunswicker throng; in their thoughts, words and deeds, so instinctively wrong, that whatever they counsel, act, talk or indite, take the opposite course and you're sure to be right. so golden this rule, that, had nature denied you the use of that finger-post, reason, to guide you-- were you even more doltish than any given man is, more soft than newcastle, more twaddling than van is. i'd stake my repute, on the following conditions, to make you the soundest of sound politicians. place yourself near the skirts of some high-flying tory-- some brunswicker parson, of port-drinking glory,-- watch well how he dines, during any great question-- what makes him feel gayly, what spoils his digestion-- and always feel sure that _his_ joy o'er a stew portends a clear case of dyspepsia to _you_. read him backwards, like hebrew--whatever he wishes or praises, note down as absurd or pernicious. like the folks of a weather-house, shifting about, when he's _out_ be an _in_-when he's _in_ be an _out_. keep him always reversed in your thoughts, night and day, like an irish barometer turned the wrong way:-- if he's _up_ you may swear that foul weather is nigh; if he's _down_ you may look for a bit of blue sky. never mind what debaters or journalists say, only ask what _he_ thinks and then think t'other way. does he hate the small-note bill? then firmly rely the small-note bill's a blessing, tho' _you_ don't know why. is brougham his aversion? then harry's your man. does he quake at o'connell? take doubly to dan. is he all for the turks? then at once take the whole russian empire (tsar, cossacks and all) to your soul. in short, whatsoever he talks, thinks or is, be your thoughts, words and essence the contrast of his. nay, as siamese ladies--at least the polite ones,-- all paint their teeth black, 'cause the devil has white ones- if even by the chances of time or of tide your tory for once should have sense on his side, even _then_ stand aloof--for be sure that old nick when a tory talks sensibly, means you some trick. such my recipe is--and, in one single verse, i shall now, in conclusion, its substance rehearse, be all that a brunswicker _is_ not nor _could_ be, and then--you�ll be all that an honest man should be. epistle of condolence. from a slave-lord, to a cotton-lord. alas! my dear friend, what a state of affairs! how unjustly we both are despoiled of our rights! not a pound of black flesh shall i leave to my heirs, nor must you any more work to death little whites. both forced to submit to that general controller of king, lords and cotton mills, public opinion, no more shall _you_ beat with a big billy-roller. nor _i_ with the cart-whip assert my dominion. whereas, were we suffered to do as we please with our blacks and our whites, as of yore we were let, we might range them alternate, like harpsichord keys, and between us thump out a good piebald duet. but this fun is all over;--farewell to the zest which slavery now lends to each teacup we sip; which makes still the cruellest coffee the best, and that sugar the sweetest which smacks of the whip. farewell too the factory's white pickaninnies-- small, living machines which if flogged to their tasks mix so well with their namesakes, the "billies" and "jennies," that _which_ have got souls in 'em nobody asks;-- little maids of the mill, who themselves but ill-fed, are obliged, 'mong their other benevolent cares, to "keep feeding the scribblers,"[ ]--and better, 'tis said, than old blackwood or fraser have ever fed theirs. all this is now o'er and so dismal _my_ loss is, so hard 'tis to part from the smack of the throng, that i mean (from pure love for the old whipping process), to take to whipt syllabub all my life long. [ ] one of the operations in cotton mills usually performed by children. the ghost of miltiades. _ah quoties dubies scriptis exarsit amator_. ovid. the ghost of miltiades came at night, and he stood by the bed of the benthamite, and he said, in a voice that thrilled the frame, "if ever the sound of marathon's name hath fired thy blood or flusht thy brow, "lover of liberty, rouse thee now!" the benthamite yawning left his bed-- away to the stock exchange he sped, and he found the scrip of greece so high, that it fired his blood, it flusht his eye, and oh! 'twas a sight for the ghost to see, for never was greek more greek than he! and still as the premium higher went, his ecstasy rose--so much _per cent_. (as we see in a glass that tells the weather the heat and the _silver_ rise together,) and liberty sung from the patriot's lip, while a voice from his pocket whispered "scrip!" the ghost of miltiades came again;-- he smiled, as the pale moon smiles thro' rain, for his soul was glad at that patriot strain; (and poor, dear ghost--how little he knew the jobs and the tricks of the philhellene crew!) "blessings and thanks!" was all he said, then melting away like a night-dream fled! the benthamite hears--amazed that ghosts could be such fools--and away he posts, a patriot still? ah no, ah no-- goddess of freedom, thy scrip is low, and warm and fond as thy lovers are, thou triest their passion, when under _par_, the benthamite's ardor fast decays, by turns he weeps and swears and prays. and wishes the devil had crescent and cross, ere _he_ had been forced to sell at a loss. they quote him the stock of various nations, but, spite of his classic associations, lord! how he loathes the greek _quotations_! "who'll buy my scrip? who'll buy my scrip?" is now the theme of the patriot's lip, as he runs to tell how hard his lot is to messrs. orlando and luriottis, and says, "oh greece, for liberty's sake, "do buy my scrip, and i vow to break "those dark, unholy _bonds_ of thine-- "if you'll only consent to buy up _mine_!" the ghost of miltiades came once more;-- his brow like the night was lowering o'er, and he said, with a look that flasht dismay, "of liberty's foes the worst are they, "who turn to a trade her cause divine, "and gamble for gold on freedom's shrine!" thus saying, the ghost, as he took his flight, gave a parthian kick to the benthamite, which sent him, whimpering, off to jerry-- and vanisht away to the stygian ferry! alarming intelligence! revolution in the dictionary--one _galt_ at the head of it. god preserve us!--there's nothing now safe from assault;-- thrones toppling around, churches brought to the hammer; and accounts have just reached us that one mr. _galt_ has declared open war against english and grammar! he had long been suspected of some such design, and, the better his wicked intents to arrive at, had lately 'mong colburn's troops of _the line_ (the penny-a-line men) enlisted as private. there schooled, with a rabble of words at command, scotch, english and slang in promiscuous alliance. he at length against syntax has taken his stand, and sets all the nine parts of speech at defiance. next advices, no doubt, further facts will afford: in the mean time the danger most imminent grows, he has taken the life of one eminent lord, and whom he'll _next_ murder the lord only knows. _wednesday evening_. since our last, matters, luckily, look more serene; tho' the rebel, 'tis stated, to aid his defection, has seized a great powder--no, puff magazine, and the explosions are dreadful in every direction. what his meaning exactly is, nobody knows, as he talks (in a strain of intense botheration) of lyrical "ichor,"[ ] "gelatinous" prose,[ ] and a mixture called amber immortalization.[ ] _now_, he raves of a bard he once happened to meet, seated high "among rattlings" and churning a sonnet;[ ] _now_, talks of a mystery, wrapt in a sheet, with a halo (by way of a nightcap) upon it![ ] we shudder in tracing these terrible lines; something bad they must mean, tho' we can't make it out; for whate'er may be guessed of galt's secret designs, that they're all _anti_-english no christian can doubt. [ ] "that dark disease ichor which colored her effusions."--galt's _life of byron_. [ ] "the gelatinous character of their effusions." _ibid_. [ ] "the poetical embalmment or rather amber immortalization."-- _ibid_. [ ] "sitting amidst the shrouds and rattlings, churning an inarticulate melody."--_ibid_. [ ] "he was a mystery in a winding sheet, crowned with a halo."-- _ibid_. resolutions passed at a late meeting of reverends and right reverends. resolved--to stick to every particle of every creed and every article; reforming naught, or great or little, we'll stanchly stand by every tittle, and scorn the swallow of that soul which cannot boldly bolt the whole.[ ] resolved that tho' st. athanasius in damning souls is rather spacious-- tho' wide and far his curses fall, our church "hath stomach for them all;" and those who're not content with such, may e'en be damned ten times as much. resolved--such liberal souls are we-- tho' hating nonconformity, we yet believe the cash no worse is that comes from nonconformist purses. indifferent _whence_ the money reaches the pockets of our reverend breeches, to us the jumper's jingling penny chinks with a tone as sweet as any; and even our old friends yea and nay may thro' the nose for ever pray, if _also_ thro' the nose they'll pay. resolved that hooper,[ ] latimer,[ ] and cranmer,[ ] all extremely err, in taking such a low-bred view of what lords spiritual ought to do:-- all owing to the fact, poor men, that mother church was modest then, nor knew what golden eggs her goose, the public, would in time produce. one pisgah peep at modern durham to far more lordly thoughts would stir 'em. resolved that when we spiritual lords whose income just enough affords to keep our spiritual lordships cosey, are told by antiquarians prosy how ancient bishops cut up theirs, giving the poor the largest shares-- our answer is, in one short word, we think it pious but absurd. those good men made the world their debtor, but we, the church reformed, know better; and taking all that all can pay, balance the account the other way. resolved our thanks profoundly due are to last month's quarterly reviewer, who proves by arguments so clear (one sees how much he holds _per_ year) that england's church, tho' out of date, must still be left to lie in state, as dead, as rotten and as grand as the mummy of king osymandyas, all pickled snug--the brains drawn out-- with costly cerements swathed about,-- and "touch me not," those words terrific, scrawled o'er her in good hieroglyphic. [ ] one of the questions propounded to the puritans in was--"whether the book of service was good and godly, every tittle grounded on the holy scripture?" on which an honest dissenter remarks--"surely they had a wonderful opinion of their service book that there was not a _tittle_ amiss, in it." [ ] "they," the bishops, "know that the primitive church had no such bishops. if the fourth part of the bishopric remained unto the bishop, it were sufficient."--_on the commandments_, p. . [ ] "since the prelates were made lords and nobles, the plough standeth, there is no work done, the people starve."--_lat. serm_. [ ] "of whom have come all these glorious titles, styles, and pomps into the church. but i would that i, and all my brethren, the bishops, would leave all our styles, and write the styles of our offices," etc.--_life of cranmer, by strype, appendix_. sir andrew's dream. "_nec tu sperne piis venientia somnia portis: cum pia venerunt somnia, pondus liubent_." propert. _lib. iv. eleg_. . as snug, on a sunday eve, of late, in his easy chair sir andrew sate, being much too pious, as every one knows, to do aught, of a sunday eve, but doze, he dreamt a dream, dear, holy man, and i'll tell you his dream as well as i can. he found himself, to his great amaze, in charles the first's high tory days, and just at the time that gravest of courts had publisht its book of sunday sports.[ ] _sunday_ sports! what a thing for the ear of andrew even in sleep to hear!-- it chanced to be too a sabbath day when the people from church were coming away; and andrew with horror heard this song. as the smiling sinners flockt along;-- "long life to the bishops, hurrah! hurrah! "for a week of work and a sunday of play "make the poor man's life run merry away." "the bishops!" quoth andrew, "popish, i guess," and he grinned with conscious holiness. but the song went on, and, to brim the cup of poor andy's grief, the fiddles struck up! "come, take out the lasses--let's have a dance-- "for the bishops allow us to skip our fill, "well knowing that no one's the more in advance "on the road to heaven, for standing still. "oh! it never was meant that grim grimaces "should sour the cream of a creed of love; "or that fellows with long, disastrous faces, "alone should sit among cherubs above. "then hurrah for the bishops, etc. "for sunday fun we never can fail, "when the church herself each sport points out;-- "there's may-games, archery, whitsun-ale, "and a may-pole high to dance about. "or should we be for a pole hard driven, "some lengthy saint of aspect fell, "with his pockets on earth and his nose in heaven, "will do for a may-pole just as well. "then hurrah for the bishops, hurrah! hurrah! "a week of work and a sabbath of play "make the poor man's life run merry away." to andy, who doesn't much deal in history, this sunday scene was a downright mystery; and god knows where might have ended the joke, but, in trying to stop the fiddles, he woke, and the odd thing is (as the rumor goes) that since that dream--which, one would suppose, should have made his godly stomach rise. even more than ever 'gainst sunday pies-- he has viewed things quite with different eyes; is beginning to take, on matters divine, like charles and his bishops, the _sporting_ line-- is all for christians jigging in pairs, as an interlude 'twixt sunday prayers:-- nay, talks of getting archbishop howley to bring in a bill enacting duly that all good protestants from this date may freely and lawfully recreate, of a sunday eve, their spirits moody, with jack in the straw or punch and judy. [ ] _the book of sports_ drawn up by bishop moreton was first put forth in the reign of james i., , and afterwards republished, at the advice of laud, by charles i., , with an injunction that it should be "made public by order from the bishops." we find it therein declared, that "for his good people's recreation, his majesty's pleasure was, that after the end of divine service they should not be disturbed, letted, or discouraged from any lawful recreations, such as dancing, either of men or women, archery for men, leaping, vaulting, or any such harmless recreations, nor having of may-games, whitsun-ales, or morris-dances, or setting up of may poles, or other sports therewith used." etc. a blue love song. to miss-----. air-"_come live with me and be my love_." come wed with me and we will write, my blue of blues, from morn till night. chased from our classic souls shall be all thoughts of vulgar progeny; and thou shalt walk through smiling rows of chubby duodecimos, while i, to match thy products nearly, shall lie-in of a quarto yearly. 'tis true, even books entail some trouble; but _live_ productions give one double. correcting children is _such_ bother,-- while printers' devils correct the other. just think, my own malthusian dear, how much more decent 'tis to hear from male or female--as it may be-- "how is your book?" than "how's your baby?" and whereas physic and wet nurses do much exhaust paternal purses, our books if rickety may go and be well dry-nurst in _the row_; and when god wills to take them hence, are buried at _the row's_ expense. besides, (as 'tis well proved by thee, in thy own works, vol. .) the march, just now, of population so much outscrips all moderation, that even prolific herring-shoals keep pace not with our erring souls.[ ] oh far more proper and well-bred to stick to writing books instead; and show the world how two blue lovers can coalesce, like two book-covers, (sheep-skin, or calf, or such wise leather,) lettered at back and stitched together fondly as first the binder fixt 'em, with naught but--literature betwixt 'em. [ ] see "ella of garveloch."--garveloch being a place where there was a large herring-fishery, but where, as we are told by the author, "the people increased much faster than the produce." sunday ethics. a scotch ode. puir, profligate londoners, having heard tell that the de'il's got amang ye, and fearing 'tis true, we ha' sent ye a mon wha's a match for his spell, a chiel o' our ain, that the de'il himsel will be glad to keep clear of, ane andrew agnew. so at least ye may reckon for one day entire in ilka lang week ye'll be tranquil eneugh, as auld nick, do him justice, abhors a scotch squire, an' would sooner gae roast by his ain kitchen fire than pass a hale sunday wi' andrew agnew. for, bless the gude mon, gin he had his ain way, he'd na let a cat on the sabbath say "mew;" nae birdie maun whistle, nae lambie maun play, an phoebus himsel could na travel that day. as he'd find a new joshua in andie agnew. only hear, in your senate, how awfu' he cries, "wae, wae to a' sinners who boil an' who stew! "wae, wae to a' eaters o' sabbath baked pies, "for as surely again shall the crust thereof rise "in judgment against ye," saith andrew agnew! ye may think, from a' this, that our andie's the lad to ca' o'er the coals your nobeelity too; that their drives, o' a sunday, wi' flunkies,[ ] a' clad like shawmen, behind 'em, would mak the mon mad-- but he's nae sic a noodle, our andie agnew. if lairds an' fine ladies, on sunday, think right to gang to the deevil--as maist o' 'em do-- to stop them our andie would think na polite; and 'tis odds (if the chiel could get onything by't) but he'd follow 'em, booing, would andrew agnew. [ ] servants in livery. awful event. yes, winchelsea (i tremble while i pen it), winehelsea's earl hath _cut_ the british senate-- hath said to england's peers, in accent gruff, "_that_ for ye all"[snapping his fingers] and exit in a huff! disastrous news!--like that of old which spread, from shore to shore, "our mighty pan is dead," o'er the cross benches (cross from _being_ crost) sounds the loud wail, "our winchelsea is lost!" which of ye, lords, that heard him can forget the deep impression of that awful threat, "i quit your house!!"--midst all that histories tell, i know but _one_ event that's parallel:-- it chanced at drury lane, one easter night, when the gay gods too blest to be polite gods at their ease, like those of learned lucretius, laught, whistled, groaned, uproariously facetious-- a well-drest member of the middle gallery, whose "ears polite" disdained such low canaillerie, rose in his place--so grand, you'd almost swear lord winchelsea himself stood towering there-- and like that lord of dignity and _nous_, said, "silence, fellows, or--i'll leave the house!!" how brookt the gods this speech? ah well-a-day, that speech so fine should be so thrown away! in vain did this mid-gallery grandee assert his own two-shilling dignity-- in vain he menaced to withdraw the ray of his own full-price countenance away-- fun against dignity is fearful odds, and as the lords laugh _now_, so giggled _then_ the gods! the numbering of the clergy. parody on sir charles han. williams's famous ode, "come, cloe, and give me sweet kisses." "we want more churches and more clergymen." _bishop of london's late charge_. _"rectorum numerum, terris pereuntibus augent." claudian in eutrop_. come, give us more livings and rectors, for, richer no realm ever gave; but why, ye unchristian objectors, do ye ask us how many we crave?[ ] oh there can't be too many rich livings for souls of the pluralist kind, who, despising old crocker's misgivings, to numbers can ne'er be confined.[ ] count the cormorants hovering about,[ ] at the time their fish season sets in, when these models of keen diners-out are preparing their beaks to begin. count the rooks that, in clerical dresses, flock round when the harvest's in play, and not minding the farmer's distresses, like devils in grain peck away. go, number the locusts in heaven,[ ] on the way to some titheable shore; and when so many parsons you've given, we still shall be craving for more. then, unless ye the church would submerge, ye must leave us in peace to augment. for the wretch who could number the clergy, with few will be ever content. [ ] come, cloe, and give me sweet kisses, for sweeter sure never girl gave; but why, in the midst of my blisses, do you ask me how many i'd have? [ ] for whilst i love thee above measure, to numbers i'll ne'er be confined. [ ] count the bees that on hybla are playing, count the flowers that enamel its fields, count the flocks, etc. [ ] go number the stars in the heaven, count how many sands on the shore, when so many kisses you've given, i still shall be craving for more. a sad case. "if it be the undergraduate season at which this _rabies religiosa_ is to be so fearful, what security has mr. goulburn against it at this moment, when his son is actually exposed to the full venom of an association with dissenters?" --_the times_, march . how sad a case!--just think of it-- if goulburn junior should be bit by some insane dissenter, roaming thro' granta's halls, at large and foaming, and with that aspect _ultra_ crabbed which marks dissenters when they're rabid! god only knows what mischiefs might result from this one single bite, or how the venom, once suckt in, might spread and rage thro' kith and kin. mad folks of all denominations first turn upon their own relations: so that _one_ goulburn, fairly bit, might end in maddening the whole kit, till ah! ye gods! we'd have to rue our goulburn senior bitten too; the hychurchphobia in those veins, where tory blood now redly reigns;-- and that dear man who now perceives salvation only in lawn sleeves, might, tainted by such coarse infection, run mad in the opposite direction. and think, poor man, 'tis only given to linsey-woolsey to reach heaven! just fancy what a shock 'twould be our goulburn in his fits to see, tearing into a thousand particles his once-loved nine and thirty articles; (those articles his friend, the duke,[ ] for gospel, t'other night, mistook;) cursing cathedrals, deans and singers-- wishing the ropes might hang the ringers-- pelting the church with blasphemies, even worse than parson beverley's;-- and ripe for severing church and state, like any creedless reprobate, or like that class of methodists prince waterloo styles "atheists!" but 'tis too much--the muse turns pale, and o'er the picture drops a veil, praying, god save the goulburns all from mad dissenters great and small! [ ] the duke of wellington, who styled them "the articles of christianity." a dream of hindostan. --risum _tenaetis, amici_ "the longer one lives, the more one learns," said i, as off to sleep i went, bemused with thinking of tithe concerns, and reading a book by the bishop of ferns,[ ] on the irish church establishment. but lo! in sleep not long i lay, when fancy her usual tricks began, and i found myself bewitched away to a goodly city in hindostan-- a city where he who dares to dine on aught but rice is deemed a sinner; where sheep and kine are held divine, and accordingly--never drest for dinner. "but how is this?" i wondering cried-- as i walkt that city fair and wide, and saw, in every marble street, a row of beautiful butchers' shops-- "what means, for men who don't eat meat, "this grand display of loins and chops?" in vain i askt--'twas plain to see that nobody dared to answer me. so on from street to street i strode: and you can't conceive how vastly odd the butchers lookt--a roseate crew, inshrined in _stalls_ with naught to do; while some on a _bench_, half dozing, sat, and the sacred cows were not more fat. still posed to think what all this scene of sinecure trade was _meant_ to mean, "and, pray," askt i--"by whom is paid the expense of this strange masquerade?"-- "the expense!--oh! that's of course defrayed (said one of these well-fed hecatombers) "by yonder rascally rice-consumers." "what! _they_ who mustn't eat meat!"-- no matter-- (and while he spoke his cheeks grew fatter,) "the rogues may munch their _paddy_ crop, "but the rogues must still support _our_ shop, "and depend upon it, the way to treat "heretical stomachs that thus dissent, "is to burden all that won't eat meat, "with a costly meat establishment." on hearing these words so gravely said, with a volley of laughter loud i shook, and my slumber fled and my dream was sped, and i found i was lying snug in bed, with my nose in the bishop of ferns's book. [ ] an indefatigable scribbler of anti-catholic pamphlets. the brunswick club. a letter having been addressed to a very distinguished personage, requesting him to become the patron of this orange club, a polite answer was forthwith returned, of which we have been fortunate enough to obtain a copy. _brimstone-hall, september , _. _private_,--lord belzebub presents to the brunswick club his compliments. and much regrets to say that he can not at present their patron be. in stating this, lord belzebub assures on his honor the brunswick club, that 'tisn't from any lukewarm lack of zeal or fire he thus holds back-- as even lord _coal_ himself is not[ ] for the orange party more red-hot: but the truth is, still their club affords a somewhat decenter show of lords, and on its list of members gets a few less rubbishy baronets, lord belzebub must beg to be excused from keeping such company. who the devil, he humbly begs to know, are lord glandine, and lord dunlo? or who, with a grain of sense, would go to sit and be bored by lord mayo? what living creature--_except his nurse_-- for lord mountcashel cares a curse, or think 'twould matter if lord muskerry were 'tother side of the stygian ferry? breathes there a man in dublin town, who'd give but half of half-a-crown to save from drowning my lord rathdowne, or who wouldn't also gladly hustle in lords roden, bandon, cole and jocelyn? in short, tho' from his tenderest years, accustomed to all sorts of peers, lord belzebub much questions whether he ever yet saw mixt together as 'twere in one capacious tub. such a mess of noble silly-bub as the twenty peers of the brunswick club. 'tis therefore impossible that lord b. could stoop to such society, thinking, he owns (tho' no great prig), for one in his station 'twere _infra dig_. but he begs to propose, in the interim (till they find some properer peers for him), his highness of cumberland, as _sub_ to take his place at the brunswick club-- begging, meanwhile, himself to dub their obedient servant, belzebub. it luckily happens, the royal duke resembles so much, in air and look, the head of the belzebub family, that few can any difference see; which makes him of course the better suit to serve as lord b.'s substitute. [ ] usually written cole. proposals for a gynaecocracy. addressed to a late radical meeting. --"_quas ipsa decus sibi dia camilla delegit pacisque bonas bellique ministras_." vergil. as whig reform has had its range, and none of us are yet content, suppose, my friends, by way of change, we try a _female parliament_; and since of late with _he_ m.p.'s we've fared so badly, take to she's-- petticoat patriots, flounced john russells, burdetts in _blonde_ and broughams in _bustles_. the plan is startling, i confess-- but 'tis but an affair of dress; nor see i much there is to choose 'twixt ladies (so they're thorough-bred ones) in ribands of all sorts of hues, or lords in only blue or red ones. at least the fiddlers will be winners, whatever other trade advances as then, instead of cabinet dinners we'll have, at almack's, cabinet dances; nor let this world's important questions depend on ministers' digestions. if ude's receipts have done things ill, to weippert's band they may go better; there's lady **, in one quadrille, would settle europe, if you'd let her: and who the deuce or asks or cares when whigs or tories have undone 'em, whether they've _danced_ thro' state affairs, or simply, dully, _dined_ upon 'em? hurrah then for the petticoats! to them we pledge our free-born votes; we'll have all _she_, and only _she_-- pert blues shall act as "best debaters," old dowagers our bishops be, and termagants our agitators. if vestris to oblige the nation her own olympus will abandon and help to prop the administration, it _can't_ have better legs to stand on. the famed macaulay (miss) shall show each evening, forth in learned oration; shall move (midst general cries of "oh!") for full returns of population: and finally to crown the whole, the princess olive, royal soul,[ ] shall from her bower in banco regis, descend to bless her faithful lieges, and mid our union's loyal chorus reign jollily for ever o'er us. [ ] a personage so styled herself who attained considerable notoriety at that period. to the editor of the * * *. sir, having heard some rumors respecting the strange and awful visitation under which lord henley has for some time past been suffering, in consequence of his declared hostility to "anthems, solos, duets,"[ ] etc., i took the liberty of making inquiries at his lordship's house this morning and lose no time in transmitting to you such particulars as i could collect. it is said that the screams of his lordship, under the operation of this nightly concert, (which is no doubt some trick of the radicals), may be heard all over the neighborhood. the female who personates st. cecilia is supposed to be the same that last year appeared in the character of isis at the rotunda. how the cherubs are managed, i have not yet ascertained. yours, etc. p. p. [ ] in a work, on church reform, published by his lordship in . lord henley and st. cecilia --_in metii decenaat judicis aures_. horat. as snug in his bed lord henley lay, revolving much his own renown, and hoping to add thereto a ray by putting duets and anthems down, sudden a strain of choral sounds mellifluous o'er his senses stole; whereat the reformer muttered "zounds!" for he loathed sweet music with all his soul. then starting up he saw a sight that well might shock so learned a snorer-- saint cecilia robed in light with a portable organ slung before her. and round were cherubs on rainbow wings, who, his lordship feared, might tire of flitting, so begged they'd sit--but ah! poor things, they'd, none of them, got the means of sitting. "having heard," said the saint, "you're fond of hymns, "and indeed that musical snore betrayed you, "myself and my choir of cherubims "are come for a while to serenade you." in vain did the horrified henley say "'twas all a mistake--she was misdirected;" and point to a concert over the way where fiddlers and angels were expected. in vain--the saint could see in his looks (she civilly said) much tuneful lore; so at once all opened their music-books, and herself and her cherubs set off at score. all night duets, terzets, quartets, nay, long quintets most dire to hear; ay, and old motets and canzonets and glees in sets kept boring his ear. he tried to sleep--but it wouldn't do; so loud they squalled, he _must_ attend to 'em. tho' cherubs' songs to his cost he knew were like themselves and had no end to 'em. oh judgment dire on judges bold, who meddle with music's sacred strains! judge midas tried the same of old and was punisht like henley for his pains. but worse on the modern judge, alas! is the sentence launched from apollo's throne; for midas was given the ears of an ass, while henley is doomed to keep his own! advertisement.[ ] . missing or lost, last sunday night, a waterloo coin whereon was traced the inscription, "courage!" in letters bright, tho' a little by rust of years defaced. the metal thereof is rough and hard, and ('tis thought of late) mixt up with brass; but it bears the stamp of fame's award, and thro' all posterity's hands will pass. _how_ it was lost god only knows, but certain _city_ thieves, they say, broke in on the owner's evening doze, and filched this "gift of gods" away! one ne'er could, of course, the cits suspect, if we hadn't that evening chanced to see, at the robbed man's door a _mare_ elect with an ass to keep her company. whosoe'er of this lost treasure knows, is begged to state all facts about it, as the owner can't well face his foes, nor even his friends just now without it. and if sir clod will bring it back, like a trusty baronet, wise and able, he shall have a ride on the whitest hack[ ] that's left in old king george's stable. [ ] written at that memorable crisis when a distinguished duke, then prime minister, acting under the inspirations of sir claudius hunter, and other city worthies, advised his majesty to give up his announced intention of dining with the lord mayor. [ ] among other remarkable attributes by which sir claudius distinguished himself, the dazzling whiteness of his favorite steed vas not the least conspicuous. missing. carlton terrace, . whereas, lord ---- de ---- left his home last saturday, and, tho' inquired for round and round thro' certain purlieus, can't be found; and whereas, none can solve our queries as to where this virtuous peer is, notice is hereby given that all may forthwith to inquiring fall, as, once the thing's well set about, no doubt but we shall hunt him out. his lordship's mind, of late, they say, hath been in an uneasy way, himself and colleagues not being let to climb into the cabinet, to settle england's state affairs, hath much, it seems, _un_settled theirs; and chief to this stray plenipo hath been a most distressing blow. already,-certain to receive a well-paid mission to the neva, and be the bearer of kind words to tyrant nick from tory lords,- to fit himself for free discussion, his lordship had been learning russian; and all so natural to him were the accents of the northern bear, that while his tones were in your ear, you might swear you were in sweet siberia. and still, poor peer, to old and young, he goes on raving in that tongue; tells you how much you would enjoy a trip to dalnodubrovrkoya;[ ] talks of such places by the score on as oulisflirmchinagoboron,[ ] and swears (for he at nothing sticks) that russia swarms with raskolniks, tho' _one_ such nick, god knows, must be a more than ample quantity. such are the marks by which to know this strayed or stolen plenipo; and whosoever brings or sends the unhappy statesman to his friends on carlton terrace, shall have thanks, and--any paper but the bank's. p.s.--some think the disappearance of this our diplomatic peer hence is for the purpose of reviewing, _in person_, what dear mig is doing, so as to 'scape all tell-tale letters 'bout beresford, and such abetters,-- the only "wretches" for whose aid[ ] letters seem _not_ to have been made. [ ] in the government of perm. [ ] territory belonging to the mines of kolivano-kosskressense. [ ] "heaven first taught letters for some wretch's aid." pope. the dance of bishops; or, the episcopal quadrille.[ ] a dream. . "solemn dances were, on great festivals and celebrations, admitted among the primitive christians, in which even the bishops and dignified clergy were performers. scaliger says, that the first bishops were called _praesules_[ ] for other reason than that they led off these dances."--"_cyclopaedia_," art. _dances_. i've had such a dream--a frightful dream-- tho' funny mayhap to wags 'twill seem, by all who regard the church, like us, 'twill be thought exceedingly ominous! as reading in bed i lay last night-- which (being insured) is my delight-- i happened to doze off just as i got to the singular fact which forms my motto. only think, thought i, as i dozed away, of a party of churchmen dancing the hay! clerks, curates and rectors capering all with a neat-legged bishop to open the ball! scarce had my eyelids time to close, when the scene i had fancied before me rose-- an episcopal hop on a scale so grand as my dazzled eyes could hardly stand. for britain and erin clubbed their sees to make it a dance of dignities, and i saw--oh brightest of church events! a quadrille of the two establishments, bishop to bishop _vis-à-vis_, footing away prodigiously. there was bristol capering up to derry, and cork with london making merry; while huge llandaff, with a see, so so, was to dear old dublin pointing his toe. there was chester, hatched by woman's smile, performing a _chaine des dames_ in style; while he who, whene'er the lords' house dozes, can waken them up by citing moses,[ ] the portly tuam, was all in a hurry to set, _en avant_, to canterbury. meantime, while pamphlets stuft his pockets, (all out of date like spent skyrockets,) our exeter stood forth to caper, as high on the floor as he doth on paper-- like a dapper dancing dervise, who pirouettes his whole church-service-- performing, midst those reverend souls, such _entrechats_, such _cabrioles_, such _balonnés_, such--rigmaroles, now high, now low, now this, that, that none could guess what the devil he'd be at; tho', watching his various steps, some thought that a step in the church was all he sought. but alas, alas! while thus so gay. these reverend dancers friskt away, nor paul himself (not the saint, but he of the opera-house) could brisker be, there gathered a gloom around their glee-- a shadow which came and went so fast, that ere one could say "'tis there," 'twas past-- and, lo! when the scene again was cleared, ten of the dancers had disappeared! ten able-bodied quadrillers swept from the hallowed floor where late they stept, while twelve was all that footed it still, on the irish side of that grand quadrille! nor this the worst:--still danced they on, but the pomp was saddened, the smile was gone; and again from time to time the same ill-omened darkness round them came-- while still as the light broke out anew, their ranks lookt less by a dozen or two; till ah! at last there were only found just bishops enough for a four-hands-round; and when i awoke, impatient getting, i left the last holy pair _poussetting_! n.b.--as ladies in years, it seems, have the happiest knack at solving dreams, i shall leave to my ancient feminine friends of the _standard_ to say what _this_ portends. [ ] written on the passing of the memorable bill, in the year , for the abolition of ten irish bishoprics. [ ] literally, first dancers. [ ] "and what does moses say?"--one of the ejaculations with which this eminent prelate enlivened his famous speech on the catholic question. dick * * * * a character. of various scraps and fragments built, borrowed alike from fools and wits, dick's mind was like a patchwork quilt, made up of new, old, motley bits-- where, if the _co_. called in their shares, if petticoats their quota got and gowns were all refunded theirs, the quilt would look but shy, god wot. and thus he still, new plagiaries seeking, reversed ventriloquism's trick, for, 'stead of dick thro' others speaking, 'twas others we heard speak thro' dick. a tory now, all bounds exceeding, now best of whigs, now worst of rats; one day with malthus, foe to breeding, the next with sadler, all for brats. poor dick!--and how else could it be? with notions all at random caught, a sort of mental fricassee, made up of legs and wings of thought-- the leavings of the last debate, or a dinner, yesterday, of wits, where dick sate by and, like a waiter, had the scraps for perquisites. a corrected report of some late speeches. . "then i heard one saint speaking, and another saint said unto that saint," st. sinclair rose and declared in smooth, that he wouldn't give sixpence to maynooth. he had hated priests the whole of his life, for a priest was a man who had no wife,[ ] and, having no wife, the church was his mother, the church was his father, sister and brother. this being the case, he was sorry to say that a gulf 'twixt papist and protestant lay,[ ] so deep and wide, scarce possible was it to say even "how d' ye do?" across it: and tho' your liberals, nimble as fleas, could clear such gulfs with perfect ease, 'twas a jump that naught on earth could make your proper, heavy-built christian take. no, no,--if a dance of sects _must_ be, he would set to the baptist willingly,[ ] at the independent deign to smirk, and rigadoon with old mother kirk; nay even, for once, if needs must be, he'd take hands round with all the three; but as to a jig with popery, no,-- to the harlot ne'er would he point his toe. st. mandeville was the next that rose,-- a saint who round as pedler goes with his pack of piety and prose, heavy and hot enough, god knows,-- and he said that papists were much inclined to extirpate all of protestant kind, which he couldn't in truth so much condemn, having rather a wish to extirpate _them_; that is,--to guard against mistake,-- to extirpate them for their doctrine's sake; a distinction churchman always make,-- insomuch that when they've prime control, tho' sometimes roasting heretics whole, they but cook the body for sake of the soul. next jumpt st. johnston jollily forth, the spiritual dogberry of the north,[ ] a right "wise fellow, and what's more, an officer," like his type of yore; and he asked if we grant such toleration, pray, what's the use of our reformation? what is the use of our church and state? our bishops, articles, tithe and rate? and still as he yelled out "what's the use?" old echoes, from their cells recluse where they'd for centuries slept, broke loose, yelling responsive, "_what's the use_?" [ ] "he objected to the maintenance and education of clergy _bound by the particular vows of celibacy, which as it were gave them the church as their only family, making it fill the places of father and mother and brother_."--debate on the grant to maynooth college, _the times_, april . [ ] "it had always appeared to him that _between the catholic and protestant a great gulf_ intervened, with rendered it impossible," etc. [ ] the baptist might acceptably extend the offices of religion to the presbyterian and the independent, or the member of the church of england to any of the other three; but the catholic," etc. [ ] "could he then, holding as he did a spiritual office in the church of scotland, (cries of hear, and laughter,) with any consistency give his consent to a grant of money?" etc. moral positions. a dream. "his lordship said that it took a long time for a moral position to find its way across the atlantic. he was very sorry that its voyage had been so long," etc.--speech of lord dudley and ward on colonial slavery, march . t'other night, after hearing lord dudley's oration (a treat that comes once a year as may-day does), i dreamt that i saw--what a strange operation! a "moral position" shipt off for barbadoes. the whole bench of bishops stood by in grave attitudes, packing the article tidy and neat;-- as their reverences know that in southerly latitudes "moral positions" don't keep very sweet. there was bathurst arranging the custom-house pass; and to guard the frail package from tousing and routing, there stood my lord eldon, endorsing it "glass," tho' as to which side should lie uppermost, doubting. the freight was however stowed safe in the hold; the winds were polite and the moon lookt romantic, while off in the good ship "the truth" we were rolled, with our ethical cargo, across the atlantic. long, dolefully long, seemed the voyage we made; for "the truth," at all times but a very slow sailer, by friends, near as much as by foes, is delayed, and few come aboard her tho' so many hail her. at length, safe arrived, i went thro' "tare and tret," delivered my goods in the primest condition. and next morning read in the _bridge-town gazette_, "just arrived by 'the truth,' a new moral position. "the captain"--here, startled to find myself named as "the captain"--(a thing which, i own it with pain, i thro' life have avoided,) i woke--lookt ashamed, found i _wasn't_ a captain and dozed off again. the mad tory and the comet. founded on a late distressing incident. - . _'mutantem regna cometem."_ lucan.[ ] "tho' all the pet mischiefs we count upon fail, "tho' cholera, hurricanes, wellington leave us, "we've still in reserve, mighty comet, thy tail;-- "last hope" of the tories, wilt thou too deceive us? "no--'tis coming, 'tis coming, the avenger is nigh; "heed, heed not, ye placemen, how herapath flatters; "one whisk from that tail as it passes us by "will settle at once all political matters;-- "the east-india question, the bank, the five powers, "(now turned into two) with their rigmarole protocols;-- "ha! ha! ye gods, how this new friend of ours "will knock, right and left, all diplomacy's what-d'ye-calls! "yes, rather than whigs at our downfall should mock, "meet planets and suns in one general hustle! "while happy in vengeance we welcome the shock "that shall jerk from their places, grey, althorp and russell." thus spoke a mad lord, as, with telescope raised, his wild tory eye on the heavens he set: and tho' nothing destructive appeared as he gazed, much hoped that there _would_ before parliament met. and still, as odd shapes seemed to flit thro' his glass, "ha! there it is now," the poor maniac cries; while his fancy with forms but too monstrous, alas! from his own tory zodiac peoples the skies:-- "now i spy a big body, good heavens, how big! "whether bucky[ ] or taurus i cannot well say:-- "and yonder there's eldon's old chancery wig, "in its dusty aphelion fast fading away. "i see, 'mong those fatuous meteors behind, "londonderry, _in vacuo_, flaring about;-- "while that dim double star, of the nebulous kind, "is the gemini, roden and lorton, no doubt. "ah, ellenborough! 'faith, i first thought 'twas the comet; "so like that in milton, it made me quite pale; "the head with the same 'horrid hair' coming from it, "and plenty of vapor, but--where is the tail?" just then, up aloft jumpt the gazer elated-- for lo! his bright glass a phenomenon showed, which he took to be cumberland, _upwards_ translated, instead of his natural course, _t'other_ road! but too awful that sight for a spirit so shaken,-- down dropt the poor tory in fits and grimaces, then off to the bedlam in charles street was taken, and is now one of halford's most favorite cases. [ ] eclipses and comets have been always looked to as great changers of administrations. [ ] the duke of buckingham. * * * * * from the hon. henry ----, to lady emma ----. _paris, march , _. you bid me explain, my dear angry ma'amselle, how i came thus to bolt without saying farewell; and the truth is,--as truth you _will_ have, my sweet railer,-- there are two worthy persons i always feel loath to take leave of at starting,--my mistress and tailor,-- as somehow one always has _scenes_ with them both; the snip in ill-humor, the syren in tears, she calling on heaven, and he on the attorney,-- till sometimes, in short, 'twixt his duns and his dears, a young gentleman risks being stopt in his journey. but to come to the point, tho' you think, i dare say. that 'tis debt or the cholera drives me away, 'pon honor you're wrong;--such a mere bagatelle as a pestilence, nobody now-a-days fears; and the fact is, my love, i'm thus bolting, pell-mell, to get out of the way of these horrid new peers;[ ] this deluge of coronets frightful to think of; which england is now for her sins on the brink of; this coinage of _nobles_,--coined all of 'em, badly, and sure to bring counts to a _dis_-count most sadly. only think! to have lords over running the nation, as plenty as frogs in a dutch inundation; no shelter from barons, from earls no protection, and tadpole young lords too in every direction,-- things created in haste just to make a court list of, two legs and a coronet all they consist of! the prospect's quite frightful, and what sir george rose (my particular friend) says is perfectly true, that, so dire the alternative, nobody knows, 'twixt the peers and the pestilence, what he's to do; and sir george even doubts,--could he choose his disorder,-- 'twixt coffin and coronet, _which_ he would order. this being the case, why, i thought, my dear emma, 'twere best to fight shy of so curst a dilemma; and tho' i confess myself somewhat a villain, to've left _idol mio_ without an _addio_, console your sweet heart, and a week hence from milan i'll send you--some news of bellini's last trio. n.b. have just packt up my travelling set-out, things a tourist in italy _can't_ go without-- viz., a pair of _gants gras_, from old houbigant's shop, good for hands that the air of mont cenis might chap. small presents for ladies,--and nothing so wheedles the creatures abroad as your golden-eyed needles. a neat pocket horace by which folks are cozened to think one knows latin, when--one, perhaps, doesn't; with some little book about heathen mythology, just large enough to refresh one's theology; nothing on earth being half such a bore as not knowing the difference 'twixt virgins and floras. once more, love, farewell, best regards to the girls, and mind you beware of damp feet and new earls. henry. [ ] a new creation of peers was generally expected at this time. triumph of bigotry. college.--we announced, in our last that lefroy and shaw were returned. they were chaired yesterday; the students of the college determined, it would seem, to imitate the mob in all things, harnessing themselves to the car, and the masters of arts bearing orange flags and bludgeons before, beside, and behind the car." _dublin evening post_, dec. , . ay, yoke ye to the bigots' car, ye chosen of alma mater's scions;- fleet chargers drew the god of war, great cybele was drawn by lions, and sylvan pan, as poet's dream, drove four young panthers in his team. thus classical lefroy, for once, is, thus, studious of a like turn-out, he harnesses young sucking dunces, to draw him as their chief about, and let the world a picture see of dulness yoked to bigotry: showing us how young college hacks can pace with bigots at their backs, as tho' the cubs were _born_ to draw such luggage as lefroy and shaw, oh! shade of goldsmith, shade of swift, bright spirits whom, in days of yore, this queen of dulness sent adrift, as aliens to her foggy shore;--- shade of our glorious grattan, too, whose very name her shame recalls; whose effigy her bigot crew reversed upon their monkish walls,[ ]-- bear witness (lest the world should doubt) to your mute mother's dull renown, then famous but for wit turned _out_, and eloquence _turned upside down_; but now ordained new wreaths to win, beyond all fame of former days, by breaking thus young donkies in to draw m.p.s amid the brays alike of donkies and m.a.s;-- defying oxford to surpass 'em in this new "_gradus ad parnassum_." [ ] in the year , the board of trinity college, dublin, thought proper, as a mode of expressing their disapprobation of mr. grattan's public conduct, to order his portrait, in the great hall of the university, to be turned upside down, and in this position it remained for some time. translation from the gull language. _scripta manet_. . 'twas graved on the stone of destiny,[ ] in letters four and letters three; and ne'er did the king of the gulls go by but those awful letters scared his eye; for he knew that a prophet voice had said, "as long as those words by man were read, "the ancient race of the gulls should ne'er "one hour of peace or plenty share." but years on years successive flew, and the letters still more legible grew,-- at top, a t, an h, an e, and underneath, d. e. b. t. some thought them hebrew,--such as jews more skilled in scrip than scripture use; while some surmised 'twas an ancient way of keeping accounts, (well known in the day of the famed didlerius jeremias, who had thereto a wonderful bias,) and proved in books most learnedly boring, 'twas called the pon_tick_ way of scoring. howe'er this be there never were yet seven letters of the alphabet, that 'twixt them formed so grim a spell, or scared a land of gulls so well, as did this awful riddle-me-ree of t. h. e. d. e. b. t. * * * * * hark!--it is struggling freedom's cry; "help, help, ye nations, or i die; "'tis freedom's fight and on the field "where i expire _your_ doom is sealed." the gull-king hears the awakening call, he hath summoned his peers and patriots all, and he asks. "ye noble gulls, shall we "stand basely by at the fall of the free, "nor utter a curse nor deal a blow?" and they answer with voice of thunder, "no." out fly their flashing swords in the air!-- but,--why do they rest suspended there? what sudden blight, what baleful charm, hath chilled each eye and checkt each arm? alas! some withering hand hath thrown the veil from off that fatal stone, and pointing now with sapless finger, showeth where dark those letters linger,-- letters four and letters three, t. h. e. d. e. b. t. at sight thereof, each lifted brand powerless falls from every hand; in vain the patriot knits his brow,-- even talk, his staple, fails him now. in vain the king like a hero treads, his lords of the treasury shake their heads; and to all his talk of "brave and free," no answer getteth his majesty but "t. h. e. d. e. b. t." in short, the whole gull nation feels they're fairly spell-bound, neck and heels; and so, in the face of the laughing world, must e'en sit down with banners furled, adjourning all their dreams sublime of glory and war to-some other time. [ ] liafail, or the stone of destiny,--for which see westminster abbey. notions on reform. by a modern reformer. of all the misfortunes as yet brought to pass by this comet-like bill, with its long tail of speeches, the saddest and worst is the schism which, alas! it has caused between wetherel's waistcoat and breeches. some symptoms of this anti-union propensity had oft broken out in that quarter before; but the breach, since the bill, has attained such immensity, daniel himself could have scarce wisht it more. oh! haste to repair it, ye friends of good order, ye atwoods and wynns, ere the moment is past; who can doubt that we tread upon anarchy's border, when the ties that should hold men are loosening so fast? _make_ wetherel yield to "some sort of reform" (as we all must, god help us! with very wry faces;) and loud as he likes let him bluster and storm about corporate rights, so he'll only wear braces. should those he now sports have been long in possession, and, like his own borough, the worse for the wear, advise him at least as a prudent concession to intellect's progress, to buy a new pair. oh! who that e'er saw him when vocal he stands, with a look something midway 'twixt filch's and lockit's, while still, to inspire him, his deeply-thrust hands keep jingling the rhino in both breeches-pockets-- who that ever has listened thro' groan and thro' cough, to the speeches inspired by this music of pence,-- but must grieve that there's any thing like _falling off_ in that great nether source of his wit and his sense? who that knows how he lookt when, with grace debonair, he began first to court--rather late in the season-- or when, less fastidious, he sat in the chair of his old friend, the nottingham goddess of reason;[ ] that goddess whose borough-like virtue attracted all mongers in _both_ wares to proffer their love; whose chair like the stool of the pythoness acted, as wetherel's rants ever since go to prove; _who_ in short would not grieve if a man of his graces should go on rejecting, unwarned by the past, the "moderate reform" of a pair of new braces, till, some day,--he'll all fall to pieces at last. [ ] it will be recollected that the learned gentleman himself boasted, one night, in the house of commons, of having sat in the very chair which this allegorical lady had occupied. tory pledges. i pledge myself thro' thick and thin, to labor still with zeal devout to get the outs, poor devils, in, and turn the ins, the wretches, out. i pledge myself, tho' much bereft of ways and means of ruling ill, to make the most of what are left, and stick to all that's rotten still. tho' gone the days of place and pelf, and drones no more take all the honey, i pledge myself to cram myself with all i can of public money. to quarter on that social purse my nephews, nieces, sisters, brothers, nor, so _we_ prosper, care a curse how much 'tis at the expense of others. i pledge myself, whenever right and might on any point divide, not to ask which is black or white. but take at once the strongest side. for instance, in all tithe discussions, i'm _for_ the reverend encroachers:- i loathe the poles, applaud the russians,-- am _for_ the squires, _against_ the poachers. betwixt the corn-lords and the poor i've not the slightest hesitation,-- the people _must_ be starved, to insure the land its due remuneration. i pledge myself to be no more with ireland's wrongs beprosed or shammed,-- i vote her grievances a _bore_, so she may suffer and be damned. or if she kick, let it console us, we still have plenty of red coats, to cram the church, that general bolus, down any given amount of throats. i dearly love the frankfort diet,-- think newspapers the worst of crimes; and would, to give some chance of quiet, hang all the writers of _"the times;_" break all their correspondents' bones, all authors of "reply," "rejoinder," from the anti-tory, colonel jones, to the anti-suttee, mr. poynder. such are the pledges i propose; and tho' i can't now offer gold, there's many a way of buying those who've but the taste for being sold. so here's, with three times three hurrahs, a toast of which you'll not complain,-- "long life to jobbing; may the days "of peculation shine again!" st. jerome on earth. first visit. . as st. jerome who died some ages ago, was sitting one day in the shades below, "i've heard much of english bishops," quoth he, "and shall now take a trip to earth to see "how far they agree in their lives and ways "with our good old bishops of ancient days." he had learned--but learned without misgivings-- their love for good living and eke good livings; not knowing (as ne'er having taken degrees) that good _living_ means claret and fricassees, while its plural means simply--pluralities. "from all i hear," said the innocent man, "they are quite on the good old primitive plan. "for wealth and pomp they little can care, "as they all say _'no'_ to the episcopal chair; "and their vestal virtue it well denotes "that they all, good men, wear petticoats." thus saying, post-haste to earth he hurries, and knocks at the archbishop of canterbury's. the door was oped by a lackey in lace, saying, "what's your business with his grace?" "his grace!" quoth jerome--for posed was he, not knowing what _sort_ this grace could be; whether grace _preventing_, grace _particular_, grace of that breed called _quinquarticular_--[ ] in short he rummaged his holy mind the exact description of grace to find, which thus could represented be by a footman in full livery. at last, out loud in a laugh he broke, (for dearly the good saint loved his joke)[ ] and said--surveying, as sly he spoke, the costly palace from roof to base-- "well, it isn't, at least, a _saving_ grace!" "umph!" said the lackey, a man of few words, "the archbishop is gone to the house of lords." "to the house of the lord, you mean, my son, "for in _my_ time at least there was but one; unless such many-_fold_ priests as these "seek, even in their lord, pluralities!"[ ] "no time for gab," quoth the man in lace: then slamming the door in st. jerome's face with a curse to the single knockers all went to finish his port in the servants' hall, and propose a toast (humanely meant to include even curates in its extent) "to all as _serves_ the establishment." [ ] so called from the proceedings of the synod of dort. [ ] witness his well known pun on the name of his adversary vigilantius, whom he calls facetiously dormitantius. [ ] the suspicion attached to some of the early fathers of being arians in their doctrine would appear to derive some confirmation, from this passage. st. jerome on earth. second visit. "this much i dare say, that, since _lording_ and loitering hath come up, preaching hath come down, contrary to the apostles' times. for they preached and _lorded_ not; and now they _lord_ and preach not.... ever since the prelates were made lords and nobles, the plough standeth; there is no work done, people starve." --_latimer, "sermon of the plough."_ "once more," said jerome, "i'll run up and see how the church goes on,"--and off set he. just then the packet-boat which trades betwixt our planet and the shades had arrived below with a freight so queer, "my eyes!" said jerome, "what have we here?"-- for he saw, when nearer he explored, they'd a cargo of bishops' wigs aboard. "they are ghosts of wigs," said charon, "all, "once worn by nobs episcopal.[ ] "for folks on earth, who've got a store "of cast off things they'll want no more, "oft send them down, as gifts, you know, "to a certain gentleman here below. "a sign of the times, i plainly see," said the saint to himself as, pondering, he sailed off in the death-boat gallantly. arrived on earth, quoth he, "no more "i'll affect a body as before; "for i think i'd best, in the company "of spiritual lords, a spirit be, "and glide unseen from see to see." but oh! to tell what scenes he saw,-- it was more than rabelais's pen could draw. for instance, he found exeter, soul, body, inkstand, all in a stir,-- for love of god? for sake of king? for good of people?--no such thing; but to get for himself, by some new trick, a shove to a better bishoprick. he found that pious soul, van mildert, much with his money-bags bewildered; snubbing the clerks of the diocese, because the rogues showed restlessness at having too little cash to touch, while he so christianly bears too much. he found old sarum's wits as gone as his own beloved text in john,--[ ] text he hath prosed so long upon, that 'tis thought when askt, at the gate of heaven, his name, he'll answer, "john, v. ." "but enough of bishops i've had to-day," said the weary saint,--"i must away. "tho' i own i should like before i go "to see for once (as i'm askt below "if really such odd sights exist) "a regular six-fold pluralist." just then he heard a general cry-- "there's doctor hodgson galloping by!" "ay, that's the man," says the saint, "to follow," and off he sets with a loud view-hello, at hodgson's heels, to catch if he can a glimpse of this singular plural man. but,--talk of sir boyle roche's bird![ ] to compare him with hodgson is absurd. "which way, sir, pray, is the doctor gone?"-- "he is now at his living at hillingdon."-- "no, no,--you're out, by many a mile, "he's away at his deanery in carlisle."-- "pardon me, sir; but i understand "he's gone to his living in cumberland."-- "god bless me, no,--he can�t be there; "you must try st. george's, hanover square." thus all in vain the saint inquired, from living to living, mockt and tired;-- 'twas hodgson here, 'twas hodgson there, 'twas hodgson nowhere, everywhere; till fairly beat the saint gave o'er and flitted away to the stygian shore, to astonish the natives underground with the comical things he on earth had found. [ ] the wig, which had so long formed an essential part of the dress of an english bishop, was at this time beginning to be dispensed with. [ ] john v. . a text which, though long given up by all the rest of the orthodox world, is still pertinaciously adhered to by this right reverend scholar. [ ] it was a saying of the well-known sir boyle, that "a man could not be in two places at once, unless he was a bird." thoughts on tar barrels. (vide description of a late fÊte.)[ ] . what a pleasing contrivance! how aptly devised 'twixt tar and magnolias to puzzle one's noses! and how the tar-barrels must all be surprised to find themselves seated like "love among roses!" what a pity we can't, by precautions like these, clear the air of that other still viler infection; that radical pest, that old whiggish disease, of which cases, true-blue, are in every direction. stead of barrels, let's light up an _auto da fe_ of a few good combustible lords of "the club;" they would fume in a trice, the whig cholera away, and there's bucky would burn like a barrel of bub. how roden would blaze! and what rubbish throw out! a volcano of nonsense in active display; while vane, as a butt, amidst laughter, would spout the hot nothings he's full of, all night and all day. and then, for a finish, there's cumberland's duke,-- good lord, how his chin-tuft would crackle in air! unless (as is shrewdly surmised from his look) he's already bespoke for combustion elsewhere. [ ] the marquis of hertford's fête.--from dread of cholera his lordship had ordered tar-barrels to be burned in every direction. the consultation.[ ] "when they _do_ agree, their unanimity is wonderful. _the critic_. . _scene discovers dr. whig and dr. tory in consultation. patient on the floor between them_. _dr. whig_.--this wild irish patient _does_ pester me so. that what to do with him, i'm curst if i know. i've _promist_ him anodynes-- _dr. tory_. anodynes!--stuff. tie him down--gag him well--he'll be tranquil enough. that's _my_ mode of practice. _dr whig_. true, quite in _your_ line, but unluckily not much, till lately, in _mine_. 'tis so painful-- _dr. tory_.--pooh, nonsense--ask ude how he feels, when, for epicure feasts, he prepares his live eels, by flinging them in, 'twixt the bars of the fire, and letting them wriggle on there till they tire. _he_, too, says "'tis painful"--"quite makes his heart bleed"-- but "your eels are a vile, oleaginous breed."-- he would fain use them gently, but cookery says "no," and--in short--eels were _born_ to be treated just so.[ ] 'tis the same with these irish,--who're odder fish still,-- your tender whig heart shrinks from using them ill; i myself in my youth, ere i came to get wise, used at some operations to blush to the eyes:-- but, in fact, my dear brother,--if i may make bold to style you, as peachum did lockit, of old,-- we, doctors, _must_ act with the firmness of ude, and, indifferent like him,--so the fish is _but_ stewed,-- _must_ torture live pats for the general good. [_here patient groans and kicks a little_.] _dr. whig_.--but what, if one's patient's so devilish perverse, that he _won't_ be thus tortured? _dr. tory_. coerce, sir, coerce. you're a juvenile performer, but once you begin, you can�t think how fast you may train your hand in: and (_smiling_) who knows but old tory may take to the shelf, with the comforting thought that, in place and in pelf, he's succeeded by one just as--bad as himself? _dr. whig_ (_looking flattered_).-- why, to tell you the truth, i've a small matter here, which you helped me to make for my patient last year,-- [_goes to a cupboard and brings out a strait-waistcoat and gag_.] and such rest i've enjoyed from his raving since then that i've made up my mind he shall wear it again. _dr. tory_ (_embracing him_).� oh, charming!�-my dear doctor whig, you're a treasure, next to torturing, _myself_, to help _you_ is a pleasure. [_assisting dr. whig_.] give me leave--i've some practice in these mad machines; there--tighter--the gag in the mouth, by all means. delightful!--all's snug--not a squeak need you fear,-- you may now put your anodynes off till next year. [_scene closes_.] [ ] these verses, as well as some others that follow, were extorted from me by that lamentable measure of the whig ministry, the irish coercion act. [ ] this eminent artist, in the second edition of the work wherein he propounds this mode of purifying his eels, professes himself much concerned at the charge of inhumanity brought against his practice, but still begs leave respectfully to repeat that it _is_ the only proper mode of preparing eels for the table. to the rev. charles overton, curate of romaldkirk. author of the poetical portraiture of the church. . sweet singer of romaldkirk, thou who art reckoned, by critics episcopal, david the second,[ ] if thus, as a curate, so lofty your flight, only think, in a rectory, how you _would_ write! once fairly inspired by the "tithe-crowned apollo," (who beats, i confess it, our lay phoebus hollow, having gotten, besides the old _nine's_ inspiration, the _tenth_ of all eatable things in creation.) there's nothing in fact that a poet like you, so be-_nined_ and be-_tenthed_, couldn't easily do. round the lips of the sweet-tongued athenian[ ] they say, while yet but a babe in his cradle he lay, wild honey-bees swarmed as presage to tell of the sweet-flowing words that thence afterwards fell. just so round our overton's cradle, no doubt, tenth ducklings and chicks were seen flitting about; goose embryos, waiting their doomed decimation, came, shadowing forth his adult destination, and small, sucking tithe-pigs, in musical droves, announced the church poet whom chester approves. o horace! when thou, in thy vision of yore, didst dream that a snowy-white plumage came o'er thy etherealized limbs, stealing downily on, till, by fancy's strong spell, thou wert turned to a swan, little thought'st thou such fate could a poet befall, without any effort of fancy, at all; little thought'st thou the world would in overton find a bird, ready-made, somewhat different in kind, but as perfect as michaelmas' self could produce, by gods yclept _anser_, by mortals a _goose_. [ ] "your lordship," says mr. overton, in the dedication of his poem to the bishop of chester," has kindly expressed your persuasion that my muse will always be a 'muse of sacred song and that it will be tuned as david's was.'" [ ] sophocles. scene from a play, acted at oxford, called "matriculation."[ ] [boy discovered at a table, with the thirty-nine articles before him.-- enter the rt. rev. doctor phillpots.] _doctor p_.--there, my lad, lie the articles--(_boy begins to count them_) just thirty nine-- no occasion to count--you've now only to sign. at cambridge where folks are less high-church than we, the whole nine-and-thirty are lumped into three. let's run o'er the items;--there 'a justification, predestination, and supererogation-- not forgetting salvation and creed athanasian, till we reach, at last, queen bess's ratification. that is sufficient--now, sign--having read quite enough, you "believe in the full and true meaning thereof?" (_boy stares_.) oh! a mere form of words, to make things smooth and brief,-- a commodious and short make-believe of belief, which our church has drawn up in a form thus articular to keep out in general all who're particular. but what's the boy doing? what! reading all thro', and my luncheon fast cooling!--this never will do. _boy_ (_poring over the articles_).-- here are points which--pray, doctor, what's "grace of congruity?" _doctor p._ (_sharply_).--you'll find out, young sir, when you've more ingenuity. at present, by signing, you pledge yourself merely. whate'er it may be, to believe it sincerely, both in _dining_ and _signing_ we take the same plan,-- first, swallow all down, then digest--as we can. _boy_ (_still reading_).--i've to gulp, i see, st. athanasius's creed, which. i'm told, is a very tough morsel indeed; as he damns-- _doctor p. (aside)_.--ay, and so would _i_, willingly, too, all confounded particular young boobies, like you. this comes of reforming!--all's o'er with our land, when people won�t stand what they can't _under_-stand; nor perceive that our ever-revered thirty-nine were made not for men to _believe_ but to _sign_. _exit dr. p. in a passion_. [ ] it appears that when a youth of fifteen went to be matriculated at oxford, he was required first to subscribe the thirty-nine articles of religious belief. late tithe case. _"sic vos non vobis."_ . "the vicar of birmingham desires me to state that, in consequence of the passing of a recent act of parliament, he is compelled to adopt measures which may by some be considered harsh or precipitate; but, _in duty to what he owes to his successors_, he feels bound to preserve the rights of the vicarage." --_letter from mr. s. powell_, august . no, _not_ for yourselves, ye reverend men, do you take one pig in every ten, but for holy church's future heirs, who've an abstract right to that pig, as theirs; the law supposing that such heirs male are already seized of the pig, in tail. no, _not_ for himself hath birmingham's priest his "well-beloved" of their pennies fleeced: but it is that, before his prescient eyes, all future vicars of birmingham rise, with their embryo daughters, nephews, nieces, and 'tis for _them_ the poor he fleeces. he heareth their voices, ages hence saying, "take the pig"--"oh take the pence;" the cries of little vicarial dears, the unborn birminghamites, reach his ears; and, did he resist that soft appeal, he would _not_ like a true-born vicar feel. thou, too, lundy of lackington! a rector true, if e'er there was one, who, for sake of the lundies of coming ages, gripest the tenths of laborer's wages.[ ] 'tis true, in the pockets of _thy_ small-clothes the claimed "obvention"[ ]of four-pence goes; but its abstract spirit, unconfined, spreads to all future rector-kind, warning them all to their rights to wake, and rather to face the block, the stake, than give up their darling right _to take_. one grain of musk, it is said, perfumes (so subtle its spirit) a thousand rooms, and a single four-pence, pocketed well, thro' a thousand rectors' lives will tell. then still continue, ye reverend souls, and still as your rich pactolus rolls, grasp every penny on every side, from every wretch, to swell its tide: remembering still what the law lays down, in that pure poetic style of its own. "if the parson _in esse_ submits to loss, he "inflicts the same on the parson _in posse_." [ ] fourteen agricultural laborers (one of whom received so little as six guineas for yearly wages, one eight, one nine, another ten guineas, and the best paid of the whole not more than _l_. annually) were all, in the course of the autumn of , served with demands of tithe at the rate of _d_. in the _l_. sterling, on behalf of the rev. f. lundy, rector of lackington, etc.--_the times_, august, . [ ] one of the various general terms under which oblations, tithes, etc., are comprised. fools' paradise. dream the first. i have been, like puck, i have been, in a trice, to a realm they call fool's paradise, lying n.n.e. of the land of sense, and seldom blest with a glimmer thence. but they wanted not in this happy place, where a light of its own gilds every face; or if some wear a shadowy brow, 'tis the _wish_ to look wise,--not knowing _how_. self-glory glistens o'er all that's there, the trees, the flowers have a jaunty air; the well-bred wind in a whisper blows, the snow, if it snows, is _couleur de rose_, the falling founts in a titter fall, and the sun looks simpering down on all. oh, 'tisn't in tongue or pen to trace the scenes i saw in that joyous place. there were lords and ladies sitting together, in converse sweet, "what charming weather!-- "you'll all rejoice to hear, i'm sure, "lord charles has got a good sinecure; "and the premier says, my youngest brother "(him in the guards) shall have another. "isn�t this very, _very_ gallant!-- "as for my poor old virgin aunt, "who has lost her all, poor thing, at whist, "we must quarter _her_ on the pension list." thus smoothly time in that eden rolled; it seemed like an age of _real_ gold, where all who liked might have a slice, so rich was that fools' paradise. but the sport at which most time they spent, was a puppet-show, called parliament performed by wooden ciceros, as large as life, who rose to prose, while, hid behind them, lords and squires, who owned the puppets, pulled the wires; and thought it the very best device of that most prosperous paradise, to make the vulgar pay thro' the nose for them and their wooden ciceros. and many more such things i saw in this eden of church and state and law; nor e'er were known such pleasant folk as those who had the _best_ of the joke. there were irish rectors, such as resort to cheltenham yearly, to drink--port, and bumper, "long may the church endure, "may her cure of souls be a sinecure, "and a score of parsons to every soul "a moderate allowance on the whole." there were heads of colleges lying about, from which the sense had all run out, even to the lowest classic lees, till nothing was left but _quantities_; which made them heads most fit to be stuck up on a university, which yearly hatches, in its schools, such flights of young elysian fools. thus all went on, so snug and nice, in this happiest possible paradise. but plain it was to see, alas! that a downfall soon must come to pass. for grief is a lot the good and wise don�t quite so much monopolize, but that ("lapt in elysium" as they are) even blessed fools must have their share. and so it happened:--but what befell, in dream the second i mean to tell. the rector and his curate; or, one pound two. "i trust we shall part as we met, in peace and charity. my last payment to you paid your salary up to the st of this month. since that, i owe you for one month, which, being a long month, of thirty-one days, amounts, as near as i can calculate, to six pounds eight shillings. my steward returns you as a debtor to the amount of seven pounds ten shillings for cox-acre-ground, which leaves some trifling balance in my favor."--_letter of dismissal from the rev. marcus beresford to his curate, the rev. t. a. lyons_. the account is balanced--the bill drawn out,-- the debit and credit all right, no doubt-- the rector rolling in wealth and state, owes to his curate six pound eight; the curate, that _least_ well-fed of men, owes to his rector seven pound ten, which maketh the balance clearly due from curate to rector, one pound two. ah balance, on earth unfair, uneven! but sure to be all set right in heaven, where bills like these will be checkt, some day, and the balance settled the other way: where lyons the curate's hard-wrung sum will back to his shade with interest come; and marcus, the rector, deep may rue this tot, in his favor, of one pound two. paddy's metamorphosis. . about fifty years since, in the days of our daddies, that plan was commenced which the wise now applaud, of shipping off ireland's most turbulent paddies, as good raw material for _settlers_, abroad. some west-india island, whose name i forget, was the region then chosen for this scheme so romantic; and such the success the first colony met, that a second, soon after, set sail o'er the atlantic. behold them now safe at the long-lookt-for shore, sailing in between banks that the shannon might greet, and thinking of friends whom, but two years before, they had sorrowed to lose, but would soon again meet. and, hark! from the shore a glad welcome there came-- "arrah, paddy from cork, is it you, my sweet boy?" while pat stood astounded, to hear his own name thus hailed by black devils, who capered for joy! can it possibly be?--half amazement--half doubt, pat listens again--rubs his eyes and looks steady; then heaves a deep sigh, and in horror yells out, "good lord! only think,--black and curly already!" deceived by that well-mimickt brogue in his ears, pat read his own doom in these wool-headed figures, and thought, what a climate, in less than two years, to turn a whole cargo of pats into niggers! moral. 'tis thus,--but alas! by a marvel more true than is told in this rival of ovid's best stories,-- your whigs, when in office a short year or two, by a _lusus naturae_, all turn into tories. and thus, when i hear them "strong measures" advise, ere the seats that they sit on have time to get steady, i say, while i listen, with tears in my eyes, "good lord! only think,--black and curly already!" cocker, on church reform. founded upon some late calculations. . fine figures of speech let your orators follow, old cocker has figures that beat them all hollow. tho' famed for his rules _aristotle_ may be, in but _half_ of this sage any merit i see, for, as honest joe hume says, the "_tottle_" for me! for instance, while others discuss and debate, it is thus about bishops _i_ ratiocinate. in england, where, spite of the infidel's laughter, 'tis certain our souls are lookt _very_ well after, two bishops can well (if judiciously sundered) of parishes manage two thousand two hundred.-- said number of parishes, under said teachers, containing three millions of protestant creatures,-- so that each of said bishops full ably controls one million and five hundred thousands of souls. and now comes old cocker. in ireland we're told, _half_ a million includes the whole protestant fold; if, therefore, for three million souls, 'tis conceded _two_ proper-sized bishops are all that is needed, 'tis plain, for the irish _half_ million who want 'em, _one-third_ of _one_ bishop is just the right quantum. and thus, by old cocker's sublime rule of three, the irish church question's resolved to a t; keeping always that excellent maxim in view, that, in saving men's souls, we must save money too. nay, if--as st. roden complains is the case-- the half million of _soul_ is decreasing apace, the demand, too, for _bishop_ will also fall off, till the _tithe_ of one, taken in kind be enough. but, as fractions imply that we'd have to dissect, and to cutting up bishops i strongly object. we've a small, fractious prelate whom well we could spare, who has just the same decimal worth, to a hair, and, not to leave ireland too much in the lurch. we'll let her have exeter, _sole_, as her church. les hommes automates. . "we are persuaded that this our artificial man will not only walk and speak and perform most of the outward functions of animal life, but (being wound up once a week) will perhaps reason as well as most of your country parsons."--"_memoirs of martinus scriblerus_," chap. xii. it being an object now to meet with parsons that don�t want to eat, fit men to fill those irish rectories, which soon will have but scant refectories, it has been suggested,--lest that church should all at once be left in the lurch for want of reverend men endued with this gift of never requiring food,-- to try, by way of experiment, whether there couldn�t be made of wood and leather,[ ] (howe'er the notion may sound chimerical,) jointed figures, not _lay_,[ ] but clerical, which, wound up carefully once a week, might just like parsons look and speak, nay even, if requisite, reason too, as well as most irish parsons do. the experiment having succeeded quite, (whereat those lords must much delight, who've shown, by stopping the church's food, they think it isn�t for her spiritual good to be served by parsons of flesh and blood,) the patentees of this new invention beg leave respectfully to mention, they now are enabled to produce an ample supply for present use, of these reverend pieces of machinery, ready for vicarage, rectory, deanery, or any such-like post of skill that wood and leather are fit to fill. n.b.--in places addicted to arson, we can�t recommend a wooden parson: but if the church any such appoints, they'd better at least have iron joints. in parts, not much by protestants haunted, a figure to _look at_'s all that's wanted-- a block in black, to eat and sleep, which (now that the eating's o'er) comes cheap. p.s.--should the lords, by way of a treat, permit the clergy again to eat, the church will of course no longer need imitation-parsons that never feed; and these _wood_ creatures of ours will sell for secular purposes just as well-- our beresfords, turned to bludgeons stout, may, 'stead of beating their own about, be knocking the brains of papists out; while our smooth o'sullivans, by all means, should transmigrate into _turning_ machines. [ ] the materials of which those nuremberg savans, mentioned by scriblerus, constructed their artificial man. [ ] the wooden models used by painters are, it is well known, called "lay figures". how to make one's self a peer. according to the newest receipt as disclosed in a late heraldic work,[ ] . choose some title that's dormant--the peerage hath many-- lord baron of shamdos sounds nobly as any. next, catch a dead cousin of said defunct peer, and marry him, off hand, in some given year, to the daughter of somebody,--no matter who,-- fig, the grocer himself, if you're hard run, will do; for, the medici _pills_ still in heraldry tell, and why shouldn't _lollypops_ quarter as well? thus, having your couple, and one a lord's cousin, young materials for peers may be had by the dozen; and 'tis hard if, inventing each small mother's son of 'em, you can't somehow manage to prove _yourself_ one of 'em. should registers, deeds and such matters refractory, stand in the way of this lord-manufactory, i've merely to hint, as a secret auricular, one _grand_ rule of enterprise,--_don't_ be particular. a man who once takes such a jump at nobility, must _not_ mince the matter, like folks of nihility, but clear thick and thin with true lordly agility. 'tis true, to a would-be descendant from kings, parish-registers sometimes are troublesome things; as oft, when the vision is near brought about, some goblin, in shape of a grocer, grins out; or some barber, perhaps, with my lord mingles bloods, and one's patent of peerage is left in the suds. but there _are_ ways--when folks are resolved to be lords-- of expurging even troublesome parish records. what think ye of scissors? depend on't no heir of a shamdos should go unsupplied with a pair, as whate'er _else_ the learned in such lore may invent, your scissors does wonders in proving descent. yes, poets may sing of those terrible shears with which atropos snips off both bumpkins and peers, but they're naught to that weapon which shines in the hands of some would-be patricians, when proudly he stands o'er the careless churchwarden's baptismal array, and sweeps at each cut generations away. by some babe of old times is his peerage resisted? one snip,--and the urchin hath _never_ existed! does some marriage, in days near the flood, interfere with his one sublime object of being a peer? quick the shears at once nullify bridegroom and bride,-- no such people have ever lived, married or died! such the newest receipt for those high minded elves, who've a fancy for making great lords of themselves. follow this, young aspirer who pant'st for a peerage, take s--m for thy model and b--z for thy steerage, do all and much worse than old nicholas flam does, and--_who_ knows but you'll be lord baron of shamdos? [ ] the claim to the barony of chandos (if i recollect right) advanced by the late sir egerinton brydges. the duke is the lad. air.--"a master i have, and i am his man, galloping dreary dun." "_castle of andalusia_." the duke is the lad to frighten a lass. galloping, dreary duke; the duke is the lad to frighten a lass, he's an ogre to meet, and the devil to pass, with his charger prancing, grim eye glancing, chin, like a mufti, grizzled and tufty, galloping, dreary duke. ye misses, beware of the neighborhood of this galloping dreary duke; avoid him, all who see no good in being run o'er by a prince of the blood. for, surely, no nymph is fond of a grim phiz. and of the married, whole crowds have miscarried at sight of this dreary duke. epistle from erasmus on earth to cicero in the shades. southampton. as 'tis now, my dear tully, some weeks since i started by railroad for earth, having vowed ere we parted to drop you a line by the dead-letter post, just to say how i thrive in my new line of ghost, and how deucedly odd this live world all appears, to a man who's been dead now for three hundred years, i take up my pen, and with news of this earth hope to waken by turns both your spleen and your mirth. in my way to these shores, taking italy first, lest the change from elysium too sudden should burst, i forgot not to visit those haunts where of yore you took lessons from paetus in cookery's lore. turned aside from the calls of the rostrum and muse, to discuss the rich merits of _rôtis_ and stews, and preferred to all honors of triumph or trophy, a supper on prawns with that rogue, little sophy. having dwelt on such classical musings awhile, i set off by a steam-boat for this happy isle, (a conveyance _you_ ne'er, i think, sailed by, my tully, and therefore, _per_ next, i'll describe it more fully,) having heard on the way what distresses me greatly, that england's o'errun by _idolaters_ lately, stark, staring adorers of wood and of stone, who will let neither stick, stock or statue alone. such the sad news i heard from a tall man in black, who from sports continental was hurrying back, to look after his tithes;--seeing, doubtless, 'twould follow, that just as of old your great idol, apollo, devoured all the tenths, so the idols in question, these wood and stone gods, may have equal digestion, and the idolatrous crew whom this rector despises, may eat up the tithe-pig which _he_ idolizes. london. 'tis all but too true--grim idolatry reigns in full pomp over england's lost cities and plains! on arriving just now, as my first thought and care was as usual to seek out some near house of prayer, some calm holy spot, fit for christians to pray on, i was shown to--what think you?--a downright pantheon! a grand, pillared temple with niches and halls, full of idols and gods, which they nickname st. paul's;-- tho' 'tis clearly the place where the idolatrous crew whom the rector complained of, their dark rites pursue; and, 'mong all the "strange gods" abr'ham's father carved out,[ ] that he ever carv'd _stranger_ than these i much doubt. were it even, my dear tully, your hebes and graces, and such pretty things, that usurpt the saints' places, i shouldn�t much mind,--for in this classic dome such folks from olympus would feel quite at home. but the gods they've got here!--such a queer omnium gatherum of misbegot things that no poet would father 'em;-- britannias in light summer-wear for the skies,-- old thames turned to stone, to his no small surprise,-- father nile, too,--a portrait, (in spite of what's said, that no mortal e'er yet got a glimpse of his _head_,) and a ganges which india would think somewhat fat for't, unless 'twas some full-grown director had sat for't;-- not to mention the _et caeteras_ of genii and sphinxes, fame, victory, and other such semi-clad minxes;-- sea captains,[ ]--the idols here most idolized; and of whom some, alas! might too well be comprized among ready-made saints, as they died _cannonized_; with a multitude more of odd cockneyfied deities, shrined in such pomp that quite shocking to see it 'tis; nor know i what better the rector could do than to shrine there his own beloved quadruped too; as most surely a tithe-pig, whate'er the world thinks, is a much fitter beast for a church than a sphinx is. but i'm called off to dinner--grace just has been said, and my host waits for nobody, living or dead. [ ] joshua xxiv . [ ] captains mosse, riou etc. lines on the departure of lord castlereagh and stewart for the continent.[ ] _at paris[ ] et fratres, et qui rapure sub illis. vix tenuere manus (scis hoc, menelae) nefandas_. ovid. _metam. lib_. xiii. v. . go, brothers in wisdom--go, bright pair of peers, and my cupid and fame fan you both with their pinions! the _one_, the best lover we have--_of his years_, and the other prime statesman of britain's dominions. go, hero of chancery, blest with the smile of the misses that love and the monarchs that prize thee; forget mrs. angelo taylor awhile, and all tailors but him who so well _dandifies_ thee. never mind how thy juniors in gallantry scoff, never heed how perverse affidavits may thwart thee, but show the young misses thou'rt scholar enough to translate "_amor fortis_" a love, _about forty_! and sure 'tis no wonder, when, fresh as young mars, from the battle you came, with the orders you'd earned in't, that sweet lady fanny should cry out "_my stars_!" and forget that the _moon_, too, was some way concerned in't. for not the great regent himself has endured (tho' i've seen him with badges and orders all shine, till he lookt like a house that was _over_ insured) a much heavier burden of glories than thine. and 'tis plain, when a wealthy young lady so mad is, or _any_ young ladies can so go astray, as to marry old dandies that might be their daddies, the _stars_ are in fault, my lord stewart, not they! thou, too, t'other brother, thou tully of tories, thou _malaprop_ cicero, over whose lips such a smooth rigmarole about; "monarchs," and "glories," and "_nullidge_," and "features," like syllabub slips. go, haste, at the congress pursue thy vocation of adding fresh sums to this national debt of ours, leaguing with kings, who for mere recreation break promises, fast as your lordship breaks metaphors. fare ye well, fare ye well, bright pair of peers, and may cupid and fame fan you both with their pinions! the one, the best lover we have--_of his years_, and the other, prime statesman of britain's dominions. [ ] this and the following squib, which must have been written about the year - , have been by some oversight misplaced. [ ] ovid is mistaken in saying that it was "at paris" these rapacious transactions took place--we should read "at vienna." to the ship in which lord castlereagh sailed for the continent. _imitated from horace, lib. i, ode _. so may my lady's prayers prevail, and canning's too, and _lucid_ bragge's, and eldon beg a favoring gale from eolus, that _older_ bags, to speed thee on thy destined way, oh ship, that bearest our castlereagh, our gracious regent's better half and _therefore_ quarter of a king-- (as van or any other calf may find without much figuring). waft him, oh ye kindly breezes, waft this lord of place and pelf, any where his lordship pleases, tho' 'twere to old nick himself! oh, what a face of brass was his. who first at congress showed his phiz-- to sign away the rights of man to russian threats and austrian juggle; and leave the sinking african to fall without one saving struggle-- 'mong ministers from north and south, to show his lack of shame and sense, and hoist the sign of "bull and mouth" for blunders and for eloquence! in vain we wish our _secs_, at home to mind their papers, desks, and shelves, if silly _secs_, abroad _will_ roam and make such noodles of themselves. but such hath always been the case-- for matchless impudence of face, there's nothing like your tory race! first, pitt, the chosen of england, taught her a taste for famine, fire and slaughter. then came the doctor, for our ease, with eldons, chathams, hawksburies, and other deadly maladies. when each in turn had run their rigs, necessity brought in the whigs: and oh! i blush, i blush to say, when these, in turn, were put to flight, too, illustrious temple flew away with _lots of pens he had no right to_.[ ] in short, what _will_ not mortal man do? and now, that--strife and bloodshed past-- we've done on earth what harm we can do, we gravely take to heaven at last and think its favoring smile to purchase (oh lord, good lord!) by--building churches! [ ] this alludes to the _l_. worth of stationery, which his lordship is said to have ordered, when on the point of _vacating_ his place. sketch of the first act of a new romantic drama. "and now," quoth the goddess, in accents jocose, "having got good materials, i'll brew such a dose "of double x mischief as, mortals shall say, "they've not known its equal for many a long day." here she winkt to her subaltern imps to be steady, and all wagged their fire-tipt tails and stood ready. "so, now for the ingredients:--first, hand me that bishop;" whereupon, a whole bevy of imps run to fish up from out a large reservoir wherein they pen 'em the blackest of all its black dabblers in venom; and wrapping him up (lest the virus should ooze, and one "drop of the immortal"[ ] right rev.[ ] they might lose) in the sheets of his own speeches, charges, reviews, pop him into the caldron, while loudly a burst from the by-standers welcomes ingredient the first! "now fetch the ex-chancellor," muttered the dame-- "he who's called after harry the older, by name." "the ex-chancellor!" echoed her imps, the whole crew of 'em-- "why talk of _one_ ex, when your mischief has _two_ of 'em?" "true, true," said the hag, looking arch at her elves, "and a double-_ex_ dose they compose, in themselves." this joke, the sly meaning of which was seen lucidly, set all the devils a laughing most deucedly. so, in went the pair, and (what none thought surprising) showed talents for sinking as great as for rising; while not a grim phiz in that realm but was lighted with joy to see spirits so twin-like united-- or (plainly to speak) two such birds of a feather, in one mess of venom thus spitted together. here a flashy imp rose--some connection, no doubt, of the young lord in question--and, scowling about, "hoped his fiery friend, stanley, would not be left out; "as no schoolboy unwhipt, the whole world must agree, "loved mischief, _pure_ mischief, more dearly than he." but, no--the wise hag wouldn�t hear of the whipster; not merely because, as a shrew, he eclipst her, and nature had given him, to keep him still young, much tongue in his head and no head in his tongue; but because she well knew that, for change ever ready, he'd not even to mischief keep properly steady: that soon even the _wrong_ side would cease to delight, and, for want of a change, he must swerve to the _right_; while, on _each_, so at random his missiles he threw, that the side he attackt was most safe, of the two.-- this ingredient was therefore put by on the shelf, there to bubble, a bitter, hot mess, by itself. "and now," quoth the hag, as her caldron she eyed. and the tidbits so friendlily rankling inside, "there wants but some seasoning;--so, come, ere i stew 'em, "by way of a relish we'll throw in john tuam.' "in cooking up mischief, there's no flesh or fish "like your meddling high priest, to add zest to the dish." thus saying, she pops in the irish grand lama-- which great event ends the first act of the drama. [ ] to lose no drop of the immortal man. [ ] the present bishop of exeter. animal magnetism. tho' famed was mesmer, in his day, nor less so, in ours, is dupotet, to say nothing of all the wonders done by that wizard, dr. elliotson, when, standing as if the gods to invoke, he up waves his arm, and--down drops okey![ ] tho' strange these things, to mind and sense, if you wish still stranger things to see-- if you wish to know the power immense of the true magnetic influence, just go to her majesty's treasury, and learn the wonders working there-- and i'll be hanged if you don�t stare! talk of your animal magnetists, and that wave of the hand no soul resists, not all its witcheries can compete with the friendly beckon towards downing street, which a premier gives to one who wishes to taste of the treasury loaves and fishes. it actually lifts the lucky elf, thus acted upon, _above_ himself;-- he jumps to a state of _clairvoyance_, and is placeman, statesman, all, at once! these effects, observe (with which i begin), take place when the patient's motioned _in_; far different of course the mode of affection, when the wave of the hand's in the _out_ direction; the effects being then extremely unpleasant, as is seen in the case of lord brougham, at present; in whom this sort of manipulation, has lately produced such inflammation, attended with constant irritation, that, in short--not to mince his situation-- it has workt in the man a transformation that puzzles all human calculation! ever since the fatal day which saw that "pass" performed on this lord of law-- a pass potential, none can doubt, as it sent harry brougham to the right about-- the condition in which the patient has been is a thing quite awful to be seen. not that a casual eye could scan this wondrous change by outward survey; it being, in fact, the _interior_ man that's turned completely topsy-turvy:-- like a case that lately, in reading o'er 'em, i found in the _acta eruditorum_, of a man in whose inside, when disclosed, the whole order of things was found transposed; by a _lusus naturae_, strange to see, the liver placed where the heart should be, and the _spleen_ (like brougham's, since laid on the shelf) as diseased and as much _out of place_ as himself. in short, 'tis a case for consultation, if e'er there was one, in this thinking nation; and therefore i humbly beg to propose, that those _savans_ who mean, as the rumor goes, to sit on miss okey's wonderful case, should also lord parry's case embrace; and inform us, in _both_ these patients' states, which _ism_ it is that predominates, whether magnetism and somnambulism, or, simply and solely, mountebankism. [ ] the name of the heroine of the performances at the north london hospital. the song of the box. let history boast of her romans and spartans, and tell how they stood against tyranny's shock; they were all, i confess, in _my_ eye, betty martins compared to george grote and his wonderful box. ask, where liberty now has her seat?--oh, it isn't by delaware's banks or on switzerland's rocks;-- like an imp in some conjuror's bottle imprisoned, she's slyly shut up in grote's wonderful box. how snug!--'stead of floating thro' ether's dominions, blown _this_ way and _that_, by the "_populi vox_," to fold thus in silence her sinecure pinions, and go fast asleep in grote's wonderful box. time was, when free speech was the life-breath of freedom-- so thought once the seldens, the hampdens, the lockes; but mute be _our_ troops, when to ambush we lead 'em, "for mum" is the word with us knights of the box. pure, exquisite box! no corruption can soil it; there's otto of rose in each breath it unlocks; while grote is the "betty," that serves at the toilet, and breathes all arabia around from his box. 'tis a singular fact, that the famed hugo grotius (a namesake of grote's--being both of dutch stocks), like grote, too, a genius profound as precocious, was also, like him, much renowned for a box;-- an immortal old clothes-box, in which the great grotius when suffering in prison for views heterodox, was packt up incog. spite of jailers ferocious,[ ] and sent to his wife,[ ] carriage free, in a box! but the fame of old hugo now rests on the shelf, since a rival hath risen that all parallel mocks;-- _that_ grotius ingloriously saved but himself, while _ours_ saves the whole british realm by a box! and oh! when, at last, even this greatest of grotes must bend to the power that at every door knocks, may he drop in the urn like his own "silent votes," and the tomb of his rest be a large ballot-box. while long at his shrine, both from county and city, shall pilgrims triennially gather in flocks, and sing, while they whimper, the appropriate ditty, "oh breathe not his _name_, let it sleep--in the box." [ ] for the particulars of this escape of grotius from the castle of louvenstein, by means of a box (only three feet and a half long, it is said) in which books used to be occasionally sent to him and foul linen returned, see any of the biographical dictionaries. [ ] this is not quite according to the facts of the case; his wife having been the contriver of the stratagem, and remained in the prison herself to give him time for escape. announcement of a new thalaba. addressed to robert southey, esq. when erst, my southey, thy tuneful tongue the terrible tale of thalaba sung-- of him, the destroyer, doomed to rout that grim divan of conjurors out, whose dwelling dark, as legends say, beneath the roots of the ocean lay, (fit place for deep ones, such as they,) how little thou knewest, dear dr. southey, altho' bright genius all allow thee, that, some years thence, thy wondering eyes should see a second thalaba rise-- as ripe for ruinous rigs as thine, tho' his havoc lie in a different line, and should find this new, improved destroyer beneath the wig of a yankee lawyer; a sort of an "alien," _alias_ man, whose country or party guess who can, being cockney half, half jonathan; and his life, to make the thing completer, being all in the genuine thalaba metre, loose and irregular as thy feet are;-- first, into whig pindarics rambling, then in low tory doggrel scrambling; now _love_ his theme, now _church_ his glory (at once both tory and ama-tory), now in the old bailey-_lay_ meandering, now in soft _couplet_ style philandering; and, lastly, in lame alexandrine, dragging his wounded length along, when scourged by holland's silken thong. in short, dear bob, destroyer the second may fairly a match for the first be reckoned; save that _your_ thalaba's talent lay in sweeping old conjurors clean away, while ours at aldermen deals his blows, (who no great conjurors are, god knows,) lays corporations, by wholesale, level, sends acts of parliament to the devil, bullies the whole milesian race-- seven millions of paddies, face to face; and, seizing that magic wand, himself, which erst thy conjurors left on the shelf, transforms the boys of the boyne and liffey all into _foreigners_, in a jiffy-- aliens, outcasts, every soul of 'em, born but for whips and chains, the whole of 'em? never in short did parallel betwixt two heroes _gee_ so well; and among the points in which they fit, there's one, dear bob, i can�t omit. that hacking, hectoring blade of thine dealt much in the _domdaniel_ line; and 'tis but rendering justice due, to say that ours and his tory crew _damn daniel_ most devoutly too. rival topics.[ ] an extravaganza. oh wellington and stephenson, oh morn and evening papers, _times_, _herald_, _courier_, _globe_, and _sun_, when will ye cease our ears to stun with these two heroes' capers? still "stephenson" and "wellington," the everlasting two!-- still doomed, from rise to set of sun, to hear what mischief one has done, and t'other means to do:-- what bills the banker past to friends, but never meant to pay; what bills the other wight intends, as honest, in their way;-- bills, payable at distant sight, beyond the grecian kalends, when all good deeds will come to light, when wellington will do what's right, and rowland pay his balance. to catch the banker all have sought, but still the rogue unhurt is; while t'other juggler--who'd have thought? tho' slippery long, has just been caught by old archbishop curtis;-- and, such the power of papal crook, the crosier scarce had quivered about his ears, when, lo! the duke was of a bull delivered! sir richard birnie doth decide that rowland "must be mad," in private coach, with crest, to ride, when chaises could be had. and t'other hero, all agree, st. luke's will soon arrive at, if thus he shows off publicly, when he might pass in private. oh wellington, oh stephenson, ye ever-boring pair, where'er i sit, or stand, or run, ye haunt me everywhere. tho' job had patience tough enough, such duplicates would try it; till one's turned out and t'other off, we shan� have peace or quiet. but small's the chance that law affords-- such folks are daily let off; and, 'twixt the old bailey and the lords, they both, i fear, will get off. [ ] the date of this squib must have been, i think, about - . the boy statesman. by a tory. "that boy will be the death of me." _matthews at home_. ah, tories dear, our ruin is near, with stanley to help us, we can�t but fall; already a warning voice i hear, like the late charles matthews' croak in my ear, "that boy--that boy'll be the death of you all." he will, god help us!--not even scriblerius in the "art of sinking" his match could be; and our case is growing exceeding serious, for, all being in the same boat as he, if down my lord goes, down go we, lord baron stanley and company, as deep in oblivion's swamp below as such "masters shallow," well could go; and where we shall all both low and high, embalmed in mud, as forgotten lie as already doth graham of netherby! but that boy, that boy!--there's a tale i know, which in talking of him comes à_propos_. sir thomas more had an only son, and a foolish lad was that only one, and sir thomas said one day to his wife, "my dear, i can�t but wish you joy. "for you prayed for a boy, and you now have a boy, "who'll continue a boy to the end of his life." even such is our own distressing lot, with the ever-young statesman we have got; nay even still worse; for master more wasn't more a youth than he'd been before, while _ours_ such power of boyhood shows, that the older he gets the more juvenile he grows, and at what extreme old age he'll close his schoolboy course, heaven only knows;-- some century hence, should he reach so far, and ourselves to witness it heaven condemn, we shall find him a sort of _cub_ old parr, a whipper-snapper methusalem; nay, even should he make still longer stay of it, the boy'll want _judgment_, even to the day of it! meanwhile, 'tis a serious, sad infliction; and day and night with awe i recall the late mr. matthews' solemn prediction, "that boy'll be the death, the death of you all." letter from larry o'branigan to the rev. murthagh o'mulligan. arrah, where were _you_, murthagh, that beautiful day?-- or how came it your riverence was laid on the shelf, when that poor craythur, bobby--as _you_ were away-- had to make _twice_ as big a tomfool of _himself_. troth, it wasn�t at all civil to lave in the lurch a boy so deserving your tindhr'est affection:-- too such iligant siamase twins of the church, as bob and yourself, ne'er should cut the connection. if thus in two different directions you pull, 'faith, they'll swear that yourself and your riverend brother are like those quare foxes, in gregory's bull, whose tails were joined _one_ way, while they lookt _another_![ ] och blest be he, whosomdever he be, that helpt soft magee to that bull of a letther! not even my own self, tho' i sometimes make free at such bull-manufacture, could make him a betther. to be sure, when a lad takes to _forgin_', this way, 'tis a thrick he's much timpted to carry on gayly; till, at last, his "injanious devices,"[ ] show him up, not at exether hall, but the ould bailey. that parsons should forge thus appears mighty odd, and (as if somethin' "odd" in their _names_, too, must be,) _one_ forger, of ould, was a riverend dod, "while a riverend todd's now his match, to a t.[ ] but, no matther _who_ did it all blessin's betide him, for dishin' up bob, in a manner so nate; and there wanted but _you_, murthagh 'vourneen, beside him, to make the whole grand dish of _bull_-calf complate. [ ] "you will increase the enmity with which they are regarded by their associates in heresy, thus tying these foxes by the tails, that their faces may tend in opposite directions."--bob's _bull_ read, at exeter hall, july . [ ] "an ingenious device of my learned friend."--bob's _letter to standard_. [ ] had i consulted only my own wishes, i should not have allowed this hasty at tack on dr. todd to have made its appearance in this collection; being now fully convinced that the charge brought against that reverend gentleman of intending to pass off as genuine his famous mock papal letter was altogether unfounded. finding it to be the wish, however, of my reverend friend--as i am now glad to be permitted to call him--that both the wrong and the reparation, the ode and, the palinode, should be thus placed in juxtaposition, i have thought it but due to him, to comply with his request. musings of an unreformed peer. of all the odd plans of this monstrously queer age, the oddest is that of reforming the peerage;-- just as if we, great dons, with a title and star, did not get on exceedingly well as we are, and perform all the functions of noodles by birth as completely as any born noodles on earth. how _acres_ descend, is in law-books displayed, but we as _wise_acres descend, ready made; and by right of our rank in debrett's nomenclature, are all of us born legislators by nature;-- like ducklings to water instinctively taking, so we with like quackery take to lawmaking; and god forbid any reform should come o'er us, to make us more wise than our sires were before us. the egyptians of old the same policy knew-- if your sire was a cook, you must be a cook too: thus making, from father to son, a good trade of it, poisoners _by right_ (so no more could be said of it), the cooks like our lordships a pretty mess made of it; while, famed for _conservative_ stomachs, the egyptians without a wry face bolted all the prescriptions. it is true, we've among us some peers of the past, who keep pace with the present most awfully fast-- fruits that ripen beneath the new light now arising with speed that to _us_, old conserves, is surprising. conserves, in whom--potted, for grandmamma uses-- 'twould puzzle a sunbeam to find any juices. 'tis true too. i fear, midst the general movement, even _our_ house, god help it, is doomed to improvement, and all its live furniture, nobly descended but sadly worn out, must be sent to be mended. with _movables_ 'mong us, like brougham and like durham, no wonder even _fixtures_ should learn to bestir 'em; and distant, ye gods, be that terrible day, when--as playful old nick, for his pastime, they say, flies off with old houses, sometimes, in a storm-- so _ours_ may be whipt off, some night, by reform; and as up, like loretto's famed house,[ ] thro' the air, not angels, but devils, our lordships shall bear, grim, radical phizzes, unused to the sky, shall flit round, like cherubs, to wish us "good-by," while perched up on clouds little imps of plebeians, small grotes and o'connells, shall sing io paeans. [ ] the _casa santa_, supposed to have been carried by angels through the air from galilee to italy. the reverend pamphleteer. a romantic ballad. oh, have you heard what hapt of late? if not, come lend an ear, while sad i state the piteous fate of the reverend pamphleteer. all praised his skilful jockeyship, loud rung the tory cheer, while away, away, with spur and whip, went the reverend pamphleteer. the nag he rode--how _could_ it err? 'twas the same that took, last year, that wonderful jump to exeter with the reverend pamphleteer. set a beggar on horseback, wise men say, the course he will take is clear: and in _that_ direction lay the way of the reverend pamphleteer, "stop, stop," said truth, but vain her cry-- left far away in the rear, she heard but the usual gay "good-by" from her faithless pamphleteer. you may talk of the jumps of homer's gods, when cantering o'er our sphere-- i'd back for a _bounce_, 'gainst any odds, this reverend pamphleteer. but ah! what tumbles a jockey hath! in the midst of his career, a file of the _times_ lay right in the path of the headlong pamphleteer. whether he tript or shyed thereat, doth not so clear appear: but down he came, as his sermons flat-- this reverend pamphleteer! lord king himself could scarce desire to see a spiritual peer fall much more dead, in the dirt and mire, than did this pamphleteer. yet pitying parsons many a day shall visit his silent bier, and, thinking the while of stanhope, say "poor dear old pamphleteer! "he has finisht at last his busy span, "and now _lies coolly_ here-- "as often he did in life, good man, "good, reverend pamphleteer!" recent dialogue. . a bishop and a bold dragoon, both heroes in their way, did thus, of late, one afternoon, unto each other say:-- "dear bishop," quoth the brave huzzar, "as nobody denies "that you a wise logician are, "and i am--otherwise, "'tis fit that in this question, we "stick each to his own art-- "that _yours_ should be the sophistry, "and _mine_ the _fighting_ part. "my creed, i need not tell you, is "like that of wellington, "to whom no harlot comes amiss, "save her of babylon; "and when we're at a loss for words, "if laughing reasoners flout us, "for lack of sense we'll draw our swords-- "the sole thing sharp about us."-- "dear bold dragoon," the bishop said, "'tis true for war thou art meant; "and reasoning--bless that dandy head! "is not in thy department. "so leave the argument to me-- "and, when my holy labor "hath lit the fires of bigotry, "thou'lt poke them with thy sabre. "from pulpit and from sentrybox, "we'll make our joint attacks, "i at the head of my _cassocks_, "and you, of your _cossacks_. "so here's your health, my brave huzzar, "my exquisite old fighter-- "success to bigotry and war, "the musket and the mitre!" thus prayed the minister of heaven-- while york, just entering then, snored out (as if some _clerk_ had given his nose the cue) "amen." the wellington spa. "and drink _oblivion_ to our woes." anna matilda. . talk no more of your cheltenham and harrowgate springs, 'tis from _lethe_ we now our potations must draw; yon _lethe_'s a cure for--all possible things, and the doctors have named it the wellington spa. other physical waters but cure you in part; _one_ cobbles your gout--_t'other_ mends your digestion-- some settle your stomach, but _this_--bless your heart!-- it will settle for ever your catholic question. unlike too the potions in fashion at present, this wellington nostrum, restoring by stealth, so purges the memory of all that's unpleasant, that patients _forget_ themselves into rude health. for instance, the inventor--his having once said "he should think himself mad if at _any one's_ call, "he became what he is"--is so purged from his head that he now doesn�t think he's a madman at all. of course, for your memories of very long standing-- old chronic diseases that date back undaunted to brian boroo and fitz-stephens' first landing-- a devil of a dose of the _lethe_ is wanted. but even irish patients can hardly regret an oblivion so much in their own native style, so conveniently planned that, whate'er they forget, they may go on remembering it still all the while! a characterless . half whig, half tory, like those mid-way things, 'twixt bird and beast, that by mistake have wings; a mongrel stateman, 'twixt two factions nurst, who, of the faults of each, combines the worst-- the tory's loftiness, the whigling's sneer, the leveller's rashness, and the bigot's fear: the thirst for meddling, restless still to show how freedom's clock, repaired by whigs, will go; the alarm when others, more sincere than they, advance the hands to the true time of day. by mother church, high-fed and haughty dame, the boy was dandled, in his dawn of fame; listening, she smiled, and blest the flippant tongue on which the fate of unborn tithe-pigs hung. ah! who shall paint the grandam's grim dismay, when loose reform enticed her boy away; when shockt she heard him ape the rabble's tone, and in old sarum's fate foredoom her own! groaning she cried, while tears rolled down her cheeks, "poor, glib-tongued youth, he means not what he speaks. "like oil at top, these whig professions flow, "but, pure as lymph, runs toryism below. "alas! that tongue should start thus, in the race, "ere mind can reach and regulate its pace!-- "for, once outstript by tongue, poor, lagging mind, "at every step, still further limps behind. "but, bless the boy!--whate'er his wandering be, "still turns his heart to toryism and me. "like those odd shapes, portrayed in dante's lay. "with heads fixt on, the wrong and backward way, "his feet and eyes pursue a diverse track, "while _those_ march onward, _these_ look fondly back." and well she knew him--well foresaw the day, which now hath come, when snatched from whigs away the self-same changeling drops the mask he wore, and rests, restored, in granny's arms once more. but whither now, mixt brood of modern light and ancient darkness, canst thou bend thy flight? tried by both factions and to neither true, feared by the _old_ school, laught at by the _new_; for _this_ too feeble and for _that_ too rash, _this_ wanting more of fire, _that_ less of flash, lone shalt thou stand, in isolation cold, betwixt two worlds, the new one and the old, a small and "vext bermoothes," which the eye of venturous seaman sees--and passes by. a ghost story. to the air of "unfortunate miss bailey." . not long in bed had lyndhurst lain, when, as his lamp burned dimly, the ghosts of corporate bodies slain,[ ] stood by his bedside grimly. dead aldermen who once could feast, but now, themselves, are fed on, and skeletons of mayors deceased, this doleful chorus led on:-- oh lord lyndhurst, "unmerciful lord lyndhurst, "corpses we, "all burkt by thee, "unmerciful lord lyndhurst!" "avaunt, ye frights!" his lordship cried, "ye look most glum and whitely." "ah, lyndhurst dear!" the frights replied, "you've used us unpolitely. "and now, ungrateful man! to drive "dead bodies from your door so, "who quite corrupt enough, alive, "you've made by death still more so. "oh, ex-chancellor, "destructive ex-chancellor, "see thy work, "thou second burke, "destructive ex-chancellor!" bold lyndhurst then, whom naught could keep awake or surely _that_ would, cried "curse you all"--fell fast asleep-- and dreamt of "small _v_. attwood." while, shockt, the bodies flew downstairs, but courteous in their panic precedence gave to ghosts of mayors, and corpses aldermanic, crying, "oh, lord lyndhurst, "that terrible lord lyndhurst, "not old scratch "himself could match "that terrible lord lyndhurst." [ ] referring to the line taken by lord lyndhurst, on the question of municipal reform. thoughts on the late destructive propositions of the tories.[ ] by a common-councilman. . i sat me down in my easy chair, to read, as usual, the morning papers; but--who shall describe my look of despair, when i came to lefroy's "destructive" capers! that _he_--that, of all live men, lefroy should join in the cry "destroy, destroy!" who, even when a babe, as i've heard said, on orange conserve was chiefly fed, and never, till now, a movement made that wasn�t manfully retrograde! only think--to sweep from the light of day mayors, maces, criers and wigs away; to annihilate--never to rise again-- a whole generation of aldermen, nor leave them even the accustomed tolls, to keep together their bodies and souls!-- at a time too when snug posts and places are falling away from us one by one, crash--crash--like the mummy-cases belzoni, in egypt, sat upon, wherein lay pickled, in state sublime, conservatives of the ancient time;-- to choose such a moment to overset the few snug nuisances left us yet; to add to the ruin that round us reigns, by knocking out mayors' and town-clerks' brains; by dooming all corporate bodies to fall, till they leave at last no bodies at all-- naught but the ghosts of by-gone glory, wrecks of a world that once was tory!-- where pensive criers, like owls unblest, robbed of their roosts, shall still hoot o'er them: nor _mayors_ shall know where to seek a _nest_, till gaily knight shall _find_ one for them;-- till mayors and kings, with none to rue 'em, shall perish all in one common plague; and the _sovereigns_ of belfast and tuam must join their brother, charles dix, at prague. thus mused i, in my chair, alone, (as above described) till dozy grown, and nodding assent to my own opinions, i found myself borne to sleep's dominions, where, lo! before my dreaming eyes, a new house of commons appeared to rise, whose living contents, to fancy's survey, seemed to me all turned topsy-turvy-- a jumble of polypi--nobody knew which was the head or which the queue. _here_, inglis, turned to a sansculotte, was dancing the hays with hume and grote; _there_, ripe for riot, recorder shaw was learning from roebuck "Çaira:" while stanley and graham, as _poissarde_ wenches, screamed "_à-bas_!" from the tory benches; and peel and o'connell, cheek by jowl, were dancing an irish carmagnole. the lord preserve us!--if dreams come true, what _is_ this hapless realm to do? [ ] these verses were written in reference to the bill brought in at this time, for the reform of corporations, and the sweeping amendments proposed by lord lyndhurst and other tory peers, in order to obstruct the measure. anticipated meeting of the british association in the year . after some observations from dr. m'grig on that fossil reliquium called petrified wig, or _perruquolithus_--a specimen rare of those wigs made for antediluvian wear, which, it seems, stood the flood without turning a hair-- mr. tomkins rose up, and requested attention to facts no less wondrous which he had to mention. some large fossil creatures had lately been found, of a species no longer now seen above ground, but the same (as to tomkins most clearly appears) with those animals, lost now for hundreds of years, which our ancestors used to call "bishops" and "peers," but which tomkins more erudite names has bestowed on, having called the peer fossil the _aris_-tocratodon,[ ] and, finding much food under t'other one's thorax, has christened that creature the episcopus vorax. lest the _savantes_ and dandies should think this all fable, mr. tomkins most kindly produced, on the table, a sample of each of these species of creatures, both tolerably human, in structure and features, except that the episcopus seems, lord deliver us! to've been carnivorous as well as granivorous; and tomkins, on searching its stomach, found there large lumps, such as no modern stomach could bear, of a substance called tithe, upon which, as 'tis said, the whole _genus clericum_ formerly fed; and which having lately himself decompounded, just to see what 'twas made of, he actually found it composed of all possible cookable things that e'er tript upon trotters or soared upon wings-- all products of earth, both gramineous, herbaceous, hordeaceous, fabaceous and eke farinaceous, all clubbing their quotas, to glut the oesophagus of this ever greedy and grasping tithophagus.[ ] "admire," exclaimed tomkins. "the kind dispensation "by providence shed on this much-favored nation, "in sweeping so ravenous a race from the earth, "that might else have occasioned a general dearth-- "and thus burying 'em, deep as even joe hume would sink 'em, "with the ichthyosaurus and paloeorynchum, "and other queer _ci-devant_ things, under ground-- "not forgetting that fossilized youth,[ ] so renowned, "who lived just to witness the deluge--was gratified "much by the sight, and has since been found _stratified_!" this picturesque touch--quite in tomkins's way-- called forth from the _savantes_ a general hurrah; while inquiries among them, went rapidly round, as to where this young stratified man could be found. the "learned theban's" discourse next as livelily flowed on, to sketch t'other wonder, the _aris_tocratodon-- an animal, differing from most human creatures not so much in speech, inward structure or features, as in having a certain excrescence, t. said, which in form of a coronet grew from its head, and devolved to its heirs, when the creature was dead; nor mattered it, while this heirloom was transmitted, how unfit were the _heads_, so the _coronet_ fitted. he then mentioned a strange zoölogical fact, whose announcement appeared much applause to attract. in france, said the learned professor, this race had so noxious become, in some centuries' space, from their numbers and strength, that the land was o'errun with 'em, every one's question being, "what's to be done with em?" when, lo! certain knowing ones--_savans_, mayhap, who, like buckland's deep followers, understood _trap_,[ ] slyly hinted that naught upon earth was so good for _aris_tocratodons, when rampant and rude, as to stop or curtail their allowance of food. this expedient was tried and a proof it affords of the effect that short commons will have upon lords; for this whole race of bipeds, one fine summer's morn, shed their coronets, just as a deer sheds his horn, and the moment these gewgaws fell off, they became quite a new sort of creature--so harmless and tame, that zoölogists might, for the first time, maintain 'em to be near akin to the _genius humanum_, and the experiment, tried so successfully then, should be kept in remembrance when wanted again. [ ] a term formed on the model of the mastodon, etc. [ ] the zoölogical term for a tithe-eater. [ ] the man found by scheuchzer, and supposed by him to have witnessed the deluge ("_homo diluvii testis_"), but who turned out, i am sorry to say, to be merely a great lizard. [ ] particularly the formation called _transition_ trap. * * * * * song of the church. no. . leave me alone. a pastoral ballad. "we are ever standing on the defensive. all that we say to them is, '_leave us alone_.' the established church is part and parcel of the constitution of this country. you are bound to conform to this constitution. we ask of you nothing more:--_let us alone_." --letter in _the times_, nov. . . come, list to my pastoral tones, in clover my shepherds i keep; my stalls are well furnisht with drones, whose preaching invites one to sleep. at my _spirit_ let infidels scoff, so they leave but the _substance_ my own; for in sooth i'm extremely well off if the world will but let me alone. dissenters are grumblers, we know;-- tho' excellent men in their way, they never like things to be _so_, let things be however they may. but dissenting's a trick i detest; and besides 'tis an axiom well known, the creed that's best paid is the best, if the _un_paid would let it alone. to me, i own, very surprising your newmans and puseys all seem, who start first with rationalizing, then jump to the other extreme. far better, 'twixt nonsense and sense, a nice _half_-way concern, like our own, where piety's mixt up with pence, and the latter are _ne'er_ left alone. of all our tormentors, the press is the one that most tears us to bits; and now, mrs. woolfrey's "excesses" have thrown all its imps into fits. the devils have been at us, for weeks, and there's no saying when they'll have done;-- oh dear! how i wish mr. breeks had left mrs. woolfrey alone! if any need pray for the dead, 'tis those to whom post-obits fall; since wisely hath solomon said, 'tis "money that answereth all." but ours be the patrons who _live_;- for, once in their glebe they are thrown, the dead have no living to give, and therefore we leave them alone. tho' in morals we may not excel, such perfection is rare to be had; a good life is, of course, very well, but good living is also-not bad. and when, to feed earth-worms, i go. let this epitaph stare from my stone, "here lies the right rev. so and so; "pass, stranger, and--leave him alone." epistle from henry of exeter to john of tuam. dear john, as i know, like our brother of london, you've sipt of all knowledge, both sacred and mundane, no doubt, in some ancient joe miller, you've read what cato, that cunning old roman, once said-- that he ne'er saw two reverend sooth-say ers meet, let it be where it might, in the shrine or the street, without wondering the rogues, mid their solemn grimaces, didn�t burst out a laughing in each other's faces. what cato then meant, tho' 'tis so long ago, even we in the present times pretty well know; having soothsayers also, who--sooth to say, john-- are no better in some points than those of days gone, and a pair of whom, meeting (between you and me), might laugh in their sleeves, too--all lawn tho' they be. but this, by the way--my intention being chiefly in this, my first letter, to hint to you briefly, that, seeing how fond you of _tuum_[ ] must be, while _meum's_ at all times the main point with me, we scarce could do better than form an alliance, to set these sad anti-church times at defiance: you, john, recollect, being still to embark, with no share in the firm but your title and _mark_; or even should you feel in your grandeur inclined to call yourself pope, why, i shouldn�t much mind; while _my_ church as usual holds fast by your tuum, and every one else's, to make it all suum. thus allied, i've no doubt we shall nicely agree, as no twins can be liker, in most points, than we; both, specimens choice of that mixt sort of beast, (see rev. xiii. i) a political priest: both mettlesome _chargers_, both brisk pamphleteers, ripe and ready for all that sets men by the ears; and i, at least one, who would scorn to stick longer by any given cause than i found it the stronger, and who, smooth in my turnings, as if on a swivel, when the tone ecclesiastic won�t do, try the _civil_. in short (not to bore you, even _jure divino_) we've the same cause in common, john--all but the rhino; and that vulgar surplus, whate'er it may be, as you're not used to cash, john, you'd best leave to me. and so, without form--as the postman won�t tarry-- i'm, dear jack of tuain, yours, exeter harry. [ ] so spelled in those ancient versicles which john, we understand, frequently chants:-- "had every one _suum_, you wouldn�t have _tuum_, but i should have _meum_, and sing _te deum_." song of old puck. "and those things do best please me, that befall preposterously." puck junior, _midsummer night's dream_. who wants old puck? for here am i, a mongrel imp, 'twixt earth and sky, ready alike to crawl or fly; now in the mud, now in the air, and, so 'tis for mischief, reckless where. as to my knowledge, there's no end to't, for, where i haven't it, i pretend to't: and, 'stead of taking a learned degree at some dull university, puck found it handier to commence with a certain share of impudence, which passes one off as learned and clever, beyond all other degrees whatever; and enables a man of lively sconce to be master of _all_ the arts at once. no matter what the science may be-- ethics, physics, theology, mathematics, hydrostatics, aerostatics or pneumatics-- whatever it be, i take my luck, 'tis all the same to ancient puck; whose head's so full of all sorts of wares, that a brother imp, old smugden, swears if i had but of _law_ a little smattering, i'd then be _perfect_--which is flattering. my skill as a linguist all must know who met me abroad some months ago; (and heard me _abroad_ exceedingly, in the moods and tenses of _parlez vous_) when, as old chambaud's shade stood mute, i spoke such french to the institute as puzzled those learned thebans much, to know if 'twas sanscrit or high dutch, and _might_ have past with the unobserving as one of the unknown tongues of irving. as to my talent for ubiquity, there's nothing like it in all antiquity. like mungo (my peculiar care) "i'm here, i'm dere, i'm ebery where." if any one's wanted to take the chair upon any subject, any where, just look around, and--puck is there! when slaughter's at hand, your bird of prey is never known to be out of the way: and wherever mischief's to be got, there's puck _instanter_, on the spot. only find me in negus and applause, and i'm your man for _any_ cause. if _wrong_ the cause, the more my delight; but i don�t object to it, even when _right_, if i only can vex some old friend by't; there's durham, for instance;--to worry _him_ fills up my cup of bliss to the brim! (note by the editor.) those who are anxious to run a muck can�t do better than join with puck. they'll find him _bon diable_--spite of his phiz-- and, in fact, his great ambition is, while playing old puck in first-rate style, to be _thought_ robin good-fellow all the while. police reports. case of imposture. among other stray flashmen disposed of, this week, was a youngster named stanley, genteelly connected, who has lately been passing off coins as antique, which have proved to be _sham_ ones, tho' long unsuspected. the ancients, our readers need hardly be told, had a coin they called "talents," for wholesale demands; and 'twas some of said coinage this youth was so bold as to fancy he'd got, god knows how, in his hands. people took him, however, like fools, at his word; and these talents (all prized at his own valuation,) were bid for, with eagerness even more absurd than has often distinguisht this great thinking nation. talk of wonders one now and then sees advertised, "black swans"--"queen anne farthings"--or even "a child's caul"-- much and justly as all these rare objects are prized, "stanley's talents" outdid them--swans, farthings and all! at length some mistrust of this coin got abroad; even quondam believers began much to doubt of it; some rung it, some rubbed it, suspecting a fraud-- and the hard rubs it got rather took the shine out of it. others, wishing to break the poor prodigy's fall, said 'twas known well to all who had studied the matter, that the greeks had not only _great_ talents but _small_, and those found on the youngster were clearly _the latter_. while others who viewed the grave farce with a grin-- seeing counterfeits pass thus for coinage so massy, by way of a hint to the dolts taken in, appropriately quoted budaeus "de _asse_." in short, the whole sham by degrees was found out, and this coin which they chose by such fine names to call, proved a mere lackered article--showy, no doubt, but, ye gods! not the true attic talent at all. as the impostor was still young enough to repent, and, besides, had some claims to a grandee connection, their worships--considerate for once--only sent the young thimblerig off to the house of correction. reflections. addressed to the author of the article of the church in the last number of _the quarterly review_. i'm quite of your mind;--tho' these pats cry aloud that they've got "too much church," 'tis all nonsense and stuff; for church is like love, of which figaro vowed that even _too much_ of it's not quite enough. ay! dose them with parsons, 'twill cure all their ills;-- copy morrison's mode when from pill-box undaunted he pours thro' the patient his black-coated pills, nor cares what their quality, so there's but quantity. i verily think 'twould be worth england's while to consider, for paddy's own benefit, whether 'twould not be as well to give up the green isle to the care, wear and tear of the church altogether. the irish are well used to treatment so pleasant; the harlot church gave them to henry plantagenet,[ ] and now if king william would make them a present to t'other chaste lady--ye saints, just imagine it! chief secs., lord-lieutenants, commanders-in-chief, might then all be culled from the episcopal benches; while colonels in black would afford some relief from the hue that reminds one of the old scarlet wench's. think how fierce at a _charge_ (being practised therein) the right reverend brigadier phillpotts would slash on! how general blomfield, thro' thick and thro' thin, to the end of the chapter (or chapters) would dash on! for in one point alone do the amply fed race of bishops to beggars similitude bear-- that, set them on horseback, in full steeple chase, and they'll ride, if not pulled up in time--you know where. but, bless you! in ireland, that matters not much, where affairs have for centuries gone the same way; and a good stanch conservative's system is such that he'd back even beelzebub's long-founded sway. i am therefore, dear _quarterly_, quite of your mind;-- church, church, in all shapes, into erin let's pour: and the more she rejecteth our medicine so kind. the more let's repeat it--"black dose, as before." let coercion, that peace-maker, go hand in hand with demure-eyed conversion, fit sister and brother; and, covering with prisons and churches the land, all that won't _go_ to _one_, we'll put _into_ the other. for the sole, leading maxim of us who're inclined to rule over ireland, not well but religiously, is to treat her like ladies who've just been confined (or who _ought_ to be so), and to _church_ her prodigiously. [ ] grant of ireland to henry ii. by pope adrian. new grand exhibition of models of the two houses of parliament. come, step in, gentlefolks, here ye may view an exact and natural representation (like siburn's model of waterloo[ ]) of the lords and commons of this here nation. there they are--all cut out in cork-- the "collective wisdom" wondrous to see; my eyes! when all them heads are at work, what a vastly weighty consarn it must be. as for the "wisdom,"--_that_ may come anon; tho', to say truth, we sometimes see (and i find the phenomenon no uncommon 'un) a man who's m.p. with a head that's m.t. our lords are _rather_ too small, 'tis true; but they do well enough for cabinet shelves; and, besides,--_what's_ a man with creeturs to do that make such _werry_ small figures themselves? there--don�t touch those lords, my pretty dears--(_aside_.) curse the children!--this comes of reforming a nation: those meddling young brats have so damaged my peers, i must lay in more cork for a new creation. them yonder's our bishops--"to whom much is given," and who're ready to take as much more as you please: the seers of old time saw visions of heaven, but these holy seers see nothing but sees. like old atlas[ ](the chap, in cheapside, there below,) 'tis for so much _per cent_, they take heaven on their shoulders; and joy 'tis to know that old high church and co., tho' not capital priests, are such capital-holders. there's one on 'em, phillpotts, who now is away, as we're having him filled with bumbustible stuff, small crackers and squibs, for a great gala-day, when we annually fire his right reverence off. 'twould do your heart good, ma'am, then to be by, when, bursting with gunpowder, 'stead of with bile, crack, crack, goes the bishop, while dowagers cry, "how like the dear man, both in matter and style!" should you want a few peers and m.p.s, to bestow, as presents to friends, we can recommend these:-- our nobles are come down to nine-pence, you know, and we charge but a penny a piece for m.p.s. those of _bottle_-corks made take most with the trade, (at least 'mong such as my _irish_ writ summons,) of old _whiskey_ corks our o'connells are made, but those we make shaws and lefroys of, are _rum_ 'uns. so, step in, gentlefolks, etc. _da capo_. [ ] one of the most interesting and curious of all the exhibitions of the day. [ ] the sign of the insurance office in cheapside. announcement of a new grand acceleration company for the promotion of the speed of literature. loud complaints being made in these quick-reading times, of too slack a supply both of prose works and rhymes, a new company, formed on the keep-moving plan, first proposed by the great firm of catch-'em-who-can, beg to say they've now ready, in full wind and speed, some fast-going authors, of quite a new breed-- such as not he who _runs_ but who _gallops_ may read-- and who, if well curried and fed, they've no doubt, will beat even bentley's swift stud out and out. it is true in these days such a drug is renown, we've "immortals" as rife as m.p.s about town; and not a blue's rout but can offhand supply some invalid bard who's insured "not to die." still let england but once try _our_ authors, she'll find how fast they'll leave even these immortals behind; and how truly the toils of alcides were light, compared with _his_ toil who can read all they write. in fact there's no saying, so gainful the trade, how fast immortalities now may be made; since helicon never will want an "undying one," as long as the public continues a buying one; and the company hope yet to witness the hour. when, by strongly applying the mare-motive[ ] power, a three-decker novel, midst oceans of praise, may be written, launched, read and--forgot, in three days! in addition to all this stupendous celerity, which--to the no small relief of posterity-- pays off at sight the whole debit of fame, nor troubles futurity even with a name (a project that won�t as much tickle tom tegg as _us_, since 'twill rob _him_ of his second-priced pegasus); we, the company--still more to show how immense is the power o'er the mind of pounds, shillings, and pence; and that not even phoebus himself, in our day, could get up a _lay_ without first an _out_-lay-- beg to add, as our literature soon may compare, in its quick make and vent, with our birmingham ware, and it doesn�t at all matter in either of these lines, how _sham_ is the article, so it but _shines_,-- we keep authors ready, all perched, pen in hand, to write off, in any given style, at command. no matter what bard, be he living or dead, ask a work from his pen, and 'tis done soon as said: there being on the establishment six walter scotts, one capital wordsworth and southeys in lots;-- three choice mrs. nortons, all singing like syrens, while most of our pallid young clerks are lord byrons. then we've ***s and ***s (for whom there's small call), and ***s and ***s (for whom no call at all). in short, whosoe'er the last "lion" may be, we've a bottom who'll copy his _roar_[ ] to a t, and so well, that not one of the buyers who've got 'em can tell which is lion, and which only bottom. n. b.--the company, since they set up in this line, have moved their concern and are now at the sign of the muse's velocipede, _fleet_ street, where all who wish well to the scheme are invited to call. [ ] "'tis money makes the mare to go." [ ] "bottom: let me play the lion; i will roar you as 'twere any nightingale." some account of the late dinner to dan. from tongue to tongue the rumor flew; all askt, aghast, "is't true? is't true?" but none knew whether 'twas fact or fable: and still the unholy rumor ran, from tory woman to tory man, tho' none to come at the truth was able-- till, lo! at last, the fact came out, the horrible fact, beyond all doubt, that dan had dined at the viceroy's table; had flesht his popish knife and fork in the heart of the establisht mutton and pork! who can forget the deep sensation that news produced in this orthodox nation? deans, rectors, curates, all agreed, if dan was allowed at the castle to feed, 'twas clearly _all up_ with the protestant creed! there hadn�t indeed such an apparition been heard of in dublin since that day when, during the first grand exhibition of don giovanni, that naughty play, there appeared, as if raised by necromancers, an _extra_ devil among the dancers! yes--every one saw with fearful thrill that a devil too much had joined the quadrille; and sulphur was smelt and the lamps let fall a grim, green light o'er the ghastly ball, and the poor _sham_ devils didn�t like it at all; for they knew from whence the intruder had come, tho' he left, that night, his tail at home. this fact, we see, is a parallel case to the dinner that some weeks since took place. with the difference slight of fiend and man, it shows what a nest of popish sinners that city must be, where the devil and dan may thus drop in at quadrilles and dinners! but mark the end of these foul proceedings, these demon hops and popish feedings. some comfort 'twill be--to those, at least, who've studied this awful dinner question-- to know that dan, on the night of that feast, was seized with a dreadful indigestion; that envoys were sent post-haste to his priest to come and absolve the suffering sinner, for eating so much at a heretic dinner; and some good people were even afraid that peel's old confectioner--still at the trade-- had poisoned the papist with _orangeade_. new hospital for sick literati. with all humility we beg to inform the public, that tom tegg-- known for his spunky speculations in buying up dead reputations, and by a mode of galvanizing which, all must own, is quite surprising, making dead authors move again, as tho' they still were living men;-- all this too managed, in a trice, by those two magic words, "half price," which brings the charm so quick about, that worn-out poets, left without a second _foot_ whereon to stand, are made to go at second _hand_;-- 'twill please the public, we repeat, to learn that tegg who works this feat, and therefore knows what care it needs to keep alive fame's invalids, has oped an hospital in town, for cases of knockt-up renown-- falls, fractures, dangerous epic _fits_ (by some called _cantoes_), stabs from wits; and of all wounds for which they're nurst, _dead cuts_ from publishers, the worst;-- all these, and other such fatalities, that happen to frail immortalities, by tegg are so expertly treated, that oft-times, when the cure's completed, the patient's made robust enough to stand a few more rounds of _puff_, till like the ghosts of dante's lay he's puft into thin air away! as titled poets (being phenomenons) don�t like to mix with low and common 'uns, tegg's hospital has separate wards, express for literary lords, where _prose_-peers, of immoderate length, are nurst, when they've outgrown their strength, and poets, whom their friends despair of, are--put to bed and taken care of. tegg begs to contradict a story now current both with whig and tory, that doctor warburton, m.p., well known for his antipathy, his deadly hate, good man, to all the race of poets great and small-- so much, that he's been heard to own, he would most willingly cut down the holiest groves on pindus' mount, to turn the timber to account!-- the story actually goes, that he prescribes at tegg's infirmary; and oft not only stints for spite the patients in their copy-right, but that, on being called in lately to two sick poets suffering greatly, this vaticidal doctor sent them so strong a dose of jeremy bentham, that one of the poor bards but cried, "oh, jerry, jerry!" and then died; while t'other, tho' less stuff was given, is on his road, 'tis feared, to heaven! of this event, howe'er unpleasant, tegg means to say no more at present,-- intending shortly to prepare a statement of the whole affair, with full accounts, at the same time, of some late cases (prose and rhyme), subscribed with every author's name, that's now on the sick list of fame. religion and trade. "sir robert peel believed it was necessary to originate all respecting religion and trade in a committee of the house." --_church extension_, may , . say, who was the wag, indecorously witty, who first in a statute this libel conveyed; and thus slyly referred to the selfsame committee, as matters congenial, religion and trade? oh surely, my phillpotts, 'twas thou didst the deed; for none but thyself or some pluralist brother, accustomed to mix up the craft with the creed, could bring such a pair thus to twin with each other. and yet, when one thinks of times present and gone, one is forced to confess on maturer reflection that 'tisn't in the eyes of committees alone that the shrine and the shop seem to have some connection. not to mention those monarchs of asia's fair land, whose civil list all is in "god-money" paid; and where the whole people, by royal command, buy their gods at the government mart, ready made;[ ]-- there was also (as mentioned, in rhyme and in prose, is) gold heaped throughout egypt on every shrine, to make rings for right reverend crocodiles' noses-- just such as, my phillpotts, would look well in thine. but one needn't fly off in this erudite mood; and 'tis clear without going to regions so sunny that priests love to do the _least_ possible good for the largest _most_ possible quantum of money. "of him," saith the text, "unto whom much is given, "of him much, in turn, will be also required:"-- "by _me_," quoth the sleek and obese man of heaven-- "give as much as you will--more will still be desired." more money! more churches!--oh nimrod, hadst thou 'stead of _tower_-extension, some shorter way gone-- hadst thou known by what methods we mount to heaven _now_, and tried _church_-extension, the feat had been done! [ ] the birmans may not buy the sacred marble in mass but must purchase figures of the deity already made.--_symes_. musings. suggested by the late promotion of mrs. nethercoat. "the widow of nethercoat is appointed jailer of loughrea, in the room of her deceased husband."--_limerick chronicle_. whether as queens or subjects, in these days, women seem formed to grace alike each station:-- as captain flaherty gallantly says, "you ladies, are the lords of the creation!" thus o'er my mind did prescient visions float of all that matchless woman yet may be; when hark! in rumors less and less remote, came the glad news o'er erin's ambient sea, the important news--that mrs. nethercoat had been appointed jailer of loughrea; yes, mark it, history--nethercoat is dead, and mrs. n. now rules his realm instead; hers the high task to wield the uplocking keys, to rivet rogues and reign o'er rapparees! thus, while your blusterers of the tory school find ireland's sanest sons so hard to rule, one meek-eyed matron in whig doctrines nurst is all that's askt to curb the maddest, worst! show me the man that dares with blushless brow prate about erin's rage and riot now; now, when her temperance forms her sole excess; when long-loved whiskey, fading from her sight, "small by degrees and beautifully less," will soon like other _spirits_ vanish quite; when of red coats the number's grown so small, that soon, to cheer the warlike parson's eyes, no glimpse of scarlet will be seen at all, save that which she of babylon supplies;-- or, at the most, a corporal's guard will be, of ireland's _red_ defence the sole remains; while of its jails bright woman keeps the key, and captive paddies languish in her chains! long may such lot be erin's, long be mine! oh yes--if even this world, tho' bright it shine, in wisdom's eyes a prison-house must be, at least let woman's hand our fetters twine, and blithe i'll sing, more joyous than if free, the nethercoats, the nethercoats for me! intended tribute to the author of an article in the last number of _the quarterly review_, entitled "romanism in ireland." it glads us much to be able to say, that a meeting is fixt for some early day, of all such dowagers--_he_ or _she_-- (no matter the sex, so they dowagers be,) whose opinions concerning church and state from about the time of the curfew date-- stanch sticklers still for days bygone, and admiring _them_ for their rust alone-- to whom if we would a leader give, worthy their tastes conservative, we need but some mummy-statesman raise, who was pickled and potted in ptolemy's days; for _that's_ the man, if waked from his shelf, to conserve and swaddle this world like himself. such, we're happy to state, are the old _he_-dames who've met in committee and given their names (in good hieroglyphics), with kind intent to pay some handsome compliment to their sister author, the nameless he, who wrote, in the last new _quarterly_, that charming assault upon popery; an article justly prized by them as a perfect antediluvian gem-- the work, as sir sampson legend would say, of some "fellow the flood couldn�t wash away."[ ] the fund being raised, there remained but to see what the dowager-author's gift was to be. and here, i must say, the sisters blue showed delicate taste and judgment too. for finding the poor man suffering greatly from the awful stuff he has thrown up lately-- so much so indeed to the alarm of all, as to bring on a fit of what doctors call the antipapistico-monomania (i'm sorry with such a long word to detain ye), they've acted the part of a kind physician, by suiting their gift to the patient's condition; and as soon as 'tis ready for presentation, we shall publish the facts for the gratification of this highly-favored and protestant nation. meanwhile, to the great alarm of his neighbors, he still continues his _quarterly_ labors; and often has strong no-popery fits, which frighten his old nurse out of her wits. sometimes he screams, like scrub in the play,[ ] "thieves! jesuits! popery!" night and day; takes the printer's devil for doctor dens, and shies at him heaps of high-church pens;[ ] which the devil (himself a touchy dissenter) feels all in his hide, like arrows, enter. 'stead of swallowing wholesome stuff from the druggist's, he _will_ keep raving of "irish thuggists;"[ ] tells us they all go murdering for fun from rise of morn till set of sun, pop, pop, as fast as a minute-gun![ ] if askt, how comes it the gown and cassock are safe and fat, mid this general massacre-- how hap sit that pat's own population but swarms the more for this trucidation-- he refers you, for all such memoranda, to the "_archives of the propaganda_!" this is all we've got, for the present, to say-- but shall take up the subject some future day. [ ] see congreve's "love for love." [ ] "beaux' stratagem." [ ] "pray, may we ask, has there been any rebellious movement of popery in ireland, since the planting of the ulster colonies, in which something of the kind was not visible among the presbyterians of the north."-- _quarterly review_. [ ] "lord lorton, for instance, who, for clearing his estate of a village of irish thuggists," etc.--_quarterly review_. [ ] "observe how murder after murder is committed like minute-guns."-- _ibid_. grand dinner of type and co. a poor poet's dream.[ ] as i sate in my study, lone and still, thinking of sergeant talfourd's bill, and the speech by lawyer sugden made, in spirit congenial, for "the trade," sudden i sunk to sleep and lo! upon fancy's reinless nightmare flitting, i found myself, in a second or so, at the table of messrs. type and co. with a goodly group of diners sitting;-- all in the printing and publishing line, drest, i thought, extremely fine, and sipping like lords their rosy wine; while i in a state near inanition with coat that hadn't much nap to spare (having just gone into its second edition), was the only wretch of an author there. but think, how great was my surprise, when i saw, in casting round my eyes, that the dishes, sent up by type's she-cooks, bore all, in appearance, the shape of books; large folios--god knows where they got 'em, in these _small_ times--at top and bottom; and quartos (such as the press provides for no one to read them) down the sides. then flasht a horrible thought on my brain, and i said to myself, "'tis all too plain, "like those well known in school quotations, "who ate up for dinner their own relations, "i see now, before me, smoking here, "the bodies and bones of my brethren dear;-- "bright sons of the lyric and epic muse, "all cut up in cutlets, or hasht in stews; "their _works_, a light thro' ages to go,-- "_themselves_, eaten up by type and co.!" while thus i moralized, on they went, finding the fare most excellent: and all so kindly, brother to brother, helping the tidbits to each other: "a slice of southey let me send you"-- "this cut of campbell i recommend you"-- "and here, my friends, is a treat indeed, "the immortal wordsworth fricasseed!" thus having, the cormorants, fed some time, upon joints of poetry--all of the prime-- with also (as type in a whisper averred it) "cold prose on the sideboard, for such as preferred it"-- they rested awhile, to recruit their force, then pounced, like kites, on the second course, which was singing-birds merely--moore and others-- who all went the way of their larger brothers; and, numerous now tho' such songsters be, 'twas really quite distressing to see a whole dishful of toms--moore, dibdin, bayly,-- bolted by type and co. so gayly! nor was this the worst--i shudder to think what a scene was disclosed when they came to drink. the warriors of odin, as every one knows, used to drink out of skulls of slaughtered foes: and type's old port, to my horror i found, was in skulls of bards sent merrily round. and still as each well-filled cranium came, a health was pledged to its owner's name; while type said slyly, midst general laughter, "we eat them up first, then drink to them after." there was _no_ standing this--incensed i broke from my bonds of sleep, and indignant woke, exclaiming, "oh shades of other times, "whose voices still sound, like deathless chimes, "could you e'er have foretold a day would be, "when a dreamer of dreams should live to see "a party of sleek and honest john bulls "hobnobbing each other in poets' skulls!" [ ] written during the late agitation of the question of copyright. church extension. to the editor of the morning chronicle. sir--a well-known classical traveller, while employed in exploring, some time since, the supposed site of the temple of diana of ephesus, was so fortunate, in the course of his researches, as to light upon a very ancient bark manuscript, which has turned out, on examination, to be part of an old ephesian newspaper;--a newspaper published, as you will see, so far back as the time when demetrius, the great shrine-extender,[ ] flourished. i am, sir, yours, etc. ephesian gazette. _second edition_. important event for the rich and religious! great meeting of silversmiths held in queen square;-- church extension, their object,--the excitement prodigious;-- demetrius, head man of the craft, takes the chair! _third edition_. the chairman still up, when our devil came away; having prefaced his speech with the usual state prayer, that the three-headed dian would kindly, this day, take the silversmiths' company under her care. being askt by some low, unestablisht divines, "when your churches are up, where are flocks to be got?" he manfully answered, "let _us_ build the shrines,[ ] "and we care not if flocks are found for them or not." he then added--to show that the silversmiths' guild were above all confined and intolerant views-- "only _pay_ thro' the nose to the altars we build, "you may _pray_ thro' the nose to what altars you choose." this tolerance, rare from a shrine-dealer's lip (tho' a tolerance mixt with due taste for the till)-- so much charmed all the holders of scriptural scrip, that their shouts of "hear!" "hear!" are re-echoing still. _fourth edition_. great stir in the shrine market! altars to phoebus are going dog-cheap--may be had for a rebus. old dian's, as usual, outsell all the rest;-- but venus's also are much in request. [ ] "for a certain man named demetrius, a silversmith, which made shrines for diana, brought no small gain unto the craftsmen: whom he called together with the workmen of like occupation, and said, sirs, ye know that by this craft we have our wealth[...to be completed... [ ] the "shrines" are supposed to have been small churches, or chapels, adjoining to the great temples. latest accounts from olympus. as news from olympus has grown rather rare, since bards, in their cruises, have ceased to _touch_ there, we extract for our readers the intelligence given, in our latest accounts from that _ci-devant_ heaven-- that realm of the by-gones, where still sit in state old god-heads and nod-heads now long out of date. jove himself, it appears, since his love-days are o'er, seems to find immortality rather a bore; tho' he still asks for news of earth's capers and crimes, and reads daily his old fellow-thunderer, _the times_. he and vulcan, it seems, by their wives still hen-_peckt_ are, and kept on a stinted allowance of nectar. old phoebus, poor lad, has given up inspiration, and packt off to earth on a _puff_ speculation. the fact is, he found his old shrines had grown dim, since bards lookt to bentley and colburn, not him. so he sold off his stud of ambrosia-fed nags. came incog. down to earth, and now writes for the _mags_; taking care that his work not a gleam hath to linger in't, from which men could guess that the god had a finger in't. there are other small facts, well deserving attention, of which our olympic despatches make mention. poor bacchus is still very ill, they allege, having never recovered the temperance pledge. "what, the irish!" he cried--"those i lookt to the most! "if they give up the _spirit_, i give up the ghost:" while momus, who used of the gods to make fun, is turned socialist now and declares there are none! but these changes, tho' curious, are all a mere farce compared to the new "_casus belli_" of mars, who, for years, has been suffering the horrors of quiet, uncheered by one glimmer of bloodshed or riot! in vain from the clouds his belligerent brow did he pop forth, in hopes that somewhere or somehow, like pat at a fair, he might "coax up a row:" but the joke wouldn't take--the whole world had got wiser; men liked not to take a great gun for adviser; and, still less, to march in fine clothes to be shot, without very well knowing for whom or for what. the french, who of slaughter had had their full swing, were content with a shot, now and then, at their king; while, in england, good fighting's a pastime so hard to gain, nobody's left to fight _with_, but lord cardigan. 'tis needless to say then how monstrously happy old mars has been made by what's now on the _tapis_; how much it delights him to see the french rally, in liberty's name, around mehemet ali; well knowing that satan himself could not find a confection of mischief much more to his mind than the old _bonnet rouge_ and the bashaw combined. right well, too, he knows, that there ne'er were attackers, whatever their cause, that they didn�t find backers; while any slight care for humanity's woes may be soothed by that "_art diplomatique_," which shows how to come in the most approved method to blows. this is all for to-day--whether mars is much vext at his friend thiers's exit, we'll know by our next. the triumphs of farce. our earth, as it rolls thro' the regions of space, wears always two faces, the dark and the sunny; and poor human life runs the same sort of race, being sad on one side--on the other side, funny. thus oft we, at eve, to the haymarket hie, to weep o'er the woes of macready;--but scarce hath the tear-drop of tragedy past from the eye, when lo! we're all laughing in fits at the farce. and still let us laugh--preach the world as it may-- where the cream of the joke is, the swarm will soon follow; heroics are very grand things in their way, but the laugh at the long run will carry it hollow. for instance, what sermon on human affairs could equal the scene that took place t'other day 'twixt romeo and louis philippe, on the stairs-- the sublime and ridiculous meeting half-way! yes, jocus! gay god, whom the gentiles supplied, and whose worship not even among christians declines, in our senate thou'st languisht since sheridan died, but sydney still keeps thee alive in our shrines. rare sydney! thrice honored the stall where he sits, and be his every honor he deigneth to climb at! had england a hierarchy formed all of wits, who but sydney would england proclaim as its primate? and long may he flourish, frank, merry and brave-- a horace to hear and a paschal to read; while he _laughs_, all is safe, but, when sydney grows grave, we shall then think the church is in danger _indeed_. meanwhile it much glads us to find he's preparing to teach _other_ bishops to "seek the right way;"[ ] and means shortly to treat the whole bench to an airing, just such as he gave to charles james t'other day. for our parts, gravity's good for the soul, such a fancy have we for the side that there's fun on, we'd rather with sydney southwest take a "stroll," than _coach_ it north-east with his lordship of lunnun. [ ] "this stroll in the metropolis is extremely well contrived for your lordship's speech; but suppose, my dear lord, that instead of going e. and n. e. you had turned about," etc.--sydney smith's _last letter to the bishop of london_. thoughts on patrons, puffs, and other matters. in an epistle from thomas moore to samuel rogers. what, _thou_, my friend! a man of rhymes, and, better still, a man of guineas, to talk of "patrons," in these times, when authors thrive like spinning-jennies, and arkwright's twist and bulwer's page alike may laugh at patronage! no, no--those times are past away, when, doomed in upper floors to star it. the bard inscribed to lords his lay,-- himself, the while, my lord mountgarret. no more he begs with air dependent. his "little bark may sail attendant" under some lordly skipper's steerage; but launched triumphant in the row, or taken by murray's self in tow. cuts both _star chamber_ and the peerage. patrons, indeed! when scarce a sail is whiskt from england by the gale. but bears on board some authors, shipt for foreign shores, all well equipt with proper book-making machinery, to sketch the morals, manners, scenery, of all such lands as they shall see, or _not_ see, as the case may be:-- it being enjoined on all who go to study first miss martineau, and learn from her the method true,[too. to _do_ one's books--and readers, for so this nymph of _nous_ and nerve teaches mankind "how to observe;" and, lest mankind at all should swerve, teaches them also "_what_ to observe." no, no, my friend--it can�t be blinkt-- the patron is a race extinct; as dead as any megatherion that ever buckland built a theory on. instead of bartering in this age our praise for pence and patronage, we authors now more prosperous elves, have learned to patronize ourselves; and since all-potent puffing's made the life of song, the soul of trade. more frugal of our praises grown, we puff no merits but our own. unlike those feeble gales of praise which critics blew in former days, our modern puffs are of a kind that truly, really _raise the wind;_ and since they've fairly set in blowing, we find them the best _trade_-winds going. 'stead of frequenting paths so slippy as her old haunts near aganippe, the muse now taking to the till has opened shop on ludgate hill (far handier than the hill of pindus, as seen from bard's back attic windows): and swallowing there without cessation large draughts (_at sight_) of inspiration, touches the _notes_ for each new theme, while still fresh "_change_ comes o'er her dream." what steam is on the deep--and more-- is the vast power of puff on shore; which jumps to glory's future tenses before the present even commences; and makes "immortal" and "divine" of us before the world has read one line of us. in old times, when the god of song drove his own two-horse team along, carrying inside a bard or two, bookt for posterity "all thro';"-- their luggage, a few close-packt rhymes, (like yours, my friend,) for after-times-- so slow the pull to fame's abode, that folks oft slept upon the road;-- and homer's self, sometimes, they say, took to his night-cap on the way. ye gods! how different is the story with our new galloping sons of glory, who, scorning all such slack and slow time, dash to posterity in _no_ time! raise but one general blast of puff to start your author--that's enough. in vain the critics set to watch him try at the starting post to catch him: he's off--the puffers carry it hollow-- the _critics_, if they please, may follow. ere _they_'ve laid down their first positions, he's fairly blown thro' six editions! in vain doth edinburgh dispense her blue and yellow pestilence (that plague so awful in my time to young and touchy sons of rhyme)-- the _quarterly_, at three months' date, to catch the unread one, comes too late; and nonsense, littered in a hurry, becomes "immortal," spite of murray. but bless me!--while i thus keep fooling, i hear a voice cry, "dinner's cooling." that postman too (who, truth to tell, 'mong men of letters bears the bell,) keeps ringing, ringing, so infernally that i _must_ stop-- yours sempiternally. thoughts on mischief. by lord stanley. (his first attempt in verse.) "evil, be thou my good." --milton. how various are the inspirations of different men in different nations! as genius prompts to good or evil, some call the muse, some raise the devil. old socrates, that pink of sages, kept a pet demon on board wages to go about with him incog., and sometimes give his wits a jog. so lyndhurst, in _our_ day, we know, keeps fresh relays of imps below, to forward from that nameless spot; his inspirations, hot and hot. but, neat as are old lyndhurst's doings-- beyond even hecate's "hell-broth" brewings-- had i, lord stanley, but my will, i'd show you mischief prettier still; mischief, combining boyhood's tricks with age's sourest politics; the urchin's freaks, the veteran's gall, both duly mixt, and matchless all; a compound naught in history reaches but machiavel, when first in breeches! yes, mischief, goddess multiform, whene'er thou, witch-like, ridest the storm, let stanley ride cockhorse behind thee-- no livelier lackey could they find thee. and, goddess, as i'm well aware, so mischief's _done_, you care not _where_, i own, 'twill most _my_ fancy tickle in paddyland to play the pickle; having got credit for inventing a new, brisk method of tormenting-- a way they call the stanley fashion, which puts all ireland in a passion; so neat it hits the mixture due of injury and insult too; so legibly it bears upon't the stamp of stanley's brazen front. ireland, we're told, means the land of _ire_; and _why_ she's so, none need inquire, who sees her millions, martial, manly, spat upon thus by me, lord stanley. already in the breeze i scent the whiff of coming devilment; of strife, to me more stirring far than the opium or the sulphur war, or any such drug ferments are. yes--sweeter to this tory soul than all such pests, from pole to pole, is the rich, "sweltered venom" got by stirring ireland's "charmed pot;" and thanks to practice on that land i stir it with a master-hand. again thou'lt see, when forth have gone the war-church-cry, "on, stanley, on!" how caravats and shanavests shall swarm from out their mountain nests, with all their merry moonlight brothers, to whom the church (_step_-dame to others) hath been the best of nursing mothers. again o'er erin's rich domain shall rockites and right reverends reign; and both, exempt from vulgar toil, between them share that titheful soil; puzzling ambition _which_ to climb at, the post of captain, or of primate. and so, long life to church and co.-- hurrah for mischief!--here we go. epistle from captain rock to lord lyndhurst. dear lyndhurst,--you'll pardon my making thus free,-- but form is all fudge 'twixt such "comrogues" as we, who, whate'er the smooth views we, in public, may drive at, have both the same praiseworthy object, in private-- namely, never to let the old regions of riot, where rock hath long reigned, have one instant of quiet, but keep ireland still in that liquid we've taught her to love more than meat, drink, or clothing--_hot water_. all the difference betwixt you and me, as i take it, is simply, that _you_ make the law and _i_ break it; and never, of big-wigs and small, were there two played so well into each other's hands as we do; insomuch, that the laws you and yours manufacture, seem all made express for the rock-boys to fracture. not birmingham's self--to her shame be it spoken-- e'er made things more neatly contrived to be broken; and hence, i confess, in this island religious, the breakage of laws--and of heads _is_ prodigious. and long may it thrive, my ex-bigwig, say i,-- tho', of late, much i feared all our fun was gone by; as, except when some tithe-hunting parson showed sport, some rector--a cool hand at pistols and port, who "keeps dry" his _powder_, but never _himself_-- one who, leaving his bible to rust on the shelf, sends his pious texts home, in the shape of ball-cartridges, shooting his "dearly beloved," like partridges; except when some hero of this sort turned out, or, the exchequer sent, flaming, its tithe-writs[ ] about-- a contrivance more neat, i may say, without flattery, than e'er yet was thought of for bloodshed and battery; so neat, that even _i_ might be proud, i allow, to have bit off so rich a receipt for a _row_;-- except for such rigs turning up, now and then, i was actually growing the dullest of men; and, had this blank fit been allowed to increase, might have snored myself down to a justice of peace. like you, reformation in church and in state is the thing of all things i most cordially hate. if once these curst ministers do as they like, all's o'er, my good lord, with your wig and my pike, and one may be hung up on t'other, henceforth, just to show what _such_ captains and chancellors were worth. but we must not despair--even already hope sees you're about, my bold baron, to kick up a breeze of the true baffling sort, such as suits me and you, who have boxt the whole compass of party right thro', and care not one farthing, as all the world knows, so we _but_ raise the wind, from what quarter it blows. forgive me, dear lord, that thus rudely i dare my own small resources with thine to compare: not even jerry diddler, in "raising the wind," durst complete, for one instant, with thee, my dear lyndhurst. but, hark, there's a shot!--some parsonic practitioner? no--merely a bran-new rebellion commissioner; the courts having now, with true law erudition, put even rebellion itself "in commission." as seldom, in _this_ way, i'm any man's debtor, i'll just _pay my shot_ and then fold up this letter. in the mean time, hurrah for the tories and rocks! hurrah for the parsons who fleece well their flocks! hurrah for all mischief in all ranks and spheres, and, above all, hurrah for that dear house of peers! [ ] exchequer tithe processes, served under a commission of rebellion.--_chronicle_. captain rock in london. letter from the captain to terry alt, esq.[ ] here i am, at headquarters, dear terry, once more, deep in tory designs, as i've oft been before: for, bless them! if 'twasn't for this wrong-headed crew, you and i, terry alt, would scarce know what to do; so ready they're always, when dull we are growing, to set our old concert of discord a-going, while lyndhurst's the lad, with his tory-whig face, to play in such concert the true _double-base_. i had feared this old prop of my realm was beginning to tire of his course of political sinning, and, like mother cole, when her heyday was past, meant by way of a change to try virtue at last. but i wronged the old boy, who as staunchly derides all reform in himself as in most things besides; and, by using _two_ faces thro' life, all allow, has acquired face sufficient for _any_-thing now. in short, he's all right; and, if mankind's old foe, my "lord harry" himself--who's the leader, we know, of another red-hot opposition below-- if that "lord," in his well-known discernment, but spares me and lyndhurst, to look after ireland's affairs, we shall soon such a region of devilment make it, that old nick himself for his own may mistake it. even already--long life to such bigwigs, say i, for, as long as they flourish, we rocks cannot die-- he has served our right riotous cause by a speech whose perfection of mischief he only could reach; as it shows off both _his_ and _my_ merits alike, both the swell of the wig and the point of the pike; mixes up, with a skill which one can�t but admire, the lawyer's cool craft with the incendiary's fire, and enlists, in the gravest, most plausible manner, seven millions of souls under rockery's banner! oh terry, my man, let this speech _never_ die; thro' the regions of rockland, like flame, let it fly; let each syllable dark the law-oracle uttered by all tipperary's wild echoes be muttered. till naught shall be heard, over hill, dale or flood, but "_you're aliens in language, in creed and in blood;_" while voices, from sweet connemara afar, shall answer, like true _irish_ echoes, "we are!" and, tho' false be the cry, and the sense must abhor it, still the echoes may quote _law_ authority for it, and naught lyndhurst cares for my spread of dominion so he, in the end, touches cash "for the _opinion_." but i've no time for more, my dear terry, just now, being busy in helping these lords thro' their __row_. they're bad hands at mob-work, but once they begin, they'll have plenty of practice to break them well in. [ ] the subordinate officer or lieutenant of captain rock. political and satirical poems. lines on the death of mr. perceval. in the dirge we sung o'er him no censure was heard, unembittered and free did the tear-drop descend; we forgot, in that hour, how the statesman had erred, and wept for the husband, the father and friend. oh! proud was the meed his integrity won, and generous indeed were the tears that we shed, when in grief we forgot all the ill he had done, and tho' wronged by him living, bewailed him, when dead. even now if one harsher emotion intrude, 'tis to wish he had chosen some lowlier state, had known what he was--and, content to be _good_, had ne'er for our ruin aspired to be _great_. so, left thro' their own little orbit to move, his years might have rolled inoffensive away; his children might still have been blest with his love, and england would ne'er have been curst with his sway. to the editor of "the morning chronicle." _sir_,--in order to explain the following fragment, it is necessary to refer your readers to a late florid description of the pavilion at brighton, in the apartments of which, we are told, "fum, _the chinese bird of royalty_," is a principal ornament. i am, sir, yours, etc. mum. fum and hum, the two birds of royalty. one day the chinese bird of royalty, fum, thus accosted our own bird of royalty, hum, in that palace or china-shop (brighton, which is it?) where fum had just come to pay hum a short visit.-- near akin are these birds, tho' they differ in nation (the breed of the hums is as old as creation); both, full-crawed legitimates--both, birds of prey, both, cackling and ravenous creatures, half way 'twixt the goose and the vulture, like lord castlereagh. while fum deals in mandarins bonzes, bohea, peers, bishops and punch, hum.--are sacred to thee so congenial their tastes, that, when fum first did light on the floor of that grand china-warehouse at brighton, the lanterns and dragons and things round the dome where so like what he left, "gad," says fum, "i'm at home,"-- and when, turning, he saw bishop l--ge, "zooks, it is." quoth the bird, "yes--i know him--a bonze, by his phiz- "and that jolly old idol he kneels to so low "can be none but our round-about god-head, fat fo!" it chanced at this moment, the episcopal prig was imploring the prince to dispense with his wig,[ ] which the bird, overhearing, flew high o'er his head, and some tobit-like marks of his patronage shed, which so dimmed the poor dandy's idolatrous eye, that, while fum cried "oh fo!" all the court cried "oh fie!" but a truce to digression;--these birds of a feather thus talkt, t'other night, on state matters together; (the prince just in bed, or about to depart for't, his legs full of gout, and his arms full of hartford,) "i say, hum," says fum--fum, of course, spoke chinese, but, bless you! that's nothing--at brighton one sees foreign lingoes and bishops _translated_ with ease-- "i say, hum, how fares it with royalty now? "is it _up_? is it _prime_? is it _spooney_-or how?" (the bird had just taken a flash-man's degree under barrymore, yarmouth, and young master l--e,) "as for us in pekin"--here, a devil of a din from the bed-chamber came, where that long mandarin, castlereagh (whom fum calls the _confucius_ of prose), was rehearsing a speech upon europe's repose to the deep, double bass of the fat idol's nose. (_nota bene_--his lordship and liverpool come, in collateral lines, from the old mother hum, castlereagh a hum-bug--liverpool a hum-drum,) the speech being finisht, out rusht castlereagh. saddled hum in a hurry, and, whip, spur, away! thro' the regions of air, like a snip on his hobby, ne'er paused till he lighted in st. stephen's lobby. [ ] in consequence of an old promise, that he should be allowed to wear his own hair, whenever he might be elevated to a bishopric by his royal highness. lines on the death of sheridan. _principibus placuisse viris_! --horat. yes, grief will have way--but the fast falling tear shall be mingled with deep execrations on those who could bask in that spirit's meridian career. and yet leave it thus lonely and dark at its close:-- whose vanity flew round him, only while fed by the odor his fame in its summer-time gave;-- whose vanity now, with quick scent for the dead, like the ghoul of the east, comes to feed at his grave. oh! it sickens the heart to see bosoms so hollow, and spirits so mean in the great and high-born; to think what a long line of titles may follow the relics of him who died--friendless and lorn! how proud they can press to the funeral array of one whom they shunned in his sickness and sorrow:-- how bailiffs may seize his last blanket to-day, whose palls shall be held up by nobles to-morrow! and thou too whose life, a sick epicure's dream, incoherent and gross, even grosser had past, were it not for that cordial and soul-giving beam which his friendship and wit o'er thy nothingness cast:-- no! not for the wealth of the land that supplies thee with millions to heap upon foppery's shrine;-- no! not for the riches of all who despise thee, tho' this would make europe's whole opulence mine;-- would i suffer what--even in the heart that thou hast-- all mean as it is--must have consciously burned. when the pittance, which shame had wrung from thee at last, and which found all his wants at an end, was returned![ ] "was this then the fate,"--future ages will say, when _some_ names shall live but in history's curse; when truth will be heard, and these lords of a day be forgotten as fools or remembered as worse;-- "was this then the fate of that high-gifted man, "the pride of the palace, the bower and the hall, "the orator,--dramatist,--minstrel,--who ran "thro' each mode of the lyre and was master of all;-- "whose mind was an essence compounded with art "from the finest and best of all other men's powers;- "who ruled, like a wizard, the world of the heart, "and could call up its sunshine or bring down its showers;-- "whose humor, as gay as the firefly's light, "played round every subject and shone as it played;-- "whose wit in the combat, as gentle as bright, "ne'er carried a heart-stain away on its blade;-- "whose eloquence--brightening whatever it tried, "whether reason or fancy, the gay or the grave,-- "was as rapid, as deep and as brilliant a tide, "as ever bore freedom aloft on its wave!" yes--such was the man and so wretched his fate;-- and thus, sooner or later, shall all have to grieve, who waste their morn's dew in the beams of the great, and expect 'twill return to refresh them at eve. in the woods of the north there are insects that prey on the brain of the elk till his very last sigh;[ ] oh, genius! thy patrons, more cruel than they, first feed on thy brains and then leave thee to die! [ ] the sum was two hundred pounds--offered when sheridan could no longer take any sustenance, and declined, for him, by his friends. [ ] naturalists have observed that, upon dissecting an elk, there was found in its head some large flies, with its brain almost eaten away by them,--_history of poland_. epistle from tom crib to big ben.[ ] concerning some foul play in a late transaction.[ ] _"ahi, mio ben!"_ --metastasio.[ ] what! ben, my old hero, is this your renown? is _this_ the new _go_?--kick a man when he's down! when the foe has knockt under, to tread on him then-- by the fist of my father, i blush for thee, ben! "foul! foul!" all the lads of the fancy exclaim-- charley shock is electrified--belcher spits flame-- and molyneux--ay, even blacky[ ] cries "shame!" time was, when john bull little difference spied 'twixt the foe at his feet and the friend at his side: when he found (such his humor in fighting and eating) his foe, like his beef-steak, the sweeter for beating. but this comes, master ben, of your curst foreign notions, your trinkets, wigs, thingumbobs, gold lace and lotions; your noyaus, curacoas, and the devil knows what-- (one swig of _blue ruin_[ ] is worth the whole lot!) your great and small _crosses_--my eyes, what a brood! (a _cross_-buttock from _me_ would do some of them good!) which have spoilt you, till hardly a drop, my old porpoise, of pure english _claret_ is left in your _corpus_; and (as jim says) the only one trick, good or bad, of the fancy you're up to, is _fibbing_, my lad. hence it comes,--boxiana, disgrace to thy page!-- having floored, by good luck, the first _swell_ of the age, having conquered the _prime one_, that _milled_ us all round, you kickt him, old ben, as he gaspt on the ground! ay--just at the time to show spunk, if you'd got any-- kickt him and jawed him and _lagged_[ ] him to botany! oh, shade of the _cheesemonger_![ ] you, who, alas! _doubled up_ by the dozen those moun-seers in brass, on that great day of _milling_, when blood lay in lakes, when kings held the bottle, and europe the stakes, look down upon ben--see him, _dung-hill_ all o'er, insult the fallen foe that can harm him no more! out, cowardly _spooney_!--again and again, by the fist of my father, i blush for thee, ben. to _show the white feather_ is many men's doom, but, what of _one_ feather?--ben shows a _whole plume_. [ ] a nickname given, at this time, to the prince regent. [ ] written soon after bonaparte's transportation to st. helena. [ ] tom, i suppose, was "assisted" to this motto by mr. jackson, who, it is well known, keeps the most learned company going. [ ] names and nicknames of celebrated pugilists at that time. [ ] gin. [ ] transported. [ ] a life-guardsman, one of _the fancy_ who distinguished himself and was killed in the memorable _set-to_ at waterloo. fables for the holy alliance. _tu regibus alas eripe_ vergil, _georg. lib_. iv. --clip the wings of these high-flying arbitrary kings. dryden's _translation_. dedication. to lord byron. dear lord byron,--though this volume should possess no other merit in your eyes, than that of reminding you of the short time we passed together at venice, when some of the trifles which it contains were written, you will, i am sure, receive the dedication of it with pleasure, and believe that i am, my dear lord, ever faithfully yours, t. b. preface. though it was the wish of the members of the poco-curante society (who have lately done me the honor of electing me their secretary) that i should prefix my name to the following miscellany, it is but fair to them and to myself to state, that, except in the "painful pre-eminence" of being employed to transcribe their lucubrations, my claim to such a distinction in the title-page is not greater than that of any other gentleman, who has contributed his share to the contents of the volume. i had originally intended to take this opportunity of giving some account of the origin and objects of our institution, the names and characters of the different members, etc.--but as i am at present preparing for the press the first volume of the "transactions of the pococurante society," i shall reserve for that occasion all further details upon the subject, and content myself here with referring, for a general insight into our tenets, to a song which will be found at the end of this work and which is sung to us on the first day of every month, by one of our oldest members, to the tune of (as far as i can recollect, being no musician,) either "nancy dawson" or "he stole away the bacon." it may be as well also to state for the information of those critics who attack with the hope of being answered, and of being thereby brought into notice, that it is the rule of this society to return no other answer to such assailants, than is contained in the three words "_non curat hippoclides_" (meaning, in english, "hippoclides does not care a fig,") which were spoken two thousand years ago by the first founder of poco- curantism, and have ever since been adopted as the leading _dictum_ of the sect. thomas brown. fables for the holy alliance. fable i. the dissolution of the holy alliance. a dream. i've had a dream that bodes no good unto the holy brotherhood. i may be wrong, but i confess-- as far as it is right or lawful for one, no conjurer, to guess-- it seems to me extremely awful. methought, upon the neva's flood a beautiful ice palace stood, a dome of frost-work, on the plan of that once built by empress anne,[ ] which shone by moonlight--as the tale is-- like an aurora borealis. in this said palace, furnisht all and lighted as the best on land are, i dreamt there was a splendid ball, given by the emperor alexander, to entertain with all due zeal, those holy gentlemen, who've shown a regard so kind for europe's weal, at troppau, laybach and verona. the thought was happy--and designed to hint how thus the human mind may, like the stream imprisoned there, be checkt and chilled, till it can bear the heaviest kings, that ode or sonnet e'er yet be-praised, to dance upon it. and all were pleased and cold and stately, shivering in grand illumination-- admired the superstructure greatly, nor gave one thought to the foundation. much too the tsar himself exulted, to all plebeian fears a stranger, for, madame krudener, when consulted, had pledged her word there was no danger so, on he capered, fearless quite, thinking himself extremely clever, and waltzed away with all his might, as if the frost would last forever. just fancy how a bard like me, who reverence monarchs, must have trembled to see that goodly company, at such a ticklish sport assembled. nor were the fears, that thus astounded my loyal soul, at all unfounded-- for, lo! ere long, those walls so massy were seized with an ill-omened dripping, and o'er the floors, now growing glassy, their holinesses took to slipping. the tsar, half thro' a polonaise, could scarce get on for downright stumbling; and prussia, tho' to slippery ways well used, was cursedly near tumbling. yet still 'twas, _who_ could stamp the floor most, russia and austria 'mong the foremost.-- and now, to an italian air, this precious brace would, hand in hand, go; now--while old louis, from his chair, intreated them his toes to spare-- called loudly out for a fandango. and a fandango, 'faith, they had, at which they all set to, like mad! never were kings (tho' small the expense is of wit among their excellencies) so out of all their princely senses, but ah! that dance--that spanish dance-- scarce was the luckless strain begun, when, glaring red, as 'twere a glance shot from an angry southern sun, a light thro' all the chambers flamed, astonishing old father frost, who, bursting into tears, exclaimed, "a thaw, by jove--we're lost, we're lost! "run, france--a second _water_loo "is come to drown you-_sauve qui peut_!" why, why will monarchs caper so in palaces without foundations?-- instantly all was in a flow, crowns, fiddles, sceptres, decorations-- those royal arms, that lookt so nice, cut out in the resplendent ice-- those eagles, handsomely provided with double heads for double dealings-- how fast the globes and sceptres glided out of their claws on all the ceilings! proud prussia's double bird of prey tame as a spatch cock, slunk away; while--just like france herself, when she proclaims how great her naval skill is-- poor louis's drowning fleurs-de-lys imagined themselves _water_-lilies. and not alone rooms, ceilings, shelves, but--still more fatal execution-- the great legitimates themselves seemed in a state of dissolution. the indignant tsar--when just about to issue a sublime ukase, "whereas all light must be kept out"-- dissolved to nothing in its blaze. next prussia took his turn to melt, and, while his lips illustrious felt the influence of this southern air, some word, like "constitution"--long congealed in frosty silence there-- came slowly thawing from his tongue. while louis, lapsing by degrees, and sighing out a faint adieu to truffles, salmis, toasted cheese and smoking _fondus_, quickly grew, himself, into a _fondu_ too;-- or like that goodly king they make of sugar for a twelfth-night cake, when, in some urchin's mouth, alas! it melts into a shapeless mass! in short, i scarce could count a minute, ere the bright dome and all within it, kings, fiddlers, emperors, all were gone-- and nothing now was seen or heard but the bright river, rushing on, happy as an enfranchised bird, and prouder of that natural ray, shining along its chainless way-- more proudly happy thus to glide in simple grandeur to the sea, than when, in sparkling fetters tied, 'twas deckt with all that kingly pride could bring to light its slavery! such is my dream--and, i confess, i tremble at its awfulness. that spanish dance--that southern beam-- but i say nothing--there's my dream-- and madame krüdener, the she-prophet, may make just what she pleases of it. [ ] "it is well-known that the empress anne built a palace of ice on the neva, in , which was fifty-two feet in length, and when illuminated had a surprising effect."--pinkerton. fable ii. the looking-glasses. proem. where kings have been by mob-elections raised to the throne, 'tis strange to see what different and what odd perfections men have required in royalty. some, liking monarchs large and plumpy, have chosen their sovereigns by the weight;-- some wisht them tall, some thought your dumpy, dutch-built, the true legitimate.[ ] the easterns in a prince, 'tis said, prefer what's called a jolterhead:[ ] the egyptians weren't at all partic'lar, so that their kings had _not_ red hair-- _this_ fault not even the greatest stickler for the blood-royal well could bear. a thousand more such illustrations might be adduced from various nations. but, 'mong the many tales they tell us, touching the acquired or natural right which some men have to rule their fellows, there's one which i shall here recite:-- fable. there was a land--to _name_ the place is neither now my wish nor duty-- where reigned a certain royal race, by right of their superior beauty. what was the cut legitimate of these great persons' chins and noses, by right of which they ruled the state, no history i have seen discloses. but so it was--a settled case-- some act of parliament, past snugly, had voted _them_ a beauteous race, and all their faithful subjects ugly. as rank indeed stood high or low, some change it made in visual organs; your peers were decent--knights, so so-- but all your _common_ people, gorgons! of course, if any knave but hinted that the king's nose was turned awry, or that the queen (god bless her!) squinted-- the judges doomed that knave to die. but rarely things like this occurred, the people to their king were duteous, and took it, on his royal word, that they were frights and he was beauteous. the cause whereof, among all classes, was simply this--these island elves had never yet seen looking-glasses, and therefore did not _know themselves_. sometimes indeed their neighbors' faces might strike them as more full of reason, more fresh than those in certain places-- but, lord, the very thought was treason! besides, howe'er we love our neighbor, and take his face's part, 'tis known we ne'er so much in earnest labor, as when the face attackt's our own. so on they went--the crowd believing-- (as crowds well governed always do) their rulers, too, themselves deceiving-- so old the joke, they thought 'twas true. but jokes, we know, if they too far go, must have an end--and so, one day, upon that coast there was a cargo of looking-glasses cast away. 'twas said, some radicals, somewhere, had laid their wicked heads together, and forced that ship to founder there,-- while some believe it was the weather. however this might be, the freight was landed without fees or duties; and from that hour historians date the downfall of the race of beauties. the looking-glasses got about, and grew so common thro' the land, that scarce a tinker could walk out, without a mirror in his hand. comparing faces, morning, noon, and night, their constant occupation-- by dint of looking-glasses, soon, they grew a most reflecting nation. in vain the court, aware of errors in all the old, establisht mazards, prohibited the use of mirrors and tried to break them at all hazards:-- in vain--their laws might just as well have been waste paper on the shelves; that fatal freight had broke the spell; people had lookt--and knew themselves. if chance a duke, of birth sublime, presumed upon his ancient face, (some calf-head, ugly from all time,) they popt a mirror to his grace;-- just hinting, by that gentle sign, how little nature holds it true, that what is called an ancient line, must be the line of beauty too. from dukes' they past to regal phizzes, compared them proudly with their own, and cried. "how _could_ such monstrous quizzes "in beauty's name usurp the throne!"-- they then wrote essays, pamphlets, books, upon cosmetical oeconomy, which made the king try various looks, but none improved his physiognomy. and satires at the court were levelled, and small lampoons, so full of slynesses, that soon, in short, they quite bedeviled their majesties and royal highnesses. at length--but here i drop the veil, to spare some royal folks' sensations;-- besides, what followed is the tale of all such late-enlightened nations; of all to whom old time discloses a truth they should have sooner known-- that kings have neither rights nor noses a whit diviner than their own. [ ] the goths had a law to choose always a short, thick man for their king.--munster, "_cosmog." lib_. iii. p. . [ ] "in a prince a jolter-head is invaluable."--_oriental field sports_. fable iii. the torch of liberty. i saw it all in fancy's glass-- herself, the fair, the wild magician, who bade this splendid day-dream pass, and named each gliding apparition. 'twas like a torch-race--such as they of greece performed, in ages gone, when the fleet youths, in long array, past the bright torch triumphant on. i saw the expectant nations stand, to catch the coming flame in turn;-- i saw, from ready hand to hand, the clear tho' struggling glory burn. and oh! their joy, as it came near, 'twas in itself a joy to see;-- while fancy whispered in my ear. "that torch they pass is liberty!" and each, as she received the flame, lighted her altar with its ray; then, smiling, to the next who came, speeded it on its sparkling way. from albion first, whose ancient shrine was furnisht with the fire already, columbia caught the boon divine, and lit a flame, like albion's, steady. the splendid gift then gallia took, and, like a wild bacchante, raising the brand aloft, its sparkles shook, as she would set the world _a-blazing_! thus kindling wild, so fierce and high her altar blazed into the air, that albion, to that fire too nigh, shrunk back and shuddered at its glare! next, spain, so new was light to her, leapt at the torch--but, ere the spark that fell upon her shrine could stir, 'twas quenched--and all again was dark. yet, no--_not_ quenched--a treasure worth so much to mortals rarely dies: again her living light lookt forth, and shone, a beacon, in all eyes. who next received the flame? alas! unworthy naples--shame of shames, that ever thro' such hands should pass that brightest of all earthly flames! scarce had her fingers touched the torch. when, frighted by the sparks it shed, nor waiting even to feel the scorch, she dropt it to the earth--and fled. and fallen it might have long remained; but greece, who saw her moment now, caught up the prize, tho' prostrate, stained, and waved it round her beauteous brow. and fancy bade me mark where, o'er her altar, as its flame ascended, fair, laurelled spirits seemed to soar, who thus in song their voices blended:-- "shine, shine for ever, glorious flame, "divinest gift of gods to men! "from greece thy earliest splendor came, "to greece thy ray returns again. "take, freedom, take thy radiant round, "when _dimmed_, revive, when lost, return, "till not a shrine thro' earth be found, "on which thy glories shall not burn." fable iv. the fly and the bullock. proem. of all that, to the sage's survey, this world presents of topsy-turvy, there's naught so much disturbs one's patience, as little minds in lofty stations. 'tis like that sort of painful wonder. which slender columns, laboring under enormous arches, give beholders;-- or those poor caryatides, condemned to smile and stand at ease, with a whole house upon their shoulders. if as in some few royal cases, small minds are _born_ into such places-- if they are there by right divine or any such sufficient reason, why--heaven forbid we should repine!-- to wish it otherwise were treason; nay, even to see it in a vision, would be what lawyers call _misprision_. sir robert filmer saith--and he, of course, knew all about the matter-- "both men and beasts love monarchy;" which proves how rational the latter. sidney, we know, or wrong or right. entirely differed from the knight: nay, hints a king may lose his head. by slipping awkwardly his bridle:-- but this is treasonous, ill-bred, and (now-a-days, when kings are led in patent snaffles) downright idle. no, no--it isn�t right-line kings, (those sovereign lords in leading strings who, from their birth, are faith-defenders,) that move my wrath--'tis your pretenders, your mushroom rulers, sons of earth, who--not, like t'others, bores by birth, establisht _gratiâ dei_ blockheads, born with three kingdoms in their pockets-- yet, with a brass that nothing stops, push up into the loftiest stations, and, tho' too dull to manage shops, presume, the dolts, to manage nations! this class it is, that moves my gall, and stirs up bile, and spleen and all. while other senseless things appear to know the limits of their sphere-- while not a cow on earth romances so much as to conceit she dances-- while the most jumping frog we know of, would scarce at astley's hope to show off-- your ***s, your ***s dare, untrained as are their minds, to set them to _any_ business, _any_ where, at _any_ time that fools will let them. but leave we here these upstart things-- my business is just now with kings; to whom and to their right-line glory, i dedicate the following story. fable the wise men of egypt were secret as dummies; and even when they most condescended to teach, they packt up their meaning, as they did their mummies, in so many wrappers, 'twas out of one's reach. they were also, good people, much given to kings-- fond of craft and of crocodiles, monkeys and mystery; but blue-bottle flies were their best beloved things-- as will partly appear in this very short history. a scythian philosopher (nephew, they say, to that other great traveller, young anacharsis,) stept into a temple at memphis one day, to have a short peep at their mystical farces. he saw a brisk blue-bottle fly on an altar, made much of, and worshipt, as something divine; while a large, handsome bullock, led there in a halter, before it lay stabbed at the foot of the shrine. surprised at such doings, he whispered his teacher-- "if 'tisn't impertinent, may i ask why "should a bullock, that useful and powerful creature, "be thus offered up to a bluebottle fly?" "no wonder"--said t'other--"you stare at the sight, "but we as a symbol of monarchy view it-- "that fly on the shrine is legitimate right, "and that bullock, the people that's sacrificed to it." fable v. church and state. proem "the moment any religion becomes national, or established, its purity must certainly be lost, because it is then impossible to keep it unconnected with men's interests; and, if connected, it must inevitably be perverted by them." --soame jenyns thus did soame jenyns--tho' a tory, a lord of trade and the plantations; feel how religion's simple glory is stained by state associations. when catharine, ere she crusht the poles, appealed to the benign divinity; then cut them up in protocols, made fractions of their very souls-- all in the name of the blest trinity; or when her grandson, alexander, that mighty northern salamander,[ ] whose icy touch, felt all about, puts every fire of freedom out-- when he, too, winds up his ukases with god and the panagia's praises-- when he, of royal saints the type, in holy water dips the sponge, with which, at one imperial wipe, he would all human rights expunge; when louis (whom as king, and eater, some name _dix-huit_, and some _deshuitres_.) calls down "st. louis's god" to witness the right, humanity, and fitness of sending eighty thousand solons, sages with muskets and laced coats, to cram instruction, _nolens volens_, down the poor struggling spaniards' throats-- i can�t help thinking, (tho' to kings i must, of course, like other men, bow,) that when a christian monarch brings religion's name to gloss these things-- such blasphemy out-benbows benbow![ ] or--not so far for facts to roam, having a few much nearer home- when we see churchmen, who, if askt, "must ireland's slaves be tithed, and taskt, "and driven, like negroes or croats, "that _you_ may roll in wealth and bliss?" look from beneath their shovel hats with all due pomp and answer "yes!" but then, if questioned, "shall the brand "intolerance flings throughout that land,-- "shall the fierce strife now taught to grow 'betwixt her palaces and hovels, "be ever quenched?"--from the same shovels look grandly forth and answer "no."-- alas, alas! have _these_ a claim to merciful religion's name? if more you seek, go see a bevy of bowing parsons at a levee-- (choosing your time, when straw's before some apoplectic bishop's door,) then if thou canst with life escape that rush of lawn, that press of crape, just watch their reverences and graces, as on each smirking suitor frisks, and say, if those round shining faces to heaven or earth most turn their disks? this, this it is--religion, made, twixt church and state, a truck, a trade-- this most ill-matched, unholy _co_., from whence the ills we witness flow; the war of many creeds with one-- the extremes of _too_ much faith and none-- till, betwixt ancient trash and new, 'twixt cant and blasphemy--the two rank ills with which this age is curst-- we can no more tell which is worst, than erst could egypt, when so rich in various plagues, determine which she thought most pestilent and vile, her frogs, like benbow and carlisle, croaking their native mud-notes loud, or her fat locusts, like a cloud of pluralists, obesely lowering, at once benighting and devouring!-- this--this it is--and here i pray those sapient wits of the reviews. who make us poor, dull authors say, not what we mean, but what they choose; who to our most abundant shares of nonsense add still more of theirs, and are to poets just such evils as caterpillars find those flies,[ ] which, not content to sting like devils, lay eggs upon their backs like wise-- to guard against such foul deposits of other's meaning in my rhymes, (a thing more needful here because it's a subject, ticklish in these times)-- i, here, to all such wits make known, monthly and weekly, whig and tory, 'tis _this_ religion--this alone-- i aim at in the following story:-- fable. when royalty was young and bold, ere, touched by time, he had become-- if 'tisn't civil to say _old_, at least, a _ci-devant jeune homme_; one evening, on some wild pursuit driving along, he chanced to see religion, passing by on foot, and took him in his vis-à-vis. this said religion was a friar, the humblest and the best of men, who ne'er had notion or desire of riding in a coach till then. "i say"--quoth royalty, who rather enjoyed a masquerading joke-- "i say, suppose, my good old father, "you lend me for a while your cloak." the friar consented--little knew what tricks the youth had in his head; besides, was rather tempted too by a laced coat he got instead. away ran royalty, slap-dash, scampering like mad about the town; broke windows, shivered lamps to smash, and knockt whole scores of watchmen down. while naught could they, whose heads were broke, learn of the "why" or the "wherefore," except that 'twas religion's cloak the gentleman, who crackt them, wore, meanwhile, the friar, whose head was turned by the laced coat, grew frisky too; lookt big--his former habits spurned-- and stormed about, as great men do: dealt much in pompous oaths and curses-- said "damn you" often, or as bad-- laid claim to other people's purses-- in short, grew either knaves or mad. as work like this was unbefitting, and flesh and blood no longer bore it, the court of common sense, then sitting, summoned the culprits both before it. where, after hours in wrangling spent (as courts must wrangle to decide well). religion to st. luke's was sent, and royalty packt off to bridewell. with this proviso--should they be restored, in due time, to their senses, they both must give security, in future, against such offences-- religion ne'er to _lend his cloak_, seeing what dreadful work it leads to; and royalty to crack his joke,-- but _not_ to crack poor people's heads too. [ ] the salamander is supposed to have the power of extinguishing fire by its natural coldness and moisture. [ ] a well-known publisher of irreligious books. [ ] "the greatest number of the ichneumon tribe are seen settling upon the back of the caterpillar, and darting at different intervals their stings into its body--at every dart they deposit an egg"--goldsmith. fable vi. the little grand lama. proem. novella, a young bolognese, the daughter of a learned law doctor,[ ] who had with all the subtleties of old and modern jurists stockt her, was so exceeding fair, 'tis said, and over hearts held such dominion, that when her father, sick in bed, or busy, sent her, in his stead, to lecture on the code justinian, she had a curtain drawn before her, lest, if her charms were seen, the students should let their young eyes wander o'er her, and quite forget their jurisprudence. just so it is with truth, when _seen_, too dazzling far,--'tis from behind a light, thin allegoric screen, she thus can safest leach mankind. fable. in thibet once there reigned, we're told, a little lama, one year old-- raised to the throne, that realm to bless, just when his little holiness had cut--as near as can be reckoned-- some say his _first_ tooth, some his _second_. chronologers and nurses vary, which proves historians should be wary. we only know the important truth, his majesty _had_ cut a tooth. and much his subjects were enchanted,-- as well all lamas' subjects _may_ be, and would have given their heads, if wanted, to make tee-totums for the baby. throned as he was by right divine-- (what lawyers call _jure divino_, meaning a right to yours and mine and everybody's goods and rhino.) of course, his faithful subjects' purses were ready with their aids and succors; nothing was seen but pensioned nurses; and the land groaned with bibs and tuckers. oh! had there been a hume or bennet, then sitting in the thibet senate, ye gods! what room for long debates upon the nursery estimates! what cutting down of swaddling-clothes and pinafores, in nightly battles! what calls for papers to expose the waste of sugar-plums and rattles! but no--if thibet _had_ m.p.s, they were far better bred than these; nor gave the slightest opposition, during the monarch's whole dentition. but short this calm;--for, just when he, had reached the alarming age of three, when royal natures and no doubt those of _all_ noble beasts break out-- the lama, who till then was quiet, showed symptoms of a taste for riot; and, ripe for mischief, early, late, without regard for church or state, made free with whosoe'er came nigh; tweakt the lord chancellor by the nose, turned all the judges' wigs awry, and trod on the old generals' toes; pelted the bishops with hot buns, rode cock-horse on the city maces, and shot from little devilish guns, hard peas into the subjects' faces. in short, such wicked pranks he played, and' grew so mischievous, god bless him! that his chief nurse--with even the aid of an archbishop--was afraid. when in these moods, to comb or dress him. nay, even the persons most inclined thro' thick and thin, for kings to stickle, thought him (if they'd but speak their mind; which they did _not_) an odious pickle. at length some patriot lords--a breed of animals they've got in thibet, extremely rare and fit indeed for folks like pidcock, to exhibit-- some patriot lords, who saw the length to which things went, combined their strength, and penned a manly, plain and free, remonstrance to the nursery; protesting warmly that they yielded to none that ever went before 'em, in loyalty to him who wielded the hereditary pap-spoon o'er 'em; that, as for treason, 'twas a thing that made them almost sick to think of-- that they and theirs stood by the king, throughout his measles and his chincough, when others, thinking him consumptive, had ratted to the heir presumptive!-- but, still--tho' much admiring kings (and chiefly those in leading-strings), they saw, with shame and grief of soul, there was no longer now the wise and constitutional control of _birch_ before their ruler's eyes; but that of late such pranks and tricks and freaks occurred the whole day long, as all but men with bishoprics allowed, in even a king, were wrong. wherefore it was they humbly prayed that honorable nursery, that such reforms be henceforth made, as all good men desired to see;-- in other words (lest they might seem too tedious), as the gentlest scheme for putting all such pranks to rest, and in its bud the mischief nipping-- they ventured humbly to suggest his majesty should have a whipping! when this was read, no congreve rocket, discharged into the gallic trenches e'er equalled the tremendous shock it produced upon the nursery benches. the bishops, who of course had votes, by right of age and petticoats, were first and foremost in the fuss-- "what, whip a lama! suffer birch "to touch his sacred--infamous! "deistical!--assailing thus "the fundamentals of the church!-- "no--no--such patriot plans as these, "(so help them heaven--and their sees!) "they held to be rank blasphemies." the alarm thus given, by these and other grave ladies of the nursery side, spread thro' the land, till, such a pother, such party squabbles, far and wide, never in history's page had been recorded, as were then between the whippers and non-whippers seen. till, things arriving at a state, which gave some fears of revolution, the patriot lords' advice, tho' late, was put at last in execution. the parliament of thibet met-- the little lama, called before it, did, then and there, his whipping get, and (as the _nursery gazette_ assures us) like a hero bore it. and tho', 'mong thibet tories, some lament that royal martyrdom (please to observe, the letter d in this last word's pronounced like b), yet to the example of that prince so much is thibet's land a debtor, that her long line of lamas, since, have all behaved themselves _much_ better. [ ] andreas. fable vii. the extinguishers. proem. tho' soldiers are the true supports, the natural allies of courts, woe to the monarch, who depends too _much_ on his red-coated friends; for even soldiers sometimes _think_-- nay, colonels have been known to _reason_,-- and reasoners, whether clad in pink or red or blue, are on the brink (nine cases out of ten) of treason not many soldiers, i believe, are as fond of liberty as mina; else--woe to kings! when freedom's fever once turns into a _scarletina_! for then--but hold--'tis best to veil my meaning in the following tale:-- fable. a lord of persia, rich and great, just come into a large estate, was shockt to find he had, for neighbors, close to his gate, some rascal ghebers, whose fires, beneath his very nose, in heretic combustion rose. but lords of persia can, no doubt, do what they will--so, one fine morning, he turned the rascal ghebers out, first giving a few kicks for warning. then, thanking heaven most piously, he knockt their temple to the ground, blessing himself for joy to see such pagan ruins strewed around. but much it vext my lord to find, that, while all else obeyed his will, the fire these ghebers left behind, do what he would, kept burning still. fiercely he stormed, as if his frown could scare the bright insurgent down; but, no--such fires are headstrong things, and care not much for lords or kings. scarce could his lordship well contrive the flashes in _one_ place to smother, before--hey presto!--all alive, they sprung up freshly in another. at length when, spite of prayers and damns, 'twas found the sturdy flame defied him, his stewards came, with low _salams_, offering, by _contract_, to provide him some large extinguishers, (a plan, much used, they said, at ispahan, vienna, petersburg--in short, wherever light's forbid at court), machines no lord should be without, which would at once put promptly out all kinds of fires,--from staring, stark volcanoes to the tiniest spark; till all things slept as dull and dark, as in a great lord's neighborhood 'twas right and fitting all things should. accordingly, some large supplies of these extinguishers were furnisht (all of the true imperial size), and there, in rows, stood black and burnisht, ready, where'er a gleam but shone of light or fire, to be clapt on. but ah! how lordly wisdom errs, in trusting to extinguishers! one day, when he had left all sure, (at least, so thought he) dark, secure-- the flame, at all its exits, entries, obstructed to his heart's content, and black extinguishers, like sentries, placed over every dangerous vent-- ye gods, imagine his amaze, his wrath, his rage, when, on returning, he found not only the old blaze, brisk as before, crackling and burning,-- not only new, young conflagrations, popping up round in various stations-- but still more awful, strange and dire, the extinguishers themselves on fire!![ ] they, they--those trusty, blind machines his lordship had so long been praising, as, under providence, the means of keeping down all lawless blazing, were now, themselves--alas, too true, the shameful fact--turned blazers too, and by a change as odd as cruel instead of dampers, served for fuel! thus, of his only hope bereft, "what," said the great man, "must be done?"-- all that, in scrapes like this, is left to great men is--to cut and run. so run he did; while to their grounds, the banisht ghebers blest returned; and, tho' their fire had broke its bounds, and all abroad now wildly burned, yet well could they, who loved the flame, its wandering, its excess reclaim; and soon another, fairer dome arose to be its sacred home, where, cherisht, guarded, not confined, the living glory dwelt inshrined, and, shedding lustre strong, but even, tho' born of earth, grew worthy heaven. moral. the moral hence my muse infers is, that such lords are simple elves, in trusting to extinguishers, that are combustible themselves. [ ] the idea of this fable was caught from one of those brilliant _mots_, which abound in the conversation of my friend, the author of the "letters to julia,"--a production which contains some of the happiest specimens of playful poetry that have appeared in this or any age. fable viii. louis fourteenth's wig. the money raised--the army ready-- drums beating, and the royal neddy valiantly braying in the van, to the old tune "_"eh, eh, sire Àne_!"[ ]-- naught wanting, but some _coup_ dramatic, to make french _sentiment_ explode, bring in, at once, the _goût_ fanatic, and make the war "_la dernière mode_"-- instantly, at the _pavillon marsan_, is held an ultra consultation-- what's to be done, to help the farce on? what stage-effect, what decoration, to make this beauteous france forget, in one, grand, glorious _pirouette_, all she had sworn to but last week, and, with a cry of _magnifique_!" rush forth to this, or _any_ war, without inquiring once--"what for?" after some plans proposed by each. lord chateaubriand made a speech, (quoting, to show what men's rights are, or rather what men's rights _should be_, from hobbes, lord castlereagh, the tsar, and other friends to liberty,) wherein he--having first protested 'gainst humoring the mob--suggested (as the most high-bred plan he saw for giving the new war _éclat_) a grand, baptismal melo-drame, to be got up at notre dame, in which the duke (who, bless his highness! had by his _hilt_ acquired such fame, 'twas hoped that he as little shyness would show, when to _the point_ he came,) should, for his deeds so lion-hearted, be christened _hero_, ere he started; with power, by royal ordonnance, to bear that name--at least in france. himself--the viscount chateaubriand-- (to help the affair with more _esprit_ on) offering, for this baptismal rite, some of his own famed jordan water[ ]-- (marie louise not having quite used all that, for young nap, he brought her.) the baptism, in _this_ case, to be applied to that extremity, which bourbon heroes most expose; and which (as well all europe knows) happens to be, in this defender of the true faith, extremely tender. or if (the viscount said) this scheme too rash and premature should seem-- if thus discounting heroes, _on_ tick-- this glory, by anticipation, was too much in the _genre romantique_ for such a highly classic nation, he begged to say, the abyssinians a practice had in their dominions, which, if at paris got up well. in full _costume_, was sure to tell. at all great epochs, good or ill, they have, says bruce (and bruce ne'er budges from the strict truth), a grand quadrille in public danced by the twelve judges[ ]-- and he assures us, the grimaces, the _entre-chats_, the airs and graces of dancers, so profound and stately, divert the abyssinians greatly. "now (said the viscount), there's but few "great empires where this plan would do: "for instance, england;--let them take "what pains they would--'twere vain to strive-- "the twelve stiff judges there would make "the worst quadrille-set now alive. "one must have seen them, ere one could "imagine properly judge wood, "performing, in hie wig, so gayly, "a _queue-de chat_ with justice bailly! "_french_ judges, tho', are, by no means, "this sort of stiff, be-wigged machines; "and we, who've seen them at _saumur_ "and _poitiers_ lately, may be sure "they'd dance quadrilles or anything, "that would be pleasing to the king-- "nay, stand upon their heads, and more do, "to please the little duc de bordeaux!" after these several schemes there came some others--needless now to name, since that, which monsieur planned, himself, soon doomed all others to the shelf, and was received _par acclamation_ as truly worthy the _grande nation_. it seems (as monsieur told the story) that louis the fourteenth,--that glory, that _coryphée_ of all crowned pates,-- that pink of the legitimates-- had, when, with many a pious prayer, he bequeathed unto the virgin mary his marriage deeds, and _cordon bleu_, bequeathed to her his state wig too-- (an offering which, at court, 'tis thought, the virgin values as she ought)-- that wig, the wonder of all eyes, the cynosure of gallia's skies, to watch and tend whose curls adored, re-build its towering roof, when flat, and round its rumpled base, a board of sixty barbers daily sat, with subs, on state-days, to assist, well pensioned from the civil list:-- that wondrous wig, arrayed in which, and formed alike to awe or witch. he beat all other heirs of crowns, in taking mistresses and towns, requiring but a shot at _one_, a smile at _t'other_, and 'twas done!-- "that wig" (said monsieur, while his brow rose proudly,) "is existing now;-- "that grand perruque, amid the fall "of every other royal glory, "with curls erect survives them all, "and tells in every hair their story. "think, think, how welcome at this time "a relic, so beloved, sublime! "what worthier standard of the cause "of kingly right can france demand? "or who among our ranks can pause "to guard it, while a curl shall stand? "behold, my friends"--(while thus he cried, a curtain, which concealed this pride of princely wigs was drawn aside) "behold that grand perruque--how big "with recollections for the world-- "for france--for us--great louis's wig, "by hippolyte new frizzed and curled-- "_new frizzed_! alas, 'tis but too true, "well may you start at that word _new_-- "but such the sacrifice, my friends, "the imperial cossack recommends; "thinking such small concessions sage, "to meet the spirit of the age, "and do what best that spirit flatters, "in wigs--if not in weightier matters. "wherefore to please the tsar, and show "that _we_ too, much-wronged bourbons, know "what liberalism in monarchs is, "we have conceded the new friz! "thus armed, ye gallant ultras, say, "can men, can frenchmen, fear the fray? "with this proud relic in our van, "and d'angouleme our worthy leader, "let rebel spain do all she can, "let recreant england arm and feed her,-- "urged by that pupil of hunt's school, "that radical, lord liverpool-- "france can have naught to fear--far from it-- "when once astounded europe sees "the wig of louis, like a comet, "streaming above the pyrenées, "all's o'er with spain--then on, my sons, "on, my incomparable duke, "and, shouting for the holy ones, "cry _vive la guerre--et la perrugue!"_ [ ] they celebrated in the dark ages, at many churches, particularly at rouen, what was called the feast of the ass. on this occasion the ass, finely drest, was brought before the altar, and they sung before him this elegant anthem, "_eh, eh, eh, sire Àne, eh, eh, eh. sire Àne_."-- warten's essay on pope. [ ] brought from the river jordan by m. chateaubriand, and presented to the french empress for the christening of young napoleon. [ ] "on certain great occasions, the twelve judges (who are generally between sixty and seventy years of age) sing the song and dance the figure-dance," etc.--book. v. the fudge family in paris. _le leggi della maschera richiedono che una persona mascherata non sia salutata per nome da uno che la conosce malgrado il suo travestimento_. castiglione. preface. in what manner the following epistles came into my hands, it is not necessary for the public to know. it will be seen by mr. fudge's second letter, that he is one of those gentlemen whose _secret services_ in ireland, under the mild ministry of my lord castlereagh, have been so amply and gratefully remunerated. like his friend and associate, thomas reynolds, esq., he had retired upon the reward of his honest industry; but has lately been induced to appear again in active life, and superintend the training of that _delatorian cohort_ which lord sidmouth, in his wisdom and benevolence, has organized. whether mr. fudge, himself, has yet made any discoveries, does not appear from the following pages. but much may be expected from a person of his zeal and sagacity, and, indeed, to _him_, lord sidmouth, and the greenland-bound ships, the eyes of all lovers of _discoveries_ are now most anxiously directed. i regret much that i have been obliged to omit mr. bob fudge's third letter, concluding the adventures of his day with the dinner, opera, etc.; --but, in consequence of some remarks upon marinette's thin drapery, which, it was thought, might give offence to certain well-meaning persons, the manuscript was sent back to paris for his revision and had not returned when the last sheet was put to press. it will not, i hope, be thought presumptuous, if i take this opportunity of complaining of a very serious injustice i have suffered from the public. dr. king wrote a treatise to prove that bentley "was not the author of his own book," and a similar absurdity has been asserted of _me_, in almost all the best-informed literary circles. with the name of the real author staring them in the face, they have yet persisted in attributing my works to other people; and the fame of the "twopenny post- bag"--such as it is--having hovered doubtfully over various persons, has at last settled upon the head of a certain little gentleman, who wears it, i understand, as complacently as if it actually belonged to him. i can only add, that if any lady or gentleman, curious in such matters, will take the trouble of calling at my lodgings, piccadilly, i shall have the honor of assuring them, _in propriâ personâ_, that i am--his, or her, very obedient and very humble servant, _april_ , . thomas brown the younger. the fudge family in paris letter i. from miss biddy fudge to miss dorothy ----, of clonkilty, in ireland. amiens. dear doll, while the tails of our horses are plaiting, the trunks tying on, and papa, at the door, into very bad french is as usual translating his english resolve not to give a _sou_ more, i sit down to write you a line--only think!-- a letter from france, with french pens and french ink, how delightful! tho', would you believe it, my dear? i have seen nothing yet _very_ wonderful here; no adventure, no sentiment, far as we've come, but the cornfields and trees quite as dull as at home; and _but_ for the post-boy, his boots and his queue, i might _just_ as well be at clonkilty with you! in vain, at dessein's, did i take from my trunk that divine fellow, sterne, and fall reading "the monk;" in vain did i think of his charming dead ass, and remember the crust and the wallet--alas! no monks can be had now for love or for money, (all owing, pa says, to that infidel boney;) and, tho' _one_ little neddy we saw in our drive out of classical nampont, the beast was alive! by the by, tho' at calais, papa _had_ a touch of romance on the pier, which affected me much. at the sight of that spot, where our darling dixhuit set the first of his own dear legitimate feet,[ ] (modelled out so exactly, and--god bless the mark! 'tis a foot, dolly, worthy so _grand a monarque_). he exclaimed, "_oh, mon roi_!" and, with tear-dropping eye, stood to gaze on the spot--while some jacobin, nigh, muttered out with a shrug (what an insolent thing!) "_ma foi_, he be right--'tis de englishman's king; and dat _gros pied de cochon_--begar me vil say dat de foot look mosh better, if turned toder way." there's the pillar, too--lord! i had nearly forgot-- what a charming idea!--raised close to the spot; the mode being now, (as you've heard, i suppose,) to build tombs over legs and raise pillars to toes. this is all that's occurred sentimental as yet; except indeed some little flower-nymphs we've met, who disturb one's romance with pecuniary views, flinging flowers in your path, and then--bawling for _sous_! and some picturesque beggars, whose multitudes seem to recall the good days of the _ancien regime_, all as ragged and brisk, you'll be happy to learn, and as thin as they were in the time of poor sterne. our party consists (in a neat calais job) of papa and myself, mr. connor and bob. you remember how sheepish bob lookt at kilrandy, but, lord! he's quite altered--they've made him a dandy; a thing, you know, whiskered, great-coated, and laced, like an hour-glass, exceedingly small in the waist; quite a new sort of creatures, unknown yet to scholars, with beads so immovably stuck in shirt-collars, that seats, like our music-stools, soon must be found them, to twirl, when the creatures may wish, to look round them, in short, dear, "a dandy" describes what i mean, and bob's far the best of the _genus_ i've seen: an improving young man, fond of learning, ambitious, and goes now to paris to study french dishes. whose names--think, how quick! he already knows pat, _À la braise, petits pâtés_, and--what d' ye call that they inflict on potatoes?--oh! _maître d'hôtel_-- i assure you, dear dolly, he knows them as well as if nothing else all his life he had eat, tho' a bit of them bobby has never touched yet; but just knows the names of french dishes and cooks, as dear pa knows the titles of authors and books. as to pa, what d' ye think?--mind, it's all _entre nous_, but you know, love, i never keep secrets from you-- why, he's writing a book--what! a tale? a romance? no, we gods, would it were!--but his travels in france; at the special desire (he let out t'other day) of his great friend and patron, my lord castlereagh, who said, "my dear fudge"--i forget the exact words, and, it's strange, no one ever remembers my lord's; but 'twas something to say that, as all must allow a good orthodox work is much wanting just now, to expound to the world the new--thingummie--science, found out by the--what's-its-name--holy alliance, and prove to mankind that their rights are but folly, their freedom a joke (which it _is_, you know, dolly), "there's none," said his lordship, "if _i_ may be judge, half so fit for this great undertaking as fudge!" the matter's soon, settled--pa flies to _the row_ (the _first_ stage your tourists now usually go), settles all for his quarto--advertisements, praises-- starts post from the door, with his tablets--french phrases-- "scott's visit" of course--in short, everything _he_ has an author can want, except words and ideas:-- and, lo! the first thing, in the spring of the year, is phil. fudge at the front of a quarto, my dear! but, bless me, my paper's near out, so i'd better draw fast to a close:--this exceeding long letter you owe to a _déjeûner à la fourchette_, which bobby _would_ have, and is hard at it yet.-- what's next? oh? the tutor, the last of the party, young connor:--they say he's so like bonaparte, his nose and his chin--which papa rather dreads, as the bourbons, you know, are suppressing all heads that resemble old nap's, and who knows but their honors may think, in their fright, of suppressing poor connor's? _au reste_ (as we say), the young lad's well enough, only talks much of athens, rome, virtue and stuff; a third cousin of ours, by the way--poor as job (tho' of royal descent by the side of mamma), and for charity made private tutor to bob; _entre nous_, too, a papist--how liberal of pa! this is all, dear,--forgive me for breaking off thus, but bob's _déjeûner_'s done, and papa's in a fuss. b. f. p. s. how provoking of pa! he will not let me stop just to run in and rummage some milliner's shop; and my _début_ in paris, i blush to think on it, must now, doll, be made in a hideous low bonnet. but paris, dear paris!--oh, _there_ will be joy, and romance, and high bonnets, and madame le roi![ ] [ ] to commemorate the landing of louis le désiré from england, the impression of his foot is marked out on the pier at calais, and a pillar with an inscription raised opposite to the spot. [ ] a celebrated mantua-maker in paris. letter ii. from phil. fudge, esq., to the lord viscount castlereagh. paris. at length, my lord, i have the bliss to date to you a line from this "demoralized" metropolis; where, by plebeians low and scurvy, the throne was turned quite topsy-turvy, and kingship, tumbled from its seat, "stood prostrate" at the people's feet; where (still to use your lordship's tropes) the _level_ of obedience _slopes_ upward and downward, as the _stream_ of _hydra_ faction _kicks the beam_![ ] where the poor palace changes masters quicker than a snake its skin, and louis is rolled out on castors, while boney's borne on shoulders in:-- but where, in every change, no doubt, one special good your lordship traces,-- that 'tis the _kings_ alone turn out, the _ministers_ still keep their places. how oft, dear viscount castlereagh, i've thought of thee upon the way, as in my _job_ (what place could be more apt to wake a thought of thee?)-- or, oftener far, when gravely sitting upon my dicky, (as is fitting for him who writes a tour, that he may more of men and manners see.) i've thought of thee and of thy glories, thou guest of kings and king of tories! reflecting how thy fame has grown and spread, beyond man's usual share, at home, abroad, till thou art known, like major semple, everywhere! and marvelling with what powers of breath your lordship, having speeched to death some hundreds of your fellow-men, next speeched to sovereign's ears,--and when all sovereigns else were dozed, at last speeched down the sovereign of belfast. oh! mid the praises and the trophies thou gain'st from morosophs and sophis; mid all the tributes to thy fame, there's one thou shouldst be chiefly pleased at-- that ireland gives her snuff thy name, and castlereagh's the thing now sneezed at! but hold, my pen!--a truce to praising-- tho' even your lordship will allow the theme's temptations are amazing; but time and ink run short, and now, (as _thou_ wouldst say, my guide and teacher in these gay metaphorie fringes, i must _embark_ into the _feature_ on which this letter chiefly _hinges_;) my book, the book that is to prove-- and _will_, (so help ye sprites above, that sit on clouds, as grave as judges, watching the labors of the fudges!) _will_ prove that all the world, at present, is in a state extremely pleasant; that europe--thanks to royal swords and bayonets, and the duke commanding-- enjoys a peace which, like the lord's, passeth all human understanding: that france prefers her go-cart king to such a coward scamp as boney; tho' round, with each a leading-string. there standeth many a royal crony, for fear the chubby, tottering thing should fall, if left there _loney-poney_;-- that england, too, the more her debts, the more she spends, the richer gets; and that the irish, grateful nation! remember when by _thee_ reigned over, and bless thee for their flagellation, as heloisa did her lover![ ]-- that poland, left for russia's lunch upon the sideboard, snug reposes: while saxony's as pleased as punch, and norway "on a bed of roses!" that, as for some few million souls, transferred by contract, bless the clods! if half were strangled--spaniards, poles, and frenchmen--'twouldn't make much odds, so europe's goodly royal ones sit easy on their sacred thrones; so ferdinand embroiders gayly,[ ] and louis eats his _salmi_ daily; so time is left to emperor sandy to be _half_ caesar and _half_ dandy; and george the regent (who'd forget that doughtiest chieftain of the set?) hath wherewithal for trinkets new, for dragons, after chinese models, and chambers where duke ho and soo might come and nine times knock their noddles!-- all this my quarto'll prove--much more than quarto ever proved before:-- in reasoning with the _post_ i'll vie, my facts the _courier_ shall supply, my jokes vansittart, peele my sense, and thou, sweet lord, my eloquence! my journal, penned by fits and starts, on biddy's back or bobby's shoulder, (my son, my lord, a youth of parts, who longs to be a small placeholder,) is--tho' _i_ say't, that shouldn�t say-- extremely good; and, by the way, _one_ extract from it--_only_ one-- to show its spirit, and i've done. _"jul. thirty-first_.--went, after snack, "to the cathedral of st. denny; "sighed o'er the kings of ages back, "and--gave the old concierge a penny. "(_mem_.--must see _rheims_, much famed, 'tis said, "for making kings and ginger-bread.) "was shown the tomb where lay, so stately, "a little bourbon, buried lately, "thrice high and puissant, we were told, "tho' only twenty-four hours old! "hear this, thought i, ye jacobins: "ye burdetts, tremble in your skins! "if royalty, but aged a day, "can boast such high and puissant sway "what impious hand its power would fix, "full fledged and wigged at fifty-six!" the argument's quite new, you see, and proves exactly q. e. d. so now, with duty to the kegent, i am dear lord, your most obedient, p. f. _hôtel breteuil, rue rivoli_. neat lodgings--rather dear for me; but biddy said she thought 'twould look! genteeler thus to date my book; and biddy's right--besides, it curries some favor with our friends at murray's, who scorn what any man can say, that dates from rue st. honoré![ ] [ ] this excellent imitation of the noble lord's style shows how deeply mr. fudge must have studied his great original. irish oratory, indeed, abounds with such startling peculiarities. thus the eloquent counsellor b----, in describing some hypocritical pretender to charity, said, "he put his hand in his breeches-pocket, like a crocodile, and," etc. [ ] see her letters. [ ] it would be an edifying thing to write a history of the private amusements of sovereigns, tracing them down from the fly-sticking of domitian, the mole-catching of artabanus, the, hog-mimicking of parmenides, the horse-currying of aretas, to the petticoat-embroidering of ferdinand, and the patience-playing of the prince regent! [ ] see the _quarterly review_ for may, where mr. hobhouse is accused of having written his book "in a back street of the french capital." letter iii. from mr. bob fudge to richard ----, esq. oh dick! you may talk of your writing and reading, your logic and greek, but there's nothing like feeding; and _this_ is the place for it, dicky, you dog, of all places on earth--the headquarters of prog! talk of england--her famed _magna charta_, i swear, is a humbug, a flam, to the carte[ ] at old vÉry's; and as for your juries--_who_ would not set o'er 'em a jury of tasters, with woodcocks before 'em? give cartwright his parliaments, fresh every year; but those friends of _short commons_ would never do here; and, let romilly speak as he will on the question. no digest of law's like the laws of digestion! by the by, dick, _i_ fatten--but _n'importe_ for that, 'tis the mode--your legitimates always get fat. there's the regent, there's louis--and boney tried too, but, tho' somewhat imperial in paunch, 'twouldn't do:-- he improved indeed much in this point when he wed, but he ne'er grew right royally fat _in the head_. dick, dick, what a place is this paris!--but stay-- as my raptures may bore you, i'll just sketch a day, as we pass it, myself and some comrades i've got, all thorough-bred _gnostics_, who know what is what. after dreaming some hours of the land of cocaigne, that elysium of all that is _friand_ and nice, where for hail they have _bon-bons_, and claret for rain, and the skaters in winter show off on _cream_-ice; where so ready all nature its cookery yields, _macaroni au parmesan_ grows in the fields; little birds fly about with the true pheasant taint, and the geese are all born with a liver complaint! i rise--put on neck-cloth--stiff, tight, as can be-- for a lad who _goes into the world_, dick, like me, should have his neck tied up, you know--there's no doubt of it-- almost as tight as _some_ lads who _go out of it_. with whiskers well oiled, and with boots that "hold up "the mirror to nature"--so bright you could sup off the leather like china; with coat, too, that draws on the tailor, who suffers, a martyr's applause!-- with head bridled up, like a four-in-hand leader, and stays--devil's in them--too tight for a feeder, i strut to the old café hardy, which yet beats the field at a _déjeûner a la fourchette_. there, dick, what a breakfast!--oh! not like your ghost of a breakfast in england, your curst tea and toast; but a side-board, you dog, where one's eye roves about, like a turk's in the haram, and thence singles out one's pâté of larks, just to tune up the throat, one's small limbs of chickens, done _en papillote_. one's erudite cutlets, drest all ways but plain, or one's kidneys--imagine, dick--done with champagne! then, some glasses of _beaune_, to dilute--or, mayhap, _chambertin_,[ ]which you know's the pet tipple of nap, and which dad, by the by, that legitimate stickler, much scruples to taste, but i'm not so partic'lar.-- your coffee comes next, by prescription: and then dick's the coffee's ne'er-failing and glorious appendix, (if books had but such, my old grecian, depend on't, i'd swallow e'en watkins', for sake of the end on't,) a neat glass of _parfait-amour_, which one sips just as if bottled velvet tipt over one's lips. this repast being ended, and _paid for_--(how odd! till a man's used to paying, there's something so queer in't!)-- the sun now well out, and the girls all abroad, and the world enough aired for us nobs to appear in't, we lounge up the boulevards, where--oh! dick, the phizzes, the turn-outs, we meet--what a nation of quizzes! here toddles along some old figure of fun, with a coat you might date anno domini .; a laced hat, worsted stockings, and--noble old soul! a fine ribbon and cross in his best button-hole; just such as our prince, who nor reason nor fun dreads, inflicts, without even a court-martial, on hundreds. here trips a _grisette_, with a fond, roguish eye, (rather eatable things these _grisettes_, by the by); and there an old _demoiselle_, almost as fond, in a silk that has stood since the time of the fronde. there goes a french dandy--ah, dick! unlike some ones we've seen about white's--the mounseers are but rum ones; such hats!--fit for monkies--i'd back mrs. draper to cut neater weather-boards out of brown paper: and coats--how i wish, if it wouldn't distress 'em, they'd club for old brummel, from calais, to dress 'em! the collar sticks out from the neck such a space, that you'd swear 'twas the plan of this head-lopping nation, to leave there behind them a snug little place for the head to drop into, on decapitation. in short, what with mountebanks, counts and friseurs, _some_ mummers by trade and the rest amateurs-- what with captains in new jockey-boots and silk breeches, old dustmen with swinging great opera-hats, and shoeblacks, reclining by statues in niches, there never was seen such a race of jack sprats! from the boulevards--but hearken!--yes--as i'm a sinner, the clock is just striking the half-hour to dinner: so _no_ more at present--short time for adorning-- my day must be finisht some other fine morning. now, hey for old beauvilliers's[ ] larder, my boy! and, once _there_, if the goddess of beauty and joy were to write "come and kiss me, dear bob!" i'd not budge-- not a step, dick, as sure as my name is r. fudge. [ ] the bill of fare.--véry, a well-known _restaurateur_. [ ] the favorite wine of napoleon. [ ] a celebrated restaurateur. letter iv. from phelim connor to ---- "return!"--no, never, while the withering hand of bigot power is on that hapless land; while, for the faith my fathers held to god, even in the fields where free those fathers trod, i am proscribed, and--like the spot left bare in israel's halls, to tell the proud and fair amidst their mirth, that slavery had been there[ ]-- on all i love, home, parents, friends, i trace the mournful mark of bondage and disgrace! no!--let _them_ stay, who in their country's pangs see naught but food for factions and harangues; who yearly kneel before their masters' doors and hawk their wrongs, as beggars do their sores: still let your . . . .[ ] . . . . . still hope and suffer, all who can!--but i, who durst not hope, and cannot bear, must fly. but whither?--every where the scourge pursues-- turn where he will, the wretched wanderer views, in the bright, broken hopes of all his race, countless reflections of the oppressor's face. every where gallant hearts and spirits true, are served up victims to the vile and few; while england, every where--the general foe of truth and freedom, wheresoe'er they glow-- is first, when tyrants strike, to aid the blow. oh, england! could such poor revenge atone for wrongs, that well might claim the deadliest one; were it a vengeance, sweet enough to sate the wretch who flies from thy intolerant hate, to hear his curses on such barbarous sway echoed, where'er he bends his cheerless way;-- could _this_ content him, every lip he meets teems for his vengeance with such poisonous sweets; were _this_ his luxury, never is thy name pronounced, but he doth banquet on thy shame; hears maledictions ring from every side upon that grasping power, that selfish pride, which vaunts its own and scorns all rights beside; that low and desperate envy which to blast a neighbor's blessings risks the few thou hast;-- that monster, self, too gross to be concealed, which ever lurks behind thy proffered shield;-- that faithless craft, which, in thy hour of need, can court the slave, can swear he shall be freed, yet basely spurns him, when thy point is gained, back to his masters, ready gagged and chained! worthy associate of that band of kings, that royal, ravening flock, whose vampire wings o'er sleeping europe treacherously brood, and fan her into dreams of promist good, of hope, of freedom--but to drain her blood! if _thus_ to hear thee branded be a bliss that vengeance loves, there's yet more sweet than this, that 'twas an irish head, an irish heart, made thee the fallen and tarnisht thing thou art; that, as the centaur gave the infected vest in which he died, to rack his conqueror's breast, we sent thee castlereagh:--as heaps of dead have slain their slayers by the pest they spread, so hath our land breathed out, thy fame to dim, thy strength to waste and rot thee soul and limb, her worst infections all condensed in him! * * * * * when will the world shake off such yokes? oh, when will that redeeming day shine out on men, that shall behold them rise, erect and free as heaven and nature meant mankind should be! when reason shall no longer blindly bow to the vile pagod things, that o'er her brow, like him of jaghernaut, drive trampling now; nor conquest dare to desolate god's earth; nor drunken victory, with a nero's mirth, strike her lewd harp amidst a people's groans;-- but, built on love, the world's exalted thrones shall to the virtuous and the wise be given-- those bright, those sole legitimates of heaven! _when_ will this be?--or, oh! is it, in truth, but one of those sweet, day-break dreams of youth, in which the soul, as round her morning springs, 'twixt sleep and waking, see such dazzling things! and must the hope, as vain as it is bright, be all resigned?--and are _they_ only right, who say this world of thinking souls was made to be by kings partitioned, truckt and weighed in scales that, ever since the world begun, have counted millions but as dust to one? are _they_ the only wise, who laugh to scorn the rights, the freedom to which man was born? who . . . . . . . . . . who, proud to kiss each separate rod of power, bless, while he reigns, the minion of the hour; worship each would-be god, that o'er them moves, and take the thundering of his brass for jove's! if _this_ be wisdom, then farewell, my books, farewell, ye shrines of old, ye classic brooks. which fed my soul with currents, pure and fair, of living truth that now must stagnate there!-- instead of themes that touch the lyre with light, instead of greece and her immortal fight for liberty which once awaked my strings, welcome the grand conspiracy of kings, the high legitimates, the holy band, who, bolder' even than he of sparta's land, against whole millions, panting to be free, would guard the pass of right line tyranny. instead of him, the athenian bard whose blade had stood the onset which his pen portrayed, welcome . . . . . . . . . and, �stead of aristides--woe the day such names should mingle!--welcome castlereagh! here break we off, at this unhallowed name.[ ] like priests of old, when words ill-omened came. my next shall tell thee, bitterly shall tell. thoughts that . . . . . . . . . thoughts that--could patience hold--'twere wiser far to leave still hid and burning where they are. [ ] "they used to leave a square yard of the wall of the house unplastered, on which they write, in large letters, either the fore- mentioned verse of the psalmist ('if i forget thee, o jerusalem,' etc.) or the words--'the memory of the desolation.'"--leo of modena. [ ] i have thought it prudent to omit some parts of mr. phelim connor's letter. he is evidently an intemperate young man, and has associated with his cousins, the fudges, to very little purpose. [ ] the late lord c. of ireland had a curious theory about names;--he held that every man with _three_ names was a jacobin. letter v. from miss biddy fudge to miss dorothy ----. what a time since i wrote!--i'm a sad, naughty girl-- for, tho' like a tee-totum, i'm all in a twirl;-- yet even (as you wittily say) a tee-totum between all its twirls gives a _letter_ to note 'em. but, lord, such a place! and then, dolly, my dresses, my gowns, so divine!--there's no language expresses, except just the _two_ words "_superbe_, _magnifique_," the trimmings of that which i had home last week! it is called--i forget--_à la_--something which sounded like _alicampane_--but in truth i'm confounded and bothered, my dear, 'twixt that troublesome boy's (bob's) cookery language, and madame le roi's: what with fillets of roses, and fillets of veal, things _garni_ with lace, and things _garni_ with eel, one's hair and one's cutlets both _en papillote_, and a thousand more things i shall ne'er have by rote, i can scarce tell the difference, at least as to phrase, between beef _à la psyche_ and curls _à la braise_.-- but in short, dear, i'm trickt out quite _à la francaise_, with my bonnet--so beautiful!--high up and poking, like things that are put to keep chimneys from smoking. where _shall_ i begin with the endless delights of this eden of milliners, monkeys and sights-- this dear busy place, where there's nothing transacting but dressing and dinnering, dancing and acting? imprimis, the opera--mercy, my ears! brother bobby's remark, t'other night, was a true one:-- "this _must_ be the music," said he, "of the _spears_, for i'm curst if each note of it doesn�t run thro' one!" pa says (and you know, love, his book's to make out 'twas the jacobins brought every mischief about) that this passion for roaring has come in of late, since the rabble all tried for a _voice_ in the state.-- what a frightful idea, one's mind to o'erwhelm! what a chorus, dear dolly, would soon be let loose of it, if, when of age, every man in the realm had a voice like old lais,[ ] and chose to make use of it! no--never was known in this riotous sphere such a breach of the peace as their singing, my dear. so bad too, you'd swear that the god of both arts, of music and physic, had taken a frolic for setting a loud fit of asthma in parts, and composing a fine rumbling bass to a cholic! but, the dancing--_ah parlez-moi_, dolly, _de ca_-- there, _indeed_, is a treat that charms all but papa. such beauty--such grace--oh ye sylphs of romance! fly, fly to titania, and ask her if _she_ has one light-footed nymph in her train, that can dance like divine bigottini and sweet fanny bias! fanny bias in flora--dear creature!--you'd swear, when her delicate feet in the dance twinkle round, that her steps are of light, that her home is the air, and she only _par complaisance_ touches the ground. and when bigottini in psyche dishevels her black flowing hair, and by daemons is driven, oh! who does not envy those rude little devils, that hold her and hug her, and keep her from heaven? then, the music--so softly its cadences die, so divinely--oh, dolly! between you and i, it's as well for my peace that there's nobody nigh to make love to me then--_you've_ a soul, and can judge what a crisis 'twould be for your friend biddy fudge! the next place (which bobby has near lost his heart in) they call it the play-house--i think--of st. martin;[ ] quite charming--and _very_ religious--what folly to say that the french are not pious, dear dolly, where here one beholds, so correctly and rightly, the testament turned into melodrames nightly;[ ] and doubtless so fond they're of scriptural facts, they will soon get the pentateuch up in five acts. here daniel, in pantomime,[ ] bids bold defiance to nebuchadnezzar and all his stuft lions, while pretty young israelites dance round the prophet, in very thin clothing, and _but_ little of it;-- here begrand,[ ] who shines in this scriptural path, as the lovely susanna, without even a relic of drapery round her, comes out of the bath in a manner that, bob says, is quite _eve-angelic_! but in short, dear, 'twould take me a month to recite all the exquisite places we're at, day and night; and, besides, ere i finish, i think you'll be glad just to hear one delightful adventure i've had. last night, at the beaujon, a place where--i doubt if its charms i can paint--there are cars, that set out from a lighted pavilion, high up in the air, and rattle you down, doll--you hardly know where. these vehicles, mind me, in which you go thro' this delightfully dangerous journey, hold _two_, some cavalier asks, with humility, whether you'll venture down _with_ him--you smile--'tis a match; in an instant you're seated, and down both together go thundering, as if you went post to old scratch![ ] well, it was but last night, as i stood and remarkt on the looks and odd ways of the girls who embarkt, the impatience of some for the perilous flight, the forced giggle of others, 'twixt pleasure and fright,-- that, there came up--imagine, dear doll, if you can-- a fine sallow, sublime, sort of werterfaced man, with mustachios that gave (what we read of so oft) the dear corsair expression, half savage, half soft, as hyenas in love may be fancied to look, or a something between abelard and old blucher! up he came, doll, to me, and uncovering his head, (rather bald, but so warlike!) in bad english said, "ah! my dear--if ma'mselle vil be so very good-- just for von littel course"--tho' i scarce understood what he wisht me to do, i said, thank him, i would. off we set--and, tho' 'faith, dear, i hardly knew whether my head or my heels were the uppermost then, for 'twas like heaven and earth, dolly, coming together,-- yet, spite of the danger, we dared it again. and oh! as i gazed on the features and air of the man, who for me all this peril defied, i could fancy almost he and i were a pair of unhappy young lovers, who thus, side by side, were taking, instead of rope, pistol, or dagger, a desperate dash down the falls of niagara! this achieved, thro' the gardens we sauntered about, saw the fire-works, exclaimed "_magnifique_!" at each cracker, and, when 'twas all o'er, the dear man saw us out with the air i _will_ say, of a prince, to our _fiacre_. now, hear me--this stranger,--it may be mere folly-- but _who_ do you think we all think it is, dolly? why, bless you, no less than the great king of prussia, who's here now incog.[ ]--he, who made so much fuss, you remember, in london, with blucher and platof, when sal was near kissing old blucher's cravat off! pa says he's come here to look after his money, (not taking things now as he used under boney,) which suits with our friend, for bob saw him, he swore, looking sharp to the silver received at the door. besides, too, they say that his grief for his queen (which was plain in this sweet fellow's face to be seen) requires such a stimulant dose as this car is, used three times a day with young ladies in paris. some doctor, indeed, has declared that such grief should--unless 'twould to utter despairing its folly push-- fly to the beaujon, and there seek relief by rattling, as bob says, "like shot thro' a holly-bush." i must now bid adieu;--only think, dolly, think if this _should_ be the king--i have scarce slept a wink with imagining how it will sound in the papers, and how all the misses my good luck will grudge, when they read that count ruppin, to drive away vapors, has gone down the beaujon with miss biddy fudge. _nota bene_.--papa's almost certain 'tis he-- for he knows the legitimate cut and could see, in the way he went poising and managed to tower so erect in the car, the true _balance of power_. [ ] the oldest, most celebrated, and most noisy of the singers at the french opera. [ ] the théâtre de la porte st. martin which was built when the opera house in the palais royal was burned down, in . [ ] "the old testament," says the theatrical critic in the _gazette de france_, "is a mine of gold for the managers of our small play-houses. a multitude crowd round the théâtre de la gaieté every evening to see the passage of the red sea." [ ] a piece very popular last year, called "_daniel, ou la fosse aux lions_." [ ] madame bégrand, a finely formed woman, who acts in "susanna and the elders,"--"_l'amour et la folie_." etc. [ ] according to dr. cotterel the cars go at the rate of forty-eight miles an hour. [ ] his majesty, who was at paris under the travelling name of count ruppin, is known to have gone down the beaujon very frequently. letter vi. from phil. fudge, esq., to his brother tim fudge, esq., barrister at law. yours of the th received, just now-- thanks, for the hint, my trusty brother! 'tis truly pleasing to see how we, fudges, stand by one another. but never fear--i know my chap, and he knows _me_ too--_verbum sap_, my lord and i are kindred spirits, like in our ways as two young ferrets; both fashioned, as that supple race is, to twist into all sorts of places;-- creatures lengthy, lean and hungering, fond of blood and _burrow_-mongering. as to my book in , called "down with kings, or, who'd have thought it?" bless you! the book's long dead and gone,-- not even the attorney-general bought it. and tho' some few seditious tricks i played in ' and ' , as you remind me in your letter, his lordship likes me all the better;-- we proselytes, that come with news full, are, as he says, so vastly useful! reynolds and i--(you know tom reynolds-- drinks his claret, keeps his chaise-- lucky the dog that first unkennels traitors and luddites now-a-days; or who can help to _bag_ a few, when sidmouth wants a death, or two;) reynolds and i and some few more, all men like us of _information_, friends whom his lordship keeps in store, as _under_-saviors of the nation[ ]-- have, formed a club this season, where his lordship sometimes takes the chair, and gives us many a bright oration in praise of our sublime vocation; tracing it up to great king midas, who, tho' in fable typified as a royal ass, by grace, divine and right of ears, most asinine, was yet no more, in fact historical, than an exceeding well-bred tyrant; and these, his _ears_, but allegorical, meaning informers, kept at high rent-- gem'men, who touched the treasury glisteners, like us, for being trusty listeners; and picking up each tale and fragment, for royal midas's green bag meant. "and wherefore," said this best of peers, "should not the regent too have ears, "to reach as far, as long and wide as "those of his model, good king midas?" this speech was thought extremely good, and (rare for him) was understood-- instant we drank "the regent's ears," with three times three illustrious cheers, which made the room resound like thunder-- "the regent's ears, and may he ne'er "from foolish shame, like midas, wear "old paltry _wigs_ to keep them[ ] under!" this touch at our old friends, the whigs, made us as merry all as grigs. in short (i'll thank you not to mention these things again), we get on gayly; and thanks to pension and suspension, our little club increases daily. castles, and oliver, and such, who don�t as yet full salary touch, nor keep their chaise and pair, nor buy houses and lands, like tom and i, of course don�t rank with us _salvators_,[ ] but merely serve the club as waiters, like knights, too, we've our _collar_ days, (for _us_, i own, an awkward phrase,) when, in our new costume adorned,-- the regent's buff-and-blue coats _turned_-- we have the honor to give dinners to the chief rats in upper stations: your wemys, vaughans,--half-fledged sinners, who shame us by their imitations; who turn, 'tis true--but what of that? give me the useful _peaching_ rat; _not_ things as mute as punch, when bought, whose wooden heads are all they've brought; who, false enough to shirk their friends, but too faint-hearted to betray, are, after all their twists and bends, but souls in limbo, damned half way. no, no, we nobler vermin are a _genus_ useful as we're rare; midst all the things miraculous of which your natural histories brag, the rarest must be rats like us, who _let the cat out of the bag_. yet still these tyros in the cause deserve, i own, no small applause; and they're by us received and treated with all due honors--only seated in the inverse scale of their reward, the merely _promised_ next my lord; small pensions then, and so on, down, rat after rat, they graduate thro' job, red ribbon and silk gown, to chancellorship and marquisate. this serves to nurse the ratting spirit; the less the bribe the more the merit. our music's good, you may be sure; my lord, you know, 's an amateur[ ]-- takes every part with perfect ease, tho' to the base by nature suited; and, formed for all, as best may please, for whips and bolts, or chords and keys, turns from his victims to his glees, and has them both well _executed_.[ ] hertford, who, tho' no rat himself, delights in all such liberal arts, drinks largely to the house of guelph, and superintends the _corni_ parts. while canning, who'd be _first_ by choice, consents to take an _under_ voice; and graves,[ ] who well that signal knows, watches the _volti subitos_.[ ] in short, as i've already hinted, we take of late prodigiously; but as our club is somewhat stinted for _gentlemen_, like tom and me, we'll take it kind if you'll provide a few _squireens_[ ] from t'other side;-- some of those loyal, cunning elves (we often tell the tale with laughter), who used to hide the pikes themselves, then hang the fools who found them after. i doubt not you could find us, too, some orange parsons that might do: among the rest, we've heard of one, the reverend--something--hamilton, who stuft a figure of himself (delicious thought!) and had it shot at, to bring some papists to the shelf, that couldn't otherwise be got at-- if _he_'ll but join the association, we'll vote him in by acclamation. and now, my brother, guide and friend, this somewhat tedious scrawl must end. i've gone into this long detail, because i saw your nerves were shaken with anxious fears lest i should fail in this new, _loyal_, course i've taken. but, bless your heart! you need not doubt-- we fudges know what we're about. look round and say if you can see a much more thriving family. there's jack, the doctor--night and day hundreds of patients so besiege him, you'd swear that all the rich and gay fell sick on purpose to oblige him. and while they think, the precious ninnies, he's counting o'er their pulse so steady, the rogue but counts how many guineas he's fobbed for that day's work already. i'll ne'er forget the old maid's alarm, when, feeling thus miss sukey flirt, he said, as he dropt her shrivelled arm, "damned bad this morning--only thirty!" your dowagers, too, every one, so generous are, when they call _him_ in, that he might now retire upon the rheumatisms of three old women. then whatsoe'er your ailments are, he can so learnedly explain ye'em-- your cold of course is a _catarrh_, your headache is a _hemi-cranium_:-- his skill too in young ladies' lungs, the grace with which, most mild of men, he begs them to put out their tongues. then bids them--put them in again; in short, there's nothing now like jack!-- take all your doctors great and small, of present times and ages back, dear doctor fudge is worth them all. so much for physic--then, in law too, counsellor tim, to thee we bow; not one of us gives more éclat to the immortal name of fudge than thou. not to expatiate on the art with which you played the patriot's part, till something good and snug should offer;-- like one, who, by the way he acts the _enlightening_ part of candle-snuffer, the manager's keen eye attracts, and is promoted thence by him to strut in robes, like thee, my tim!-- _who_ shall describe thy powers of face, thy well-fed zeal in every case, or wrong or right--but ten times warmer (as suits thy calling) in the former-- thy glorious, lawyer-like delight in puzzling all that's clear and right, which, tho' conspicuous in thy youth, improves so with a wig and band on, that all thy pride's to waylay truth, and leave her not a leg to stand on. thy patent prime morality,-- thy cases cited from the bible-- thy candor when it falls to thee to help in trouncing for a libel;-- "god knows, i, from my soul, profess "to hate all bigots and be-nighters! "god knows, i love, to even excess, "the sacred freedom of the press, "my only aim's to--crush the writers." these are the virtues, tim, that draw the briefs into thy bag so fast; and these, oh tim--if law be law-- will raise thee to the bench at last. i blush to see this letter's length-- but 'twas my wish to prove to thee how full of hope, and wealth, and strength, are all our precious family. and, should affairs go on as pleasant as, thank the fates, they do at present-- should we but still enjoy the sway of sidmouth and of castlereagh, i hope, ere long, to see the day when england's wisest statesmen, judges, lawyers, peers, will all be--fudges! good-by--my paper's out so nearly, i've room only for yours sincerely. [ ] lord c.'s tribute to the character of his friend, mr. reynolds, will long be remembered with equal credit to both. [ ] it was not under wigs, but tiaras, that king midas endeavored to conceal these appendages. the noble giver of the toast, however, had evidently, with his usual clearness, confounded king midas, mr. liston, and the prince regent together. [ ] mr. fudge and his friends ought to go by this name--as the man who, some years since, saved the late right hon. george rose from drowning, was ever after called _salvator rosa_. [ ] his lordship, during one of the busiest periods of his ministerial career, took lessons three times a week from a celebrated music-master, in glee-singing. [ ] how amply these two propensities of the noble lord would have been gratified among that ancient people of etruria, who, as aristotle tells us, used to whip their slaves once a year to the sound of flutes! [ ] the rapidity of this noble lord's transformation, at the same instant, into a lord of the bed-chamber and an opponent of the catholic claims, was truly miraculous. [ ] _turn instantly_--a frequent direction in music-books. [ ] the irish diminutive of _squire_. letter vii. from phelim connor to--. before we sketch the present--let us cast a few, short, rapid glances to the past. when he, who had defied all europe's strength, beneath his own weak rashness sunk at length;-- when, loosed as if by magic from a chain that seemed like fate's the world was free again, and europe saw, rejoicing in the sight, the cause of kings, _for once_, the cause of right;-- then was, indeed, an hour of joy to those who sighed for justice--liberty--repose, and hoped the fall of _one_ great vulture's nest would ring its warning round, and scare the rest. all then was bright with promise;--kings began to own a sympathy with suffering man, and man was grateful; patriots of the south caught wisdom from a cossack emperor's mouth, and heard, like accents thawed in northern air, unwonted words of freedom burst forth there! who did not hope, in that triumphant time, when monarchs, after years of spoil and crime, met round the shrine of peace, and heaven lookt on;-- _who_ did not hope the lust of spoil was gone; that that rapacious spirit, which had played the game of pilnitz o'er so oft, was laid; and europe's rulers, conscious of the past, would blush and deviate into right at last? but no--the hearts, that nurst a hope so fair, had yet to learn what men on thrones can dare; had yet to know, of all earth's ravening things, the only _quite_ untameable are kings! scarce had they met when, to its nature true, the instinct of their race broke out anew; promises, treaties, charters, all were vain, and "rapine! rapine!" was the cry again. how quick they carved their victims, and how well, let saxony, let injured genoa tell;- let all the human stock that, day by day, was, at that royal slave-mart, truckt away,-- the million souls that, in the face of heaven, were split to fractions, bartered, sold or given to swell some despot power, too huge before, and weigh down europe with one mammoth more. how safe the faith of kings let france decide;-- her charter broken, ere its ink had dried;-- her press enthralled--her reason mockt again with all the monkery it had spurned in vain; her crown disgraced by one, who dared to own he thankt not france but england for his throne; her triumphs cast into the shade by those, who had grown old among her bitterest foes, and now returned, beneath her conqueror's shields, unblushing slaves! to claim her heroes' fields; to tread down every trophy of her fame, and curse that glory which to them was shame!-- let these--let all the damning deeds, that then were dared thro' europe, cry aloud to men, with voice like that of crashing ice that rings round alpine huts, the perfidy of kings; and tell the world, when hawks shall harmless bear the shrinking dove, when wolves shall learn to spare the helpless victim for whose blood they lusted, then and then only monarchs may be trusted. it could not last--these horrors _could_ not last-- france would herself have risen in might to cast the insulters off--and oh! that then as now, chained to some distant islet's rocky brow, napoleon ne'er had come to force, to blight, ere half matured, a cause so proudly bright;-- to palsy patriot arts with doubt and shame, and write on freedom's flag a despot's name;-- to rush into the list, unaskt, alone, and make the stake of _all_ the game of _one_! then would the world have seen again what power a people can put forth in freedom's hour; then would the fire of france once more have blazed;-- for every single sword, reluctant raised in the stale cause of an oppressive throne, millions would then have leaped forth in her own; and never, never had the unholy stain of bourbon feet disgraced her shores again. but fate decreed not so--the imperial bird, that, in his neighboring cage, unfeared, unstirred, had seemed to sleep with head beneath his wing, yet watched the moment for a daring spring;-- well might he watch, when deeds were done, that made his own transgressions whiten in their shade; well might he hope a world thus trampled o'er by clumsy tyrants would be his once more:-- forth from his cage the eagle burst; to light, from steeple on to steeple[ ] winged his flight, with calm and easy grandeur, to that throne from which a royal craven just had flown; and resting there, as in his eyry, furled those wings, whose very rustling shook the world! what was your fury then, ye crowned array, whose feast of spoil, whose plundering holiday was thus broke up, in all its greedy mirth, by one bold chieftain's stamp on gallic earth! fierce was the cry, and fulminant the ban,-- "assassinate, who will--enchain, who can, "the vile, the faithless, outlawed, lowborn man!" "faithless!"--and this from _you_--from _you_, forsooth, ye pious kings, pure paragons of truth, whose honesty all knew, for all had tried; whose true swiss zeal had served on every side; whose fame for breaking faith so long was known, well might ye claim the craft as all your own, and lash your lordly tails and fume to see such low-born apes of royal perfidy! yes--yes--to you alone did it belong to sin for ever, and yet ne'er do wrong,-- the frauds, the lies of lords legitimate are but fine policy, deep strokes of state; but let some upstart dare to soar so high in kingly craft, and "outlaw" is the cry! what, tho' long years of mutual treachery had peopled full your diplomatic shelves with ghosts of treaties, murdered 'mong yourselves; tho' each by turns was knave and dupe--what then? a holy league would set all straight again; like juno's virtue, which a dip or two in some blest fountain made as good as new! most faithful russia--faithful to whoe'er could plunder best and give him amplest share; who, even when vanquisht, sure to gain his ends, for want of _foes_ to rob, made free with _friends_,[ ] and, deepening still by amiable gradations, when foes were stript of all, then fleeced relations![ ] most mild and saintly prussia--steeped to the ears in persecuted poland's blood and tears, and now, with all her harpy wings outspread o'er severed saxony's devoted head! pure austria too--whose history naught repeats but broken leagues and subsidized defeats; whose faith, as prince, extinguisht venice shows, whose faith, as man, a widowed daughter knows! and thou, oh england--who, tho' once as shy as cloistered maids, of shame or perfidy, art now _broke in_, and, thanks to castlereagh, in all that's worst and falsest lead'st the way! such was the pure divan, whose pens and wits the escape from elba frightened into fits;-- such were the saints, who doomed napoleon's life, in virtuous frenzy, to the assassin's knife. disgusting crew!--_who_ would not gladly fly to open, downright, bold-faced tyranny, to honest guilt, that dares do all but lie, from the false, juggling craft of men like these, their canting crimes and varnisht villanies;-- these holy leaguers, who then loudest boast of faith and honor, when they've stained them most; from whose affection men should shrink as loath as from their hate, for they'll be fleeced by both; who, even while plundering, forge religion's name to frank their spoil, and without fear or shame call down the holy trinity[ ] to bless partition leagues and deeds of devilishness! but hold--enough--soon would this swell of rage o'erflow the boundaries of my scanty page;-- so, here i pause--farewell--another day, return we to those lords of prayer and prey, whose loathsome cant, whose frauds by right divine, deserve a lash--oh! weightier far than mine! [ ] napoleon's proclamation on landing from elba. [ ] at the peace of tilsit, where he abandoned his ally, prussia, to france, and received a portion of her territory. [ ] the seizure of finland from his relative of sweden. [ ] the usual preamble of these flagitious compacts. in the same spirit, catherine, after the dreadful massacre of warsaw, ordered a solemn "thanksgiving to god in all the churches, for the blessings conferred upon the poles"; and commanded that each of them should "swear fidelity and loyalty to her, and to shed in her defence the last drop of their blood, as they should answer for it to god, and his terrible judgment, kissing the holy word and cross of their saviour!" letter viii. from mr. bob fudge to richard ----, esq. dear dick, while old donaldson's[ ] mending my stays,-- which i _knew_ would go smash with me one of these days, and, at yesterday's dinner, when, full to the throttle, we lads had begun our dessert with a bottle of neat old constantia, on _my_ leaning back just to order another, by jove, i went crack!-- or, as honest tom said, in his nautical phrase, "damn my eyes, bob, in _doubling_ the _cape_ you've _missed stays_."[ ] so, of course, as no gentleman's seen out without them, they're now at the _schneider's_[ ]--and, while he's about them, here goes for a letter, post-haste, neck and crop. let us see--in my last i was--where did i stop? oh! i know--at the boulevards, as motley a road as man ever would wish a day's lounging upon; with its cafés and gardens, hotels and pagodas, its founts and old counts sipping beer in the sun: with its houses of all architectures you please, from the grecian and gothic, dick, down by degrees to the pure hottentot or the brighton chinese; where in temples antique you may breakfast or dinner it, lunch at a mosque and see punch from a minaret. then, dick, the mixture of bonnets and bowers. of foliage and frippery, _fiacres_ and flowers, green-grocers, green gardens--one hardly knows whether 'tis country or town, they're so messed up together! and there, if one loves the romantic, one sees jew clothes-men, like shepherds, reclined under trees; or quidnuncs, on sunday, just fresh from the barber's, enjoying their news and _groseille_[ ] in those arbors; while gayly their wigs, like the tendrils, are curling, and founts of red currant-juice[ ] round them are purling. here, dick, arm in arm as we chattering stray, and receive a few civil "goddems" by the way,-- for, 'tis odd, these mounseers,--tho' we've wasted our wealth and our strength, till we've thrown ourselves into a phthisic;-- to cram down their throats an old king for their health. as we whip little children to make them take physic;-- yet, spite of our good-natured money and slaughter, they hate us, as beelzebub hates holy-water! but who the deuce cares, dick, as long as they nourish us neatly as now, and good cookery flourishes-- long as, by bayonets protected, we natties may have our full fling at their _salmis_ and _pâtés_? and, truly, i always declared 'twould be pity to burn to the ground such a choice-feeding city. had _dad_ but his way, he'd have long ago blown the whole batch to old nick--and the _people_, i own, if for no other cause than their curst monkey looks, well deserve a blow-up--but then, damn it, their cooks! as to marshals, and statesmen, and all their whole lineage, for aught that _i_ care, you may knock them to spinage; but think, dick, their cooks--what a loss to mankind! what a void in the world would their art leave behind! their chronometer spits--their intense salamanders-- their ovens--their pots, that can soften old ganders, all vanisht for ever,--their miracles o'er, and the _marmite perpétuelle_ bubbling no more! forbid it, forbid it, ye holy allies! take whatever ye fancy--take statues, take money-- but leave them, oh leave them, their perigueux pies, their glorious goose-livers and high pickled tunny! tho' many, i own, are the evils they've brought us, tho' royalty's here on her very last legs, yet who can help loving the land that has taught us six hundred and eighty-five ways to dress eggs? you see, dick, in spite of them cries of "god-dam," _"coquin anglais," et cetera_--how generous i am! and now (to return, once again, to my "day," which will take us all night to get thro' in this way.) from the boulevards we saunter thro' many a street, crack jokes on the natives--mine, all very neat-- leave the signs of the times to political fops, and find _twice_ as much fun in the signs of the shops;-- _here_, a louis dix-huit--_there_, a martinmas goose, (much in vogue since your eagles are gone out of use)-- henri quatres in shoals, and of gods a great many, but saints are the most on hard duty of any:-- st. tony, who used all temptations to spurn, _here_ hangs o'er a beer-shop, and tempts in his turn; while _there_ st. venecia[ ] sits hemming and frilling her holy _mouchoir_ o'er the door of some milliner;-- saint austin's the "outward and visible sign "of an inward" cheap dinner, and pint of small wine; while st. denys hangs out o'er some hatter of _ton_, and possessing, good bishop, no head of his own,[ ] takes an interest in dandies, who've got--next to none! then we stare into shops--read the evening's _affiches_-- or, if some, who're lotharios in feeding, should wish just to flirt with a luncheon, (a devilish bad trick, as it takes off the bloom of one's appetite, dick.) to the _passage des_--what d'ye call't--_des panoramas_[ ] we quicken our pace, and there heartily cram as seducing young _pâtés_, as ever could cozen one out of one's appetite, down by the dozen. we vary, of course--_petits pâtés_ do _one_ day, the _next_ we've our lunch with the gauffrier hollandais,[ ] that popular artist, who brings out, like scott, his delightful productions so quick, hot and hot; not the worse for the exquisite comment that follows,-- divine _maresquino_, which--lord, how one swallows! once more, then, we saunter forth after our snack, or subscribe a few francs for the price of a _fiacre_, and drive far away to the old _montagnes russes_, where we find a few twirls in the car of much use to regenerate the hunger and thirst of us sinners, who've lapst into snacks--the perdition of dinners. and here, dick--in answer to one of your queries, about which we gourmands have had much discussion-- i've tried all these mountains, swiss, french, and ruggieri's, and think, for _digestion_,[ ] there's none like the russian; so equal the motion--so gentle, tho' fleet-- it in short such a light and salubrious scamper is, that take whom you please--take old louis dix-huit, and stuff him--ay, up to the neck--with stewed lampreys,[ ] so wholesome these mounts, such a _solvent_ i've found them, that, let me but rattle the monarch well down them, the fiend, indigestion, would fly far away, and the regicide lampreys[ ] be foiled of their prey! such, dick, are the classical sports that content us, till five o'clock brings on that hour so momentous, that epoch--but whoa! my lad--here comes the _schneider_, and, curse him, has made the stays three inches wider-- too wide by an inch and a half--what a guy! but, no matter--'twill all be set right by-and-by. as we've massinot's[ ] eloquent _carte_ to eat still up. an inch and a half's but a trifle to fill up. so--not to lose time, dick--here goes for the task; _au revoir_, my old boy--of the gods i but ask that my life, like "the leap of the german," may be, _"du lit à la table, d'la table du lit!"_ r. f. [ ] an english tailor at paris. [ ] a ship is said to miss stays, when she does not obey the helm in tacking. [ ] the dandy term for a tailor. [ ] "lemonade and _eau-de-groseille_ are measured out at every corner of every street, from fantastic vessels, jingling with bells, to thirsty tradesmen or wearied messengers."--see lady morgan's lively description of the streets of paris, in her very amusing work upon france, book vi. [ ] these gay, portable fountains, from which the groseille water is administered, are among the most characteristic ornaments of the streets of paris. [ ] veronica, the saint of the holy handkerchief, is also, under the name of venisse or venecia, the tutelary saint of milliners. [ ] st. denys walked three miles after his head was cut off. [ ] off the boulevards italiens. [ ] in the palais royal; successor, i believe, to the flamaud, so long celebrated for the _moëlleux_ of his gaufres. [ ] doctor cotterel recommends, for this purpose, the beaujon or french mountains. [ ] a dish so indigestible that a late novelist at the end of his book, could imagine no more summary mode of getting rid of all his heroes and heroines than by a hearty supper of stewed lampreys. [ ] they killed henry i. of england:-"a food [says hume, gravely], which always agreed better with his palate than his constitution." [ ] a famous restaurateur--now dupont. letter ix. prom phil. fudge, esq., to the lord viscount castlereagh. my lord, the instructions, brought to-day, "i shall in all my best obey." your lordship talks and writes so sensibly! and--whatsoe'er some wags may say-- oh! not at _all_ incomprehensibly. i feel the inquiries in your letter about my health and french most flattering; thank ye, my french, tho' somewhat better, is, on the whole, but weak and smattering:-- nothing, of course, that can compare with his who made the congress stare (a certain lord we need not name), who, even in french, would have his trope, and talk of "_batir_ un systême "sur _l'équilibre_ de l'europe!" sweet metaphor!--and then the epistle, which bid the saxon king go whistle,-- that tender letter to _"mon prince"_[ ] which showed alike thy french and sense;-- oh no, my lord--there's none can do or say _un-english_ things like you: and, if the schemes that fill thy breast could but a vent congenial seek, and use the tongue that suits them best, what charming turkish wouldst thou speak! but as for _me_, a frenchless grub, at congress never born to stammer, nor learn like thee, my lord, to snub fallen monarchs, out of chambaud's grammar-- bless you, you do not, _can not_, know how far a little french will go; for all one's stock, one need but draw on some half-dozen words like toese-- _comme ça--par-là--là-bas--ah ha_! they'll take you all thro' france with ease. your lordship's praises of the scraps i sent you from my journal lately, (enveloping a few laced caps for lady c,) delight me greatly. _her_ flattering speech--"what pretty things "one finds in mr. fudge's pages!" is praise which (as some poet sings) would pay one for the toils of ages. thus flattered, i presume to send a few more extracts by a friend; and i should hope they'll be no less approved of than my last ms.-- the former ones, i fear, were creased, as biddy round the caps _would_ pin them; but these will come to hand, at least unrumpled, for there's--nothing in them. _extracts from mr. fudge's journal, addressed to lord c._ _august _. went to the mad-house--saw the man[ ] who thinks, poor wretch, that, while the fiend of discord here full riot ran, _he_, like the rest, was guillotined;-- but that when, under boney's reign, (a more discreet, tho' quite as strong one,) the heads were all restored again, he, in the scramble, got a _wrong one_. accordingly, he still cries out this strange head fits him most unpleasantly; and always runs, poor devil, about, inquiring for his own incessantly! while to his case a tear i dropt, and sauntered home, thought i--ye gods! how many heads might thus be swopt, and, after all, not make much odds! for instance, there's vansittart's head-- ("tam _carum_" it may well be said) if by some curious chance it came to settle on bill soames's[ ] shoulders, the effect would turn out much the same on all respectable cash-holders; except that while, in its _new_ socket, the head was planning schemes to win a _zig-zag_ way into one's pocket, the hands would plunge directly in. good viscount sidmouth, too, instead of his own grave, respected head, might wear (for aught i see that bars) old lady wilhelmina frump's-- so while the hand signed _circulars_, the head might lisp out "what is trumps?"-- the regent's brains could we transfer to some robust man-milliner, the shop, the shears, the lace, and ribbon would go, i doubt not, quite as glib on; and, _vice versa_, take the pains to give the prince the shopman's brains, one only change from thence would flow, _ribbons_ would not be wasted so. 'twas thus i pondered on, my lord; and, even at night, when laid in bed, i found myself, before i snored, thus chopping, swopping head for head. at length i thought, fantastic elf! how such a change would suit _myself_. 'twixt sleep and waking, one by one, with various pericraniums saddled, at last i tried your lordship's on, and then i grew completely addled-- forgot all other heads, od rot 'em! and slept, and dreamt that i was--bottom. _august _. walked out with daughter bid--was shown the house of commons and the throne, whose velvet cushion's just the same napoleon sat on--what a shame! oh! can we wonder, best of speechers, when louis seated thus we see, that france's "fundamental features" are much the same they used to be? however,--god preserve the throne, and _cushion_ too--and keep them free; from accidents, which _have_ been known to happen even to royalty![ ] _august _. read, at a stall (for oft one pops on something at these stalls and shops, that does to _quote_ and gives one's book a classical and knowing look.-- indeed, i've found, in latin, lately, a course of stalls improves me greatly)-- 'twas thus i read that in the east a monarch's _fat_'s a serious matter; and once in every year, at least, he's weighed--to see if he gets fatter:[ ] then, if a pound or two he be increased, there's quite a jubilee![ ] suppose, my lord--and far from me to treat such things with levity-- but just suppose the regent's weight were made thus an affair of state; and, every sessions, at the close,-- 'stead of a speech, which, all can see, is heavy and dull enough, god knows-- we were to try how heavy _he_ is. much would it glad all hearts to hear-- that, while the nation's revenue loses so many pounds a year, the prince, god bless him! _gains_ a few. with bales of muslin, chintzes, spices, i see the easterns weigh their kings;-- but, for the regent, my advice is, we should throw in much _heavier_ things: for instance-----'s quarto volumes, which, tho' not spices, serve to wrap them; _dominie_ stoddart's daily columns, "prodigious!"--in, of course, we'd clap them-- letters, that cartwright's[ ] pen indites, in which, with logical confusion, the _major_ like a _minor_ writes, and never comes to a _conclusion_:-- lord somers's pamphlet--or his head-- (ah! _that_ were worth its weight in lead!) along with which we _in_ may whip, sly, the speeches of sir john cox hippisly; that baronet of many words, who loves so, in the house of lords, to whisper bishops--and so nigh unto their wigs in whispering goes, that you may always know him by a patch of powder on his nose!-- if this won�t do, we in must cram the "reasons" of lord buckingham; (a book his lordship means to write, entitled "reasons for my ratting":) or, should these prove too small and light, his rump's a host--we'll bundle _that_ in! and, _still_ should all these masses fail to stir the regent's pondrous scale, why, then, my lord, in heaven's name, pitch in, without reserve or stint, the whole of ragley's beauteous dame-- if _that_ won�t raise him, devil's in it! _august _. consulted murphy's tacitus about those famous spies at rome,[ ] whom certain whigs--to make a fuss-- describe as much resembling us, informing gentlemen, at home. but, bless the fools, they _can't_ be serious, to say lord sidmouth's like tiberius! what! _he_, the peer, that injures no man, like that severe, blood-thirsty roman!-- 'tis true, the tyrant lent an ear to all sorts of spies--so doth the peer, too. 'tis true, my lord's elect tell fibs, and deal in perjury--_ditto_ tib's. 'tis true, the tyrant screened and hid his rogues from justice--_ditto_ sid. 'tis true the peer is grave and glib at moral speeches--_ditto_ tib. 'tis true the feats the tyrant did were in his dotage--_ditto_ sid. so far, i own, the parallel 'twixt tib and sib goes vastly well; but there are points in tib that strike my humble mind as much more like _yourself_, my dearest lord, or him, of the india board--that soul of whim! like him, tiberius loved his joke, on matters, too, where few can bear one; _e. g._ a man cut up, or broke upon the wheel--a devilish fair one! your common fractures, wounds and fits, are nothing to such wholesale wits; but, let the sufferer gasp for life, the joke is then, worth any money; and, if he writhe beneath a knife,-- oh dear, that's something _quite_ too funny. in this respect, my lord, you see the roman wag and ours agree: now as to _your_ resemblance--mum-- this parallel we need not follow: tho' 'tis, in ireland, said by some your lordship beats tiberius hollow; whips, chains--but these are things too serious for me to mention or discuss; whene'er your lordship acts tiberius, phil. fudge's part is _tacitus_! _september _. was thinking, had lord sidmouth got any good decent sort of plot against the winter-time--if not, alas, alas, our ruin's fated; all done up and _spiflicated_! ministers and all their vassals, down from castlereagh to castles,-- unless we can kick up a riot, ne'er can hope for peace or quiet! what's to be done?--spa-fields was clever; but even _that_ brought gibes and mockings upon our heads--so, _mem._--must never keep ammunition in old stockings; for fear some wag should in his curst head take it to say our force was _worsted. mem._ too--when sid an army raises, it must not be "_incog._" like _bayes's_: nor must the general be a hobbling professor of the art of cobbling; lest men, who perpetrate such puns, should say, with jacobinic grin, he felt, from _soleing wellingtons_,[ ] a _wellington's_ great _soul_ within! nor must an old apothecary go take the tower, for lack of pence, with (what these wags would call, so merry,) _physical_ force and _phial_-ence! no--no--our plot, my lord, must be next time contrived more skilfully. john bull, i grieve to say, is growing so troublesomely sharp and knowing, so wise--in short, so jacobin-- 'tis monstrous hard to _take him in_. _september _. heard of the fate of our ambassador in china, and was sorely nettled; but think, my lord, we should not pass it o'er till all this matter's fairly settled; and here's the mode occurs to _me_:-- as none of our nobility, tho' for their _own_ most gracious king (they would kiss hands, or--anything), can be persuaded to go thro' this farce-like trick of the _ko-tou_; and as these mandarins _won't_ bend, without some mumming exhibition, suppose, my lord, you were to send grimaldi to them on a mission: as _legate_, joe could play his part, and if, in diplomatic art, the "_volto sciolto_"'s meritorius,[ ] let joe but grin, he has it, glorious! a _title_ for him's easily made; and, by the by, one christmas time, if i remember right, he played lord morley in some pantomime:--[ ] as earl of morley then gazette him, if _t'other_ earl of morley'll let him, (and why should not the world be blest "with _two_ such stars, for east and west?) then, when before the yellow screen he's brought--and, sure, the very essence of etiquette would be that scene of joe in the celestial presence!-- he thus should say:--"duke ho and soo, "i'll play what tricks you please for you, "if you'll, in turn, but do for me "a few small tricks you now shall see. "if i consult _your_ emperor's liking, "at least you'll do the same for _my_ king." he then should give them nine such grins, as would astound even mandarins; and throw such somersets before the picture of king george (god bless him!) as, should duke ho but try them o'er, would, by confucius, _much_ distress him! i start this merely as a hint, but think you'll find some wisdom in't; and, should you follow up the job, my son, my lord (you _know_ poor bob), would in the suite be glad to go and help his excellency, joe:-- at least, like noble amherst's son, the lad will do to _practise_ on. [ ] the celebrated letter to prince hardenburgh (written, however, i believe, originally in english) in which his lordship, professing to see "no moral or political objection" to the dismemberment of saxony, denounced the unfortunate king as "not only the most devoted, but the most favored, of bonaparte's vassals". [ ] this extraordinary madman is, i believe, in the bicêtre. he imagines, exactly as mr. fudge states it, that when the heads of those who had been guillotined were restored, he by mistake got some other person's instead of his own. [ ] a celebrated pickpocket. [ ] i am afraid that mr. fudge alludes here to a very awkward accident, which is well known to have happened to poor louis le désiré, some years since, at one of the regent's fêtes. he was sitting next our gracious queen at the time. [ ] "the third day of the feast the king causeth himself to be weighed with great care,"--_f. bernier's "voyage to surat," etc_. [ ] "i remember," says bernier, "that all the omrahs expressed great joy that the king weighed two pounds more now than the year preceding."-- another author tells us that "fatness, as well as a very large head, is considered, throughout india, as one of the most precious gifts of heaven." an enormous skull is absolutely revered, and the happy owner is looked up to as a superior being. to a _prince_ a joulter head is invaluable."--_oriental field sports_. [ ] major cartwright. [ ] the name of the first worthy who set up the trade of informer at rome (to whom our olivers and castleses ought to erect a statue) was romanus hispo. [ ] short boots so called. [ ] the _open countenance_, recommended by lord chesterfield. [ ] mr. fudge is a little mistaken here. it was _not_ grimaldi, but some very inferior performer, who played this part of "lord morley" in the pantomime,--so much to the horror of the distinguished earl of that name. letter x. from miss biddy fudge to miss dorothy ----. well, it _isn't_ the king, after all, my dear creature! but _don't_ you go laugh, now--there's nothing to quiz in't-- for grandeur of air and for grimness of feature, he _might_ be a king, doll, tho', hang him, he isn't. at first, i felt hurt, for i wisht it, i own, if for no other cause but to vex miss malone,-- (the great heiress, you know, of shandangan, who's here, showing off with _such_ airs, and a real cashmere, while mine's but a paltry, old rabbit-skin, dear!) but pa says, on deeply considering the thing, "i am just as well pleased it should _not_ be the king; "as i think for my biddy, so _gentille_ and _jolie_. "whose charms may their price in an _honest_ way fetch, "that a brandenburgh"--(what _is_ a brandenburgh, dolly?)-- "would be, after all, no such very great catch. "if the regent indeed"--added he, looking sly-- (you remember that comical squint of his eye) but i stopt him with "la, pa, how _can_ you say so, "when the regent loves none but old women, you know!" which is fact, my dear dolly--we, girls of eighteen, and so slim--lord, he'd think us not fit to be seen: and would like us much better as old-as, as old as that countess of desmond, of whom i've been told that she lived to much more than a hundred and ten, and was killed by a fall from a cherry-tree then! what a frisky old girl! but--to come to my lover, who, tho' not a king, is a _hero_ i'll swear,-- you shall hear all that's happened, just briefly run over, since that happy night, when we whiskt thro' the air! let me see--'twas on saturday--yes, dolly, yes-- from that evening i date the first dawn of my bliss; when we both rattled off in that dear little carriage, whose journey, bob says, is so like love and marriage, "beginning gay, desperate, dashing, down-hilly, "and ending as dull as a six-inside dilly!"[ ] well, scarcely a wink did i sleep the night thro'; and, next day, having scribbled my letter to you, with a heart full of hope this sweet fellow to meet, i set out with papa, to see louis dix-huit make his bow to some half-dozen women and boys, who get up a small concert of shrill _vive le rois_- and how vastly genteeler, my dear, even this is, than vulgar pall-mall's oratorio of hisses! the gardens seemed full--so, of course, we walkt o'er 'em, 'mong orange-trees, clipt into town-bred decorum, and daphnes and vases and many a statue there staring, with not even a stitch on them, at you! the ponds, too, we viewed--stood awhile on the brink to contemplate the play of those pretty gold fishes-- "_live bullion_," says merciless bob, "which, i think, "would, if _coined_, with a little _mint_ sauce, be delicious!" but _what_, dolly, what, is the gay orange-grove, or gold fishes, to her that's in search of her love? in vain did i wildly explore every chair where a thing _like_ a man was--no lover sat there! in vain my fond eyes did i eagerly cast at the whiskers, mustachios and wigs that went past, to obtain if i could but a glance at that curl,-- a glimpse of those whiskers, as sacred, my girl, as the lock that, pa says,[ ]is to mussulman given, for the angel to hold by that "lugs them to heaven!" alas, there went by me full many a quiz, and mustachios in plenty, but nothing like his! disappointed, i found myself sighing out "well-a-day,"-- thought of the words of tom moore's irish melody, something about the "green spot of delight" (which, you know, captain mackintosh sung to us one day): ah dolly, _my_ "spot" was that saturday night, and its verdure, how fleeting, had withered by sunday! we dined at a tavern--la, what do i say? if bob was to know!--a _restaurateur's_, dear; where your _properest_ ladies go dine every day, and drink burgundy out of large tumblers, like beer. fine bob (for he's really grown _super_-fine) condescended for once to make one of the party; of course, tho' but three, we had dinner for nine, and in spite of my grief, love, i own i ate hearty. indeed, doll, i know not how 'tis, but, in grief, i have always found eating a wondrous relief; and bob, who's in love, said he felt the same, _quite_-- "my sighs," said he, "ceased with the first glass i drank you; "the _lamb_ made me tranquil, the _puffs_ made me light, "and--now that all's o'er--why, i'm--pretty well, thank you!" to _my_ great annoyance, we sat rather late; for bobby and pa had a furious debate about singing and cookery--bobby, of course, standing up for the latter fine art in full force; and pa saying, "god only knows which is worst, "the french singers or cooks, but i wish us well over it-- "what with old laÏ's and vÉry, i'm curst "if _my_ head or my stomach will ever recover it!" 'twas dark when we got to the boulevards to stroll, and in vain did i look 'mong the street macaronis, when, sudden it struck me--last hope of my soul-- that some angel might take the dear man to tortoni's![ ] we entered--and, scarcely had bob, with an air, for a _grappe à la jardinière_ called to the waiters, when, oh doll! i saw him--my hero was there (for i knew his white small-clothes and brown leather gaiters), a group of fair statues from greece smiling o'er him,[ ] and lots of red currant-juice sparkling before him! oh! dolly, these heroes--what creatures they are; in the _boudoir_ the same as in fields full of slaughter! as cool in the beaujon's precipitous car, as when safe at tortoni's, o'er iced currant water! he joined us--imagine, dear creature, my ecstasy-- joined by the man i'd have broken ten necks to see! bob wished to treat him with punch _à la glace_, but the sweet fellow swore that my _beaute_, my _grâce_, and my _ja-ne-sais-quoi_ (then his whiskers he twirled) were to him, "on de top of all ponch in de vorld."-- how pretty!--tho' oft (as of course it must be) both his french and his english are greek, doll, to me. but, in short, i felt happy as ever fond heart did; and happier still, when 'twas fixt, ere we parted, that, if the next day should be _pastoral_ weather. we all would set off, in french buggies, _together_, to see _montmorency_--that place which, you know, is so famous for cherries and jean jacques rousseau. his card then he gave us--the _name_, rather creased-- but 'twas calicot--something--a colonel, at least! after which--sure there never was hero so civil--he saw us safe home to our door in _rue rivoli_, where his _last_ words, as, at parting, he threw a soft look o'er his shoulders, were--"how do you do!" but, lord!--there's papa for the post--i'm so vext-- _montmorency_ must now, love, be kept for my next. that dear sunday night--i was charmingly drest, and--_so_ providential!--was looking my best; such a sweet muslin gown, with a flounce--and my frills, you've no notion how rich--(tho' pa has by the bills) and you'd smile had you seen, when we sat rather near, colonel calicot eyeing the cambric, my dear. then the flowers in my bonnet--but, la! it's in vain-- so, good-by, my sweet doll--i shall soon write again. b. f. _nota bene_--our love to all neighbors about-- your papa in particular--how is his gout? p.s.--i've just opened my letter to say, in your next you must tell me, (now _do_, dolly, pray, for i hate to ask bob, he's so ready to quiz,) what sort of a thing, dear, a _brandenburgh_ is. [ ] the cars, on return, are dragged up slowly by a chain. [ ] for this scrap of knowledge "pa" was, i suspect, indebted to a note upon volney's "ruins:" "it is by this tuft of hair (on the crown of the head), worn by the majority of mussulmans, that the angel of the tomb is to take the elect and carry them to paradise." [ ] a fashionable _café glacier_ on the italian boulevards. [ ] "you eat your ice at tortoni's," says mr. scott, "under a grecian group." letter xi. from phelim connor to ----. yes, 'twas a cause, as noble and as great as ever hero died to vindicate-- a nation's right to speak a nation's voice, and own no power but of the nation's choice! such was the grand, the glorious cause that now hung trembling on napoleon's single brow; such the sublime arbitrament, that poured, in patriot eyes, a light around his sword, a hallowing light, which never, since the day of his young victories, had illumed its way! oh 'twas not then the time for tame debates, ye men of gaul, when chains were at your gates; when he, who late had fled your chieftain's eye. as geese from eagles on mount taurus fly,[ ] denounced against the land, that spurned his chain, myriads of swords to bind it fast again-- myriads of fierce invading swords, to track thro' your best blood his path of vengeance back; when europe's kings, that never yet combined but (like those upper stars, that, when conjoined, shed war and pestilence,) to scourge mankind, gathered around, with hosts from every shore, hating napoleon much, but freedom more, and, in that coming strife, appalled to see the world yet left one chance for liberty!-- no, 'twas not _then_ the time to weave a net of bondage round your chief; to curb and fret your veteran war-horse, pawing for the fight, when every hope was in his speed and might-- to waste the hour of action in dispute, and coolly plan how freedom's _boughs_ should shoot, when your invader's axe was at the _root_! no sacred liberty! that god, who throws, thy light around, like his own sunshine, knows how well i love thee and how deeply hate _all_ tyrants, upstart and legitimate-- yet, in that hour, were france my native land, i would have followed, with quick heart and hand, napoleon, nero--ay, no matter whom-- to snatch my country from that damning doom, that deadliest curse that on the conquered waits-- a conqueror's satrap, throned within her gates! true, he was false--despotic--all you please-- had trampled down man's holiest liberties-- had, by a genius, formed for nobler things than lie within the grasp of _vulgar_ kings, but raised the hopes of men--as eaglets fly with tortoises aloft into the sky-- to dash them down again more shatteringly! all this i own--but still * * * * * [ ] see aellan, _lib_. v. _cap_. .,--who tells us that these geese, from a consciousness of their own loquacity, always cross mount taurus with stones in their bills, to prevent any unlucky cackle from betraying them to the eagles. letter xii. from miss biddy fudge to miss dorothy ----. at last, dolly,--thanks to potent emetic, which bobby and pa, grimace sympathetic, have swallowed this morning, to balance the bliss, of an eel _matelote_ and a _bisque d'écrevisses_-- i've a morning at home to myself, and sit down to describe you our heavenly trip out of town. how agog you must be for this letter, my dear! lady jane, in the novel, less languisht to hear, if that elegant cornet she met at lord neville's was actually dying with love or--blue devils. but love, dolly, love is the theme _i_ pursue; with blue devils, thank heaven, i have nothing to do-- except, indeed, dear colonel calicot spies any imps of that color in _certain_ blue eyes, which he stares at till _i_, doll, at _his_ do the same; then he simpers--i blush--and would often exclaim, if i knew but the french for it, "lord, sir, for shame!" well, the morning was lovely--the trees in full dress for the happy occasion--the sunshine _express_-- had we ordered it, dear, of the best poet going, it scarce could be furnisht more golden and glowing. tho' late when we started, the scent of the air was like gattie's rose-water,--and, bright, here and there, on the grass an odd dew-drop was glittering yet, like my aunt's diamond pin on her green tabbinet! while the birds seemed to warble as blest on the boughs, as if _each_ a plumed calicot had for her spouse; and the grapes were all blushing and kissing in rows, and--in short, need i tell you wherever one goes with the creature one loves, 'tis _couleur de rose_; and ah! i shall ne'er, lived i ever so long, see a day such as that at divine montmorency! there was but _one_ drawback--at first when we started, the colonel and i were inhumanly parted; how cruel--young hearts of such moments to rob! he went in pa's buggy, and i went with bob: and, i own, i felt spitefully happy to know that papa and his comrade agreed but so-so. for the colonel, it seems, is a stickler of boney's-- served _with_ him of course--nay, i'm sure they were cronies. so martial his features! dear doll, you can trace ulm, austerlitz, lodi, as plain in his face as you do on that pillar of glory and brass,[ ] which the poor duc de berri must hate so to pass! it appears, too, he made--as most foreigners do-- about english affairs an odd blunder or two. for example misled by the names, i dare say-- he confounded jack castles with lord castlereagh; and--sure such a blunder no mortal hit ever on-- fancied the _present_ lord camden the _clever_ one! but politics ne'er were the sweet fellow's trade; 'twas for war and the ladies my colonel was made. and oh! had you heard, as together we walkt thro' that beautiful forest, how sweetly he talkt; and how perfectly well he appeared, doll, to know all the life and adventures of jean jacques rousseau?-- "'twas there," said he--not that his _words_ i can state-- 'twas a gibberish that cupid alone could translate;-- but "there," said he, (pointing where, small and remote, the dear hermitage rose), "there his julie he wrote,-- "upon paper gilt-edged, without blot or erasure; "then sauded it over with silver and azure, "and--oh, what will genius and fancy not do!-- "tied the leaves up together with _nonpareille_ blue!" what a trait of rousseau! what a crowd of emotions from sand and blue ribbons are conjured up here! alas, that a man of such exquisite notions should send his poor brats to the foundling, my dear! "'twas here too perhaps," colonel calicot said-- as down the small garden he pensively led-- (tho' once i could see his sublime forehead wrinkle with rage not to find there the loved periwinkle) "'twas here he received from the fair d'Épinay "(who called him so sweetly _her bear_, every day,) "that dear flannel petticoat, pulled off to form "a waistcoat, to keep the enthusiast warm!" such, doll, were the sweet recollections we pondered, as, full of romance, thro' that valley we wandered. the flannel (one's train of ideas, how odd it is!) led us to talk about other commodities, cambric, and silk, and--i ne'er shall forget, for the sun was then hastening in pomp to its set. and full on the colonel's dark whiskers shone down, when he askt me, with eagerness,--who made my gown? the question confused me--for, doll, you must know, and i _ought_ to have told my best friend long ago, that, by pa's strict command, i no longer employ[ ] that enchanting _couturière_, madame le roi; but am forced now to have victorine, who--deuce take her!-- it seems is, at present, the king's mantua-maker-- i mean _of his party_--and, tho' much the smartest, le roi is condemned as a rank bonapartist.[ ] think, doll, how confounded i lookt--so well knowing the colonel's opinions--my cheeks were quite glowing; i stammered out something--nay, even half named the _legitimate_ sempstress, when, loud, he exclaimed, "yes; yes, by the stitching 'tis plain to be seen "it was made by that bourbonite bitch, victorine!" what a word for a hero!--but heroes _will_ err, and i thought, dear, i'd tell you things _just_ as they were. besides tho' the word on good manners intrench, i assure you 'tis not _half_ so shocking in french. but this cloud, tho' embarrassing, soon past away, and the bliss altogether, the dreams of that day, the thoughts that arise, when such dear fellows woo us,-- the _nothings_ that then, love, are--_everything_ to us-- that quick correspondence of glances and sighs, and what bob calls the "two-penny-post of the eyes"-- ah, doll! tho' i _know_ you've a heart, 'tis in vain, to a heart so unpractised these things to explain. they can only be felt, in their fulness divine, by her who has wandered, at evening's decline, thro' a valley like that, with a colonel like mine! but here i must finish--for bob, my dear dolly, whom physic, i find, always makes melancholy, is seized with a fancy for churchyard reflections; and, full of all yesterday's rich recollections, is just setting off for montmartre--"for _there_ is," said he, looking solemn, "the tomb of the vÉrys![ ] "long, long have i wisht as a votary true, "o'er the grave of such talents to utter my moans; "and, to-day--as my stomach is not in good cue "for the _flesh_ of the vÉrys--i'll visit their _bones_!" he insists upon _my_ going with him--how teasing! this letter, however, dear dolly, shall lie unsealed in my drawer, that, if anything pleasing occurs while i'm out, i may tell you--good-by. b.f. _four o'clock_. oh, dolly, dear dolly, i'm ruined for ever-- i ne'er shall be happy again, dolly, never! to think of the wretch--what a victim was i! 'tis too much to endure--i shall die, i shall die-- "my brain's in a fever--my pulses beat quick-- i shall die or at least be exceedingly sick! oh! what do you think? after all my romancing, my visions of glory, my sighing, my glancing, this colonel--i scarce can commit it to paper-- this colonel's no more than a vile linen-draper!! 'tis true as i live--i had coaxt brother bob so, (you'll hardly make out what i'm writing, i sob so,) for some little gift on my birthday--september the thirtieth, dear, i'm eighteen, you remember-- that bob to a shop kindly ordered the coach, (ah! little i thought who the shopman would prove,) to bespeak me a few of those _mouchoirs de poche_, which, in happier hours, i have sighed for, my love-- (the most beautiful things--two napoleons the price-- and one's name in the corner embroidered so nice!) well, with heart full of pleasure, i entered the shop. but--ye gods, what a phantom!--i thought i should drop-- there he stood, my dear dolly--no room for a doubt-- there, behind the vile counter, these eyes saw him stand, with a piece of french cambric, before him rolled out, and that horrid yard-measure upraised in his hand! oh!--papa, all along, knew the secret,' is clear-- 'twas _a shopman_ he meant by a "brandenburgh," dear! the man, whom i fondly had fancied a king, and, when _that_ too delightful illusion was past, as a hero had worshipt--vile, treacherous thing-- to turn out but a low linen-draper at last! my head swam around--the wretch smiled, i believe, but his smiling, alas, could no longer deceive-- i fell back on bob--my whole heart seemed to wither-- and, pale as a ghost, i was carried back hither! i only remember that bob, as i caught him, with cruel facetiousness said, "curse the kiddy! "a stanch revolutionist always i've thought him, "but now i find out he's a _counter_ one, biddy!" only think, my dear creature, if this should be known to that saucy, satirical thing, miss malone! what a story 'twill be at shandangan for ever! what laughs and what quizzing she'll have with the men! it will spread thro' the country--and never, oh! never can biddy be seen at kilrandy again! farewell--i shall do something desperate, i fear-- and, ah! if my fate ever reaches your ear, one tear of compassion my doll will not grudge to her poor--broken-hearted--young friend, biddy fudge. _nota bene_--i am sure you will hear, with delight, that we're going, all three, to see brunet to-night. a laugh will revive me--and kind mr. cox (do you know him?) has got us the governor's box. [ ] the column in the place vendôme. [ ] miss biddy's notions of french pronunciation may be perceived in the rhymes which she always selects for "_le roi_." [ ] le roi, who was the _couturière_ of the empress maria louisa, is at present, of course, out of fashion, and is succeeded in her station by the royalist mantua-maker, victorine. [ ] it is the _brother_ of the present excellent _restaurateur_ who lies entombed so magnificently in the cimetière monmartre. the fudges in england being a sequel to the "fudge family in paris." preface. the name of the country town, in england--a well-known fashionable watering-place--in which the events that gave rise to the following correspondence occurred, is, for obvious reasons, suppressed. the interest attached, however, to the facts and personages of the story, renders it independent of all time and place; and when it is recollected that the whole train of romantic circumstances so fully unfolded in these letters has passed during the short period which has now elapsed since the great meetings in exeter hall, due credit will, it is hoped, be allowed to the editor for the rapidity with which he has brought the details before the public; while, at the same time any errors that may have been the result of such haste will, he trusts, with equal consideration, be pardoned. the fudges in england letter i. from patrick magan, esq., to the rev. richard ----; curate of ----, in ireland. who d' ye think we've got here?--quite reformed from the giddy. fantastic young thing that once made such a noise-- why, the famous miss fudge--that delectable biddy, whom you and i saw once at paris, when boys, in the full blaze of bonnets, and ribands, and airs-- such a thing as no rainbow hath colors to paint; ere time had reduced her to wrinkles and prayers, and the flirt found a decent retreat in the saint. poor "pa" hath popt off--gone, as charity judges, to some choice elysium reserved for the fudges; and miss, with a fortune, besides expectations from some much revered and much palsied relations, now wants but a husband, with requisites meet,-- age, thirty, or thereabouts--stature six feet, and warranted godly--to make all complete. _nota bene_--a churchman would suit, if he's _high_, but socinians or catholics need not apply. what say you, dick? doesn�t this tempt your ambition? the whole wealth of fudge, that renowned man of pith. all brought to the hammer, for church competition,-- sole encumbrance, miss fudge to be taken therewith. think, my boy, for a curate how glorious a catch! while, instead of the thousands of souls you _now_ watch, to save biddy fudge's is all you need do; and her purse will meanwhile be the saving of _you_. you may ask, dick, how comes it that i, a poor elf, wanting substance even more than your spiritual self, should thus generously lay my own claims on the shelf, when, god knows! there ne'er was young gentleman yet so much lackt an old spinster to rid him from debt, or had cogenter reasons than mine to assail her with tender love-suit--at the suit of his tailor. but thereby there hangs a soft secret, my friend, which thus to your reverend breast i commend: miss fudge hath a niece--such a creature!--with eyes like those sparklers that peep out from summer-night skies at astronomers-royal, and laugh with delight to see elderly gentlemen spying all night. while her figure--oh! bring all the gracefullest things that are borne thro' the light air by feet or by wings, not a single new grace to that form could they teach, which combines in itself the perfection of each; while, rapid or slow, as her fairy feet fall, the mute music of symmetry modulates all. ne'er in short was there creature more formed to bewilder a gay youth like me, who of castles aërial (and _only_ of such) am, god help me! a builder; still peopling each mansion with lodgers ethereal, and now, to this nymph of the seraph-like eye, letting out, as you see, my first floor next the sky. but, alas! nothing's perfect on earth--even she, this divine little gipsy, does odd things sometimes; talks learning--looks wise (rather painful to see), prints already in two county papers her rhymes; and raves--the sweet, charming, absurd little dear, about _amulets, bijous_, and _keepsakes_, next year. in a manner which plainly bad symptoms portends of that annual _blue_ fit, so distressing to friends; a fit which, tho' lasting but one short edition, leaves the patient long after in sad inanition. however, let's hope for the best--and, meanwhile, be it mine still to bask in the niece's warm smile; while you, if you're wise, dick, will play the gallant (uphill work, i confess,) to her saint of an aunt. think, my boy, for a youngster like you, who've a lack, not indeed of rupees, but of all other specie. what luck thus to find a kind witch at your back, an old goose with gold eggs, from all debts to release ye! never mind, tho' the spinster be reverend and thin, what are all the three graces to her three per cents? while her aeres!--oh dick, it don�t matter one pin how she touches the affections, so _you_ touch the rents; and love never looks half so pleased as when, bless him, he sings to an old lady's purse "open, sesame." by the way, i've just heard, in my walks, a report, which, if true, will insure for your visit some sport. 'tis rumored our manager means to bespeak the church tumblers from exeter hall for next week; and certainly ne'er did a queerer or rummer set throw, for the amusement of christians, a summerset. 'tis feared their chief "merriman," c--ke, cannot come, being called off, at present, to play punch at home; and the loss of so practised a wag in divinity will grieve much all lovers of jokes on the trinity;-- his pun on the name unigenitus, lately having pleased robert taylor, the _reverend_, greatly. 'twill prove a sad drawback, if absent he be, as a wag presbyterian's a thing quite to see; and, 'mong the five points of the calvinists, none of 'em ever yet reckoned a point of wit one of 'em. but even tho' deprived of this comical elf, we've a host of _buffoni_ in murtagh himself. who of all the whole troop is chief mummer and mime, and coke takes the _ground_ tumbling, _he_ the _sublime_;[ ] and of him we're quite certain, so pray come in time. [ ] in the language of the play-bills, "ground and _lofty_ tumbling." letter ii. from miss biddy fudge to mrs. elizabeth ----. just in time for the post, dear, and monstrously busy, with godly concernments--and worldly ones, too; things carnal and spiritual mixt, my dear lizzy, in this little brain till, bewildered and dizzy, 'twixt heaven and earth, i scarce know what i do. first, i've been to see all the gay fashions from town, which our favorite miss gimp for the spring has had down. sleeves _still_ worn (which _i_ think is wise), _à la folle_, charming hats, _pou de soie_--tho' the shape rather droll. but you can�t think how nicely the caps of _tulle_ lace, with the _mentonnières_ look on this poor sinful face; and i mean, if the lord in his mercy thinks right, to wear one at mrs. fitz-wigram's to-night. the silks are quite heavenly:--i'm glad too to say gimp herself grows more godly and good every day; hath had sweet experience--yea, even doth begin to turn from the gentiles, and put away sin-- and all since her last stock of goods was laid in. what a blessing one's milliner, careless of pelf, should thus "walk in newness," as well as one's self! so much for the blessings, the comforts of spirit i've had since we met, and they're more than i merit!-- poor, sinful, weak creature in every respect, tho' ordained (god knows why) to be one of the elect. but now for the picture's reverse.--you remember that footman and cook-maid i hired last december; _he_ a baptist particular--_she_, of some sect not particular, i fancy, in any respect; but desirous, poor thing, to be fed with the word, and "to wait," as she said, "on miss fudge and the lord." well, my dear, of all men, that particular baptist at preaching a sermon, off hand, was the aptest; and, long as he staid, do him justice, more rich in sweet savors of doctrine, there never was kitchen. he preached in the parlor, he preached in the hall, he preached to the chambermaids, scullions and all. all heard with delight his reprovings of sin, but above all, the cook-maid:--oh, ne'er would she tire-- tho', in learning to save sinful souls from the fire, she would oft let the soles she was frying fall in. (god forgive me for punning on points thus of piety!-- a sad trick i've learned in bob's heathen society.) but ah! there remains still the worst of my tale; come, asterisks, and help me the sad truth to veil-- conscious stars, that at even your own secret turn pale! * * * * * * * * * * in short, dear, this preaching and psalm-singing pair, chosen "vessels of mercy," as _i_ thought they were, have together this last week eloped; making bold to whip off as much goods as both vessels could hold-- not forgetting some scores of sweet tracts from my shelves, two family bibles as large as themselves, and besides, from the drawer--i neglecting to lock it-- my neat "morning manna, done up for the pocket."[ ] was there e'er known a case so distressing, dear liz? it has made me quite ill:-and the worst of it is, when rogues are _all_ pious, 'tis hard to detect _which_ rogues are the reprobate, _which_ the elect. this man "had a _call_," he said--impudent mockery! what call had he to _my_ linen and crockery? i'm now and have been for this week past in chase of some godly young couple this pair to replace. the enclosed two announcements have just met my eyes in that venerable monthly where saints advertise for such temporal comforts as this world supplies; and the fruits of the spirit are properly made an essential in every craft, calling and trade. where the attorney requires for his 'prentice some youth who has "learned to fear god and to walk in the truth;" where the sempstress, in search of employment, declares that pay is no object, so she can have prayers; and the establisht wine company proudly gives out that the whole of the firm, co. and all, are devout. happy london, one feels, as one reads o'er the pages, where saints are so much more abundant than sages; where parsons may soon be all laid on the shelf, as each cit can cite chapter and verse for himself, and the _serious_ frequenters of market and dock all lay in religion as part of their stock.[ ] who can tell to what lengths we may go on improving, when thus thro' all london the spirit keeps moving, and heaven's so in vogue that each shop adver_tise_ment is now not so much for the earth as the skies meant? p. s. have mislaid the two paragraphs--can�t stop to look, but both describe charming--both footman and cook. she, "decidedly pious"--with pathos deplores the increase of french cookery and sin on our shores; and adds--(while for further accounts she refers to a great gospel preacher, a cousin of hers,) that "tho' _some_ make their sabbaths mere matter-of-fun days, she asks but for tea and the gospel, on sundays." the footman, too, full of the true saving knowledge;-- has late been to cambridge--to trinity college; served last a young gentleman, studying divinity, but left--not approving the morals of trinity. p. s. i enclose, too, according to promise, some scraps of my journal--that day-book i keep of my heart; where, at some little items, (partaking, perhaps, more of earth than of heaven,) thy prudery may start, and suspect something tender, sly girl as thou art. for the present, i'm mute--but, whate'er may befall, recollect, dear, (in hebrews, xiii. ,) st. paul hath himself declared, "marriage is honorable in all." extracts from my diary. _monday_. tried a new chälé gown on--pretty. no one to see me in it--pity! flew in a passion with fritz, my maid;-- the lord forgive me!--she lookt dismayed; but got her to sing the th psalm, while she curled my hair, which made me calm. nothing so soothes a christian heart as sacred music--heavenly art! _tuesday_ at two a visit from mr. magan-- a remarkably handsome, nice young man; and, all hibernian tho' he be, as civilized, strange to say, as we! i own this young man's spiritual state hath much engrossed my thoughts of late; and i mean, as soon as my niece is gone, to have some talk with him thereupon. at present i naught can do or say, but that troublesome child is in the way; nor is there, i think, a doubt that he would also her absence much prefer, as oft, while listening intent to me, he's forced, from politeness, to look at her. heigho!--what a blessing should mr. magan turn out, after all, a "renewed" young man; and to me should fall the task, on earth, to assist at the dear youth's second birth. blest thought! and ah! more blest the tie, were it heaven's high will, that he and i-- but i blush to write the nuptial word-- should wed, as st. paul says, "in the lord"; not _this_ world's wedlock--gross, gallant, but pure--as when amram married his aunt. our ages differ--but who would count one's natural sinful life's amount, or look in the register's vulgar page for a regular twice-born christian's age, who, blessed privilege! only then begins to live when he's born again? and, counting in _this_ way--let me see-- i myself but five years old shall be. and dear magan, when the event takes place, an actual new-born child of grace-- should heaven in mercy so dispose-- a six-foot baby, in _swaddling_ clothes. _wednesday_. finding myself, by some good fate, with mr. magan left _téte-à-téte_, had just begun--having stirred the fire, and drawn my chair near his--to inquire, what his notions were of original sin, when that naughty fanny again bounced in; and all the sweet things i had got to say of the flesh and the devil were whiskt away! much grieved to observe that mr. magan is actually pleased and, amused with fan! what charms any sensible man can see in a child so foolishly young as she-- but just eighteen, come next mayday, with eyes, like herself, full of naught but play-- is, i own, an exceeding puzzle to me. [ ] "morning manna, or british verse-book, neatly done up for the pocket," and chiefly intended to assist the members of the british verse association, whose design is, we are told, "to induce the inhabitants of great britain and ireland to commit one and the same verse of scripture to memory every morning. already, it is known, several thousand persons in scotland, besides tens of thousands in america and africa, _are every morning learning the same verse_." [ ] according to the late mr. irving, there is even a peculiar form of theology got up expressly for the money-market, "i know how far wide," he says, "of the mark my views of christ's work in the flesh will be viewed by those who are working with the stock-jobbing theology of the religious world." "let these preachers." he adds, "(for i will not call them theologians), cry up, brother like, their article,"--_morning watch_."-- no. iii, . . letter iii. from miss fanny fudge, to her cousin, miss kitty ----. stanzas enclosed. to my shadow; or, why?--what?--how? dark comrade of my path! while earth and sky thus wed their charms, in bridal light arrayed, why in this bright hour, walkst thou ever nigh; blackening my footsteps, with thy length of shade-- dark comrade, why? thou mimic shape that, mid these flowery scenes, glidest beside me o'er each sunny spot, saddening them as thou goest--say, what means so dark an adjunct to so bright a lot-- grim goblin, what? still, as to pluck sweet flowers i bend my brow, thou bendest, too--then risest when i rise;-- say, mute, mysterious thing! how is't that thou thus comest between me and those blessed skies-- dim shadow, how? (additional stanza, by another hand.) thus said i to that shape, far less in grudge than gloom of soul; while, as i eager cried, oh why? what? how?--a voice, that one might judge to be some irish echo's, faint replied, oh fudge, fudge, fudge! you have here, dearest coz, my last lyric effusion; and, with it, that odious "additional stanza, which aunt _will_ insist i must keep, as conclusion, and which, you'll _at once_ see, is mr. magan's;--a most cruel and dark-designed extravaganza, and part of that plot in which he and my aunt are to stifle the flights of my genius by banter. just so 'twas with byron's young eagle-eyed strain, just so did they taunt him;--but vain, critics, vain all your efforts to saddle wit's fire with a chain! to blot out the splendor of fancy's young stream, or crop, in its cradle, her newly-fledged beam!!! thou perceivest, dear, that, even while these lines i indite, thoughts burn, brilliant fancies break out, wrong or right, and i'm all over poet, in criticism's spite! that my aunt, who deals only in psalms, and regards messrs. sternhold and co. as the first of all bards-- that _she_ should make light of my works i can�t blame; but that nice, handsome, odious magan--what a shame! do you know, dear, that, high as on most points i rate him, i'm really afraid--after all, i--_must_ hate him, he is _so_ provoking--naught's safe from his tongue; he spares no one authoress, ancient or young. were you sappho herself, and in _keepsake_ or _bijou_ once shone as contributor, lord! how he'd quiz you! he laughs at _all_ monthlies--i've actually seen a sneer on his brow at _the court magazine_!-- while of weeklies, poor things, there's but one he peruses, and buys every book which that weekly abuses. but i care not how others such sarcasm may fear, _one_ spirit, at least, will not bend to his sneer; and tho' tried by the fire, my young genius shall burn as uninjured as crucified gold in the furnace! (i suspect the word "crucified" must be made "crucible," before this fine image of mine is producible.) and now, dear--to tell you a secret which, pray only trust to such friends as with safety you may-- you know and indeed the whole country suspects (tho' the editor often my best things rejects), that the verses signed so,[symbol: hand], which you now and then see in our county _gazette_ (vide _last_) are by me. but 'tis dreadful to think what provoking mistakes the vile country press in one's prosody makes. for you know, dear--i may, without vanity, hint-- tho' an angel should write, still 'tis _devils_ must print; and you can�t think what havoc these demons sometimes choose to make of one's sense, and what's worse, of one's rhymes. but a week or two since, in my ode upon spring, which i _meant_ to have made a most beautiful thing, where i talkt of the "dewdrops from freshly-blown roses," the nasty things made it "from freshly-blown noses!" and once when to please my cross aunt, i had tried to commemorate some saint of her _cligue_, who'd just died, having said he "had taken up in heaven his position," they made it, he'd "taken up to heaven his physician!" this is very disheartening;--but brighter days shine, i rejoice, love, to say both for me and the nine; for what do you think?--so delightful! next year, oh, prepare, dearest girl, for the grand news prepare-- i'm to write in "_the keepsake_"--yes, kitty, my dear. to write in "_the keepsake_," as sure as you're there!! t' other night, at a ball, 'twas my fortunate chance with a very nice elderly dandy to dance, who, 'twas plain, from some hints which i now and then caught. was the author of _something_--one couldn�t tell what; but his satisfied manner left no room to doubt it was something that colburn had lately brought out. we conversed of _belles-lettres_ thro' all the quadrille,-- of poetry, dancing, of prose, standing still; talkt of intellect's march--whether right 'twas or wrong-- and then settled the point in a bold _en avant_. in the course of this talk 'twas that, having just hinted that _i_ too had poems which--longed to be printed, he protested, kind man! he had seen, at first sight, i was actually _born_ in "_the keepsake_" to write. "in the annals of england let some," he said, "shine, "but a place in her annuals, lady, be thine! "even now future '_keepsakes_' seem brightly to rise, "thro' the vista of years, as i gaze on those eyes,-- "all lettered and prest, and of large-paper size!" how un_like_ that magan, who my genius would smother, and how we true geniuses find out each other! this and much more he said with that fine frenzied glance one so rarely now sees, as we slid thro' the dance; till between us 'twas finally fixt that, next year, in this exquisite task i my pen should engage; and, at parting, he stoopt down and lispt in my ear these mystical words, which i could but _just_ hear, "terms for rhyme--if it's _prime_--ten and sixpence per page." think, kitty, my dear, if i heard his words right, what a mint of half-guineas this small head contains; if for nothing to write is itself a delight, ye gods, what a bliss to be paid for one's strains! having dropt the dear fellow a courtesy profound, off at once, to inquire all about him, i ran; and from what i could learn, do you know, dear, i've found that he's quite a new species of literary man; one, whose task is--to what will not fashion accustom us?-- to _edit_ live authors, as if they were posthumous. for instance--the plan, to be sure, is the oddest!-- if any young he or she author feels modest in venturing abroad, this kind gentleman-usher lends promptly a hand to the interesting blusher; indites a smooth preface, brings merit to light, which else might, by accident, shrink out of sight, and, in short, renders readers and critics polite. my aunt says--tho' scarce on such points one can credit her-- he was lady jane thingumbob's last novel's editor. 'tis certain the fashion's but newly invented; and quick as the change of all things and all names is, who knows but as authors like girls are _presented_, we girls may be _edited_ soon at st. james's? i must now close my letter--there's aunt, in full screech, wants to take me to hear some great irvingite preach. god forgive me, i'm not much inclined, i must say, to go and sit still to be preached at to-day. and besides--'twill be all against dancing, no doubt, which my poor aunt abhors with such hatred devout, that so far from presenting young nymphs with a head, for their skill in the dance, as of herod is said, she'd wish their own heads in the platter instead. there again--coming, ma'am!--i'll write more, if i can, before the post goes, your affectionate fan. _four o'clock_. such a sermon!--tho' _not_ about dancing, my dear; 'twas only on the end of the world being near. eighteen hundred and forty's the year that some state as the time for that accident--some forty eight[ ] and i own, of the two, i'd prefer much the latter, as then i shall be an old maid, and 'twon't matter. once more, love, good-by--i've to make a new cap; but am now so dead tired with this horrid mishap of the end of the world that i _must_ take a nap. [ ] with regard to the exact time of this event, there appears to be a difference only of about two or three years among the respective calculators. m. alphonse nicole, docteur en droit. et avocat, merely doubts whether it is to be in or . letter iv. from patrick magan, esq., to the rev. richard ----. he comes from erin's speechful shore like fervid kettle, bubbling o'er with hot effusions--hot and weak; sound, humbug, all your hollowest drums, he comes, of erin's martyrdoms to britain's well-fed church to speak. puff him, ye journals of the lord,[ ] twin prosers, _watchman_ and _record_! journals reserved for realms of bliss, being much too good to sell in this, prepare, ye wealthier saints, your dinners, ye spinsters, spread your tea and crumpets; and you, ye countless tracts for sinners, blow all your little penny trumpets. he comes, the reverend man, to tell to all who still the church's part take, tales of parsonic woe, that well might make even grim dissenter's heart ache:-- of ten whole bishops snatched away for ever from the light of day; (with god knows, too, how many more, for whom that doom is yet in store)-- of rectors cruelly compelled from bath and cheltenham to haste home, because the tithes, by pat withheld, will _not_ to bath or cheltenham come; nor will the flocks consent to pay their parsons thus to stay away;-- tho' with _such_ parsons, one may doubt if 'tisn't money well laid out;-- of all, in short, and each degree of that once happy hierarchy, which used to roll in wealth so pleasantly; but now, alas! is doomed to see its surplus brought to nonplus presently! such are the themes this man of pathos, priest of prose and lord of bathos, will preach and preach t'ye, till you're dull again; then, hail him, saints, with joint acclaim, shout to the stars his tuneful name, which murtagh _was_, ere known to fame, but now is _mortimer_ o'mulligan! all true, dick, true as you're alive-- i've seen him, some hours since, arrive. murtagh is come, the great itinerant-- and tuesday, in the market-place, intends, to every saint and sinner in't, to state what _he_ calls ireland's case; meaning thereby the case of _his_ shop,- of curate, vicar, rector, bishop, and all those other grades seraphic, that make men's souls their special traffic, tho' caring not a pin _which_ way the erratic souls go, so they _pay_.-- just as some roguish country nurse, who takes a foundling babe to suckle, first pops the payment in her purse, then leaves poor dear to--suck its knuckle: even so these reverend rigmaroles pocket the money--starve the souls. murtagh, however, in his glory, will tell, next week, a different story; will make out all these men of barter, as each a saint, a downright martyr, brought to the _stake_--i.e. a _beef_ one, of all their martyrdoms the chief one; tho' try them even at this, they'll bear it, if tender and washt down with claret. meanwhile miss fudge, who loves all lions. your saintly, _next_ to great and high 'uns-- (a viscount, be he what he may, would cut a saint out any day,) has just announced a godly rout, where murtagh's to be first brought out, and shown in his tame, _week-day_ state:-- "prayers, half-past seven, tea at eight." even so the circular missive orders-- pink cards, with cherubs round the borders. haste, dick--you're lost, if you lose time;-- spinsters at forty-five grow giddy, and murtagh with his tropes sublime will surely carry off old biddy, unless some spark at once propose, and distance him by downright prose. that sick, rich squire, whose wealth and lands all pass, they say, to biddy's hands, (the patron, dick, of three fat rectories!) is dying of _angina pectoris_;-- so that, unless you're stirring soon. murtagh, that priest of puff and pelf, may come in for a honey-_moon_, and be the _man_ of it, himself! as for _me_, dick--'tis whim, 'tis folly, but this young niece absorbs me wholly. 'tis true, the girl's a vile verse-maker-- would rhyme all nature, if you'd let her;-- but even her oddities, plague take her, but made me love her all the better. _too_ true it is, she's bitten sadly with this new rage for rhyming badly, which late hath seized all ranks and classes, down to that new estate, "the masses "; till one pursuit all tastes combines-- one common railroad o'er parnassus, where, sliding in those tuneful grooves, called couplets, all creation moves, and the whole world runs mad _in lines_. add to all this--what's even still worse, as rhyme itself, tho' still a curse, sounds better to a chinking purse-- scarce sixpence hath my charmer got, while i can muster just a groat; so that, computing self and venus, tenpence would clear the amount between us. however, things may yet prove better:-- meantime, what awful length of letter! and how, while heaping thus with gibes the pegasus of modern scribes, my own small hobby of farrago hath beat the pace at which even _they_ go! [ ] "our anxious desire is to be found on the side of the lord."--_record newspaper_. letter v. from larry o'branigan, in england, to his wife judy, at mullinafad. dear judy, i sind you this bit of a letther, by mail-coach conveyance--for want of a betther-- to tell you what luck in this world i have had since i left the sweet cabin, at mullinafad. och, judy, that night!--when the pig which we meant to dry-nurse in the parlor, to pay off the rent, julianna, the craythur--that name was the death of her--[ ] gave us the shlip and we saw the last breath of her! and _there_ were the childher, six innocent sowls, for their nate little play-fellow turning up howls; while yourself, my dear judy (tho' grievin's a folly), stud over julianna's remains, melancholy-- cryin', half for the craythur and half for the money, "arrah, why did ye die till we'd sowled you, my honey?" but god's will be done!--and then, faith, sure enough, as the pig was desaiced, 'twas high time to be off. so we gothered up all the poor duds we could catch, lock the owld cabin-door, put the kay in the thatch, then tuk laave of each other's sweet lips in the dark, and set off, like the chrishtians turned out of the ark; the six childher with you, my dear judy, ochone! and poor i wid myself, left condolin' alone. how i came to this england, o'er say and o'er lands, and what cruel hard walkin' i've had on my hands, is, at this present writin', too tadious to speak, so i'll mintion it all in a postscript, next week:-- only starved i was, surely, as thin as a lath, till i came to an up-and-down place they call bath, where, as luck was, i managed to make a meal's meat, by dhraggin' owld ladies all day thro' the street-- which their docthors (who pocket, like fun, the pound starlins,) have brought into fashion to plase the owld darlins. divil a boy in all bath, tho' _i_ say it, could carry the grannies up hill half so handy as larry; and the higher they lived, like owld crows, in the air, the more _i_ was wanted to lug them up there. but luck has two handles, dear judy, they say, and mine has _both_ handles put on the wrong way. for, pondherin', one morn, on a drame i'd just had of yourself and the babbies, at mullinafad, och, there came o'er my sinses so plasin' a flutther, that i spilt an owld countess right clane in the gutther, muff, feathers and all!--the descint was most awful, and--what was still worse, faith--i knew'twas unlawful: for, tho', with mere _women_, no very great evil, 'tupset an owld _countess_ in bath is the divil! so, liftin' the chair, with herself safe upon it, (for nothin' about her--was _kilt_, but her bonnet,) without even mentionin' "by your lave, ma'am," i tuk to my heels and--here, judy, i am! what's the name of this town i can't say very well, but your heart sure will jump when you hear what befell your own beautiful larry, the very first day, (and a sunday it was, shinin' out mighty gay,) when his brogues to this city of luck found their way. bein' hungry, god help me and happenin' to stop, just to dine on the shmell of a pasthry-cook's shop, i saw, in the window, a large printed paper. and read there a name, och! that made my heart caper-- though printed it was in some quare abc, that might bother a schoolmaster, let alone _me_. by gor, you'd have laughed judy, could you've but listened, as, doubtin', i cried, "why is it!--no, it _isn't_:" but it _was_, after all--for, by spellin' quite slow, first i made out "rev. mortimer"--then a great "o"; and, at last, by hard readin' and rackin' my skull again, out it came, nate as imported, "o'mulligan!" up i jumpt like a sky-lark, my jewel, at that name,-- divil a doubt on my mind, but it _must_ be the same "master murthagh, himself," says i, "all the world over! my own fosther-brother--by jinks, i'm in clover. tho' _there_, in the play-bill, he figures so grand, one wet-nurse it was brought us both up by hand, and he'll not let me shtarve in the inemy's land!" well, to make a long hishtory short, niver doubt but i managed, in no time, to find the lad out: and the joy of the meetin' bethuxt him and me, such a pair of owld cumrogues--was charmin' to see. nor is murthagh less plased with the evint than _i_ am, as he just then was wanting a valley-de-sham; and, for _dressin'_ a gintleman, one way or t'other, your nate irish lad is beyant every other. but now, judy, comes the quare part of the case; and, in throth, it's the only drawback on my place. 'twas murthagh's ill luck to be crost, as you know, with an awkward mishfortune some short time ago; that's to say, he turned protestant--_why_, i can'tlarn; but, of coorse, he knew best, an' it's not _my_ consarn. all i know is, we both were good catholics, at nurse, and myself am so still--nayther better not worse. well, our bargain was all right and tight in a jiffy, and lads more contint never yet left, the liffey, when murthagh--or morthimer, as he's _now_ chrishened, his _name_ being convarted, at laist, if _he_ isn't-- lookin' sly at me (faith, 'twas divartin' to see) "_of coorse_, you're a protestant, larry," says he. upon which says myself, wid a wink just as shly, "is't a protestant?--oh yes, _i am_, sir," says i;-- and there the chat ended, and divil a more word controvarsial between us has since then occurred. what murthagh could mane, and, in troth, judy dear, what _i myself_ meant, doesn'tseem mighty clear; but the truth is, tho' still for the owld light a stickler, i was just then too shtarved to be over partic'lar:-- and, god knows, between us, a comic'ler pair of twin protestants couldn't be seen _any_ where. next tuesday (as towld in the play-bills i mintioned, addrest to the loyal and godly intintioned,) his riverence, my master, comes forward to preach,-- myself doesn'tknow whether sarmon or speech, but it's all one to him, he's a dead hand at each; like us paddys in gin'ral, whose skill in orations quite bothers the blarney of all other nations. but, whisht!--there's his riverence, shoutin' out "larry," and sorra a word more will this shmall paper carry; so, here, judy, ends my short bit of a letther, which, faix, i'd have made a much bigger and betther. but divil a one post-office hole in this town fit to swallow a dacent sized billy-dux down. so good luck to the childer!--tell molly, i love her; kiss oonagh's sweet mouth, and kiss katty all over-- not forgettin' the mark of the red-currant whiskey she got at the fair when yourself was so frisky. the heavens be your bed!--i will write, when i can again, yours to the world's end, larry o'branigan. [ ] the irish peasantry are very fond of giving fine names to their pigs. i have heard of one instance in which a couple of young pigs were named, at their birth, abelard and eloisa. letter vi. from miss biddy fudge, to mrs. elizabeth ----. how i grieve you're not with us!--pray, come, if you can, ere we're robbed of this dear, oratorical man, who combines in himself all the multiple glory of, orangeman, saint, _quondam_ papist and tory;-- (choice mixture! like that from which, duly confounded, the best sort of _brass_ was, in old times, compounded.)-- the sly and the saintly, the worldly and godly, all fused down, in brogue so deliciously oddly! in short, he's a _dear_--and _such_ audiences draws, such loud peals of laughter and shouts of applause, as _can't_ but do good to the protestant cause. poor dear irish church!--he today sketched a view of her history and prospect, to _me_ at least new, and which (if it _takes_ as it ought) must arouse the whole christian world her just rights to espouse. as to _reasoning_--you know, dear, that's now of no use, people still will their _facts_ and dry _figures_ produce, as if saving the souls of a protestant flock were a thing to be managed "according to cocker!" in vain do we say, (when rude radicals hector at paying some thousands a year to a rector, in places where protestants _never yet were_,) "who knows but young protestants _may_ be born there?" and granting such accident, think, what a shame, if they didn�t find rector and clerk when they came! it is clear that, without such a staff on full pay, these little church embryos _must_ go astray; and, while fools are computing what parsons would cost, precious souls are meanwhile to the establishment lost! in vain do we put the case sensibly thus;-- they'll still with their figures and facts make a fuss, and ask "if, while all, choosing each his own road, journey on, as we can, towards the heavenly abode, it is right that _seven_ eighths of the travellers should pay for _one_ eighth that goes quite a different way?"-- just as if, foolish people, this wasn't, in reality, a proof of the church's extreme liberality, that tho' hating popery in _other_ respects, she to catholic _money_ in no way objects; and so liberal her very best saints, in this sense, that they even go to heaven at the catholic's expense. but tho' clear to _our_ minds all these arguments be, people cannot or _will_ not their cogency see; and i grieve to confess, did the poor irish church stand on reasoning alone, she'd be left in the lurch. it was therefore, dear lizzy, with joy most sincere, that i heard this nice reverend o'_something_ we've here, produce, from the depths of his knowledge and reading, a view of that marvellous church, far exceeding, in novelty, force, and profoundness of thought, all that irving himself in his glory e'er taught. looking thro' the whole history, present and past, of the irish law church, from the first to the last; considering how strange its original birth-- such a thing having _never_ before been on earth-- how opposed to the instinct, the law and the force of nature and reason has been its whole course; thro' centuries encountering repugnance, resistance, scorn, hate, execration--yet still in existence! considering all this, the conclusion he draws is that nature exempts this one church from her laws-- that reason, dumb-foundered, gives up the dispute, and before the portentous anomaly stands mute; that in short 'tis a miracle! and, _once_ begun, and transmitted thro' ages, from father to son, for the honor of miracles, _ought to go on_. never yet was conclusion so cogent and sound, or so fitted the church's weak foes to confound. for observe the more low all her merits they place, the more they make out the miraculous case, and the more all good christians must deem it profane to disturb such a prodigy's marvellous reign. as for scriptural proofs, he quite placed beyond doubt that the whole in the apocalypse may be found out, as clear and well-proved, he would venture to swear, as anything else has been _ever_ found there:-- while the mode in which, bless the dear fellow, he deals with that whole lot of vials and trumpets and seals, and the ease with which vial on vial he strings, shows him quite a _first-rate_ at all these sort of things. so much for theology:--as for the affairs of this temporal world--the light drawing-room cares and gay toils of the toilet, which, god knows, i seek, from no love of such things, but in humbleness meek, and to be, as the apostle, was, "weak with the weak," thou wilt find quite enough (till i'm somewhat less busy) in the extracts inclosed, my dear news-loving lizzy. extracts from my diary. _thursday_. last night, having naught more holy to do, wrote a letter to dear sir andrew agnew, about the "do-nothing-on-sunday-club," which we wish by some shorter name to dub:-- as the use of more vowels and consonants than a christian on sunday _really_ wants, is a grievance that ought to be done away, and the alphabet left to rest, that day. _sunday_. sir andrew's answer!--but, shocking to say, being franked unthinkingly yesterday. to the horror of agnews yet unborn, it arrived on this blessed sunday morn!!-- how shocking!--the postman's self cried "shame on't," seeing the immaculate andrew's name on't!! what will the club do?--meet, no doubt. 'tis a matter that touches the class devout, and the friends of the sabbath _must_ speak out. _tuesday_. saw to-day, at the raffle--and saw it with pain-- that those stylish fitzwigrams begin to dress plain. even gay little sophy smart trimmings renounces-- she who long has stood by me thro' all sorts of flounces, and showed by upholding the toilet's sweet rites, that we girls may be christians without being frights. this, i own, much alarms me; for tho' one's religious, and strict and--all that, there's no need to be hideous; and why a nice bonnet should stand in the way of one's going to heaven, 'tisn't easy to say. then, there's gimp, the poor thing--if her custom we drop, pray what's to become of her soul and her shop? if by saints like ourselves no more orders are given, she'll lose all the interest she now takes in heaven; and this nice little "fire-brand, pluckt from the burning," may fall in again at the very next turning. _wednesday_. _mem_.--to write to the india mission society; and send £ --heavy tax upon piety! of all indian luxuries we now-a-days boast, making "company's christians" perhaps costs the most. and the worst of it is, that these converts full grown, having lived in _our_ faith mostly die in their _own_,[ ] praying hard, at the last, to some god who, they say, when incarnate on earth, used to steal curds and whey.[ ] think, how horrid, my dear!--so that all's thrown away; and (what is still worse) for the rum and the rice they consumed, while believers, we saints pay the price. still 'tis cheering to find that we _do_ save a few-- the report gives six christians for cunnangcadoo; doorkotchum reckons seven, and four trevandrum, while but one and a half's left at cooroopadum. in this last-mentioned place 'tis the barbers enslave 'em, for once they turn christians no barber will shave 'em.[ ] to atone for this rather small heathen amount, some papists, turned christians,[ ] are tackt to the account. and tho' to catch papists, one needn't go so far, such fish are worth hooking, wherever they are; and _now_, when so great of such converts the lack is, _one_ papist well caught is worth millions of blackies. _friday_. last night had a dream so odd and funny, i cannot resist recording it here.-- methought that the genius of matrimony before me stood with a joyous leer, leading a husband in each hand, and both for _me_, which lookt rather queer;-- _one_ i could perfectly understand, but why there were _two_ wasn�t quite so clear. t'was meant however, i soon could see, to afford me a _choice_--a most excellent plan; and--who should this brace of candidates be, but messrs. o'mulligan and magan:-- a thing, i suppose, unheard of till then, to dream, at once, of _two_ irishmen!-- that handsome magan, too, with wings on his shoulders (for all this past in the realms of the blest.) and quite a creature to dazzle beholders; while even o'mulligan, feathered and drest as an elderly cherub, was looking his best. ah liz, you, who know me, scarce can doubt as to _which_ of the two i singled out. but--awful to tell--when, all in dread of losing so bright a vision's charms, i graspt at magan, his image fled, like a mist, away, and i found but the head of o'mulligan, wings and all, in my arms! the angel had flown to some nest divine. and the elderly cherub alone was mine! heigho!--it is certain that foolish magan either can'tor won�t see that he _might_ be the man; and, perhaps, dear--who knows?--if naught better befall but--o'mulligan _may_ be the man, after all. n. b. next week mean to have my first scriptural rout, for the special discussion of matters devout;-- like those _soirées_, at powerscourt, so justly renowned, for the zeal with which doctrine and negus went round; those theology-routs which the pious lord roden, that pink of christianity, first set the mode in; where, blessed down-pouring[ ]from tea until nine, the subjects lay all in the prophecy line;-- then, supper--and then, if for topics hard driven, from thence until bed-time to satan was given; while roden, deep read in each topic and tome, on all subjects (especially the last) was _at home_. [ ] of such relapses we find innumerable instances in the accounts of the missionaries. [ ] the god krishna, one of the incarnations of the god vishnu. "one day [says the bhagavata] krishna's playfellows complained to tasuda that he had pilfered and ate their curds." [ ] "roteen wants shaving; but the barber here will not do it. he is run away lest he should be compelled. he says he will not shave yesoo kreest's people."--_bapt. mission society_, vol. ii., p. . [ ] in the reports of the missionaries, the roman catholics are almost always classed along with the heathen. [ ] "about eight o'clock the lord began to pour down his spirit copiously upon us--for they had all by this time assembled in my room for the purpose of prayer. this down-pouring continued till about ten o'clock."-- letter from mary campbell to the rev. john campbell, of row, dated feruicary, april , , giving an account of her "miraculous cure." letter vii. from miss fanny fudge, to her cousin, miss kitty ----. irregular ode. bring me the slumbering souls of flowers, while yet, beneath some northern sky, ungilt by beams, ungemmed by showers, they wait the breath of summer hours, to wake to light each diamond eye, and let loose every florid sigh! bring me the first-born ocean waves, from out those deep primeval caves, where from the dawn of time they've lain-- the embryos of a future main!-- untaught as yet, young things, to speak the language of their parent sea (polyphlysbaean named, in greek), tho' soon, too soon, in bay and creek, round startled isle and wondering peak, they'll thunder loud and long as he! bring me, from hecla's iced abode, young fires-- i had got, dear, thus far in my ode intending to fill the whole page to the bottom, but, having invoked such a lot of fine things, flowers, billows and thunderbolts, rainbows and wings, didn�t know _what_ to do with 'em, when i had got 'em. the truth is, my thoughts are too full, at this minute, of past mss. any new ones to try. this very night's coach brings my destiny in it-- decides the great question, to live or to die! and, whether i'm henceforth immortal or no, all depends on the answer of simpkins and co.! you'll think, love, i rave, so 'tis best to let out the whole secret, at once--i have publisht a book!!! yes, an actual book:--if the marvel you doubt, you have only in last monday's _courier_ to look, and you'll find "this day publisht by simpkins and co. a romaunt, in twelve cantos, entitled 'woe woe!' by miss fanny f----, known more commonly so [symbol: hand]." this i put that my friends mayn't be left in the dark but may guess at my _writing_ by knowing my _mark_. how i managed, at last, this great deed to achieve, is itself a "romaunt" which you'd scarce, dear believe; nor can i just now, being all in a whirl, looking out for the magnet,[ ] explain it, dear girl. suffice it to say, that one half the expense of this leasehold of fame for long centuries hence-- (tho' "god knows," as aunt says my humble ambition aspires not beyond a small second edition)-- one half the whole cost of the paper and printing, i've managed, to scrape up, this year past, by stinting my own little wants in gloves, ribands, and shoes, thus defrauding the toilet to fit out the muse! and who, my dear kitty; would not do the same? what's _eau de cologne_ to the sweet breath of fame? yards of riband soon end--but the measures of rhyme, dipt in hues of the rainbow, stretch out thro' all time. gloves languish and fade away pair after pair, while couplets shine out, but the brighter for wear, and the dancing-shoe's gloss in an evening is gone, while light-footed lyrics thro' ages trip on. the remaining expense, trouble, risk--and, alas! my poor copyright too--into other hands pass; and my friend, the head devil of the "_county gazette_" (the only mecaenas i've ever had yet), he who set up in type my first juvenile lays, is now see up by them for the rest of his days; and while gods (as my "heathen mythology" says) live on naught but ambrosia, _his_ lot how much sweeter to live, lucky devil, on a young lady's metre! as for _puffing_--that first of all literary boons, and essential alike both to bards and balloons, as, unless well supplied with inflation, 'tis found neither bards nor balloons budge an inch from the ground;-- in _this_ respect, naught could more prosperous befall; as my friend (for no less this kind imp can i call) knows the whole would of critics--the _hypers_ and all. i suspect he himself, indeed, dabbles in rhyme, which, for imps diabolic, is not the first time; as i've heard uncle bob say, 'twas known among gnostics, that the devil on two sticks was a devil at acrostics. but hark! there's the magnet just dasht in from town-- how my heart, kitty, beats! i shall surely drop down. that awful _court journal, gazette athenaeum_, all full of my book--i shall sink when i see 'em. and then the great point--whether simpkins and co. are actually pleased with their bargain or no!-- _five o'clock_. all's delightful--such praises!--i really fear that this poor little head will turn giddy, my dear, i've but time now to send you two exquisite scraps-- all the rest by the magnet, on monday, perhaps. from the "morning post." 'tis known that a certain distinguisht physician prescribes, for _dyspepsia_, a course of light reading; and rhymes by young ladies, the first, fresh edition (ere critics have injured their powers of nutrition,) are he thinks, for weak stomachs, the best sort of feeding. satires irritate--love-songs are found calorific; but smooth, female sonnets he deems a specific, and, if taken at bedtime, a sure soporific. among works of this kind, the most pleasing we know, is a volume just published by simpkins and co., where all such ingredients--the flowery, the sweet, and the gently narcotic--are mixt _per_ receipt, with a hand so judicious, we've no hesitation to say that--'bove all, for the young generation-- 'tis an elegant, soothing and safe preparation. _nota bene_--for readers, whose object's _to sleep_, and who read, in their nightcaps, the publishers keep good fire-proof binding, which comes very cheap. anecdote--from the "court journal." t' other night, at the countess of ***'s rout, an amusing event was much whispered about. it was said that lord ---, at the council, that day, had, move than once, jumpt from his seat, like a rocket, and flown to a corner, where--heedless, they say, how the country's resources were squandered away-- he kept reading some papers he'd brought in his pocket. some thought them despatches from spain or the turk, others swore they brought word we had lost the mauritius; but it turned out 'twas only miss fudge's new work, which his lordship devoured with such zeal expeditious-- messrs. simpkins and co., to avoid all delay, having sent it in sheets, that his lordship might say, he had distanced the whole reading world by a day! [ ] a day-coach of that name. letter viii. from bob fudge, esq., to the rev. mortimer o'mulligan. _tuesday evening_, i much regret, dear reverend sir, i could not come to * * * to meet you; but this curst gout won�t let me stir-- even now i but by proxy greet you; as this vile scrawl, whate'er its sense is, owes all to an amanuensis. most other scourges of disease reduce men to _extremities_-- but gout won�t leave one even _these_. from all my sister writes, i see that you and i will quite agree. i'm a plain man who speak the truth, and trust you'll think me not uncivil, when i declare that from my youth i've wisht your country at the devil: nor can i doubt indeed from all i've heard of your high patriot fame-- from every word your lips let fall-- that you most truly wish the same. it plagues one's life out--thirty years have i had dinning in my ears, "ireland wants this and that and t'other," and to this hour one nothing hears but the same vile, eternal bother. while, of those countless things she wanted, thank god, but little has been granted, and even that little, if we're men and britons, we'll have back again! i really think that catholic question was what brought on my indigestion; and still each year, as popery's curse has gathered round us, i've got worse; till even my pint of port a day can�t keep the pope and bile away. and whereas, till the catholic bill, i never wanted draught or pill, the settling of that cursed question has quite _un_settled my digestion. look what has happened since--the elect of all the bores of every sect, the chosen triers of men's patience, from all the three denominations. let loose upon us;--even quakers turned into speechers and lawmakers, who'll move no question, stiff-rumpt elves, till first the spirit moves themselves; and whose shrill yeas and nays, in chorus, conquering our ayes and noes sonorous, will soon to death's own slumber snore us. then, too, those jews!--i really sicken to think of such abomination; fellows, who won�t eat ham with chicken, to legislate for this great nation!-- depend upon't, when once they've sway, with rich old goldsmid at the head o' them, the excise laws will be done away, and _circumcise_ ones past instead o' them! in short, dear sir, look where one will, things all go on so devilish ill, that, 'pon my soul, i rather fear our reverend rector may be right, who tells me the millennium's near; nay, swears he knows the very year, and regulates his leases by 't;-- meaning their terms should end, no doubt, before the world's own lease is out. he thinks too that the whole thing's ended so much more soon than was intended, purely to scourge those men of sin who brought the accurst reform bill in. however, let's not yet despair; tho' toryism's eclipst, at present. and--like myself, in this old chair-- sits in a state by no means pleasant; feet crippled--hands, in luckless hour, disabled of their grasping power; and all that rampant glee, which revelled in this world's sweets, be-dulled, be-deviled-- yet, tho' condemned to frisk no more, and both in chair of penance set, there's something tells me, all's not o'er with toryism or bobby yet; that tho', between us, i allow we've not a leg to stand on now; tho' curst reform and _colchicum_ have made us both look deuced glum, yet still, in spite of grote and gout, again we'll shine triumphant out! yes--back again shall come, egad, _our_ turn for sport, my reverend lad. and then, o'mulligan--oh then, when mounted on our nags again, you, on your high-flown rosinante, bedizened out, like show-gallantee (glitter great from substance scanty);-- while i, bob fudge, esquire, shall ride your faithful sancho, by your side; then--talk of tilts and tournaments! dam'me, we'll-- * * * * * 'squire fudge's clerk presents to reverend sir his compliments; is grieved to say an accident has just occurred which will prevent the squire--tho' now a little better-- from finishing this present letter. just when he'd got to "dam'me, we'll"-- his honor, full of martial zeal, graspt at his crutch, but not being able to keep his balance or his hold, tumbled, both self and crutch, and rolled, like ball and bat, beneath the table. all's safe--the table, chair and crutch;-- nothing, thank god, is broken much, but the squire's head, which in the fall got bumped considerably--that's all. at this no great alarm we feel, as the squire's head can bear a deal. _wednesday morning_ squire much the same--head rather light-- raved about "barbers' wigs" all night. our housekeeper, old mrs. griggs, suspects that he meant "barbarous whigs." letter ix. from larry o'branigan, to his wife judy. as it was but last week that i sint you a letther, you'll wondher, dear judy, what this is about; and, throth, it's a letther myself would like betther, could i manage to lave the contints of it out; for sure, if it makes even _me_ onaisy, who takes things quiet, 'twill dhrive _you_ crazy. oh! judy, that riverind murthagh, bad scran to him! that e'er i should come to've been sarvant-man to him, or so far demane the o'branigan blood, and my aunts, the diluvians (whom not even the flood was able to wash away clane from the earth)[ ] as to sarve one whose name, of mere yestherday's birth, can no more to a great o, _before_ it, purtend, than mine can to wear a great q at its _end_. but that's now all over--last night i gev warnin,' and, masth'r as he is, will discharge him this mornin'. the thief of the world!--but it's no use balraggin'[ ]-- all i know is, i'd fifty times rather be draggin' ould ladies up hill to the ind of my days, than with murthagh to rowl in a chaise, at my aise, and be forced to discind thro' the same dirty ways. arrah, sure, if i'd heerd where he last showed his phiz, i'd have known what a quare sort of monsthsr he is; for, by gor, 'twas at exether change, sure enough, that himself and his other wild irish showed off; and it's pity, so 'tis, that they hadn't got no man who knew the wild crathurs to act as their showman-- sayin', "ladies and gintlemen, plaze to take notice, "how shlim and how shleek this black animal's coat is; "all by raison, we're towld, that the natur o' the baste "is to change its coat _once_ in its lifetime, _at laste_; "and such objiks, in _our_ counthry, not bein' common ones, "are _bought up_, as this was, by way of fine nomenons. "in regard of its _name_--why, in throth, i'm consarned "to differ on this point so much with the larned, "who call it a '_morthimer_,' whereas the craythur "is plainly a 'murthagh,' by name and by nathur." this is how i'd have towld them the righst of it all. had _i_ been their showman at exether hail-- not forgettin' that other great wondher of airin (of the owld bitther breed which they call prosbetairin), the famed daddy coke--who, by gor, i'd have shown 'em as proof how such bastes may be tamed, when you've thrown 'em a good frindly sop of the rale _raigin donem_.[ ] but throth, i've no laisure just now, judy dear, for anything, barrin' our own doings here, and the cursin' and dammin' and thund'rin like mad, we papists, god help us, from murthagh have had. he says we're all murtherers--divil a bit less-- and that even our priests, when we go to confess, give us lessons in murthering and wish us success! when axed how he daared, by tongue or by pen, to belie, in this way, seven millions of men, faith, he said'twas all towld him by docthor den![ ] "and who the divil's _he_?" was the question that flew from chrishtian to chrishtian--but not a sowl knew. while on went murthagh, in iligant style, blasphaming us cath'lics all the while, as a pack of desaivers, parjurers, villains, all the whole kit of the aforesaid millions;-- yourself, dear judy, as well as the rest, and the innocent craythur that's at your breast, all rogues together, in word and deed, owld den our insthructor and sin our creed! when axed for his proofs again and again, divil an answer he'd give but docthor den. couldn'the call into coort some _livin'_ men? "no, thank you"--he'd stick to docthor den-- an ould gintleman dead a century or two, who all about _us_, live catholics, knew; and of coorse was more handy, to call in a hurry, than docthor machale or docthor murray! but, throth, it's no case to be jokin' upon, tho' myself, from bad habits, is _makin'_ it one. even _you_, had you witnessed his grand climactherics, which actially threw one owld maid in hysterics-- or, och! had you heerd such a purty remark as his, that papists are only "_humanity's carcasses_, "_risen_"--but, by dad, i'm afeared i can't give it ye-- "_risen from the sepulchre of--inactivity_; "_and, like owld corpses, dug up from antikity_, "_wandrin' about in all sorts of inikity_!!"--[ ] even you, judy, true as you are to the owld light, would have laught, out and out, at this iligant flight of that figure of speech called the blatherumskite. as for me, tho' a funny thought now and then came to me, rage got the betther at last--and small blame to me, so, slapping my thigh, "by the powers of delf," says i bowldly "i'll make a noration myself." and with that up i jumps--but, my darlint, the minit i cockt up my head, divil a sinse remained in it. tho', _saited_, i could have got beautiful on, when i tuk to my legs, faith, the gab was all gone:-- which was odd, for us, pats, who, whate'er we've a hand in, at laste in our _legs_ show a sthrong understandin'. howsumdever, detarmined the chaps should pursaive what i thought of their doin's, before i tuk lave, "in regard of all that," says i--there i stopt short-- not a word more would come, tho' i shtruggled hard for't. so, shnapping my fingers at what's called the chair, and the owld lord (or lady, i believe) that sat there-- "in regard of all that," says i bowldly again-- "to owld nick i pitch mortimer--_and_ docthor den";-- upon which the whole company cried out "amen"; and myself was in hopes 'twas to what _i_ had said, but, by gor, no such thing--they were not so well bred: for, 'twas all to a prayer murthagh just had read out, by way of fit finish to job so devout: that is--_afther_ well damning one half the community, to pray god to keep all in pace an' in unity! this is all i can shtuff in this letter, tho' plinty of news, faith, i've got to fill more--if 'twas twinty. but i'll add, on the _outside_, a line, should i need it, (writin' "private" upon it, that no one may read it,) to tell you how _mortimer_ (as the saints chrishten him) bears the big shame of his sarvant's dismisshin' him. (_private outside_.) just come from his riv'rence--the job is all done-- by the powers, i've discharged him as sure as a gun! and now, judy dear, what on earth i'm to do with myself and my appetite--both good as new-- without even a single traneen in my pocket, let alone a good, dacent pound--starlin', to stock it-- is a mysht'ry i lave to the one that's above, who takes care of us, dissolute sawls, when hard dhrove! [ ] "i am of your patriarchs, i, a branch of one of your antediluvian families--fellows that the flood could not wash away."--congreve, "_love for love_." [ ] to _balrag_ is to abuse--mr. lover makes it _ballyrag_, and he is high authority: but if i remember rightly, curran in his national stories used to employ the word as above.--see lover's most amusing and genuinely irish work, the "legends and stories of ireland." [ ] larry evidently means the _regium donum_;--a sum contributed by the government annually to the support of the presbyterian churches in ireland. [ ]correctly, dens--larry not being very particular in his nomenclature. [ ] "but she (popery) is no longer _the tenant of the sepulchre of inactivity_. she has come from the burial-place, walking forth a monster, as if the spirit of evil had corrupted _the carcass of her departed humanity_; noxious and noisome an object of abhorrence and dismay to all who are not _leagued with her in iniquity_."--report of the rev. gentleman's speech, june , in the record newspaper. letter x. from the rev. mortimer o'mulligan, to the rev. ----. these few brief lines, my reverend friend, by a safe, private hand i send (fearing lest some low catholic wag should pry into the letter-bag), to tell you, far as pen can dare how we, poor errant martyrs, fare;-- martyrs, not quite to fire and rack, as saints were, some few ages back. but--scarce less trying in its way-- to laughter, wheresoe'er we stray; to jokes, which providence mysterious permits on men and things so serious, lowering the church still more each minute, and--injuring our preferment in it. just think, how worrying 'tis, my friend, to find, where'er our footsteps bend, small jokes, like squibs, around us whizzing; and bear the eternal torturing play of that great engine of our day, unknown to the inquisition--quizzing! your men of thumb-screws and of racks aimed at the _body_ their attack; but modern torturers, more refined, work _their_ machinery on the _mind_. had st. sebastian had the luck with me to be a godly rover, instead of arrows, he'd be stuck with stings of ridicule all over; and poor st. lawrence who was killed by being on a gridiron grilled, had he but shared _my_ errant lot, instead of grill on gridiron hot, a _moral_ roasting would have got. nor should i (trying as all this is) much heed the suffering or the shame-- as, like an actor, _used_ to hisses, i long have known no other fame, but that (as i may own to _you_, tho' to the _world_ it would not do,) no hope appears of fortune's beams shining on _any_ of my schemes; no chance of something more _per ann_, as supplement to kellyman; no prospect that, by fierce abuse of ireland, i shall e'er induce the rulers of this thinking nation to rid us of emancipation: to forge anew the severed chain, and bring back penal laws again. ah happy time! when wolves and priests alike were hunted, as wild beasts; and five pounds was the price, _per_ head, for bagging _either_, live or dead;--[ ] tho' oft, we're told, _one_ outlawed brother saved cost, by eating up _the other_, finding thus all those schemes and hopes i built upon my flowers and tropes all scattered, one by one, away, as flashy and unsound as they, the question comes--what's to be done? and there's but one course left me--_one_. heroes, when tired of war's alarms, seek sweet repose in beauty's arms. the weary day-god's last retreat is the breast of silvery-footed thetis; and mine, as mighty love's my judge, shall be the arms of rich miss fudge! start not, my friend,--the tender scheme, wild and romantic tho' it seem, beyond a parson's fondest dream, yet shines, too, with those golden dyes, so pleasing to a parson's eyes that only _gilding_ which the muse can not around _her_ sons diffuse:-- which, whencesoever flows its bliss, from wealthy miss or benefice, to mortimer indifferent is, so he can only make it _his_. there is but one slight damp i see upon this scheme's felicity, and that is, the fair heroine's claim that i shall take _her_ family name. to this (tho' it may look henpeckt), i can�t quite decently object, having myself long chosen to shine conspicuous in the _alias_[ ] line; so that henceforth, by wife's decree, (for biddy from this point won�t budge) your old friend's new address must be the _rev. mortimer o'fudge_-- the "o" being kept, that all may see we're _both_ of ancient family. such, friend, nor need the fact amaze you, my public life's a calm euthanasia. thus bid i long farewell to all the freaks of exeter's old hall-- freaks, in grimace, its apes exceeding, and rivalling its bears in breeding. farewell, the platform filled with preachers-- the prayer given out, as grace, by speechers, ere they cut up their fellow-creatures:-- farewell to dead old dens's volumes, and, scarce less dead, old _standard's_ columns:-- from each and all i now retire, my task, henceforth, as spouse and sire, to bring up little filial fudges, to be m.p.s, and peers, and judges-- _parsons_ i'd add too, if alas! there yet were hope the church could pass the gulf now oped for hers and her, or long survive what _exeter_-- both hall and bishop, of that name-- have done to sink her reverend fame. adieu, dear friend--you'll oft hear _from_ me, now i'm no more a travelling drudge; meanwhile i sign (that you may judge how well the surname will become me) yours truly, mortimer o'fudge. [ ] "among other amiable enactments against the catholics at this period ( ), the price of five pounds was set on the head of a romish priest--being exactly the same sum offered by the same legislators for the head of a wolf."--_memoirs of captain rock_, book i., chap. . [ ] in the first edition of his dictionary, dr. johnson very significantly exemplified the meaning of the word "alias" by the instance of mallet, the poet, who had exchanged for this more refined name his original scotch patronymic, malloch. "what _other_ proofs he gave [says johnson] of disrespect to his native country, i know not; but it was remarked of him that he was the only scot whom scotchmen did not commend."--_life of mallet_. letter xi. from patrick magan, esq., to the rev. richard ----. ------, ireland. dear dick--just arrived at my own humble_gîte_, i enclose you, post-haste, the account, all complete, just arrived, _per_ express, of our late noble feat. [_extract from the "county gazette."_] this place is getting gay and full again. * * * * * last week was married, "in the lord," the reverend mortimer o'mulligan, preacher, in _irish_, of the word, he, who the lord's force lately led on-- (exeter hall his _armagh_-geddon,)[ ] to miss b. fudge of pisgah place, one of the chosen, as "heir of grace," and likewise heiress of phil. fudge, esquire, defunct, of orange lodge. same evening, miss f. fudge, 'tis hinted-- niece of the above, (whose "sylvan lyre," in our _gazette_, last week, we printed). eloped with pat. magan, esquire. the fugitives were trackt some time, after they'd left the aunt's abode, by scraps of paper scrawled with rhyme, found strewed along the western road;-- some of them, _ci-devant_ curlpapers, others, half burnt in lighting tapers. this clew, however, to their flight, after some miles was seen no more; and, from inquiries made last night, we find they've reached the irish shore. every word of it true, dick--the escape from aunt's thrall-- western road--lyric fragments--curl-papers and all. my sole stipulation, ere linkt at the shrine (as some balance between fanny's numbers and mine), was that, when we were _one_, she must give up the _nine_; nay, devote to the gods her whole stock of ms. with a vow never more against prose to transgress. this she did, like a heroine;--smack went to bits the whole produce sublime of her dear little wits-- sonnets, elegies, epigrams, odes canzonets-- some twisted up neatly, to form _allumettes_, some turned into _papillotes_, worthy to rise and enwreathe berenice's bright locks in the skies! while the rest, honest larry (who's now in my pay), begged, as "lover of _po'thry_," to read on the way. having thus of life's _poetry_ dared to dispose, how we now, dick, shall manage to get thro' its _prose_, with such slender materials for _style_, heaven knows! but--i'm called off abruptly--_another_ express! what the deuce can it mean?--i'm alarmed, i confess. p.s. hurrah, dick, hurrah, dick, ten thousand hurrahs! i'm a happy, rich dog to the end of my days. there--read the good news--and while glad, for _my_ sake, that wealth should thus follow in love's shining wake, admire also the _moral_--that he, the sly elf, who has fudged all the world, should be now fudged _himself_! extract from letter enclosed. with pain the mournful news i write, miss fudge's uncle died last night; and much to mine and friends' surprise, by will doth all his wealth devise-- lands, dwellings--rectories likewise-- to his "beloved grand-niece," miss fanny, leaving miss fudge herself, who many long years hath waited--not a penny! have notified the same to latter, and wait instructions in the matter. for self and partners, etc. [ ] the rectory which the rev. gentleman holds is situated in the county of _armagh_!--a most remarkable coincidence--and well worthy of the attention of certain expounders of the apocalypse. [illustration: thomas moore] memoirs of the life of the rt. hon. richard brinsley sheridan by thomas moore in two volumes vol. i. to george bryan, esq., this work is inscribed, by his sincere and affectionate friend, thomas moore. preface. the first four chapters of this work were written nearly seven years ago. my task was then suspended during a long absence from england; and it was only in the course of the last year that i applied myself seriously to the completion of it. to my friend, mr. charles sheridan, whose talents and character reflect honor upon a name, already so distinguished, i am indebted for the chief part of the materials upon which the following memoirs of his father are founded. i have to thank him, not only for this mark of confidence, but for the delicacy with which, though so deeply interested in the subject of my task, he has refrained from all interference with the execution of it:--neither he, nor any other person, beyond the printing-office, having ever read a single sentence of the work. i mention this, in order that the responsibility of any erroneous views or indiscreet disclosures, with which i shall be thought chargeable in the course of these pages, may not be extended to others, but rest solely with myself. the details of mr. sheridan's early life were obligingly communicated to me by his younger sister, mrs. lefanu, to whom, and to her highly gifted daughter, i offer my best thanks for the assistance which they have afforded me. the obligations, of a similar nature, which i owe to the kindness of mr. william linley, doctor bain, mr. burgess, and others, are acknowledged, with due gratitude, in my remarks on their respective communications. contents to vol. i. chapter i. birth and education of mr. sheridan.--his first attempts in literature. chapter ii. duels with mr. mathews.--marriage with miss linley chapter iii. domestic circumstances.--fragments of essays found among his papers.-- comedy of "the rivals."--answer to "taxation no tyranny."--farce of "st. patrick's day." chapter iv. the duenna.--purchase of drury-lane theatre.--the trip to scarborough.-- poetical correspondence with mrs. sheridan chapter v. the school for scandal chapter vi. further purchase of theatrical property.--monody to the memory of garrick.--essay on metre.--the critic.--essay on absentees.--political connections.--"the englishman."--elected for stafford chapter vii. unfinished plays and poems chapter viii. his first speeches in parliament.--rockingham administration.-- coalition.--india bill.--re-election for stafford chapter ix. the prince of wales.--financial measures.--mr. pitt's east india bill.-- irish commercial propositions.--plan of the duke of richmond.--sinking fund. chapter x. charges against mr. hastings.--commercial treaty with france.--debts of the prince of wales. chapter i. birth and education of mr. sheridan.--his first attempts in literature. richard brinsley [footnote: he was christened also by the name of butler, after the earl of lanesborough.] sheridan was born in the month of september, , at no. , dorset street, dublin, and baptized in st. mary's church, as appears by the register of the parish, on the fourth of the following month. his grandfather, dr. sheridan, and his father, mr. thomas sheridan, have attained a celebrity, independent of that which he has conferred on them, by the friendship and correspondence with which the former was honored by swift, and the competition and even rivalry which the latter so long maintained with garrick. his mother, too, was a woman of considerable talents, and affords one of the few instances that have occurred, of a female indebted for a husband to her literature; as it was a pamphlet she wrote concerning the dublin theatre that first attracted to her the notice of mr. thomas sheridan. her affecting novel, sidney biddulph, could boast among its warm panegyrists mr. fox and lord north; and in the tale of nourjahad she has employed the graces of eastern fiction to inculcate a grave and important moral,--putting on a fairy disguise, like her own mandane, to deceive her readers into a taste for happiness and virtue. besides her two plays, the discovery and the dupe,--the former of which garrick pronounced to be "one of the best comedies he ever read,"--she wrote a comedy also, called the trip to bath, which was never either acted or published, but which has been supposed by some of those sagacious persons, who love to look for flaws in the titles of fame, to have passed, with her other papers, into the possession of her son, and, after a transforming sleep, like that of the chrysalis, in his hands, to have taken wing at length in the brilliant form of the rivals. the literary labors of her husband were less fanciful, but not, perhaps, less useful, and are chiefly upon subjects connected with education, to the study and profession of which he devoted the latter part of his life. such dignity, indeed, did his favorite pursuit assume in his own eyes, that he is represented (on the authority, however, of one who was himself a schoolmaster) to have declared, that "he would rather see his two sons at the head of respectable academies, than one of them prime minister of england, and the other at the head of affairs in ireland." at the age of seven years, richard brinsley sheridan was, with his elder brother, charles francis, placed under the tuition of mr. samuel whyte, of grafton street, dublin,--an amiable and respectable man, who, for near fifty years after, continued at the head of his profession in that metropolis. to remember our school-days with gratitude and pleasure, is a tribute at once to the zeal and gentleness of our master, which none ever deserved more truly from his pupils than mr. whyte, and which the writer of these pages, who owes to that excellent person all the instructions in english literature he has ever received, is happy to take this opportunity of paying. the young sheridans, however, were little more than a year under his care--and it may be consoling to parents who are in the first crisis of impatience, at the sort of hopeless stupidity which some children exhibit, to know, that the dawn of sheridan's intellect was as dull and unpromising as its meridian day was bright; and that in the year , he who, in less than thirty years afterwards, held senates enchained by his eloquence and audiences fascinated by his wit, was, by common consent both of parent and preceptor, pronounced to be "a most impenetrable dunce." from mr. whyte's school the boys were removed to england, where mr. and mrs. sheridan had lately gone to reside, and in the year richard was sent to harrow--charles being kept at home as a fitter subject for the instructions of his father, who, by another of those calculations of poor human foresight, which the deity, called eventus by the romans, takes such wanton pleasure in falsifying, considered his elder son as destined to be the brighter of the two brother stars. at harrow, richard was remarkable only as a very idle, careless, but, at the same time, engaging boy, who contrived to win the affection, and even admiration of the whole school, both masters and pupils, by the mere charm of his frank and genial manners, and by the occasional gleams of superior intellect, which broke through all the indolence and indifference of his character. harrow, at this time, possessed some peculiar advantages, of which a youth like sheridan might have powerfully availed himself. at the head of the school was doctor robert sumner, a man of fine talents, but, unfortunately, one of those who have passed away without leaving any trace behind, except in the admiring recollection of their contemporaries. his taste is said to have been of a purity almost perfect, combining what are seldom seen together, that critical judgment which is alive to the errors of genius, with the warm sensibility that deeply feels its beauties. at the same period, the distinguished scholar, dr. parr, who, to the massy erudition of a former age, joined all the free and enlightened intelligence of the present, was one of the under masters of the school; and both he and dr. sumner endeavored, by every method they could devise, to awaken in sheridan a consciousness of those powers which, under all the disadvantages of indolence and carelessness, it was manifest to them that he possessed. but remonstrance and encouragement were equally thrown away upon the good- humored but immovable indifference of their pupil; and though there exist among mr. sheridan's papers some curious proofs of an industry in study for which few have ever given him credit, they are probably but the desultory efforts of a later period of his life, to recover the loss of that first precious time, whose susceptibility of instruction, as well as of pleasure, never comes again. one of the most valuable acquisitions he derived from harrow was that friendship, which lasted throughout his life, with dr. parr,--which mutual admiration very early began, and the "_idem sentire de re publica_" of course not a little strengthened. as this learned and estimable man has, within the last few weeks, left a void in the world which will not be easily filled up, i feel that it would be unjust to my readers not to give, in his own words, the particulars of sheridan's school-days, with which he had the kindness to favor me, and to which his name gives an authenticity and interest too valuable on such a subject to be withheld: "hatton, august , . "dear sir, "with the aid of a scribe i sit down to fulfil my promise about mr. sheridan. there was little in his boyhood worth communication. he was inferior to many of his school-fellows in the ordinary business of a school, and i do not remember any one instance in which he distinguished himself by latin or english composition, in prose or verse. [footnote: it will be seen, however, though dr. parr was not aware of the circumstance, that sheridan did try his talent at english verse before he left harrow.] nathaniel halhed, one of his school-fellows, wrote well in latin and greek. richard archdall, another school-fellow, excelled in english verse. richard sheridan aspired to no rivalry with either of them. he was at the uppermost part of the fifth form, but he never reached the sixth, and, if i mistake not, he had no opportunity of attending the most difficult and the most honorable of school business, when the greek plays were taught--and it was the custom at harrow to teach these at least every year. he went through his lessons in horace, and virgil, and homer well enough for a time. but, in the absence of the upper master, doctor sumner, it once fell in my way to instruct the two upper forms, and upon calling up dick sheridan, i found him not only slovenly in construing, but unusually defective in his greek grammar. knowing him to be a clever fellow, i did not fail to probe and to tease him. i stated his case with great good-humor to the upper master, who was one of the best tempered men in the world; and it was agreed between us, that richard should be called oftener and worked more severely. the varlet was not suffered to stand up in his place; but was summoned to take his station near the master's table, where the voice of no prompter could reach him; and, in this defenceless condition, he was so harassed, that he at last gathered up some grammatical rules, and prepared himself for his lessons. while this tormenting process was inflicted upon him, i now and then upbraided him. but you will take notice that he did not incur any corporal punishment for his idleness: his industry was just sufficient to protect him from disgrace. all the while sumner and i saw in him vestiges of a superior intellect. his eye, his countenance, his general manner, were striking. his answers to any common question were prompt and acute. we knew the esteem, and even admiration, which, somehow or other, all his school-fellows felt for him. he was mischievous enough, but his pranks were accompanied by a sort of vivacity and cheerfulness, which delighted sumner and myself. i had much talk with him about his apple-loft, for the supply of which all the gardens in the neighborhood were taxed, and some of the lower boys were employed to furnish it. i threatened, but without asperity, to trace the depredators, through his associates, up to their leader. he with perfect good-humor set me at defiance, and i never could bring the charge home to him. all boys and all masters were pleased with him. i often praised him as a lad of great talents,--often exhorted him to use them well; but my exhortations were fruitless. i take for granted that his taste was silently improved, and that he knew well the little which he did know. he was removed from school too soon by his father, who was the intimate friend of sumner, and whom i often met at his house. sumner had a fine voice, fine ear, fine taste, and, therefore, pronunciation was frequently the favorite subject between him and tom sheridan. i was present at many of their discussions and disputes, and sometimes took a very active part in them,--but richard was not present. the father, you know, was a wrong-headed, whimsical man, and, perhaps, his scanty circumstances were one of the reasons which prevented him from sending richard to the university. he must have been aware, as sumner and i were, that richard's mind was not cast in any ordinary mould. i ought to have told you that richard, when a boy, was a great reader of english poetry; but his exercises afforded no proof of his proficiency. in truth, he, as a boy, was quite careless about literary fame. i should suppose that his father, without any regular system, polished his taste, and supplied his memory with anecdotes about our best writers in our augustan age. the grandfather, you know, lived familiarly with swift. i have heard of him, as an excellent scholar. his boys in ireland once performed a greek play, and when sir william jones and i were talking over this event, i determined to make the experiment in england. i selected some of my best boys, and they performed the oedipus tyrannus, and the trachinians of sophocles. i wrote some greek iambics to vindicate myself from the imputation of singularity, and grieved i am that i did not keep a copy of them. milton, you may remember, recommends what i attempted. "i saw much of sheridan's father after the death of sumner, and after my own removal from harrow to stanmer. i respected him,--he really liked me, and did me some important services,--but i never met him and richard together. i often inquired about richard, and, from the father's answers, found they were not upon good terms,--but neither he nor i ever spoke of his son's talents but in terms of the highest praise." in a subsequent letter dr. parr says: "i referred you to a passage in the gentleman's magazine, where i am represented as discovering and encouraging in richard sheridan those intellectual powers which had not been discovered and encouraged by sumner. but the statement is incorrect. we both of us discovered talents, which neither of us could bring into action while sheridan was a school-boy. he gave us few opportunities of praise in the course of his school business, and yet he was well aware that we thought highly of him, and anxiously wished more to be done by him than he was disposed to do. "i once or twice met his mother,--she was quite celestial. both her virtues and her genius were highly esteemed by robert sumner. i know not whether tom sheridan found richard tractable in the art of speaking,-- and, upon such a subject, indolence or indifference would have been resented by the father as crimes quite inexpiable. one of richard's sisters now and then visited harrow, and well do i remember that, in the house where i lodged, she triumphantly repeated dryden's ode upon st. cecilia's day, according to the instruction given to her by her father. take a sample: _none_ but the brave, none but the _brave_, none _but_ the brave deserve the fair. whatever may have been the zeal or the proficiency of the sister, naughty richard, like gallio, seemed to care naught for these things. "in the later periods of his life richard did not cast behind him classical reading. he spoke copiously and powerfully about cicero. he had read, and he had understood, the four orations of demosthenes, read and taught in our public schools. he was at home in virgil and in horace. i cannot speak positively about homer,--but i am very sure that he read the iliad now and then; not as a professed scholar would do, critically, but with all the strong sympathies of a poet reading a poet. [footnote: it was not one of the least of the triumphs of sheridan's talent to have been able to persuade so acute a scholar as dr. parr, that the extent of his classical acquirements was so great as is here represented, and to have thus impressed with the idea of his remembering so much, the person who best knew how little he had learned.] richard did not, and could not forget what he once knew, but his path to knowledge was his own,--his steps were noiseless,--his progress was scarcely felt by himself,--his movements were rapid but irregular. "let me assure you that richard, when a boy, was by no means vicious. the sources of his infirmities were a scanty and precarious allowance from the father, the want of a regular plan for some profession, and, above all, the act of throwing him upon the town, when he ought to have been pursuing his studies at the university. he would have done little among mathematicians at cambridge;--he would have been a rake, or an idler, or a trifler, at dublin;--but i am inclined to think that at oxford he would have become an excellent scholar. "i have now told you all that i know, and it amounts to very little. i am very solicitous for justice to be done to robert sumner. he is one of the six or seven persons among my own acquaintance whose taste i am accustomed to consider perfect, and, were he living, his admiration...." [footnote: the remainder of the letter relates to other subjects.] during the greater part of richard's stay at harrow his father had been compelled, by the embarrassment of his affairs, to reside with the remainder of the family in france, and it was at blois, in the september of , that mrs. sheridan died--leaving behind her that best kind of fame, which results from a life of usefulness and purity, and which it requires not the aid of art or eloquence to blazon. she appears to have been one of those rare women, who, united to men of more pretensions, but less real intellect than themselves, meekly conceal this superiority even from their own hearts, and pass their lives without remonstrance or murmur, in gently endeavoring to repair those evils which the indiscretion or vanity of their partners has brought upon them. as a supplement to the interesting communication of dr. parr, i shall here subjoin an extract from a letter which the eldest sister of sheridan, mrs. e. lefanu, wrote a few months after his death to mrs. sheridan, in consequence of a wish expressed by the latter that mrs. lefanu would communicate such particulars as she remembered of his early days. it will show, too, the feeling which his natural good qualities, in spite of the errors by which they were obscured and weakened, kept alive to the last, in the hearts of those connected with him, that sort of retrospective affection, which, when those whom we have loved become altered, whether in mind or person, brings the recollection of what they once were, to mingle with and soften our impression of what they are. after giving an account of the residence of the family in france, she continues: "we returned to england, when i may say i first became acquainted with my brother--for faint and imperfect were my recollections of him, as might be expected from my age. i saw him; and my childish attachment revived with double force. he was handsome, not merely in the eyes of a partial sister, but generally allowed to be so. his cheeks had the glow of health; his eyes,--the finest in the world,-- the brilliancy of genius, and were soft as a tender and affectionate heart could render them. the same playful fancy, the same sterling and innoxious wit, that was shown afterwards in his writings, cheered and delighted the family circle. i admired--i almost adored him. i would most willingly have sacrificed my life for him, as i, in some measure, proved to him at bath, where we resided for some time, and where events that you must have heard of engaged him in a duel. my father's displeasure threatened to involve me in the denunciations against him, for committing what he considered as a crime. yet i risked everything, and in the event was made happy by obtaining forgiveness for my brother.... you may perceive, dear sister, that very little indeed have i to say on a subject so near your heart, and near mine also. that for years i lost sight of a brother whom i loved with unabated affection--a love that neither absence nor neglect could chill--i always consider as a great misfortune." on his leaving harrow, where he continued till near his eighteenth year, he was brought home by his father, who, with the elder son, charles, had lately returned from france, and taken a house in london. here the two brothers for some time received private tuition from mr. lewis kerr, an irish gentleman, who had formerly practised as a physician, but having, by loss of health, been obliged to give up his profession, supported himself by giving lessons in latin and mathematics. they attended also the fencing and riding schools of mr. angelo, and received instructions from their father in english grammar and oratory. of this advantage, however, it is probable, only the elder son availed himself, as richard, who seems to have been determined to owe all his excellence to nature alone, was found as impracticable a pupil at home as at school. but, however inattentive to his studies he may have been at harrow, it appears, from one of the letters of his school-fellow, mr. halhed, that in poetry, which is usually the first exercise in which these young athletae of intellect try their strength, he had already distinguished himself; and, in conjunction with his friend halhed, had translated the seventh idyl, and many of the lesser poems of theocritus. this literary partnership was resumed soon after their departure from harrow. in the year , when halhed was at oxford, and sheridan residing with his father at bath, they entered into a correspondence, (of which, unluckily, only halhed's share remains,) and, with all the hope and spirit of young adventurers, began and prosecuted a variety of works together, of which none but their translation of aristaenetus ever saw the light. there is something in the alliance between these boys peculiarly interesting. their united ages, as halhed boasts in one of his letters, did not amount to thirty-eight. they were both abounding in wit and spirits, and as sanguine as the consciousness of talent and youth could make them; both inspired with a taste for pleasure, and thrown upon their own resources for the means of gratifying it; both carelessly embarking, without rivalry or reserve, their venture of fame in the same bottom, and both, as halhed discovered at last, passionately in love with the same woman. it would have given me great pleasure to have been enabled to enliven my pages with even a few extracts from that portion of their correspondence, which, as i have just mentioned, has fallen into my hands. there is in the letters of mr. halhed a fresh youthfulness of style, and an unaffected vivacity of thought, which i question whether even his witty correspondent could have surpassed. as i do not, however, feel authorized to lay these letters before the world, i must only avail myself of the aid which their contents supply towards tracing the progress of his literary partnership with sheridan, and throwing light on a period so full of interest in the life of the latter. their first joint production was a farce, or rather play, in three acts, called "jupiter," written in imitation of the burletta of midas, whose popularity seems to have tempted into its wake a number of these musical parodies upon heathen fable. the amour of jupiter with _major_ amphitryon's wife, and _sir richard_ ixion's courtship of juno, who substitutes _miss peggy nubilis_ in her place, form the subject of this ludicrous little drama, of which halhed furnished the burlesque scenes,--while the form of a rehearsal, into which the whole is thrown, and which, as an anticipation of "the critic" is highly curious, was suggested and managed entirely by sheridan. the following extracts will give some idea of the humor of this trifle; and in the character of simile the reader will at once discover a sort of dim and shadowy pre- existence of puff:-- "_simile._ sir, you are very ignorant on the subject,--it is the method most in vogue. "_o'cul._ what! to make the music first, and then make the sense to it afterwards! "_sim._ just so. "_monop._ what mr. simile says is very true, gentlemen; and there is nothing surprising in it, if we consider now the general method of writing _plays to scenes._ "_o'cul._ writing _plays to scenes_!--oh, you are joking. "_monop._ not i, upon my word. mr. simile knows that i have frequently a complete set of scenes from italy, and then i have nothing to do but to get some ingenious hand to write a play to them. "_sim._ i am your witness, sir. gentlemen, you perceive you know nothing about these matters. "_o'cul._ why, mr. simile, i don't pretend to know much relating to these affairs, but what i think is this, that in this method, according to your principles, you must often commit blunders. "_sim._ blunders! to be sure i must, but i always could get myself out of them again. why, i'll tell you an instance of it.--you must know i was once a journeyman sonnet-writer to signor squallini. now, his method, when seized with the _furor harmonicus_, was constantly to make me sit by his side, while he was thrumming on his harpsichord, in order to make extempore verses to whatever air he should beat out to his liking. i remember, one morning, as he was in this situation, _thrum, thrum, thrum, (moving his fingers as if beating on the harpsichord,)_ striking out something prodigiously great, as he thought,--'hah!' said he,--'hah! mr. simile, _thrum, thrum, thrum,_ by gar here is vary fine,--_thrum, thrum, thrum_, write me some words directly.'--i durst not interrupt him to ask on what subject, so instantly began to describe a fine morning. "'calm was the land and calm the seas, and calm the heaven's dome serene, hush'd was the gale and hush'd the breeze, and not a vapor to be seen.' i sang it to his notes,--'hah! upon my vord vary pritt,--_thrum, thrum, thrum,_--stay, stay,--_thrum, thrum,_--hoa? upon my vord, here it must be an adagio,--_thrum, thrum,_--oh! let it be an _ode to melancholy.'_ "_monop._ the devil!--there you were puzzled sure. "_sim._ not in the least,--i brought in a _cloud_ in the next stanza, and matters, you see, came about at once. "_monop._ an excellent transition. " _o'cul._ vastly ingenious indeed. "_sim._ was it not? hey! it required a little command,--a little presence of mind,--but i believe we had better proceed. "_monop._ the sooner the better,--come, gentlemen, resume your seats. "_sim._ now for it. draw up the curtain, and _(looking at his book)_ enter sir richard ixion,--but stay,--zounds, sir richard ought to overhear jupiter and his wife quarrelling,--but, never mind,--these accidents have spoilt the division of my piece.--so enter sir richard, and look as cunning as if you had overheard them. now for it, gentlemen,--you can't be too attentive. "_enter_ sir richard ixion _completely dressed, with bag, sword, &c._ "_ix._ 'fore george, at logger-heads,--a lucky minute, 'pon honor, i may make my market in it. dem it, my air, address, and mien must touch her, now out of sorts with him,--less god than butcher. o rat the fellow,--where can all his sense lie, to gallify the lady so immensely? ah! _le grand bete qu'il est!_--how rude the bear is! the world to two-pence he was ne'er at _paris_. perdition stop my vitals,--now or never i'll niggle snugly into juno's favor. let's see,--(_looking in a glass_) my face,--toll loll-- 'twill work upon her. my person--oh, immense, upon my honor. my eyes,--oh fie.--the naughty glass it flatters,-- courage,--ixion flogs the world to tatters. [_exit ixion_.] "_sim._ there is a fine gentleman for you,--in the very pink of the mode, with not a single article about him his own,--his words pilfered from magazines, his address from french valets, and his clothes not paid for. "_macd._ but pray, mr. simile, how did ixion get into heaven? "_sim._ why, sir, what's that to any body?--perhaps by salmoneus's brazen bridge, or the giant's mountain, or the tower of babel, or on theobald's bull-dogs, or--who the devil cares how?--he is there, and that's enough." * * * * * "_sim._ now for a phoenix of a song. "_song by_ jupiter. "you dogs, i'm jupiter imperial, king, emperor, and pope aetherial, master of th' ordnance of the sky.-- "_sim._ z----ds, where's the ordnance? have you forgot the pistol? (_to the orchestra_.) "_orchestra._ (_to some one behind the scenes_.) tom, are not you prepared? "_tom._ (_from behind the scenes_.) yes, sir, but i flash'd in the pan a little out of time, and had i staid to prime, i should have shot a bar too late. "_sim._ oh then, jupiter, begin the song again.--we must not lose our ordnance. "you dogs, i'm jupiter imperial, king, emperor, and pope aetherial, master of th' ordnance of the sky; &c. &c. [_here a pistol or cracker is fired from behind the scenes_.] "_sim._ this hint i took from handel.--well, how do you think we go on? "_o'cul._ with vast spirit,--the plot begins to thicken. "_sim._ thicken! aye,--'twill be as thick as the calf of your leg presently. well, now for the real, original, patentee amphitryon. what, ho, amphitryon! amphitryon!--'tis simile calls.--why, where the devil is he? "_enter_ servant. "_monop._ tom, where is amphitryon? "_sim._ zounds, he's not arrested too, is he? "_serv._ no, sir, but there was but _one black eye_ in the house, and he is waiting to get it from jupiter. "_sim._ to get a black eye from jupiter,--oh, this will never do. why, when they meet, they ought to match like two beef-eaters." according to their original plan for the conclusion of this farce, all things were at last to be compromised between jupiter and juno; amphitryon was to be comforted in the birth of so mighty a son; ixion, for his presumption, instead of being fixed to a _torturing_ wheel, was to have been fixed to a vagrant monotroche, as knife-grinder, and a grand chorus of deities (intermixed with "knives, scissors, pen-knives to grind," set to music as nearly as possible to the natural cry,) would have concluded the whole. that habit of dilatoriness, which is too often attendant upon genius, and which is for ever making it, like the pistol in the scene just quoted, "shoot a bar too late," was, through life, remarkable in the character of mr. sheridan,--and we have here an early instance of its influence over him. though it was in august, , that he received the sketch of this piece from his friend, and though they both looked forward most sanguinely to its success, as likely to realize many a dream of fame and profit, it was not till the month of may in the subsequent year, as appears by a letter from mr. ker to sheridan, that the probability of the arrival of the manuscript was announced to mr. foote. "i have dispatched a card, as from h. h., at owen's coffee-house, to mr. foote, to inform him that he may expect to see your dramatic piece about the th instant." their hopes and fears in this theatrical speculation are very naturally and livelily expressed throughout halhed's letters, sometimes with a degree of humorous pathos, which is interesting as characteristic of both the writers:--"the thoughts," he says, "of _l_. shared between us are enough to bring the tears into one's eyes." sometimes, he sets more moderate limits to their ambition, and hopes that they will, at least, get the freedom of the play-house by it. but at all times he chides, with good-humored impatience, the tardiness of his fellow- laborer in applying to the managers. fears are expressed that foote may have made other engagements,--and that a piece, called "dido," on the same mythological plan, which had lately been produced with but little success, might prove an obstacle to the reception of theirs. at drury lane, too, they had little hopes of a favorable hearing, as dibdin was one of the principal butts of their ridicule. the summer season, however, was suffered to pass away without an effort; and in october, , we find mr. halhed flattering himself with hopes from a negotiation with mr. garrick. it does not appear, however, that sheridan ever actually presented this piece to any of the managers; and indeed it is probable, from the following fragment of a scene found among his papers, that he soon abandoned the groundwork of halhed altogether, and transferred his plan of a rehearsal to some other subject, of his own invention, and, therefore, more worthy of his wit. it will be perceived that the puffing author was here intended to be a scotchman. "_m._ sir, i have read your comedy, and i think it has infinite merit, but, pray, don't you think it rather grave? "_s._ sir, you say true; it _is_ a grave comedy. i follow the opinion of longinus, who says comedy ought always to be sentimental. sir, i value a sentiment of six lines in my piece no more than a nabob does a rupee. i hate those dirty, paltry equivocations, which go by the name of puns, and pieces of wit. no, sir, it ever was my opinion that the stage should be a place of rational entertainment; instead of which, i am very sorry to say, most people go there for their diversion: accordingly, i have formed my comedy so that it is no laughing, giggling piece of work. he must be a very light man that shall discompose his muscles from the beginning to the end. "_m._ but don't you think it may be too grave? "_s._ o never fear; and as for hissing, mon, they might as well hiss the common prayer-book; for there is the viciousness of vice and the virtuousness of virtue in every third line. "_m._ i confess there is a great deal of moral in it; but, sir, i should imagine if you tried your hand at tragedy-- "_s._ no, mon, there you are out, and i'll relate to you what put me first on writing a comedy. you must know i had composed a very fine tragedy about the valiant bruce. i showed it my laird of mackintosh, and he was a very candid mon, and he said my genius did not lie in tragedy: i took the hint, and, as soon as i got home, began my comedy." we have here some of the very thoughts and words that afterwards contributed to the fortune of puff; and it is amusing to observe how long this subject was played with by the current of sheridan's fancy, till at last, like "a stone of lustre from the brook," it came forth with all that smoothness and polish which it wears in his inimitable farce, the critic. thus it is, too, and but little to the glory of what are called our years of discretion, that the life of the _man_ is chiefly employed in giving effect to the wishes and plans of the _boy_. another of their projects was a periodical miscellany, the idea of which originated with sheridan, and whose first embryo movements we trace in a letter to him from mr. lewis kerr, who undertook, with much good nature, the negotiation of the young author's literary concerns in london. the letter is dated th of october, : "as to your intended periodical paper, if it meets with success, there is no doubt of profit accruing, as i have already engaged a publisher, of established reputation, to undertake it for the account of the authors. but i am to indemnify him in case it should not sell, and to advance part of the first expense, all which i can do without applying to mr. ewart."--"i would be glad to know what stock of papers you have already written, as there ought to be ten or a dozen at least finished before you print any, in order to have time to prepare the subsequent numbers, and ensure a continuance of the work. as to the coffee-houses, you must not depend on their taking it in at first, except you go on the plan of the tatler, and give the news of the week. for the first two or three weeks the expense of advertising will certainly prevent any profit being made. but when that is over, if a thousand are sold weekly, you may reckon on receiving l clear. one paper a week will do better than two. pray say no more as to our accounts." the title intended by sheridan for this paper was "hernan's miscellany," to which his friend halhed objected, and suggested, "the reformer," as a newer and more significant name. but though halhed appears to have sought among his oxford friends for an auxiliary or two in their weekly labors, this meditated miscellany never proceeded beyond the first number, which was written by sheridan, and which i have found among his papers. it is too diffuse and pointless to be given entire; but an extract or two from it will not be unwelcome to those who love to trace even the first, feeblest beginnings of genius: hernan's miscellany. no. i. "'i will sit down and write for the good of the people--for (said i to myself, pulling off my spectacles, and drinking up the remainder of my sixpen'worth) it cannot be but people must be sick of these same rascally politics. all last winter nothing but--god defend me! 'tis tiresome to think of it.' i immediately flung the pamphlet down on the table, and taking my hat and cane walked out of the coffee-house. "i kept up as smart a pace as i could all the way home, for i felt myself full of something, and enjoyed my own thoughts so much, that i was afraid of digesting them, lest any should escape me. at last i knocked at my own door.--'so!' said i to the maid who opened it, (for i never would keep a man; not, but what i could afford it--however, the reason is not material now,) 'so!' said i with an unusual smile upon my face, and immediately sent her for a quire of paper and half a hundred of pens--the only thing i had absolutely determined on in my way from the coffee-house. i had now got seated in my arm chair,--i am an infirm old man, and i live on a second floor,--when i began to ruminate on my project. the first thing that occurred to me (and certainly a very natural one) was to examine my common-place book. so i went to my desk and took out my old faithful red-leather companion, who had long discharged the office of treasurer to all my best hints and memorandums: but, how was i surprised, when one of the first things that struck my eyes was the following memorandum, legibly written, and on one of my best sheets of vellum:--'mem.--_oct. th, , left the grecian after having read ----'s poems, with a determined resolution to write a periodical paper, in order to reform the vitiated taste of the age; but, coming home and finding my fire out, and my maid gone abroad, was obliged to defer the execution of my plan to another opportunity._' now though this event had absolutely slipped my memory, i now recollected it perfectly,--ay, so my fire _was_ out indeed, and my maid _did_ go abroad sure enough.--'good heavens!' said i, 'how great events depend upon little circumstances!' however, i looked upon this as a memento for me no longer to trifle away my time and resolution; and thus i began to reason,--i mean, i _would_ have reasoned, had i not been interrupted by a noise of some one coming up stairs. by the alternate thump upon the steps, i soon discovered it must be my old and intimate friend rudliche. * * * * * "but, to return, in walked rudliche.--'so, fred.'--'so, bob.'--'were you at the grecian to-day?'--'i just stepped in.'--'well, any news?'--'no, no, there was no news.' now, as bob and i saw one another almost every day, we seldom abounded in conversation; so, having settled one material point, he sat in his usual posture, looking at the fire and beating the dust out of his wooden leg, when i perceived he was going to touch upon _the_ other subject; but, having by chance cast his eye on my face, and finding (i suppose) something extraordinary in my countenance, he immediately dropped all concern for the weather, and putting his hand into his pocket, (as if he meant to find what he was going to say, under pretence of feeling for his tobacco-box,) 'hernan! (he began) why, man, you look for all the world as if you had been thinking of something.'-- 'yes,' replied i, smiling, (that is, not actually smiling, but with a conscious something in my face,) 'i have, indeed, been thinking a little.'--'what, is't a secret?'--'oh, nothing very material.' here ensued a pause, which i employed in considering whether i should reveal my scheme to bob; and bob in trying to disengage his thumb from the string of his cane, as if he were preparing to take his leave. this latter action, with the great desire i had of disburdening myself, made me instantly resolve to lay my whole plan before him. 'bob,' said i, (he immediately quitted his thumb,) 'you remarked that i looked as if i had been thinking of something,--your remark is just, and i'll tell you the subject of my thought. you know, bob, that i always had a strong passion for literature:--you have often seen my collection of books, not very large indeed, however i believe i have read every volume of it twice over, (excepting ----'_s divine legation of moses_, and ----'_s lives of the most notorious malefactors_,) and i am now determined to profit by them.' i concluded with a very significant nod; but, good heavens! how mortified was i to find both my speech and my nod thrown away, when rudliche calmly replied, with the true phlegm of ignorance, 'my dear friend, i think your resolution in regard to your books a very prudent one; but i do not perfectly conceive your plan as to the _profit_; for, though your volumes may be very curious, yet you know they are most of them secondhand.'--i was so vexed with the fellow's stupidity that i had a great mind to punish him by not disclosing a syllable more. however, at last my vanity got the better of my resentment, and i explained to him the whole matter. * * * * * "in examining the beginning of the spectators, &c., i find they are all written by a society.--now i profess to write all myself, though i acknowledge that, on account of a weakness in my eyes, i have got some understrappers who are to write the poetry, &c.... in order to find the different merits of these my subalterns, i stipulated with them that they should let me feed them as i would. this they consented to do, and it is surprising to think what different effects diet has on the writers. the same, who after having been fed two days upon artichokes produced as pretty a copy of verses as ever i saw, on beef was as dull as ditch-water...." "it is a characteristic of fools," says some one, "to be always beginning,"--and this is not the only point in which folly and genius resemble each other. so chillingly indeed do the difficulties of execution succeed to the first ardor of conception, that it is only wonderful there should exist so many finished monuments of genius, or that men of fancy should not oftener have contented themselves with those first vague sketches, in the production of which the chief luxury of intellectual creation lies. among the many literary works shadowed out by sheridan at this time were a collection of occasional poems, and a volume of crazy tales, to the former of which halhed suggests that "the old things they did at harrow out of theocritus" might, with a little pruning, form a useful contribution. the loss of the volume of crazy tales is little to be regretted, as from its title we may conclude it was written in imitation of the clever but licentious productions of john hall stephenson. if the same kind oblivion had closed over the levities of other young authors, who, in the season of folly and the passions, have made their pages the transcript of their lives, it would have been equally fortunate for themselves and the world. but whatever may have been the industry of these youthful authors, the translation of aristaenetus, as i have already stated, was the only fruit of their literary alliance that ever arrived at sufficient maturity for publication. in november, , halhed had completed and forwarded to bath his share of the work, and in the following month we find sheridan preparing, with the assistance of a greek grammar, to complete the task. "the th ult., (says mr. ker, in a letter to him from london, dated dec. , ,) i was favored with yours, and have since been hunting for aristaenetus, whom i found this day, and therefore send to you, together with a greek grammar. i might have dispatched at the same time some numbers of the dictionary, but not having got the last two numbers, was not willing to send any without the whole of what is published, and still less willing to delay aristaenetus's journey by waiting for them." the work alluded to here is the dictionary of arts and sciences, to which sheridan had subscribed, with the view, no doubt, of informing himself upon subjects of which he was as yet wholly ignorant, having left school, like most other young men at his age, as little furnished with the knowledge that is wanted in the world, as a person would be for the demands of a market, who went into it with nothing but a few ancient coins in his pocket. the passion, however, that now began to take possession of his heart was little favorable to his advancement in any serious studies, and it may easily be imagined that, in the neighborhood of miss linley, the arts and sciences were suffered to sleep quietly on their shelves. even the translation of aristaenetus, though a task more suited, from its amatory nature, to the existing temperature of his heart, was proceeded in but slowly; and it appears from one of halhed's letters, that this impatient ally was already counting upon the _spolia opima_ of the campaign, before sheridan had fairly brought his greek grammar into the field. the great object of the former was a visit to bath, and he had set his heart still more anxiously upon it, after a second meeting with miss linley at oxford. but the profits expected from their literary undertakings were the only means to which he looked for the realizing of this dream; and he accordingly implores his friend, with the most comic piteousness, to drive the farce on the stage by main force, and to make aristaenetus sell whether he will or not. in the november of this year we find them discussing the propriety of prefixing their names to the work--sheridan evidently not disinclined to venture, but halhed recommending that they should wait to hear how "sumner and the wise few of their acquaintance" would talk of the book, before they risked anything more than their initials. in answer to sheridan's inquiries as to the extent of sale they may expect in oxford, he confesses that, after three coffee-houses had bought one a-piece, not two more would be sold. that poverty is the best nurse of talent has long been a most humiliating truism; and the fountain of the muses, bursting from a barren rock, is but too apt an emblem of the hard source from which much of the genius of this world has issued. how strongly the young translators of aristaenetus were under the influence of this sort of inspiration appears from every paragraph of halhed's letters, and might easily, indeed, be concluded of sheridan, from the very limited circumstances of his father, who had nothing besides the pension of l a year, conferred upon him in consideration of his literary merits, and the little profits he derived from his lectures in bath, to support with decency himself and his family. the prospects of halhed were much more golden, but he was far too gay and mercurial to be prudent; and from the very scanty supplies which his father allowed him, had quite as little of "le superflu, chose si necessaire," as his friend. but whatever were his other desires and pursuits, a visit to bath,--to that place which contained the two persons he most valued in friendship and in love,--was the grand object of all his financial speculations; and among other ways and means that, in the delay of the expected resources from aristaenetus, presented themselves, was an exhibition of l a year, which the college had lately given him, and with five pounds of which he thought he might venture "adire corinthum." though sheridan had informed his friend that the translation was put to press some time in march, , it does not appear to have been given into the hands of wilkie, the publisher, till the beginning of may, when mr. ker writes thus to bath: "your aristaenetus is in the hands of mr. wilkie, in st. paul's churchyard, and to put you out of suspense at once, will certainly make his appearance about the first of june next, in the form of a neat volume, price s or s d, as may best suit his size, &c., which cannot be more nearly determined at present, i have undertaken the task of correcting for the press.... some of the epistles that i have perused seem to me elegant and poetical; in others i could not observe equal beauty, and here and there i could wish there was some little amendment. you will pardon this liberty i take, and set it down to the account of old-fashioned friendship." mr. ker, to judge from his letters, (which, in addition to their other laudable points, are dated with a precision truly exemplary,) was a very kind, useful, and sensible person, and in the sober hue of his intellect exhibited a striking contrast to the sparkling vivacity of the two sanguine and impatient young wits, whose affairs he so good naturedly undertook to negotiate. at length in august, , aristaenetus made its appearance--contrary to the advice of the bookseller, and of mr. ker, who represented to sheridan the unpropitiousness of the season, particularly for a first experiment in authorship, and advised the postponement of the publication till october. but the translators were too eager for the rich harvest of emolument they had promised themselves, and too full of that pleasing but often fatal delusion--that calenture, under the influence of which young voyagers to the shores of fame imagine they already see her green fields and groves in the treacherous waves around them--to listen to the suggestions of mere calculating men of business. the first account they heard of the reception of the work was flattering enough to prolong awhile this dream of vanity. "it begins (writes mr. ker, in about a fortnight after the publication,) to make some noise, and is fathered on mr. johnson, author of the english dictionary, &c. see to-day's gazetteer. the critics are admirable in discovering a concealed author by his style, manner, &c." their disappointment at the ultimate failure of the book was proportioned, we may suppose, to the sanguineness of their first expectations. but the reluctance with which an author yields to the sad certainty of being unread, is apparent in the eagerness with which halhed avails himself of every encouragement for a rally of his hopes. the critical reviewers, it seems, had given the work a tolerable character, and quoted the first epistle. [footnote: in one of the reviews i have seen it thus spoken of:--"no such writer as aristaenetus ever existed in the classic era; nor did even the unhappy schools, after the destruction of the eastern empire, produce such a writer. it was left to the latter times of monkish imposition to give such trash as this, on which the translator has ill spent his time. we have been as idly employed in reading it, and our readers will in proportion lose their time in perusing this article."] the weekly review in the public ledger had also spoken well of it, and cited a specimen. the oxford magazine had transcribed two whole epistles, without mentioning from whence they were taken. every body, he says, seemed to have read the book, and one of those _hawking booksellers_ who attend the coffeehouses assured him it was written by dr. armstrong, author of the oeconomy of love. on the strength of all this he recommends that another volume of the epistles should be published immediately--being of opinion that the readers of the first volume would be sure to purchase the second, and that the publication of the second would put it in the heads of others to buy the first. under a sentence containing one of these sanguine anticipations, there is written, in sheridan's hand, the word "quixote!" they were never, of course, called upon for the second part, and, whether we consider the merits of the original or of the translation, the world has but little to regret in the loss. aristaenetus is one of those weak, florid sophists, who flourished in the decline and degradation of ancient literature, and strewed their gaudy flowers of rhetoric over the dead muse of greece. he is evidently of a much later period than alciphron, to whom he is also very inferior in purity of diction, variety of subject, and playfulness of irony. but neither of them ever deserved to be wakened from that sleep, in which the commentaries of bergler, de pauw, and a few more such industrious scholars have shrouded them. the translators of aristaenetus, in rendering his flowery prose into verse, might have found a precedent and model for their task in ben jonson, whose popular song, "drink to me only with thine eyes," is, as mr. cumberland first remarked, but a piece of fanciful mosaic, collected out of the love-letters of the sophist philostratus. but many of the narrations in aristaenetus are incapable of being elevated into poetry; and, unluckily, these familiar parts seem chiefly to have fallen to the department of halhed, who was far less gifted than his coadjutor with that artist-like touch, which polishes away the mark of vulgarity, and gives an air of elegance even to poverty. as the volume is not in many hands, the following extract from one of the epistles may be acceptable --as well from the singularity of the scene described, as from the specimen it affords of the merits of the translation: "listen--another pleasure i display, that help'd delightfully the time away. from distant vales, where bubbles from its source a crystal rill, they dug a winding course: see! thro' the grove a narrow lake extends, crosses each plot, to each plantation bends; and while the fount in new meanders glides, the forest brightens with refreshing tides. tow'rds us they taught the new-born stream to flow, tow'rds us it crept, irresolute and slow; scarce had the infant current crickled by, when lo! a wondrous fleet attracts our eye; laden with draughts might greet a monarch's tongue, the mimic navigation swam along. hasten, ye ship-like goblets, down the vale, [footnote: "in the original, this luxurious image is pursued so far that the very leaf which is represented as the sail of the vessel, is particularized as of a medicinal nature, capable of preventing any ill effects the wine might produce."--_note by the translator.] your freight a flagon, and a leaf your sail; o may no envious rush thy course impede, or floating apple stop thy tide-born speed. his mildest breath a gentle zephyr gave; the little vessels trimly stem'd the wave: their precious merchandise to land they bore, and one by one resigned the balmy store. stretch but a hand, we boarded them, and quaft with native luxury the tempered draught. for where they loaded the nectareous fleet, the goblet glow'd with too intense a heat; cool'd by degrees in these convivial ships, with nicest taste it met our thirsty lips." as a scholar, such as halhed, could hardly have been led into the mistake, of supposing [greek: pa medika phuxa phullon] to mean "a leaf of a medicinal nature," we may, perhaps, from this circumstance not less than from the superior workmanship of the verses, attribute the whole of this epistle and notes to sheridan. there is another epistle, the th, as evidently from the pen of his friend, the greater part of which is original, and shows, by its raciness and vigor, what difference there is between "the first sprightly runnings" of an author's own mind, and his cold, vapid transfusion of the thoughts of another. from stanza th to the end is all added by the translator, and all spirited--though full of a bold defying libertinism, as unlike as possible to the effeminate lubricity of the poor sophist, upon whom, in a grave, treacherous note, the responsibility of the whole is laid. but by far the most interesting part of the volume is the last epistle of the book, "from a lover resigning his mistress to his friend,"--in which halhed has contrived to extract from the unmeaningness of the original a direct allusion to his own fate; and, forgetting aristaenetus and his dull personages, thinks only of himself, and sheridan, and miss linley. "thee, then, my friend,--if yet a wretch may claim a last attention by that once dear name,-- thee i address:--the cause you must approve; i yield you--what i cannot cease to love. be thine the blissful lot, the nymph be thine: i yield my love,--sure, friendship may be mine. yet must no thought of me torment thy breast; forget me, if my griefs disturb thy rest, whilst still i'll pray that thou may'st never know the pangs of baffled love, or feel my woe. but sure to thee, dear, charming--fatal maid! (for me thou'st charmed, and me thou hast betray'd,) this last request i need not recommend-- forget the lover thou, as he the friend. bootless such charge! for ne'er did pity move a heart that mock'd the suit of humble love. yet, in some thoughtful hour--if such can be, where love, timocrates, is join'd with thee-- in some lone pause of joy, when pleasures pall, and fancy broods o'er joys it can't recall, haply a thought of me, (for thou, my friend, may'st then have taught that stubborn heart to bend,) a thought of him whose passion was not weak, may dash one transient blush upon her cheek; haply a tear--(for i shall surely then be past all power to raise her scorn again--) haply, i say, one self-dried tear may fall:-- one tear she'll give, for whom i yielded all! * * * * * * * * * * my life has lost its aim!--that fatal fair was all its object, all its hope or care: she was the goal, to which my course was bent, where every wish, where every thought was sent; a secret influence darted from her eyes,-- each look, attraction, and herself the prize. concentred there, i liv'd for her alone; to make her glad and to be blest was one. * * * * * * * * * * adieu, my friend,--nor blame this _sad_ adieu, though sorrow guides my pen, it blames not you. forget me--'tis my pray'r; nor seek to know the fate of him whose portion must be woe, till the cold earth outstretch her friendly arms, and death convince me that he _can_ have charms." but halhed's was not the only heart that sighed deeply and hopelessly for the young maid of bath, who appears, indeed, to have spread her gentle conquests to an extent almost unparalleled in the annals of beauty. her personal charms, the exquisiteness of her musical talents, and the full light of publicity which her profession threw upon both, naturally attracted round her a crowd of admirers, in whom the sympathy of a common pursuit soon kindled into rivalry, till she became at length an object of vanity as well as of love. her extreme youth, too,--for she was little more than sixteen when sheridan first met her,--must have removed, even from minds the most fastidious and delicate, that repugnance they might justly have felt to her profession, if she had lived much longer under its tarnishing influence, or lost, by frequent exhibitions before the public, that fine gloss of feminine modesty, for whose absence not all the talents and accomplishments of the whole sex can atone. she had been, even at this early age, on the point of marriage with mr. long, an old gentleman of considerable fortune in wiltshire, who proved the reality of his attachment to her in a way which few young lovers would be romantic enough to imitate. on her secretly representing to him that she never could be happy as his wife, he generously took upon himself the whole blame of breaking off the alliance, and even indemnified the father, who was proceeding to bring the transaction into court, by settling l upon his daughter. mr. sheridan, who owed to this liberal conduct not only the possession of the woman he loved, but the means of supporting her during the first years of their marriage, spoke invariably of mr. long, who lived to a very advanced age, with all the kindness and respect which such a disinterested character merited. it was about the middle of the year that the sheridans took up their residence in king's mead [footnote: they also lived, during a part of their stay at bath, in new king street.] street, bath, where an acquaintance commenced between them and mr. linley's family, which the kindred tastes of the young people soon ripened into intimacy. it was not to be expected,--though parents, in general, are as blind to the first approach of these dangers as they are rigid and unreasonable after they have happened,--that such youthful poets and musicians [footnote: dr. burney, in his biographical sketch of mr. linley, written for rees' cyclopaedia, calls the linley family "a nest of nightingales." the only surviving member of this accomplished family is mr. william linley, whose taste and talent, both in poetry and music, most worthily sustain the reputation of the name that he bears.]--should come together without love very soon making one of the party. accordingly the two brothers became deeply enamored of miss linley. her heart, however, was not so wholly un-preoccupied as to yield at once to the passion which her destiny had in store for her. one of those transient preferences, which in early youth are mistaken for love, had already taken lively possession of her imagination; and to this the following lines, written at that time by mr. sheridan, allude: to the recording angel. cherub of heaven, that from my secret stand dost note the follies of each mortal here, oh, if eliza's steps employ thy hand, blot the sad legend with a mortal tear. nor when she errs, through passion's wild extreme, mark then her course, nor heed each trifling wrong; nor, when her sad attachment is her theme, note down the transports of her erring tongue. but, when she sighs for sorrows not her own, let that dear sigh to mercy's cause be given; and bear that tear to her creator's throne, which glistens in the eye upraised to heaven! but in love, as in everything else, the power of a mind like sheridan's must have made itself felt through all obstacles and difficulties. he was not long in winning the entire affections of the young "syren," though the number and wealth of his rivals, the ambitious views of her father, and the temptations to which she herself was hourly exposed, kept his jealousies and fears perpetually on the watch. he is supposed, indeed, to have been indebted to self-observation for that portrait of a wayward and morbidly sensitive lover, which he has drawn so strikingly in the character of falkland. with a mind in this state of feverish wakefulness, it is remarkable that he should so long have succeeded in concealing his attachment from the eyes of those most interested in discovering it. even his brother charles was for some time wholly unaware of their rivalry, and went on securely indulging in a passion which it was hardly possible, with such opportunities of intercourse, to resist, and which survived long after miss linley's selection of another had extinguished every hope in his heart, but that of seeing her happy. halhed, too, who at that period corresponded constantly with sheridan, and confided to him the love with which he also had been inspired by this enchantress, was for a length of time left in the same darkness upon the subject, and without the slightest suspicion that the epidemic had reached his friend, whose only mode of evading the many tender inquiries and messages with which halhed's letters abounded, was by referring to answers which had by some strange fatality miscarried, and which, we may conclude, without much uncharitableness, had never been written. miss linley went frequently to oxford, to perform at the oratorios and concerts; and it may easily be imagined that the ancient allegory of the muses throwing chains over cupid was here reversed, and the quiet shades of learning not a little disturbed by the splendor of these "angel visits." the letters of halhed give a lively idea, not only of his own intoxication, but of the sort of contagious delirium, like that at abdera described by lucian, with which the young men of oxford were affected by this beautiful girl. in describing her singing he quotes part of a latin letter which he himself had written to a friend upon first hearing her; and it is a curious proof of the readiness of sheridan, notwithstanding his own fertility, to avail himself of the thoughts of others, that we find in this extract, word for word, the same extravagant comparison of the effects of music to the process of egyptian embalmment--"extracting the brain through the ears"--which was afterwards transplanted into the dialogue of the duenna: "_mortuum quondam ante aegypti medici quam pollincirent cerebella de auribus unco quodam hamo solebant extrahere; sic de meis auribus non cerebrum, sed cor ipsum exhausit lusciniola, &c., &c._" he mentions, as the rivals most dreaded by her admirers, norris, the singer, whose musical talents, it was thought, recommended him to her, and mr. watts, a gentleman commoner, of very large fortune. while all hearts and tongues were thus occupied about miss linley, it is not wonderful that rumors of matrimony and elopement should, from time to time, circulate among her apprehensive admirers; or that the usual ill-compliment should be paid to her sex of supposing that wealth must be the winner of the prize. it was at one moment currently reported at oxford that she had gone off to scotland with a young man of l , a year, and the panic which the intelligence spread is described in one of these letters to sheridan, (who, no doubt, shared in it) as producing "long faces" everywhere. not only, indeed, among her numerous lovers, but among all who delighted in her public performances, an alarm would naturally be felt at the prospect of her becoming private property: "_te juga taygeti, posito te maenala flebunt venatu, maestoque diu lugebere cyntho. delphica quinetiam fratris delubra tacebunt._" [footnote: claudian. de rapt. proserp. lib. ii. v. .] thee, thee, when hurried from our eyes away, laconia's hills shall mourn for many a day-- the arcadian hunter shall forget his chase, and turn aside to think upon that face; while many an hour apollo's songless shrine shall wait in silence for a voice like thine! but to the honor of her sex, which is, in general, more disinterested than the other, it was found that neither rank nor wealth had influenced her heart in its election; and halhed, who, like others, had estimated the strength of his rivals by their rent-rolls, discovered at last that his unpretending friend, sheridan, (whose advances in courtship and in knowledge seem to have been equally noiseless and triumphant,) was the chosen favorite of her, at whose feet so many fortunes lay. like that saint, cecilia, by whose name she was always called, she had long welcomed to her soul a secret visitant, [footnote: "the youth, found in her chamber, had in his hand two crowns or wreaths, the one of lilies, the other of roses, which he had brought from paradise."--_legend of st. cecilia_.] whose gifts were of a higher and more radiant kind than the mere wealthy and lordly of this world can proffer. a letter, written by halhed on the prospect of his departure for india, [footnote: the letter is evidently in answer to one which he had just received from sheridan, in which miss linley had written a few words expressive of her wishes for his health and happiness. mr. halhed sailed for india about the latter end of this year.] alludes so delicately to this discovery, and describes the state of his own heart so mournfully, that i must again, in parting with him and his correspondence, express the strong regret that i feel at not being able to indulge the reader with a perusal of these letters. not only as a record of the first short flights of sheridan's genius, but as a picture, from the life, of the various feelings of youth, its desires and fears, its feverish hopes and fanciful melancholy, they could not have failed to be read with the deepest interest. to this period of mr. sheridan's life we are indebted for most of those elegant love-verses, which are so well known and so often quoted. the lines "uncouth is this moss-covered grotto of stone," were addressed to miss linley, after having offended her by one of those lectures upon decorum of conduct, which jealous lovers so frequently inflict upon their mistresses,--and the grotto, immortalized by their quarrel, is supposed to have been in spring gardens, then the fashionable place of resort in bath. i have elsewhere remarked that the conceit in the following stanza resembles a thought in some verses of angerianus:-- and thou, stony grot, in thy arch may'st preserve two lingering drops of the night-fallen dew, let them fall on her bosom of snow, and they'll serve as tears of my sorrow entrusted to you. _at quum per niveam cervicem influxerit humor dicite non roris sed pluvia haec lacrimae._ whether sheridan was likely to have been a reader of angerianus is, i think, doubtful--at all events the coincidence is curious. "dry be that tear, my gentlest love," is supposed to have been written at a later period; but it was most probably produced at the time of his courtship, for he wrote but few love verses after his marriage--like the nightingale (as a french editor of bonefonius says, in remarking a similar circumstance of that poet) "qui developpe le charme de sa voix tant qu'il vent plaire a sa compagne--sont-ils unis? il se tait, il n'a plus le besoin de lui plaire." this song having been hitherto printed incorrectly, i shall give it here, as it is in the copies preserved by his relations. dry be that tear, my gentlest love, be hush'd that struggling sigh, nor seasons, day, nor fate shall prove more fix'd, more true than i. hush'd be that sigh, be dry that tear, cease boding doubt, cease anxious fear.-- dry be that tear. ask'st thou how long my love will stay, when all that's new is past;-- how long, ah delia, can i say how long my life will last? dry be that tear, be hush'd that sigh, at least i'll love thee till i die.-- hush'd be that sigh. and does that thought affect thee too, the thought of sylvio's death, that he who only breathed for you, must yield that faithful breath? hush'd be that sigh, be dry that tear, nor let us lose our heaven here.-- dry be that tear. [footnote: an elegy by halhed, transcribed in one of his letters to sheridan, begins thus: "dry be that tear, be hush'd that struggling sigh."] there is in the second stanza here a close resemblance to one of the madrigals of montreuil, a french poet, to whom sir j. moore was indebted for the point of his well known verses, "if in that breast, so good, so pure." [footnote: the grief that on my quiet preys, that rends my heart and checks my tongue, i fear will last me all my days, and feel it will not last me long. it is thus in montreuil: c'est un mal que j'aurai tout le terns de ma vie mais je ne l'aurai pas long-tems.] mr. sheridan, however, knew nothing of french, and neglected every opportunity of learning it, till, by a very natural process, his ignorance of the language grew into hatred of it. besides, we have the immediate source from which he derived the thought of this stanza, in one of the essays of hume, who, being a reader of foreign literature, most probably found it in montreuil. [footnote: or in an italian song of menage, from which montreuil, who was accustomed to such thefts, most probably stole it. the point in the italian is, as far as i can remember it, expressed thus: in van, o filli, tu chiedi se lungamente durera pardore * * * * * chi lo potrebbe dire? incerta, o filli, e l'ora del morire.] the passage in hume (which sheridan has done little more than versify) is as follows:--"why so often ask me, _how long my love shall yet endure?_ alas, my caelia, can i resolve the question? _do i know how long my life shall yet endure?"_ [footnote: the epicurean] the pretty lines, "mark'd you her cheek of rosy hue?" were written not upon miss linley, as has been generally stated, but upon lady margaret fordyce, and form part of a poem which he published in , descriptive of the principal beauties of bath, entitled "clio's protest, or the picture varnished,"--being an answer to some verses by mr. miles peter andrews, called "the bath picture," in which lady margaret was thus introduced: "remark too the dimpling, sweet smile lady marg'ret's fine countenance wears." the following is the passage in mr. sheridan's poem, entire; and the beauty of the six favorite lines shines out so conspicuously, that we cannot wonder at their having been so soon detached, like ill-set jems, from the loose and clumsy workmanship around them. "but, hark!--did not our bard repeat the love-born name of m-rg-r-t?-- attention seizes every ear; "we pant for the description _here_: if ever dulness left thy brow, '_pindar,_' we say, ''twill leave thee now.' but o! old dulness' son anointed his mother never disappointed!-- and here we all were left to seek a dimple in f-rd-ce's cheek! "and could you really discover, in gazing those sweet beauties over, no other charm, no winning grace, adorning either mind or face, but one poor _dimple_ to express the _quintessence_ of _loveliness_? ....mark'd you her cheek of rosy hue? mark'd you her eye of sparkling blue? that eye in liquid circles moving; that cheek abash'd at man's approving; the _one_, love's arrows darting round; the _other_, blushing at the wound: did she not speak, did she not move, now _pallas_--now the queen of love!" there is little else in this poem worth being extracted, though it consists of about four hundred lines; except, perhaps, his picture of a good country housewife, which affords an early specimen of that neat pointedness of phrase, which gave his humor, both poetic and dramatic, such a peculiar edge and polish:-- "we see the dame, in rustic pride, a bunch of keys to grace her side, stalking across the well-swept entry, to hold her council in the pantry; or, with prophetic soul, foretelling the peas will boil well by the shelling; or, bustling in her private closet, prepare her lord his morning posset; and, while the hallowed mixture thickens, signing death-warrants for the chickens: else, greatly pensive, poring o'er accounts her cook had thumbed before; one eye cast up upon that _great book_, yclep'd _the family receipt book_; by which she's ruled in all her courses, from stewing figs to drenching horses. --then pans and pickling skillets rise, in dreadful lustre, to our eyes, with store of sweetmeats, rang'd in order, and _potted nothings_ on the border; while salves and caudle-cups between, with squalling children, close the scene." we find here, too, the source of one of those familiar lines, which so many quote without knowing whence they come;--one of those stray fragments, whose parentage is doubtful, but to which (as the law says of illegitimate children) "_pater est populus_." "you write with ease, to show your breeding, _but easy writing's curst hard reading_." in the following passage, with more of the tact of a man of the world than the ardor of a poet, he dismisses the object nearest his heart with the mere passing gallantry of a compliment:-- "o! should your genius ever rise, and make you _laureate_ in the skies, i'd hold my life, in twenty years, you'd spoil the _music_ of the _spheres_. --nay, should the rapture-breathing nine in one celestial concert join, their sovereign's power to rehearse, --were you to furnish them with verse, by jove, i'd fly the heavenly throng, though _phoebus_ play'd and _linley_ sung." on the opening of the new assembly rooms at bath, which commenced with a ridotto, sept. , , he wrote a humorous description of the entertainment, called "an epistle from timothy screw to his brother henry, waiter at almack's," which appeared first in the bath chronicle, and was so eagerly sought after, that crutwell, the editor, was induced to publish it in a separate form. the allusions in this trifle have, of course, lost their zest by time; and a specimen or two of its humor will be all that is necessary here. "two rooms were first opened--the _long_ and the _round_ one, (these _hogstyegon_ names only serve to confound one,) both splendidly lit with the new chandeliers, with drops hanging down like the bobs at peg's ears: while jewels of _paste_ reflected the rays, and _bristol-stone_ diamonds gave strength to the blaze: so that it was doubtful, to view the bright clusters, which sent the most light out, the ear-rings or lustres. * * * * nor less among you was the medley, ye fair! i believe there were some besides quality there: miss _spiggot_, miss _brussels_, miss _tape_, and miss _socket_, miss _trinket_, and aunt, with her leathern pocket, with good mrs. _soaker_, who made her old chin go, for hours, hobnobbing with mrs. _syringo_: had tib staid at home, i b'lieve none would have miss'd her, or pretty _peg runt_, with her tight little sister," &c. &c. chapter ii. duels with mr. mathews.--marriage with miss linley. towards the close of the year , the elder mr. sheridan went to dublin, to perform at the theatre of that city,--leaving his young and lively family at bath, with nothing but their hearts and imaginations to direct them. the following letters, which passed between him and his son richard during his absence, though possessing little other interest than that of having been written at such a period, will not, perhaps, be unwelcome to the reader:-- "dublin, dec. th, . "my dear richard, "how could you be so wrong-headed as to commence cold bathing at such a season of the year, and i suppose without any preparation too? you have paid sufficiently for your folly, but i hope the ill effects of it have been long since over. you and your brother are fond of quacking, a most dangerous disposition with regard to health. let slight things pass away themselves; in a case that requires assistance do nothing without advice. mr. crook is a very able man in his way. should a physician be at any time wanting, apply to dr. nesbitt, and tell him at leaving bath i recommended you all to his care. this indeed i intended to have mentioned to him, but it slipped my memory. i forgot mr. crook's bill, too, but desire i may have the amount by the next letter. pray what is the meaning of my hearing so seldom from bath? six weeks here, and but two letters! you were very tardy; what are your sisters about? i shall not easily forgive any future omissions. i suppose charles received my answer to his, and the _l_ from whately. i shall order another to be sent at christmas for the rent and other necessaries. i have not time at present to enter upon the subject of english authors, &c. but shall write to you upon that head when i get a little leisure. nothing can be conceived in a more deplorable state than the stage of dublin. i found two miserable companies opposing and starving each other. i chose the least bad of them; and, wretched as they are, it has had no effect on my nights, numbers having been turned away every time i played, and the receipts have been larger than when i had barry, his wife, and mrs. fitz-henry to play with me. however, i shall not be able to continue it long, as there is no possibility of getting up a sufficient number of plays with such poor materials. i purpose to have done the week after next, and apply vigorously to the material point which brought me over. i find all ranks and parties very zealous for forwarding my scheme, and have reason to believe it will be carried in parliament after the recess, without opposition. it was in vain to have attempted it before, for never was party violence [footnote: the money-bill, brought forward this year under lord townsend's administration, encountered violent opposition, and was finally rejected.] carried to such a height as in this sessions; the house seldom breaking up till eleven or twelve at night. from these contests, the desire of improving in the article of elocution is become very general. there are no less than five persons of rank and fortune now waiting my leisure to become my pupils. remember me to all friends, particularly to our good landlord and landlady. i am, with love and blessing to you all, "your affectionate father, "thomas sheridan. "p. s.--tell your sisters i shall send the poplins as soon as i can get an opportunity." "dear father, "we have been for some time in hopes of receiving a letter, that we might know that you had acquitted us of neglect in writing. at the same time we imagine that the time is not far when writing will be unnecessary; and we cannot help wishing to know the posture of the affairs, which, as you have not talked of returning, seem probable to detain you longer than you intended. i am perpetually asked when mr. sheridan is to have his patent for the theatre, which all the irish here take for granted, and i often receive a great deal of information from them on the subject. yet i cannot help being vexed when i see in the dublin papers such bustling accounts of the proceedings of your house of commons, as i remember it was your argument against attempting any thing from parliamentary authority in england. however, the folks here regret you, as one that is to be fixed in another kingdom, and will scarcely believe that you will ever visit bath at all; and we are often asked if we have not received the letter which is to call us over. "i could scarcely have conceived that the winter was so near departing, were i not now writing after dinner by daylight. indeed the first winter-season is not yet over at bath. they have balls, concerts, &c. at the rooms, from the old subscription still, and the spring ones are immediately to succeed them. they are likewise going to perform oratorios here. mr. linley and his whole family, down to the seven year olds, are to support one set at the new rooms, and a band of singers from london another at the old. our weather here, or the effects of it, have been so uninviting to all kinds of birds, that there has not been the smallest excuse to take a gun into the fields this winter;--a point more to the regret of charles than myself. "we are all now in dolefuls for the princess dowager; but as there was no necessity for our being dressed or weeping mourners, we were easily provided. our acquaintances stand pretty much the same as when you left us,--only that i think in general we are less intimate, by which i believe you will not think us great losers. indeed, excepting mr. wyndham, i have not met with one person with whom i would wish to be intimate; though there was a mr. lutterel, (brother to the colonel,)-- who was some months ago introduced to me by an old harrow acquaintance, --who made me many professions at parting, and wanted me vastly to name some way in which he could be useful to me; but the relying on _acquaintances_, or _seeking_ of friendships, is a fault which i think i shall always have prudence to avoid. "lissy begins to be tormented again with the tooth-ache;--otherwise, we are all well. "i am, sir, your sincerely dutiful and affectionate son, "friday, feb. . "r. b. sheridan. "i beg you will not judge of my attention to the improvement of my hand- writing by this letter, as i am out of the way of a better pen." charles sheridan, now one-and-twenty, the oldest and gravest of the party, finding his passion for miss linley increase every day, and conscious of the imprudence of yielding to it any further, wisely determined to fly from the struggle altogether. having taken a solemn farewell of her in a letter, which his youngest sister delivered, he withdrew to a farm-house about seven or eight miles from bath, little suspecting that he left his brother in full possession of that heart, of which he thus reluctantly and hopelessly raised the siege. nor would this secret perhaps have been discovered for some time, had not another lover, of a less legitimate kind than either, by the alarming importunity of his courtship, made an explanation on all sides necessary. captain mathews, a married man and intimate with miss linley's family, presuming upon the innocent familiarity which her youth and his own station permitted between them, had for some time not only rendered her remarkable by his indiscreet attentions in public, but had even persecuted her in private with those unlawful addresses and proposals, which a timid female will sometimes rather endure, than encounter that share of the shame, which may be reflected upon herself by their disclosure. to the threat of self-destruction, often tried with effect in these cases, he is said to have added the still more unmanly menace of ruining, at least, her reputation, if he could not undermine her virtue. terrified by his perseverance, and dreading the consequences of her father's temper, if this violation of his confidence and hospitality were exposed to him, she at length confided her distresses to richard sheridan; who, having consulted with his sister, and, for the first time, disclosed to her the state of his heart with respect to miss linley, lost no time in expostulating with mathews, upon the cruelty, libertinism, and fruitlessness of his pursuit. such a remonstrance, however, was but little calculated to conciliate the forbearance of this professed man of gallantry, who, it appears by the following allusion to him under the name of lothario, in a poem written by sheridan at the time, still counted upon the possibility of gaining his object, or, at least, blighting the fruit which he could not reach:-- nor spare the flirting _cassoc'd rogue_, nor ancient cullin's polish'd brogue; nor gay _lothario's_ nobler name, that _nimrod_ to all female fame. in consequence of this persecution, and an increasing dislike to her profession, which made her shrink more and more from the gaze of the many, in proportion as she became devoted to the love of one, she adopted, early in , the romantic resolution of flying secretly to france and taking refuge in a convent,--intending, at the same time, to indemnify her father, to whom she was bound till the age of , by the surrender to him of part of the sum which mr. long had settled upon her. sheridan, who, it is probable, had been the chief adviser of her flight, was, of course, not slow in offering to be the partner of it. his sister, whom he seems to have persuaded that his conduct in this affair arose solely from a wish to serve miss linley, as a friend, without any design or desire to take advantage of her elopement, as a lover, not only assisted them with money out of her little fund for house-expenses, but gave them letters of introduction to a family with whom she had been acquainted at st. quentin. on the evening appointed for their departure,--while mr. linley, his eldest son, and miss maria linley, were engaged at a concert, from which the young cecilia herself had been, on a plea of illness, excused,--she was conveyed by sheridan in a sedan-chair from her father's house in the crescent, to a post-chaise which waited for them on the london road, and in which she found a woman whom her lover had hired, as a sort of protecting minerva, to accompany them in their flight. it will be recollected that sheridan was at this time little more than twenty, and his companion just entering her eighteenth year. on their arrival in london, with an adroitness which was, at least, very dramatic, he introduced her to an old friend of his family, (mr. ewart, a respectable brandy-merchant in the city,) as a rich heiress who had consented to elope with him to the continent;--in consequence of which the old gentleman, with many commendations of his wisdom for having given up the imprudent pursuit of miss linley, not only accommodated the fugitives with a passage on board a ship, which he had ready to sail from the port of london to dunkirk, but gave them letters of recommendation to his correspondents at that place, who with the same zeal and dispatch facilitated their journey to lisle. on their leaving dunkirk, as was natural to expect, the chivalrous and disinterested protector degenerated into a mere selfish lover. it was represented by him, with arguments which seemed to appeal to prudence as well as feeling, that, after the step which they had taken, she could not possibly appear in england again but as his wife. he was therefore, he said, resolved not to deposit her in a convent till she had consented, by the ceremony of a marriage, to confirm to him that right of protecting her, which he had now but temporarily assumed. it did not, we may suppose, require much eloquence to convince her heart of the truth of this reasoning; and, accordingly, at a little village, not far from calais, they were married about the latter end of march, , by a priest well known for his services on such occasions. they thence immediately proceeded to lisle, where miss linley, as she must still be called, giving up her intention of going on to st. quentin, procured an apartment in a convent, with the determination of remaining there, till sheridan should have the means of supporting her as his acknowledged wife. a letter which he wrote to his brother from this place, dated april , though it throws but little additional light on the narrative, is too interesting an illustration of it to be omitted here: "dear brother, "most probably you will have thought me very inexcusable for not having writ to you. you will be surprised, too, to be told that, except your letter just after we arrived, we have never received one line from bath. we suppose for certain that there are letters somewhere, in which case we shall have sent to every place almost but the right, whither, i hope, i have now sent also. you will soon see me in england. everything on our side has at last succeeded. miss l--- is now fixing in a convent, where she has been entered some time. this has been a much more difficult point than you could have imagined, and we have, i find, been extremely fortunate. she has been ill, but is now recovered; this, too, has delayed me. we would have wrote, but have been kept in the most tormenting expectation, from day to day, of receiving your letters; but as everything is now so happily settled here, i will delay no longer giving you that information, though probably i shall set out for england without knowing a syllable of what has happened with you. all is well, i hope; and i hope, too, that though you may have been ignorant, for some time, of our proceedings, _you_ never could have been uneasy lest anything should tempt me to depart, even in a thought, from the honor and consistency which engaged me at first. i wrote to m--- [footnote: mathews] above a week ago, which, i think, was necessary and right. i hope he has acted the one proper part which was left him; and, to speak from my _feelings_, i cannot but say that i shall be very happy to find no further disagreeable consequence pursuing him; for, as brutus says of caesar, &c.--if i delay one moment longer, i lose the post. "i have writ now, too, to mr. adams, and should apologize to you for having writ to him first, and lost my time for you. love to my sisters, miss l--- to all. "ever, charles, your affect. brother, "r. b. sheridan. "i need not tell you that we altered quite our route." the illness of miss linley, to which he alludes, and which had been occasioned by fatigue and agitation of mind, came on some days after her retirement to the convent; but an english physician, dr. dolman, of york, who happened to be resident at lisle at the time, was called in to attend her; and in order that she might be more directly under his care, he and mrs. dolman invited her to their house, where she was found by mr. linley, on his arrival in pursuit of her. after a few words of private explanation from sheridan, which had the effect of reconciling him to his truant daughter, mr. linley insisted upon her returning with him immediately to england, in order to fulfil some engagements which he had entered into on her account; and a promise being given that, as soon as these engagements were accomplished, she should be allowed to resume her plan of retirement at lisle, the whole party set off amicably together for england. on the first discovery of the elopement, the landlord of the house in which the sheridans resided had, from a feeling of pity for the situation of the young ladies,--now left without the protection of either father or brother,--gone off, at break of day, to the retreat of charles sheridan, and informed him of the event which had just occurred. poor charles, wholly ignorant till then of his brother's attachment to miss linley, felt all that a man may be supposed to feel, who had but too much reason to think himself betrayed, as well as disappointed. he hastened to bath, where he found a still more furious lover, mr. mathews, inquiring at the house every particular of the affair, and almost avowing, in the impotence of his rage, the unprincipled design which this summary step had frustrated. in the course of their conversation, charles sheridan let fall some unguarded expressions of anger against his brother, which this gentleman, who seems to have been eminently qualified for a certain line of characters indispensable in all romances, treasured up in his memory, and, as it will appear, afterwards availed himself of them. for the four or five weeks during which the young couple were absent, he never ceased to haunt the sheridan family, with inquiries, rumors, and other disturbing visitations; and, at length, urged on by the restlessness of revenge, inserted the following violent advertisement in the bath chronicle: "wednesday, april th, . "mr. richard s--- having attempted, in a letter left behind him for that purpose, to account for his scandalous method of running away from this place, by insinuations derogating from _my_ character, and that of a young lady, innocent as far as relates to _me_, or _my_ knowledge; since which he has neither taken any notice of letters, or even informed his own family of the place where he has hid himself; i can no longer think he deserves the treatment of a gentleman, and therefore shall trouble myself no further about him than, in this public method, to post him as a l---, and a treacherous s---. "and as i am convinced there have been many malevolent incendiaries concerned in the propagation of this infamous lie, if any of them, unprotected by _age_, _infirmities_, or profession, will dare to acknowledge the part they have acted, and affirm _to_ what they have said _of_ me, they may depend on receiving the proper reward of their villany, in the most public manner. the world will be candid enough to judge properly (i make no doubt) of any private abuse on this subject for the future; as nobody can defend himself from an accusation he is ignorant of. "thomas mathews." on a remonstrance from miss sheridan upon this outrageous proceeding, he did not hesitate to assert that her brother charles was privy to it;--a charge which the latter with indignation repelled, and was only prevented by the sudden departure of mathews to london from calling him to a more serious account for the falsehood. at this period the party from the continent arrived; and as a detail of the circumstances which immediately followed has been found in mr. sheridan's own hand-writing,--drawn up hastily, it appears, at the parade coffee-house, bath, the evening before his second duel with mr. mathews,--it would be little better than profanation to communicate them in any other words. "it has ever been esteemed impertinent to appeal to the public in concerns entirely private; but there now and then occurs a _private_ incident which, by being explained, may be productive of _public_ advantage. this consideration, and the precedent of a public appeal in the same affair, are my only apologies for the following lines:-- "mr. t. mathews thought himself essentially injured by mr. e. sheridan's having co-operated in the virtuous efforts of a young lady to escape the snares of vice and dissimulation. he wrote several most abusive threats to mr. s., then in france. he labored, with a cruel industry, to vilify his character in england. he publicly posted him as a scoundrel and a liar. mr. s. answered him from france (hurried and surprised), that he would never sleep in england till he had thanked him as he deserved. "mr. s. arrived in london at o'clock at night. at he is informed, by mr. s. ewart, that mr. m. is in town. mr. s. had sat up at canterbury, to keep his idle promise to mr. m.--he resolved to call on him that night, as, in case he had not found him in town, he had called on mr. ewart to accompany him to bath, being bound by mr. linley not to let anything pass between him and mr. m. till he had arrived thither. mr. s. came to mr. cochlin's, in crutched friars, (where mr. m. was lodged,) about half after twelve. the key of mr. c.'s door was lost; mr. s. was denied admittance. by two o'clock he got in. mr. m. had been previously down to the door, and told mr. s. he should be admitted, and had retired to bed again. he dressed, complained of the cold, endeavored to get heat into him, called mr. s. his _dear friend_, and forced him to--_sit down_. "mr. s. had been informed that mr. m. had sworn his death;--that mr. m. had, in numberless companies, produced bills on france, whither he meant to retire on the completion of his revenge. mr. m. had warned mr. ewart to advise his friend not even to come in his way without a sword, as he could not answer for the consequence. "mr. m. had left two letters for mr. s., in which he declares he is to be met with at any hour, and begs mr. s. will not _'deprive himself of so much sleep, or stand on any ceremony'_. mr. s. called on him at the hour mentioned. mr. s. was admitted with the difficulty mentioned. mr. s. declares that, on mr. m.'s perceiving that he came to answer then to his challenge, he does not remember ever to have seen a _man_ behave so perfectly dastardly. mr. m. detained mr. s. till seven o'clock the next morning. he (mr. m.) said he never meant to quarrel with mr. s. he convinced mr. s. that his enmity ought to be directed solely against his brother and another gentleman at bath. mr. s. went to bath...." [footnote: the remainder of this paper is omitted, as only briefly referring to circumstances which will be found more minutely detailed in another document.] on his arrival in bath, (whither he travelled with miss linley and her father,) sheridan lost not a moment in ascertaining the falsehood of the charge against his brother. while charles, however, indignantly denied the flagitious conduct imputed to him by mathews, he expressed his opinion of the step which sheridan and miss linley had taken, in terms of considerable warmth, which were overheard by some of the family. as soon as the young ladies had retired to bed, the two brothers, without any announcement of their intention, set off post together for london, sheridan having previously written the following letter to mr. wade, the master of the ceremonies. "sir, "i ought to apologize to you for troubling you again on a subject which should concern so few. "i find mr. mathews's behavior to have been such that i cannot be satisfied with his _concession_, as a _consequence_ of an _explanation_ from me. i called on mr. mathews last wednesday night at mr. cochlin's, without the smallest expectation of coming to any _verbal_ explanation with him. a proposal of a _pacific_ meeting the next day was the consequence, which ended in those advertisements and the letter to you. as for mr. mathews's honor or _spirit_ in this whole affair, i shall only add that a few hours may possibly give some proof of the latter; while, in my own justification, i affirm that it was far from being my fault that this point now remains to be determined. "on discovering mr. mathews's _benevolent_ interposition in my own family, i have counter-ordered the advertisements that were agreed on, as i think even an _explanation_ would now misbecome me; an agreement to them was the effect more of mere _charity_ than _judgment_. as i find it necessary to make _all_ my sentiments as public as possible, your declaring this will greatly oblige "g your very humble servant, "r. b. sheridan." "sat. o'clock, may d, . "to william wade, esq." on the following day (sunday), when the young gentlemen did not appear, the alarm of their sisters was not a little increased, by hearing that high words had been exchanged the evening before, and that it was feared a duel between the brothers would be the consequence. though unable to credit this dreadful surmise, yet full of the various apprehensions which such mystery was calculated to inspire, they had instant recourse to miss linley, the fair _helen_ of all this strife, as the person most likely to be acquainted with their brother richard's designs, and to relieve them from the suspense under which they labored. she, however, was as ignorant of the transaction as themselves, and their mutual distress being heightened by sympathy, a scene of tears and fainting-fits ensued, of which no less remarkable a person than doctor priestley, who lodged in mr. linley's house at the time, happened to be a witness. on the arrival of the brothers in town, richard sheridan instantly called mathews out. his second on the occasion was mr. ewart, and the particulars of the duel are thus stated by himself, in a letter which he addressed to captain knight, the second of mathews, soon after the subsequent duel in bath. "sir, "on the evening preceding my last meeting with mr. mathews, mr. barnett [footnote: the friend of mathews in the second duel.] produced a paper to me, written by mr. mathews, containing an account of our former meetings in london. as i had before frequently heard of mr. mathews's relation of that affair, without interesting myself much in contradicting it, i should certainly have treated this in the same manner, had it not been seemingly authenticated by mr. knight's name being subscribed to it. my asserting that the paper contains much misrepresentation, equivocation, and falsity, might make it appear strange that i should apply to you in this manner for information on the subject: but, as it likewise contradicts what i have been told were mr. knight's sentiments and assertions on that affair, i think i owe it to his credit, as well as my own justification, first, to be satisfied from himself whether he really subscribed and will support the truth of the account shown by mr. mathews. give me leave previously to relate what _i_ have affirmed to have been a real state of our meeting in london, and which i am now ready to support on my honor, or my oath, as the best account i can give of mr. mathews's relation is, that it is almost directly opposite to mine. "mr. ewart accompanied me to hyde park, about six in the evening, where we met you and mr. mathews, and we walked together to the ring.--mr. mathews refusing to make any other acknowledgment than he had done, i observed that we were come to the ground: mr. mathews objected to the spot, and appealed to you.--we proceeded to the back of a building on the other side of the ring, the ground was there perfectly level. i called on him and drew my sword (he having previously declined pistols). mr. ewart observed a sentinel on the other side of the building; we advanced to another part of the park. i stopped again at a seemingly convenient place: mr. mathews objected to the observation of some people at a great distance, and proposed to retire to the hercules' pillars till the park should be clear: we did so. in a little time we returned. --i again drew my sword; mr. mathews again objected to the observation of a person who seemed to watch us. mr. ewart observed that the chance was equal, and engaged that no one should stop him, should it be necessary for him to retire to the gate, where we had a chaise and four, which was equally at his service. mr. mathews declared that he would not engage while any one was within sight, and proposed to defer it till next morning. i turned to you and said that 'this was trifling work,' that i could not admit of any delay, and engaged to remove the gentleman (who proved to be an officer, and who, on my going up to him, and assuring him that any interposition would be ill-timed, politely retired). mr. mathews, in the mean time, had returned towards the gate: mr. ewart and i called to you, and followed. we returned to the hercules' pillars, and went from thence, by agreement, to the bedford coffee house, where, the master being alarmed, you came and conducted us to mr. mathews at the castle tavern, henrietta street. mr. ewart took lights up in his hand, and almost immediately on our entering the room we engaged. i struck mr. mathews's point so much out of the line, that i stepped up and caught hold of his wrist, or the hilt of his sword, while the point of mine was at his breast. you ran in and caught hold of my arm, exclaiming, _'don't kill him.'_ i struggled to disengage my arm, and said his sword was in my power. mr. mathews called out twice or thrice, _'i beg my life.'_--we were parted. you immediately said, _'there, he has begged his life, and now there is an end of it;'_ and, on mr. ewart saying that, when his sword was in my power, as i attempted no more you should not have interfered, you replied that you _were wrong_, but that you had _done it hastily, and to prevent mischief_--or words to that effect. mr. mathews then hinted that i was rather _obliged to your interposition_ for the advantage; you declared that '_before_ you did so, both the swords were in mr. sheridan's power.' mr. mathews still seemed resolved to give it another turn, and observed that _he had never quitted his sword_.--provoked at this, i then swore (with too much heat, perhaps) that he should either give up his sword and i would break it, or go to his guard again. he refused-- but, on my persisting, either gave it into my hand, or flung it on the table, or the ground (_which_ i will not absolutely affirm). i broke it, and flung the hilt to the other end of the room. he exclaimed at this. i took a mourning sword from mr. ewart, and presenting him with mine, gave my honor that what had passed should never be mentioned by me, and he might now right himself again. he replied that he _'would never draw a sword against the man who had given him his life;'_-- but, on his still exclaiming against the indignity of breaking his sword (which he had brought upon himself), mr. ewart offered him the pistols, and some altercation passed between them. mr. mathews said, that he _could never show his face if it were known how his sword was broke-- that such a thing had never been done--that it cancelled all obligations, &c. &c._ you seemed to think it was wrong, and we both proposed, that if he never misrepresented the affair, it should not be mentioned by us. this was settled. i then asked mr. mathews, whether (as he had expressed himself sensible of, and shocked at the injustice and indignity he had done me in his advertisement) it did not occur to him that he owed me another satisfaction; and that, as it was now in his power to do it without discredit, i supposed he would not hesitate. this he absolutely refused, unless conditionally; i insisted on it, and said i would not leave the room till it was settled. after much altercation, and with much ill-grace, he gave the apology, which afterwards appeared. we parted, and i returned immediately to bath. i, there, to colonel gould, captain wade, mr. creaser, and others, mentioned the affair to mr. mathews's credit--said that chance having given me the advantage, mr. mathews had consented to that apology, and mentioned nothing of the sword. mr. mathews came down, and in two days i found the whole affair had been stated in a different light, and insinuations given out to the same purpose as in the paper, which has occasioned this trouble. i had _undoubted authority_ that these accounts proceeded from mr. mathews, and likewise that mr. knight had never had any share in them. i then thought i no longer owed mr. mathews the compliment to conceal any circumstance, and i related the affair to several gentlemen exactly as above. "now, sir, as i have put down nothing in this account but upon the most assured recollection, and as mr. mathews's paper either directly or equivocally contradicts almost every article of it, and as your name is subscribed to that paper, i flatter myself that i have a right to expect your answer to the following questions:--first, "is there any falsity or misrepresentation in what i have advanced above? "with regard to mr. mathews's paper--did i, in the park, seem in the smallest article inclined to enter into conversation with mr. mathews?-- he insinuates that i did. "did mr. mathews not _beg his life_?--he affirms he did not. "did i break his sword _without warning_?--he affirms i did it without warning, on his laying it on the table. "did i not offer him mine?--he omits it. "did mr. mathews give me the apology, as a point of generosity, _on my desisting to demand it_?--he affirms he did. "i shall now give my reasons for doubting your having authenticated this paper. " . because i think it full of falsehood and misrepresentation, and mr. knight has the character of a man of truth and honor. " . when you were at bath, i was informed that you had never expressed any such sentiments. " . i have been told that, in wales, mr. mathews never _told his story_ in the presence of mr. knight, who had never there insinuated any thing to my disadvantage. " . the paper shown me by mr. barnett contains (if my memory does not deceive me) three separate sheets of writing paper. mr. knight's evidence is annexed to the last, which contains chiefly a copy of our _first_ proposed advertisements, which mr. mathews had, in mr. knight's presence, agreed should be destroyed as totally void; and which (in a letter to colonel gould, by whom i had insisted on it) he declared upon his honor he knew nothing about, nor should ever make the least use of. "these, sir, are my reasons for applying to yourself, in preference to any appeal to mr. ewart, my second on that occasion, which is what i would wish to avoid. as for mr. mathews's assertions, i shall never be concerned at them. i have ever avoided any verbal altercation with that gentleman, and he has now secured himself from any other. "i am your very humble servant, "r. b. sheridan." it was not till tuesday morning that the young ladies at bath were relieved from their suspense by the return of the two brothers, who entered evidently much fatigued, not having been in bed since they left home, and produced the apology of mr. mathews, which was instantly sent to crutwell for insertion. it was in the following terms:-- "being convinced that the expressions i made use of to mr. sheridan's disadvantage were the effects of passion and misrepresentation, i retract what i have said to that gentleman's disadvantage, and particularly beg his pardon for my advertisement in the bath chronicle. "thomas mathews." [footnote: this appeared in the bath chronicle of may th. in another part of the same paper there is the following paragraph: "we can with authority contradict the account in the london evening post of last night, of a duel between mr. m--t--ws and mr. s--r--n, as to the time and event of their meeting, mr. s. having been at his place on saturday, and both these gentlemen being here at present."] with the odor of this transaction fresh about him, mr. mathews retired to his estate in wales, and, as he might have expected, found himself universally shunned. an apology may be, according to circumstances, either the noblest effort of manliness or the last resource of fear, and it was evident, from the reception which this gentleman experienced every where, that the former, at least, was not the class to which his late retraction had been referred. in this crisis of his character, a mr. barnett, who had but lately come to reside in his neighborhood, observing with pain the mortifications to which he was exposed, and perhaps thinking them, in some degree, unmerited, took upon him to urge earnestly the necessity of a second meeting with sheridan, as the only means of removing the stigma left by the first; and, with a degree of irish friendliness, not forgotten in the portrait of sir lucius o'trigger, offered himself to be the bearer of the challenge. the desperation of persons, in mr. mathews's circumstances, is in general much more formidable than the most acknowledged valor; and we may easily believe that it was with no ordinary eagerness he accepted the proposal of his new ally, and proceeded with him, full of vengeance, to bath. the elder mr. sheridan, who had but just returned from ireland, and had been with some little difficulty induced to forgive his son for the wild achievements he had been engaged in during his absence, was at this time in london, making arrangements for the departure of his favorite, charles, who, through the interest of mr. wheatley, an old friend of the family, had been appointed secretary to the embassy in sweden. miss linley--wife and no wife,--obliged to conceal from the world what her heart would have been most proud to avow, was also absent from bath, being engaged at the oxford music-meeting. the letter containing the preliminaries of the challenge was delivered by mr. barnett, with rather unnecessary cruelty, into the hands of miss sheridan, under the pretext, however, that it was a note of invitation for her brother, and on the following morning, before it was quite daylight, the parties met at kingsdown--mr. mathews, attended by his neighbor mr. barnett, and sheridan by a gentleman of the name of paumier, nearly as young as himself, and but little qualified for a trust of such importance and delicacy. the account of the duel, which i shall here subjoin, was drawn up some months after, by the second of mr. mathews, and deposited in the hands of captain wade, the master of the ceremonies. though somewhat partially colored, and (according to mr. sheridan's remarks upon it, which shall be noticed presently) incorrect in some particulars, it is, upon the whole, perhaps as accurate a statement as could be expected, and received, as appears by the following letter from mr. brereton, (another of mr. sheridan's intimate friends,) all the sanction that captain paumier's concurrence in the truth of its most material facts could furnish. "dear sir, "in consequence of some reports spread to the disadvantage of mr. mathews, it seems he obtained from mr. barnett an impartial relation of the last affair with mr. sheridan, directed to you. this account mr. paumier has seen, and i, at mr. mathews's desire, inquired from him if he thought it true and impartial: he says it differs, in a few immaterial circumstances only, from his opinion, and has given me authority to declare this to you. "i am, dear sir, "your most humble and obedient servant, "(signed) william brereton. "bath, oct. , ." _copy of a paper left by mr. barnett in the hands of captain william wade, master of the ceremonies at bath._ "on quitting our chaises at the top of kingsdown, i entered into a conversation with captain paumier, relative to some preliminaries i thought ought to be settled in an affair which was likely to end very seriously;--particularly the method of using their pistols, which mr. mathews had repeatedly signified his desire to use prior to swords, from a conviction that mr. sheridan would run in on him, and an ungentlemanlike scuffle probably be the consequence. this, however, was refused by mr. sheridan, declaring he had no pistols: captain paumier replied he had a brace (which i know were loaded).--by my advice, mr. mathews's were not loaded, as i imagined it was always customary to load on the field, which i mentioned to captain paumier at the white-hart, before we went out, and desired he would draw his pistols. he replied, as they were already loaded, and they going on a public road at that time of the morning, he might as well let them remain so, till we got to the place appointed; when he would on his honor draw them, which i am convinced he would have done had there been time; but mr. sheridan immediately drew his sword, and, in a vaunting manner, desired mr. mathews to draw (their ground was very uneven, and near the post- chaises).--mr. mathews drew; mr. sheridan advanced on him at first; mr. mathews in turn advanced fast on mr. sheridan; upon which he retreated, till he very suddenly ran in upon mr. mathews, laying himself exceedingly open, and endeavoring to get hold of mr. mathews's sword; mr. mathews received him on his point, and, i believe, disengaged his sword from mr. sheridan's body, and gave him another wound; which, i suppose, must have been either against one of his ribs, or his breast- bone, as his sword broke, which i imagine happened from the resistance it met with from one of those parts; but whether it was broke by that, or on the closing, i cannot aver. "mr. mathews, i think, on finding his sword broke, laid hold of mr. sheridan's sword-arm, and tripped up his heels: they both fell; mr. mathews was uppermost, with the hilt of his sword in his hand, having about six or seven inches of the blade to it, with which i saw him give mr. sheridan, as i imagined, a skin-wound or two in the neck; for it could be no more,--the remaining part of the sword being broad and blunt; he also beat him in the face either with his fist or the hilt of his sword. upon this i turned from them, and asked captain paumier if we should not take them up; but i cannot say whether he heard me or not, as there was a good deal of noise; however, he made no reply. i again turned to the combatants, who were much in the same situation: i found mr. sheridan's sword was bent, and he slipped his hand up the small part of it, and gave mr. mathews a slight wound in the left part of his belly: i that instant turned again to captain paumier, and proposed again our taking them up. he in the same moment called out, 'oh! he is killed, he is killed!'--i as quick as possible turned again, and found mr. mathews had recovered the point of his sword, that was before on the ground, with which he had wounded mr. sheridan in the belly: i saw him drawing the point out of the wound. by this time mr. sheridan's sword was broke, which he told us.--captain paumier called out to him, 'my dear sheridan, beg your life, and i will be yours for ever.' i also desired him to ask his life: he replied, 'no, by god, i won't.' i then told captain paumier it would not do to wait for those punctilios (or words to that effect), and desired he would assist me in taking them up. mr. mathews most readily acquiesced first, desiring me to see mr. sheridan was disarmed. i desired him to give me the tuck, which he readily did, as did mr. sheridan the broken part of his sword to captain paumier. mr. sheridan and mr. mathews both got up; the former was helped into one of the chaises, and drove off for bath, and mr. mathews made the best of his way for london. "the whole of this narrative i declare, on the word and honor of a gentleman, to be exactly true; and that mr. mathews discovered as much genuine, cool, and intrepid resolution as man could do. "i think i may be allowed to be an impartial relater of facts, as my motive for accompanying mr. mathews was no personal friendship, (not having any previous intimacy, or being barely acquainted with him,) but from a great desire of clearing up so ambiguous an affair, without prejudice to either party,--which a stranger was judged the most proper to do,--particularly as mr. mathews had been blamed before for taking a relation with him on a similar occasion. "(signed) william barnett. "october, ." [footnote: the following account is given as an "extract of a letter from bath," in the st. james's chronicle, july : "young sheridan and captain mathews of this town, who lately had a rencontre in a tavern in london, upon account of the maid of bath, miss linley, have had another this morning upon kingsdown, about four miles hence. sheridan is much wounded, but whether mortally or not is yet uncertain. both their swords breaking upon the first lunge, they threw each other down, and with the broken pieces hacked at each other, rolling upon the ground, the seconds standing by, quiet spectators. mathews is but slightly wounded, and is since gone off." the bath chronicle, on the day after the duel, (july d,) gives the particulars thus: "this morning, about three o'clock, a second duel was fought with swords, between captain mathews and mr. r. sheridan, on kingsdown, near this city, in consequence of their former dispute respecting an amiable young lady, which mr. m. considered as improperly adjusted; mr. s. having, since their first rencontre, declared his sentiments respecting mr. m. in a manner that the former thought required satisfaction. mr. sheridan received three or four wounds in his breast and sides, and now lies very ill. mr. m. was only slightly wounded, and left this city soon after the affair was over."] the comments which mr. sheridan thought it necessary to make upon this narrative have been found in an unfinished state among his papers; and though they do not, as far as they go, disprove anything material in its statements, (except, perhaps, with respect to the nature of the wounds which he received,) yet, as containing some curious touches of character, and as a document which he himself thought worth preserving, it is here inserted. "to william barnett, esq. "sir, "it has always appeared to me so impertinent for individuals to appeal to the public on transactions merely private, that i own the most apparent necessity does not prevent my entering into such a dispute without an awkward consciousness of its impropriety. indeed, i am not without some apprehension, that i may have no right to plead your having led the way in my excuse; as it appears not improbable that some ill- wisher to you, sir, and the cause you have been engaged in, betrayed you first into this _exact narrative,_ and then exposed it to the public eye, under pretence of vindicating your friend. however, as it is the opinion of some of my friends, that i ought not to suffer these papers to pass wholly unnoticed, i shall make a few observations on them with that moderation which becomes one who is highly conscious of the impropriety of staking his single assertion against the apparent testimony of three. this, i say, would be an impropriety, as i am supposed to write to those who are not acquainted with the parties. i had some time ago a copy of these papers from captain wade, who informed me that they were lodged in his hands, to be made public only by judicial authority. i wrote to you, sir, on the subject, to have from yourself an avowal that the account was yours; but as i received no answer, i have reason to compliment you with the supposition that you are not the author of it. however, as the name _william barnett_ is subscribed to it, you must accept my apologies for making use of that as the ostensible signature of the writer--mr. paumier likewise (the gentleman who went out with me on that occasion in the character of a second) having assented to everything material in it, i shall suppose the whole account likewise to be his; and as there are some circumstances which could come from no one but mr. mathews, i shall (without meaning to take from its authority) suppose it to be mr. mathews's also. "as it is highly indifferent to me whether the account i am to observe on be considered as accurately true or not, and i believe it is of very little consequence to any one else, i shall make those observations just in the same manner as i conceive any indifferent person of common sense, who should think it worth his while to peruse the matter with any degree of attention. in this light, the _truth_ of the articles which are asserted under mr. barnett's name is what i have no business to meddle with; but if it should appear that this _accurate narrative_ frequently contradicts itself as well as all probability, and that there are some positive facts against it, which do not depend upon any one's assertion, i must repeat that i shall either compliment mr. barnett's judgment, in supposing it not his, or his humanity in proving the _narrative_ to partake of that confusion and uncertainty, which his well-wishers will plead to have possessed him in the transaction. on this account, what i shall say on the subject need be no further addressed to you; and, indeed, it is idle, in my opinion, to address even the publisher of a newspaper on a point that can concern so few, and ought to have been forgotten by them. this you must take as my excuse for having neglected the matter so long. "the first point in mr. barnett's narrative that is of the least consequence to take notice of, is, where mr. m. is represented as having repeatedly signified his desire to use pistols prior to swords, from a conviction that mr. sheridan would run in upon him, and an ungentlemanlike scuffle probably be the consequence. this is one of those articles which evidently must be given to mr. mathews: for, as mr. b.'s part is simply to relate a matter of fact, of which he was an eye- witness, he is by no means to answer for mr. mathews's _private convictions_. as this insinuation bears an obscure allusion to a past transaction of mr. m.'s, i doubt not but he will be surprised at my indifference in not taking the trouble even to explain it. however, i cannot forbear to observe here, that had i, at the period which this passage alludes to, known what was the theory which mr. m. held of _gentlemanly scuffle_, i might, possibly, have been so unhappy as to put it out of his power ever to have brought it into practice. "mr. b. now charges me with having cut short a number of pretty preliminaries, concerning which he was treating with captain paumier, by drawing my sword, and, in a vaunting manner, desiring mr. m. to draw. though i acknowledge (with deference to these gentlemen) the full right of interference which seconds have on such occasions, yet i may remind mr. b. that he was acquainted with my determination with regard to pistols before we went on the down, nor could i have expected it to have been proposed. 'mr. m. drew; mr. s. advanced, &c.:'--here let me remind mr. b. of a circumstance, which i am convinced his memory will at once acknowledge." this paper ends here: but in a rougher draught of the same letter (for he appears to have studied and corrected it with no common care) the remarks are continued, in a hand not very legible, thus: "but mr. b. here represents me as drawing my sword in a _vaunting_ manner. this i take to be a reflection; and can only say, that a person's demeanor is generally regulated by their idea of their antagonist, and, for what i know, i may now be writing in a vaunting style. here let me remind mr. b. of an omission, which, i am convinced, nothing but want of recollection could occasion, yet which is a material point in an exact account of such an affair, nor does it reflect in the least on mr. m. mr. m. could not possibly have drawn his sword on my calling to him, as.... [footnote: it is impossible to make any connected sense of the passage that follows.] "mr. b.'s account proceeds, that i 'advanced first on mr. m.,' &c. &c.; 'which, (says mr. b.) i imagine, happened from the resistance it met with from one of those parts; but whether it was broke by that, or on the closing, i cannot aver.' how strange is the confusion here!--first, it certainly broke;--whether it broke against rib or no, doubtful;-- then, indeed, whether it broke at all, uncertain.... but of all times mr. b. could not have chosen a worse than this for mr. m.'s sword to break; for the relating of the action unfortunately carries a contradiction with it;--since if, on closing, mr. m. received me on his point, it is not possible for him to have made a lunge of such a nature as to break his sword against a rib-bone. but as the time chosen is unfortunate, so is the place on which it is said to have broke,--as mr. b. might have been informed, by inquiring of the surgeons, that i had no wounds on my breast or rib with the point of a sword, they being the marks of the jagged and blunted part." he was driven from the ground to the white-hart; where ditcher and sharpe, the most eminent surgeons of bath, attended and dressed his wounds,--and, on the following day, at the request of his sisters, he was carefully removed to his own home. the newspapers which contained the account of the affair, and even stated that sheridan's life was in danger, reached the linleys at oxford, during the performance, but were anxiously concealed from miss linley by her father, who knew that the intelligence would totally disable her from appearing. some persons who were witnesses of the performance that day, still talk of the touching effect which her beauty and singing produced upon all present--aware, as they were, that a heavy calamity had befallen her, of which she herself was perhaps the only one in the assembly ignorant. in her way back to bath, she was met at some miles from the town by a mr. panton, a clergyman, long intimate with the family, who, taking her from her father's chaise into his own, employed the rest of the journey in cautiously breaking to her the particulars of the alarming event that had occurred. notwithstanding this precaution, her feelings were so taken by surprise, that in the distress of the moment, she let the secret of her heart escape, and passionately exclaimed, "my husband! my husband!"--demanding to see him, and insisting upon her right as his wife to be near him, and watch over him day and night. her entreaties, however, could not be complied with; for the elder mr. sheridan, on his return from town, incensed and grieved at the catastrophe to which his son's imprudent passion had led, refused for some time even to see him, and strictly forbade all intercourse between his daughters and the linley family. but the appealing looks of a brother lying wounded and unhappy, had more power over their hearts than the commands of a father, and they, accordingly, contrived to communicate intelligence of the lovers to each other. in the following letter, addressed to him by charles at this time, we can trace that difference between the dispositions of the brothers, which, with every one except their father, rendered richard, in spite of all his faults, by far the most popular and beloved of the two. "london, july d, . "dear dick, "it was with the deepest concern i received the late accounts of you, though it was somewhat softened by the assurance of your not being in the least danger. you cannot conceive the uneasiness it occasioned to my father. both he and i were resolved to believe the best, and to suppose you safe, but then we neither of us could approve of the cause in which you suffer. all your friends here condemned you. you risked every thing, where you had nothing to gain, to give your antagonist the thing he wished, a chance for recovering his reputation. your courage was past dispute:--he wanted to get rid of the contemptible opinion he was held in, and you were good-natured enough to let him do it at your expense. it is not now a time to scold, but all your friends were of opinion you could, with the greatest propriety, have refused to meet him. for my part, i shall suspend my judgment till better informed, only i cannot forgive your preferring swords. "i am exceedingly unhappy at the situation i leave you in with respect to money matters, the more so as it is totally out of my power to be of any use to you. ewart was greatly vexed at the manner of your drawing for the last l .--i own, i think with some reason. "as to old ewart, what you were talking about is absolutely impossible; he is already surprised at mr. linley's long delay, and, indeed, i think the latter much to blame in this respect. i did intend to give you some account of myself since my arrival here, but you cannot conceive how i have been hurried,--even much pressed for time at this _present writing_. i must therefore conclude, with wishing you speedily restored to health, and that if i could make your purse as whole as that will shortly be, i hope, it would make me exceedingly happy. "i am, dear dick, yours sincerely, "c. f. sheridan." finding that the suspicion of their marriage, which miss linley's unguarded exclamation had suggested, was gaining ground in the mind of both fathers,--who seemed equally determined to break the tie, if they could arrive at some positive proof of its existence,--sheridan wrote frequently to his young wife, (who passed most of this anxious period with her relations at wells,) cautioning her against being led into any acknowledgment, which might further the views of the elders against their happiness. many methods were tried upon both sides, to ensnare them into a confession of this nature; but they eluded every effort, and persisted in attributing the avowal which had escaped from miss linley, before mr. panton, and others, to the natural agitation and bewilderment into which her mind was thrown at the instant. as soon as sheridan was sufficiently recovered of his wounds, [footnote: the bath chronicle of the th of july has the following paragraph: "it is with great pleasure we inform our readers that mr. sheridan is declared by his surgeon to be out of danger."] his father, in order to detach him, as much as possible, from the dangerous recollections which continually presented themselves in bath, sent him to pass some months at waltham abbey, in essex, under the care of mr. and mrs. parker of farm hill, his most particular friends. in this retirement, where he continued, with but few and short intervals of absence, from august or september, , till the spring of the following year, it is probable that, notwithstanding the ferment in which his heart was kept, he occasionally and desultorily occupied his hours in study. among other proofs of industry, which i have found among his manuscripts, and which may possibly be referred to this period, is an abstract of the history of england--nearly filling a small quarto volume of more than a hundred pages, closely written. i have also found in his early hand-writing (for there was a considerable change in his writing afterwards) a collection of remarks on sir william temple's works, which may likewise have been among the fruits of his reading at waltham abbey. these remarks are confined chiefly to verbal criticism, and prove, in many instances, that he had not yet quite formed his taste to that idiomatic english, which was afterwards one of the great charms of his own dramatic style. for instance, he objects to the following phrases:-- "then i _fell to_ my task again."--"these things _come_, with time, to be habitual."--"by which these people _come_ to be either scattered or destroyed."--"which alone could pretend to _contest_ it with them:" (upon which phrase he remarks, "it refers to nothing here:") and the following graceful idiom in some verses by temple:-- "thy busy head can find no gentle rest for thinking on the events," &c. &c. some of his observations, however, are just and tasteful. upon the essay "of popular discontents," after remarking, that "sir w. t. opens all his essays with something as foreign to the purpose as possible," he has the following criticism:--"page , 'represent misfortunes for faults, and _mole-hills_ for _mountains_,'--the metaphorical and literal expression too often coupled. p. , 'upon these four wheels the chariot of state may in all appearance drive easy and safe, or at least not be too much _shaken_ by the usual _roughness_ of ways, unequal _humors_ of _men_, or any common accidents,'--another instance of the confusion of the metaphorical and literal expression." among the passages he quotes from temple's verses, as faulty, is the following:-- "--that we may _see_, thou art indeed the empress of the _sea_." it is curious enough that he himself was afterwards guilty of nearly as illicit a rhyme in his song "when 'tis night," and always defended it:-- "but when the fight's _begun_, each serving at his _gun_." whatever grounds there may be for referring these labors of sheridan to the period of his retirement at waltham abbey, there are certainly but few other intervals in his life that could be selected as likely to have afforded him opportunities of reading. even here, however, the fears and anxieties that beset him were too many and incessant to leave much leisure for the pursuits of scholarship. however, a state of excitement may be favorable to the development of genius--which is often of the nature of those seas, that become more luminous the more they are agitated,--for a student, a far different mood is necessary; and in order to reflect with clearness the images that study presents, the mind should have its surface level and unruffled. the situation, indeed, of sheridan was at this time particularly perplexing. he had won the heart, and even hand, of the woman he loved, yet saw his hopes of possessing her farther off than ever. he had twice risked his life against an unworthy antagonist, yet found the vindication of his honor still incomplete, from the misrepresentations of enemies, and the yet more mischievous testimony of friends. he felt within himself all the proud consciousness of genius, yet, thrown on the world without even a profession, looked in vain for a channel through which to direct its energies. even the precarious hope, which his father's favor held out, had been purchased by an act of duplicity which his conscience could not approve; for he had been induced, with the view, perhaps, of blinding his father's vigilance, not only to promise that he would instantly give up a pursuit so unpleasing to him, but to take "an oath equivocal" that he never would marry miss linley. the pressure of these various anxieties upon so young and so ardent a mind, and their effects in alternately kindling and damping its spirit, could only have been worthily described by him who felt them, and there still exist some letters which he wrote during this time, to a gentleman well known as one of his earliest and latest friends. i had hoped that such a picture, as these letters must exhibit, of his feelings at that most interesting period of his private life, would not have been lost to the present work. but scruples--over-delicate, perhaps, but respectable, as founded upon a systematic objection to the exposure of _any_ papers, received under the seal of private friendship--forbid the publication of these precious documents. the reader must, therefore, be satisfied with the few distant glimpses of their contents, which are afforded by the answers of his correspondent, found among the papers entrusted to me. from these it appears, that through all his letters the same strain of sadness and despondency prevailed,--sometimes breaking out into aspirings of ambition, and sometimes rising into a tone of cheerfulness, which but ill concealed the melancholy under it. it is evident also, and not a little remarkable, that in none of these overflowings of his confidence, had he as yet suffered the secret of his french marriage with miss linley to escape; and that his friend accordingly knew but half the wretched peculiarities of his situation. like most lovers, too, imagining that every one who approached his mistress must be equally intoxicated with her beauty as himself, he seems anxiously to have cautioned his young correspondent (who occasionally saw her at oxford and at bath) against the danger that lay in such irresistible charms. from another letter, where the writer refers to some message, which sheridan had requested him to deliver to miss linley, we learn, that she was at this time so strictly watched, as to be unable to achieve--what to an ingenious woman is seldom difficult --an answer to a letter which her lover had contrived to convey to her. it was at first the intention of the elder mr. sheridan to send his daughters, in the course of this autumn, under the care of their brother richard, to france. but, fearing to entrust them to a guardian who seemed himself so much in need of direction, he altered his plan, and, about the beginning of october, having formed an engagement for the ensuing winter with the manager of the dublin theatre, gave up his house in bath, and set out with his daughters for ireland. at the same time mr. grenville, (afterwards marquis of buckingham,) who had passed a great part of this and the preceding summer at bath, for the purpose of receiving instruction from mr. sheridan in elocution, went also to dublin on a short visit, accompanied by mr. cleaver, and by his brother mr. thomas grenville--between whom and richard sheridan an intimacy had at this period commenced, which continued with uninterrupted cordiality ever after. some time previous to the departure of the elder mr. sheridan for ireland, having taken before a magistrate the depositions of the postillions who were witnesses of the duel at kingsdown, he had earnestly entreated of his son to join him in a prosecution against mathews, whose conduct on the occasion he and others considered as by no means that of a fair and honorable antagonist. it was in contemplation of a measure of this nature, that the account of the meeting already given was drawn up by mr. barnett, and deposited in the hands of captain wade. though sheridan refused to join in legal proceedings--from an unwillingness, perhaps, to keep miss linley's name any longer afloat upon public conversation--yet this revival of the subject, and the conflicting statements to which it gave rise, produced naturally in both parties a relapse of angry feelings, which was very near ending in a third duel between them. the authenticity given by captain paumier's name to a narrative which sheridan considered false and injurious, was for some time a source of considerable mortification to him; and it must be owned, that the helpless irresolution of this gentleman during the duel, and his weak acquiescence in these misrepresentations afterwards, showed him as unfit to be trusted with the life as with the character of his friend. how nearly this new train of misunderstanding had led to another explosion, appears from one of the letters already referred to, written in december, and directed to sheridan at the bedford coffee-house, covent garden, in which the writer expresses the most friendly and anxious alarm at the intelligence which he has just received,--implores of sheridan to moderate his rage, and reminds him how often he had resolved never to have any concern with mathews again. some explanation, however, took place, as we collect from a letter dated a few days later; and the world was thus spared not only such an instance of inveteracy, as three duels between the same two men would have exhibited, but, perhaps, the premature loss of a life to which we are indebted, for an example as noble in its excitements, and a lesson as useful in its warnings, as ever genius and its errors have bequeathed to mankind. the following lent, miss linley appeared in the oratorios at covent garden; and sheridan, who, from the nearness of his retreat to london, (to use a phrase of his own, repeated in one of his friend's letters), "trod upon the heels of perilous probabilities," though prevented by the vigilance of her father from a private interview, had frequent opportunities of seeing her in public. among many other stratagems which he contrived, for the purpose of exchanging a few words with her, he more than once disguised himself as a hackney-coachman, and drove her home from the theatre. it appears, however, that a serious misunderstanding at this time occurred between them,--originating probably in some of those paroxysms of jealousy, into which a lover like sheridan must have been continually thrown, by the numerous admirers and pursuers of all kinds, which the beauty and celebrity of his mistress attracted. among various alliances invented for her by the public at this period, it was rumored that she was about to be married to sir thomas clarges; and in the bath chronicle of april, , a correspondence is given as authentic between her and "lord grosvenor," which, though pretty evidently a fabrication, yet proves the high opinion entertained of the purity of her character. the correspondence is thus introduced, in a letter to the editor:--"the following letters are confidently said to have passed between lord g---r and the celebrated english syren, miss l--y. i send them to you for publication, not with any view to increase the volume of literary scandal, which, i am sorry to say, at present needs no assistance, but with the most laudable intent of setting an example for our modern belles, by holding out the character of a young woman, who, notwithstanding the solicitations of her profession, and the flattering example of higher ranks, has added _incorruptible virtue_ to a number of the most elegant qualifications." whatever may have caused the misunderstanding between her and her lover, a reconcilement was with no great difficulty effected, by the mediation of sheridan's young friend, mr. ewart; and, at length, after a series of stratagems and scenes, which convinced mr. linley that it was impossible much longer to keep them asunder, he consented to their union, and on the th of april, , they were married by license [footnote: thus announced in the gentleman's magazine:--"mr. sheridan of the temple to the celebrated miss linley of bath."]--mr. ewart being at the same time wedded to a young lady with whom he also had eloped clandestinely to france, but was now enabled, by the forgiveness of his father, to complete this double triumph of friendship and love. a curious instance of the indolence and procrastinating habits of sheridan used to be related by woodfall, as having occurred about this time. a statement of his conduct in the duels having appeared in one of the bath papers, so false and calumnious as to require an immediate answer, he called upon woodfall to request that his paper might be the medium of it. but wishing, as he said, that the public should have the whole matter fairly before them, he thought it right that the offensive statement should first be inserted, and in a day or two after be followed by his answer, which would thus come with more relevancy and effect. in compliance with his wish, woodfall lost not a moment in transcribing the calumnious article into his columns--not doubting, of course, that the refutation of it would be furnished with still greater eagerness. day after day, however, elapsed, and, notwithstanding frequent applications on the one side, and promises on the other, not a line of the answer was ever sent by sheridan,--who, having expended all his activity in assisting the circulation of the poison, had not industry enough left to supply the antidote. throughout his whole life, indeed, he but too consistently acted upon the principles, which the first lord holland used playfully to impress upon his son:--"never do to-day what you can possibly put off till to-morrow, nor ever do, yourself, what you can get any one else to do for you." chapter iii domestic circumstances.--fragments of essays found among his papers.-- comedy of "the rivals."--answer to "taxation no tyranny."--farce of "st. patrick's day." a few weeks previous to his marriage, sheridan, had been entered a student of the middle temple. it was not, however, to be expected that talents like his, so sure of a quick return of fame and emolument, would wait for the distant and dearly-earned emoluments which a life of labor in this profession promises. nor, indeed, did his circumstances admit of any such patient speculation. a part of the sum which mr. long had settled upon miss linley, and occasional assistance from her father (his own having withdrawn all countenance from him), were now the only resources, besides his own talents, left him. the celebrity of mrs. sheridan as a singer was, it is true, a ready source of wealth; and offers of the most advantageous kind were pressed upon them, by managers of concerts both in town and country. but with a pride and delicacy, which received the tribute of dr. johnson's praise, he rejected at once all thoughts of allowing her to reappear in public; and, instead of profiting by the display of his wife's talents, adopted the manlier resolution of seeking an independence by his own. an engagement had been made for her some months before by her father, to perform at the music- meeting that was to take place at worcester this summer. but sheridan, who considered that his own claims upon her had superseded all others, would not suffer her to keep this engagement. how decided his mind was upon the subject will appear from the following letter, written by him to mr. linley about a month after his marriage, and containing some other interesting particulars, that show the temptations with which his pride had, at this time, to struggle:-- "east burnham, may , . "dear sir, "i purposely deferred writing to you till i should have settled _all_ matters in london, and in some degree settled ourselves at our little home. some unforeseen delays prevented my finishing with swale till thursday last, when everything was concluded. i likewise settled with him for his own account, as he brought it to me, and, for a _friendly_ bill, it is pretty decent.--yours of the d instant did not reach me till yesterday, by reason of its missing us at morden. as to the principal point it treats of, i had given my answer some days ago, to mr. isaac of worcester. he had enclosed a letter to storace for my wife, in which he dwells much on the nature of the agreement you had made for her eight months ago, and adds, that 'as this is no new application, but a request that you (mrs. s.) will fulfil a positive engagement, the breach of which would prove of fatal consequence to our meeting, i hope mr. sheridan will think his honor in some degree concerned in fulfilling it.'--mr. storace, in order to enforce mr. isaac's argument, showed me his letter on the same subject to him, which begins with saying, 'we must have mrs. sheridan, somehow or other, if possible!'--the plain english of which is that, if her husband is not willing to let her perform, we will persuade him that he acts _dishonorably_ in preventing her from fulfilling a _positive engagement_. this i conceive to be the very worst mode of application that could have been taken; as there really is not common sense in the idea that my _honor_ can be concerned in my wife's fulfilling an engagement, which it is impossible she should ever have made.--nor (as i wrote to mr. isaac) can you, who gave the promise, whatever it was, be in the least charged with the breach of it, as your daughter's marriage was an event which must always have been looked to by them as quite as natural a period to your right over her as her death. and, in my opinion, it would have been just as reasonable to have applied to you to fulfil your engagement in the latter case as in the former. as to the _imprudence_ of declining this engagement, i do not think, even were we to suppose that my wife should ever on any occasion appear again in public, there would be the least at present. for instance, i have had a gentleman with me from oxford (where they do not claim the least _right_ as from an engagement), who has endeavored to place the idea of my complimenting the university with betsey's performance in the strongest light of advantage to me. this he said, on my declining to let her perform on any agreement. he likewise informed me, that he had just left lord north (the chancellor), who, he assured me, would look upon it as the highest compliment, and had expressed himself so to him. now, should it be a point of inclination or convenience to me to break my resolution with regard to betsey's performing, there surely would be more sense in obliging lord north (and probably from _his own_ application) and the university, than lord coventry and mr. isaac. for, were she to sing at worcester, there would not be the least compliment in her performing at oxford. indeed, they would have a right to _claim it_--particularly, as that is the mode of application they have chosen from worcester. i have mentioned the oxford matter merely as an argument, that i can have no kind of inducement to accept of the proposal from worcester. and, as i have written fully on the subject to mr. isaac, i think there will be no occasion for you to give any further reasons to lord coventry--only that i am sorry i cannot accept of his proposal, civilities, &c. &c., and refer him for my motives to mr. isaac, as what i have said to you on the subject i mean for you only, and, if more remains to be argued on the subject in general, we must defer it till we meet, which you have given us reason to hope will not be long first. "as this is a letter of business chiefly, i shall say little of our situation and arrangement of affairs, but that i think we are as happy as those who wish us best could desire. there is but one thing that has the least weight upon me, though it is one i was prepared for. but time, while it strengthens the other blessings we possess, will, i hope, add that to the number. you will know that i speak with regard to my father. betsey informs me you have written to him again--have you heard from him?.... "i should hope to hear from you very soon, and i assure you, you shall now find me a very exact correspondent; though i hope you will not give me leave to confirm my character in that respect before we meet. "as there is with this a letter for polly and you, i shall only charge you with mine and betsey's best love to her, mother, and tom, &c. &c., and believe me your sincere friend and affectionate son, "r. b. sheridan." at east burnham, from whence this letter is dated, they were now living in a small cottage, to which they had retired immediately on their marriage, and to which they often looked back with a sigh in after- times, when they were more prosperous, but less happy. it was during a very short absence from this cottage, that the following lines were written by him:-- "teach me, kind hymen, teach, for thou must be my only tutor now,-- teach me some innocent employ, that shall the hateful thought destroy, that i this whole long night must pass in exile from my love's embrace. alas, thou hast no wings, oh time! [footnote: it will be perceived that the eight following lines are the foundation of the song "what bard, oh time," in the duenna.] it was some thoughtless lover's rhyme, who, writing in his chloe's view, paid her the compliment through you. for had he, if he truly lov'd, but once the pangs of absence prov'd, he'd cropt thy wings, and, in their stead, have painted thee with heels of lead. but 'tis the temper of the mind, where we thy regulator find. still o'er the gay and o'er the young unfelt steps you flit along,-- as virgil's nymph o'er ripen'd corn, with such ethereal haste was borne, that every stock, with upright head, denied the pressure of her tread. but o'er the wretched, oh, how slow and heavy sweeps thy scythe of woe! oppress'd beneath each stroke they bow, thy course engraven on their brow: a day of absence shall consume the glow of youth and manhood's bloom, and one short night of anxious fear shall leave the wrinkles of a year. for me who, when i'm happy, owe no thanks to fortune that i'm so, who long have learned to look at one dear object, and at one alone, for all the joy, or all the sorrow, that gilds the day, or threats the morrow, i never felt thy footsteps light, but when sweet love did aid thy flight, and, banish'd from his blest dominion, i cared not for thy borrowed pinion. true, she is mine, and, since she's mine, at trifles i should not repine; but oh, the miser's real pleasure is not in knowing he has treasure; he must behold his golden store, and feel, and count his riches o'er. thus i, of one dear gem possest, and in that treasure only blest, there every day would seek delight, and clasp the casket every night." towards the winter they went to lodge for a short time with storace, the intimate friend of mr. linley, and in the following year attained that first step of independence, a house to themselves; mr. linley having kindly supplied the furniture of their new residence, which was in orchard-street, portman-square. during the summer of , they passed some time at mr. canning's and lord coventry's; but, so little did these visits interfere with the literary industry of sheridan, that, as appears from the following letter, written to mr. linley in november, he had not only at that time finished his play of the rivals, but was on the point of "sending a hook to the press:"-- "dear sir, "nov. th . "if i were to attempt to make as many apologies as my long omission in writing to you requires, i should have no room for any other subject. one excuse only i shall bring forward, which is, that i have been exceedingly employed, and i believe _very profitably_. however, before i explain how, i must ease my mind on a subject that much more nearly concerns me than any point of business or profit. i must premise to you that betsey is now very well, before i tell you abruptly that she has encountered another disappointment, and consequent indisposition.... however, she is now getting entirely over it, and she shall never take any journey of the kind again. i inform you of this now, that you may not be alarmed by any accounts from some other quarter, which might lead you to fear she was going to have such an illness as last year, of which i assure you, upon my honor, there is not the least apprehension. if i did not write now, betsey would write herself, and in a day she will make you quite easy on this head. "i have been very seriously at work on a book, which i am just now sending to the press, and which i think will do me some credit, if it leads to nothing else. however, the profitable affair is of another nature. there will be a _comedy_ of mine in rehearsal at covent- garden within a few days. i did not set to work on it till within a few days of my setting out for _crome_, so you may think i have not, for these last six weeks, been very idle. i have done it at mr. harris's (the manager's) own request; it is now complete in his hands, and preparing for the stage. he, and some of his friends also who have heard it, assure me in the most flattering terms that there is not a doubt of its success. it will be very well played, and harris tells me that the least shilling i shall get (if it succeeds) will be six hundred pounds. i shall make no secret of it towards the time of representation, that it may not lose any support my friends can give it. i had not written a line of it two months ago, except a scene or two, which i believe you have seen in an odd act of a little farce. "mr. stanley was with me a day or two ago on the subject of the oratorios. i found mr. smith has declined, and is retiring to bath. mr. stanley informed me that on his applying to the king for the continuance of his favor, he was desired by his majesty to make me an offer of mr. smith's situation and partnership in them, and that he should continue his protection, &c. i declined the matter very civilly and very peremptorily. i should imagine that mr. stanley would apply to you;--i started the subject to him, and said you had twenty mrs. sheridans more. however, he said very little:--if he does, and you wish to make an alteration in your system at once, i should think you may stand in smith's place. i would not listen to him on any other terms, and i should think the king might be made to signify his pleasure for such an arrangement. on this you will reflect, and if any way strikes you that i can move in it, i need not add how happy i shall be in its success. * * * * * "i hope you will let me have the pleasure to hear from you soon, as i shall think any delay unfair,--unless you can plead that you are writing an opera, and a folio on music besides. accept betsey's love and duty. "your sincere and affectionate "r. b. sheridan." what the book here alluded to was, i cannot with any accuracy ascertain. besides a few sketches of plays and poems, of which i shall give some account in a subsequent chapter, there exist among his papers several fragments of essays and letters, all of which--including the unfinished plays and poems--must have been written by him in the interval between , when he left harrow, and the present year; though at what precise dates during that period there are no means of judging. among these there are a few political letters, evidently designed for the newspapers;--some of them but half copied out, and probably never sent. one of this description, which must have been written immediately on his leaving school, is a piece of irony against the duke of grafton, giving reasons why that nobleman should not lose his head, and, under the semblance of a defence, exaggerating all the popular charges against him. the first argument (he says) of the duke's adversaries, "is founded on the regard which ought to be paid to justice, and on the good effects which, they affirm, such an example would have, in suppressing the ambition of any future minister. but if i can prove that his ---- might be made a much greater example of by being suffered to live, i think i may, without vanity, affirm that their whole argument will fall to the ground. by pursuing the methods which they propose, viz. chopping off his ----'s head, i allow the impression would be stronger at first; but we should consider how soon that wears off. if, indeed, his ----'s crimes were of such a nature, as to entitle his head to a place on temple-bar, i should allow some weight to their argument. but, in the present case, we should reflect how apt mankind are to relent after they have inflicted punishment;--so that, perhaps, the same men who would have detested the noble lord, while alive and in prosperity, pointing him as a scarecrow to their children, might, after being witnesses to the miserable fate that had overtaken him, begin in their hearts to pity him; and from the fickleness so common to human nature, perhaps, by way of compensation, acquit him of part of his crimes; insinuate that he was dealt hardly with, and thus, by the remembrance of their compassion, on this occasion, be led to show more indulgence to any future offender in the same circumstances." there is a clearness of thought and style here very remarkable in so young a writer. in affecting to defend the duke against the charge of fickleness and unpunctuality, he says, "i think i could bring several instances which should seem to promise the greatest steadiness and resolution. i have known him make the council wait, on the business of the whole nation, when he has had an appointment to newmarket. surely, this is an instance of the greatest honor; and, if we see him so punctual in private appointments, must we not conclude that he is infinitely more so in greater matters? nay, when w----s [footnote: wilkes.] came over, is it not notorious that the late lord mayor went to his grace on that evening, proposing a scheme which, by securing this fire-brand, might have put an end to all the troubles he has caused? but his grace did not see him;--no, he was a man of too much honor;--he had _promised_ that evening to attend nancy parsons to ranelagh, and he would not disappoint her, but made three thousand people witnesses of his punctuality." there is another letter, which happens to be dated ( ), addressed to "novus,"--some writer in woodfall's public advertiser,--and appearing to be one of a series to the same correspondent. from the few political allusions introduced in this letter, (which is occupied chiefly in an attack upon the literary style of "novus,") we can collect that the object of sheridan was to defend the new ministry of lord north, who had, in the beginning of that year, succeeded the duke of grafton. junius was just then in the height of his power and reputation; and as, in english literature, one great voice always produces a multitude of echoes, it was thought at that time indispensable to every letter-writer in a newspaper, to be a close copyist of the style of junius: of course, our young political tyro followed this "mould of form" as well as the rest. thus, in addressing his correspondent:--"that gloomy seriousness in your style,--that seeming consciousness of superiority, together with the consideration of the infinite pains it must have cost you to have been so elaborately wrong,--will not suffer me to attribute such numerous errors to any thing but real ignorance, joined with most consummate vanity." the following is a specimen of his acuteness in criticising the absurd style of his adversary:--"you leave it rather dubious whether you were most pleased with the glorious opposition to charles i. or the dangerous designs of that monarch, which you emphatically call 'the arbitrary projects of a stuart's nature.' what do you mean by the projects of a man's _nature_? a man's natural disposition may urge him to the commission of some actions;--nature may instigate and encourage, but i believe you are the first that ever made her a projector." it is amusing to observe, that, while he thus criticises the style and language of his correspondent, his own spelling, in every second line, convicts him of deficiency in at least one common branch of literary acquirement:--we find _thing_ always spelt _think_;-- _whether_, _where_, and _which_, turned into _wether_, _were_, and _wich_;--and double _m's_ and _s's_ almost invariably reduced to "single blessedness." this sign of a neglected education remained with him to a very late period, and, in his hasty writing, or scribbling, would occasionally recur to the last. from these essays for the newspapers it may be seen how early was the bias of his mind towards politics. it was, indeed, the rival of literature in his affections during all the early part of his life, and, at length,--whether luckily for himself or not it is difficult to say,-- gained the mastery. there are also among his manuscripts some commencements of periodical papers, under various names, "the detector," "the dramatic censor," &c.;--none of them, apparently, carried beyond the middle of the first number. but one of the most curious of these youthful productions is a letter to the queen, recommending the establishment of an institution, for the instruction and maintenance of young females in the better classes of life, who, from either the loss of their parents, or from poverty, are without the means of being brought up suitably to their station. he refers to the asylum founded by madame de maintenon, at st. cyr, as a model, and proposes that the establishment should be placed under the patronage of her majesty, and entitled "the royal sanctuary." the reader, however, has to arrive at the practical part of the plan, through long and flowery windings of panegyric, on the beauty, genius, and virtue of women, and their transcendent superiority, in every respect, over men. the following sentence will give some idea of the sort of eloquence with which he prefaces this grave proposal to her majesty:--"the dispute about the proper sphere of women is idle. that men should have attempted to draw a line for their orbit, shows that god meant them for comets, and above our jurisdiction. with them the enthusiasm of poetry and the idolatry of love is the simple voice of nature." there are, indeed, many passages of this boyish composition, a good deal resembling in their style those ambitious apostrophes with which he afterwards ornamented his speeches on the trial of hastings. he next proceeds to remark to her majesty, that in those countries where "man is scarce better than a brute, he shows his degeneracy by his treatment of women," and again falls into metaphor, not very clearly made out:--"the influence that women have over us is as the medium through which the finer arts act upon us. the incense of our love and respect for them creates the atmosphere of our souls, which corrects and meliorates the beams of knowledge." the following is in a better style:--"however, in savage countries, where the pride of man has not fixed the first dictates of ignorance into law, we see the real effects of nature. the wild huron shall, to the object of his love, become gently as his weary rein-deer;--he shall present to her the spoil of his bow on his knee;-he shall watch without reward the cave where she sleeps;--he shall rob the birds for feathers for her hair, and dive for pearls for her neck;--her look shall be his law, and her beauties his worship!" he then endeavors to prove that, as it is the destiny of man to be ruled by woman, he ought, for his own sake, to render her as fit for that task as possible:--" how can we be better employed than in perfecting that which governs us? the brighter they are, the more we shall be illumined. were the minds of all women cultivated by inspiration, men would become wise of course. they are a sort of pentagraphs with which nature writes on the heart of man;--what _she_ delineates on the original map will appear on the copy." in showing how much less women are able to struggle against adversity than men, he says,--"as for us, we are born in a state of warfare with poverty and distress. the sea of adversity is our natural element, and he that will not buffet with the billows deserves to sink. but you, oh you, by nature formed of gentler kind, can _you_ endure the biting storm? shall you be turned to the nipping blast, and not a door be open to give you shelter?" after describing, with evident seriousness, the nature of the institution of madame de maintenon, at st. cyr, he adds the following strange romantic allusion: "had such a charity as i have been speaking of existed here, the mild _parthenia_ and my poor _laura_ would not have fallen into untimely graves." the practical details of his plan, in which it is equally evident that he means to be serious, exhibit the same flightiness of language and notions. the king, he supposes, would have no objection to "grant hampton-court, or some other palace, for the purpose;" and "as it is (he continues, still addressing the queen) to be immediately under your majesty's patronage, so should your majesty be the first member of it. let the constitution of it be like that of a university, your majesty, chancellor; some of the first ladies in the kingdom sub-chancellors; whose care it shall be to provide instructors of real merit. the classes are to be distinguished by age--none by degree. for, as their qualification shall be gentility, they are all on a level. the instructors shall be women, except for the languages. latin and greek should not be learned;--the frown of pedantry destroys the blush of humility. the practical part of the sciences, as of astronomy, &c., should be taught. in history they would find that there are other passions in man than love. as for novels, there are some i would strongly recommend; but romances infinitely more. the one is a representation of the effects of the passions as they should be, though extravagant; the other, as they are. the latter is falsely called nature, and is a picture of depraved and corrupted society; the other is the glow of nature. i would therefore exclude all novels that show human nature depraved:--however well executed, the design will disgust." he concludes by enumerating the various good effects which the examples of female virtue, sent forth from such an institution, would produce upon the manners and morals of the other sex; and in describing, among other kinds of coxcombs, the cold, courtly man of the world, uses the following strong figure: "they are so clipped, and rubbed, and polished, that god's image and inscription is worn from them, and when he calls in his coin, he will no longer know them for his own." there is still another essay, or rather a small fragment of an essay, on the letters of lord chesterfield, which, i am inclined to think, may have formed a part of the rough copy of the book, announced by him to mr. linley as ready in the november of this year. lord chesterfield's letters appeared for the first time in , and the sensation they produced was exactly such as would tempt a writer in quest of popular subjects to avail himself of it. as the few pages which i have found, and which contain merely scattered hints of thoughts, are numbered as high as , it is possible that the preceding part of the work may have been sufficiently complete to go into the printer's hands, and that there,--like so many more of his "unshelled brood,"--it died without ever taking wing. a few of these memorandums will, i have no doubt, be acceptable to the reader. "lord c.'s whole system in no one article calculated to make a great man.--a noble youth should be ignorant of the things he wishes him to know;--such a one as he wants would be _too soon_ a man. "emulation is a dangerous passion to encourage, in some points, in young men; it is so linked with envy: if you reproach your son for not surpassing his school-fellows, he will hate those who are before him. emulation not to be encouraged even in virtue. true virtue will, like the athenian, rejoice in being surpassed; a friendly emulation cannot exist in two minds; one must hate the perfections in which he is eclipsed by the other;--thus, from hating the quality in his competitor, he loses the respect for it in himself:--a young man by himself better educated than two.--a roman's emulation was not to excel his countrymen, but to make his country excel: this is the true, the other selfish.--epaminondas, who reflected on the pleasure his success would give his father, most glorious;--an emulation for that purpose, true. "the selfish vanity of the father appears in all these letters--his sending the copy of a letter for his sister.--his object was the praise of his own mode of education.--how much more noble the affection of morni in ossian; 'oh, that the name of morni,' &c. &c. [footnote: "oh, that the name of morni were forgot among the people; that the heroes would only say, 'behold the father of gaul!'" sheridan applied this, more than thirty years after, in talking of his own son, on the hustings of westminster, and said that, in like manner, he would ask no greater distinction than for men to point at him and say, "there goes the father of tom sheridan."] "his frequent directions for constant employment entirely ill founded: --a wise man is formed more by the action of his own thoughts than by continually feeding it. 'hurry,' he says, 'from play to study; never be doing nothing'--i say, 'frequently be unemployed; sit and think.' _there are on every subject but a few leading and fixed ideas; their tracks may be traced by your own genius as well as by reading_:--a man of deep thought, who shall have accustomed himself to support or attack all he has read, will soon find nothing new: thought is exercise, and the mind, like the body, must not be wearied." these last two sentences contain the secret of sheridan's confidence in his own powers. his subsequent success bore him out in the opinions he thus early expressed, and might even have persuaded him that it was in consequence, not in spite, of his want of cultivation that he succeeded. on the th of january, , the comedy of the rivals was brought out at covent-garden, and the following was the cast of the characters on the first night:-- sir anthony absolute _mr. shuter_. captain absolute _mr. woodward_. falkland _mr. lewis_. acres _mr. quick_. sir lucius o'trigger _mr. lee_. fag _mr. lee lewes_. david _mr. dunstal_. coachman _mr. fearon_. mrs. malaprop _mrs. green_. lydia languish _miss barsanti_. julia _mrs. bulkley_. lucy _mrs. lessingham_. this comedy, as is well known, failed on its first representation,-- chiefly from the bad acting of mr. lee in sir lucius o'trigger. another actor, however, mr. clinch, was substituted in his place, and the play being lightened of this and some other incumbrances, rose at once into that high region of public favor, where it has continued to float so buoyantly and gracefully ever since. the following extracts from letters written at that time by miss linley (afterwards mrs. tickell) to her sister, mrs. sheridan, though containing nothing remarkable, yet, as warm with the feelings of a moment so interesting in sheridan's literary life, will be read, perhaps, with some degree of pleasure. the slightest outline of a celebrated place, taken on the spot, has often a charm beyond the most elaborate picture finished at a distance. "bath. "my dearest eliza, "we are all in the greatest anxiety about sheridan's play,--though i do not think there is the least doubt of its succeeding. i was told last night that it was his own story, and therefore called "the rivals;" but i do not give any credit to this intelligence.... "i am told he will get at least _l_. for his play." "bath, january, . "it is impossible to tell you what pleasure we felt at the receipt of sheridan's last letter, which confirmed what we had seen in the newspapers of the success of his play. the _knowing ones_ were very much disappointed, as they had so very bad an opinion of its success. after the first night we were indeed all very fearful that the audience would go very much prejudiced against it. but now, there can be no doubt of its success, as it has certainly got through more difficulties than any comedy which has not met its doom the first night. i know you have been very busy in writing for sheridan,--i don't mean _copying_, but _composing_;--it's true, indeed;--you must not contradict me when i say you wrote the much admired epilogue to the rivals. how i long to read it! what makes it more certain is, that my _father_ guessed it was _yours_ the first time he saw it praised in the paper." this statement respecting the epilogue would, if true, deprive sheridan of one of the fairest leaves of his poetic crown. it appears, however, to be but a conjecture hazarded at the moment, and proves only the high idea entertained of mrs. sheridan's talents by her own family. the cast of the play at bath, and its success there and elsewhere, are thus mentioned in these letters of miss linley: "bath, february , . "what shall i say of the rivals!--a compliment must naturally be expected; but really it goes so far beyond any thing i can say in its praise, that i am afraid my modesty must keep me silent. when you and i meet i shall be better able to explain myself, and tell you how much i am delighted with it. we expect to have it _here_ very soon:--it is now in rehearsal. you pretty well know the merits of our principal performers:--i'll show you how it is cast. sir anthony _mr. edwin_. captain absolute _mr. didier_. falkland _mr. dimond_. (a new actor of great merit, and a sweet figure.) sir lucius _mr. jackson_. acres _mr. keasberry_. fag _mr. brunsdon_. mrs. malaprop _mrs. wheeler_. miss lydia _miss wheeler_. (literally, a very pretty romantic girl, of seventeen.) julia _mrs. didier_ lucy _mrs. brett_. there, madam, do not you think we shall do your rivals some justice? i'm convinced it won't be done better any where out of london. i don't think mrs. mattocks can do julia very well." "bath, march , . "you will know by what you see enclosed in this frank my reason for not answering your letter sooner was, that i waited the success of sheridan's play in bath; for, let me tell you, i look upon our theatrical tribunal, though not in _quantity_, in _quality_ as good as yours, and i do not believe there was a critic in the whole city that was not there. but, in my life, i never saw any thing go off with such uncommon applause. i must first of all inform you that there was a very full house:--the play was performed inimitably well; nor did i hear, for the honor of our bath actors, one single prompt the whole night; but i suppose the poor creatures never acted with such shouts of applause in their lives, so that they were incited by that to do their best. they lost many of malaprop's good sayings by the applause: in short, i never saw or heard any thing like it;--before the actors spoke, they began their clapping. there was a new scene of the n. parade, painted by mr. davis, and a most delightful one it is, i assure you. every body says,--bowers in particular,--that yours in town is not so good. most of the dresses were entirely new, and very handsome. on the whole, i think sheridan is vastly obliged to poor dear keasberry for getting it up so well. we only wanted a good julia to have made it quite complete. you must know that it was entirely out of mrs. didier's style of playing: but i never saw better acting than keasberry's,--so all the critics agreed." "bath, august d, . "tell sheridan his play has been acted at southampton:--above a hundred people were turned away the first night. they say there never was any thing so universally liked. they have very good success at bristol, and have played the rivals several times:--miss barsanti, lydia, and mrs. canning, julia." to enter into a regular analysis of this lively play, the best comment on which is to be found in the many smiling faces that are lighted up around wherever it appears, is a task of criticism that will hardly be thought necessary. with much less wit, it exhibits perhaps more humor than the school for scandal, and the dialogue, though by no means so pointed or sparkling, is, in this respect, more natural, as coming nearer the current coin of ordinary conversation; whereas, the circulating medium of the school for scandal is diamonds. the characters of the rivals, on the contrary, are _not_ such as occur very commonly in the world; and, instead of producing striking effects with natural and obvious materials, which is the great art and difficulty of a painter of human life, he has here overcharged most of his persons with whims and absurdities, for which the circumstances they are engaged in afford but a very disproportionate vent. accordingly, for our insight into their characters, we are indebted rather to their confessions than their actions. lydia languish, in proclaiming the extravagance of her own romantic notions, prepares us for events much more ludicrous and eccentric, than those in which the plot allows her to be concerned; and the young lady herself is scarcely more disappointed than we are, at the tameness with which her amour concludes. among the various ingredients supposed to be mixed up in the composition of sir lucius o'trigger, his love of fighting is the only one whose flavor is very strongly brought out; and the wayward, captious jealousy of falkland, though so highly colored in his own representation of it, is productive of no incident answerable to such an announcement:--the imposture which he practises upon julia being perhaps weakened in its effect, by our recollection of the same device in the nut-brown maid and peregrine pickle. the character of sir anthony absolute is, perhaps, the best sustained and most natural of any, and the scenes between him and captain absolute are richly, genuinely dramatic. his surprise at the apathy with which his son receives the glowing picture which he draws of the charms of his destined bride, and the effect of the question, "and which is to be mine, sir,--the niece or the aunt?" are in the truest style of humor. mrs. malaprop's mistakes, in what she herself calls "orthodoxy," have been often objected to as improbable from a woman in her rank of life; but, though some of them, it must be owned, are extravagant and farcical, they are almost all amusing,--and the luckiness of her simile, "as headstrong as an _allegory_ on the banks of the nile," will be acknowledged as long as there are writers to be run away with, by the wilfulness of this truly "headstrong" species of composition. of the faults of sheridan both in his witty and serious styles--the occasional effort of the one, and the too frequent false finery of the other--some examples may be cited from the dialogue of this play. among the former kind is the following elaborate conceit:-- "_falk._ has lydia changed her mind? i should have thought her duty and inclination would now have pointed to the same object. "_abs._ ay, just as the eyes of a person who squints: when her love-eye was fixed on me, t'other--her eye of duty--was finely obliqued: but when duty bade her point that the same way, off turned t'other on a swivel, and secured its retreat with a frown." this, though ingenious, is far too labored--and of that false taste by which sometimes, in his graver style, he was seduced into the display of second-rate ornament, the following speeches of julia afford specimens:-- "then on the bosom of your wedded julia, you may lull your keen regret to slumbering; while virtuous love, with a cherub's hand, shall smooth the brow of upbraiding thought, and pluck the thorn from compunction." again:--"when hearts deserving happiness would unite their fortunes, virtue would crown them with an unfading garland of modest hurtless flowers: but ill-judging passion will force the gaudier rose into the wreath, whose thorn offends them when its leaves are dropt." but, notwithstanding such blemishes,--and it is easy for the microscopic eye of criticism to discover gaps and inequalities in the finest edge of genius,--this play, from the liveliness of its plot, the variety and whimsicality of its characters, and the exquisite humor of its dialogue, is one of the most amusing in the whole range of the drama; and even without the aid of its more splendid successor, the school for scandal, would have placed sheridan in the first rank of comic writers. a copy of the rivals has fallen into my hands, which once belonged to tickell, the friend and brother-in-law of sheridan, and on the margin of which i find written by him in many places his opinion of particular parts of the dialogue. [footnote: these opinions are generally expressed in two or three words, and are, for the most part, judicious. upon mrs. malaprop's quotation from shakspeare, "hesperian curls," &c. he writes, "overdone--fitter for farce than comedy." acres's classification of oaths, "this we call the _oath referential,"_ &c. he pronounces to be "very good, but above the speaker's capacity." of julia's speech, "oh woman, how true should be your judgment, when your resolution is so weak!" he remarks, "on the contrary, it seems to be of little consequence whether any person's judgment be weak or not, who wants resolution to act according to it."] he has also prefixed to it, as coming from sheridan, the following humorous dedication, which, i take for granted, has never before met the light, and which the reader will perceive, by the allusions in it to the two whig ministries, could not have been written before the year :-- "dedication to idleness. "my dear friend, "if it were necessary to make any apology for this freedom, i know you would think it a sufficient one, that i shall find it easier to dedicate my play to you than to any other person. there is likewise a propriety in prefixing your name to a work begun entirely at your suggestion, and finished under your auspices; and i should think myself wanting in gratitude to you, if i did not take an early opportunity of acknowledging the obligations which i owe you. there was a time--though it is so long ago that i now scarcely remember it, and cannot mention it without compunction--but there was a time, when the importunity of parents, and the example of a few injudicious young men of my acquaintance, had almost prevailed on me to thwart my genius, and prostitute my abilities by an application to serious pursuits. and if you had not opened my eyes to the absurdity and profligacy of such a perversion of the best gifts of nature, i am by no means clear that i might not have been a wealthy merchant or an eminent lawyer at this very moment. nor was it only on my first setting out in life that i availed myself of a connection with you, though perhaps i never reaped such signal advantages from it as at that critical period. i have frequently since stood in need of your admonitions, and have always found you ready to assist me--though you were frequently brought by your zeal for me into new and awkward situations, and such as you were at first, naturally enough, unwilling to appear in. amongst innumerable other instances, i cannot omit two, where you afforded me considerable and unexpected relief, and in fact converted employments, usually attended by dry and disgusting business, into scenes of perpetual merriment and recreation. i allude, as you will easily imagine, to those cheerful hours which i spent in the secretary of state's office and the treasury, during all which time you were my inseparable companion, and showed me such a preference over the rest of my colleagues, as excited at once their envy and admiration. indeed, it was very natural for them to repine at your having taught me a way of doing business, which it was impossible for them to follow--it was both original and inimitable. "if i were to say here all that i think of your excellencies, i might be suspected of flattery; but i beg leave to refer you for the test of my sincerity to the constant tenor of my life and actions; and shall conclude with a sentiment of which no one can dispute the truth, nor mistake the application,--that those persons usually deserve most of their friends who expect least of them. "i am, &c. &c. &c., "r. b. sheridan." the celebrity which sheridan had acquired, as the chivalrous lover of miss linley, was of course considerably increased by the success of the rivals; and, gifted as he and his beautiful wife were with all that forms the magnetism of society,--the power to attract, and the disposition to be attracted,--their life, as may easily be supposed, was one of gaiety both at home and abroad. though little able to cope with the entertainments of their wealthy acquaintance, her music and the good company which his talents drew around him, were an ample repayment for the more solid hospitalities which they received. among the families visited by them was that of mr. coote (purden), at whose musical parties mrs. sheridan frequently sung, accompanied occasionally by the two little daughters [footnote: the charm of her singing, as well as her fondness for children, are interestingly described in a letter to my friend mr. rogers, from one of the most tasteful writers of the present day:--"hers was truly 'a voice as of the cherub choir,' and she was always ready to sing without any pressing. she sung here a great deal, and to my infinite delight; but what had a particular charm was, that she used to take my daughter, then a child, on her lap, and sing a number of childish songs with such a playfulness of manner, and such a sweetness of look and voice, as was quite enchanting."] of mr. coote, who were the originals of the children introduced into sir joshua reynolds's portrait of mrs. sheridan as st. cecilia. it was here that the duchess of devonshire first met sheridan; and, as i have been told, long hesitated as to the propriety of inviting to her house two persons of such equivocal rank in society, as he and his wife were at that time considered. her grace was reminded of these scruples some years after, when "the player's son" had become the admiration of the proudest and fairest; and when a house, provided for the duchess herself at bath, was left two months unoccupied, in consequence of the social attractions of sheridan, which prevented a party then assembled at chatsworth from separating. these are triumphs which, for the sake of all humbly born heirs of genius, deserve to be commemorated. in gratitude, it is said, to clinch, the actor, for the seasonable reinforcement which he had brought to the rivals, mr. sheridan produced this year a farce called "st. patrick's day, or the scheming lieutenant," which was acted on the d of may, and had considerable success. though we must not look for the usual point of sheridan in this piece, where the hits of pleasantry are performed with the broad end or _mace_ of his wit, there is yet a quick circulation of humor through the dialogue,--and laughter, the great end of farce, is abundantly achieved by it. the moralizing of doctor rosy, and the dispute between the justice's wife and her daughter, as to the respective merits of militia-men and regulars, are highly comic:-- "psha, you know, mamma, i hate militia officers; a set of dunghill cocks with spurs on--heroes scratched off a church door. no, give me the bold upright youth, who makes love to-day, and has his head shot off to- morrow. dear! to think how the sweet fellows sleep on the ground, and fight in silk stockings and lace ruffles. "_mother._ oh barbarous! to want a husband that may wed you to-day and be sent the lord knows where before night; then in a twelve-month, perhaps, to have him come like a colossus, with one leg at new york and the other at chelsea hospital." sometimes, too, there occurs a phrase or sentence, which might be sworn to, as from the pen of sheridan, any where. thus, in the very opening:-- "_ st soldier._ i say you are wrong; we should all speak together, each for himself, and all at once, that we may be heard the better. "_ d soldier._ right, jack, we'll _argue in platoons_." notwithstanding the great success of his first attempts in the drama, we find politics this year renewing its claims upon his attention, and tempting him to enter into the lists with no less an antagonist than dr. johnson. that eminent man had just published his pamphlet on the american question, entitled "taxation no tyranny;"--a work whose pompous sarcasms on the congress of philadelphia, when compared with what has happened since, dwindle into puerilities, and show what straws upon the great tide of events are even the mightiest intellects of this world. some notes and fragments, found among the papers of mr. sheridan, prove that he had it in contemplation to answer this pamphlet; and, however inferior he might have been in style to his practised adversary, he would at least have had the advantage of a good cause, and of those durable materials of truth and justice, which outlive the mere workmanship, however splendid, of talent. such arguments as the following, which johnson did not scruple to use, are, by the haughtiness of their tone and thought, only fit for the lips of autocrats:-- "when they apply to our compassion, by telling us that they are to be carried from their own country to be tried for certain offences, we are not so ready to pity them, as to advise them not to offend. while they are innocent, they are safe. "if they are condemned unheard, it is because there is no need of a trial. the crime is manifest and notorious," &c. &c. it appears from the fragments of the projected answer, that johnson's pension was one of the points upon which mr. sheridan intended to assail him. the prospect of being able to neutralize the effects of his zeal, by exposing the nature of the chief incentive from which it sprung, was so tempting, perhaps, as to overrule any feelings of delicacy, that might otherwise have suggested the illiberality of such an attack. the following are a few of the stray hints for this part of his subject:-- "it is hard when a learned man thinks himself obliged to commence politician.--such pamphlets will be as trifling and insincere as the venal quit-rent of a birth-day ode. [footnote: on another scrap of paper i find "the miserable quit-rent of an annual pamphlet." it was his custom in composition (as will be seen by many other instances) thus to try the same thought in a variety of forms and combinations, in order to see in which it would yield the greatest produce of wit.] "dr. j.'s other works, his learning and infirmities, fully entitled him to such a mark of distinction.--there was no call on him to become politician,--the easy quit-rent of refined panegyric, and a few grateful rhymes or flowery dedications to the intermediate benefactor.... "the man of letters is rarely drawn from obscurity by the inquisitive eye of a sovereign:--it is enough for royalty to gild the laurelled brow, not explore the garret or the cellar.--in this case, the return will generally be ungrateful--the patron is most possibly disgraced or in opposition--if he (the author) follows the dictates of gratitude, he must speak his patron's language, but he may lose his pension--but to be a standing supporter of ministry, is probably to take advantage of that competence against his benefactor.--when it happens that there is great experience and political knowledge, this is more excusable; but it is truly unfortunate where the fame of far different abilities adds weight to the attempts of rashness...." he then adds this very striking remark: "men seldom think deeply on subjects on which they have no choice of opinion:--they are fearful of encountering obstacles to their faith (as in religion), and so are content with the surface." dr. johnson says, in one part of his pamphlet,--"as all are born the subjects of some state or other, we may be said to have been all born consenting to some system of government." on this sheridan remarks:-- "this is the most slavish doctrine that ever was inculcated. if by our birth we give a tacit bond for our acquiescence in that form of government under which we were born, there never would have been an alteration of the first modes of government--no revolution in england." upon the argument derived from the right of conquest he observes--"this is the worst doctrine that can be with respect to america.--if america is ours by conquest, it is the conquerors who settled there that are to claim these powers." he expresses strong indignation at the "arrogance" with which such a man as montesquieu is described as "the fanciful montesquieu," by "an eleemosynary politician, who writes on the subject merely because he has been rewarded for writing otherwise all his lifetime." in answer to the argument against the claims of the americans, founded on the small proportion of the population that is really represented even in england, he has the following desultory memorandums:--"in fact, every man in england is represented--every man can influence people, so as to get a vote, and even if in an election votes are divided, each candidate is supposed equally worthy--as in lots--fight ajax or agamemnon. [footnote: he means to compare an election of this sort to the casting of lots between the grecian chiefs in the th book of the iliad.]--this an american cannot do in any way whatever. "the votes in england are perpetually shifting:--were it an object, few could be excluded.--wherever there is any one ambitious of assisting the empire, he need not put himself to much inconvenience.--if the doctor indulged his studies in cricklade or old sarum, he might vote:--the dressing meat, the simplest proof of existence, begets a title.--his pamphlet shows that he thinks he can influence some one: not an anonymous writer in the paper but contributes his mite to the general tenor of opinion.--at the eve of an election, his patriot [footnote: the name of a short pamphlet, published by dr. johnson, on the dissolution of parliament in .] was meant to influence more than the single voice of a rustic.--even the mob, in shouting, give votes where there is not corruption." it is not to be regretted that this pamphlet was left unfinished. men of a high order of genius, such as johnson and sheridan, should never enter into warfare with each other, but, like the gods in homer, leave the strife to inferior spirits. the publication of this pamphlet would most probably have precluded its author from the distinction and pleasure which he afterwards enjoyed in the society and conversation of the eloquent moralist, who, in the following year, proposed him as a member of the literary club, and always spoke of his character and genius with praise. nor was sheridan wanting on his part with corresponding tributes; for, in a prologue which he wrote about this time to the play of sir thomas overbury, he thus alludes to johnson's life of its unfortunate author:-- "so pleads the tale, that gives to future times the son's misfortunes, and the parent's crimes; there shall his fame, if own'd to-night, survive; fix'd by the hand that bids our language live." chapter iv. the duenna.--purchase of drury lane theatre.--the trip to scarborough.-- poetical correspondence with mrs. sheridan. mr. sheridan had now got into a current of dramatic fancy, of whose prosperous flow he continued to avail himself actively. the summer recess was employed in writing the duenna; and his father-in-law, mr. linley, assisted in selecting and composing the music for it. as every thing connected with the progress of a work, which is destined to be long the delight of english ears, must naturally have a charm for english readers, i feel happy at being enabled to give, from letters written at the time by mr. sheridan himself to mr. linley, some details relating to their joint adaptation of the music, which, judging from my own feelings, i cannot doubt will be interesting to others. mr. linley was at this time at bath, and the following letter to him is dated in october, , about a month or five weeks before the opera was brought out:-- "dear sir, "we received your songs to-day, with which we are exceedingly pleased. i shall profit by your proposed alterations; but i'd have you to know that we are much too chaste in london to admit such strains as your bath spring inspires. we dare not propose a peep beyond the ankle on any account; for the critics in the pit at a new play are much greater prudes than the ladies in the boxes. betsey intended to have troubled you with some music for correction, and i with some stanzas, but an interview with harris to-day has put me from the thoughts of it, and bent me upon a much more important petition. you may easily suppose it is nothing else than what i said i would not ask in my last. but, in short, unless you can give us three days in town, i fear our opera will stand a chance to be ruined. harris is extravagantly sanguine of its success as to plot and dialogue, which is to be rehearsed next wednesday at the theatre. they will exert themselves to the utmost in the scenery, &c., but i never saw any one so disconcerted as he was at the idea of there being no one to put them in the right way as to music. they have no one there whom he has any opinion of--as to fisher (one of the managers), he don't choose he should meddle with it. he entreated me in the most pressing terms to write instantly to you, and wanted, if he thought it could be any weight, to write himself. "is it impossible to contrive this? couldn't you leave tom [footnote: mrs. sheridan's eldest brother] to superintend the concert for a few days? if you can manage it, you will really do me the greatest service in the world. as to the state of the music, i want but three more airs, but there are some glees and quintets in the last act, that will be inevitably ruined, if we have no one to set the performers at least in the right way. harris has set his heart so much on my succeeding in this application, that he still flatters himself we may have a rehearsal of the music in orchard street to-morrow se'nnight. every hour's delay is a material injury both to the opera and the theatre, so that if you can come and relieve us from this perplexity, the return of the post must only forerun your arrival; or (what will make us much happier) might it not bring _you_? i shall say nothing at present about the lady 'with the soft look and manner,' because i am full of more than hopes of seeing you. for the same reason i shall delay to speak about g---; [footnote: garrick] only this much i will say, that i am more than ever positive i could make good my part of the matter; but that i still remain an infidel as to g.'s retiring, or parting with his share, though i confess he _seems_ to come closer to the point in naming his price. "your ever sincere and affectionate, "r. b. sheridan." on the opposite leaf of this letter is written, in mrs. s.'s handwriting,--"dearest father, i shall have no spirits or hopes of the opera, unless we see you. "eliza ann sheridan." in answer to these pressing demands, mr. linley, as appears by the following letter, signified his intention of being in town as soon as the music should be put in rehearsal. in the instructions here given by the poet to the musician, we may perceive that he somewhat apprehended, even in the tasteful hands of mr. linley, that predominance of harmony over melody, and of noise over both, which is so fatal to poetry and song, in their perilous alliance with an orchestra. indeed, those elephants of old, that used to tread down the ranks they were brought to assist, were but a type of the havoc that is sometimes made both of melody and meaning by the overlaying aid of accompaniments. "dear sir, "mr. harris wishes so much for us to get you to town, that i could not at first convince him that your proposal of not coming till the music was in rehearsal, was certainly the best, as you could stay but so short a time. the truth is, that what you mention of my getting a _master_ to teach the performers is the very point where the matter sticks, there being no such person as a master among them. harris is sensible there ought to be such a person; however, at present, every body sings there according to their own ideas, or what chance instruction they can come at. we are, however, to follow your plan in the matter; but can at no rate relinquish the hopes of seeing you in eight or ten days from the date of this; when the music (by the specimen of expedition you have given me) will be advanced as far as you mention. the parts are all writ out and doubled, &c. as we go on, as i have assistance from the theatre with me. "my intention was, to have closed the first act with a song, but i find it is not thought so well. hence i trust you with one of the inclosed papers; and, at the same time, you must excuse my impertinence in adding an idea of the cast i would wish the music to have; as i think i have heard you say you never heard leoni, [footnote: leoni played don carlos.] and i cannot briefly explain to you the character and situation of the persons on the stage with him. the first (a dialogue between quick and mrs. mattocks [footnote: isaac and donna louisa.]), i would wish to be a pert, sprightly air; for, though some of the words mayn't seem suited to it, i should mention that they are neither of them in earnest in what they say. leoni takes it up seriously, and i want him to show himself advantageously in the six lines beginning 'gentle maid.' i should tell you, that he sings nothing well but in a plaintive or pastoral style; and his voice is such as appears to me always to be hurt by much accompaniment. i have observed, too, that he never gets so much applause as when he makes a cadence. therefore my idea is, that he should make a flourish at 'shall i grieve thee?' and return to 'gentle maid,' and so sing that part of the tune again. [footnote: it will be perceived, by a reference to the music of the opera, that mr. linley followed these instructions implicitly and successfully.] after that, the two last lines, sung by the three, with the persons only varied, may get them off with as much spirit as possible. the second act ends with a _slow_ glee, therefore i should think the two last lines in question had better be brisk, especially as quick and mrs. mattocks are concerned in it. "the other is a song of wilson's in the third act. i have written it to your tune, which you put some words to, beginning, 'prithee, prithee, pretty man!' i think it will do vastly well for the words: don jerome sings them when he is in particular spirits; therefore the tune is not too light, though it might seem so by the last stanza--but he does not mean to be grave there, and i like particularly the returning to 'o the days when i was young!' we have mislaid the notes, but tom remembers it. if you don't like it for words, will you give us one? but it must go back to 'o the days,' and be _funny_. i have not done troubling you yet, but must wait till monday." a subsequent letter contains further particulars of their progress. "dear sir, "sunday evening next is fixed for our first musical rehearsal, and i was in great hopes we might have completed the score. the songs you have sent up of 'banna's banks,' and 'deil take the wars,' i had made words for before they arrived, which answer excessively well; and this was my reason for wishing for the next in the same manner, as it saved so much time. they are to sing 'wind, gentle evergreen,' just as you sing it (only with other words), and i wanted only such support from the instruments, or such joining in, as you should think would help to set off and assist the effort. i inclose the words i had made for 'wind, gentle evergreen,' which will be sung, as a catch, by mrs. mattocks, dubellamy, [footnote: don antonio.] and leoni. i don't mind the words not fitting the notes so well as the original ones. 'how merrily we live,' and 'let's drink and let's sing,' are to be sung by a company of _friars_ over their wine. [footnote: for these was afterwards substituted mr. linley's lively glee, "this bottle's the sun of our table."] the words will be parodied, and the chief effect i expect from them must arise from their being _known_; for the joke will be much less for these jolly fathers to sing any thing new, than to give what the audience are used to annex the idea of jollity to. for the other things betsey mentioned, i only wish to have them with such accompaniment as you would put to their _present_ words, and i shall have got words to my liking for them by the time they reach me. "my immediate wish at present is to give the performers their parts in the music (which they expect on sunday night), and for any assistance the orchestra can give to help the effect of the glees, &c., that may be judged of and added at a rehearsal, or, as you say, on inquiring how they have been done; though i don't think it follows that what dr. arne's method is must be the best. if it were possible for saturday and sunday's post to bring us what we asked for in our last letters, and what i now enclose, we should still go through it on sunday, and the performers should have their parts complete by monday night. we have had our rehearsal of the speaking part, and are to have another on saturday. i want dr. harrington's catch, but, as the sense must be the same, i am at a loss how to put other words. can't the under part ('a smoky house, &c.') be sung by one person and the other two change? the situation is-- quick and dubellamy, two lovers, carrying away father paul (reinold) in great raptures, to marry them:--the friar has before warned them of the ills of a married life, and they break out into this. the catch is particularly calculated for a stage effect; but i don't like to take another person's words, and i don't see how i can put others, keeping the same idea ('of seven squalling brats, &c.') in which the whole affair lies. however, i shall be glad of the notes, with reynold's part, if it is possible, as i mentioned. [footnote: this idea was afterwards relinquished.] "i have literally and really not had time to write the words of any thing more first and then send them to you, and this obliges me to use this apparently awkward way.... * * * * * "my father was astonishingly well received on saturday night in cato: i think it will not be many days before we are reconciled. "the inclosed are the words for 'wind, gentle evergreen;' a passionate song for mattocks, [footnote: the words of this song, in composing which the directions here given were exactly followed, are to be found in scarce any of the editions of the duenna. they are as follows:-- sharp is the woe that wounds the jealous mind, when treachery two fond hearts would rend; but oh! how keener far the pang to find that traitor in our bosom friend.] and another for miss brown, [footnote: "adieu, thou dreary pile."] which solicit to be clothed with melody by you, and are all i want. mattocks's i could wish to be a broken, passionate affair, and the first two lines may be recitative, or what you please, uncommon. miss brown sings hers in a joyful mood: we want her to show in it as much execution as she is capable of, which is pretty well; and, for variety, we want mr. simpson's hautboy to cut a figure, with replying passages, &c., in the way of fisher's '_m' ami, il bel idol mio_,' to abet which i have lugged in 'echo,' who is always allowed to play her part. i have not a moment more. yours ever sincerely." the next and last extract i shall give at present is from a letter, dated nov. , , about three weeks before the first representation of the opera. "our music is now all finished and rehearsing, but we are greatly impatient to see _you_. we hold your coming to be _necessary_ beyond conception. you say you are at our service after tuesday next; then 'i conjure you by that you do possess,' in which i include all the powers that preside over harmony, to come next thursday night (this day se'nnight), and we will fix a rehearsal for friday morning. from what i see of their rehearsing at present, i am become still more anxious to see you. "we have received all your songs, and are vastly pleased with them. you misunderstood me as to the hautboy song; i had not the least intention to fix on '_bel idol mio_,' however, i think it is particularly well adapted, and, i doubt not, will have a great effect...." an allusion which occurs in these letters to the prospect of a reconciliation with his father gives me an opportunity of mentioning a circumstance, connected with their difference, for the knowledge of which i am indebted to one of the persons most interested in remembering it, and which, as a proof of the natural tendency of sheridan's heart to let all its sensibilities flow in the right channel, ought not to be forgotten. during the run of one of his pieces, having received information from an old family servant that his father (who still refused to have any intercourse with him) meant to attend, with his daughters, at the representation of the piece, sheridan took up his station by one of the side scenes, opposite to the box where they sat, and there continued, unobserved, to look at them during the greater part of the night. on his return home, he was so affected by the various recollections that came upon him, that he burst into tears, and, being questioned as to the cause of his agitation by mrs. sheridan, to whom it was new to see him returning thus saddened from the scene of his triumph, he owned how deeply it had gone to his heart "to think that _there_ sat his father and his sisters before him, and yet that he alone was not permitted to go near them or speak to them." on the st of november, , the duenna was performed at covent garden, and the following is the original cast of the characters, as given in the collection of mr. sheridan's dramatic works:-- don ferdinand _mr. mattocks_. isaac mendoza _mr. quick_. don jerome _mr. wilson_. don antonio _mr. dubellamy_. father paul _mr. watson_. lopez _mr. wewitzer_. don carlos _mr. leoni_. francis _mr. fox_. lay brother _mr. baker_. donna louisa _mrs. mattocks_. donna clara _mrs. cargill_. [footnote: this is incorrect: it was miss brown that played donna clara for the first few nights.] the duenna _mrs. green_. the run of this opera has, i believe, no parallel in the annals of the drama. sixty-three nights was the career of the beggar's opera; but the duenna was acted no less than seventy-five times during the season, the only intermissions being a few days at christmas, and the fridays in every week;--the latter on account of leoni, who, being a jew, could not act on those nights. in order to counteract this great success of the rival house, garrick found it necessary to bring forward all the weight of his own best characters; and even had recourse to the expedient of playing off the mother against the son, by reviving mrs. frances sheridan's comedy of the discovery, and acting the principal part in it himself. in allusion to the increased fatigue which this competition with the duenna brought upon garrick, who was then entering on his sixtieth year, it was said, by an actor of the day, that "the old woman would be the death of the old man." the duenna is one of the very few operas in our language, which combine the merits of legitimate comedy with the attractions of poetry and song;--that divorce between sense and sound, to which dr. brown and others trace the cessation of the early miracles of music, being no where more remarkable than in the operas of the english stage. the "sovereign of the willing soul" (as gray calls music) always loses by being made exclusive sovereign,--and the division of her empire with poetry and wit, as in the instance of the duenna, doubles her real power. the intrigue of this piece (which is mainly founded upon an incident borrowed from the "country wife" of wycherley) is constructed and managed with considerable adroitness, having just material enough to be wound out into three acts, without being encumbered by too much intricacy, or weakened by too much extension. it does not appear, from the rough copy in my possession, that any material change was made in the plan of the work, as it proceeded. carlos was originally meant to be a jew, and is called "cousin moses" by isaac, in the first sketch of the dialogue; but possibly from the consideration that this would apply too personally to leoni, who was to perform the character, its designation was altered. the scene in the second act, where carlos is introduced by isaac to the duenna, stood, in its original state, as follows:-- "_isaac._ moses, sweet coz, i thrive, i prosper. "_moses._ where is your mistress? "_isaac._ there, you booby, there she stands. "_moses._ why she's damn'd ugly. "_isaac._ hush! (_stops his mouth_.) "_duenna._ what is your friend saying, don? "_isaac._ oh, ma'am, he's expressing his raptures at such charms as he never saw before. "_moses._ ay, such as i never saw before indeed. (_aside_.) "_duenna._ you are very obliging, gentlemen; but, i dare say, sir, your friend is no stranger to the influence of beauty. i doubt not but he is a lover himself. "_moses._ alas! madam, there is now but one woman living, whom i have any love for, and truly, ma'am, you resemble her wonderfully. "_duenna._ well, sir, i wish she may give you her hand as speedily as i shall mine to your friend. "_moses._ me her hand!--o lord, ma'am--she is the last woman in the world i could think of marrying. "_duenna._ what then, sir, are you comparing me to some wanton-- some courtezan? "_isaac._ zounds! he durstn't. "_moses._ o not i, upon my soul. "_duenna._ yes, he meant some young harlot--some-- "_moses._ oh, dear madam, no--it was my mother i meant, as i hope to be saved. "_isaac._ oh the blundering villain! (_aside_.) "_duenna._ how, sir--am i so like your mother? "_isaac._ stay, dear madam--my friend meant--that you put him in mind of what his mother was when a girl--didn't you, moses? "_moses._ oh yes, madam, my mother was formerly a great beauty, a great toast, i assure you;--and when she married my father about thirty years ago, as you may perhaps remember, ma'am-- "_duenna._ _i_, sir! i remember thirty years ago! "_isaac._ oh, to be sure not, ma'am--thirty years! no, no--it was thirty months he said, ma'am--wasn't it, moses? "_moses._ yes, yes, ma'am--thirty months ago, on her marriage with my father, she was, as i was saying, a great beauty;--but catching cold, the year afterwards, in child-bed of your humble servant-- "_duenna._ of you, sir!--and married within these thirty months! "_isaac._ oh the devil! he has made himself out but a year old!-- come, moses, hold your tongue.--you must excuse him, ma'am--he means to be civil--but he is a poor, simple fellow--an't you, moses? "_moses._ 'tis true, indeed, ma'am," &c. &c. &c. the greater part of the humor of moses here was afterwards transferred to the character of isaac, and it will be perceived that a few of the points are still retained by him. the wit of the dialogue, except in one or two instances, is of that accessible kind which lies near the surface--which may be enjoyed without wonder, and rather plays than shines. he had not yet searched his fancy for those curious fossils of thought which make the school for scandal such a rich museum of wit. of this precious kind, however, is the description of isaac's neutrality in religion--"like the blank leaf between the old and new testament." as an instance, too, of the occasional abuse of this research, which led him to mistake labored conceits for fancies, may be mentioned the far-fetched comparison of serenaders to egyptian embalmers, "extracting the brain through the ears." for this, however, his taste, not his invention, is responsible, as we have already seen that the thought was borrowed from a letter of his friend halhed. in the speech of lopez, the servant, with which the opera opens, there are, in the original copy, some humorous points, which appear to have fallen under the pruning knife, but which are not unworthy of being gathered up here:-- "a plague on these haughty damsels, say i:--when they play their airs on their whining gallants, they ought to consider that we are the chief sufferers,--we have all their ill-humors at second-hand. donna louisa's cruelty to my master usually converts itself into blows, by the time it gets to me:--she can frown me black and blue at any time, and i shall carry the marks of the last box on the ear she gave him to my grave. nay, if she smiles on any one else, i am the sufferer for it:--if she says a civil word to a rival, i am a rogue and a scoundrel; and, if she sends him a letter, my back is sure to pay the postage." in the scene between ferdinand and jerome (act ii. scene ) the following lively speech of the latter was, i know not why, left out:-- "_ferdin._ ....but he has never sullied his honor, which, with his title, has outlived his means. "_jerome._ have they? more shame for them!--what business have honor or titles to survive, when property is extinct? nobility is but as a helpmate to a good fortune, and, like a japanese wife, should perish on the funeral pile of the estate!" in the first act, too, (scene ) where jerome abuses the duenna, there is an equally unaccountable omission of a sentence, in which he compares the old lady's face to "parchment, on which time and deformity have engrossed their titles." though some of the poetry of this opera is not much above that ordinary kind, to which music is so often doomed to be wedded--making up by her own sweetness for the dulness of her help-mate--by far the greater number of the songs are full of beauty, and some of them may rank among the best models of lyric writing. the verses, "had i a heart for falsehood framed," notwithstanding the stiffness of this word "framed," and one or two other slight blemishes, are not unworthy of living in recollection with the matchless air to which they are adapted. there is another song, less known, from being connected with less popular music, which, for deep, impassioned feeling and natural eloquence, has not, perhaps, its rival, through the whole range of lyric poetry. as these verses, though contained in the common editions of the duenna, are not to be found in the opera, as printed in the british theatre, and, still more strangely, are omitted in the late collection of mr. sheridan's works, [footnote: for this edition of his works i am no further responsible than in having communicated to it a few prefatory pages, to account and apologize to the public for the delay of the life.] i should feel myself abundantly authorized in citing them here, even if their beauty were not a sufficient excuse for recalling them, under any circumstances, to the recollection of the reader:-- "ah, cruel maid, how hast thou changed the temper of my mind! my heart, by thee from love estrang'd, becomes, like thee, unkind. "by fortune favor'd, clear in fame, i once ambitious was; and friends i had who fann'd the flame, and gave my youth applause. "but now my weakness all accuse, yet vain their taunts on me; friends, fortune, fame itself i'd lose, to gain one smile from thee. "and only thou should'st not despise my weakness or my woe; if i am mad in others' eyes, 'tis thou hast made me so. "but days, like this, with doubting curst, i will not long endure-- am i disdain'd--i know the worst, and likewise know my cure. "if, false, her vow she dare renounce, that instant ends my pain; for, oh! the heart must break at once, that cannot hate again." it is impossible to believe that such verses as these had no deeper inspiration than the imaginary loves of an opera. they bear, burnt into every line, the marks of personal feeling, and must have been thrown off in one of those passionate moods of the heart, with which the poet's own youthful love had made him acquainted, and under the impression or vivid recollection of which these lines were written. in comparing this poem with the original words of the air to which it is adapted, (parnell's pretty lines, "my days have been so wondrous free,") it will be felt, at once, how wide is the difference between the cold and graceful effusions of taste, and the fervid bursts of real genius-- between the delicate product of the conservatory, and the rich child of the sunshine. i am the more confirmed in the idea that this song was written previously to the opera, and from personal feeling, by finding among his earlier pieces the originals of two other songs--"i ne'er could any lustre see," and "what bard, oh time, discover." the thought, upon which the latter turns, is taken from a poem already cited, addressed by him to mrs. sheridan in ; and the following is the passage that supplied the material:-- "alas, thou hast no wings, oh time, it was some thoughtless lover's rhyme, who, writing in his chloe's view, paid her the compliment through you. for, had he, if he truly lov'd, but once the pangs of absence prov'd, he'd cropt thy wings, and, in their stead, have painted thee with heels of lead." it will be seen presently, that this poem was again despoiled of some of its lines, for an epilogue which he began a few years after, upon a very different subject. there is something, it must be owned, not very sentimental in this conversion of the poetry of affection to other and less sacred uses--as if, like the ornaments of a passing pageant, it might be broken up after the show was over, and applied to more useful purposes. that the young poet should be guilty of such sacrilege to love, and thus steal back his golden offerings from the altar, to melt them down into utensils of worldly display, can only be excused by that demand upon the riches of his fancy, which the rapidity of his present career in the service of the dramatic muse occasioned. there is not the same objection to the approbation of the other song, which, it will be seen, is a selection of the best parts of the following anacreontic verses:-- "i ne'er could any lustre see [footnote: another mode of beginning this song in the ms.-- "go tell the maid who seeks to move my lyre to praise, my heart to love, no rose upon her cheek can live, like those assenting blushes give."] in eyes that would not look on me: when a glance aversion hints, i always think the lady squints. i ne'er saw nectar on a lip, but where my own did hope to sip. no pearly teeth rejoice my view, unless a 'yes' displays their hue-- the prudish lip, that _noes_ me back. convinces me the teeth are black, to me the cheek displays no roses, like that th' assenting blush discloses; but when with proud disdain 'tis spread, to me 'tis but a scurvy red. would she have me praise her hair? let her place my garland there. is her hand so white and pure? i must press it to be sure; nor can i be certain then, till it grateful press again. must i praise her melody? let her sing of love and me. if she choose another theme, i'd rather hear a peacock scream. must i, with attentive eye, watch her heaving bosom sigh? i will do so, when i see that heaving bosom sigh for me. none but bigots will in vain adore a heav'n they cannot gain. if i must religious prove to the mighty god of love, sure i am it is but fair he, at least, should hear my prayer. but, by each joy of his i've known, and all i yet shall make my own, never will i, with humble speech, pray to a heav'n i cannot reach." in the song, beginning "friendship is the bond of reason," the third verse was originally thus:-- "and, should i cheat the world and thee, one smile from her i love to win, such breach of human faith would be a sacrifice, and not a sin." to the song "'give isaac the nymph," there were at first two more verses, which, merely to show how judicious was the omission of them, i shall here transcribe. next to the advantage of knowing what to put into our writings, is that of knowing what to leave out:-- "to one thus accomplished i durst speak my mind, and flattery doubtless would soon make her kind; for the man that should praise her she needs must adore, who ne'er in her life receiv'd praises before. "but the frowns of a beauty in hopes to remove, should i prate of her charms, and tell of my love; no thanks wait the praise which she knows to be true, nor smiles for the homage she takes as her due." among literary piracies or impostures, there are few more audacious than the dublin edition of the duenna,--in which, though the songs are given accurately, an entirely new dialogue is substituted for that of sheridan, and his gold, as in the barter of glaucus, exchanged for such copper as the following:-- "_duen._ well, sir, i don't want to stay in your house; but i must go and lock up my wardrobe." "_isaac._ your wardrobe! when you came into my house you could carry your wardrobe in your comb-case, you could, you old dragon." another specimen:-- "_isaac._ her voice, too, you told me, was like a virginia nightingale; why, it is like a cracked warming-pan:--and as for dimples!--to be sure, she has the devil's own dimples.--yes! and you told me she had a lovely down upon her chin, like the down of a peach; but, damn me if ever i saw such down upon any creature in my life, except once upon an old goat." these jokes, i need not add, are all the gratuitous contributions of the editor. towards the close of the year , it was understood that garrick meant to part with his moiety of the patent of drury lane theatre, and retire from the stage. he was then in the sixtieth year of his age, and might possibly have been influenced by the natural feeling, so beautifully expressed for a great actor of our own time, by our greatest living writer: ----"higher duties crave some space between the theatre and the grave; that, like the roman in the capitol, i may adjust my mantle, ere i fall." [footnote: kemble's farewell address on taking leave of the edinburgh stage, written by sir walter scott.] the progress of the negotiation between him and mr. sheridan, which ended in making the latter patentee and manager, cannot better be traced than in sheridan's own letters, addressed at the time to mr. linley, and most kindly placed at my disposal by my friend mr. william linley. "sunday, dec. , . "dear sir, "i was always one of the slowest letter-writers in the world, though i have had more excuses than usual for my delay in this instance. the principal matter of business on which i was to have written to you, related to our embryo negotiation with garrick, of which i will now give you an account. "since you left town, mrs. ewart has been so ill, as to continue near three weeks at the point of death. this, of course, has prevented mr. e. from seeing anybody on business, or from accompanying me to garrick's. however, about ten days ago, i talked the matter over with him by myself, and the result was, appointing thursday evening last to meet him, and to bring ewart, which i did accordingly. on the whole of our conversation that evening, i began (for the first time) to think him _really serious_ in the business. he still, however, kept the reserve of giving the refusal to colman, though at the same time he did not hesitate to assert his confidence that colman would decline it. i was determined to push him on this point, (as it was really farcical for us to treat with him under such an evasion,) and at last he promised to put the question to colman, and to give me a decisive answer by the ensuing sunday (to-day). accordingly, within this hour, i have received a note from him, which (as i meant to show it my father) i here transcribe for you. "'mr. garrick presents his compliments to mr. sheridan, and, as he is obliged to go into the country for three days, he should be glad to see him upon his return to town, either on wednesday about or o'clock, or whenever he pleases. the party has no objection to the whole, but chooses no partner but mr. g. not a word of this yet. mr. g. sent a messenger on purpose, (i.e. to colman). he would call upon mr. s., but he is confined at home. your name is upon our list'. "this _decisive answer_ may be taken two ways. however, as mr. g. informed mr. ewart and me, that he had no authority or pretensions to treat for _the whole_, it appears to me that mr. garrick's meaning in this note is, that mr. colman _declines_ the purchase of _mr. garrick's share_, which is the point in debate, and the only part at present to be sold. i shall, therefore, wait on g. at the time mentioned, and, if i understand him right, we shall certainly without delay appoint two men of business and the law to meet on the matter, and come to a conclusion without further delay. "_according_ to his demand, the whole is valued at , _l_. he appears very shy of letting his books be looked into, as the test of the profits on this sum, but says it must be, in its nature, a purchase on speculation. however, he has promised me a rough estimate, of _his own_, of the entire receipts for the last seven years. but, after all, it must certainly be a _purchase on speculation_, without _money's worth_ being _made out_. one point he solemnly avers, which is, that he will never part with it under the price above- mentioned. "this is all i can say on the subject till wednesday, though i can't help adding, that i think we might _safely_ give five thousand pounds more on this purchase than richer people. the whole valued at , _l_., the annual interest is , _l_.; while this is _cleared_, the proprietors are safe,--but i think it must be _infernal_ management indeed that does not double it. "i suppose mr. stanley has written to you relative to your oratorio orchestra. the demand, i reckon, will be diminished one third, and the appearance remain very handsome, which, if the other affair takes place, you will find your account in; and, if you discontinue your partnership with stanley at drury lane, the orchestra may revert to whichever wants it, on the other's paying his proportion for the use of it this year. this is mr. garrick's idea, and, as he says, might in that case be settled by arbitration. "you have heard of our losing miss brown; however, we have missed her so little in the duenna, that the managers have not tried to regain her, which i believe they might have done. i have had some books of the music these many days to send you down. i wanted to put tom's name in the new music, and begged mrs. l. to ask you, and let me have a line on her arrival, for which purpose i kept back the index of the songs. if you or he have no objection, pray let me know. i'll send the music to-morrow. "i am finishing a two act comedy for covent-garden, which will be in rehearsal in a week. we have given the duenna a respite this christmas, but nothing else at present brings money. we have every place in the house taken for the three next nights, and shall, at least, play it fifty nights, with only the friday's intermission. "my best love and the compliments of the season to all your fire-side. "your grandson is a very magnificent fellow. [footnote: sheridan's first child, thomas, born in the preceding year.] "yours ever sincerely, "r. b. sheridan." "january , . "dear sir, "i left garrick last night too late to write to you. he has offered colman the refusal, and showed me his answer; which was (as in the note) that he was willing to purchase the whole, but would have no partner but garrick. on this, mr. garrick appointed a meeting with his partner, young leasy, and, in presence of their solicitor, treasurer, &c., declared to him that he was absolutely on the point of settling, and, if _he_ was willing, he might have the same price for his share; but that if he (leasy) would not sell, mr. garrick would, instantly, to another party. the result was, leasy's declaring his intention of not parting with his share. of this garrick again informed colman, who immediately gave up the whole matter. "garrick was extremely explicit, and, in short, we came to a final resolution. so that, if the necessary matters are made out to all our satisfactions, we may sign and seal a previous agreement within a fortnight. "i meet him again to-morrow evening, when we are to name a day for a conveyancer on our side, to meet his solicitor, wallace. i have pitched on a mr. phips, at the recommendation and by the advice of dr. ford. the three first steps to be taken are these,--our lawyer is to look into the titles, tenures, &c. of the house and adjoining estate, the extent and limitations of the patent, &c. we should then employ a builder (i think, mr. collins,) to survey the state and repair in which the whole premises are, to which g. entirely assents. mr. g. will then give us a fair and attested estimate from his books of what the profits have been, at an average, for these last seven years. [footnote: these accounts were found among mr. sheridan's papers. garrick's income from the theatre for the year - is thus stated:--"author _l_., salary, _l_., manager _l_."] this he has shown me in rough, and valuing the property at , _l_, the interest has exceeded ten percent. "we should, after this, certainly make an interest to get the king's promise, that, while the theatre is well conducted, &c. he will grant no patent to a third,--though g. seems confident that he never will. if there is any truth in professions and appearances, g. seems likely always to continue our friend, and to give every assistance in his power. "the method of our sharing the purchase, i should think, may be thus,-- ewart, to take , _l_., you , _l_, and i, , _l_.--dr. ford agrees, with the greatest pleasure, to embark the other five; and if you do not choose to venture so much, will, i dare say, share it with you. ewart is preparing his money, and i have a certainty of my part. we shall have a very useful ally in dr. ford; and my father offers his services on our own terms. we cannot unite garrick to our interests too firmly; and i am convinced his influence will bring leasy to our terms, if he should be ill-advised enough to desire to interfere in what he is totally unqualified for. "i'll write to you to-morrow relative to leasy's mortgage (which garrick has, and advises us to take), and many other particulars. when matters are in a certain train (which i hope will be in a week,) i suppose you will not hesitate to come to town for a day or two. garrick proposes, when we are satisfied with the bargain, to sign a previous article, with a penalty of ten thousand pounds on the parties who break from fulfilling the purchase. when we are once satisfied and determined in the business (which, i own, is my case), the sooner that is done the better. i must urge it particularly, as my confidential connection with the other house is peculiarly distressing, till i can with prudence reveal my situation, and such a treaty (however prudently managed) cannot long be kept secret, especially as leasy is now convinced of garrick's resolution. "i am exceedingly hurried at present, so, excuse omissions, and do not flag when we come to the point. i'll answer for it, we shall see many golden campaigns. "yours ever, "r. b. sheridan. "you have heard, i suppose, that foote is likely never to show his face again." "january st, . "dear sir, "i am glad you have found a person who will let you have the money at four per cent. the security will be very clear; but, as there is some degree of risk, as in case of fire, i think four per cent uncommonly reasonable.--it will scarcely be any advantage to pay it off, for your houses and chapel, i suppose, bring in much more. therefore, while you can raise money at four per cent, on the security of your theatrical share _only_, you will be right to alter, as little as you can, the present disposition of your property. "as to your quitting bath, i cannot see why you should doubt a moment about it. surely, the undertaking in which you embark such a sum as , _l_. ought to be the chief object of your attention--and, supposing you did not choose to give up all your time to the theatre, you may certainly employ yourself more profitably in london than in bath. but, if you are willing (as i suppose you will be) to make the theatre the great object of your attention, rely on it you may lay aside every doubt of not finding your account in it; for the fact is, we shall have nothing but our own equity to consult in making and obtaining any demand for exclusive trouble. leasy is utterly unequal to any department in the theatre. he has an opinion of me, and is very willing to let the whole burthen and ostensibility be taken off his shoulders. but i certainly should not give up my time and labor (for his superior advantage, having so much greater a share) without some exclusive advantage. yet, i should by no means make the demand till i had shown myself equal to the task. my father purposes to be with us but one year; and that only to give me what advantage he can from his experience. he certainly must be paid for his trouble, and so certainly must you. you have experience and character equal to the line you would undertake; and it never can enter into any body's head that you were to give your time or any part of your attention gratis, because you had a share in the theatre. i have spoke on this subject both to garrick and leasy, and you will find no demur on any side to your gaining a _certain_ income from the theatre--greater, i think, than you could make out of it--and in this the theatre will be acting only for its own advantage. at the same time you may always make leisure for a few select scholars, whose interest may also serve the greater cause of your patentee-ship. "i have had a young man with me who wants to appear as a singer in plays or oratorios. i think you'll find him likely to be serviceable in either. he is not one-and-twenty, and has no conceit. he has a good tenor voice--very good ear and a great deal of execution, of the right kind. he reads notes very quick, and can accompany himself. this is betsey's verdict, who sat in judgment on him on sunday last. i have given him no answer, but engaged him to wait till you come to town. "you must not regard the reports in the paper about a third theatre-- that's all nonsense. "betsey's and my love to all. your grandson astonishes every body by his vivacity, his talents for music and poetry, and the most perfect integrity of mind. "yours most sincerely, "r. b. sheridan." in the following june the contract with garrick was perfected; and in a paper drawn up by mr. sheridan many years after, i find the shares of the respective purchasers thus stated:- mr. sheridan, two fourteenths of the whole. , _l_. mr. linley, ditto , _l_. dr. ford, ditto , _l_. mr. ewart, it will be perceived, though originally mentioned as one of the parties, had no concern in the final arrangement. though the letters, just cited, furnish a more detailed account than has yet been given to the public of this transaction by which mr. sheridan became possessed of his theatrical property, they still leave us in the dark with respect to the source from which his own means of completing the purchase were derived. not even to mr. linley, while entering into all other details, does he hint at the fountain head from which this supply is to come:-- _"--gentes maluit ortus mirari, quam nosse tuos."_ there was, indeed, something mysterious and miraculous about all his acquisitions, whether in love, in learning, in wit, or in wealth. how or when his stock of knowledge was laid in, nobody knew--it was as much a matter of marvel to those who never saw him read, as the existence of the chameleon has been to those who fancied it never eat. his advances in the heart of his mistress were, as we have seen, equally trackless and inaudible, and his triumph was the first that even rivals knew of his love. in like manner, the productions of his wit took the world by surprise,--being perfected in secret, till ready for display, and then seeming to break from under the cloud of his indolence in full maturity of splendor. his financial resources had no less an air of magic about them; and the mode by which he conjured up, at this time, the money for his first purchase into the theatre, remains, as far as i can learn, still a mystery. it has been said that mr. garrick supplied him with the means--but a perusal of the above letters must set that notion to rest. there was evidently, at this time, no such confidential understanding between them as an act of friendship of so signal a nature would imply; and it appears that sheridan had the purchase money ready, even before the terms upon which garrick would sell were ascertained. that doctor ford should have advanced the money is not less improbable; for the share of which, contrary to his first intention, he ultimately became proprietor, absorbed, there is every reason to think, the whole of his disposable means. he was afterwards a sufferer by the concern to such an extent, as to be obliged, in consequence of his embarrassments, to absent himself for a considerable time from england; and there are among the papers of mr. sheridan, several letters of remonstrance addressed to him by the son of dr. ford, in which some allusion to such a friendly service, had it ever occurred, would hardly have been omitted. about the end of this year some dissensions arose between the new patentees and mr. lacy, in consequence of the expressed intention of the latter to introduce two other partners into the establishment, by the disposal of his share to captain thomson and a mr. langford. by an account of this transaction, which appears in a periodical paper published at the time, [footnote: the selector] and which, from its correctness in other particulars, i rather think may be depended on, it would seem that sheridan, in his opposition to lacy, had proceeded to the extremity of seceding from his own duties at the theatre, and inducing the principal actors to adopt the same line of conduct. "does not the rage (asks this writer) of the new managers, all directed against the innocent and justifiable conduct of mr. lacy, look as if they meant to rule a theatre, of which they have only a moiety among them, and feared the additional weight and influence which would be given to mr. lacy by the assistance of captain thomson and mr. langford? if their intentions were right, why should they fear to have their power balanced, and their conduct examined? is there a precedent in the annals of the theatre, where the acting manager deserted the general property, left the house, and seduced the actors from their duties--why? forsooth, because he was angry. is not such conduct actionable? in any concern of common property, lord mansfield would make it so. and, what an insult to the public, from whose indulgence and favor this conceited young man, with his wife and family, are to receive their daily bread! because mr. lacy, in his opinion, had used him ill--his patrons and benefactors might go to the devil! mr. lacy acted with great temper and moderation; and, in order that the public might not be wholly disappointed, he brought on old stock-plays--his brother manager having robbed him of the means and instruments to do otherwise, by taking away the performers." it is also intimated in the same publication that mr. garrick had on this occasion "given mr. sheridan credit on his banker for , _l_. for law expenses or for the purchase of messrs. langford and thomson's shares." the dispute, however, was adjusted amicably. mr. lacy was prevailed upon to write an apology to the public, and the design of disposing of his share in the theatre was, for the present, relinquished. there is an allusion to this reconciliation in the following characteristic letter, addressed by sheridan to mr. linley in the spring of the following year. "dear sir, "you write to me though you tell me you have nothing to say--now, i have reversed the case, and have not wrote to you, because i have had so much to say. however, i find i have delayed too long to attempt now to transmit you a long detail of our theatrical manoeuvres; but you must not attribute my not writing to idleness, but on the contrary to my _not_ having been idle. "you represent your situation of mind between _hopes_ and _fears_. i am afraid i should argue in vain (as i have often on this point before) were i to tell you, that it is always better to encourage the former than the latter. it may be very prudent to mix a little _fear_ by way of alloy with a good solid mass of _hope_; but you, on the contrary, always deal in _apprehension_ by the pound, and take _confidence_ by the grain, and spread as thin as leaf gold. in fact, though a metaphor mayn't explain it, the truth is, that, in all undertakings which depend principally on ourselves, the surest way not to fail is to _determine to succeed_. "it would be endless to say more at present about theatrical matters, only, that every thing is going on very well. lacy promised me to write to you, which i suppose, however, he has not done. at our first meeting after you left town, he cleared away all my doubts about his sincerity; and i dare swear we shall never have the least misunderstanding again, nor do i believe he will ever take any distinct counsel in future. relative to your affair he has not the shade of an objection remaining, and is only anxious that you may not take amiss his boggling at first. we have, by and with the advice of the privy council, concluded to have noverre over, and there is a species of pantomime to be shortly put on foot, which is to draw all the human kind to drury. [footnote: i find that the pantomime at drury lane this year was a revival of "harlequin's invasion," and that at covent garden, "harlequin's frolics."] this is become absolutely necessary on account of a marvellous preparation of the kind which is making at covent garden. "touching the tragedies you mention, if you speak of them merely as certain tragedies that may be had, i should think it impossible we could find the least room, as you know garrick saddles us with one which we _must_ bring out. but, if you have any particular desire that one of them should be done, it is another affair, and i should be glad to see them. otherwise, i would much rather you would save the disagreeableness of giving my opinion to a fresh tragic bard, being already in disgrace with about nine of that irascible fraternity. "betsey has been alarmed about tom, but without reason. he is in my opinion better than when you left him, at least to appearance, and the cold he caught is gone. we sent to see him at battersea, and would have persuaded him to remove to orchard street; but he thinks the air does him good, and he seems with people where he is at home, and may divert himself, which, perhaps, will do him more good than the air,--but he is to be with us soon. "ormsby has sent me a silver branch on the score of the duenna. this will cost me, what of all things i am least free of, a letter: and it should have been a poetical one, too, if the present had been any piece of plate but a candlestick!--i believe i must melt it into a bowl to make verses on it, for there is no possibility of bringing candle, candlestick, or snuffers, into metre. however, as the gift was owing to the muse, and the manner of it very friendly, i believe i shall try to jingle a little on the occasion; at least, a few such stanzas as might gain a cup of tea from the urn at bath-easton. "betsey is very well, and on the point of giving tom up to feed like a christian and a gentleman, or, in other words, of weaning, waining, or weening him. as for the young gentleman himself, his progress is so rapid, that one may plainly see the astonishment the sun is in of a morning, at the improvement of the night. our loves to all. "yours ever, and truly, "r. b. sheridan." the first contribution which the dramatic talent of the new manager furnished to the stock of the theatre, was an alteration of vanbrugh's comedy, the relapse, which was brought out on the th of february, , under the title of "a trip to scarborough." in reading the original play, we are struck with surprise, that sheridan should ever have hoped to be able to _defecate_ such dialogue, and yet leave any of the wit, whose whole spirit is in the lees, behind. the very life of such characters as berinthia is their licentiousness, and it is with them, as with objects that are luminous from putrescence,--to remove their taint is to extinguish their light. if sheridan, indeed, had substituted some of his own wit for that which he took away, the inanition that followed the operation would have been much less sensibly felt. but to be so liberal of a treasure so precious, and for the enrichment of the work of another, could hardly have been expected from him. besides, it may be doubted whether the subject had not already yielded its utmost to vanbrugh, and whether even in the hands of sheridan, it could have been brought to bear a second crop of wit. here and there through the dialogue, there are some touches from his pen-- more, however, in the style of his farce than his comedy. for instance, that speech of lord foppington, where, directing the hosier not "to thicken the calves of his stockings so much," he says, "you should always remember, mr. hosier, that if you make a nobleman's spring legs as robust as his autumnal calves, you commit a monstrous impropriety, and make no allowance for the fatigues of the winter." again, the following dialogue:-- "_jeweller._ i hope, my lord, those buckles have had the unspeakable satisfaction of being honored with your lordship's approbation? "_lord f._ why, they are of a pretty fancy; but don't you think them rather of the smallest? "_jeweller._ my lord, they could not well be larger, to keep on your lordship's shoe. "_lord f._ my good sir, you forget that these matters are not as they used to be: formerly, indeed, the buckle was a sort of machine, intended to keep on the shoe; but the case is now quite reversed, and the shoe is of no earthly use but to keep on the buckle." about this time mrs. sheridan went to pass a few weeks with her father and mother at bath, while sheridan himself remained in town, to superintend the concerns of the theatre. during this interval he addressed to her the following verses, which i quote, less from their own peculiar merit, than as a proof how little his heart had yet lost of those first feelings of love and gallantry which too often expire in matrimony, as faith and hope do in heaven, and from the same causes-- "one lost in certainty, and one in joy." to laura. "near avon's ridgy bank there grows a willow of no vulgar size, that tree first heard poor silvio's woes, and heard how bright were laura's eyes. its boughs were shade from heat or show'r, its roots a moss-grown seat became; its leaves would strew the maiden's bow'r, its bark was shatter'd with her name! once on a blossom-crowned day of mirth-inspiring may, silvio, beneath this willow's sober shade, in sullen contemplation laid, did mock the meadow's flowery pride,-- rail'd at the dance and sportive ring;-- the tabor's call he did deride, and said, _it was not spring_. he scorn'd the sky of azure blue, he scorn'd whate'er could mirth bespeak; he chid the beam that drank the dew, and chid the gale that fann'd his glowing cheek. unpaid the season's wanton lay, for still he sigh'd, and said, it _was not may_. "ah, why should the glittering stream reflect thus delusive the scene? ah, why does a rosy-ting'd beam thus vainly enamel the green? to me nor joy nor light they bring: i tell thee, phoebus, _'tis not spring_. "sweet tut'ress of music and love, sweet bird, if 'tis thee that i hear, why left you so early the grove, to lavish your melody here? cease, then, mistaken thus to sing, sweet nightingale! it _is not spring_. "the gale courts my locks but to tease, and, zephyr, i call not on thee: thy fragrance no longer can please, then rob not the blossoms for me: but hence unload thy balmy wing, believe me, zephyr, 'tis _not spring_. "yet the lily has drank of the show'r, and the rose 'gins to peep on the day; and yon bee seems to search for a flow'r, as busy as if it were may:-- in vain, thou senseless flutt'ring thing, my heart informs me, _'tis not spring."_ may pois'd her roseate wings, for she had heard the mourner, as she pass'd the vales along; and, silencing her own indignant bird, she thus reprov'd poor silvio's song. "how false is the sight of a lover; how ready his spleen to discover what reason would never allow! why,--silvio, my sunshine and showers, my blossoms, my birds, and my flow'rs, were never more perfect than now. "the water's reflection is true, the green is enamell'd to view, and philomel sings on the spray; the gale is the breathing of spring, 'tis fragrance it bears on its wing, and the bee is assur'd it is _may_." "pardon (said silvio with a gushing tear), _'tis_ spring, sweet nymph, _but laura is not here_." in sending these verses to mrs. sheridan, he had also written her a description of some splendid party, at which he had lately been present, where all the finest women of the world of fashion were assembled. his praises of their beauty, as well as his account of their flattering attentions to himself, awakened a feeling of at least poetical jealousy in mrs. sheridan, which she expressed in the following answer to his verses--taking occasion, at the same time, to pay some generous compliments to the most brilliant among his new fashionable friends. though her verses are of that kind which we read more with interest than admiration, they have quite enough of talent for the gentle themes to which she aspired; and there is, besides, a charm about them, as coming from mrs. sheridan, to which far better poetry could not pretend. to silvio. "soft flow'd the lay by avon's sedgy side, while o'er its streams the drooping willow hung beneath whose shadow silvio fondly tried to check the opening roses as they sprung. in vain he bade them cease to court the gale, that wanton'd balmy on the zephyr's wing; in vain, when philomel renew'd her tale, he chid her song, and said _'it was not spring.'_ for still they bloom'd, tho' silvio's heart was sad, nor did sweet philomel neglect to sing; the zephyrs scorned them not, tho' silvio had, for love and nature told them it was spring. [footnote: as the poem altogether would be too long, i have here omitted five or six stanzas] * * * * * to other scenes doth silvio now repair, to nobler themes his daring muse aspires; around him throng the gay, the young, the fair, his lively wit the listening crowd admires. and see, where radiant beauty smiling stands, with gentle voice and soft beseeching eyes, to gain the laurel from his willing hands, her every art the fond enchantress tries. what various charms the admiring youth surround, how shall he sing, or how attempt to praise? so lovely all--where shall the bard be found, who can to _one_ alone attune his lays? behold with graceful step and smile serene, majestic stella moves to claim the prize: [footnote: according to the key which has been given me, the name of stella was meant to designate the duchess of rutland] "'tis thine," he cries, "for thou art beauty's queen." mistaken youth! and sees't thou myra's eyes? [footnote: the duchess of devonshire] with beaming lustre see they dart at thee: ah i dread their vengeance--yet withhold thy hand,-- that deepening blush upbraids thy rash decree; hers is the wreath--obey the just demand. "pardon, bright nymph,"(the wond'ring silvio cries) "and oh, receive the wreath thy beauty's due"-- his voice awards what still his hand denies, for beauteous amoret now his eyes pursue. [footnote: mrs. (afterward lady) crewe] with gentle step and hesitating grace, unconscious of her pow'r the fair one came; if, while he view'd the glories of that face, poor silvio doubted,--who shall dare to blame? a rosy blush his ardent gaze reprov'd, the offer'd wreath she modestly declined;-- "if sprightly wit and dimpled smiles are lov'd, my brow," said flavia, "shall that garland bind." [footnote: lady craven, afterwards margravine of anspach.] with wanton gaiety the prize she seized-- silvio in vain her snowy hand repell'd; the fickle youth unwillingly was pleas'd, reluctantly the wreath he yet withheld. but jessie's all-seducing form appears, [footnote: the late countess of jersey.] nor more the playful flavia could delight; lovely in smiles, more lovely still in tears, her every glance shone eloquently bright. those radiant eyes in safety none could view, did not those fringed lids their brightness shade-- mistaken youths! their beams, too late ye knew, are by that soft defence more fatal made. "o god of love!" with transport silvio cries, "assist me thou, this contest to decide; and since to _one_ i cannot yield the prize, permit thy slave the garland to divide. "on myra's breast the opening rose shall blow, reflecting from her cheek a livelier bloom; for stella shall the bright carnation glow-- beneath her eyes' bright radiance meet its doom. "smart pinks and daffodils shall flavia grace, the modest eglantine and violet blue on gentle amoret's placid brow i'll place-- of elegance and love an emblem true." in gardens oft a beauteous flow'r there grows, by vulgar eyes unnoticed and unseen; in sweet security it humbly blows, and rears its purple head to deck the green. this flower, as nature's poet sweetly sings, was once milk-white, and _hearts-ease_ was its name; till wanton cupid pois'd his roseate wings, a vestal's sacred bosom to inflame; with treacherous aim the god his arrow drew, which she with icy coldness did repel; rebounding thence with feathery speed it flew, till on this lonely flow'r at last it fell. heart's-ease no more the wandering shepherds found, no more the nymphs its snowy form possess; its white now chang'd to purple by love's wound, heart's-ease no more, 'tis "love in idleness." "this flow'r with sweet-brier join'd shall thee adorn, sweet jessie, fairest 'mid ten thousand fair! but guard thy gentle bosom from the thorn, which, tho' conceal'd, the sweet-brier still must bear. "and place not love, tho' _idle_, in thy breast, tho' bright its hues, it boasts no other charm-- so may thy future days be ever blest, and friendship's calmer joys thy bosom warm !" but where does laura pass her lonely hours? does she still haunt the grot and willow-tree? shall silvio from his wreath of various flowr's neglect to cull one simple sweet for thee? "ah, laura, no," the constant silvio cries, "for thee a never-fading wreath i'll twine; though bright the rose, its bloom too swiftly flies, no emblem meet for love so true as mine. "for thee, my love, the myrtle, ever-green, shall every year its blossom sweet disclose, which, when our spring of youth no more is seen, shall still appear more lovely than the rose." "forgive, dear youth," the happy laura said, "forgive each doubt, each fondly anxious fear, which from my heart for ever now is fled-- thy love and truth, thus tried, are doubly dear. "with pain i mark'd the various passions rise, when beauty so divine before thee mov'd; with trembling doubt beheld thy wandering eyes, for still i fear'd;--alas! because i lov'd. "each anxious doubt shall laura _now_ forego, no more regret those joys so lately known, conscious, that tho' thy breast to _all_ may glow, thy faithful _heart_ shall beat for _her_ alone. "then, silvio, seize again thy tuneful lyre, nor yet sweet beauty's power forbear to praise; again let charms divine thy strains inspire, and laura's voice shall aid the poet's lays." chapter v. the school for scandal. mr. sheridan was now approaching the summit of his dramatic fame;--he had already produced the best opera in the language, and there now remained for him the glory of writing also the best comedy. as this species of composition seems, more, perhaps, than any other, to require that knowledge of human nature and the world which experience alone can give, it seems not a little extraordinary that nearly all our first-rate comedies should have been the productions of very young men. those of congreve were all written before he was five-and-twenty. farquhar produced the constant couple in his two-and-twentieth year, and died at thirty. vanbrugh was a young ensign when he sketched out the relapse and the provoked wife, and sheridan crowned his reputation with the school for scandal at six-and-twenty. it is, perhaps, still more remarkable to find, as in the instance before us, that works which, at this period of life, we might suppose to have been the rapid offspring of a careless, but vigorous fancy,-- anticipating the results of experience by a sort of second-sight inspiration,--should, on the contrary, have been the slow result of many and doubtful experiments, gradually unfolding beauties unforeseen even by him who produced them, and arriving, at length, step by step, at perfection. that such was the tardy process by which the school for scandal was produced, will appear from the first sketches of its plan and dialogue, which i am here enabled to lay before the reader, and which cannot fail to interest deeply all those who take delight in tracing the alchemy of genius, and in watching the first slow workings of the menstruum, out of which its finest transmutations arise. "genius," says buffon, "is patience;" or, (as another french writer has explained his thought)--"la patience cherche, et le genie trouve;" and there is little doubt that to the co-operation of these two powers all the brightest inventions of this world are owing;--that patience must first explore the depths where the pearl lies hid, before genius boldly dives and brings it up full into light. there are, it is true, some striking exceptions to this rule; and our own times have witnessed more than one extraordinary intellect, whose depth has not prevented their treasures from lying ever ready within reach. but the records of immortality furnish few such instances; and all we know of the works, that she has hitherto marked with her seal, sufficiently authorize the general position,--that nothing great and durable has ever been produced with ease, and that labor is the parent of all the lasting wonders of this world, whether in verse or stone, whether poetry or pyramids. the first sketch of the school for scandal that occurs was written, i am inclined to think, before the rivals, or at least very soon after it;-- and that it was his original intention to satirize some of the gossips of bath appears from the title under which i find noted down, as follows, the very first hints, probably, that suggested themselves for the dialogue. "the slanderers.--_a pump-room scene_. "friendly caution to the newspapers. "it is whispered-- "she is a constant attendant at church, and very frequently takes dr. m'brawn home with her. "mr. worthy is very good to the girl;--for my part, i dare swear he has no ill intention. "what! major wesley's miss montague? "lud, ma'am, the match is certainly broke--no creature knows the cause; some say a flaw in the lady's character, and others, in the gentleman's fortune. "to be sure they do say-- "i hate to repeat what i hear. "she was inclined to be a little too plump before she went. "the most intrepid blush;--i've known her complexion stand fire for an hour together. "'she had twins,'--how ill-natured! as i hope to be saved, ma'am, she had but one; and that a little starved brat not worth mentioning." the following is the opening scene of his first sketch, from which it will be perceived that the original plot was wholly different from what it is at present,--sir peter and lady teazle being at that time not in existence. "lady sneerwell and spatter. "_lady s._ the paragraphs, you say, were all inserted. "_spat._ they were, madam. "_lady s._ did you circulate the report of lady brittle's intrigue with captain boastall? "_spat._ madam, by this lady brittle is the talk of half the town; and in a week will be treated as a demirep. "_lady s._ what have you done as to the innuendo of miss niceley's fondness for her own footman? "_spat._ 'tis in a fair train, ma'am. i told it to my hair- dresser,--he courts a milliner's girl in pall mall, whose mistress has a first cousin who is waiting-woman to lady clackit. i think in about fourteen hours it must reach lady clackit, and then you know the business is done. "_lady s._ but is that sufficient, do you think? "_spat._ o lud, ma'am, i'll undertake to ruin the character of the primmest prude in london with half as much. ha! ha! did your ladyship never hear how poor miss shepherd lost her lover and her character last summer at scarborough? this was the whole of it. one evening at lady ----'s, the conversation happened to turn on the difficulty of breeding nova scotia sheep in england. 'i have known instances,' says miss ---, 'for last spring, a friend of mine, miss shepherd of ramsgate, had a nova scotia sheep that produced her twins.'--'what!' cries the old deaf dowager lady bowlwell, 'has miss shepherd of ramsgate been brought to bed of twins?' this mistake, as you may suppose, set the company laughing. however, the next day, miss verjuice amarilla lonely, who had been of the party, talking of lady bowlwell's deafness, began to tell what had happened; but unluckily, forgetting to say a word of sheep, it was understood by the company, and, in every circle, many believed, that miss shepherd of ramsgate had actually been brought to bed of a fine boy and a girl; and, in less than a fortnight, there were people who could name the father, and the farm-house where the babies were put out to nurse. "_lady s._ ha! ha! well, for a stroke of luck, it was a very good one. i suppose you find no difficulty in spreading the report on the censorious miss ----. "_spat._ none in the world,--she has always been so prudent and reserved, that every body was sure there was some reason for it at bottom. "_lady s._ yes, a tale of scandal is as fatal to the credit of a prude as a fever to those of the strongest constitutions; but there is a sort of sickly reputation that outlives hundreds of the robuster character of a prude. "_spat._ true, ma'am, there are valetudinarians in reputation as in constitutions; and both are cautious from their appreciation and consciousness of their weak side, and avoid the least breath of air. [footnote: this is one of the many instances, where the improving effect of revision may be traced. the passage at present stands thus:--"there are valetudinarians in reputation as well as constitution; who, being conscious of their weak part, avoid the least breath of air, and supply the want of stamina by care and circumspection."] "_lady s._ but, spatter, i have something of greater confidence now to entrust you with. i think i have some claim to your gratitude. "_spat._ have i ever shown myself one moment unconscious of what i owe you? "_lady s._ i do not charge you with it, but this is an affair of importance. you are acquainted with my situation, but not all my weaknesses. i was hurt, in the early part of my life, by the envenom'd tongue of scandal, and ever since, i own, have no joy but in sullying the fame of others. in this i have found you an apt tool: you have often been the instrument of my revenge, but you must now assist me in a softer passion. a young widow with a little beauty and easy fortune is seldom driven to sue,--yet is that my case. of the many you have seen here, have you ever observed me, secretly, to favor one? "_spat._ egad! i never was more posed: i'm sure you cannot mean that ridiculous old knight, sir christopher crab? "_lady s._ a wretch! his assiduities are my torment. "_spat._ perhaps his nephew, the baronet, sir benjamin backbite, is the happy man? "_lady s._ no, though he has ill-nature, and a good person on his side, he is not to my taste. what think you of clerimont? [footnote: afterwards called florival.] "_spat._ how! the professed lover of your ward, maria; between whom, too, there is a mutual affection. "_lady s._ yes, that insensible, that doater on an idiot, is the man. "_spat._ but how can you hope to succeed? "_lady s._ by poisoning both with jealousy of the other, till the credulous fool, in a pique, shall be entangled in my snare. "_spat._ have you taken any measure for it? "_lady s._ i have. maria has made me the confidante of clerimont's love for her: in return, i pretended to entrust her with my affection for sir benjamin, who is her warm admirer. by strong representation of my passion, i prevailed on her not to refuse to see sir benjamin, which she once promised clerimont to do. i entreated her to plead my cause, and even drew her in to answer sir benjamin's letters with the same intent. of this i have made clerimont suspicious; but 'tis you must inflame him to the pitch i want. "_spat._ but will not maria, on the least unkindness of clerimont, instantly come to an explanation? "_lady s._ this is what we must prevent by blinding...." the scene that follows, between lady sneerwell and maria, gives some insight into the use that was to be made of this intricate ground-work, [footnote: the following is his own arrangement of the scenes of the second act. "act ii. scene st. all.-- d. lady s. and mrs. c.-- d. lady s. and ... em. and mrs. c. listening.-- th. l. s. and flor. shows him into the room,--bids him return the other way.--l. s. and emma.--emma and florival;--fits,--maid.--emma fainting and sobbing:--'death, don't expose me!'--enter maid,--will call out--all come on with cards and smelling bottles."] and it was, no doubt, the difficulty of managing such an involvement of his personages dramatically, that drove him, luckily for the world, to the construction of a simpler, and, at the same time, more comprehensive plan. he might also, possibly, have been influenced by the consideration, that the chief movement of this plot must depend upon the jealousy of the lover,--a spring of interest which he had already brought sufficiently into play in the rivals. "_lady sneerwell._ well, my love, have you seen clerimont to-day? "_maria._ i have not, nor does he come as often as he used. indeed, madam, i fear what i have done to serve you has by some means come to his knowledge, and injured me in his opinion. i promised him faithfully never to see sir benjamin. what confidence can he ever have in me, if he once finds i have broken my word to him? "_lady s._ nay, you are too grave. if he should suspect any thing, it will always be in my power to undeceive him. "_mar._ well, you have involved me in deceit, and i must trust to you to extricate me. "_lady s._ have you answered sir benjamin's last letter in the manner i wished? "_mar._ i have written exactly as you desired me: but i wish you would give me leave to tell the whole truth to clerimont at once. there is a coldness in his manner of late, which i can no ways account for. "_lady s._ (_aside_.) i'm glad to find i have worked on him so far;--fie, maria, have you so little regard for me? would you put me to the shame of being known to love a man who disregards me? had you entrusted me with such a secret, not a husband's power should have forced it from me. but, do as you please. go, forget the affection i have shown you: forget that i have been as a mother to you, whom i found an orphan. go, break through all ties of gratitude, and expose me to the world's derision, to avoid one sullen hour from a moody lover. "_mar._ indeed, madam, you wrong me; and you who know the apprehension of love, should make allowance for its weakness. my love for clerimont is so great-- "_lady s._ peace; it cannot exceed mine. "_mar._ for sir benjamin, perhaps not, ma'am--and, i am sure, clerimont has as sincere an affection for me. "_lady s._ would to heaven i could say the same! "_mar._ of sir benjamin:--i wish so too, ma'am. but i am sure you would be extremely hurt, if, in gaining your wishes, you were to injure me in the opinion of clerimont. "_lady s._ undoubtedly; i would not for the world--simple fool! (_aside._) but my wishes, my happiness depend on you--for, i doat so on the insensible, that it kills me to see him so attached to you. give me but clerimont, and-- "_mar._ clerimont! "_lady s._ sir benjamin, you know, i meant. is he not attached to you? am i not slighted for you? yet, do i bear any enmity to you, as my rival? i only request your friendly intercession, and you are so ungrateful, you would deny me that. "_mar._ nay, madam, have i not done everything you wished? for you, i have departed from truth, and contaminated my mind with falsehood-- what could i do more to serve you? "_lady s._ well, forgive me, i was too warm. i know you would not betray me. i expect sir benjamin and his uncle this morning--why, maria, do you always leave our little parties? "_mar._ i own, madam, i have no pleasure in their conversation. i have myself no gratification in uttering detraction, and therefore none in hearing it. "_lady s._ oh fie, you are serious--'tis only a little harmless raillery. "_mar._ i never can think that harmless which hurts the peace of youth, draws tears from beauty, and gives many a pang to the innocent. "_lady s._ nay, you must allow that many people of sense and wit have this foible--sir benjamin backbite, for instance. "_mar._ he may, but i confess i never can perceive wit where i see malice. "_lady s._ fie, maria, you have the most unpolished way of thinking! it is absolutely impossible to be witty without being a little ill-natured. the malice of a good thing is the barb that makes it stick. i protest now when i say an ill-natured thing, i have not the least malice against the person; and, indeed, it may be of one whom i never saw in my life; for i hate to abuse a friend--but i take it for granted, they all speak as ill-naturedly of me. "_mar._ then you are, very probably, conscious you deserve it--for my part, i shall only suppose myself ill-spoken of, when i am conscious i deserve it." "_enter servant._ "_ser._ mrs. candor. "_mar._ well, i'll leave you. "_lady s._ no, no, you have no reason to avoid her, she is good nature itself. "_mar._ yes, with an artful affectation of candor, she does more injury than the worst backbiter of them all." "_enter_ mrs. candor. "_mrs. cand._ so, lady sneerwell, how d'ye do? maria, child, how dost? well, who is't you are to marry at last? sir benjamin or clerimont? the town talks of nothing else." through the remainder of this scene the only difference in the speeches of mrs. candor is, that they abound more than at present in ludicrous names and anecdotes, and occasionally straggle into that loose wordiness, which, knowing how much it weakens the sap of wit, the good taste of sheridan was always sure to lop away. the same may be said of the greater part of that scene of scandal which at present occurs in the second act, and in which all that is now spoken by lady teazle, was originally put into the mouths of sir christopher crab and others--the caustic remarks of sir peter teazle being, as well as himself, an after creation. it is chiefly, however, in clerimont, the embryo of charles surface, that we perceive how imperfect may be the first lineaments, that time and taste contrive to mould gradually into beauty. the following is the scene that introduces him to the audience, and no one ought to be disheartened by the failure of a first attempt after reading it. the spiritless language--the awkward introduction of the sister into the plot--the antiquated expedient [footnote: this objection seems to have occurred to himself; for one of his memorandums is--"not to drop the letter, but take it from the maid.] of dropping the letter--all, in short, is of the most undramatic and most unpromising description, and as little like what it afterwards turned to as the block is to the statue, or the grub to the butterfly. "_sir c._ this clerimont is, to be sure, the drollest mortal! he is one of your moral fellows, who does unto others as he would they should do unto him. "_lady sneer._ yet he is sometimes entertaining. "_sir c._ oh hang him, no--he has too much good nature to say a witty thing himself, and is too ill-natured to praise wit in others. "_enter_ clerimont. "_sir b._ so, clerimont--we were just wishing for you to enliven us with your wit and agreeable vein. "_cler._ no, sir benjamin, i cannot join you. "_sir b._ why, man, you look as grave as a young lover the first time he is jilted. "_cler._ i have some cause to be grave, sir benjamin. a word with you all. i have just received a letter from the country, in which i understand that my sister has suddenly left my uncle's house, and has not since been heard of. "_lady s._ indeed! and on what provocation? "_cler._ it seems they were urging her a little too hastily to marry some country squire that was not to her taste. "_sir b._ positively i love her for her spirit. "_lady s._ and so do i, and would protect her, if i knew where she was. "_cler._ sir benjamin, a word with you--(_takes him apart_.) i think, sir, we have lived for some years on what the world calls the footing of friends. "_sir b._ to my great honor, sir.--well, my dear friend? "_cler._ you know that you once paid your addresses to my sister. my uncle disliked you; but i have reason to think you were not indifferent to her. "_sir b._ i believe you are pretty right there; but what follows? "_cler._ then i think i have a right to expect an implicit answer from you, whether you are in any respect privy to her elopement? "_sir b._ why, you certainly have a right to ask the question, and i will answer you as sincerely--which is, that though i make no doubt but that she would have gone with me to the world's end, i am at present entirely ignorant of the whole affair. this i declare to you upon my honor--and, what is more, i assure you my devotions are at present paid to another lady--one of your acquaintance, too. "_cler._ (_aside_.) now, who can this other be whom he alludes to?--i have sometimes thought i perceived a kind of mystery between him and maria--but i rely on her promise, though, of late, her conduct to me has been strangely reserved. "_lady s._ why, clerimont, you seem quite thoughtful. come with us; we are going to kill an hour at ombre--your mistress will join us. "_cler._ madam, i attend you. "_lady s. (taking sir b. aside.)_ sir benjamin, i see maria is now coming to join us--do you detain her awhile, and i will contrive that clerimont should see you, and then drop this letter. "[exeunt all but sir. b.] "_enter_ maria. "_mar._ i thought the company were here, and clerimont-- "_sir b._ one, more your slave than clerimont, is here. "_mar._ dear sir benjamin, i thought you promised me to drop this subject. if i have really any power over you, you will oblige me-- "_sir b._ power over me! what is there you could not command me in? have you not wrought on me to proffer my love to lady sneerwell? yet though you gain this from me, you will not give me the smallest token of gratitude. "enter clerimont behind. "_mar._ how can i believe your love sincere, when you continue still to importune me? "_sir b._ i ask but for your friendship, your esteem. "_mar._ that you shall ever be entitled to--then i may depend upon your honor? "_sir b._ eternally--dispose of my heart as you please. "_mar._ depend upon it, i shall study nothing but its happiness. i need not repeat my caution as to clerimont? "_sir b._ no, no, he suspects nothing as yet. "_mar._ for, within these few days, i almost believed that he suspects me. "_sir b._ never fear, he does not love well enough to be quick sighted; for just now he taxed me with eloping with his sister. "_mar._ well, we had now best join the company. "[_exeunt._] "_cler._ so, now--who can ever have faith in woman! d--d deceitful wanton! why did she not fairly tell me that she was weary of my addresses? that, woman-like, her mind was changed, and another fool succeeded. "_enter_ lady sneerwell. "_lady s._ clerimont, why do you leave us? think of my losing this hand. (_cler._ she has no heart)--five mate--(_cler._ deceitful wanton!) spadille. "_cler._ oh yes, ma'am--'twas very hard. "_lady s._ but you seem disturbed; and where are maria and sir benjamin? i vow i shall be jealous of sir benjamin. "_cler._ i dare swear they are together very happy,--but, lady sneerwell--you may perhaps often have perceived that i am discontented with maria. i ask you to tell me sincerely--have you ever perceived it? "_lady s._ i wish you would excuse me. "_cler._ nay, you have perceived it--i know you hate deceit." * * * * * i have said that the other sketch, in which sir peter and lady teazle are made the leading personages, was written subsequently to that of which i have just given specimens. of this, however, i cannot produce any positive proof. there is no date on the manuscripts, nor any other certain clue, to assist in deciding the precedency of time between them. in addition to this, the two plans are entirely distinct,--lady sneerwell and her associates being as wholly excluded from the one, as sir peter and lady teazle are from the other; so that it is difficult to say, with certainty, which existed first, or at what time the happy thought occurred of blending all that was best in each into one. the following are the dramatis personae of the second plan:-- sir rowland harpur. ---- plausible. capt. harry plausible. freeman. old teazle. [footnote: the first intention was, as appears from his introductory speech, to give old teazle the christian name of solomon. sheridan was, indeed, most fastidiously changeful in his names. the present charles surface was at first clerimont, then florival, then captain harry plausible, then harry pliant or pliable, then young harrier, and then frank--while his elder brother was successively plausible, pliable, young pliant, tom, and, lastly, joseph surface. trip was originally called spunge; the name of snake was in the earlier sketch spatter, and, even after the union of the two plots into one, all the business of the opening scene with lady sneerwell, at present transacted by snake, was given to a character, afterwards wholly omitted, miss verjuice.] (_left off trade_.) mrs. teazle. maria. from this list of the personages we may conclude that the quarrels of old teazle and his wife, the attachment between maria and one of the plausibles, and the intrigue of mrs. teazle with the other, formed the sole materials of the piece, as then constructed. [footnote: this was most probably the "two act comedy," which he announced to mr. linley as preparing for representation in .] there is reason too to believe, from the following memorandum, which occurs in various shapes through these manuscripts, that the device of the screen was not yet thought of, and that the discovery was to be effected in a very different manner-- "making love to aunt and niece--meeting wrong in the dark--some one coming--locks up the aunt, thinking it to be the niece." i shall now give a scene or two from the second sketch--which shows, perhaps, even more strikingly than the other, the volatilizing and condensing process which his wit must have gone through, before it attained its present proof and flavor. "act i.--scene i "old teazle _alone._ "in the year i married my first wife; the wedding was at the end of the year--aye, 'twas in december; yet, before ann. dom. , i repented. a month before we swore we preferred each other to the whole world-- perhaps we spoke truth; but, when we came to promise to love each other till death, there i am sure we lied. well, fortune owed me a good turn; in she died. ah, silly solomon, in i find thee married again! here, too, is a catalogue of ills--thomas, born february ; jane born jan. ; so they go on to the number of five. however, by death i stand credited but by one. well, margery, rest her soul! was a queer creature; when she was gone, i felt awkward at first, and being sensible that wishes availed nothing, i often wished for her return. for ten years more i kept my senses and lived single. oh, blockhead, dolt solomon! within this twelvemonth thou art married again--married to a woman thirty years younger than thyself; a fashionable woman. yet i took her with caution; she had been educated in the country; but now she has more extravagance than the daughter of an earl, more levity than a countess. what a defect it is in our laws, that a man who has once been branded in the forehead should be hanged for the second offence. "_enter_ jarvis. "_teaz._ who's there? well, jarvis? "_jarv._ sir, there are a number of my mistress's tradesmen without, clamorous for their money. "_teaz._ are those their bills in your hand? "_jarv._ something about a twentieth part, sir. "_teaz._ what! have you expended the hundred pounds i gave you for her use? "_jarv._ long ago, sir, as you may judge by some of the items:-- 'paid the coach-maker for lowering the front seat of the coach.' "_teaz._ what the deuce was the matter with the seat? "_jarv._ oh lord, the carriage was too low for her by a foot when she was dressed--so that it must have been so, or have had a tub at top like a hat-case on a travelling trunk. well, sir, (_reads._) 'paid her two footmen half a year's wages, _l_.' "_teaz._ 'sdeath and fury! does she give her footmen a hundred a year? "_jarv._ yes, sir, and i think, indeed, she has rather made a good bargain, for they find their own bags and bouquets. "_teaz._ bags and bouquets for footmen!--halters and bastinadoes! [footnote: transferred afterwards to trip and sir oliver.] "_jarv._ 'paid for my lady's own nosegays, _l_.' "_teaz._ fifty pounds for flowers! enough to turn the pantheon into a green-house, and give a fete champetre at christmas. [footnote: we observe here a change in his plan, with respect both to the titles of old teazle and his wife, and the presence of the latter during this scene, which was evidently not at first intended. from the following skeleton of the scenes of this piece it would appear that (inconsistently, in some degree, with my notion of its being the two act comedy announced in ) he had an idea of extending the plot through five acts. "act st, scene st, sir peter and steward-- d, sir p. and lady--then young pliable. "act d, sir p. and lady--young harrier--sir p. and sir rowland, and old jeremy--sir r. and daughter--y. p. and y. h. "act d, sir r., sir p. and o. j.-- d, y. p. and company, y. r. o. r.-- d, y. h. and maria--y. h., o. r. and young harrier, to borrow. "act th, y. p. and maria, to borrow his money; gets away what he had received from his uncle--y. p. old jer. and tradesmen.--p. and lady t." &c. &c.] "_lady teaz._ lord, sir peter, i wonder you should grudge me the most innocent articles in dress--and then for the expense--flowers cannot be cheaper in winter--you should find fault with the climate, and not with me. i am sure i wish with all my heart, that it was spring all the year round, and that roses grew under one's feet. "_sir p._ nay, but, madam, then you would not wear them; but try snowballs and icicles. but tell me, madam, how can you feel any satisfaction in wearing these, when you might reflect that one of the rose-buds would have furnished a poor family with a dinner? "_lady t._ upon my word, sir peter, begging your pardon, that is a very absurd way of arguing. by that rule, why do you indulge in the least superfluity? i dare swear a beggar might dine tolerably on your great-coat, or sup off your laced waistcoat--nay, i dare say, he wouldn't eat your gold-headed cane in a week. indeed, if you would reserve nothing but necessaries, you should give the first poor man you meet your wig, and walk the streets in your night-cap, which, you know, becomes you very much. "_sir p._ well, go on to the articles. "_jarv._ (_reading._) 'fruit for my lady's monkey, _l._ per week.' "_sir p._ five pounds for a monkey!--why 'tis a dessert for an alderman! "_lady t._ why, sir peter, would you starve the poor animal? i dare swear he lives as reasonably as other monkeys do. "_sir p._ well, well, go on. "_jarv._ 'china for ditto'-- "_sir p._ what, does he eat out of china? "_lady t._ repairing china that he breaks--and i am sure no monkey breaks less. "_jarv._ paid mr. warren for perfumes--milk of roses, _l_.' "_lady t._ very reasonable. "_sir p._ 'sdeath, madam, if you had been born to these expenses i should not have been so much amazed; but i took you, madam, an honest country squire's daughter-- "_lady t._ oh, filthy; don't name it. well, heaven forgive my mother, but i do believe my father must have been a man of quality. "_sir p._ yes, madam, when first i saw you, you were dressed in a pretty figured linen gown, with a bunch of keys by your side; your occupations, madam, to superintend the poultry; your accomplishments, a complete knowledge of the family receipt-book--then you sat in a room hung round with fruit in worsted of your own working; your amusements were to play country-dances on an old spinnet to your father while he went asleep after a fox-chase--to read tillotson's sermons to your aunt deborah. these, madam, were your recreations, and these the accomplishments that captivated me. now, forsooth, you must have two footmen to your chair, and a pair of white dogs in a phaeton; you forget when you used to ride double behind the butler on a docked bay coach- horse.... now you must have a french hair-dresser; do you think you did not look as well when you had your hair combed smooth over a roller?.... then you could be content to sit with me, or walk by the side of the-- ha! ha! "_lady t._ true, i did; and, when you asked me if i could love an old fellow, who would deny me nothing, i simpered and said 'till death.' "_sir p._ why did you say so? "_lady t._ shall i tell you the truth? "_sir p._ if it is not too great a favor. "_lady t._ why, then, the truth is, i was heartily tired of all these agreeable recreations you have so well remembered, and having a spirit to spend and enjoy fortune, i was determined to marry the first fool i should meet with.... you made me a wife, for which i am much obliged to you, and if you have a wish to make me more grateful still, make me a widow." [footnote: the speeches which i have omitted consist merely of repetitions of the same thoughts, with but very little variation of the language.] * * * * * "_sir p._ then, you never had a desire to please me, or add to my happiness? "_lady t._ sincerely, i never thought about you; did you imagine that age was catching? i think you have been overpaid for all you could bestow on me. here am i surrounded by half a hundred lovers, not one of whom but would buy a single smile by a thousand such baubles as you grudge me. "_sir p._ then you wish me dead? "_lady t._ you know i do not, for you have made no settlement on me. * * * * * "_sir p._ i am but middle-aged. "_lady t._ there's the misfortune; put yourself on, or back, twenty years, and either way i should like you the better. * * * * * yes, sir, and then your behavior too was different; you would dress, and smile, and bow; fly to fetch me anything i wanted; praise every thing i did or said; fatigue your stiff face with an eternal grin; nay, you even committed poetry, and muffled your harsh tones into a lover's whisper to sing it yourself, so that even my mother said you were the smartest old bachelor she ever saw--a billet-doux engrossed on buckram!!!!!! [footnote: these notes of admiration are in the original, and seem meant to express the surprise of the author at the extravagance of his own joke.] * * * * * let girls take my advice and never marry an old bachelor. he must be so either because he could find nothing to love in women, or because women could find nothing to love in him." the greater part of this dialogue is evidently _experimental_, and the play of repartee protracted with no other view, than to take the chance of a trump of wit or humor turning up. in comparing the two characters in this sketch with what they are at present, it is impossible not to be struck by the signal change that they have undergone. the transformation of sir peter into a gentleman has refined, without weakening, the ridicule of his situation; and there is an interest created by the respectability, and amiableness of his sentiments, which, contrary to the effect produced in general by elderly gentlemen so circumstanced, makes us rejoice, at the end, that he has his young wife all to himself. the improvement in the character of lady teazle is still more marked and successful. instead of an ill-bred young shrew, whose readiness to do wrong leaves the mind in but little uncertainty as to her fate, we have a lively and innocent, though imprudent country girl, transplanted into the midst of all that can bewilder and endanger her, but with still enough of the purity of rural life about her heart, to keep the blight of the world from settling upon it permanently. there is indeed in the original draught a degree of glare and coarseness, which proves the eye of the artist to have been fresh from the study of wycherly and vanbrugh; and this want of delicacy is particularly observable in the subsequent scene between lady teazle and surface--the chastening down of which to its present tone is not the least of those triumphs of taste and skill, which every step in the elaboration of this comedy exhibits. "_scene_ [footnote: the third of the fourth act in the present form of the comedy. this scene underwent many changes afterwards, and was oftener put back into the crucible than any other part of the play] young pliant's _room_. "_young p._ i wonder her ladyship is not here: she promised me to call this morning. i have a hard game to play here, to pursue my designs on maria. i have brought myself into a scrape with the mother-in-law. however, i think we have taken care to ruin my brother's character with my uncle, should he come to-morrow. frank has not an ill quality in his nature; yet, a neglect of forms, and of the opinion of the world, has hurt him in the estimation of all his graver friends. i have profited by his errors, and contrived to gain a character, which now serves me as a mask to lie under. "_enter_ lady teazle. "_lady t._ what, musing, or thinking of me? "_young p._ i was thinking unkindly of you; do you know now that you must repay me for this delay, or i must be coaxed into good humor? "_lady t._ nay, in faith you should pity me--this old curmudgeon of late is growing so jealous, that i dare scarce go out, till i know he is secure for some time. "_young p._ i am afraid the insinuations we have had spread about frank have operated too strongly on him--we meant only to direct his suspicions to a wrong object. "_lady t._ oh, hang him! i have told him plainly that if he continues to be so suspicious, i'll leave him entirely, and make him allow me a separate maintenance. "_young p._ but, my charmer, if ever that should be the case, you see before you the man who will ever be attached to you. but you must not let matters come to extremities; you can never be revenged so well by leaving him, as by living with him, and let my sincere affection make amends for his brutality. "_lady t._ but how shall i be sure now that you are sincere? i have sometimes suspected that you loved my niece. [footnote: he had not yet decided whether to make maria the daughter-in-law or niece of lady teazle.] "_young p._ oh, hang her, a puling idiot, without sense or spirit. "_lady t._ but what proofs have i of your love to me, for i have still so much of my country prejudices left, that if i were to do a foolish thing (and i think i can't promise) it shall be for a man who would risk every thing for me alone. how shall i be sure you love me? "_young p._ i have dreamed of you every night this week past. "_lady t._ that's a sign you have slept every night for this week past; for my part, i would not give a pin for a lover who could not wake for a month in absence. "_young p._ i have written verses on you out of number. "_lady t._ i never saw any. "_young p._ no--they did not please me, and so i tore them. "_lady t._ then it seems you wrote them only to divert yourself. "_young p._ am i doomed for ever to suspense? "_lady t._ i don't know--if i was convinced-- "_young p._ then let me on my knees-- "_lady t._ nay, nay, i will have no raptures either. this much i can tell you, that if i am to be seduced to do wrong, i am not to be taken by storm, but by deliberate capitulation, and that only where my reason or my heart is convinced. "_young p._ then, to say it at once--the world gives itself liberties-- "_lady t._ nay, i am sure without cause; for i am as yet unconscious of any ill, though i know not what i may be forced to. "_young p._ the fact is, my dear lady teazle, that your extreme innocence is the very cause of your danger; it is the integrity of your heart that makes you run into a thousand imprudences which a full consciousness of error would make you guard against. now, in that case, you can't conceive how much more circumspect you would be. "_lady t._ do you think so? "_young p._ most certainly. your character is like a person in a plethora, absolutely dying of too much health. "_lady t._ so then you would have me sin in my own defence, and part with my virtue to preserve my reputation. [footnote: this sentence seems to have haunted him--i find it written in every direction, and without any material change in its form, over the pages of his different memorandum books.] "_young p. exactly so, upon my credit, ma'am." * * * * * it will be observed, from all i have cited, that much of the original material is still preserved throughout; but that, like the ivory melting in the hands of pygmalion, it has lost all its first rigidity and roughness, and, assuming at every touch some variety of aspect, seems to have gained new grace by every change. "_mollescit ebur, positoque rigore subsidit digitis, ceditque ut hymettia sole cera remollescit, tractataque pollice multas flectitur in facies, ipsoque fit utilis usu._" where'er his fingers move his eye can trace the once rude ivory softening into grace-- pliant as wax that, on hymettus' hill, melts in the sunbeam, it obeys his skill; at every touch some different aspect shows, and still, the oftener touch'd the lovelier grows. i need not, i think, apologize for the length of the extracts i have given, as they cannot be otherwise than interesting to all lovers of literary history. to trace even the mechanism of an author's style through the erasures and alterations of his rough copy, is, in itself, no ordinary gratification of curiosity; and the _brouillon_ of rousseau's heloise, in the library of the chamber of deputies at paris, affords a study in which more than the mere "auceps syllabarum" might delight. but it is still more interesting to follow thus the course of a writer's thoughts--to watch the kindling of new fancies as he goes--to accompany him in his change of plans, and see the various vistas that open upon him at every step. it is, indeed, like being admitted by some magical power, to witness the mysterious processes of the natural world --to see the crystal forming by degrees round its primitive nucleus, or observe the slow ripening of "the imperfect ore, and know it will be gold another day!" in respect of mere style, too, the workmanship of so pure a writer of english as sheridan is well worth the attention of all who would learn the difficult art of combining ease with polish, and being, at the same time, idiomatic and elegant. there is not a page of these manuscripts that does not bear testimony to the fastidious care with which he selected, arranged, and moulded his language, so as to form it into that transparent channel of his thoughts, which it is at present. his chief objects in correcting were to condense and simplify--to get rid of all unnecessary phrases and epithets, and, in short, to strip away from the thyrsus of his wit every leaf that could render it less light and portable. one instance out of many will show the improving effect of these operations. [footnote: in one or two sentences he has left a degree of stiffness in the style, not so much from inadvertence as from the sacrifice of ease to point. thus, in the following example, he has been tempted by an antithesis into an inversion of phrase by no means idiomatic. "the plain state of the matter is this--i am an extravagant young fellow _who want money to borrow_; you, i take to be a prudent old fellow who have got money to lend." in the collection of his works this phrase is given differently--but without authority from any of the manuscript copies.] the following is the original form of a speech of sir peter's:-- "people who utter a tale of scandal, knowing it to be forged, deserve the pillory more than for a forged bank-note. they can't pass the lie without putting their names on the back of it. you say no person has a right to come on you because you didn't invent it; but you should know that, if the drawer of the lie is out of the way, the injured party has a right to come on any of the indorsers." when this is compared with the form in which the same thought is put at present, it will be perceived how much the wit has gained in lightness and effect by the change:-- "_mrs. candor._ but sure you would not be quite so severe on those who only report what they hear? "_sir p._ yes, madam, i would have law-merchant for them too, and in all cases of slander currency, [footnote: there is another simile among his memorandums of the same mercantile kind:--"a sort of broker in scandal, who transfers lies without fees."] whenever the drawer of the lie was not to be found, the injured party should have a right to come on any of the indorsers." another great source of the felicities of his style, and to which he attended most anxiously in revision, was the choice of epithets; in which he has the happy art of making these accessary words not only minister to the clearness of his meaning, but bring out new effects in his wit by the collateral lights which they strike upon it--and even where the principal idea has but little significance, he contrives to enliven it into point by the quaintness or contrast of his epithets. among the many rejected scraps of dialogue that lie about, like the chippings of a phidias, in this workshop of wit, there are some precious enough to be preserved, at least, as relics. for instance,--"she is one of those, who convey a libel in a frown, and wink a reputation down." the following touch of costume, too, in sir peter's description of the rustic dress of lady teazle before he married her:--"you forget when a little wire and gauze, with a few beads, made you a fly-cap not much bigger than a blue-bottle." the specimen which sir benjamin backbite gives of his poetical talents was taken, it will be seen, from the following verses, which i find in mr. sheridan's hand-writing--one of those trifles, perhaps, with which he and his friend tickell were in the constant habit of amusing themselves, and written apparently with the intention of ridiculing some woman of fashion:-- "then behind, all my hair is done up in a plat, and so, like a cornet's, tuck'd under my hat. then i mount on my palfrey as gay as a lark, and, follow'd by john, take the dust in high park. [footnote: this phrase is made use of in the dialogue:--"as lady betty curricle was taking the dust in hyde park."] in the way i am met by some smart macaroni, who rides by my side on a little bay poney-- no sturdy hibernian, with shoulders so wide, but as taper and slim as the ponies they ride; their legs are as slim, and their shoulders no wider, dear sweet little creatures, both poney and rider! but sometimes, when hotter, i order my chaise, and manage, myself, my two little grays. sure never were seen two such sweet little ponies, other horses are clowns, and these macaronies, and to give them this title, i'm sure isn't wrong, their legs are so slim, and their tails are so long. in kensington gardens to stroll up and down, you know was the fashion before you left town,-- the thing's well enough, when allowance is made for the size of the trees and the depth of the shade, but the spread of their leaves such a shelter affords to those noisy, impertinent creatures called birds, whose ridiculous chirruping ruins the scene, brings the country before me, and gives me the spleen. yet, tho' 'tis too rural--to come near the mark, we all herd in _one_ walk, and that, nearest the park, there with ease we may see, as we pass by the wicket, the chimneys of knightsbridge and--footmen at cricket. i must tho', in justice, declare that the grass, which, worn by our feet, is diminished apace, in a little time more will be brown and as flat as the sand at vauxhall or as ranelagh mat. improving thus fast, perhaps, by degrees, we may see rolls and butter spread under the trees, with a small pretty band in each seat of the walk, to play little tunes and enliven our talk." though mr. sheridan appears to have made more easy progress, after he had incorporated his two first plots into one, yet, even in the details of the new plan, considerable alterations were subsequently made--whole scenes suppressed or transposed, and the dialogue of some entirely re- written. in the third act, for instance, as it originally stood, there was a long scene, in which rowley, by a minute examination of snake, drew from him, in the presence of sir oliver and sir peter, a full confession of his designs against the reputation of lady teazle. nothing could be more ill-placed and heavy; it was accordingly cancelled, and the confession of snake postponed to its natural situation, the conclusion. the scene, too, where sir oliver, as old stanley, comes to ask pecuniary aid of joseph, was at first wholly different from what it is at present; and in some parts approached much nearer to the confines of caricature than the watchful taste of mr. sheridan would permit. for example, joseph is represented in it as giving the old suitor only half- a-guinea, which the latter indignantly returns, and leaves him; upon which joseph, looking at the half-guinea, exclaims, "well, let him starve--this will do for the opera." it was the fate of mr. sheridan, through life,--and, in a great degree, perhaps, his policy,--to gain credit for excessive indolence and carelessness, while few persons, with so much natural brilliancy of talents, ever employed more art and circumspection in their display. this was the case, remarkably, in the instance before us. notwithstanding the labor which he bestowed upon this comedy, (or we should rather, perhaps, say in consequence of that labor,) the first representation of the piece was announced before the whole of the copy was in the hands of the actors. the manuscript, indeed, of the five last scenes bears evident marks of this haste in finishing,--there being but one rough draught of them scribbled upon detached pieces of paper; while, of all the preceding acts, there are numerous transcripts, scattered promiscuously through six or seven books, with new interlineations and memorandums to each. on the last leaf of all, which exists just as we may suppose it to have been despatched by him to the copyist, there is the following curious specimen of doxology, written hastily, in the hand-writing of the respective parties, at the bottom:-- "finished at last. thank god! "r. b. sheridan. "amen! "w. hopkins." [footnote: the prompter,] the cast of the play, on the first night of representation (may , ), was as follows:-- sir peter teazle _mr. king._ sir oliver surface _mr. yates._ joseph surface _mr. palmer._ charles _mr. smith._ crabtree _mr. parsons._ sir benjamin backbite _mr. dodd._ rowley _mr. aickin._ moses _mr. baddeley._ trip _mr. lamash._ snake _mr. packer._ careless _mr. farren._ sir harry bumper _mr. gawdry._ lady teazle _mrs. abington._ maria _miss p. hopkins_ lady sneerwell _miss sherry._ mrs. candor _miss pope._ the success of such a play, so acted, could not be doubtful. long after its first uninterrupted run, it continued to be played regularly two or three times a week; and a comparison of the receipts of the first twelve nights, with those of a later period, will show how little the attraction of the piece had abated by repetition:-- may th, . l s. d. school for scandal ditto ditto a. b. (author's night) (expenses) ditto ditto ditto a. b. committee school for scandal ditto ditto a. b ditto k. (the king) ditto ditto the following extracts are taken at hazard from an account of the weekly receipts of the theatre, for the year , kept with exemplary neatness and care by mrs. sheridan herself: [footnote: it appears from a letter of holcroft to mrs. sheridan, (given in his memoirs, vol. i. p. ,) that she was also in the habit of reading for sheridan the new pieces sent in by dramatic candidates:--"mrs. crewe (he says) has spoken to mr. sheridan concerning it (the shepherdess of the alps), as he informed me last night, desiring me at the same time to send it to you, who, he said, would not only read it yourself, but remind him of it."] . l s. d. january d. twelfth night queen mab th. macbeth queen mab th. tempest queen mab th. school for scandal comus th. school for fathers queen mab th. school for scandal padlock march th. school for scandal deserter th. venice preserved belphegor (new) th. hamlet belphegor th. school for scandal belphegor such, indeed, was the predominant attraction of this comedy during the two years subsequent to its first appearance, that, in the official account of receipts for , we find the following remark subjoined by the treasurer:--"school for scandal damped the new pieces." i have traced it by the same unequivocal marks of success through the years and , and find the nights of its representation always rivalling those on which the king went to the theatre, in the magnitude of their receipts. the following note from garrick [footnote: murphy tells us that mr. garrick attended the rehearsals, and "was never known on any former occasion to be more anxious for a favorite piece. he was proud of the new manager; and in a triumphant manner boasted of the genius to whom he had consigned the conduct of the theatre."--_life of garrick_.] to the author, dated may (four days after the first appearance of the comedy), will be read with interest by all those for whom the great names of the drama have any charm:-- "mr. garrick's best wishes and compliments to mr. sheridan. "how is the saint to-day? a gentleman who is as mad as myself about ye school remark'd, that the characters upon the stage at ye falling of the screen stand too long before they speak;--i thought so too ye first night:--he said it was the same on ye nd, and was remark'd by others;-- tho' they should be astonish'd, and a little petrify'd, yet it may be carry'd to too great a length.--all praise at lord lucan's last night." the beauties of this comedy are so universally known and felt, that criticism may be spared the trouble of dwelling upon them very minutely. with but little interest in the plot, with no very profound or ingenious development of character, and with a group of personages, not one of whom has any legitimate claims upon either our affection or esteem, it yet, by the admirable skill with which its materials are managed,--the happy contrivance of the situations, at once both natural and striking, --the fine feeling of the ridiculous that smiles throughout, and that perpetual play of wit which never tires, but seems, like running water, to be kept fresh by its own flow,--by all this general animation and effect, combined with a finish of the details almost faultless, it unites the suffrages, at once, of the refined and the simple, and is not less successful in ministering to the natural enjoyment of the latter, than in satisfying and delighting the most fastidious tastes among the former. and this is the true triumph of genius in all the arts,--whether in painting, sculpture, music, or literature, those works which have pleased the greatest number of people of all classes, for the longest space of time, may without hesitation be pronounced the best; and, however mediocrity may enshrine itself in the admiration of the select few, the palm of excellence can only be awarded by the many. the defects of the school for scandal, if they can be allowed to amount to defects, are, in a great measure, traceable to that amalgamation of two distinct plots, out of which, as i have already shown, the piece was formed. from this cause,--like an accumulation of wealth from the union of two rich families,--has devolved that excessive opulence of wit, with which, as some critics think, the dialogue is overloaded; and which mr. sheridan himself used often to mention, as a fault of which he was conscious in his work. that he had no such scruple, however, in writing it, appears evident from the pains which he took to string upon his new plot every bright thought and fancy which he had brought together for the two others; and it is not a little curious, in turning over his manuscript, to see how the outstanding jokes are kept in recollection upon the margin, till he can find some opportunity of funding them to advantage in the text. the consequence of all this is, that the dialogue, from beginning to end, is a continued sparkling of polish and point: and the whole of the dramatis personae might be comprised under one common designation of wits. even trip, the servant, is as pointed and shining as the rest, and has his master's wit, as he has his birth- day clothes, "with the gloss on." [footnote: this is one of the phrases that seem to have perplexed the taste of sheridan,--and upon so minute a point, as, whether it should be "with the gloss on," or, "with the gloss on them." after various trials of it in both ways, he decided, as might be expected from his love of idiom, for the former.] the only personage among them that shows any "temperance in jesting," is old rowley; and he, too, in the original, had his share in the general largess of _bon-mots_,--one of the liveliest in the piece [footnote: the answer to the remark, that "charity begins at home,"--"and his, i presume, is of that domestic sort which never stirs abroad at all."] being at first given to him, though afterwards transferred, with somewhat more fitness, to sir oliver. in short, the entire comedy is a sort of el-dorado of wit, where the precious metal is thrown about by all classes, as carelessly as if they had not the least idea of its value. another blemish that hypercriticism has noticed, and which may likewise be traced to the original conformation of the play, is the uselessness of some of the characters to the action or business of it--almost the whole of the "scandalous college" being but, as it were, excrescences, through which none of the life-blood of the plot circulates. the cause of this is evident:--sir benjamin backbite, in the first plot to which he belonged, was a principal personage; but, being transplanted from thence into one with which he has no connection, not only he, but his uncle crabtree, and mrs. candor, though contributing abundantly to the animation of the dialogue, have hardly anything to do with the advancement of the story; and, like the accessories in a greek drama, are but as a sort of chorus of scandal throughout. that this defect, or rather peculiarity, should have been observed at first, when criticism was freshly on the watch for food, is easily conceivable; and i have been told by a friend, who was in the pit on the first night of performance, that a person, who sat near him, said impatiently, during the famous scene at lady sneerwell's, in the second act,--"i wish these people would have done talking, and let the play begin." it has often been remarked as singular, that the lovers, charles and maria, should never be brought in presence of each other till the last scene; and mr. sheridan used to say, that he was aware, in writing the comedy, of the apparent want of dramatic management which such an omission would betray; but that neither of the actors, for whom he had destined those characters, was such as he could safely trust with a love scene. there might, perhaps, too, have been, in addition to this motive, a little consciousness, on his own part, of not being exactly in his element in that tender style of writing, which such a scene, to make it worthy of the rest, would have required; and of which the specimens left us in the serious parts of the rivals are certainly not among his most felicitous efforts. by some critics the incident of the screen has been censured, as a contrivance unworthy of the dignity of comedy. [footnote: "in the old comedy, the catastrophe is occasioned, in general, by a change in the mind of some principal character, artfully prepared and cautiously conducted;--in the modern, the unfolding of the plot is effected by the overturning of a screen, the opening of a door, or some other equally dignified machine."--gifford, _essay on the writings of massinger_.] but in real life, of which comedy must condescend to be the copy, events of far greater importance are brought about by accidents as trivial; and in a world like ours, where the falling of an apple has led to the discovery of the laws of gravitation, it is surely too fastidious to deny to the dramatist the discovery of an intrigue by the falling of a screen. there is another objection as to the manner of employing this machine, which, though less grave, is perhaps less easily answered. joseph, at the commencement of the scene, desires his servant to draw the screen before the window, because "his opposite neighbor is a maiden lady of so anxious a temper;" yet, afterwards, by placing lady teazle between the screen and the window, he enables this inquisitive lady to indulge her curiosity at leisure. it might be said, indeed, that joseph, with the alternative of exposure to either the husband or neighbor, chooses the lesser evil;--but the oversight hardly requires a defence. from the trifling nature of these objections to the dramatic merits of the school for scandal, it will be seen, that, like the criticism of momus on the creaking of venus's shoes, they only show how perfect must be the work in which no greater faults can be found. but a more serious charge has been brought against it on the score of morality, and the gay charm thrown around the irregularities of charles is pronounced to be dangerous to the interests of honesty and virtue. there is no doubt that in this character only the fairer side of libertinism is presented,-- that the merits of being in debt are rather too fondly insisted upon, and with a grace and spirit that might seduce even creditors into admiration. it was, indeed, playfully said, that no tradesman who applauded charles could possibly have the face to dun the author afterwards. in looking, however, to the race of rakes that had previously held possession of the stage, we cannot help considering our release from the contagion of so much coarseness and selfishness to be worth even the increased risk of seduction that may have succeeded to it; and the remark of burke, however questionable in strict ethics, is, at least, true on the stage,--that "vice loses half its evil by losing all its grossness." it should be recollected, too, that, in other respects, the author applies the lash of moral satire very successfully. that group of slanderers who, like the chorus of the eumenides, go searching about for their prey with "eyes that drop poison," represent a class of persons in society who richly deserve such ridicule, and who--like their prototypes in aeschylus trembling before the shafts of apollo--are here made to feel the full force of the archery of wit. it is indeed a proof of the effect and use of such satire, that the name of "mrs. candor" has become one of those formidable bye-words, which have more power in putting folly and ill-nature out of countenance, than whole volumes of the wisest remonstrance and reasoning. the poetical justice exercised upon the tartuffe of sentiment, joseph, is another service to the cause of morals, which should more than atone for any dangerous embellishment of wrong that the portraiture of the younger brother may exhibit. indeed, though both these characters are such as the moralist must visit with his censure, there can be little doubt to which we should, in real life, give the preference;--the levities and errors of the one, arising from warmth of heart and of youth, may be merely like those mists that exhale from summer streams, obscuring them awhile to the eye, without affecting the native purity of their waters; while the hypocrisy of the other is like the _mirage_ of the desert, shining with promise on the surface, but all false and barren beneath. in a late work, professing to be the memoirs of mr. sheridan, there are some wise doubts expressed as to his being really the author of the school for scandal, to which, except for the purpose of exposing absurdity, i should not have thought it worth while to allude. it is an old trick of detraction,--and one, of which it never tires,--to father the works of eminent writers upon others; or, at least, while it kindly leaves an author the credit of his worst performances, to find some one in the background to ease him of the fame of his best. when this sort of charge is brought against a cotemporary, the motive is intelligible; but, such an abstract pleasure have some persons in merely unsettling the crowns of fame, that a worthy german has written an elaborate book to prove, that the iliad was written, not by that particular homer the world supposes, but by some _other_ homer! indeed, if mankind were to be influenced by those _qui tam_ critics, who have, from time to time, in the course of the history of literature, exhibited informations of plagiarism against great authors, the property of fame would pass from its present holders into the hands of persons with whom the world is but little acquainted. aristotle must refund to one ocellus lucanus --virgil must make a _cessio bonorum_ in favor of pisander--the metamorphoses of ovid must be credited to the account of parthenius of nicaea, and (to come to a modern instance) mr. sheridan must, according to his biographer, dr. watkins, surrender the glory of having written the school for scandal to a certain anonymous young lady, who died of a consumption in thames street! to pass, however, to less hardy assailants of the originality of this comedy,--it is said that the characters of joseph and charles were suggested by those of blifil and tom jones; that the incident of the arrival of sir oliver from india is copied from that of the return of warner in sidney biddulph; and that the hint of the famous scandal scene at lady sneerwell's is borrowed from a comedy of moliere. mr. sheridan, it is true, like all men of genius, had, in addition to the resources of his own wit, a quick apprehension of what suited his purpose in the wit of others, and a power of enriching whatever he adopted from them with such new grace, as gave him a sort of claim of paternity over it, and made it all his own. "c'est mon bien," said moliere, when accused of borrowing, "et je le reprens partout ou je le trouve;" and next, indeed, to creation, the re-production, in a new and more perfect form, of materials already existing, or the full development of thoughts that had but half blown in the hands of others, are the noblest miracles for which we look to the hand of genius. it is not my intention therefore to defend mr. sheridan from this kind of plagiarism, of which he was guilty in common with the rest of his fellow-descendants from prometheus, who all steal the spark wherever they can find it. but the instances, just alleged, of his obligations to others, are too questionable and trivial to be taken into any serious account. contrasts of character, such as charles and joseph exhibit, are as common as the lights and shadows of a landscape, and belong neither to fielding nor sheridan, but to nature. it is in the manner of transferring them to the canvas that the whole difference between the master and the copyist lies; and charles and joseph would, no doubt, have been what they are, if tom jones had never existed. with respect to the hint supposed to be taken from the novel of his mother, he at least had a right to consider any aid from that quarter as "son bien"--talent being the only patrimony to which he had succeeded. but the use made of the return of a relation in the play is wholly different from that to which the same incident is applied in the novel. besides, in those golden times of indian delinquency, the arrival of a wealthy relative from the east was no very unobvious ingredient in a story. the imitation of moliere (if, as i take for granted, the misanthrope be the play, in which the origin of the famous scandal scene is said to be found) is equally faint and remote, and, except in the common point of scandal, untraceable. nothing, indeed, can be more unlike than the manner in which the two scenes are managed. celimene, in moliere, bears the whole _frais_ of the conversation; and this female la bruyere's tedious and solitary dissections of character would be as little borne on the english stage, as the quick and dazzling movement of so many lancets of wit as operate in the school for scandal would be tolerated on that of the french. it is frequently said that mr. sheridan was a good deal indebted to wycherley; and he himself gave, in some degree, a color to the charge, by the suspicious impatience which he betrayed whenever any allusion was made to it. he went so far, indeed, it is said, as to deny having ever read a line of wycherley (though of vanbrugh's dialogue he always spoke with the warmest admiration);--and this assertion, as well as some others equally remarkable, such as, that he never saw garrick on the stage, that he never had seen a play throughout in his life, however strange and startling they may appear, are, at least, too curious and characteristic not to be put upon record. his acquaintance with wycherley was possibly but at second-hand, and confined, perhaps, to garrick's alteration of the country wife, in which the incident, already mentioned as having been borrowed for the duenna, is preserved. there is, however, a scene in the plain dealer (act ii.), where nevil and olivia attack the characters of the persons with whom nevil had dined, of which it is difficult to believe that mr. sheridan was ignorant: as it seems to contain much of that _hyle_, or first matter, out of which his own more perfect creations were formed. in congreve's double dealer, too, (act iii. scene ) there is much which may, at least, have mixed itself with the recollections of sheridan, and influenced the course of his fancy--it being often found that the images with which the memory is furnished, like those pictures hung up before the eyes of pregnant women at sparta, produce insensibly a likeness to themselves in the offspring which the imagination brings forth. the admirable drollery in congreve about lady froth's verses on her coachman-- "for as the sun shines every day, so of our coachman i may say"-- is by no means unlikely to have suggested the doggerel of sir benjamin backbite; and the scandalous conversation in this scene, though far inferior in delicacy and ingenuity to that of sheridan, has somewhat, as the reader will see, of a parental resemblance to it:-- "_lord froth._ hee, hee, my dear; have you done? won't you join with us? we were laughing at my lady whifler and mr. sneer. "_lady f._ ay, my dear, were you? oh, filthy mr. sneer! he is a nauseous figure, a most fulsamick fop. he spent two days together in going about covent garden to suit the lining of his coach with his complexion. "_ld. f._ oh, silly! yet his aunt is as fond of him, as if she had brought the ape into the world herself. "_brisk._ who? my lady toothless? oh, she is a mortifying spectacle; she's always chewing the cud like an old ewe, "_ld. f._ then she's always ready to laugh, when sneer offers to speak; and sits in expectation of his no jest, with her gums bare, and her mouth open-- "_brisk._ like an oyster at low ebb, egad--ha, ha, ha! "_cynthia._ _(aside.)_ well, i find there are no fools so inconsiderable themselves, but they can render other people contemptible by exposing their infirmities. "_lady f._ then that t'other great strapping lady--i can't hit off her name: the old fat fool, that paints so exorbitantly. "_brisk._ i know whom you mean--but, deuce take her, i can't hit off her name either--paints, d'ye say? why she lays it on with a trowel. then she has a great beard that bristles through it, and makes her look as if she was plastered with lime and hair, let me perish." it would be a task not uninteresting, to enter into a detailed comparison of the characteristics and merits of mr. sheridan, as a dramatic writer, with those of the other great masters of the art; and to consider how far they differed or agreed with each other, in the structure of their plots and management of their dialogue--in the mode of laying the train of their repartee, or pointing the artillery of their wit. but i have already devoted to this part of my subject a much ampler space, than to some of my readers will appear either necessary or agreeable;--though by others, more interested in such topics, my diffuseness will, i trust, be readily pardoned. in tracking mr. sheridan through his too distinct careers of literature and of politics, it is on the highest point of his elevation in each that the eye naturally rests; and the school for scandal in one, and the begum speeches in the other, are the two grand heights--the "_summa biverticis umbra parnassi_" --from which he will stand out to after times, and round which, therefore, his biographer may be excused for lingering with most fondness and delay. it appears singular that, during the life of mr. sheridan, no authorized or correct edition of this play should have been published in england. he had, at one time, disposed of the copy right to mr. ridgway of piccadilly, but, after repeated applications from the latter for the manuscript, he was told by mr. sheridan, as an excuse for keeping it back, that he had been nineteen years endeavoring to satisfy himself with the style of the school for scandal, but had not yet succeeded. mr. ridgway, upon this, ceased to give him any further trouble on the subject. the edition printed in dublin is, with the exception of a few unimportant omissions and verbal differences, perfectly correct. it appears that, after the success of the comedy in london, he presented a copy of it to his eldest sister, mrs. lefanu, to be disposed of, for her own advantage, to the manager of the dublin theatre. the sum of a hundred guineas, and free admissions for her family, were the terms upon which ryder, the manager at that period, purchased from this lady the right of acting the play; and it was from the copy thus procured that the edition afterwards published in dublin was printed. i have collated this edition with the copy given by mr. sheridan to lady crewe (the last, i believe, ever revised by himself), [footnote: among the corrections in this copy (which are in his own hand-writing, and but few in number), there is one which shows not only the retentiveness of his memory, but the minute attention which he paid to the structure of his sentences. lady teazle, in her scene with sir peter in the second act, says: "that's very true, indeed, sir peter: and, after having married you, i should never pretend to taste again, i allow." it was thus that the passage stood at first in lady crewe's copy,--as it does still, too, in the dublin edition, and in that given in the collection of his works,--but in his final revision of this copy, the original reading of the sentence, such as i find it in all his earlier manuscripts of the play, is restored.--"that's very true, indeed, sir peter; and, after having married you, i am sure i should never pretend to taste again."] and find it, with the few exceptions already mentioned, correct throughout. the school for scandal has been translated into most of the languages of europe, and, among the french particularly, has undergone a variety of metamorphoses. a translation, undertaken, it appears, with the permission of sheridan himself, was published in london, in the year , by a monsieur bunell delille, who, in a dedication to "milord macdonald," gives the following account of the origin of his task: "vous savez, milord, de quelle maniere mysterieuse cette piece, qui n'a jamais ete imprime que furtivement, se trouva l'ete dernier sur ma table, en manuscrit, in-folio; et, si vous daignez vous le rappeler, apres vous avoir fait part de l'aventure, je courus chez monsieur sheridan pour lui demander la permission," &c. &c. the scenes of the auction and the screen were introduced, for the first time, i believe, on the french stage, in a little piece called, "_les deux neveux_," acted in the year , by the young comedians of the comte de beaujolais. since then, the story has been reproduced under various shapes and names:--"les portraits de famille," "valsain et florville," and, at the theatre francais, under the title of the "tartuffe de moeurs." lately, too, the taste for the subject has revived. the vaudeville has founded upon it a successful piece, called "les deux cousins;" and there is even a melodrame at the porte st. martin, entitled "l'ecole du scandale." chapter vi. further purchase of theatrical property.--monody to the memory of garrick.--essay on metre.-the critic.--essay on absentees.--political connections.--the "englishman."--elected for stafford. the document in mr. sheridan's handwriting, already mentioned, from which i have stated the sums paid in by him, dr. ford, and mr. linley, for garrick's moiety of the drury lane theatre, thus mentions the new purchase, by which he extended his interest in this property in the year :--"mr. sheridan afterwards was obliged to buy mr. lacy's moiety at a price exceeding , _l_.: this was in the year ." he then adds--what it may be as well to cite, while i have the paper before me, though relating to subsequent changes in the property:--"in order to enable mr. s. to complete this purpose, he afterwards consented to divide his original share between dr. ford and mr. linley, so as to make up each of theirs a quarter. but the price at which they purchased from mr. sheridan was not at the rate which he bought from lacy, though at an advance on the price paid to garrick. mr. s. has since purchased dr. ford's quarter for the sum of , _l_., subject to the increased incumbrance of the additional renters." by what spell all these thousands were conjured up, it would be difficult accurately to ascertain. that happy art--in which the people of this country are such adepts--of putting the future in pawn for the supply of the present, must have been the chief resource of mr. sheridan in all these later purchases. among the visible signs of his increased influence in the affairs of the theatre, was the appointment, this year, of his father to be manager;--a reconciliation having taken place between them, which was facilitated, no doubt, by the brightening prospects of the son, and by the generous confidence which his prosperity gave him in making the first advances towards such a reunion. one of the novelties of the year was a musical entertainment called the camp, which was falsely attributed to mr. sheridan at the time, and has since been inconsiderately admitted into the collection of his works. this unworthy trifle (as appears from a rough copy of it in my possession) was the production of tickell, and the patience with which his friend submitted to the imputation of having written it was a sort of "martyrdom of fame" which few but himself could afford. at the beginning of the year garrick died, and sheridan, as chief mourner, followed him to the grave. he also wrote a monody to his memory, which was delivered by mrs. yates, after the play of the west indian, in the month of march following. during the interment of garrick in poet's corner, mr. burke had remarked that the statue of shakspeare seemed to point to the grave where the great actor of his works was laid. this hint did not fall idly on the ear of sheridan, as the following _fixation_ of the thought, in the verses which he afterwards wrote, proved:-- "the throng that mourn'd, as their dead favorite pass'd, the grac'd respect that claim'd him to the last; while shakspeare's image, from its hallow'd base, seem'd to prescribe the grave and point the place." this monody, which was the longest flight ever sustained by its author in verse, is more remarkable, perhaps, for refinement and elegance, than for either novelty of thought or depth of sentiment. there is, however, a fine burst of poetical eloquence in the lines beginning "superior hopes the poet's bosom fire;" and this passage, accordingly, as being the best in the poem, was, by the gossiping critics of the day, attributed to tickell,--from the same laudable motives that had induced them to attribute tickell's bad farce to sheridan. there is no end to the variety of these small missiles of malice, with which the gullivers of the world of literature are assailed by the lilliputians around them. the chief thought which pervades this poem,--namely, the fleeting nature of the actor's art and fame,--had already been more simply expressed by garrick himself in his prologue to the clandestine marriage:-- "the painter's dead, yet still he charms the eye; while england lives, his fame can never die; but he who struts his hour upon the stage, can scarce protract his fame through half an age; nor pen nor pencil can the actor save; the art and artist have one common grave." colley cibber, too, in his portrait (if i remember right) of betterton, breaks off into the same reflection, in the following graceful passage, which is one of those instances, where prose could not be exchanged for poetry without loss:--"pity it is that the momentary beauties, flowing from an harmonious elocution, cannot, like those of poetry, be their own record; that the animated graces of the player can live no longer than the instant breath and motion that presents them, or, at best, can but faintly glimmer through the memory of a few surviving spectators." with respect to the style and versification of the monody, the heroic couplet in which it is written has long been a sort of ulysses' bow, at which poetry tries her suitors, and at which they almost all fail. redundancy of epithet and monotony of cadence are the inseparable companions of this metre in ordinary hands; nor could all the taste and skill of sheridan keep it wholly free from these defects in his own. to the subject of metre, he had, nevertheless, paid great attention. there are among his papers some fragments of an essay [footnote: or rather memorandums collected, as was his custom, with a view to the composition of such an essay. he had been reading the writings of dr. foster, webb, &c. on this subject, with the intention, apparently, of publishing an answer to them. the following (which is one of the few consecutive passages i can find in these notes) will show how little reverence he entertained for that ancient prosody, upon which, in the system of english education, so large and precious a portion of human life is wasted:--"i never desire a stronger proof that an author is on a wrong scent on these subjects, than to see quintilian, aristotle, &c., quoted on a point where they have not the least business. all poetry is made by the ear, which must be the sole judge--it is a sort of musical rhythmus. if then we want to reduce our practical harmony to rules, every man, with a knowledge of his own language and a good ear, is at once competent to the undertaking. let him trace it to music--if he has no knowledge, let him inquire. "we have lost all notion of the ancient accent;--we have lost their pronunciation;--all puzzling about it is ridiculous, and trying to find out the melody of our own verse by theirs is still worse. we should have had all our own metres, if we never had heard a word of their language, --this i affirm. every nation finds out for itself a national melody; and we may say of it, as of religion, no place has been discovered without music. a people, likewise, as their language improves, will introduce a music into their poetry, which is simply (that is to say, the numerical part of poetry, which must be distinguished from the imaginary) the transferring the time of melody into speaking. what then have the greeks or romans to do with our music? it is plain that our admiration of their verse is mere pedantry, because we could not adopt it. sir philip sidney failed. if it had been melody, we should have had it; our language is just as well calculated for it. "it is astonishing that the excessive ridiculousness of a gradus or prosodial dictionary has never struck our scholars. the idea of looking into a book to see whether the _sound_ of a syllable be short or long is absolutely as much a bull of boeotian pedantry as ever disgraced ireland." he then adds, with reference to some mistakes which dr. foster had appeared to him to have committed in his accentuation of english words:--"what strange effects has this system brought about! it has so corrupted the ear, that absolutely our scholars cannot tell an english long syllable from a short one. if a boy were to make the _a_ in 'cano' or 'amo' long, dr. f. would no doubt feel his ear hurt, and yet...." of the style in which some of his observations are committed to paper, the following is a curious specimen:--"dr. foster says that short syllables, when inflated with that emphasis which the sense demands, swell in height, length, and breadth beyond their natural size.--the devil they do! here is a most omnipotent power in emphasis. quantity and accent may in vain toil to produce a little effect, but emphasis comes at once and monopolizes the power of them both."] which he had commenced on the nature of poetical accent and emphasis; and the adaptation of his verses to the airs in the duenna--even allowing for the aid which he received from mrs. sheridan--shows a degree of musical feeling, from which a much greater variety of cadence might be expected, than we find throughout the versification of this poem. the taste of the time, however, was not prepared for any great variations in the music of the couplet. the regular foot-fall, established so long, had yet been but little disturbed; and the only license of this kind hazarded through the poem--"all perishable"--was objected to by some of the author's critical friends, who suggested, that it would be better thus: "all doom'd to perish." whatever in more important points may be the inferiority of the present school of poetry to that which preceded it, in the music of versification there can be but little doubt of its improvement; nor has criticism, perhaps, ever rendered a greater service to the art, than in helping to unseal the ears of its worshippers to that true spheric harmony of the elders of song, which, during a long period of our literature, was as unheard as if it never existed. the monody does not seem to have kept the stage more than five or six nights;--nor is this surprising. the recitation of a long, serious address must always be, to a certain degree, ineffective on the stage; and, though this subject contained within it many strong sources of interest, as well personal as dramatic, they were not, perhaps, turned to account by the poet with sufficient warmth and earnestness on his own part, to excite a very ready response of sympathy in others. feeling never wanders into generalities--it is only by concentrating his rays upon one point that even genius can kindle strong emotion; and, in order to produce any such effect in the present instance upon the audience, garrick himself ought to have been kept prominently and individually before their eyes in almost every line. instead of this, however, the man is soon forgotten in his art, which is then deliberately compared with other arts, and the attention, through the greater part of the poem, is diffused over the transitoriness of actors in general, instead of being brought strongly to a focus upon the particular loss just sustained. even in those parts which apply most directly to garrick, the feeling is a good deal diluted by this tendency to the abstract; and, sometimes, by a false taste of personification, like that in the very first line,-- "if dying _excellence_ deserves a tear," where the substitution of a quality of the man for the man himself [footnote: another instance of this fault occurs in his song "when sable night:"-- "as some fond mother, o'er her babe deploring, wakes _its beauty_ with a tear;" where the clearness and reality of the picture are spoiled by the affectation of representing the _beauty_ of the child as waked, instead of the child itself.] puts the mind, as it were, one remove farther from the substantial object of its interest, and disturbs that sense of reality, on which the operations even of fancy itself ought to be founded. but it is very easy to play the critic--so easy as to be a task of but little glory. for one person who could produce such a poem as this, how many thousands exist and have existed, who could shine in the exposition of its faults! though insufficient, perhaps, in itself, to create a reputation for an author, yet, as a "_stella coronae_"--one of the stars in that various crown, which marks the place of sheridan in the firmament of fame,--it not only well sustains its own part in the lustre, but draws new light from the host of brilliancy around it. it was in the course of this same year that he produced the entertainment of the critic--his last legitimate offering on the shrine of the dramatic muse. in this admirable farce we have a striking instance of that privilege which, as i have already said, genius assumes, of taking up subjects that had passed through other hands, and giving them a new value and currency by his stamp. the plan of a rehearsal was first adopted for the purpose of ridiculing dryden, by the duke of buckingham; but, though there is much laughable humor in some of the dialogue between bayes and his friends, the salt of the satire altogether was not of a very conservative nature, and the piece continued to be served up to the public long after it had lost its relish. fielding tried the same plan in a variety of pieces--in his pasquin, his historical register, his author's farce, his eurydice, &c.,--but without much success, except in the comedy of pasquin, which had, i believe, at first a prosperous career, though it has since, except with the few that still read it for its fine tone of pleasantry, fallen into oblivion. it was reserved for sheridan to give vitality to this form of dramatic humor, and to invest even his satirical portraits --as in the instance of sir fretful plagiary, which, it is well known, was designed for cumberland--with a generic character, which, without weakening the particular resemblance, makes them representatives for ever of the whole class to which the original belonged. bayes, on the contrary, is a caricature--made up of little more than personal peculiarities, which may amuse as long as reference can be had to the prototype, but, like those supplemental features furnished from the living subject by taliacotius, fall lifeless the moment the individual that supplied them is defunct. it is evident, however, that bayes was not forgotten in the composition of the critic. his speech, where the two kings of brentford are singing in the clouds, may be considered as the exemplar which sheridan had before him in writing some of the rehearsal scenes of puff:-- "_smith._ well, but methinks the sense of this song is not very plain. "_bayes._ plain! why did you ever hear any people in the clouds sing plain? they must be all for flight of fancy at its fullest range, without the least check or control upon it. when once you tie up spirits and people in clouds to speak plain, you spoil all." there are particular instances of imitation still more direct. thus in the critic: "_enter_ sir walter raleigh _and_ sir christopher hatton. "_sir christ. h._ true, gallant raleigh.-- "_dangle._ what, had they been talking before? "_puff._ oh yes, all the way as they came along." in the same manner in the rehearsal, where the physician and usher of the two kings enter:-- "_phys._ sir, to conclude-- "_smith._ what, before he begins? "_bayes._ no, sir, you must know they had been talking of this a pretty while without. "_smith._ where? in the tyring room? "_bayes._ why, ay, sir. he's so dull." bayes, at the opening of the fifth act, says, "now, gentlemen, i will be bold to say, i'll show you the greatest scene that england ever saw; i mean not for words, for those i don't value, but for state, show, and magnificence." puff announces his grand scene in much the same manner:-- "now then for my magnificence! my battle! my noise! and my procession!" in fielding, too, we find numerous hints or germs, that have come to their full growth of wit in the critic. for instance, in trapwit (a character in "pasquin") there are the rudiments of sir fretful as well as of puff:-- "_sneerwell._ yes, faith, i think i would cut that last speech. "_trapwit._ sir, i'll sooner cut off an ear or two; sir, that's the very best thing in the whole play.... "_trapwit._ now, mr. sneerwell, we shall begin my third and last act; and i believe i may defy all the poets who have ever writ, or ever will write, to produce its equal: it is, sir, so crammed with drums and trumpets, thunder and lightning, battles and ghosts, that i believe the audience will want no entertainment after it." the manager, marplay, in "the author's farce," like him of drury lane in the critic, "does the town the honor of writing himself;" and the following incident in "the historical register" suggested possibly the humorous scene of lord burleigh:-- "enter four patriots from different doors, who meet in the centre and shake hands. "_sour-wit._ these patriots seem to equal your greatest politicians in their silence. "_medley._ sir, what they think now cannot well be spoke, but you may conjecture a good deal from their shaking their heads." such coincidences, whether accidental or designed, are at least curious, and the following is another of somewhat a different kind:--"steal! (says sir fretful) to be sure they may; and egad, serve your best thoughts as gipsies do stolen children, disfigure them, to make 'em pass for their own." [footnote: this simile was again made use of by him in a speech upon mr. pitt's india bill, which he declared to be "nothing more than a bad plagiarism on mr. fox's, disfigured, indeed, as gipsies do stolen children, in order to make them pass for their own."] churchill has the same idea in nearly the same language:-- "still pilfers wretched plans and makes them worse, like gipsies, lest the stolen brat be known, defacing first, then claiming for their own." the character of puff, as i have already shown, was our author's first dramatic attempt; and, having left it unfinished in the porch as he entered the temple of comedy, he now, we see, made it worthy of being his farewell oblation in quitting it. like eve's flowers, it was his "early visitation, and his last." we must not, however, forget a lively epilogue which he wrote this year, for miss hannah more's tragedy of fatal falsehood, in which there is a description of a blue-stocking lady, executed with all his happiest point. of this dense, epigrammatic style, in which every line is a cartridge of wit in itself, sheridan was, both in prose and verse, a consummate master; and if any one could hope to succeed, after pope, in a mock epic, founded upon fashionable life, it would have been, we should think, the writer of this epilogue. there are some verses, written on the "_immortelle emilie_" of voltaire, in which her employments, as a _savante_ and a woman of the world, are thus contrasted:-- _"tout lui plait, tout convient a son vaste genie, les livres, les bijoux, les compas, les pompons, les vers, les diamans, les beribis, l'optique, l'algebre, les soupers, le latin, les jupons, l'opera, les proces, le bal, et la physique."_ how powerfully has sheridan, in bringing out the same contrasts, shown the difference between the raw material of a thought, and the fine fabric as it comes from the hands of a workman:-- "what motley cares corilla's mind perplex, whom maids and metaphors conspire to vex! in studious deshabille behold her sit, a letter'd gossip and a housewife wit: at once invoking, though for different views, her gods, her cook, her milliner, and muse. round her strew'd room a frippery chaos lies, a chequer'd wreck of notable and wise. bills, books, caps, couplets, combs, a varied mass, oppress the toilet and obscure the glass; unfinished here an epigram is laid, and there a mantua-maker's bill unpaid. there new-born plays foretaste the town's applause, there dormant patterns pine for future gauze. a moral essay now is all her care, a satire next, and then a bill of fare. a scene she now projects, and now a dish, here act the first, and here 'remove with fish.' now, while this eye in a fine frenzy rolls, that soberly casts up a bill for coals; black pins and daggers in one leaf she sticks. and tears, and threads, and bowls, and thimbles mix." we must now prepare to follow the subject of this memoir into a field of display, altogether different, where he was in turn to become an actor before the public himself, and where, instead of inditing lively speeches for others, he was to deliver the dictates of his eloquence and wit from his own lips. however the lovers of the drama may lament this diversion of his talents, and doubt whether even the chance of another school for scandal were not worth more than all his subsequent career, yet to the individual himself, full of ambition, and conscious of versatility of powers, such an opening into a new course of action and fame, must have been like one of those sudden turnings of the road in a beautiful country, which dazzle the eyes of a traveller with new glories, and invite him on to untried paths of fertility and sunshine. it has been before remarked how early, in a majority of instances, the dramatic talent has come to its fullest maturity. mr. sheridan would possibly never have exceeded what he had already done, and his celebrity had now reached that point of elevation, where, by a sort of optical deception in the atmosphere of fame, to remain stationary is to seem, in the eyes of the spectators, to fall. he had, indeed, enjoyed only the triumphs of talent, and without even descending to those ovations, or minor triumphs, which in general are little more than celebrations of escape from defeat, and to which they, who surpass all but themselves, are often capriciously reduced. it is questionable, too, whether, in any other walk of literature, he would have sustained the high reputation which he acquired by the drama. very rarely have dramatic writers, even of the first rank, exhibited powers of equal rate, when out of the precincts of their own art; while, on the other hand, poets of a more general range, whether epic, lyric, or satiric, have as rarely succeeded on the stage. there is, indeed, hardly one of our celebrated dramatic authors (and the remark might be extended to other countries) who has left works worthy of his reputation in any other line; and mr. sheridan, perhaps, might only have been saved from adding to the list of failures, by such a degree of prudence or of indolence as would have prevented him from making the attempt. he may, therefore, be said to have closed his account with literature, when not only the glory of his past successes, but the hopes of all that he might yet have achieved, were set down fully, and without any risk of forfeiture, to his credit; and, instead of being left, like alexander, to sigh for new worlds to vanquish, no sooner were his triumphs in one sphere of action complete than another opened to invite him to new conquests. we have already seen that politics, from the very commencement of his career, had held divided empire with literature in the tastes and studies of mr. sheridan; and, even in his fullest enjoyment of the smiles of the comic muse, while he stood without a rival in _her_ affections, the "_musa severior_" of politics was estranging the constancy of his-- "_te tenet, absentes alios suspirat amores_" "_e'en while perfection lies within his arms, he strays in thought, and sighs for other charms._" among his manuscripts there are some sheets of an essay on absentees, which, from the allusions it contains to the measures then in contemplation for ireland, must have been written, i rather think, about the year --when the school for scandal was in its first career of success, and the critic preparing, at no very long interval, to partake its triumph. it is obvious, from some expressions used in this pamphlet, that his intention was, if not to publish it in ireland, at least to give it the appearance of having been written there--and, except the pure unmixed motive of rendering a service to his country, by the discussion of a subject so closely connected with her interests, it is difficult to conceive what inducement he could have had to select at that moment such a topic for his pen. the plain, unpretending style of the greater part of the composition sufficiently proves that literary display was not the object of it; while the absence of all criminatory matter against the government precludes the idea of its having originated in party zeal. as it is curious to observe how soberly his genius could yoke itself to grave matter of fact, after the winged excursions in which it had been indulging, i shall here lay some paragraphs of this pamphlet before the reader. in describing the effects of the prevailing system of pasturage--one of the evils attributed by him to absentees,--he thus, with occasional irradiations of eloquence and ingenuity, expresses himself:-- "now it must ever be the interest of the absentee to place his estates in the hands of as few tenants as possible, by which means there will be less difficulty or hazard in collecting his rents, and less intrusted to an agent, if his estate require one. the easiest method of effecting this is by laying the land out for pasturage, and letting it in gross to those who deal only in 'a fatal living crop'--whose produce we are not allowed a market for when manufactured, while we want art, honesty, and encouragement to fit it for home consumption. thus the indolent extravagance of the lord becomes subservient to the interest of a few mercenary graziers--shepherds of most unpastoral principles--while the veteran husbandman may lean on the shattered, unused plough, and view himself surrounded with flocks that furnish raiment without food. or, if his honesty be not proof against the hard assaults of penury, he may be led to revenge himself on these dumb innovators of his little field-- then learn too late that some portion of the soil is reserved for a crop more fatal even than that which tempted and destroyed him. "without dwelling on the particular ill effects of non-residence in this case, i shall conclude with representing that principal and supreme prerogative which the absentee foregoes--the prerogative of mercy, of charity. the estated resident is invested with a kind of relieving providence--a power to heal the wounds of undeserved misfortune--to break the blows of adverse fortune, and leave chance no power to undo the hopes of honest persevering industry. there cannot surely be a more happy station than that wherein prosperity and worldly interest are to be best forwarded by an exertion of the most endearing offices of humanity. this is his situation who lives on the soil which furnishes him with means to live. it is his interest to watch the devastation of the storm, the ravage of the flood--to mark the pernicious extremes of the elements, and, by a judicious indulgence and assistance, to convert the sorrows and repinings of the sufferer into blessings on his humanity. by such a conduct he saves his people from the sin of unrighteous murmurs, and makes heaven his debtor for their resignation. "it will be said that the residing in another kingdom will never erase from humane minds the duty and attention which they owe to those whom they have left to cultivate their demesnes. i will not say that absence lessens their humanity, or that the superior dissipation which they enjoy in it contracts their feelings to coarser enjoyments--without this, we know that agents and stewards are seldom intrusted with full powers of aiding and remitting. in some, compassion would be injustice. they are, in general, content with the virtue of justice and punctuality towards their employer; part of which they conceive to be a rigorous exaction of his rents, and, where difficulty occurs, their process is simply to distrain and to eject--a rigor that must ever be prejudicial to an estate, and which, practised frequently, betrays either an original negligence, or want of judgment in choosing tenants, or an extreme inhumanity towards their incidental miscarriages. "but, granting an undiminished benevolence to exist on the part both of the landlord and the agent, yet can we expect any great exertion of pathetic eloquence to proceed from the latter to palliate any deficiency of the tenants?--or, if there were, do we not know how much lighter an impression is made by distresses related to us than by those which are '_oculis subjecta fidelibus?_ the heart, the seat of charity and compassion, is more accessible to the senses than the understanding. many, who would be unmoved by any address to the latter, would melt into charity at the eloquent persuasion of silent sorrow. when he _sees_ the widow's tear, and hears the orphan's sigh, every one will act with a sudden uniform rectitude, because he acts from the divine impulse of 'free love dealt equally to all.'" the blind selfishness of those commercial laws, which england so long imposed upon ireland,--like ligatures to check the circulation of the empire's life-blood,--is thus adverted to: "though i have mentioned the decay of trade in ireland as insufficient to occasion the great increase of emigration, yet is it to be considered as an important ill effect, arising from the same cause. it may be said that trade is now in higher repute in ireland, and that the exports and imports (which are always supposed the test of it) are daily increasing. this may be admitted to be true, yet cannot it be said that the trade of the kingdom flourishes. the trade of a kingdom should increase in exact proportion to its luxuries, and those of the nations connected with it. therefore it is no argument to say, that, on examining the accounts of customs fifty years back, they appear to be trebled now; for england, by some sudden stroke, might lose such a proportion of its trade, as would ruin it as a commercial nation, yet the amount of what remained might be tenfold of what it enjoyed in the reign of queen elizabeth. trade, properly speaking, is the commutations of the product of each country-- this extends itself to the exchange of commodities in which art has fixed a price. where a nation hath free power to export the works of its industry, the balance in such articles will certainly be in its favor. thus had we in ireland power to export our manufactured silks, stuffs, and woollens, we should be assured that it would be our interest to import and cultivate their materials. but, as this is not the case, the gain of individuals is no proof that the nation is benefited by such commerce. for instance, the exportation of un-wrought wool may be very advantageous to the dealer, and, through his hands, bring money, or a beneficial return of commodities into the kingdom; but trace the ill effects of depopulating such tracts of land as are necessary for the support of flocks to supply this branch, and number those who are deprived of support and employment by it, and so become a dead weight on the community--we shall find that the nation in fact will be the poorer for this apparent advantage. this would be remedied were we allowed to export it manufactured; because the husbandman might get his bread as a manufacturer. "another principal cause that the trade may increase, without proportionally benefiting the nation, is that a great part of the stock which carries on the foreign trade of ireland belongs to those who reside out of the country--thus the ultimate and material profits on it are withdrawn to another kingdom. it is likewise to be observed, that, though the exportations may appear to exceed the importations, yet may this in part arise from the accounts of the former being of a more certain nature, and those of the latter very conjectural, and always falling short of the fact." though mr. sheridan afterwards opposed a union with ireland, the train of reasoning which he pursued in this pamphlet naturally led him to look forward to such an arrangement between the two countries, as, perhaps, the only chance of solving the long-existing problem of their relationship to each other. "it is the state, (he continues,) the luxury, and fashions of the wealthy, that give life to the artificers of elegance and taste;--it is their numerous train that sends the rapid shuttle through the loom;-- and, when they leave their country, they not only beggar these dependents, but the tribes that lived by clothing them. "an extravagant passion for luxuries hath been in all nations a symptom of an approaching dissolution. however, in commercial states, while it predominates only among the higher ranks, it brings with it the conciliating advantage of being greatly beneficial to trade and manufactures. but, how singularly unfortunate is that kingdom, where the luxurious passions of the great beggar those who should be supported by them,--a kingdom, whose wealthy members keep equal pace with their numbers in the dissipated and fantastical pursuits of life, without suffering the lower class to glean even the dregs of their vices. while this is the case with ireland the prosperity of her trade must be all forced and unnatural; and if, in the absence of its wealthy and estated members, the state already feels all the disadvantages of a union, it cannot do better than endeavor at a free trade by effecting it in reality." having demonstrated, at some length, the general evil of absenteeism, he thus proceeds to inquire into the most eligible remedy for it:-- "the evil complained of is simply the absence of the proprietors of a certain portion of the landed property. this is an evil unprovided against by the legislature;--therefore, we are not to consider whether it might not with propriety have been guarded against, but whether a remedy or alleviation of it can now be attempted consistently with the spirit of the constitution. on examining all the most obvious methods of attempting this, i believe there will appear but two practicable. the first will be by enacting a law for the frequent summoning the proprietors of landed property to appear _de facto_ at stated times. the second will be the voting a supply to be raised from the estates of such as do never reside in the kingdom. "the first, it is obvious, would be an obligation of no use, without a penalty was affixed to the breach of it, amounting to the actual forfeiture of the estate of the recusant. this, we are informed, was once the case in ireland. but at present, whatever advantage the kingdom might reap by it, it could not possibly be reconciled to the genius of the constitution: and, if the fine were trifling, it would prove the same as the second method, with the disadvantage of appearing to treat as an act of delinquency what in no way infringes the municipal laws of the kingdom. "in the second method the legislature is, in no respect, to be supposed to regard the _person_ of the absentee. it prescribes no place of residence to him, nor attempts to summon or detain him. the light it takes up the point in is this--that the welfare of the whole is injured by the produce of a certain portion of the soil being sent out of the kingdom.... it will be said that the produce of the soil is not exported by being carried to our own markets; but if the value received in exchange for it, whatever it be, whether money or commodities, be exported, it is exactly the same in its ultimate effects as if the grain, flocks, &c. were literally sent to england. in this light, then, if the state is found to suffer by such an exportation, its deducting a small part from the produce is simply a reimbursing the public, and putting the loss of the public (to whose welfare the interest of individuals is always to be subservient) upon those very members who occasion that loss. "this is only to be effected by a tax." though to a political economist of the present day much of what is so loosely expressed in these extracts will appear but the crudities of a tyro in the science, yet, at the time when they were written,--when both mr. fox and mr. burke could expatiate on the state of ireland, without a single attempt to develop or enforce those simple, but wise principles of commercial policy, every one of which had been violated in the restrictions on her industry,--it was no small merit in mr. sheridan to have advanced even thus far in a branch of knowledge so rare and so important. in addition to his own early taste for politics, the intimacies which he had now formed with some of the most eminent public men of the day must have considerably tended to turn his ambition in that direction. at what time he first became acquainted with mr. fox i have no means of ascertaining exactly. among the letters addressed to him by that statesman, there is one which, from the formality of its style, must have been written at the very commencement of their acquaintance--but, unluckily, it is not dated. lord john townshend, who first had the happiness of bringing two such men together, has given the following interesting account of their meeting, and of the impressions which they left upon the minds of each other. his lordship, however, has not specified the period of this introduction:-- "i made the first dinner-party at which they met, having told fox that all the notions he might have conceived of sheridan's talents and genius from the comedy of the rivals, &c. would fall infinitely short of the admiration of his astonishing powers, which i was sure he would entertain at the first interview. the first interview between them (there were very few present, only tickell and myself, and one or two more) i shall never forget. fox told me, after breaking up from dinner, that he had always thought hare, after my uncle, charles townshend, the wittiest man he ever met with, but that sheridan surpassed them both infinitely; and sheridan told me next day that he was quite lost in admiration of fox, and that it was a puzzle to him to say what he admired most, his commanding superiority of talent and universal knowledge, or his playful fancy, artless manners, and benevolence of heart, which showed itself in every word he uttered." with burke mr. sheridan became acquainted at the celebrated turk's head club,--and, if any incentive was wanting to his new passion for political distinction, the station to which he saw his eloquent fellow- countryman exalted, with no greater claims from birth or connection than his own, could not have failed to furnish it. his intimacy with mr. windham began, as we have seen, very early at bath, and the following letter, addressed to him by that gentleman from norfolk, in the year , is a curious record not only of the first political movements of a person so celebrated as mr. windham, but of the interest with which sheridan then entered into the public measures of the day:-- "jan. , . "i fear my letter will greatly disappoint your hopes. [footnote: mr. windham had gone down to norfolk, in consequence of a proposed meeting in that county, under the auspices of lord townshend, for the purpose of raising a subscription in aid of government, to be applied towards carrying on the war with the american colonies. in about three weeks after the date of this letter, the meeting was held, and mr. windham, in a spirited answer to lord townshend, made the first essay of his eloquence in public.] i have no account to send you of my answering lord townshend--of hard-fought contests--spirited resolves--ballads, mobs, cockades, and lord north burnt in effigy. we have had a bloodless campaign, but not from backwardness in our troops, but for the most creditable reason that can be--want of resolution in the enemy to encounter us. when i got down here early this morning, expecting to find a room prepared, a chair set for the president, and nothing wanting but that the orators should begin, i was surprised to learn that no advertisement had appeared on the other part; but that lord t. having dined at a meeting, where the proposal was received very coldly, had taken fright, and for the time at least had dropped the proposal. it had appeared, therefore, to those whom i applied to (and i think very rightly) that till an advertisement was inserted by them, or was known for certain to be intended, it would not be proper for any thing to be done by us. in this state, therefore, it rests. the advertisement which we agreed upon is left at the printer's, ready to be inserted upon the appearance of one from them. we lie upon our arms, and shall begin to act upon any motion of the enemy. i am very sorry that things have taken this turn, as i came down in full confidence of being able to accomplish something distinguished. i had drawn up, as i came along, a tolerably good paper, to be distributed to-morrow in the streets, and settled pretty well in my head the terms of a protest--besides some pretty smart pieces of oratory, delivered upon newmarket heath. i never felt so much disposition to exert myself before--i hope from my never having before so fair a prospect of doing it with success. when the coach comes in, i hope i shall receive a packet from you, which shall not be lost, though it may not be used immediately. "i must leave off writing, for i have got some other letters to send by to-night's post. writing in this ink is like speaking with respect to the utter annihilation of what is past;--by the time it gets to you, perhaps, it may have become legible, but i have no chance of reading over my letter myself. "i shall not suffer this occasion to pass over entirely without benefit. "believe me yours most truly, "w. wlndham. "tell mrs. sheridan that i hope she will have a closet ready, where i may remain till the heat of the pursuit is over. my friends in france have promised to have a vessel ready upon the coast. "richard brinsley sheridan, esq., "queen street, lincoln's inn fields." the first political service rendered by mr. sheridan to the party with whom he now closely connected himself, was the active share which he took in a periodical paper called the englishman, set up by the whigs for the purpose of seconding, out of parliament, the crimination and invective of which they kept up such a brisk fire within. the intention, as announced by sheridan in the first number, [footnote: published th of march, .] was, like swift in the drapier's letters, to accommodate the style of the publication to the comprehension of persons in "that class of the community, who are commonly called the _honest_ and _industrious_." but this plan,--which not even swift, independent as was his humor of the artifices of style, could adhere to,--was soon abandoned, and there is in most of sheridan's own papers a finesse and ingenuity of allusion, which only the most cultivated part of his readers could fully enjoy. for instance, in exposing the inconsistency of lord north, who had lately consented in a committee of the whole house, to a motion which he had violently opposed in the house itself,--thus "making (says sheridan) that respectable assembly disobey its own orders, and the members reject with contempt, under the form of a chairman, the resolutions they had imposed on themselves under the authority of a speaker;"--he proceeds in a strain of refined raillery, as little suited to the "honest and industrious" class of the community, as swift's references to locke, molyneux, and sydney, were to the readers for whom he also professed to write:-- "the burlesque of any plan, i know, is rather a recommendation of it to your lordship; and the ridicule you might throw on this assembly, by continuing to support this athanasian distinction of powers in the unity of an apparently corporate body, might in the end compensate to you for the discredit you have incurred in the attempt. "a deliberative body of so _uncommon a form_, would probably be deemed a kind of state monster by the ignorant and the vulgar. this might at first increase their _awe_ for it, and so far counteract your lordship's intentions. they would probably approach it with as much reverence as stephano does the monster in the tempest:--'what, one body and two voices--a most delicate monster!' however, they would soon grow familiarized to it, and probably hold it in as little respect as they were wished to do. they would find it on many occasions 'a very shallow monster,' and particularly 'a most poor _credulous_ monster,'-- while your lordship, as keeper, would enjoy every advantage and profit that could be made of it. you would have the benefit of the _two voices_, which would be the monster's great excellencies, and would be peculiarly serviceable to your lordship. with 'the forward voice' you would aptly promulgate those vigorous schemes and productive resources, in which your lordship's fancy is so pregnant; while 'the backward voice' might be kept solely for _recantation_. the monster, to maintain its character, must appear no novice in the science of flattery, or in the talents of servility,--and while it could never scruple to bear any burdens your lordship should please to lay on it, you would always, on the _approach of a storm_, find a shelter under its gabardine." the most celebrated of these papers was the attack upon lord george germaine, written also by mr. sheridan,--a composition which, for unaffected strength of style and earnestness of feeling, may claim a high rank among the models of political vituperation. to every generation its own contemporary press seems always more licentious than any that had preceded it; but it may be questioned, whether the boldness of modern libel has ever gone beyond the direct and undisguised personality, with which one cabinet minister was called a liar and another a coward, in this and other writings of the popular party at that period. the following is the concluding paragraph of this paper against lord george germaine, which is in the form of a letter to the freeholders of england:-- "it would be presuming too much on your attention, at present, to enter into an investigation of the measures and system of war which this minister has pursued,--these shall certainly be the subject of a future paper. at present i shall only observe that, however mortifying it may be to reflect on the ignominy and disasters which this inauspicious character has brought on his country, yet there are consoling circumstances to be drawn even from his ill success. the calamities which may be laid to his account are certainly great; but, had the case been otherwise, it may fairly be questioned whether the example of a degraded and reprobated officer (preposterously elevated to one of the first stations of honor and confidence in the state) directing the military enterprises of this country with unlooked-for prosperity, might not ultimately be the cause of more extensive evils than even those, great as they are, which we at present experience: whether from so fatal a precedent we might not be led to introduce characters under similar disqualifications into every department:--to appoint atheists to the mitre, _jews_ to the exchequer,--to select a treasury-bench from the _justitia_, to place _brown dignam_ on the wool-sack, and sir hugh palliser at the head of the admiralty." the englishman, as might be expected from the pursuits and habits of those concerned in it, was not very punctually conducted, and after many apologies from the publisher for its not appearing at the stated times, (wednesdays and saturdays,) ceased altogether on the d of june. from an imperfect sketch of a new number, found among mr. sheridan's manuscripts, it appears that there was an intention of reviving it a short time after--probably towards the autumn of the same year, from the following allusion to mr. gibbon, whose acceptance of a seat at the board of trade took place, if i recollect right, in the summer of :-- "this policy is very evident among the majority in both houses, who, though they make no scruple in private to acknowledge the total incapacity of ministers, yet, in public, speak and vote as if they believed them to have every virtue under heaven; and, on this principle, some gentlemen,--as mr. gibbon, for instance,--while, in private, they indulge their opinion pretty freely, will yet, in their zeal for the public good, even condescend to accept a place, in order to give a color to their confidence in the wisdom of the government." it is needless to say that mr. sheridan had been for some time among the most welcome guests at devonshire house--that rendezvous of all the wits and beauties of fashionable life, where politics was taught to wear its most attractive form, and sat enthroned, like virtue among the epicureans, with all the graces and pleasures for handmaids. without any disparagement of the manly and useful talents, which are at present no where more conspicuous than in the upper ranks of society, it may be owned that for wit, social powers, and literary accomplishments, the political men of the period under consideration formed such an assemblage as it would be flattery to say that our own times can parallel. the natural tendency of the excesses of the french revolution was to produce in the higher classes of england an increased reserve of manner, and, of course, a proportionate restraint on all within their circle, which have been fatal to conviviality and humor, and not very propitious to wit--subduing both manners and conversation to a sort of polished level, to rise above which is often thought almost as vulgar as to sink below it. of the greater ease of manners that existed some forty or fifty years ago, one trifling, but not the less significant, indication was the habit, then prevalent among men of high station, of calling each other by such familiar names as dick, jack, tom, &c. [footnote: dick sheridan, ned burke, jack townshend, tom grenville, &c. &c.]--a mode of address that brings with it, in its very sound, the notion of conviviality and playfulness, and, however unrefined, implies, at least, that ease and _sea-room_, in which wit spreads its canvas most fearlessly. with respect to literary accomplishments, too,--in one branch of which, poetry, almost all the leading politicians of that day distinguished themselves--the change that has taken place in the times, independently of any want of such talent, will fully account for the difference that we witness, in this respect, at present. as the public mind becomes more intelligent and watchful, statesmen can the less afford to trifle with their talents, or to bring suspicion upon their fitness for their own vocation, by the failures which they risk in deviating into others. besides, in poetry, the temptation of distinction no longer exists--the commonness of that talent in the market, at present, being such as to reduce the value of an elegant copy of verses very far below the price it was at, when mr. hayley enjoyed an almost exclusive monopoly of the article. in the clever epistle, by tickell, "from the hon. charles fox, partridge-shooting, to the hon. john townshend, cruising," some of the most shining persons in that assemblage of wits and statesmen, who gave a lustre to brooks's club-house at the period of which we are speaking, are thus agreeably grouped:-- "soon as to brooks's thence thy footsteps bend, [footnote: the well-known lines on brooks himself are perhaps the perfection of this drawing-room style of humor:-- "and know, i've bought the best champagne from brooks; from liberal brooks, whose speculative skill is hasty credit, and a distant bill; who, nurs'd in clubs, disdains a vulgar trade, exults to trust, and blushes to be paid."] what gratulations thy approach attend! see gibbon rap his box-auspicious sign that classic compliment and wit combine; see beauclerk's cheek a tinge of red surprise, and friendship give what cruel health denies;-- * * * * * on that auspicious night, supremely grac'd with chosen guests, the pride of liberal taste, not in contentious heat, nor madd'ning strife, not with the busy ills, nor cares of life, we'll waste the fleeting hours--far happier themes shall claim each thought and chase ambition's dreams. each _beauty_ that _sublimity_ can boast _he_ best shall tell, who still unites them most. of wit, of taste, of fancy we'll debate, if sheridan, for once, be not too late: but scarce a thought on politics we'll spare, unless on polish politics, with hare. good-natur'd devon! oft shall then appear the cool complacence of thy friendly sneer: oft shall fitzpatrick's wit and stanhope's case and burgoyne's manly sense unite to please. and while each guest attends our varied feats of scattered covies and retreating fleets, me shall they wish some better sport to gain, and thee more glory, from the next campaign." in the society of such men the destiny of mr. sheridan could not be long in fixing. on the one side, his own keen thirst for distinction, and on the other, a quick and sanguine appreciation of the service that such talents might render in the warfare of party, could not fail to hasten the result that both desired. his first appearance before the public as a political character was in conjunction with mr. fox, at the beginning of the year , when the famous resolutions on the state of the representation, signed by mr. fox as chairman of the westminster committee, together with a report on the same subject from the sub-committee, signed by sheridan, were laid before the public. annual parliaments and universal suffrage were the professed objects of this meeting; and the first of the resolutions, subscribed by mr. fox, stated that "annual parliaments are the undoubted right of the people of england." notwithstanding this strong declaration, it may be doubted whether sheridan was, any more than mr. fox, a very sincere friend to the principle of reform; and the manner in which he masked his disinclination or indifference to it was strongly characteristic both of his humor and his tact. aware that the wild scheme of cartwright and others, which these resolutions recommended, was wholly impracticable, he always took refuge in it when pressed upon the subject, and would laughingly advise his political friends to do the same:--"whenever any one," he would say, "proposes to you a specific plan of reform, always answer that you are for nothing short of annual parliaments and universal suffrage--there you are safe." he also had evident delight, when talking on this question, in referring to a jest of burke, who said that there had arisen a new party of reformers, still more orthodox than the rest, who thought annual parliaments far from being sufficiently frequent, and who, founding themselves upon the latter words of the statute of edward iii., that "a parliament shall be holden every year once and _more often if need be_" were known by the denomination of the _oftener-if-need-bes_. "for my part," he would add, in relating this, "i am an oftener-if-need-be." even when most serious on the subject (for, to the last he professed himself a warm friend to reform) his arguments had the air of being ironical and insidious. to annual parliaments and universal suffrage, he would say, the principles of representation naturally and necessarily led,--any less extensive proposition was a base compromise and a dereliction of right; and the first encroachment on the people was the act of henry vi., which limited the power of election to forty-shilling freeholders within the county, whereas the real right was in the "outrageous and excessive" number of people by whom the preamble recites [footnote: "elections of knights of shires have now of late been made by very great outrageous and excessive number of people, dwelling within the same counties, of the which most part was people of small substance and of no value." h. . c. .] that the choice had been made of late.--such were the arguments by which he affected to support his cause, and it is not difficult to detect the eyes of the snake glistening from under them. the dissolution of parliament that took place in the autumn of this year ( ) afforded at length the opportunity to which his ambition had so eagerly looked forward. it has been said, i know not with what accuracy, that he first tried his chance of election at honiton--but stafford was the place destined to have the honor of first choosing him for its representative; and it must have been no small gratification to his independent spirit, that, unfurnished as he was with claims from past political services, he appeared in parliament, not as the nominee of any aristocratic patron, but as member for a borough, which, whatever might be its purity in other respects, at least enjoyed the freedom of choice. elected conjointly with mr. monckton, to whose interest and exertions he chiefly owed his success, he took his seat in the new parliament which met in the month of october;--and, from that moment giving himself up to the pursuit of politics, bid adieu to the worship of the dramatic muse for ever. "_comoedia luget; scena est deserta: hinc ludus risusque jocusgue et numeri innumeri simul omnes collacrumarunt._" comedy mourns--the stage neglected sleeps-- e'en mirth in tears his languid laughter steeps-- and song, through all her various empire, weeps. chapter vii. unfinished plays and poems. before i enter upon the sketch of mr. sheridan's political life, i shall take this opportunity of laying before the reader such information with respect to his unfinished literary designs, both dramatic and poetic, as the papers in my possession enable me to communicate. some of his youthful attempts in literature have already been mentioned, and there is a dramatic sketch of his, founded on the vicar of wakefield, which from a date on the manuscript ( ), appears to have been produced at a still earlier age, and when he was only in his seventeenth year. a scene of this piece will be sufficient to show how very soon his talent for lively dialogue displayed itself:-- "scene ii. "thornhill _and_ arnold. "_thornhill._ nay, prithee, jack, no more of that if you love me. what, shall i stop short with the game in full view? faith, i believe the fellow's turned puritan. what think you of turning methodist, jack? you have a tolerable good canting countenance, and, if escaped being taken up for a jesuit, you might make a fortune in moor-fields. "_arnold._ i was serious, tom. "_thorn._ splenetic you mean. come, fill your glass, and a truce to your preaching. here's a pretty fellow has let his conscience sleep for these five years, and has now plucked morality from the leaves of his grandmother's bible, beginning to declaim against what he has practised half his life-time. why, i tell you once more, my schemes are all come to perfection. i am now convinced olivia loves me--at our last conversation, she said she would rely wholly on my honor. "_arn._ and therefore you would deceive her. "_thorn._ why no--deceive her?--why--indeed--as to that--but--but, for god's sake, let me hear no more on this subject, for, 'faith, you make me sad, jack. if you continue your admonitions, i shall begin to think you have yourself an eye on the girl. you have promised me your assistance, and when you came down into the country, were as hot on the scheme as myself: but, since you have been two or three times with me at primrose's, you have fallen off strangely. no encroachments, jack, on my little rose-bud--if you have a mind to beat up game in this quarter, there's her sister--but no poaching. "_arn._ i am not insensible to her sister's merit, but have no such views as you have. however, you have promised me that if you find in this lady that real virtue which you so firmly deny to exist in the sex, you will give up the pursuit, and, foregoing the low considerations of fortune, make atonement by marriage. "_thorn._ such is my serious resolution. "_arn._ i wish you'd forego the experiment. but, you have been so much in raptures with your success, that i have, as yet, had no clear account how you came acquainted in the family. "_thorn._ oh, i'll tell you immediately. you know lady patchet? "_arn._ what, is she here? "_thorn._ it was by her i was first introduced. it seems that, last year, her ladyship's reputation began to suffer a little; so that she thought it prudent to retire for a while, till people learned better manners or got worse memories. she soon became acquainted with this little family, and, as the wife is a prodigious admirer of quality, grew in a short time to be very intimate, and imagining that she may one day make her market of the girls, has much ingratiated herself with them. she introduced me--i drank, and abused this degenerate age with the father--promised wonders to the mother for all her brats--praised her gooseberry wine, and ogled the daughters, by which means in three days i made the progress i related to you. "_arn._ you have been expeditious indeed. i fear where that devil lady patchet is concerned there can be no good--but is there not a son? "_thorn._ oh! the most ridiculous creature in nature. he has been bred in the country a bumpkin all his life, till within these six years, when he was sent to the university, but the misfortunes that have reduced his father falling out, he is returned, the most ridiculous animal you ever saw, a conceited, disputing blockhead. so there is no great matter to fear from _his_ penetration. but come, let us begone, and see this moral family, we shall meet them coming from the field, and you will see a man who was once in affluence, maintaining by hard labor a numerous family. "_arn._ oh! thornhill, can you wish to add infamy to their poverty? "[exeunt.]" there also remain among his papers three acts of a drama, without a name,--written evidently in haste, and with scarcely any correction,-- the subject of which is so wild and unmanageable, that i should not have hesitated in referring it to the same early date, had not the introduction into one of the scenes of "dry be that tear, be hush'd that sigh," proved it to have been produced after that pretty song was written. the chief personages upon whom the story turns are a band of outlaws, who, under the name and disguise of _devils_, have taken up their residence in a gloomy wood, adjoining a village, the inhabitants of which they keep in perpetual alarm by their incursions and apparitions. in the same wood resides a hermit, secretly connected with this band, who keeps secluded within his cave the beautiful reginilla, hid alike from the light of the sun and the eyes of men. she has, however, been indulged in her prison with a glimpse of a handsome young huntsman, whom she believes to be a phantom, and is encouraged in her belief by the hermit, by whose contrivance this huntsman (a prince in disguise) has been thus presented to her. the following is--as well as i can make it out from a manuscript not easily decipherable--the scene that takes place between the fair recluse and her visitant. the style, where style is attempted, shows, as the reader will perceive, a taste yet immature and unchastened:-- "_scene draws, and discovers_ reginilla _asleep in the cave. "enter_ pevidor _and other devils, with the_ huntsman--_unbind him, and exeunt._ "_hunts._ ha! where am i now? is it indeed the dread abode of guilt, or refuge of a band of thieves? it cannot be a dream (_sees_ reginilla.) ha! if this be so, and i _do_ dream, may i never wake-- it is--my beating heart acknowledges my dear, gentle reginilla. i'll not wake her, lest, if it be a phantom, it should vanish. oh, balmy breath! but for thy soft sighs that come to tell me it is no image, i should believe ... (_bends down towards her_.) a sigh from her heart!-- thus let me arrest thee on thy way. (_kisses her_.) a deeper blush has flushed her cheek--sweet modesty! that even in sleep is conscious and resentful.--she will not wake, and yet some fancy calls up those frequent sighs--how her heart beats in its ivory cage, like an imprisoned bird--or as if to reprove the hand that dares approach its sanctuary! oh, would she but wake, and bless this gloom with her bright eyes!--soft, here's a lute--perhaps her soul will hear the call of harmony. "oh yield, fair lids, the treasures of my heart, release those beams, that make this mansion bright; from her sweet sense, slumber! tho' sweet thou art, begone, and give the air she breathes in light. "or while, oh sleep, thou dost those glances hide, let rosy slumbers still around her play, sweet as the cherub innocence enjoy'd, when in thy lap, new-born, in smiles he lay. "and thou, oh dream, that com'st her sleep to cheer, oh take my shape, and play a lover's part; kiss her from me, and whisper in her ear, till her eyes shine, 'tis night within my heart. [footnote: i have taken the liberty here of supplying a few rhymes and words that are wanting in the original copy of the song. the last line of all runs thus in the manuscript:-- "till her eye shines i live in darkest night," which, not rhyming as it ought, i have ventured to alter as above.] "_reg._ (_waking_.) the phantom, father! (_seizes his hand._) ah, do not, do not wake me then. (_rises._) "_hunts._ (_kneeling to her._) thou beauteous sun of this dark world, that mak'st a place, so like the cave of death, a heaven to me, instruct me how i may approach thee--how address thee and not offend. "_reg._ oh how my soul would hang upon those lips! speak on--and yet, methinks, he should not kneel so--why are you afraid, sir? indeed, i cannot hurt you. "_hunts._ sweet innocence, i'm sure thou would'st not. "_reg._ art thou not he to whom i told my name, and didst thou not say thine was-- "_hunts._ oh blessed be the name that then thou told'st--it has been ever since my charm, and kept me from distraction. but, may i ask how such sweet excellence as thine could be hid in such a place? "_reg._ alas, i know not--for such as thou i never saw before, nor any like myself. "_hunts._ nor like thee ever shall--but would'st thou leave this place, and live with such as i am? "_reg._ why may not you live here with such as i? "_hunts._ yes--but i would carry thee where all above an azure canopy extends, at night bedropt with gems, and one more glorious lamp, that yields such bashful light as love enjoys--while underneath, a carpet shall be spread of flowers to court the pressure of thy step, with such sweet whispered invitations from the leaves of shady groves or murmuring of silver streams, that thou shalt think thou art in paradise. "_reg._ indeed! "_hunts._ ay, and i'll watch and wait on thee all day, and cull the choicest flowers, which while thou bind'st in the mysterious knot of love, i'll tune for thee no vulgar lays, or tell thee tales shall make thee weep yet please thee--while thus i press thy hand, and warm it thus with kisses. "_reg._ i doubt thee not--but then my governor has told me many a tale of faithless men who court a lady but to steal her peace and fame, and then to leave her. "_hunts._ oh never such as thou art--witness all.... "_reg._ then wherefore couldst thou not live here? for i do feel, tho' tenfold darkness did surround this spot, i could be blest, would you but stay here; and, if it made you sad to be imprison'd thus, i'd sing and play for thee, and dress thee sweetest fruits, and though you chid me, would kiss thy tear away and hide my blushing face upon thy bosom--indeed, i would. then what avails the gaudy day, and all the evil things i'm told inhabit there, to those who have within themselves all that delight and love, and heaven can give. "_hunts._ my angel, thou hast indeed the soul of love. "_reg._ it is no ill thing, is it? "_hunts._ oh most divine--it is the immediate gift of heaven, which steals into our breast ... 'tis that which makes me sigh thus, look thus--fear and tremble for thee. "_reg._ sure i should learn it too, if you would teach me. (_sound of horn without--huntsman starts._) "_reg._ you must not go--this is but a dance preparing for my amusement--oh we have, indeed, some pleasures here--come, i will sing for you the while. "_song._ "wilt thou then leave me? canst thou go from me, to woo the fair that love the gaudy day? yet, e'en among those joys, thou'lt find that she, who dwells in darkness, loves thee more than they. for these poor hands, and these unpractised eyes, and this poor heart is thine without disguise. but, if thou'lt stay with me, my only care shall be to please and make thee love to stay, with music, song, and dance * * * * * but, if you go, nor music, song, nor dance, * * * * * if thou art studious, i will read thee tales of pleasing woe-- if thou art sad, i'll kiss away the tears.... that flow. if thou would'st play, i'll kiss thee till i blush, then hide that blush upon thy breast, if thou would'st sleep.... shall rock thy aching head to rest. "_hunts._ my soul's wonder, i will never leave thee. "(_the dance.--allemande by two bears_.) "_enter_ pevidor. "_pev._ so fond, so soon! i cannot bear to see it. what ho, within (_devils enter._) secure him. (_seize and bind the huntsman._)" the duke or sovereign of the country, where these events are supposed to take place, arrives at the head of a military force, for the purpose of investing the haunted wood, and putting down, as he says, those "lawless renegades, who, in infernal masquerade, make a hell around him." he is also desirous of consulting the holy hermit of the wood, and availing himself of his pious consolations and prayers--being haunted with remorse for having criminally gained possession of the crown by contriving the shipwreck of the rightful heir, and then banishing from the court his most virtuous counsellors. in addition to these causes of disquietude, he has lately lost, in a mysterious manner, his only son, who, he supposes, has fallen a victim to these satanic outlaws, but who, on the contrary, it appears, has voluntarily become an associate of their band, and is amusing himself, heedless of his noble father's sorrow, by making love, in the disguise of a dancing bear, to a young village coquette of the name of mopsa. a short specimen of the manner in which this last farcical incident is managed, will show how wide even sheridan was, at first, of that true vein of comedy, which, on searching deeper into the mine, he so soon afterwards found:-- "scene.--_the inside of the cottage_.--mopsa, lubin _(her father), and_ colin _(her lover), discovered_. "_enter_ pevidor, _leading the bear, and singing._ "and he dances, dances, dances, and goes upright like a christian swain, and he shows you pretty fancies, nor ever tries to shake off his chain. "_lubin._ servant, master. now, mopsa, you are happy--it is, indeed, a handsome creature. what country does your bear come from? "_pev._ dis bear, please your worship, is of de race of dat bear of st. anthony, who was the first convert he made in de woods. st. anthony bade him never more meddle with man, and de bear observed de command to his dying day. "_lub._ wonderful! "_pev._ dis generation be all de same--all born widout toots. "_colin._ what, can't he bite? (_puts his finger to the bear's mouth, who bites him_.) oh lord, no toots! why you ---- "_pev._ oh dat be only his gum. (_mopsa laughs_.) "_col._ for shame, mopsa--now, i say maister lubin, mustn't she give me a kiss to make it well? "_lub._ ay, kiss her, kiss her, colin. "_col._ come, miss. (_mopsa runs to the bear, who kisses her_.)" the following scene of the devils drinking in their subterraneous dwelling, though cleverly imagined, is such as, perhaps, no cookery of style could render palatable to an english audience. "scene.--_the devils' cave_. "_ st dev._ come, urial, here's to our resurrection. "_ d dev._ it is a toast i'd scarcely pledge--by my life, i think we're happier here. "_ d dev._ why, so think i--by jove, i would despise the man, who could but wish to rise again to earth, unless we were to lord there. what! sneaking pitiful in bondage, among vile money-scrapers, treacherous friends, fawning flatterers--or, still worse, deceitful mistresses. shall we who reign lords here, again lend ourselves to swell the train of tyranny and usurpation? by my old father's memory, i'd rather be the blindest mole that ever skulked in darkness, the lord of one poor hole, where he might say, 'i'm master here.' "_ d dev._ you are too hot--where shall concord be found, if even the devils disagree?--come fill the glass, and add thy harmony--while we have wine to enlighten us, the sun be hanged! i never thought he gave so fine a light for my part--and then, there are such vile inconveniences-- high winds and storms, rains, &c.--oh hang it! living on the outside of the earth is like sleeping on deck, when one might, like us, have a snug berth in the cabin. "_ st dev._ true, true,--helial, where is thy catch? "in the earth's centre let me live, there, like a rabbit will i thrive, nor care if fools should call my life infernal; while men on earth crawl lazily about, like snails upon the surface of the nut, we are, like maggots, feasting in the kernel. "_ st dev._ bravo, by this glass. meli, what say you? "_ d dev._ come, here's to my mina--i used to toast her in the upper regions. "_ st dev._ ay, we miss them here. "_glee._ "what's a woman good for? rat me, sir, if i know. * * * * * she's a savor to the glass, an excuse to make it pass. * * * * * "_ st dev._ i fear we are like the wits above, who abuse women only because they can't get them,--and, after all, it must be owned they are a pretty kind of creatures. "_all._ yes, yes. "_catch._ "'tis woman after all is the blessing of this ball, 'tis she keeps the balance of it even. we are devils, it is true, but had we women too, our tartarus would turn to a heaven!" a scene in the third act, where these devils bring the prisoners whom they have captured to trial, is an overcharged imitation of the satire of fielding, and must have been written, i think, after a perusal of that author's satirical romance, "a journey from this world to the next,"--the first half of which contains as much genuine humor and fancy as are to be found in any other production of the kind. the interrogatories of minos in that work suggested, i suspect, the following scene:-- "_enter a number of devils.--others bring in_ ludovico. "_ st dev._ just taken, in the wood, sir, with two more. "_chorus of devils_. "welcome, welcome * * * * * "_pev._ what art thou? "_ludov._ i went for a man in the other world. "_pev._ what sort of a man? "_ludov._ a soldier at your service. "_pev._ wast thou in the battle of--? "_ludov._ truly i was. "_pev._ what was the quarrel? "_ludov._ i never had time to ask. the children of peace, who make our quarrels, must be your worship's informants there. "_pev._ and art thou not ashamed to draw the sword for thou know'st not what--and to be the victim and food of others' folly? "_ludov._ vastly. "_pev._ (_to the devils_.) well, take him for to-day, and only score his skin and pepper it with powder--then chain him to a cannon, and let the devils practise at his head--his be the reward who hits it with a single ball. "_ludov._ oh mercy, mercy! "_pev._ bring savodi. "(_a devil brings in_ savodi.) "_chorus as before_. "welcome, welcome, &c. "_pev._ who art thou? "_sav._ a courtier at your grace's service. "_pev._ your name? "_sav._ savodi, an' please your highnesses. "_pev._ your use? "_sav._ a foolish utensil of state--a clock kept in the waiting- chamber, to count the hours. "_pev._ are you not one of those who fawn and lie, and cringe like spaniels to those a little higher, and take revenge by tyranny on all beneath? "_sav._ most true, your highnesses. "_pev._ is't not thy trade to promise what thou canst not do,--to gull the credulous of money, to shut the royal door on unassuming merit --to catch the scandal for thy master's ear, and stop the people's voice.... "_sav._ exactly, an' please your highnesses' worships. "_pev._ thou dost not now deny it? "_sav._ oh no, no, no. "_pev._ here--baths of flaming sulphur!--quick--stir up the cauldron of boiling lead--this crime deserves it. "_ st dev._ great judge of this infernal place, allow him but the mercy of the court. "_sav._ oh kind devil!--yes, great judge, allow. "_ st dev._ the punishment is undergone already--truth from him is something. "_sav._ oh, most unusual--sweet devil! "_ st dev._ then, he is tender, and might not be able to endure-- "_sav._ endure! i shall be annihilated by the thoughts of it--dear devil. "_ st dev._ then let him, i beseech you, in scalding brimstone be first soaked a little, to inure and prepare him for the other. "_sav._ oh hear me, hear me. "_pev._ well, be it so. "(_devils take him out and bring in_ pamphiles.) "_pev._ this is he we rescued from the ladies--a dainty one, i warrant. "_pamphil._ (_affectedly_.) this is hell certainly by the smell. "_pev._ what, art thou a soldier too? "_pamphil._ no, on my life--a colonel, but no soldier--innocent even of a review, as i exist. "_pev._ how rose you then? come, come--the truth. "_pamphil._ nay, be not angry, sir--if i was preferred it was not my fault--upon my soul, i never did anything to incur preferment. "_pev._ indeed! what was thy employment then, friend? "_pamphil._ hunting-- "_pev._ 'tis false. "_pamphil._ hunting women's reputations. "_pev._ what, thou wert amorous? "_pamphil._ no, on my honor, sir, but vain, confounded vain--the character of bringing down my game was all i wished, and, like a true sportsman, i would have given my birds to my pointers. "_pev._ this crime is new--what shall we do with him?" &c. &c. this singular drama does not appear to have been ever finished. with respect to the winding up of the story, the hermit, we may conclude, would have turned out to be the banished counsellor, and the devils, his followers; while the young huntsman would most probably have proved to be the rightful heir of the dukedom. in a more crude and unfinished state are the fragments that remain of his projected opera of "the foresters." to this piece (which appears to have been undertaken at a later period than the preceding one) mr. sheridan often alluded in conversation--particularly when any regret was expressed at his having ceased to assist old drury with his pen,--"wait (he would say smiling) till i bring out my foresters." the plot, as far as can be judged from the few meagre scenes that exist, was intended to be an improvement upon that of the drama just described--the devils being transformed into foresters, and the action commencing, not with the loss of a son, but the recovery of a daughter, who had fallen by accident into the hands of these free-booters. at the opening of the piece the young lady has just been restored to her father by the heroic captain of the foresters, with no other loss than that of her heart, which she is suspected of having left with her preserver. the list of the dramatis personae (to which however he did not afterwards adhere) is as follows:-- old oscar. young oscar. colona. morven. harold. nico. miza. malvina. allanda. dorcas. emma. to this strange medley of nomenclature is appended a memorandum-- "_vide_ petrarch for names." the first scene represents the numerous lovers of malvina rejoicing at her return, and celebrating it by a chorus; after which oscar, her father, holds the following dialogue with one of them:-- "_osc._ i thought, son, you would have been among the first and most eager to see malvina upon her return. "_colin._ oh, father, i would give half my flock to think that my presence would be welcome to her. "_osc._ i am sure you have never seen her prefer any one else. "_col._ there's the torment of it--were i but once sure that she loved another better, i think i should be content--at least she should not know but that i was so. my love is not of that jealous sort that i should pine to see her happy with another--nay, i could even regard the man that would make her so. "_osc._ haven't you spoke with her since her return? "_col._ yes, and i think she is colder to me than ever. my professions of love used formerly to make her laugh, but now they make her weep--formerly she seemed wholly insensible; now, alas, she seems to feel--but as if addressed by the wrong person," &c. &c. in a following scene are introduced two brothers, both equally enamored of the fair malvina, yet preserving their affection unaltered towards each other. with the recollection of sheridan's own story fresh in our minds, we might suppose that he meant some reference to it in this incident, were it not for the exceeding _niaiserie_ that he has thrown into the dialogue. for instance:-- "_osc._ but we are interrupted--here are two more of her lovers-- brothers, and rivals, but friends. "_enter_ nico _and_ lubin. "so, nico--how comes it you are so late in your inquiries after your mistress? "_nico._ i should have been sooner; but lubin would stay to make himself fine--though he knows that he has no chance of appearing so to malvina. "_lubin._ no, in truth--nico says right--i have no more chance than himself. "_osc._ however, i am glad to see you reconciled, and that you live together, as brothers should do. "_nico._ yes, ever since we found your daughter cared for neither of us, we grew to care for one another. there is a fellowship in adversity that is consoling; and it is something to think that lubin is as unfortunate as myself. "_lub._ yes, we are well matched--i think malvina dislikes him, if possible, more than me, and that's a great comfort. "_nico._ we often sit together, and play such woeful tunes on our pipes, that the very sheep are moved at it. "_osc._ but why don't you rouse yourselves, and, since you can meet with no requital of your passion, return the proud maid scorn for scorn? "_nico._ oh mercy, no--we find a great comfort in our sorrow--don't we, lubin? "_lubin._ yes, if i meet no crosses, i shall be undone in another twelve-month--i let all go to wreck and ruin. "_osc._ but suppose malvina should be brought to give you encouragement. "_nico._ heaven forbid! that would spoil all. "_lubin._ truly i was almost assured within this fortnight that she was going to relax. "_nico._ ay, i shall never forget how alarmed we were at the appearance of a smile one day," &c. &c. of the poetical part of this opera, the only specimens he has left are a skeleton of a chorus, beginning "bold foresters we are," and the following song, which, for grace and tenderness, is not unworthy of the hand that produced the duenna:-- "we two, each other's only pride, each other's bliss, each other's guide, far from the world's unhallow'd noise, its coarse delights and tainted joys, through wilds will roam and deserts rude-- for, love, thy home is solitude. "there shall no vain pretender be, to court thy smile and torture me, no proud superior there be seen, but nature's voice shall hail thee, queen. "with fond respect and tender awe, i will receive thy gentle law, obey thy looks, and serve thee still, prevent thy wish, foresee thy will, and, added to a lover's care, be all that friends and parents are." but, of all mr. sheridan's unfinished designs, the comedy which he meditated on the subject of affectation is that of which the abandonment is most to be regretted. to a satirist, who would not confine his ridicule to the mere outward demonstrations of this folly, but would follow and detect it through all its windings and disguises, there could hardly perhaps be a more fertile theme. affectation, merely of _manner_, being itself a sort of acting, does not easily admit of any additional coloring on the stage, without degenerating into farce; and, accordingly, fops and fine ladies--with very few exceptions--are about as silly and tiresome in representation as in reality. but the aim of the dramatist, in this comedy, would have been far more important and extensive;--and how anxious he was to keep before his mind's eye the whole wide horizon of folly which his subject opened upon him, will appear from the following list of the various species of affectation, which i have found written by him, exactly as i give it, on the inside cover of the memorandum-book, that contains the only remaining vestiges of this play:-- "an affectation of business. of accomplishments, of love of letters and "wit music. of intrigue. of sensibility. of vivacity. of silence and importance. of modesty. of profligacy. of moroseness." in this projected comedy he does not seem to have advanced as far as even the invention of the plot or the composition of a single scene. the memorandum-book alluded to--on the first leaf of which he had written in his neatest hand (as if to encourage himself to begin) "affectation"-- contains, besides the names of three of the intended personages, sir babble bore, sir peregrine paradox, and feignwit, nothing but unembodied sketches of character, and scattered particles of wit, which seem waiting, like the imperfect forms and seeds in chaos, for the brooding of genius to nurse them into system and beauty. the reader will not, i think, be displeased at seeing some of these curious materials here. they will show that in this work, as well as in the school for scandal, he was desirous of making the vintage of his wit as rich as possible, by distilling into it every drop that the collected fruits of his thought and fancy could supply. some of the jests are far- fetched, and others, perhaps, abortive--but it is pleasant to track him in his pursuit of a point, even when he misses. the very failures of a man of real wit are often more delightful than the best successes of others--the quick-silver, even in escaping from his grasp, shines; "it still eludes him, but it glitters still." i shall give the memorandums as i find them, with no other difference, than that of classing together those that have relation to the same thought or subject. "_character_--mr. bustle. "a man who delights in hurry and interruption--will take any one's business for them--leaves word where all his plagues may follow him-- governor of all hospitals, &c.--share in ranelagh--speaker every where, from the vestry to the house of commons--'i am not at home--gad, now he heard me and i must be at home.'--'here am i so plagued, and there is nothing i love so much as retirement and quiet.'--'you never sent after me.'--let servants call in to him such a message as 'tis nothing but the window tax,' he hiding in a room that communicates.--a young man tells him some important business in the middle of fifty trivial interruptions, and the calling in of idlers; such as fidlers, wild-beast men, foreigners with recommendatory letters, &c.--answers notes on his knee, 'and so your uncle died?--for your obliging inquiries--and left you an orphan--to cards in the evening.' "can't bear to be doing nothing.--'can i do anything for any body any where?'--'have been to the secretary--written to the treasury.'--'must proceed to meet the commissioners, and write mr. price's little boy's exercise.'--the most active idler and laborious trifler. "he does not in reality love business--only the appearance of it. 'ha! ha! did my lord say that i was always very busy? what, plagued to death?' "keeps all his letters and copies--' mem. to meet the hackney-coach commissioners--to arbitrate between,' &c. &c. "contrast with the man of indolence, his brother.--'so, brother, just up! and i have been,' &c. &c.--one will give his money from indolent generosity, the other his time from restlessness--' 'twill be shorter to pay the bill than look for the receipt.'--files letters, answered and unanswered--'why, here are more unopened than answered!' * * * * * "he regulates every action by a love for fashion--will grant annuities though he doesn't want money--appear to intrigue, though constant; to drink, though sober--has some fashionable vices--affects to be distressed in his circumstances, and, when his new vis-a-vis comes out, procures a judgment to be entered against him--wants to lose, but by ill-luck wins five thousand pounds. * * * * * "one who changes sides in all arguments the moment any one agrees with him. "an irresolute arguer, to whom it is a great misfortune that there are not three sides to a question--a libertine in argument; conviction, like enjoyment, palls him, and his rakish understanding is soon satiated with truth--more capable of being faithful to a paradox--'i love truth as i do my wife; but sophistry and paradoxes are my mistresses--i have a strong domestic respect for her, but for the other the passion due to a mistress.' "one, who agrees with every one, for the pleasure of speaking their sentiments for them--so fond of talking that he does not contradict only because he can't wait to hear people out. "a tripping casuist, who veers by others' breath, and gets on to information by tacking between the two sides--like a hoy, not made to go straight before the wind. "the more he talks, the further he is off the argument, like a bowl on a wrong bias. * * * * * "what are the affectations you chiefly dislike? "there are many in this company, so i'll mention others.--to see two people affecting intrigue, having their assignations in public places only; he affecting a warm pursuit, and the lady, acting the hesitation of retreating virtue--'pray, ma'am, don't you think,' &c.--while neither party have words between 'em to conduct the preliminaries of gallantry, nor passion to pursue the object of it. "a plan of public flirtation--not to get beyond a profile. * * * * * "then i hate to see one, to whom heaven has given real beauty, settling her features at the glass of fashion, while she speaks--not thinking so much of what she says as how she looks, and more careful of the action of her lips than of what shall come from them. * * * * * "a pretty woman studying looks and endeavoring to recollect an ogle, like lady ----, who has learned to play her eyelids like venetian blinds. [footnote: this simile is repeated in various shapes through his manuscripts--"she moves her eyes up and down like venetian blinds"-- "her eyelids play like a venetian blind," &c &c.] "an old woman endeavoring to put herself back to a girl. * * * * * "a true-trained wit lays his plan like a general--foresees the circumstances of the conversation--surveys the ground and contingencies --detaches a question to draw you into the palpable ambuscade of his ready-made joke. * * * * * "a man intriguing, only for the reputation of it--to his confidential servant: 'who am i in love with now?'--'the newspapers give you so and so--you are laying close siege to lady l., in the morning post, and have succeeded with lady g. in the herald--sir f. is very jealous of you in the gazetteer.'--'remember to-morrow the first thing you do, to put me in love with mrs. c.' "'i forgot to forget the billet-doux at brooks's'--'by the bye, an't i in love with you?'--'lady l. has promised to meet me in her carriage to- morrow--where is the most public place?' "'you were rude to her!'--'oh, no, upon my soul, i made love to her directly.' "an old man, who affects intrigue, and writes his own reproaches in the morning post, trying to scandalize himself into the reputation of being young, as if he could obscure his age by blotting his character--though never so little candid as when he's abusing himself. * * * * * "'shall you be at lady ----'s? i'm told the bramin is to be there, and the new french philosopher.'--'no--it will be pleasanter at lady ----'s conversazione--the cow with two heads will be there.' * * * * * "'i shall order my valet to shoot me the very first thing he does in the morning.' "'you are yourself affected and don't know it--you would pass for morose.' "he merely wanted to be singular, and happened to find the character of moroseness unoccupied in the society he lived with. "he certainly has a great deal of fancy and a very good memory; but with a perverse ingenuity he employs these qualities as no other person does --for he employs his fancy in his narratives, and keeps his recollections for his wit--when he makes his jokes you applaud the accuracy of his memory, and 'tis only when he states his facts that you admire the flights of his imagination. [footnote: the reader will find how much this thought was improved upon afterwards.] * * * * * "a fat woman trundling into a room on castors--in sitting can only lean against her chair--rings on her fingers, and her fat arms strangled with bracelets, which belt them like corded brawn--rolling and heaving when she laughs with the rattles in her throat, and a most apoplectic ogle-- you wish to draw her out, as you would an opera-glass. * * * * * "a long lean man with all his limbs rambling--no way to reduce him to compass, unless you could double him like a pocket rule--with his arms spread, he'd lie on the bed of ware like a cross on a good friday bun-- standing still, he is a pilaster without a base--he appears rolled out or run up against a wall--so thin that his front face is but the moiety of a profile--if he stands cross-legged, he looks like a caduceus, and put him in a fencing attitude, you will take him for a piece of chevaux- de-frise--to make any use of him, it must be as a spontoon or a fishing- rod--when his wife's by, he follows like a note of admiration--see them together, one's a mast, and the other all hulk--she's a dome and he's built like a glass-house--when they part, you wonder to see the steeple separate from the chancel, and were they to embrace, he must hang round her neck like a skein of thread on a lace-maker's bolster--to sing her praise you should choose a rondeau, and to celebrate him you must write all alexandrines. "i wouldn't give a pin to make fine men in love with me--every coquette can do that, and the pain you give these creatures is very trifling. i love out-of-the-way conquests; and as i think my attractions are singular, i would draw singular objects. "the loadstone of true beauty draws the heaviest substances--not like the fat dowager, who frets herself into warmth to get the notice of a few _papier mache_ fops, as you rub dutch sealing-wax to draw paper. * * * * * "if i were inclined to flatter i would say that, as you are unlike other women, you ought not to be won as they are. every woman can be gained by time, therefore you ought to be by a sudden impulse. sighs, devotion, attention weigh with others; but they are so much your due that no one should claim merit from them.... "you should not be swayed by common motives--how heroic to form a marriage for which no human being can guess the inducement--what a glorious unaccountableness! all the world will wonder what the devil you could see in me; and, if you should doubt your singularity, i pledge myself to you that i never yet was endured by woman; so that i should owe every thing to the effect of your bounty, and not by my own superfluous deserts make it a debt, and so lessen both the obligation and my gratitude. in short, every other woman follows her inclination, but you, above all things, should take me, if you do not like me. you will, besides, have the satisfaction of knowing that we are decidedly the worst match in the kingdom--a match, too, that must be all your own work, in which fate could have no hand, and which no foresight could foresee. * * * * * "a lady who affects poetry.--'i made regular approaches to her by sonnets and rebusses--a rondeau of circumvallation--her pride sapped by an elegy, and her reserve surprised by an impromptu--proceeding to storm with pindarics, she, at last, saved the further effusion of ink by a capitulation.' * * * * * "her prudish frowns and resentful looks are as ridiculous as 'twould be to see a board with notice of spring-guns set in a highway, or of steel- traps in a common--because they imply an insinuation that there is something worth plundering where one would not, in the least, suspect it. "the expression of her face is at once a denial of all love-suit, and a confession that she never was asked--the sourness of it arises not so much from her aversion to the passion, as from her never having had an opportunity to show it.--her features are so unfortunately formed that she could never dissemble or put on sweetness enough to induce any one to give her occasion to show her bitterness.--i never saw a woman to whom you would more readily give credit for perfect chastity. "_lady clio._ 'what am i reading?'--'have i drawn nothing lately?-- is the work-bag finished?--how accomplished i am!--has the man been to untune the harpsichord?--does it look as if i had been playing on it? "'shall i be ill to-day?--shall i be nervous?'--'your la'ship was nervous yesterday.'--'was i?--then i'll have a cold--i haven't had a cold this fortnight--a cold is becoming--no--i'll not have a cough; that's fatiguing--i'll be quite well.'--'you become sickness--your la'ship always looks vastly well when you're ill.' "'leave the book half read and the rose half finished--you know i love to be caught in the fact.' * * * * * "one who knows that no credit is ever given to his assertions has the more right to contradict his words. "he goes the western circuit, to pick up small fees and impudence. * * * * * "a new wooden leg for sir charles easy. * * * * * "an ornament which proud peers wear all the year round--chimneysweepers only on the first of may. * * * * * "in marriage if you possess any thing very good, it makes you eager to get every thing else good of the same sort. * * * * * "the critic when he gets out of his carriage should always recollect, that his footman behind is gone up to judge as well as himself. * * * * * "she might have escaped in her own clothes, but i suppose she thought it more romantic to put on her brother's regimentals." the rough sketches and fragments of poems, which mr. sheridan left behind him, are numerous; but those among them that are sufficiently finished to be cited, bear the marks of having been written when he was very young, and would not much interest the reader--while of the rest it is difficult to find four consecutive lines, that have undergone enough of the _toilette_ of composition to be presentable in print. it was his usual practice, when he undertook any subject in verse, to write down his thoughts first in a sort of poetical prose,--with, here and there, a rhyme or a metrical line, as they might occur--and then, afterwards to reduce with much labor, this anomalous compound to regular poetry. the birth of his prose being, as we have already seen, so difficult, it may be imagined how painful was the travail of his verse. indeed, the number of tasks which he left unfinished are all so many proofs of that despair of perfection, which those best qualified to attain it are always most likely to feel. there are some fragments of an epilogue apparently intended to be spoken in the character of a woman of fashion, which give a lively notion of what the poem would have been, when complete. the high carriages, that had just then come into fashion, are thus adverted to:-- "my carriage stared at!--none so high or fine-- palmer's mail-coach shall be a sledge to mine. * * * * * no longer now the youths beside us stand, and talking lean, and leaning press the hand; but ogling upward, as aloft we sit, straining, poor things, their ankles and their wit, and, much too short the inside to explore, hang like supporters, half way up the door." the approach of a "veteran husband," to disturb these flirtations and chase away the lovers, is then hinted at:-- "to persecuted virtue yield assistance, and for one hour teach younger men their distance, make them, in very spite, appear discreet, and mar the public mysteries of the street." the affectation of appearing to make love, while talking on different matters, is illustrated by the following simile: "so when dramatic statesmen talk apart, with practis'd gesture and heroic start, the plot's their theme, the gaping galleries guess, while hull and fearon think of nothing less." the following lines seem to belong to the same epilogue:-- "the campus martius of st. james's street, where the beau's cavalry pace to and fro, before they take the field in rotten row; where brooks' blues and weltze's light dragoons dismount in files and ogle in platoons." he had also begun another epilogue, directed against female gamesters, of which he himself repeated a couplet or two to mr. rogers a short time before his death, and of which there remain some few scattered traces among his papers:-- "a night of fretful passion may consume all that thou hast of beauty's gentle bloom, and one distemper'd hour of sordid fear print on thy brow the wrinkles of a year. [footnote: these four lines, as i have already remarked, are taken--with little change of the words, but a total alteration of the sentiment--from the verses which he addressed to mrs. sheridan in the year . see page .] * * * * * great figure loses, little figure wins. * * * * * ungrateful blushes and disorder'd sighs, which love disclaims nor even shame supplies. * * * * * gay smiles, which once belong'd to mirth alone, and startling tears, which pity dares not own." the following stray couplet would seem to have been intended for his description of corilla:-- "a crayon cupid, redd'ning into shape, betrays her talents to design and scrape." the epilogue, which i am about to give, though apparently finished, has not, as far as i can learn, yet appeared in print, nor am i at all aware for what occasion it was intended. "in this gay month when, through the sultry hour, the vernal sun denies the wonted shower, when youthful spring usurps maturer sway, and pallid april steals the blush of may, how joys the rustic tribe, to view displayed the liberal blossom and the early shade! but ah! far other air our soil delights; _here_ 'charming weather' is the worst of blights. no genial beams rejoice our rustic train, their harvest's still the better for the rain. to summer suns our groves no tribute owe, they thrive in frost, and flourish best in snow. when other woods resound the feather'd throng, our groves, our woods, are destitute of song. the thrush, the lark, all leave our mimic vale, no more we boast our christmas nightingale; poor rossignol--the wonder of his day, sung through the winter--but is mute in may. then bashful spring, that gilds fair nature's scene, o'ercasts our lawns, and deadens every green; obscures our sky, embrowns the wooden shade, and dries the channel of each tin cascade! oh hapless we, whom such ill fate betides, hurt by the beam which cheers the world besides! who love the ling'ring frost, nice, chilling showers, while nature's _benefit_--is death to ours; who, witch-like, best in noxious mists perform, thrive in the tempest, and enjoy the storm. o hapless we--unless your generous care bids us no more lament that spring is fair, but plenteous glean from the dramatic soil, the vernal harvest of our winter's toil. for april suns to us no pleasure bring-- your presence here is all we feel of spring; may's riper beauties here no bloom display, your fostering smile alone proclaims it may." a poem upon windsor castle, half ludicrous and half solemn, appears, from the many experiments which he made upon it, to have cost him considerable trouble. the castle, he says, "its base a mountain, and itself a rock, in proud defiance of the tempests' rage, like an old gray-hair'd veteran stands each shock-- the sturdy witness of a nobler age." he then alludes to the "cockney" improvements that had lately taken place, among which the venerable castle appears, like "a helmet on a macaroni's head-- or like old talbot, turn'd into a fop, with coat embroider'd and scratch wig at top." some verses, of the same mixed character, on the short duration of life and the changes that death produces, thus begin:-- "of that same tree which gave the box, now rattling in the hand of fox, perhaps his coffin shall be made.--" he then rambles into prose, as was his custom, on a sort of knight- errantry after thoughts and images:--"the lawn thou hast chosen for thy bridal shift--thy shroud may be of the same piece. that flower thou hast bought to feed thy vanity--from the same tree thy corpse may be decked. reynolds shall, like his colors, fly; and brown, when mingled with the dust, manure the grounds he once laid out. death is life's second childhood; we return to the breast from whence we came, are weaned,...." there are a few detached lines and couplets of a poem, intended to ridicule some fair invalid, who was much given to falling in love with her physicians:-- "who felt her pulse, obtained her heart." the following couplet, in which he characterizes an amiable friend of his, dr. bain, with whom he did not become acquainted till the year , proves these fragments to have been written after that period:-- "not savage ... nor gentle bain-- she was in love with warwick lane." an "address to the prince," on the exposed style of women's dress, consists of little more than single lines, not yet wedded into couplets; such as--"the more you show, the less we wish to see."--"and bare their bodies, as they mask their minds," &c. this poem, however, must have been undertaken many years after his entrance into parliament, as the following curious political memorandum will prove:--"i like it no better for being from france--whence all ills come--altar of liberty, begrimed at once with blood and mire." there are also some anacreontics--lively, but boyish and extravagant. for instance, in expressing his love of bumpers:-- "were mine a goblet that had room for a whole vintage in its womb, i still would have the liquor swim an inch or two above the brim." the following specimen is from one of those poems, whose length and completeness prove them to have been written at a time of life when he was more easily pleased, and had not yet arrived at that state of glory and torment for the poet, when "_toujours mecontent de ce qu'il vient de faire, il plait a tout le monde et ne scaurait se plaire:_"-- "the muses call'd, the other morning, on phoebus, with a friendly warning that invocations came so fast, they must give up their trade at last, and if he meant t' assist them all, the aid of nine would be too small. me then, as clerk, the council chose, to tell this truth in humble prose.-- but phoebus, possibly intending to show what all their hopes must end in, to give the scribbling youths a sample, and frighten them by my example, bade me ascend the poet's throne, and give them verse--much like their own. "who has not heard each poet sing the powers of heliconian spring? its noble virtues we are told by all the rhyming crew of old.-- drink but a little of its well, and strait you could both write and spell, while such rhyme-giving pow'rs run through it, a quart would make an epic poet," &c. &c. a poem on the miseries of a literary drudge begins thus promisingly:-- "think ye how dear the sickly meal is bought, by him who works at verse and trades in thought?" the rest is hardly legible; but there can be little doubt that he would have done this subject justice;--for he had himself tasted of the bitterness with which the heart of a man of genius overflows, when forced by indigence to barter away (as it is here expressed) "the reversion of his thoughts," and "forestall the blighted harvest of his brain." it will be easily believed that, in looking over the remains, both dramatic and poetical, from which the foregoing specimens are taken, i have been frequently tempted to indulge in much ampler extracts. it appeared to me, however, more prudent to rest satisfied with the selections here given; for, while less would have disappointed the curiosity of the reader, more might have done injustice to the memory of the author. chapter viii. his first speeches in parliament.--rockingham administration.-- coalition.--india bill.--re-election for stafford. the period at which mr. sheridan entered upon his political career was, in every respect, remarkable. a persevering and vindictive war against america, with the folly and guilt of which the obstinacy of the court and the acquiescence of the people are equally chargeable, was fast approaching that crisis, which every unbiassed spectator of the contest had long foreseen,--and at which, however humiliating to the haughty pretensions of england, every friend to the liberties of the human race rejoiced. it was, perhaps, as difficult for this country to have been long and virulently opposed to such principles as the americans asserted in this contest, without being herself corrupted by the cause which she maintained, as it was for the french to have fought, in the same conflict, by the side of the oppressed, without catching a portion of that enthusiasm for liberty, which such an alliance was calculated to inspire. accordingly, while the voice of philosophy was heard along the neighboring shores, speaking aloud those oracular warnings, which preceded the death of the great pan of despotism, the courtiers and lawyers of england were, with an emulous spirit of servility, advising and sanctioning such strides of power, as would not have been unworthy of the most dark and slavish times. when we review, indeed, the history of the late reign, and consider how invariably the arms and councils of great britain, in her eastern wars, her conflict with america, and her efforts against revolutionary france, were directed to the establishment and perpetuation of despotic principles, it seems little less than a miracle that her own liberty should have escaped with life from the contagion. never, indeed, can she be sufficiently grateful to the few patriot spirits of this period, to whose courage and eloquence she owes the high station of freedom yet left to her;--never can her sons pay a homage too warm to the memory of such men as a chatham, a fox, and a sheridan; who, however much they may have sometimes sacrificed to false views of expediency, and, by compromise with friends and coalition with foes, too often weakened their hold upon public confidence; however the attraction of the court may have sometimes made them librate in their orbit, were yet the saving lights of liberty in those times, and alone preserved the ark of the constitution from foundering in the foul and troubled waters that encompassed it. not only were the public events, in which mr. sheridan was now called to take a part, of a nature more extraordinary and awful than had often been exhibited on the theatre of politics, but the leading actors in the scene were of that loftier order of intellect, which nature seems to keep in reserve for the ennoblement of such great occasions. two of these, mr. burke and mr. fox, were already in the full maturity of their fame and talent,--while the third, mr. pitt, was just upon the point of entering, with the most auspicious promise, into the same splendid career: "_nunc cuspide patris inclytus, herculeas olim mature sagittas._" though the administration of that day, like many other ministries of the same reign, was chosen more for the pliancy than the strength of its materials, yet lord north himself was no ordinary man, and, in times of less difficulty and under less obstinate dictation, might have ranked as a useful and most popular minister. it is true, as the defenders of his measures state, that some of the worst aggressions upon the rights of the colonies had been committed before he succeeded to power. but his readiness to follow in these rash footsteps, and to deepen every fatal impression which they had made;--his insulting reservation of the tea duty, by which he contrived to embitter the only measure of concession that was wrung from him;--the obsequiousness, with which he made himself the channel of the vindictive feelings of the court, in that memorable declaration (rendered so truly mock-heroic by the event) that "a total repeal of the port duties could not be thought of, till america was prostrate at the feet of england;"--all deeply involve him in the shame of that disastrous period, and identify his name with measures as arbitrary and headstrong, as have ever disgraced the annals of the english monarchy. the playful wit and unvarying good-humor of this nobleman formed a striking contrast to the harsh and precipitate policy, which it was his lot, during twelve stormy years, to enforce:--and, if his career was as headlong as the torrent near its fall, it may also be said to have been as shining and as smooth. these attractive qualities secured to him a considerable share of personal popularity; and, had fortune ultimately smiled on his councils, success would, as usual, have reconciled the people of england to any means, however arbitrary, by which it had been attained. but the calamities, and, at last, the hopelessness of the conflict, inclined them to moralize upon its causes and character. the hour of lord north's ascendant was now passing rapidly away, and mr. sheridan could not have joined the opposition, at a conjuncture more favorable to the excitement of his powers, or more bright in the views which it opened upon his ambition. he made his first speech in parliament on the th of november, , when a petition was presented to the house, complaining of the undue election of the sitting members (himself and mr. monckton) for stafford. it was rather lucky for him that the occasion was one in which he felt personally interested, as it took away much of that appearance of anxiety for display, which might have attended his first exhibition upon any general subject. the fame, however, which he had already acquired by his literary talents, was sufficient, even on this question, to awaken all the curiosity and expectation of his audience; and accordingly we are told in the report of his speech, that "he was heard with particular attention, the house being uncommonly still while he was speaking." the indignation, which he expressed on this occasion at the charges brought by the petition against the electors of stafford, was coolly turned into ridicule by mr. rigby, paymaster of the forces. but mr. fox, whose eloquence was always ready at the call of good nature, and, like the shield of ajax, had "ample room and verge enough," to protect not only himself but his friends, came promptly to the aid of the young orator; and, in reply to mr. rigby, observed, that "though those ministerial members, who chiefly robbed and plundered their constituents, might afterwards affect to despise them, yet gentlemen, who felt properly the nature of the trust allotted to them, would always treat them and speak of them with respect." it was on this night, as woodfall used to relate, that mr. sheridan, after he had spoken, came up to him in the gallery, and asked, with much anxiety, what he thought of his first attempt. the answer of woodfall, as he had the courage afterwards to own, was, "i am sorry to say i do not think that this is your line--you had much better have stuck to your former pursuits." on hearing which, sheridan rested his head upon his hand for a few minutes, and then vehemently exclaimed, "it is in me, however, and, by g--, it shall come out." it appears, indeed, that upon many persons besides mr. woodfall the impression produced by this first essay of his oratory was far from answerable to the expectations that had been formed. the chief defect remarked in him was a thick and indistinct mode of delivery, which, though he afterwards greatly corrected it, was never entirely removed. it is not a little amusing to find him in one of his early speeches, gravely rebuking mr. rigby and mr. courtenay [footnote: feb. .--on the second reading of the bill for the better regulation of his majesty's civil list revenue.] for the levity and raillery with which they treated the subject before the house,--thus condemning the use of that weapon in other hands, which soon after became so formidable in his own. the remarks by which mr. courtenay (a gentleman, whose lively wit found afterwards a more congenial air on the benches of the opposition) provoked the reprimand of the new senator for stafford, are too humorous to be passed over without, at least, a specimen of their spirit. in ridiculing the conduct of the opposition, he observed:-- "oh liberty! oh virtue! oh my country! had been the pathetic, though fallacious cry of former oppositions; but the present he was sure acted on purer motives. they wept over their bleeding country, he had no doubt. yet the patriot 'eye in a fine frenzy rolling' sometimes deigned to cast a wishful squint on the riches and honors enjoyed by the minister and his venal supporters. if he were not apprehensive of hazarding a ludicrous allusion, (which he knew was always improper on a serious subject) he would compare their conduct to that of the sentimental alderman in one of hogarth's prints, who, when his daughter is expiring, wears indeed a parental face of grief and solicitude, but it is to secure her diamond ring which he is drawing gently from her finger." "mr. sheridan (says the report) rose and reprehended mr. courtenay for turning every thing that passed into ridicule; for having introduced into the house a style of reasoning, in his opinion, every way unsuitable to the gravity and importance of the subjects that came under their discussion. if they would not act with dignity, he thought they might, at least, debate with decency. he would not attempt to answer mr. courtenay's arguments, for it was impossible seriously to reply to what, in every part, had an infusion of ridicule in it. two of the honorable gentlemen's similes, however, he must take notice of. the one was his having insinuated that the opposition was envious of those who basked in court sunshine; and desirous merely to get into their places. he begged leave to remind the honorable gentleman that, though the sun afforded a genial warmth, it also occasioned an intemperate heat, that tainted and infected everything it reflected on. that this excessive heat tended to corrupt as well as to cherish; to putrefy as well as to animate; to dry and soak up the wholesome juices of the body politic, and turn the whole of it into one mass of corruption. if those, therefore, who sat near him did not enjoy so genial a warmth as the honorable gentleman, and those who like him kept close to the noble lord in the blue ribbon, he was certain they breathed a purer air, an air less infected and less corrupt." this florid style, in which mr. sheridan was not very happy, he but rarely used in his speeches afterwards. the first important subject that drew forth any thing like a display of his oratory was a motion which he made on the th of march, , "for the better regulation of the police of westminster." the chief object of the motion was to expose the unconstitutional exercise of the prerogative that had been assumed, in employing the military to suppress the late riots, without waiting for the authority of the civil power. these disgraceful riots, which proved to what christianity consequences the cry of "no popery" may lead, had the effect, which follows all tumultuary movements of the people, of arming the government with new powers, and giving birth to doctrines and precedents permanently dangerous to liberty. it is a little remarkable that the policy of blending the army with the people and considering soldiers as citizens, which both montesquieu and blackstone recommend as favorable to freedom, should, as applied by lord mansfield on this occasion, be pronounced, and perhaps with more justice, hostile to it; the tendency of such a practice being, it was said, to weaken that salutary jealousy, with which the citizens of a free state should ever regard a soldier, and thus familiarize the use of this dangerous machine, in every possible service to which capricious power may apply it. the opposition did not deny that the measure of ordering out the military, and empowering their officers to act at discretion without any reference to the civil magistrate, was, however unconstitutional, not only justifiable but wise, in a moment of such danger. but the refusal of the minister to acknowledge the illegality of the proceeding by applying to the house for an act of indemnity, and the transmission of the same discretionary orders to the soldiery throughout the country, where no such imminent necessity called for it, were the points upon which the conduct of the government was strongly, and not unjustly, censured. indeed, the manifest design of the ministry, at this crisis, to avail themselves of the impression produced by the riots, as a means of extending the frontier of their power, and fortifying the doctrines by which they defended it, spread an alarm among the friends of constitutional principles, which the language of some of the advocates of the court was by no means calculated to allay. among others, a noble earl,--one of those awkward worshippers of power, who bring ridicule alike upon their idol and themselves,--had the foolish effrontery, in the house of lords, to eulogize the moderation which his majesty had displayed, in not following the recent example of the king of sweden, and employing the sword, with which the hour of difficulty had armed him, for the subversion of the constitution and the establishment of despotic power. though this was the mere ebullition of an absurd individual, yet the bubble on the surface often proves the strength of the spirit underneath, and the public were justified by a combination of circumstances, in attributing designs of the most arbitrary nature to such a court and such an administration. meetings were accordingly held in some of the principal counties, and resolutions passed, condemning the late unconstitutional employment of the military. mr. fox had adverted to it strongly at the opening of the session, and it is a proof of the estimation in which mr. sheridan already stood with his party, that he was the person selected to bring forward a motion, upon a subject in which the feelings of the public were so much interested. in the course of his speech he said:-- "if this doctrine was to be laid down, that the crown could give orders to the military to interfere, when, where, and for what length of time it pleases, then we might bid farewell to freedom. if this was the law, we should then be reduced to a military government of the very worst species, in which we should have all the evils of a despotic state, without the discipline or the security. but we were given to understand, that we had the best protection against this evil, in the virtue, the moderation, and the constitutional principles of the sovereign. no man upon earth thought with more reverence than himself of the virtues and moderation of the sovereign; but this was a species of liberty which he trusted would never disgrace an english soil. the liberty that rested on the virtuous inclinations of any one man, was but suspended despotism; the sword was not indeed upon their necks, but it hung by the small and brittle thread of human will." the following passage of this speech affords an example of that sort of antithesis of epithet, which, as has been already remarked, was one of the most favorite contrivances of his style:-- "was not the conduct of that man or men criminal, who had permitted those justices to continue in the commission? men of _tried inability_ and _convicted deficiency_! had no attempt been made to establish some more effectual system of police, in order that we might still depend upon the remedy of the bayonet, and that the military power might be called in to the aid of _contrived weakness_ and _deliberate inattention_?" one of the few instances in which he ever differed with his friend, mr. fox, occurred during this session, upon the subject of a bill which the latter introduced for the repeal of the marriage act, and which he prefaced by a speech as characteristic of the ardor, the simplicity, the benevolence and fearlessness of his disposition, as any ever pronounced by him in public. some parts, indeed, of this remarkable speech are in a strain of feeling so youthful and romantic, that they seem more fit to be addressed to one of those parliaments of love, which were held during the times of chivalry, than to a grave assembly employed about the sober realities of life, and legislating with a view to the infirmities of human nature. the hostility of mr. fox to the marriage act was hereditary, as it had been opposed with equal vehemence by his father, on its first introduction in , when a debate not less memorable took place, and when sir dudley ryder, the attorney-general of the day, did not hesitate to advance, as one of his arguments in favor of the bill, that it would tend to keep the aristocracy of the country pure, and prevent their mixture by intermarriage with the mass of the people. however this anxiety for the "streams select" of noble blood, or views, equally questionable, for the accumulation of property in great families, may have influenced many of those with whom the bill originated,--however cruel, too, and mischievous, some of its enactments may be deemed, yet the general effect which the measure was intended to produce, of diminishing as much as possible the number of imprudent marriages, by allowing the pilotage of parental authority to continue till the first quicksands of youth are passed, is, by the majority of the civilized world, acknowledged to be desirable and beneficial. mr. fox, however, thought otherwise, and though--"bowing," as he said, "to the prejudices of mankind,"--he consented to fix the age at which young people should be marriageable without the consent of parents, at sixteen years for the woman and eighteen for the man, his own opinion was decidedly for removing all restriction whatever, and for leaving the "heart of youth" which, in these cases, was "wiser than the head of age," without limit or control, to the choice which its own desires dictated. he was opposed in his arguments, not only by mr. sheridan, but by mr. burke, whose speech on this occasion was found among his manuscripts after his death, and is enriched, though short, by some of those golden sentences, which he "scattered from his urn" upon every subject that came before him. [footnote: in alluding to mr. fox's too favorable estimate of the capability of very young persons to choose for themselves, he pays the following tribute to his powers:--"he is led into it by a natural and to him inevitable and real mistake, that the ordinary race of mankind advance as fast towards maturity of judgment and understanding as he has done." his concluding words are:--"have mercy on the youth of both sexes; protect them from their ignorance and inexperience; protect one part of life by the wisdom of another; protect them by the wisdom of laws and the care of nature."] mr. sheridan, for whose opinions upon this subject the well-known history of his own marriage must have secured no ordinary degree of attention, remarked that-- "his honorable friend, who brought in the bill, appeared not to be aware that, if he carried the clause enabling girls to marry at sixteen, he would do an injury to that liberty of which he had always shown himself the friend, and promote domestic tyranny, which he could consider only as little less intolerable than public tyranny. if girls were allowed to marry at sixteen, they would, he conceived, be abridged of that happy freedom of intercourse, which modern custom had introduced between the youth of both sexes; and which was, in his opinion, the best nursery of happy marriages. guardians would, in that case, look on their wards with a jealous eye, from a fear that footmen and those about them might take advantage of their tender years and immature judgment, and persuade them into marriage, as soon as they attained the age of sixteen." it seems somewhat extraordinary that, during the very busy interval which passed between mr. sheridan's first appearance in parliament and his appointment under lord rockingham's administration in , he should so rarely have taken a part in the debates that occurred-- interesting as they were, not only from the importance of the topics discussed, but from the more than usual animation now infused into the warfare of parties, by the last desperate struggles of the ministry and the anticipated triumph of the opposition. among the subjects, upon which he appears to have been rather unaccountably silent, was the renewal of mr. burke's bill for the regulation of the civil list,--an occasion memorable as having brought forth the maiden speech of mr. pitt, and witnessed the first accents of that eloquence which was destined, ere long, to sound, like the shell of misenus, through europe, and call kings and nations to battle by its note. the debate upon the legality of petitions from delegated bodies, in which mr. dunning sustained his high and rare character of a patriot lawyer;--the bold proposal of mr. thomas pitt, that the commons should withhold the supplies, till pledges of amendment in the administration of public affairs should be given;--the bill for the exclusion of excise officers and contractors from parliament, which it was reserved for a whig administration to pass;--these and other great constitutional questions, through which mr. burke and mr. fox fought, side by side, lavishing at every step the inexhaustible ammunition of their intellect, seem to have passed away without once calling into action the powers of their new and brilliant auxiliary, sheridan. the affairs of ireland, too, had assumed at this period, under the auspices of mr. grattan and the example of america, a character of grandeur, as passing as it was bright,--but which will long be remembered with melancholy pride by her sons, and as long recall the memory of that admirable man, to whose patriotism she owed her brief day of freedom, and upon whose name that momentary sunshine of her sad history rests. an opportunity of adverting to the events, which had lately taken place in ireland, was afforded by mr. fox in a motion for the re-commitment of the mutiny bill; and on this subject, perhaps, the silence of mr. sheridan may be accounted for, from his reluctance to share the unpopularity attached by his countrymen to those high notions of the supremacy of england, which, on the great question of the independence of the irish parliament, both mr. fox and mr. burke were known to entertain. [footnote: as the few beautiful sentences spoken by burke on this occasion, in support of his friend's motion, have been somewhat strangely omitted in the professed collection of all his speeches, i shall give them here as they are reported in the parliamentary history:--"mr. burke said, so many and such great revolutions had happened of late, that he was not much surprised to hear the right hon. gentleman (mr. jenkinson) treat the loss of the supremacy of this country over ireland as a matter of very little consequence. thus, one star, and that the brightest ornament of our orrery, having been suffered to be lost, those who were accustomed to inspect and watch our political heaven ought not to wonder that it should be followed by the loss of another.-- so star would follow star, and light light, till all was darkness and eternal night."] even on the subject of the american war, which was now the important point that called forth all the resources of attack and defence on both sides, the co-operation of mr. sheridan appears to have been but rare and casual. the only occasions, indeed, connected with this topic upon which i can trace him as having spoken at any length, were the charges brought forward by mr. fox against the admiralty for their mismanagement of the naval affairs of , and the resolution of censure on his majesty's ministers moved by lord john cavendish. his remarks in the latter debate upon the two different sets of opinions, by which (as by the double soul, imagined in xenophon) the speaking and the voting of mr. rigby were actuated, are very happy:-- "the right hon. gentleman, however, had acted in this day's debate with perfect consistency. he had assured the house that he thought the noble lord ought to resign his office; and yet he would give his vote for his remaining in it. in the same manner he had long declared, that he thought the american war ought to be abandoned; yet had uniformly given his vote for its continuance. he did not mean, however, to insinuate any motives for such conduct;--he believed the right hon. gentleman to have been sincere; he believed that, as a member of parliament, as a privy councillor, as a private gentleman, he had always detested the american war as much as any man; but that he had never been able to persuade the paymaster that it was a bad war; and unfortunately, in whatever character he spoke, it was the paymaster who always voted in that house." the infrequency of mr. sheridan's exertions upon the american question combines with other circumstances to throw some doubts upon an anecdote, which has been, however, communicated to me as coming from an authority worthy in every respect of the most implicit belief. he is said to have received, towards the close of this war, a letter from one of the leading persons of the american government, expressing high admiration of his talents and political principles, and informing him that the sum of twenty thousand pounds had been deposited for him in the hands of a certain banker, as a mark of the value which the american people attached to his services in the cause of liberty. to this mr. s. returned an answer (which, as well as the letter, was seen, it is said, by the person with whom the anecdote originated) full of the most respectful gratitude for the opinion entertained of his services, but begging leave to decline a gift under such circumstances. that this would have been the nature of his answer, had any such proposal occurred, the generally high tone of his political conduct forbids us to feel any doubt,--but, with respect to the credibility of the transaction altogether, it is far less easy to believe that the americans had so much money to give, than that mr. sheridan should have been sufficiently high-minded to refuse it. not only were the occasions very few and select, on which he offered himself to the attention of the house at this period, but, whenever he did speak, it was concisely and unpretendingly, with the manner of a person who came to learn a new road to fame,--not of one who laid claim to notice upon the credit of the glory he brought with him. mr. fox used to say that he considered his conduct in this respect as a most striking proof of his sagacity and good taste;--such rare and unassuming displays of his talents being the only effectual mode he could have adopted, to win on the attention of his audience, and gradually establish himself in their favor. he had, indeed, many difficulties and disadvantages to encounter, of which his own previous reputation was not the least. not only did he risk a perilous comparison between his powers, as a speaker and his fame as a writer, but he had also to contend with that feeling of monopoly, which pervades the more worldly classes of talent, and which would lead politicians to regard as an intruder upon their craft, a man of genius thus aspiring to a station among them, without the usual qualifications of either birth or apprenticeship to entitle him to it. [footnote: there is an anecdote strongly illustrative of this observation, quoted by lord john russell in his able and lively work "on the affairs of europe from the peace of utrecht."--mr. steele (in alluding to sir thomas hanmer's opposition to the commercial treaty in ) said, "i rise to do him honor"--on which many members who had before tried to interrupt him, called out, 'taller, taller;' and as he went down the house, several said, 'it is not so easy a thing to speak in the house:' 'he fancies because he can scribble,' &c. &c.,--slight circumstances, indeed, (adds lord john,) but which show at once the indisposition of the house to the whig party, and the natural envy of mankind, long ago remarked by cicero, towards all who attempt to gain more than one kind of pre-eminence.] in an assembly, too, whose deference for rank and property is such as to render it lucky that these instruments of influence are so often united with honesty and talent, the son of an actor and proprietor of a theatre had, it must be owned, most fearful odds against him, in entering into competition with the sons of lord holland and lord chatham. with the same discretion that led him to obtrude himself but seldom on the house, he never spoke at this period but after careful and even verbal preparation. like most of our great orators at the commencement of their careers, he was in the habit of writing out his speeches before he delivered them; and, though subsequently he scribbled these preparatory sketches upon detached sheets, i find that he began by using for this purpose the same sort of copy books, which he had employed in the first rough draughts of his plays. however ill the affairs of the country were managed by lord north, in the management of parliament few ministers have been more smoothly dexterous; and through the whole course of those infatuated measures, which are now delivered over, without appeal, to the condemnation of history, he was cheered along by as full and triumphant majorities, as ever followed in the wake of ministerial power. at length, however, the spirit of the people, that last and only resource against the venality of parliaments and the obstinacy of kings, was roused from its long and dangerous sleep by the unparalleled exertions of the opposition leaders, and spoke out with a voice, always awfully intelligible, against the men and the measures that had brought england to the brink of ruin. the effect of this popular feeling soon showed itself in the upper regions. the country-gentlemen, those birds of political omen, whose migrations are so portentous of a change of weather, began to flock in numbers to the brightening quarter of opposition; and at last, lord north, after one or two signal defeats (in spite even of which the court for some time clung to him, as the only hope of its baffled, but persevering revenge), resigned the seals of office in the month of march, , and an entirely new administration was formed under the promising auspices of the marquis of rockingham. mr. sheridan, as might be expected, shared in the triumph of his party, by being appointed one of the under secretaries of state; and, no doubt, looked forward to a long and improving tenure of that footing in office which his talents had thus early procured for him. but, however prosperous on the surface the complexion of the ministry might be, its intestine state was such as did not promise a very long existence. whiggism is a sort of political protestantism, and pays a similar tax for the freedom of its creed, in the multiplicity of opinions which that very freedom engenders--while true toryism, like popery, holding her children together by the one common doctrine of the infallibility of the throne, takes care to repress any schism inconvenient to their general interest, and keeps them, at least for all intents and purposes of place-holding, unanimous. between the two branches of opposition that composed the present administration there were some very important, if not essential, differences of opinion. lord shelburne, the pupil and friend of lord chatham, held the same high but unwise opinions, with respect to the recognition of american independence, which "the swan-like end" of that great man has consecrated in our imagination, however much our reason may condemn them. "whenever" said lord shelburne, "the parliament of great britain shall acknowledge the independence of america, from that moment the sun of england is set for ever." with regard to the affairs of india, too, and the punishment of those who were accused of mismanaging them, the views of the noble lord wholly differed from those of mr. fox and his followers--as appeared from the decided part in favor of mr. hastings, which he took in the subsequent measure of the impeachment. in addition to these fertile seeds of disunion, the retention in the cabinet of a person like lord thurlow, whose views of the constitution were all through the wrong end of the telescope, and who did not even affect to conceal his hostility to the principles of his colleagues, seemed such a provision, at starting, for the embarrassment of the ministry, as gave but very little hope of its union or stability. the only speech, of which any record remains as having been delivered by mr. sheridan during his short official career, was upon a motion made by mr. eden, the late secretary for ireland, "to repeal so much of the act of george i. as asserted a right in the king and parliament of great britain to make laws to bind the kingdom of ireland." this motion was intended to perplex the new ministers, who, it was evident from the speech of mr. fox on the subject, had not yet made up their minds to that surrender of the legislative supremacy of great britain, which ireland now, with arms in her hands, demanded. [footnote: mr. fox, in his speech upon the commercial propositions of , acknowledged the reluctance that was felt at this period, in surrendering the power of external or commercial legislation over ireland:--"a power," he said, "which, in their struggles for independence, the irish had imprudently insisted on having abolished, and which he had himself given up in compliance with the strong prejudices of that nation, though with a reluctance that nothing but irresistible necessity could overcome."] mr. sheridan concurred with the honorable secretary in deprecating such a hasty and insidious agitation of the question, but at the same time expressed in a much more unhesitating manner, his opinion of that law of subjection from which ireland now rose to release herself:-- "if he declared himself (he said) so decided an enemy to the principle of the declaratory law in question, which he had always regarded as a tyrannous usurpation in this country, he yet could not but reprobate the motives which influenced the present mover for its repeal--but, if the house divided on it, he should vote with him." the general sense of the house being against the motion, it was withdrawn. but the spirit of the irish nation had advanced too far on its march to be called back even by the most friendly voice. all that now remained for the ministers was to yield, with a confiding frankness, what the rash measures of their predecessors and the weakness of england had put it out of their power with safety to refuse. this policy, so congenial to the disposition of mr. fox, was adopted. his momentary hesitation was succeeded by such a prompt and generous acquiescence in the full demands of the irish parliament, as gave all the grace of a favor to what necessity would, at all events, have extorted--and, in the spirited assertion of the rights of freemen on one side, and the cordial and entire recognition of them on the other, the names of grattan and fox, in that memorable moment, reflected a lustre on each other which associates them in its glory for ever. another occasion upon which mr. sheridan spoke while in office,--though no report of his speech has been preserved--was a motion for a committee to examine into the state of the representation, brought forward by the youthful reformer, mr. william pitt, whose zeal in the cause of freedom was at that time, perhaps, sincere, and who little dreamed of the war he was destined to wage with it afterwards. mr. fox and mr. sheridan spoke strongly in favor of the motion, while, in compliance with the request of the former, mr. burke absented himself from the discussion--giving the cause of reform, for once, a respite from the thunders of his eloquence, like the sleep of jove, in homer, which leaves the greeks for the moment masters of the field. [greek]_sphin chndos opaze, minuntha per, ophr'eati endei zeus. [footnote: "and, while the moment lasts of jove's repose, make victory theirs." cowper.] notwithstanding all this, however, the question was lost by a majority of to . immediately on his accession to office, mr. sheridan received the following letter from his brother charles francis, who had been called to the irish bar in or , but was at this time practising as a special pleader:-- "dublin, march , . "dear dick, "i am much obliged to you for your early intelligence concerning the fate of the ministry, and give you joy on the occasion, notwithstanding your sorrow for the departure of the good opposition. i understand very well what you mean by this sorrow--but as you may be now in a situation in which you may obtain some substantial advantage for yourself, for god's sake improve the opportunity to the utmost, and don't let dreams of empty fame (of which you have had enough in conscience) carry you away from your solid interests. "i return you many thanks for fox's letter. i mean for your intention to make him write one--for as your good intentions always satisfy your conscience, and that you seem to think the carrying them into execution to be a mere trifling ceremony, as well omitted as not, your friends must always take the _will_ for the _deed_. i will forgive you, however, on condition that you will for once in your life consider that though the _will_ alone may perfectly satisfy yourself, your friends would be a little more, gratified if they were sometimes to see it accompanied by the deed--and let me be the first upon whom you try the experiment if the people here are not to share the fate of their patrons, but are suffered to continue in the government of this country, i believe you will have it in your power, as i am certain it will be in your inclination, to fortify my claims upon them by recommendations from your side of the water, in such a manner as to insure to me what i have a right to expect from them, but of which i can have no certainty without that assistance. i wish the present people may continue here, because i certainly have claims upon them, and considering the footing that lord c--- and charles fox are on, a recommendation from the latter would now have every weight,--it would be drawing a bill upon government here, payable at sight, which they dare not protest. so, dear dick, i shall rely upon you that will _really_ be done: and, to confess the truth, unless it be done, and that speedily, i shall be completely ruined, for this damned annuity, payable to my uncle, plays the devil with me. if there is any intention of recalling the people here, i beg you will let me know it as soon as possible, that i may take my measures accordingly,--and i think i may rely upon you also that whoever comes over here as lord l----t, i shall not be forgot among the number of those who shall be recommended to them. "as to our politics here, i send you a newspaper,--read the resolutions of the volunteers, and you will be enabled to form some idea of the spirit which at present pervades this country. a declaration of the independency of our parliament upon yours will _certainly_ pass our house of commons immediately after the recess; government here dare not, cannot oppose it; you will see the volunteers have pledged their lives and fortunes in support of the measure. the grand juries of every county have followed their example, and some of the staunchest friends of government have been, much against their inclinations, compelled to sign the most spirited resolutions. "a call of the house is ordered for the first tuesday after the recess, and circular letters from the speaker worded in this remarkable manner, "that the members do attend on that day as _they tender the rights of ireland_." in short, nothing will satisfy the people but the most unequivocal assertion of the total independence of the irish legislature. this flame has been raised within this six weeks, and is entirely owing either to the insidious design or unpardonable inattention of the late administration, in including, or suffering to be included, the name of ireland in no less than five british statutes passed last sessions. people here were ignorant of this till grattan produced the five acts to the house of commons, one of which eden had been so imprudent as to publish in the dublin gazette. previous to this the general sense of the country was, that the mere question of right should be suffered to sleep, provided the _exercise_ of the power claimed under it should never again be resorted to in a single instance. "the sooner you repeal the th of g. i. the better; for, believe me, nothing short of that can now preserve union and cordiality between the two countries. "i hope my father and you are very good friends by this. i shall not be able to send you the remaining _l_. till october, as i have been disappointed as to the time of payment of the money i expected to receive this month. let me entreat you to write to me shortly a few words. i beg my love to mrs. s. and tom. "i am, dear dick, "your very affectionate brother, "c. f. sheridan." the expectations of the writer of this letter were not disappointed. the influence of mr. sheridan, added to his own claims, procured for him the office of secretary of war in ireland,--a situation, which the greater pliancy of his political principles contrived to render a more permanent benefit to him than any that his whig brother was ever able to secure for himself. the death of the marquis of rockingham broke up this shortlived ministry, which, during the four months of its existence, did more perhaps for the principles of the constitution, than any one administration that england had seen since the revolution. they were betrayed, it is true, into a few awkward overflowings of loyalty, which the rare access of whigs to the throne may at once account for and excuse:--and burke, in particular, has left us a specimen of his taste for extremes, in that burst of optimism with which he described the king's message, as "the best of messages to the best of people from the best of kings." but these first effects of the atmosphere of a court, upon heads unaccustomed to it, are natural and harmless--while the measures that passed during that brief interval, directed against the sources of parliamentary corruption, and confirmatory of the best principles of the constitution, must ever be remembered to the honor of the party from which they emanated. the exclusion of contractors from the house of commons--the disqualification of revenue-officers from voting at elections--the disfranchisement of corrupt voters at cricklade, by which a second precedent [footnote: the first was that of the borough of shoreham in .] was furnished towards that plan of gradual reform, which has, in our own time, been so forcibly recommended by lord john russell--the diminution of the patronage of the crown, by mr. burke's celebrated bill [footnote: this bill, though its circle of retrenchment was, as might be expected, considerably narrowed, when the treasury bench became the centre from which he described it, was yet eminently useful, as an acknowledgment from ministerial authority of the necessity of such occasional curtailments of the royal influence.]--the return to the old constitutional practice [footnote: first departed from in . see burke's powerful exposure of the mischiefs of this innovation, in his "thoughts on the causes of the present discontents."] of making the revenues of the crown pay off their own incumbrances, which salutary principle was again lost in the hands of mr. pitt--the atonement at last made to the violated rights of electors, by the rescinding of the resolutions relative to wilkes--the frank and cordial understanding entered into with ireland, which identifies the memory of mr. fox and this ministry with the only _oasis_ in the whole desert of irish history--so many and such important recognitions of the best principles of whiggism, followed up, as they were, by the resolutions of lord john cavendish at the close of the session, pledging the ministers to a perseverance in the same task of purification and retrenchment, give an aspect to this short period of the annals of the late reign, to which the eye turns for relief from the arbitrary complexion of the rest; and furnish us with, at least, _one_ consoling instance, where the principles professed by statesmen, when in opposition, were retained and sincerely acted upon by them in power. on the death of the marquis of rockingham, lord shelburne, without, as it appears, consulting any of the persons attached to that nobleman, accepted the office of first lord of the treasury; in consequence of which mr. fox, and the greater number of his friends--among whom were mr. burke and mr. sheridan--sent in their resignations; while general conway, the duke of richmond, and one or two other old allies of the party, remained in office. to a disposition so social as that of mr. fox, the frequent interruption and even loss of friendships, which he had to sustain in the course of his political career, must have been a sad alloy to its pleasure and its pride. the fable of the sheep that leaves its fleece on the bramble bush is but too apt an illustration of the fate of him, who thus sees himself stripped of the comforts of friendship by the tenacious and thorny hold of politics. on the present occasion, however, the desertion of his standard by a few who had followed him cordially in his ascent to power, but did not show the same alacrity in accompanying his voluntary fall, was amply made up to him by the ready devotion, with which the rest of the party shared his fortunes. the disinterestedness of sheridan was the more meritorious, if, as there is every reason to believe, he considered the step of resignation at such a moment to be, at least, hasty, if not wholly wrong. in this light it was, indeed, viewed by many judicious persons at the time, and the assurances given by the duke of richmond and general conway, of the continued adherence of the cabinet to the same principles and measures, to which they were pledged at the first formation of the ministry, would seem to confirm the justice of the opinion. so much temper, however, had, during the few months of their union, been fermenting between the two great masses of which the administration was composed, that it would have been difficult, if not impossible, for the rockingham party to rally, with any cordiality, round lord shelburne, as a leader--however they might still have been contented to co-operate with him, had he remained in the humble station which he himself had originally selected. that noble lord, too, who felt that the sacrifice which he had considerately made, in giving up the supremacy of station to lord rockingham, had, so far from being duly appreciated by his colleagues, been repaid only with increased alienation and distrust, could hardly be expected to make a second surrender of his advantages, in favor of persons who had, he thought, so ungraciously requited him for the first. in the mean time the court, to which the rockingham party was odious, had, with its usual policy, hollowed the ground beneath them, so as to render their footing neither agreeable nor safe. the favorite object in that quarter being to compose a ministry of those convenient ingredients, called "king's friends," lord shelburne was but made use of as a temporary instrument, to clear away, in the first plane, the chief obstacles to such an arrangement, and then, in his turn, be sacrificed himself, as soon as a more subservient system could be organized. it was, indeed, only upon a strong representation from his lordship of the impossibility of carrying on his government against such an opposition, without the infusion of fresh and popular talent, that the royal consent was obtained to the appointment of mr. pitt--the memory of whose uncompromising father, as well as the first achievements on his own youthful shield, rendered him no very promising accession to such a scheme of government, as was evidently then contemplated by the court. in this state of affairs, the resignation of mr. fox and his friends was but a prompt and spirited anticipation of what must inevitably have taken place, under circumstances much less redounding to the credit of their independence and disinterestedness. there is little doubt, indeed, that with the great majority of the nation, mr. fox by this step considerably added to his popularity--and, if we were desired to point out the meridian moment of his fame, we should fix it perhaps at this splendid epoch, before the ill-fated coalition had damped the confidence of his friends, or the ascendancy of his great rival had multiplied the number of his enemies. there is an anecdote of mr. burke, connected with this period, the credibility of which must be left to the reader's own judgment. it is said that, immediately upon the retirement of mr. fox, while lord john cavendish (whose resignation was for a short time delayed by the despatch of some official business) was still a minister, mr. burke, with a retrospect to the sweets of office which showed that he had not wholly left hope behind, endeavored to open a negotiation through the medium of lord john, for the purpose of procuring, by some arrangement, either for himself or his son, a tellership then in the possession of a relative of lord orford. it is but fair to add that this curious anecdote rests chiefly upon the authority of the latter nobleman. [footnote: unpublished papers.] the degree of faith it receives will, therefore, depend upon the balance that may be struck in our comparative estimate between the disinterestedness of burke and the veracity of lord orford. at the commencement of the following session that extraordinary coalition was declared, which had the ill-luck attributed to the conjunction of certain planets, and has shed an unfavorable influence over the political world ever since. little is, i believe, known of the private negotiations that led to this ill-assorted union of parties; but, from whichever side the first advances may have come, the affair seems to have been dispatched with the rapidity of a siamese courtship; and while to mr. eden (afterwards lord auckland) is attributed the credit of having gained lord north's consent to the union, mr. burke is generally supposed to have been the person, who sung the "hymen, oh hymenae" in the ears of mr. fox. with that sagacity, which in general directed his political views, mr. sheridan foresaw all the consequences of such a defiance of public opinion, and exerted, it is said, the whole power of his persuasion and reasoning, to turn aside his sanguine and uncalculating friend from a measure so likely to embarrass his future career. unfortunately, however, the advice was not taken,--and a person, who witnessed the close of a conversation, in which sheridan had been making a last effort to convince mr. fox of the imprudence of the step he was about to take, heard the latter, at parting, express his final resolution in the following decisive words:--"it is as fixed as the hanover succession." to the general principle of coalitions, and the expediency and even duty of forming them, in conjunctures that require and justify such a sacrifice of the distinctions of party, no objection, it appears to me, can rationally be made by those who are satisfied with the manner in which the constitution has worked, since the new modification of its machinery introduced at the revolution. the revolution itself was, indeed, brought about by a coalition, in which tories, surrendering their doctrines of submission, arrayed themselves by the side of whigs, in defence of their common liberties. another coalition, less important in its object and effects, but still attended with results most glorious to the country, was that which took place in the year , when, by a union of parties from whose dissension much mischief had flowed, the interests of both king and people were reconciled, and the good genius of england triumphed at home and abroad. on occasions like these, when the public liberty or safety is in peril, it is the duty of every honest statesman to say, with the roman, "_non me impedient privatae offensiones, quo minus pro reipublicae salute etian cum inimicissimo consentiam._" such cases, however, but rarely occur; and they have been in this respect, among others, distinguished from the ordinary occasions, on which the ambition or selfishness of politicians resorts to such unions, that the voice of the people has called aloud for them in the name of the public weal; and that the cause round which they have rallied has been sufficiently general, to merge all party titles in the one undistinguishing name of englishman. by neither of these tests can the junction between lord north and mr. fox be justified. the people at large, so far from calling for this ill- omened alliance, would on the contrary--to use the language of mr. pitt --have "forbid the banns;" and though it is unfair to suppose that the interests of the public did not enter into the calculations of the united leaders, yet, if the real watchword of their union were to be demanded of them in "the palace of truth," there can be little doubt that the answer of each would be, distinctly and unhesitatingly, "ambition." one of the most specious allegations in defence of the measure is, that the extraordinary favor which lord shelburne enjoyed at court, and the arbitrary tendencies known to prevail in that quarter, portended just then such an overflow of royal influence, as it was necessary to counteract by this double embankment of party. in the first place, however, it is by no means so certain that the noble minister at this period did actually enjoy such favor. on the contrary, there is every reason to believe that his possession of the royal confidence did not long survive that important service, to which he was made instrumental, of clearing the cabinet of the whigs; and that, like the bees of virgil, he had left the soul of his own power in the wound which he had been the means of inflicting upon that of others. in the second place, whatever might have been the designs of the court,--and of its encroaching spirit no doubt can be entertained,--lord shelburne had assuredly given no grounds for apprehending, that he would ever, like one of the chiefs of this combination against him, be brought to lend himself precipitately or mischievously to its views. though differing from mr. fox on some important points of policy, and following the example of his friend, lord chatham, in keeping himself independent of whig confederacies, he was not the less attached to the true principles of that party, and, throughout his whole political career, invariably maintained them. this argument, therefore,--the only plausible one in defence of the coalition,--fails in the two chief assumptions on which it is founded. it has been truly said of coalitions, considered abstractedly, that such a union of parties, when the public good requires it, is to be justified on the same grounds on which party itself is vindicated. but the more we feel inclined to acknowledge the utility of party, the more we must dread and deprecate any unnecessary compromise, by which a suspicion of unsoundness may be brought upon the agency of so useful a principle--the more we should discourage, as a matter of policy, any facility in surrendering those badges of opinion, on which the eyes of followers are fondly fixed, and by which their confidence and spirit are chiefly kept alive--the more, too, we must lament that a great popular leader, like mr. fox, should ever have lightly concurred in such a confusion of the boundaries of opinion, and, like that mighty river, the mississippi, whose waters lose their own color in mixing with those of the missouri, have sacrificed the distinctive hue of his own political creed, to this confluence of interests with a party so totally opposed to it. "court and country," says hume, [footnote: essay "on the parties of great britain."] "which are the genuine offspring of the british government, are a kind of mixed parties, and are influenced both by principle and by interest. the heads of the factions are commonly most governed by the latter motive; the inferior members of them by the former." whether this be altogether true or not, it will, at least, without much difficulty be conceded, that the lower we descend in the atmosphere of party, the more quick and inflammable we find the feeling that circulates through it. accordingly, actions and professions, which, in that region of indifference, high life, may be forgotten as soon as done or uttered, become recorded as pledges and standards of conduct, among the lower and more earnest adherents of the cause; and many a question, that has ceased to furnish even a jest in the drawing-rooms of the great, may be still agitated, as of vital importance, among the humbler and less initiated disputants of the party. such being the tenacious nature of partisanship, and such the watch kept upon every movement of the higher political bodies, we can well imagine what a portent it must appear to distant and unprepared observers, when the stars to which they trusted for guidance are seen to "shoot madly from their spheres," and not only lose themselves for the time in another system, but unsettle all calculations with respect to their movements for the future. the steps by which, in general, the principles in such transactions are gradually reconciled to their own inconsistency--the negotiations that precede and soften down the most salient difficulties--the value of the advantages gained, in return for opinions sacrificed--the new points of contact brought out by a change of circumstances, and the abatement or extinction of former differences, by the remission or removal of the causes that provoked them,--all these conciliatory gradations and balancing adjustments, which to those who are in the secret may account for, and more or less justify, the alliance of statesmen who differ in their general views of politics, are with difficulty, if at all, to be explained to the remote multitude of the party, whose habit it is to judge and feel in the gross, and who, as in the case of lord north and mr. fox, can see only the broad and but too intelligible fact, that the leaders for whom both parties had sacrificed so much--those on one side their interest, and those on the other, perhaps, their consciences--had deserted them to patch up a suspicious alliance with each other, the only open and visible motive to which was the spoil that it enabled them to partition between them. if, indeed, in that barter of opinions and interests, which must necessarily take place in coalitions between the partisans of the people and of the throne, the former had any thing like an equality of chance, the mere probability of gaining thus any concessions in favor of freedom might justify to sanguine minds the occasional risk of the compromise. but it is evident that the result of such bargains must generally be to the advantage of the crown--the alluvions of power all naturally tend towards that shore. besides, where there are places as well as principles to be surrendered on one side, there must in return be so much more of principles given up on the other, as will constitute an equivalent to this double sacrifice. the centre of gravity will be sure to lie in that body, which contains within it the source of emoluments and honors, and the other will be forced to revolve implicitly round it. the only occasion at this period on which mr. sheridan seems to have alluded to the coalition, was during a speech of some length on the consideration of the preliminary articles of peace. finding himself obliged to advert to the subject, he chose rather to recriminate on the opposite party for the anomaly of their own alliances, than to vindicate that which his distinguished friend had just formed, and which, in his heart, as has been already stated, he wholly disapproved. the inconsistency of the tory lord advocate (dundas) in connecting himself with the patron of equal representation, mr. pitt, and his support of that full recognition of american independence, against which, under the banners of lord north, he had so obstinately combated, afforded to sheridan's powers of raillery an opportunity of display, of which, there is no doubt, he with his accustomed felicity availed himself. the reporter of the speech, however, has, as usual, contrived, with an art near akin to that of reducing diamonds to charcoal, to turn all the brilliancy of his wit into dull and opake verbiage. it was during this same debate, that he produced that happy retort upon mr. pitt, which, for good-humored point and seasonableness, has seldom, if ever, been equalled. "mr. pitt (say the parliamentary reports) was pointedly severe on the gentlemen who had spoken against the address, and particularly on mr. sheridan. 'no man admired more than he did the abilities of that right honorable gentleman, the elegant sallies of his thought, the gay effusions of his fancy, his dramatic turns and his epigrammatic point; and if they were reserved for the proper stage, they would, no doubt, receive what the honorable gentleman's abilities always did receive, the plaudits of the audience; and it would be his fortune "_sui plausu gaudere theatri_." but this was not the proper scene for the exhibition of those elegancies.' mr. sheridan, in rising to explain, said that 'on the particular sort of personality which the right honorable gentleman had thought proper to make use of, he need not make any comment. the propriety, the taste, the gentlemanly point of it, must have been obvious to the house. but, said mr. sheridan, let me assure the right honorable gentleman, that i do now, and will at any time he chooses to repeat this sort of allusion, meet it with the most sincere good-humor. nay, i will say more--flattered and encouraged by the right honorable gentleman's panegyric on my talents, if ever i again engage in the compositions he alludes to, i maybe tempted to an act of presumption--to attempt an improvement on one of ben jonson's best characters, the character of the angry boy in the alchymist.'" mr. sheridan's connection with the stage, though one of the most permanent sources of his glory, was also a point, upon which, at the commencement of his political career, his pride was most easily awakened and alarmed. he, himself, used to tell of the frequent mortifications which he had suffered, when at school, from taunting allusions to his father's profession--being called by some of his school-fellows "the player-boy," &c. mr. pitt had therefore selected the most sensitive spot for his sarcasm; and the good temper as well as keenness, with which the thrust was returned, must have been felt even through all that pride of youth and talent, in which the new chancellor of the exchequer was then enveloped. there could hardly, indeed, have been a much greater service rendered to a person in the situation of mr. sheridan, than thus affording him an opportunity of silencing, once for all, a battery to which this weak point of his pride was exposed, and by which he might otherwise have been kept in continual alarm. this gentlemanlike retort, combined with the recollection of his duel, tended to place him for the future in perfect security against any indiscreet tamperings with his personal history. [footnote: the following _jeu d'esprit_, written by sheridan himself upon this occurrence, has been found among his manuscripts:-- "advertisement extraordinary. "we hear that, in consequence of a hint, lately given in the house of commons, the play of the alchemist is certainly to be performed by a set of gentlemen for our diversion in a private apartment of buckingham house. "the characters, thus described in the old editions of ben jonson, are to be represented in the following manner--the old practice of men's playing the female parts being adopted. "subtle (_the alchemist_) lord sh--ib--e. face (_the house-keeper_) the lord ch--ll--r. doll common (_their colleague_) the l--d adv--c--te. drugger (_a tobacco-man_) lord eff--ng--m. epicure mammon mr. r--by. tribulation dr. j--nk--s--n. ananias (_a little pastor_) mr. h--ll. kastrill (_the angry boy_) mr. w. p--tt. dame pliant gen. c--nw--y. and surly his ------"] in the administration, that was now forced upon the court by the coalition, mr. sheridan held the office of secretary of the treasury-- the other secretary being mr. richard burke, the brother of the orator. his exertions in the house, while he held this office, were chiefly confined to financial subjects, for which he, perhaps, at this time, acquired the taste, that tempted him afterwards, upon most occasions, to bring his arithmetic into the field against mr. pitt. his defence of the receipt tax,--which, like all other long-lived taxes, was born with difficulty,--appears, as far as we can judge of it from the report, to have been highly amusing. some country-gentleman having recommended a tax upon grave-stones as a substitute for it, sheridan replied that: "such a tax, indeed, was not easily evaded, and could not be deemed oppressive, as it would only be once paid; but so great was the spirit of clamor against the tax on receipts, that he should not wonder if it extended to them; and that it should be asserted, that persons having paid the last debt,--the debt of nature,--government had resolved they should pay a receipt-tax, and have it stamped over their grave. nay, with so extraordinary a degree of inveteracy were some committees in the city, and elsewhere, actuated, that if a receipt-tax of the nature in question was enacted, he should not be greatly surprised if it were soon after published, that such committees had unanimously resolved that they would never be buried, in order to avoid paying the tax; but had determined to lie above ground, or have their ashes consigned to family- urns, in the manner of the ancients." he also took an active share in the discussions relative to the restoration of powell and bembridge to their offices by mr. burke:--a transaction which, without fixing any direct stigma upon that eminent man, subjected him, at least, to the unlucky suspicion of being less scrupulous in his notions of official purity, than became the party which he espoused or the principles of reform that he inculcated. little as the court was disposed, during the late reign, to retain whigs in its service any longer than was absolutely necessary, it must be owned that neither did the latter, in general, take very courtier-like modes of continuing their connection with royalty; but rather chose to meet the hostility of the crown half-way, by some overt act of imprudence or courage, which at once brought the matter to an issue between them. of this hardihood the india bill of mr. fox was a remarkable example--and he was himself fully aware of the risk which he ran in proposing it. "he knew," he said, in his speech upon first bringing forward the question, "that the task he had that day set himself was extremely arduous and difficult; he knew that he had considerable risk in it; but when he took upon himself an office of responsibility, he had made up his mind to the situation and the danger of it." without agreeing with those who impute to mr. fox the extravagant design of investing himself, by means of this bill, with a sort of perpetual whig dictatorship, independent of the will of the crown, it must nevertheless be allowed that, together with the interests of india, which were the main object of this decisive measure, the future interests and influence of his own party were in no small degree provided for; and that a foundation was laid by it for their attainment of a more steady footing in power than, from the indisposition of the court towards them, they had yet been able to accomplish. regarding--as he well might, after so long an experience of tory misrule--a government upon whig principles as essential to the true interests of england, and hopeless of seeing the experiment at all fairly tried, as long as the political existence of the servants of the crown was left dependent upon the caprice or treachery of their master, he would naturally welcome such an accession to the influence of the party as might strengthen their claims to power when out of office, and render their possession of it, when in, more secure and useful. these objects the bill in question would have, no doubt, effected. by turning the pactolus of indian patronage into the territories of whiggism, it would have attracted new swarms of settlers to that region,--the court would have found itself outbid in the market,--and, however the principles of the party might eventually have fared, the party itself would have been so far triumphant. it was indeed, probably, the despair of ever obtaining admission for whiggism, in its unalloyed state, into the councils of the sovereign, that reconciled mr. fox to the rash step of debasing it down to the court standard by the coalition--and, having once gained possession of power by these means, he saw, in the splendid provisions of the india bill, a chance of being able to transmit it as an heir-loom to his party, which, though conscious of the hazard, he was determined to try. if his intention, therefore, was, as his enemies say, to establish a dictatorship in his own person, it was, at the worst, such a dictatorship as the romans sometimes created, for the purpose of averting the plague--and would have been directed merely against that pestilence of toryism, under which the prosperity of england had, he thought, languished so long. it was hardly, however, to be expected of royalty,--even after the double humiliation which it had suffered, in being vanquished by rebels under one branch of the coalition, and browbeaten into acknowledging their independence by the other--that it would tamely submit to such an undisguised invasion of its sanctuary; particularly when the intruders had contrived their operations so ill, as to array the people in hostility against them, as well as the throne. never was there an outcry against a ministry so general and decisive. dismissed insultingly by the king on one side, they had to encounter the indignation of the people on the other; and, though the house of commons, with a fidelity to fallen ministers sufficiently rare, stood by them for a time in a desperate struggle with their successors, the voice of the royal prerogative, like the horn of astolpho, soon scattered the whole body in consternation among their constituents, _"di qua, di la, di su, di giu,"_ and the result was a complete and long-enjoyed triumph to the throne and mr. pitt. though the name of mr. fox is indissolubly connected with this bill, and though he bore it aloft, as fondly as caesar did his own commentaries, through all this troubled sea of opposition, it is to mr. burke that the first daring outline of the plan, as well as the chief materials for filling it up, are to be attributed,--whilst to sir arthur pigot's able hand was entrusted the legal task of drawing the bill. the intense interest which burke took in the affairs of india had led him to lay in such stores of information on the subject, as naturally gave him the lead in all deliberations connected with it. his labors for the select committee, the ninth report of which is pregnant with his mighty mind, may be considered as the source and foundation of this bill--while of the under-plot, which had in view the strengthening of the whig interest, we find the germ in his "thoughts on the present discontents," where, in pointing out the advantage to england of being ruled by such a confederacy, he says, "in one of the most fortunate periods of our history, this country was governed by a connection; i mean the great connection of whigs in the reign of queen anne." burke was, indeed, at this time the actuating spirit of the party--as he must have been of any party to which he attached himself. keeping, as he did, the double engines of his genius and his industry incessantly in play over the minds of his more indolent colleagues, with an intentness of purpose that nothing could divert, and an impetuosity of temper that nothing could resist, it is not wonderful that he should have gained such an entire mastery over their wills, or that the party who obeyed him should so long have exhibited the mark of his rash spirit imprinted upon their measures. the yielding temper of mr. fox, together with his unbounded admiration of burke, led him easily, in the first instance, to acquiesce in the views of his friend, and then the ardor of his own nature, and the self-kindling power of his eloquence, threw an earnestness and fire into his public enforcement of those views, which made even himself forget that they were but adopted from another, and impressed upon his hearers the conviction that they were all, and from the first, his own. we read his speeches in defence of the india bill with a sort of breathless anxiety, which no other political discourses, except those, perhaps, of demosthenes, could produce. the importance of the stake which he risks--the boldness of his plan--the gallantry with which he flings himself into the struggle, and the frankness of personal feeling that breathes throughout--all throw around him an interest, like that which encircles a hero of romance; nor could the most candid autobiography that ever was written exhibit the whole character of the man more transparently through it. the death of this ill-fated ministry was worthy of its birth. originating in a coalition of whigs and tories, which compromised the _principles_ of freedom, it was destroyed by a coalition of king and people, which is even, perhaps, more dangerous to its _practice_. [footnote: "this assumption (says burke) of the tribunitian power by the sovereign was truly alarming. when augustus caesar modestly consented to become the tribune of the people, rome gave up into the hands of that prince the only remaining shield she had to protect her liberty. the tribunitian power in this country, as in ancient rome, was wisely kept distinct and separate from the executive power; in this government it was constitutionally lodged where it was naturally to be lodged, in the house of commons; and to that house the people ought first to carry their complaints, even when they were directed against the measures of the house itself. but now the people were taught to pass by the door of the house of commons and supplicate the throne for the protection of their liberties."--_speech on moving his representation to the king, in june_, .] the conduct, indeed, of all estates and parties, during this short interval, was any thing but laudable. the leaven of the unlucky alliance with lord north was but too visible in many of the measures of the ministry--in the jobbing terms of the loan, the resistance to mr. pitt's plan of retrenchment, and the diminished numbers on the side of parliamentary reform. [footnote: the consequences of this alloy were still more visible in ireland. "the coalition ministry," says mr. hardy, "displayed itself in various employments--but there was no harmony. the old courtiers hated the new, and being more dexterous, were more successful." in stating that lord charlemont was but coldly received by the lord lieutenant, lord northington, mr. hardy adds, "it is to be presumed that some of the old court, who in consequence of the coalition had crept once more into favor, influenced his conduct in this particular."] on the other hand, mr. pitt and his party, in their eagerness for place, did not hesitate to avail themselves of the ambidexterous and unworthy trick of representing the india bill to the people, as a tory plan for the increase of royal influence, and to the king, as a whig conspiracy for the curtailment of it. the king himself, in his arbitrary interference with the deliberations of the lords, and the lords, in the prompt servility with which so many of them obeyed his bidding, gave specimens of their respective branches of the constitution, by no means creditable--while finally the people, by the unanimous outcry with which they rose, in defence of the monopoly of leadenhall street and the sovereign will of the court, proved how little of the "_vox dei_" there may sometimes be in such clamor. mr. sheridan seems to have spoken but once during the discussions on the india bill, and that was on the third reading, when it was carried so triumphantly through the house of commons. the report of his speech is introduced with the usual tantalizing epithets, "witty," "entertaining," &c. &c.; but, as usual, entails disappointment in the perusal--"_at cum intraveris, dii deceque, quam nihil in medio invenies!_" [footnote: pliny] there is only one of the announced pleasantries forthcoming, in any shape, through the speech. mr. scott (the present lord eldon) had, in the course of the debate, indulged in a license of scriptural parody, which he would himself, no doubt, be among the first to stigmatize as blasphemy in others, and had affected to discover the rudiments of the india bill in a chapter of the book of revelations,-- babylon being the east india company, mr. fox and his seven commissioners the beast with the seven heads, and the marks on the hand and forehead, imprinted by the beast upon those around him, meaning, evidently, he said, the peerages, pensions, and places distributed by the minister. in answering this strange sally of forensic wit, mr. sheridan quoted other passages from the same sacred book, which (as the reporter gravely assures us) "told strongly for the bill," and which proved that lord fitz-william and his fellow-commissioners, instead of being the seven heads of the beast, were seven angels "clothed in pure and white linen!" chapter ix. the prince of wales.--financial measures.--mr. pitt's east india bill.-- irish commercial propositions.--plan of the duke of richmond.--sinking fund. the whigs, who had now every reason to be convinced of the aversion with which they were regarded at court, had lately been, in some degree, compensated for this misfortune by the accession to their party of the heir apparent, who had, since the year , been in the enjoyment of a separate establishment, and taken his seat in the house of peers as duke of cornwall. that a young prince, fond of pleasure and impatient of restraint, should have thrown himself into the arms of those who were most likely to be indulgent to his errors, is nothing surprising, either in politics or ethics. but that mature and enlightened statesmen, with the lessons of all history before their eyes, should have been equally ready to embrace such a rash alliance, or should count upon it as any more than a temporary instrument of faction, is, to say the least of it, one of those self-delusions of the wise, which show how vainly the voice of the past may speak amid the loud appeals and temptations of the present. the last prince of wales, it is true, by whom the popular cause was espoused, had left the lesson imperfect, by dying before he came to the throne. but this deficiency has since been amply made up; and future whigs, who may be placed in similar circumstances, will have, at least, one historical warning before their eyes, which ought to be enough to satisfy the most unreflecting and credulous. in some points, the breach that now took place between the prince and the king, bore a close resemblance to that which had disturbed the preceding reign. in both cases, the royal parents were harsh and obstinate--in both cases, money was the chief source of dissension--and, in both cases, the genius, wit, and accomplishments of those with whom the heir apparent connected himself, threw a splendor round the political bond between them, which prevented even themselves from perceiving its looseness and fragility. in the late question of mr. fox's india bill, the prince of wales had voted with his political friends in the first division. but, upon finding afterwards that the king was hostile to the measure, his royal highness took the prudent step (and with mr. fox's full concurrence) of absenting himself entirely from the second discussion, when the bill, as it is known, was finally defeated. this circumstance, occurring thus early in their intercourse, might have proved to each of the parties in this ill-sorted alliance, how difficult it was for them to remain long and creditably united. [footnote: the following sensible remarks upon the first interruption of the political connection between the heir apparent and the opposition, are from an unfinished life of mr. sheridan now in my possession--written by one whose boyhood was passed in the society of the great men whom he undertook to commemorate, and whose station and talents would have given to such a work an authenticity and value, that would have rendered the humble memorial, which i have attempted, unnecessary-- "his royal highness acted upon this occasion by mr. fox's advice and with perfect propriety. at the same time the necessity under which he found himself of so acting may serve as a general warning to princes of the blood in this country, to abstain from connecting themselves with party, and engaging either as active supporters or opponents of the administration of the day. the ties of family, the obligations of their situation, the feelings of the public assuredly will condemn them, at some time or other, as in the present instance to desert their own public acts, to fail in their private professions, and to leave their friends at the very moment, in which service and support are the most imperiously required. "princes are always suspected proselytes to the popular side. conscious of this suspicion, they strive to do it away by exaggerated professions, and by bringing to the party which they espouse more violent opinions and more unmeasured language than any which they find. these mighty promises they soon find it unreasonable, impossible, inconvenient to fulfil. their dereliction of their principles becomes manifest and indefensible, in proportion to the vehemence with which they have pledged themselves always to maintain them, and the contempt and indignation which accompanies their retreat is equivalent to the expectations excited by the boldness and determination of their advance."] on the one side, there was a character to be maintained with the people, which a too complaisant toleration of the errors of royalty might--and, as it happened, _did_ compromise; while, on the other side, there were the obligations of filial duty, which, as in this instance of the india bill, made desertion decorous, at a time when co- operation would have been most friendly and desirable. there was also the perpetual consciousness of being destined to a higher station, in which, while duty would perhaps demand an independence of all party whatever, convenience would certainly dictate a release from the restraints of whiggism. it was most fortunate for mr. sheridan, on the rout of his party that ensued, to find himself safe in his seat for stafford once more, and the following document, connected with his election, is sufficiently curious, in more respects than one, to be laid before the reader: _r. b. sheridan, esq. expenses at the borough of stafford for election, anno_ . burgesses, paid l each................l , yearly expenses since. l s. d. house-rent and taxes ....... servant at s. per week, ... board wages ditto, yearly wages ........ coals, &c. ................. ale tickets ................ half the members' plate .... swearing young burgesses ... subscription to the ........ infirmary ditto clergymen's widows ... ringers .................... --------- ---------- one year ............ multiplied by years . ---------- total expense of six years' parliament, exclusive of expense incurred during the time of election, and your own annual expenses.......................... l , the followers of the coalition had been defeated in almost all directions, and it was computed that no less than of them had been left upon the field,--with no other consolation than what their own wit afforded them, in the title which they bestowed upon themselves of "fox's martyrs." this reduction in the ranks of his enemies, at the very commencement of his career, left an open space for the youthful minister, which was most favorable to the free display of his energies. he had, indeed, been indebted, throughout the whole struggle, full as much to a lucky concurrence of circumstances as to his talents and name for the supremacy to which he so rapidly rose. all the other eminent persons of the day had either deeply entangled themselves in party ties, or taken the gloss off their reputations by some unsuccessful or unpopular measures; and as he was the only man independent enough of the house of commons to be employed by the king as a weapon against it, so was he the only one sufficiently untried in public life, to be able to draw unlimitedly on the confidence of the people, and array them, as he did, in all the enthusiasm of ignorance, on his side. without these two advantages, which he owed to his youth and inexperience, even loftier talents than his would have fallen far short of his triumph. the financial affairs of the country, which the war had considerably deranged, and which none of the ministries that ensued felt sure enough of themselves to attend to, were, of course, among the first and most anxious objects of his administration; and the wisdom of the measures which he brought forward for their amelioration was not only candidly acknowledged by his opponents at the time, but forms at present the least disputable ground, upon which his claim to reputation as a finance-minister rests. having found, on his accession to power, an annual deficiency of several millions in the revenue, he, in the course of two years, raised the income of the country so high as to afford a surplus for the establishment of his sinking fund. nor did his merit lie only in the mere increase of income, but in the generally sound principles of the taxation by which he accomplished it, in the improvements introduced into the collection of the revenue, and the reform effected in the offices connected with it, by the simplification of the mode of keeping public accounts. though mr. sheridan delivered his opinion upon many of the taxes proposed, his objections were rather to the details than the general object of the measures; and it may be reckoned, indeed, a part of the good fortune of the minister, that the financial department of opposition at this time was not assumed by any more adventurous calculator, who might have perplexed him, at least by ingenious cavils, however he might have failed to defeat him by argument. as it was, he had the field almost entirely to himself; for sheridan, though acute, was not industrious enough to be formidable, and mr. fox, from a struggle, perhaps, between candor and party-feeling, absented himself almost entirely from the discussion of the new taxes. [footnote: "he had absented himself," he said, "upon principle; that, though he might not be able to approve of the measures which had been adopted, he did not at the same time think himself authorized to condemn them, or to give them opposition, unless he had been ready to suggest others less distressing to the subject."--_speech on navy bills, &c. &c._] the only questions, in which the angry spirit of the late conflict still survived, were the westminster scrutiny and mr. pitt's east india bill. the conduct of the minister in the former transaction showed that his victory had not brought with it those generous feelings towards the vanquished, which, in the higher order of minds, follows as naturally as the calm after a tempest. there must, indeed, have been something peculiarly harsh and unjust in the proceedings against his great rival on this occasion, which could induce so many of the friends of the minister--then in the fulness of his popularity and power--to leave him in a minority and vote against the continuance of the scrutiny. to this persecution, however, we are indebted for a speech of mr. fox, which is (as he, himself, in his opening, pronounced it would be) one of his best and noblest; and which is reported, too, with such evident fidelity, as well as spirit, that we seem to hear, while we read, the _"demosthenem ipsum"_ uttering it. sheridan had, it appears, written a letter, about this time, to his brother charles, in which, after expressing the feelings of himself and his brother whigs, at the late unconstitutional victory over their party, he added, "but you are all so void of principle, in ireland, that you cannot enter into our situation." charles sheridan, who, in the late changes, had not thought it necessary to pay his principles the compliment of sacrificing his place to them, considered himself, of course, as included in this stigma; and the defence of time-serving politics which he has set up in his answer, if not so eloquent as that of the great roman man master of this art in his letter to lentulus, is, at least, as self-conscious and labored, and betrays altogether a feeling but too worthy of the political meridian from which it issued. "dublin castle, th march, . "my dear dick, "i am much obliged to you for the letter you sent me by orde; i began to think you had forgot i was in existence, but i forgive your past silence on account of your recent kind attention. the new irish administration have come with the olive branch in their hand, and very wisely, i think; the system, the circumstances, and the manners of the two countries are so totally different, that i can assure you nothing could be so absurd as any attempt to extend the party-distinctions which prevail on your side of the water, to this. nothing, i will venture to assert, can possibly preserve the connection between england and ireland, but a permanent government here, acting upon fixed principles, and pursuing systematic measures. for this reason a change of chief governor, ought to be nothing more than a simple transfer of government, and by no means to make any change in that political system respecting this country which england must adopt, let who will be the minister and whichever party may acquire the ascendancy, if she means to preserve ireland as a part of the british empire. "you will say this is a very good plan for people in place, as it tends to secure them against all contingencies, but this, i give you my word, is not my reason for thinking as i do. i must, in the first place, acquaint you that there never can be hereafter in this country any such thing as party connections founded upon political principles; we have obtained all the great objects for which ireland had contended for many years, and there does not now remain one national object of sufficient importance to unite men in the same pursuit. nothing but such objects ever did unite men in this kingdom, and that not from principle, but because the spirit of the people was so far roused with respect to points in which the pride, the interest, the commerce, and the prosperity of the nation at large was so materially concerned, that the house of commons, if they had not the virtue to forward, at least wanted the courage to oppose, the general and determined wish of the whole kingdom; they therefore made a virtue of necessity, joined the standard of a very small popular party; both _ins_ and _outs_ voted equally against government, the latter of course, and the former because each individual thought himself safe in the number who followed his example. "this is the only instance, i believe, in the history of irish politics, where a party ever appeared to act upon public principle, and as the cause of this singular instance has been removed by the attainment of the only objects which could have united men in one pursuit, it is not probable that we shall in future furnish any other example that will do honor to our public spirit. if you reflect an instant, you will perceive that our subordinate situation necessarily prevents the formation of any party among us, like those you have in england, composed of persons acting upon certain principles, and pledged to support each other. i am willing to allow you that your exertions are directed by public spirit; but if those exertions did not lead to _power_, you must acknowledge that it is probable they would not be made, or, if made, that they would not be of much use. the object of a party in england is either to obtain power for themselves, or to take it from those who are in possession of it--they may do this from the purest motives, and with the truest regard for the public good, but still you must allow that power is a very tempting object, the hopes of obtaining it no small incentive to their exertions, and the consequences of success to the individuals of which the party is composed, no small strengthening to the bands which unite them together. now, if you were to expect similar parties to be formed in ireland, you would exact of us more virtue than is necessary for yourselves. from the peculiar situation of this country it is impossible that the exertions of any party here can ever lead to _power_. here then is one very tempting object placed out of our reach, and, with it, all those looked-for consequences to individuals, which, with you, induce them to pledge themselves to each other; so that nothing but poor public spirit would be left to keep our irish party together, and consequently a greater degree of disinterestedness would be necessary in them, than is requisite in one of your english parties. "that no party exertion here can ever lead to power is obvious when you reflect, that we have in fact no _irish government_; all power here being lodged in a branch of the _english_ government, we have no cabinet, no administration of our own, no great offices of state, every office we have is merely ministerial, it confers no power but that of giving advice, which may or may not be followed by the chief governor. as all power, therefore, is lodged solely in the english government, of which the irish is only a branch, it necessarily follows that no exertion of any party here could ever lead to power, unless they overturned the english government in this country, or unless the efforts of such a party in the irish house of commons could overturn the british administration in england, and the leaders of it get into their places; --the first, you will allow, would not be a very wise object, and the latter you must acknowledge to be impossible. "upon the same principle, it would be found very difficult to form a party in this country which should co-operate with any particular party in england, and consent to stand or fall with them. the great leading interests in this kingdom are of course strongly averse to forming any such connections on your side of the water, as it would tend to create a fluctuation in the affairs of this country, that would destroy all their consequence; and, as to the personal friends which a party in england may possibly have in this country, they must in the nature of things be few in number, and consequently could only injure themselves by following the fortunes of a party in england, without being able to render that party the smallest service. and, at all events, to such persons this could be nothing but a losing game. it would be, to refuse to avail themselves of their connections or talents in order to obtain office or honors, and to rest all their pretensions upon the success of a party in another kingdom, to which success they could not in the smallest degree contribute. you will admit that to a party in england, no friends on this side of the water would be worth having who did not possess connections or talents; and if they did possess these, they must of course force themselves into station, let the government of this country be in whose hands it may, and that upon a much more permanent footing than if they were connected with a party in england. what therefore could they gain by such a connection? nothing but the virtue of self-denial, in continuing out of office as long as their friends were so, the chance of coming in when their friends obtained power, and only the chance, for there are interests in this country which must not be offended; and the certainty of going out whenever their friends in england should be dismissed. so that they would exchange the certainty of station upon a permanent footing acquired by their own efforts, connections or talents, for the chance of station upon a most precarious footing, in which they would be placed in the insignificant predicament of doing nothing for themselves, and resting their hopes and ambition upon the labors of others. "in addition to what i have said respecting the consequences of the subordinate situation of this country, you are to take into consideration how peculiarly its inhabitants are circumstanced. two out of three millions are roman catholics--i believe the proportion is still larger--and two-thirds of the remainder are violent rank presbyterians, who have always been, but most particularly of late, strongly averse to all government placed in the hands of the members of the church of england; nine-tenths of the property, the landed property of the country i mean, is in the possession of the latter. you will readily conceive how much these circumstances must give persons of property in this kingdom a leaning towards government; how necessarily they must make them apprehensive for themselves, placed between such potent enemies; and how naturally it must make them look up to english government, in whatever hands it may be, for that strength and support, which the smallness of their numbers prevents their finding among themselves; and consequently you will equally perceive that those political or party principles which create such serious differences among you in england, are matters of small importance to the persons of landed property in this country, when compared with the necessity of their having the constant support of an english government. here, my dear dick, is a very long answer to a very few lines in your postscript. but i could not avoid _boring_ you on the subject, when you say 'that we are all so void of principle that we cannot enter into your situation.' "i have received with the greatest pleasure the accounts of the very considerable figure you have made this sessions in the house of commons. as i have no doubt but that your parliament will be dissolved, god send you success a second time at stafford, and the same to your friend at westminster. i will not forgive you if you do not give me the first intelligence of both those events. i shall say nothing to you on the subject of your english politics, only that i feel myself much more partial to one side of the question than, in my present situation, it would be of any use to me to avow. i am the happiest domestic man in the world, and am in daily expectation of an addition to that happiness, and own that a home, which i never leave without regret, nor return to without delight, has somewhat abated my passion for politics, and that warmth i once felt about public questions. but it has not abated the warmth of my private friendships; it has not abated my regard for fitzpatrick, my anxiety for you, and the warmth of my wishes for the success of your friends, considering them as such. i beg my love to mrs. sheridan and tom, and am, dear dick, "most affectionately yours, c. f. sheridan." with respect to the bill for the better government of india, which mr. pitt substituted for that of his defeated rival, its provisions are now, from long experience, so familiarly known, that it would be superfluous to dwell upon either their merits or defects. [footnote: three of the principal provisions were copied from the propositions of lord north in --in allusion to which mr. powys said of the measure, that "it was the voice of jacob, but the hand of esau."] the two important points in which it differed from the measure of mr. fox were, in leaving the management of their commercial concerns still in the hands of the company, and in making the crown the virtual depositary of indian patronage, [footnote: "mr. pitt's bill continues the form of the company's government, and professes to leave the patronage under certain conditions, and the commerce without condition, in the hands of the company; but places all matters relating to the _civil_ and _military_ government and _revenues_ in the hands of six commissioners, to be nominated and appointed by his majesty, under the title of 'commissioners of the affairs of india,' which board of commissioners is invested with the 'superintendence and control over all the british territorial possessions in the east indies, and over the affairs of the united company of merchants trading thereto.'"-- comparative statement of the two bills, read from his place by mr. sheridan, on the discussion of the declaratory acts in , and afterwards published. in another part of this statement he says, "the present board of control have, under mr. pitt's bill, usurped those very imperial prerogatives from the crown, which were falsely said to have been given to the new board of directors under mr. fox's bill."] instead of suffering it to be diverted into the channels of the whig interest,--never, perhaps, to find its way back again. in which of these directions such an accession of power might, with least mischief to the constitution, be bestowed, having the experience only of the use made of it on one side, we cannot, with any certainty, pretend to determine. one obvious result of this transfer of india to the crown has been that smoothness so remarkable in the movements of the system ever since--that easy and noiseless play of its machinery, which the lubricating contact of influence alone could give, and which was wholly unknown in indian policy, till brought thus by mr. pitt under ministerial control. when we consider the stormy course of eastern politics before that period--the inquiries, the exposures, the arraignments that took place--the constant hunt after indian delinquency, in which ministers joined no less keenly than the opposition--and then compare all this with the tranquillity that has reigned, since the halcyon incubation of the board of control over the waters,--though we may allow the full share that actual reform and a better system of government may claim in this change, there is still but too much of it to be attributed to causes of a less elevated nature,--to the natural abatement of the watchfulness of the minister, over affairs no longer in the hands of others, and to that power of influence, which, both at home and abroad, is the great and ensuring bond of tranquillity, and, like the chain of silence, mentioned in old irish poetry, binds all that come within its reach in the same hushing spell of compromise and repose. it was about this time that, in the course of an altercation with mr. rolle, the member for devonshire, mr. sheridan took the opportunity of disavowing any share in the political satires then circulating, under the titles of "the rolliad" and the "probationary odes." "he was aware," he said, "that the honorable gentlemen had suspected that he was either the author of those compositions, or some way or other concerned in them; but he assured them, upon his honor, he was not--nor had he ever seen a line of them till they were in print in the newspaper." mr. rolle, the hero of the rolliad, was one of those unlucky persons, whose destiny it is to be immortalized by ridicule, and to whom the world owes the same sort of gratitude for the wit of which they were the butts, as the merchants did, in sinbad's story, to those pieces of meat to which diamonds adhered. the chief offence, besides his political obnoxiousness, by which he provoked this satirical warfare, (whose plan of attack was all arranged at a club held at becket's,) was the lead which he took in a sort of conspiracy, formed on the ministerial benches, to interrupt, by coughing, hawking, and other unseemly noises, the speeches of mr. burke. the chief writers of these lively productions were tickell, general fitzpatrick, [footnote: to general fitzpatrick some of the happiest pleasantries are to be attributed; among others, the verses on brooke watson, those on the marquis of graham, and "the liars."] lord john [footnote: lord john townshend, the only survivor, at present, of this confederacy of wits, was the author, in conjunction with tickell, of the admirable satire, entitled "jekyll,"--tickell having contributed only the lines parodied from pope. to the exquisite humor of lord john we owe also the probationary ode for major scott, and the playful parody on _"donae gratus eram libi."_] townshend, richardson, george ellis, and dr. lawrence. [footnote: by doctor lawrence the somewhat ponderous irony of the prosaic department was chiefly managed. in allusion to the personal appearance of this eminent civilian, one of the wits of the day thus parodied a passage of virgil: _"quo tetrior alter non fuit, excepto_ laurentis _corpore turni."_] there were also a few minor contributions from the pens of bate dudley, mr. o'beirne (afterwards bishop of meath), and sheridan's friend, read. in two of the writers, mr. ellis and dr. lawrence, we have a proof of the changeful nature of those atoms, whose concourse for the time constitutes party, and of the volatility with which, like the motes in the sunbeam, described by lucretius, they can _"commutare viam, retroque repulsa reverti nunc huc, nunc illuc, in cunctas denique partes."_ change their light course, as fickle chance may guide, now here, now there, and shoot from side to side. dr. lawrence was afterwards a violent supporter of mr. pitt, and mr. ellis [footnote: it is related that, on one occasion, when mr. ellis was dining with mr. pitt, and embarrassed naturally by the recollection of what he had been guilty of towards his host in the rolliad, some of his brother-wits, to amuse themselves at his expense, endeavored to lead the conversation to the subject of this work, by asking him various questions, as to its authors, &c.,--which mr. pitt overhearing, from the upper end of the table, leaned kindly towards ellis and said, _"immo age, et a prima, dic, hospes, originc nobis."_ the word "hospes," applied to the new convert, was happy, and the "_erroresque tuos_," that follows, was, perhaps, left to be implied.] showed the versatility of his wit, as well as of his politics, by becoming one of the most brilliant contributors to the antijacobin. the rolliad and the antijacobin may, on their respective sides of the question, be considered as models of that style of political satire, [footnote: the following just observations upon the rolliad and probationary odes occur in the manuscript life of sheridan which i have already cited:--"they are, in most instances, specimens of the powers of men, who, giving themselves up to ease and pleasure, neither improved their minds with great industry, nor exerted them with much activity; and have therefore left no very considerable nor durable memorials of the happy and vigorous abilities with which nature had certainly endowed them. the effusions themselves are full of fortunate allusions, ludicrous terms, artful panegyric, and well-aimed satire. the verses are at times far superior to the occasion, and the whole is distinguished by a taste, both in language and matter, perfectly pure and classical; but they are mere occasional productions. they will sleep with the papers of the craftsman, so vaunted, in their own time, but which are never now raked up, except by the curiosity of the historian and the man of literature. "wit, being generally founded upon the manners and characters of its own day, is crowned in that day, beyond all other exertions of the mind, with splendid and immediate success. but there is always something that equalizes. in return, more than any other production, it suffers suddenly and irretrievably from the hand of time. it receives a character the most opposite to its own. from being the most generally understood and perceived, it becomes of all writing the most difficult and the most obscure. satires, whose meaning was open to the multitude, defy the erudition of the scholar, and comedies, of which every line was felt as soon as it was spoken, require the labor of an antiquary to explain them."] whose lightness and vivacity give it the appearance of proceeding rather from the wantonness of wit than of ill-nature, and whose very malice, from the fancy with which it is mixed up, like certain kinds of fireworks, explodes in sparkles. they, however, who are most inclined to forgive, in consideration of its polish and playfulness, the personality in which the writers of both these works indulged, will also readily admit that by no less shining powers can a license so questionable be either assumed or palliated, and that nothing but the lively effervescence of the draught can make us forget the bitterness infused into it. at no time was this truth ever more strikingly exemplified than at present, when a separation seems to have taken place between satire and wit, which leaves the former like the toad, _without_ the "jewel in its head;" and when the hands, into which the weapon of personality has chiefly fallen, have brought upon it a stain and disrepute, that will long keep such writers as those of the rolliad and antijacobin from touching it again. among other important questions, that occupied the attention of mr. sheridan at this period, was the measure brought forward under the title of "irish commercial propositions" for the purpose of regulating and finally adjusting the commercial intercourse between england and ireland. the line taken by him and mr. fox in their opposition to this plan was such as to accord, at once with the prejudices of the english manufacturers and the feelings of the irish patriots,--the former regarding the measure as fatal to their interests, and the latter rejecting with indignation the boon which it offered, as coupled with a condition for the surrender of the legislative independence of their country. in correct views of political economy, the advantage throughout this discussion was wholly on the side of the minister; and, in a speech of mr. jenkinson, we find (advanced, indeed, but incidentally, and treated by mr. fox as no more than amusing theories,) some of those liberal principles of trade which have since been more fully developed, and by which the views of all practical statesmen are, at the present day, directed. the little interest attached by mr. fox to the science of political economy--so remarkably proved by the fact of his never having read the work of adam smith on the subject--is, in some degree, accounted for by the skepticism of the following passage, which occurs in one of his animated speeches on this very question. mr. pitt having asserted, in answer to those who feared the competition of ireland in the market from her low prices of labor, that "great capital would in all cases overbalance cheapness of labor," mr. fox questions the abstract truth of this position, and adds,--"general positions of all kinds ought to be very cautiously admitted; indeed, on subjects so infinitely complex and mutable as politics and commerce, a wise man hesitates at giving too implicit a credit to any general maxim of any denomination." if the surrender of any part of her legislative power could have been expected from ireland in that proud moment, when her new-born independence was but just beginning to smile in her lap, the acceptance of the terms then proffered by the minister, might have averted much of the evils, of which she was afterwards the victim. the proposed plan being, in itself, (as mr. grattan called it,) "an incipient and creeping union," would have prepared the way less violently for the completion of that fated measure, and spared at least the corruption and the blood which were the preliminaries of its perpetration at last. but the pride, so natural and honorable to the irish--had fate but placed them in a situation to assert it with any permanent effect--repelled the idea of being bound even by the commercial regulations of england. the wonderful eloquence of grattan, which, like an eagle guarding her young, rose grandly in defence of the freedom to which itself had given birth, would alone have been sufficient to determine a whole nation to his will. accordingly such demonstrations of resistance were made both by people and parliament, that the commercial propositions were given up by the minister, and this apparition of a union withdrawn from the eyes of ireland for the present--merely to come again, in another shape, with many a "mortal murder on its crown, and push her from her stool." as mr. sheridan took a strong interest in this question, and spoke at some length on every occasion when it was brought before the house, i will, in order to enable the reader to judge of his manner of treating it, give a few passages from his speech on the discussion of that resolution, which stipulated for england a control over the external legislation of ireland:-- "upon this view, it would be an imposition on common sense to pretend that ireland could in future have the exercise of free will or discretion upon any of those subjects of legislation, on which she now stipulated to follow the edicts of great britain; and it was a miserable sophistry to contend, that her being permitted the ceremony of placing those laws upon her own statute-book, as a form of promulgating them, was an argument that it was not the british but the irish statutes that bound the people of ireland. for his part, if he were a member of the irish parliament, he should prefer the measure of enacting by one decisive vote, that all british laws to the purposes stipulated, should have immediate operation in ireland as in great britain; choosing rather to avoid the mockery of enacting without deliberation, and deciding where they had no power to dissent. where fetters were to be worn, it was a wretched ambition to contend for the distinction of fastening our own shackles." * * * * * "all had been delusion, trick, and fallacy: a new scheme of commercial arrangement is proposed to the irish as a boon; and the surrender of their constitution is tacked to it as a mercantile regulation. ireland, newly escaped from harsh trammels and severe discipline, is treated like a high-mettled horse, hard to catch; and the irish secretary is to return to the field, soothing and coaxing him, with a sieve of provender in one hand, but with a bridle in the other, ready to slip over his head while he is snuffling at the food. but this political jockeyship, he was convinced, would not succeed." in defending the policy, as well as generosity of the concessions made to ireland by mr. fox in , he says,-- "fortunately for the peace and future union of the two kingdoms, no such miserable and narrow policy entered into the mind of his right honorable friend; he disdained the injustice of bargaining with ireland on such a subject; nor would ireland have listened to him if he had attempted it. she had not applied to purchase a constitution; and if a tribute or contribution had been demanded in return for what was then granted, those patriotic spirits who were at that time leading the oppressed people of that insulted country to the attainment of their just rights, would have pointed to other modes of acquiring them; would have called to them in the words of camillas, _arma aptare atque ferro non auro patriam et libertatem recuperare_." the following passage is a curious proof of the short-sighted views which prevailed at that period, even among the shrewdest men, on the subject of trade:-- "there was one point, however, in which he most completely agreed with the manufacturers of this country; namely, in their assertion, that if the irish trader should be enabled to meet the british merchant and manufacturer in the british market, the gain of ireland must be the loss of england. [footnote: mr. fox also said, "ireland cannot make a single acquisition but to the proportionate loss of england."] this was a fact not to be controverted on any principle of common sense or reasonable argument. the pomp of general declamation and waste of fine words, which had on so many occasions been employed to disguise and perplex this plain simple truth, or still more fallaciously to endeavor to prove that great britain would find her balance in the irish market, had only tended to show the weakness and inconsistency of the doctrine they were meant to support. the truth of the argument was with the manufacturers; and this formed, in mr. sheridan's mind, a ground of one of the most vehement objections he had to the present plan." it was upon the clamor, raised at this time by the english manufacturers, at the prospect of the privileges about to be granted to the trade of ireland, that tickell, whose wit was always on the watch for such opportunities, wrote the following fragment, found among the papers of mr. sheridan:-- "a vision. "after supping on a few colchester oysters and a small welsh rabbit, i went to bed last tuesday night at a quarter before eleven o'clock. i slept quietly for near two hours, at the expiration of which period, my slumber was indeed greatly disturbed by the oddest train of images i ever experienced. i thought that every individual article of my usual dress and furniture was suddenly gifted with the powers of speech, and all at once united to assail me with clamorous reproaches, for my unpardonable neglect of their common interests, in the great question of surrendering our british commerce to ireland. my hat, my coat, and every button on it, my manchester waistcoat, my silk breeches, my birmingham buckles, my shirt-buttons, my shoes, my stockings, my garters, and what was more troublesome, my night-cap, all joined in a dissonant volley of petitions and remonstrances--which, as i found it impossible to wholly suppress, i thought it most prudent to moderate, by soliciting them to communicate their ideas individually. it was with some difficulty they consented to even this proposal, which they considered as a device to extinguish their general ardor, and to break the force of their united efforts; nor would they by any means accede to it, till i had repeatedly assured them, that as soon as i heard them separately, i would appoint an early hour for receiving them in a joint body. accordingly, having fixed these preliminaries, my night-cap thought proper to slip up immediately over my ears, and disengaging itself from my temples, called upon my waistcoat, who was rather carelessly reclining on a chair, to attend him immediately at the foot of the bed. my sheets and pillow- cases, being all of irish extraction, stuck close to me, however,--which was uncommonly fortunate, for, not only my curtains had drawn off to the foot of the bed, but my blankets also had the audacity to associate themselves with others of the woollen fraternity, at the first outset of this household meeting. both my towels attended as evidences at the bar,--but my pocket-handkerchief, notwithstanding his uncommon forwardness to hold forth the banner of sedition, was thought to be a character of so mixed a complexion, as rendered it more decent for him to reserve his interference till my snuff-box could be heard--which was settled accordingly. "at length, to my inconceivable astonishment, my night-cap, attended as i have mentioned, addressed me in the following terms:--" * * * * * early as was the age at which sheridan had been transplanted from ireland--never to set foot upon his native land again--the feeling of nationality remained with him warmly through life, and he was, to the last, both fond and proud of his country. the zeal, with which he entered, at this period, into irish politics, may be judged of from some letters, addressed to him in the year , by mr. isaac corry, who was at that time a member of the irish opposition, and combated the commercial propositions as vigorously as he afterwards, when chancellor of the exchequer, defended their "consummate flower," the union. a few extracts from these letters will give some idea of the interest attached to this question by the popular party in both countries. the following, dated august , , was written during the adjournment of ten days, that preceded mr. orde's introduction of the propositions:-- "your most welcome letter, after hunting me some days through the country, has at length reached me. i wish you had sent some notes of your most excellent speech; but such as we have must be given to the public--admirable commentary upon mr. pitt's _apology to the people of ireland_, which must also be published in the manner fitting it. the addresses were sent round to all the towns in the kingdom, in order to give currency to the _humbug_. being upon the spot, i have my troops in perfect order, and am ready at a moment's warning for any manoeuvre which may, when we meet in dublin previous to the next sitting, be thought necessary to follow the petitions for postponing. "we hear astonishing accounts of _your_ greatness in particular. paddy will, i suppose, some _beau jour_ be voting you another , , [footnote: alluding to the recent vote of that sum to mr. grattan.] if you go on as you have done. "i send to-day down to my friend, o'neil, who waits for a signal only, and we shall go up together. brownlow is just beside me, and i shall ride over this morning to get him up to consultation in town.... we must get our whig friends in england to engraft a few slips of whiggism here --till that is done, there will be neither constitution for the people nor stability for the government. "charlemont and i were of opinion that we should not make the volunteers speak upon the present business; so i left it out in the resolutions at our late review. they are as tractable as we could desire, and we can manage them completely. we inculcate all moderation--were we to slacken in that, they would instantly step forward." the date of the following letter is august th--two days before mr. orde brought forward the propositions. "we have got the bill entire, sent about by orde. the more it is read, the less it is liked. i made notable use of the clause you sent me before the whole arrived. we had a select meeting to-day of the d. of leinster, charlemont, conolly, grattan, forbes, and myself. we think of moving an address to postpone to-morrow till the th of january, and have also some resolutions ready _pro re nata_, as we don't yet know what shape they will put the business into;--conolly to move. to- morrow morning we settle the address and resolutions, and after that, to-morrow, meet more at large at leinster house. all our troops muster pretty well. mountmorris is here, and to be with us to-morrow morning. we reckon on something like a hundred, and some are sanguine enough to add near a score above it--that is too much. the report of to-night is that orde is not yet ready for us, and will beg a respite of a few days --beresford is not yet arrived, and that is said to be the cause. mornington and poole are come--their muster is as strict as ours. if we divide any thing like a hundred, they will not dare to take a victory over us. adieu, yours most truly, "i. c." the motion for bringing in the bill was carried only by a majority of nineteen, which is thus announced to mr. sheridan by his correspondent:-- "i congratulate with you on minority-against . the business never can go on. they were astonished, and looked the sorriest devils you can imagine. orde's exhibition was pitiful indeed--the support of his party weak and open to attack--the debate on their part really poor. on ours, conolly, o'neill, and the other country gentlemen, strong and of great weight--grattan able and eloquent in an uncommon degree--every body in high spirits, and altogether a force that was irresistible. we divided at nine this morning, on leave to bring in a bill for the settlement. the ground fought upon was the fourth resolution, and the principle of that in the others. the commercial detail did not belong accurately to the debate, though some went over it in a cursory way. grattan, two hours and a half--flood as much--the former brilliant, well attended to, and much admired--the latter tedious from detail; of course, not so well heard, and answered by foster in detail, to refutation. "the attorney general defended the constitutional safety under the fourth-resolution principle. orde mentioned the opposition in england twice in his opening speech, with imputations, or insinuations at least, not very favorable. you were not left undefended. forbes exerted his warm attachment to you with great effect--burgh, the flag-ship of the leinster squadron, gave a well-supported fire pointed against pitt, and covering you. hardy (the bishop of down's friend) in a very elegant speech gave you due honor; and i had the satisfaction of a slight skirmish, which called up the attorney general, &c...." on the th of august mr. orde withdrew his bill, and mr. corry writes-- "i wish you joy a thousand times of our complete victory. orde has offered the bill--moved its being printed for his own justification to the country, and no more of it this session. we have the effects of a complete victory." another question of much less importance, but more calculated to call forth sheridan's various powers, was the plan of the duke of richmond for the fortification of dock-yards, which mr. pitt brought forward (it was said, with much reluctance) in the session of , and which sheridan must have felt the greater pleasure in attacking, from the renegade conduct of its noble author in politics. in speaking of the report of a board of general officers, which had been appointed to examine into the merits of this plan, and of which the duke himself was president, he thus ingeniously plays with the terms of the act in question, and fires off his wit, as it were, _en ricochet_, making it bound lightly from sentence to sentence:-- "yet the noble duke deserved the warmest panegyrics for the striking proofs he had given of his genius as an engineer; which appeared even in the planning and construction of the paper in his hand! the professional ability of the master-general shone as conspicuously there, as it could upon our coasts. he had made it an argument of posts; and conducted his reasoning upon principles of trigonometry, as well as logic. there were certain detached data, like advanced works, to keep the enemy at a distance from the main object in debate. strong provisions covered the flanks of his assertions. his very queries were in casements. no impression, therefore, was to be made on this fortress of sophistry by desultory observations; and it was necessary to sit down before it, and assail it by regular approaches. it was fortunate, however, to observe, that notwithstanding all the skill employed by the noble and literary engineer, his mode of defence on paper was open to the same objection which had been urged against his other fortifications; that if his adversary got possession of one of his posts, it became strength against him, and the means of subduing the whole line of his argument." he also spoke at considerable length, upon the plan brought forward by mr. pitt for the redemption of the national debt--that grand object of the calculator and the financier, and equally likely, it should seem, to be attained by the dreams of the one as by the experiments of the other. mr. pitt himself seemed to dread the suspicion of such a partnership, by the care with which he avoided any acknowledgment to dr. price, whom he had nevertheless personally consulted on the subject, and upon whose visions of compound interest this fabric of finance was founded. in opening the plan of his new sinking fund to the house, mr. pitt, it is well known, pronounced it to be "a firm column, upon which he was proud to flatter himself his name might be inscribed." tycho brahe would have said the same of his astronomy, and des cartes of his physics;--but these baseless columns have long passed away, and the plan of paying debt with borrowed money well deserves to follow them. the delusion, indeed, of which this fund was made the instrument, during the war with france, is now pretty generally acknowledged; and the only question is, whether mr. pitt was so much the dupe of his own juggle, as to persuade himself that thus playing with a debt, from one hand to the other, was paying it--or whether, aware of the inefficacy of his plan for any other purpose than that of keeping up a blind confidence in the money-market, he yet gravely went on, as a sort of high priest of finance, profiting by a miracle in which he did not himself believe, and, in addition to the responsibility of the uses to which he applied the money, incurring that of the fiscal imposture by which he raised it. though, from the prosperous state of the revenue at the time of the institution of this fund, the absurdity was not yet committed of borrowing money to maintain it, we may perceive by the following acute pleasantry of mr. sheridan, (who denied the existence of the alleged surplus of income,) that he already had a keen insight into the fallacy of that plan of redemption afterwards followed:--"at present," he said, "it was clear there was no surplus; and the only means which suggested themselves to him were, a loan of a million for the especial purpose-- for the right honorable gentleman might say, with the person in the comedy, '_if you won't lend me the money, how can i pay you?_'" chapter x. charges against mr. hastings.--commercial treaty with france.--debts of the prince of wales. the calm security into which mr. pitt's administration had settled, after the victory which the tory alliance of king and people had gained for him, left but little to excite the activity of party spirit, or to call forth those grand explosions of eloquence, which a more electric state of the political world produces. the orators of opposition might soon have been reduced, like philoetetes wasting his arrows upon geese at lemnos, [footnote: _"pinnigero, non armigero in corpore tela exerceantur."--accius, ap. ciceron._ lib. vii. ep. .] to expend the armory of their wit upon the grahams and rolles of the treasury bench. but a subject now presented itself--the impeachment of warren hastings-- which, by embodying the cause of a whole country in one individual, and thus combining the extent and grandeur of a national question, with the direct aim and singleness of a personal attack, opened as wide a field for display as the most versatile talents could require, and to mr. sheridan, in particular, afforded one of those precious opportunities, of which, if fortune but rarely offers them to genius, it is genius alone that can fully and triumphantly avail itself. the history of the rise and progress of british power in india--of that strange and rapid vicissitude, by which the ancient empire of the moguls was transferred into the hands of a company of merchants in leadenhall street--furnishes matter perhaps more than any other that could be mentioned, for those strong contrasts and startling associations, to which eloquence and wit often owe their most striking effects. the descendants of a throne, once the loftiest in the world, reduced to stipulate with the servants of traders for subsistence--the dethronement of princes converted into a commercial transaction, and a ledger-account kept of the profits of revolutions--the sanctity of zenanus violated by search-warrants, and the chicaneries of english law transplanted, in their most mischievous luxuriance, into the holy and peaceful shades of the bramins,--such events as these, in which the poetry and the prose of life, its pompous illusions and mean realities, are mingled up so sadly and fantastically together, were of a nature, particularly when recent, to lay hold of the imagination as well as the feelings, and to furnish eloquence with those strong lights and shadows, of which her most animated pictures are composed. it is not wonderful, therefore, that the warm fancy of mr. burke should have been early and strongly excited by the scenes of which india was the theatre, or that they should have (to use his own words) "constantly preyed upon his peace, and by night and day dwelt on his imagination." his imagination, indeed,--as will naturally happen, where this faculty is restrained by a sense of truth--was always most livelily called into play by events of which he had not himself been a witness; and, accordingly, the sufferings of india and the horrors of revolutionary france were the two subjects upon which it has most unrestrainedly indulged itself. in the year he had been a member of the select committee, which was appointed by the house of commons to take the affairs of india into consideration, and through some of whose luminous reports we trace that powerful intellect, which "stamped an image of itself" on every subject that it embraced. though the reign of clive had been sufficiently fertile in enormities, and the treachery practised towards ornichund seemed hardly to admit of any parallel, yet the loftier and more prominent iniquities of mr. hastings's government were supposed to have thrown even these into shadow. against him, therefore, --now rendered a still nobler object of attack by the haughty spirit with which he defied his accusers,--the whole studies and energies of mr. burke's mind were directed. it has already been remarked that to the impetuous zeal, with which burke at this period rushed into indian politics, and to that ascendancy over his party by which he so often compelled them to "swell with their tributary urns his flood," the ill-fated east india bill of mr. fox in a considerable degree owed its origin. in truth, the disposition and talents of this extraordinary man made him at least as dangerous as useful to any party with which he connected himself. liable as he was to be hurried into unsafe extremes, impatient of contradiction, and with a sort of _feudal_ turn of mind, which exacted the unconditional service of his followers, it required, even at that time, but little penetration to foresee the violent schism that ensued some years after, or to pronounce that, whenever he should be unable to command his party, he would desert it. the materials which he had been collecting on the subject of india, and the indignation with which these details of delinquency had filled him, at length burst forth (like that mighty cloud, described by himself as "pouring its whole contents over the plains of the carnatic") in his wonderful speech on the nabob of arcot's debts [footnote: isocrates, in his encomium upon helen, dwells much on the advantage to an orator of speaking upon subjects from which but little eloquence is expected-- [greek: pezi ton phaulon chai tapeinon]. there is little doubt, indeed, that _surprise_ must have considerable share in the pleasure, which we derive from eloquence on such unpromising topics as have inspired three of the most masterly speeches that can be selected from modern oratory--that of burke on the nabob of arcot's debts--of grattan on tithes, and of mr. fox on the westminster scrutiny.]--a speech, whose only rivals perhaps in all the records of oratory, are to be found among three or four others of his own, which, like those poems of petrarch called _sorelle_ from their kindred excellence, may be regarded as sisters in beauty, and equalled only by each other. though the charges against mr. hastings had long been threatened, it was not till the present year that mr. burke brought them formally forward. he had been, indeed, defied to this issue by the friends of the governor-general, whose reliance, however, upon the sympathy and support of the ministry (accorded, as a matter of course, to most state delinquents) was, in this instance, contrary to all calculation, disappointed. mr. pitt, at the commencement of the proceedings, had shown strong indications of an intention to take the cause of the governor-general under his protection. mr. dundas, too, had exhibited one of those convenient changes of opinion, by which such statesmen can accommodate themselves to the passing hue of the treasury-bench, as naturally as the eastern insect does to the color of the leaf on which it feeds. though one of the earliest and most active denouncers of indian mis-government, and even the mover of those strong resolutions in [footnote: in introducing the resolutions he said, that "he was urged to take this step by an account, which had lately arrived from india, of an act of the most flagrant violence and oppression and of the grossest breach of faith, committed by mr. hastings against cheyte sing, the raja of benares."] on which some of the chief charges of the present prosecution were founded, he now, throughout the whole of the opening scenes of the impeachment, did not scruple to stand forth as the warm eulogist of mr. hastings, and to endeavor by a display of the successes of his administration to dazzle away attention from its violence and injustice. this tone, however, did not long continue:--in the midst of the anticipated triumph of mr. hastings, the minister suddenly "changed his hand, and checked his pride." on the occasion of the benares charge, brought forward in the house of commons by mr. fox, a majority was, for the first time, thrown into the scale of the accusation; and the abuse that was in consequence showered upon mr. pitt and mr. dundas, through every channel of the press, by the friends of mr. hastings, showed how wholly unexpected, as well as mortifying, was the desertion. as but little credit was allowed to conviction in this change, it being difficult to believe that a minister should come to the discussion of such a question, so lightly ballasted with opinions of his own as to be thrown from his equilibrium by the first wave of argument he encountered,--various statements and conjectures were, at the time, brought forward to account for it. jealousy of the great and increasing influence of mr. hastings at court was, in general, the motive assigned for the conduct of the minister. it was even believed that a wish expressed by the king, to have his new favorite appointed president of the board of control, was what decided mr. pitt to extinguish, by cooperating with the opposition, every chance of a rivalry, which might prove troublesome, if not dangerous, to his power. there is no doubt that the arraigned ruler of india was honored at this period with the distinguished notice of the court--partly, perhaps, from admiration of his proficiency in that mode of governing, to which all courts are, more or less, instinctively inclined, and partly from a strong distaste to those who were his accusers, which would have been sufficient to recommend any person or measure to which they were opposed. but whether mr. pitt, in the part which he now took, was actuated merely by personal motives, or (as his eulogists represent) by a strong sense of impartiality and justice, he must at all events have considered the whole proceeding, at this moment, as a most seasonable diversion of the attacks of the opposition, from his own person and government to an object so little connected with either. the many restless and powerful spirits now opposed to him would soon have found, or made, some vent for their energies, more likely to endanger the stability of his power;-- and, as an expedient for drawing off some of that perilous lightning, which flashed around him from the lips of a burke, a fox, and a sheridan, the prosecution of a great criminal like mr. hastings furnished as efficient a conductor as could be desired. still, however, notwithstanding the accession of the minister, and the impulse given by the majorities which he commanded, the projected impeachment was but tardy and feeble in its movements, and neither the house nor the public went cordially along with it. great talents, united to great power--even when, as in the instance of mr. hastings, abused-- is a combination before which men are inclined to bow implicitly. the iniquities, too, of indian rulers were of that gigantic kind, which seemed to outgrow censure, and even, in some degree, challenge admiration. in addition to all this, mr. hastings had been successful; and success but too often throws a charm round injustice, like the dazzle of the necromancer's shield in ariosto, before which every one falls _"con gli occhi abbacinati, e senza mente."_ the feelings, therefore, of the public were, at the outset of the prosecution, rather for than against the supposed delinquent. nor was this tendency counteracted by any very partial leaning towards his accusers. mr. fox had hardly yet recovered his defeat on the india bill, or--what had been still more fatal to him--his victory in the coalition. mr. burke, in spite of his great talents and zeal, was by no means popular. there was a tone of dictatorship in his public demeanor against which men naturally rebelled; and the impetuosity and passion with which he flung himself into every favorite subject, showed a want of self- government but little calculated to inspire respect. even his eloquence, various and splendid as it was, failed in general to win or command the attention of his hearers, and, in this great essential of public speaking, must be considered inferior to that ordinary, but practical, kind of oratory, [footnote: "whoever, upon comparison, is deemed by a common audience the greatest orator, ought most certainly to be pronounced such by men of science and erudition."--_hume_, essay .] which reaps its harvest at the moment of delivery, and is afterwards remembered less for itself than its effects. there was a something--which those who have but read him can with difficulty conceive--that marred the impression of his most sublime and glowing displays. in vain did his genius put forth its superb plumage, glittering all over with the hundred eyes of fancy--the gait of the bird was heavy and awkward, and its voice seemed rather to scare than attract. accordingly, many of those masterly discourses, which, in their present form, may proudly challenge comparison with all the written eloquence upon record, were, at the time when they were pronounced, either coldly listened to, or only welcomed as a signal and excuse for not listening at all. to such a length was this indifference carried, that, on the evening when he delivered his great speech on the nabob of arcot's debts, so faint was the impression it produced upon the house, that mr. pitt and lord grenville, as i have heard, not only consulted with each other as to whether it was necessary they should take the trouble of answering it, but decided in the negative. yet doubtless, at the present moment, if lord grenville--master as he is of all the knowledge that belongs to a statesman and a scholar--were asked to point out from the stores of his reading the few models of oratorical composition, to the perusal of which he could most frequently, and with unwearied admiration, return, this slighted and unanswered speech would be among the number. from all these combining circumstances it arose that the prosecution of mr. hastings, even after the accession of the minister, excited but a slight and wavering interest; and, without some extraordinary appeal to the sympathies of the house and the country--some startling touch to the chord of public feeling--it was questionable whether the inquiry would not end as abortively as all the other indian inquests [footnote: namely, the fruitless prosecution of lord clive by general burgoyne, the trifling verdict upon the persons who had imprisoned lord pigot, and the bill of pains and penalties against sir thomas rumbold, finally withdrawn.] that had preceded it. in this state of the proceeding, mr. sheridan brought forward, on the th of february, in the house of commons, the charge relative to the begum princesses of oude, and delivered that celebrated speech, whose effect upon its hearers has no parallel in the annals of ancient or modern eloquence. [footnote: mr. burke declared it to be "the most astonishing effort of eloquence, argument, and wit united, of which there was any record or tradition." mr. fox said, "all that he had ever heard, all that he had ever read, when compared with it, dwindled into nothing, and vanished like vapor before the sun,"--and mr. pitt acknowledged "that it surpassed all the eloquence of ancient and modern times, and possessed every thing that genius or art could furnish, to agitate and control the human mind." there were several other tributes, of a less distinguished kind, of which i find the following account in the annual register-- "sir william dolben immediately moved an adjournment of the debate, confessing, that, in the state of mind in which mr. sheridan's speech had left him, it was impossible for him to give a determinate opinion. mr. stanhope seconded the motion. when he had entered the house, he was not ashamed to acknowledge, that his opinion inclined to the side of mr. hastings. but such had been the wonderful efficacy of mr. sheridan's convincing detail of facts, and irresistible eloquence, that he could not but say that his sentiments were materially changed. nothing, indeed, but information almost equal to a miracle, could determine him not to vote for the charge; but he had just felt the influence of such a miracle, and he could not but ardently desire to avoid an immediate decision. mr. mathew montague confessed, that he had felt a similar revolution of sentiment."] when we recollect the men by whom the house of commons was at that day adorned, and the conflict of high passions and interests in which they had been so lately engaged;--when we see them all, of all parties, brought (as mr. pitt expressed it) "under the wand of the enchanter," and only vying with each other in their description of the fascination by which they were bound;--when we call to mind, too, that he, whom the first statesmen of the age thus lauded, had but lately descended among them from a more aerial region of intellect, bringing trophies falsely supposed to be incompatible with political prowess;--it is impossible to imagine a moment of more entire and intoxicating triumph. the only alloy that could mingle with such complete success must be the fear that it was too perfect ever to come again;--that his fame had then reached the meridian point, and from that consummate moment must date its decline. of this remarkable speech there exists no report;--for it would be absurd to dignify with that appellation the meagre and lifeless sketch, the _tenuem sine viribus umbram in faciem aenae,_ which is given in the annual registers and parliamentary debates. its fame, therefore, remains like an empty shrine--a cenotaph still crowned and honored, though the inmate is wanting. mr. sheridan was frequently urged to furnish a report himself, and from his habit of preparing and writing out his speeches, there is little doubt that he could have accomplished such a task without much difficulty. but, whether from indolence or design, he contented himself with leaving to imagination, which, in most cases, he knew, transcends reality, the task of justifying his eulogists, and perpetuating the tradition of their praise. nor, in doing thus, did he act perhaps unwisely for his fame. we may now indulge in dreams of the eloquence that could produce such effects, [footnote: the following anecdote is given as a proof of the irresistible power of this speech in a note upon mr. bisset's history of the reign of george iii.:-- "the late mr. logan, well known for his literary efforts, and author of a most masterly defence of mr. hastings, went that day to the house of commons, prepossessed for the accused and against his accuser. at the expiration of the first hour he said to a friend, 'all this is declamatory assertion without proof:'--when the second was finished, 'this is a most wonderful oration:'--at the close of the third, 'mr. hastings has acted very unjustifiably:'--the fourth, 'mr. hastings is a most atrocious criminal;'--and, at last, 'of all monsters of iniquity the most enormous is warren hastings!'"] as we do of the music of the ancients and the miraculous powers attributed to it, with as little risk of having our fancies chilled by the perusal of the one, as there is of our faith being disenchanted by hearing a single strain of the other. after saying thus much, it may seem a sort of wilful profanation, to turn to the spiritless abstract of this speech, which is to be found in all the professed reports of parliamentary oratory, and which stands, like one of those half-clothed mummies in the sicilian vaults, with, here and there, a fragment of rhetorical drapery, to give an appearance of life to its marrowless frame. there is, however, one passage so strongly marked with the characteristics of mr. sheridan's talent--of his vigorous use of the edge of the blade, with his too frequent display of the glitter of the point--that it may be looked upon as a pretty faithful representation of what he spoke, and claim a place among the authentic specimens of his oratory. adverting to some of those admirers of mr. hastings, who were not so implicit in their partiality as to give unqualified applause to his crimes, but found an excuse for their atrocity in the greatness of his mind, he thus proceeds:-- "to estimate the solidity of such a defence, it would be sufficient merely to consider in what consisted this prepossessing distinction, this captivating characteristic of greatness of mind. is it not solely to be traced in great actions directed to great ends? in them, and them alone, we are to search for true estimable magnanimity. to them only can we justly affix the splendid title and honors of real greatness. there was indeed another species of greatness, which displayed itself in boldly conceiving a bad measure, and undauntedly pursuing it to its accomplishment. but had mr. hastings the merit of exhibiting either of these descriptions of greatness,--even of the latter? he saw nothing great--nothing magnanimous--nothing open--nothing direct in his measures, or in his mind. on the contrary, he had too often pursued the worst objects by the worst means. his course was an eternal deviation from rectitude. he either tyrannized or deceived; and was by turns a dionysius and a scapin. [footnote: the spirit of this observation has been well condensed in the compound name given by the abbe de pradt to napoleon--"jupiter scapin."] as well might the writhing obliquity of the serpent be compared to the swift directness of the arrow, as the duplicity of mr. hastings's ambition to the simple steadiness of genuine magnanimity. in his mind all was shuffling, ambiguous, dark, insidious, and little: nothing simple, nothing unmixed: all affected plainness, and actual dissimulation; a heterogeneous mass of contradictory qualities; with nothing great but his crimes; and even those contrasted by the littleness of his motives, which at once denoted both his baseness and his meanness, and marked him for a traitor and a trickster. nay, in his style and writing there was the same mixture of vicious contrarieties;-- the most grovelling ideas were conveyed in the most inflated language, giving mock consequence to low cavils, and uttering quibbles in heroics; so that his compositions disgusted the mind's taste, as much as his actions excited the soul's abhorrence. indeed this mixture of character seemed, by some unaccountable but inherent quality, to be appropriated, though in inferior degrees, to everything that concerned his employers. he remembered to have heard an honorable and learned gentleman (mr. dundas) remark, that there was something in the first frame and constitution of the company, which extended the sordid principles of their origin over all their successive operations; connecting with their civil policy, and even with their boldest achievements, the meanness of a pedlar and the profligacy of pirates. alike in the political and the military line could be observed _auctioneering ambassadors_ and _trading generals_;--and thus we saw a revolution brought about by _affidavits_; an army employed in _executing an arrest_; a town besieged on _a note of hand_; a prince dethroned for the _balance of an account_. thus it was they exhibited a government, which united the mock majesty of a bloody sceptre, and the little _traffic of a merchant's counting-house_, wielding a truncheon with one hand, and _picking a pocket with the other_." the effect of this speech, added to the line taken by the minister, turned the balance against hastings, and decided the impeachment. congratulations on his success poured in upon mr. sheridan, as may be supposed, from all quarters; and the letters that he received from his own family on the occasion were preserved by him carefully and fondly through life. the following extract from one written by charles sheridan is highly honorable to both brothers:-- "dublin castle, th february, . "my dear dick, "could i for a moment forget you were my brother, i should, merely as an irishman, think myself bound to thank you, for the high credit you have done your country. you may be assured, therefore, that the sense of national pride, which i in common with all your countrymen on this side of the water must feel on this splendid occasion, acquires no small increase of personal satisfaction, when i reflect to whom ireland is indebted, for a display of ability so unequalled, that the honor derived from it seems too extensive to be concentred in an individual, but ought to give, and i am persuaded will give, a new respect for the name of irishman. i have heard and read the accounts of your speech, and of the astonishing impression it made, with tears of exultation--but what will flatter you more--i can solemnly declare it to be a fact, that i have, since the news reached us, seen good honest _irish_ pride, national pride i mean, bring tears into the eyes of many persons, on this occasion, who never saw you. i need not, after what i have stated, assure you, that it is with the most heartfelt satisfaction that i offer you my warmest congratulations...." the following is from his eldest sister, mrs. joseph lefanu:-- " th february, . "my dear brother, "the day before yesterday i received the account of your glorious speech. mr. crauford was so good as to write a more particular and satisfactory one to mr. lefanu than we could have received from the papers. i have watched the first interval of ease from a cruel and almost incessant headache to give vent to my feelings, and tell you how much i rejoice in your success. may it be entire! may the god who fashioned you, and gave you powers to sway the hearts of men and control their wayward wills, be equally favorable to you in all your undertakings, and make your reward here and hereafter! amen, from the bottom of my soul! my affection for you has been ever 'passing the love of women.' adverse circumstances have deprived me of the pleasure of your society, but have had no effect in weakening my regard for you. i know your heart too well to suppose that regard is indifferent to you, and soothingly sweet to me is the idea that in some pause of thought from the important matters that occupy your mind, your earliest friend is sometimes recollected by you. "i know you are much above the little vanity that seeks its gratification in the praises of the million, but you must be pleased with the applause of the discerning,--with the tribute i may say of affection paid to the goodness of your heart. people love your character as much as they admire your talents. my father is, in a degree that i did not expect, gratified with the general attention you have excited here: he seems truly pleased that men should say, 'there goes the father of gaul.' if your fame has shed a ray of brightness over all so distinguished as to be connected with you, i am sure i may say it has infused a ray of gladness into my heart, deprest as it has been with ill health and long confinement...." there is also another letter from this lady, of the same date, to mrs. sheridan, which begins thus enthusiastically:-- "my dear sheri. "nothing but death could keep me silent on such an occasion as this. i wish you joy--i am sure you feel it: 'oh moments worth whole ages past, and all that are to come.' you may laugh at my enthusiasm if you please --i glory in it...." in the month of april following, mr. sheridan opened the seventh charge, which accused hastings of corruption, in receiving bribes and presents. the orator was here again lucky in having a branch of the case allotted to him, which, though by no means so susceptible of the ornaments of eloquence as the former, had the advantage of being equally borne out by testimony, and formed one of the most decided features of the cause. the avidity, indeed, with which hastings exacted presents, and then concealed them as long as there was a chance of his being able to appropriate them to himself, gave a mean and ordinary air to iniquities, whose magnitude would otherwise have rendered them imposing, if not grand. the circumstances, under which the present from cheyte sing was extorted shall be related when i come to speak of the great speech in westminster hall. the other strong cases of corruption, on which mr. sheridan now dwelt, were the sums given by the munny begum (in return for her appointment to a trust for which, it appears, she was unfit), both to hastings himself and his useful agent, middleton. this charge, as far as regards the latter, was never denied--and the suspicious lengths to which the governor-general went, in not only refusing all inquiry into his own share of the transaction, but having his accuser, nuncomar, silenced by an unjust sentence of death, render his acquittal on this charge such a stretch of charity, as nothing but a total ignorance of the evidence and all its bearings can justify. the following passage, with which sheridan wound up his speech on this occasion, is as strong an example as can be adduced of that worst sort of florid style, which prolongs metaphor into allegory, and, instead of giving in a single sentence the essence of many flowers, spreads the flowers themselves, in crude heaps, over a whole paragraph:-- "in conclusion (he observed), that, although within this rank, but infinitely too fruitful wilderness of iniquities--within this dismal and unhallowed labyrinth--it was most natural to cast an eye of indignation and concern over the wide and towering forest of enormities--all rising in the dusky magnificence of guilt; and to fix the dreadfully excited attention upon the huge trunks of revenge, rapine, tyranny, and oppression; yet it became not less necessary to trace out the poisonous weeds, the baleful brushwood, and all the little, creeping, deadly plants, which were, in quantity and extent, if possible, more noxious. the whole range of this far-spreading calamity was sown in the hot-bed of corruption; and had risen, by rapid and mature growth, into every species of illegal and atrocious violence." at the commencement of the proceedings against hastings, an occurrence, immediately connected with them, had brought sheridan and his early friend halhed together, under circumstances as different as well can be imagined from those under which they had parted as boys. the distance, indeed, that had separated them in the interval was hardly greater than the divergence that had taken place in their pursuits; for, while sheridan had been converted into a senator and statesman, the lively halhed had become an east indian judge, and a learned commentator on the gentoo laws. upon the subject, too, on which they now met, their views and interests were wholly opposite,--sheridan being the accuser of hastings, and halhed his friend. the following are the public circumstances that led to their interview. in one of the earliest debates on the charges against the governor- general, major scott having asserted that, when mr. fox was preparing his india bill, overtures of accommodation had been made, by his authority, to mr. hastings, added, that he (major scott) "entertained no doubt that, had mr. hastings then come home, he would have heard nothing of all this calumny, and all these serious accusations." mr. fox, whom this charge evidently took by surprise, replied that he was wholly ignorant of any such overtures, and that "whoever made, or even hinted at such an offer, as coming from him, did it without the smallest shadow of authority." by an explanation, a few days after, from mr. sheridan, it appeared that he was the person who had taken the step alluded to by major scott. his interference, however, he said, was solely founded upon an opinion which he had himself formed with respect to the india bill,-- namely, that it would be wiser, on grounds of expediency, not to make it retrospective in any of its clauses. in consequence of this opinion, he had certainly commissioned a friend to inquire of major scott, whether, if mr. hastings were recalled, he would come home;--but "that there had been the most distant idea of bartering with mr. hastings for his support of the indian bill, he utterly denied." in conclusion, he referred, for the truth of what he had now stated, to major scott, who instantly rising, acknowledged that, from inquiries which he had since made of the gentleman deputed to him by mr. sheridan on the occasion, he was ready to bear testimony to the fairness of the statement just submitted to the house, and to admit his own mistake in the interpretation which he had put on the transaction. it was in relation to this misunderstanding that the interview took place in the year between sheridan and halhed--the other persons present being major scott and doctor parr, from whom i heard the circumstance. the feelings of this venerable scholar towards "iste scotus" (as he calls major scott in his preface to bellendenus) were not, it is well known, of the most favorable kind; and he took the opportunity of this interview to tell that gentleman fully what he thought of him:--"for ten minutes," said the doctor, in describing his aggression, "i poured out upon him hot, scalding abuse--'twas lava, sir!" among the other questions that occupied the attention of mr. sheridan during this session, the most important were the commercial treaty with france, and the debts of the prince of wales. the same erroneous views by which the opposition to the irish commercial propositions was directed, still continued to actuate mr. fox and his friends in their pertinacious resistance to the treaty with france;--a measure which reflects high honor upon the memory of mr. pitt, as one of the first efforts of a sound and liberal policy to break through that system of restriction and interference, which had so long embarrassed the flow of international commerce. the wisdom of leaving trade to find its own way into those channels which the reciprocity of wants established among mankind opens to it, is one of those obvious truths that have lain long on the highways of knowledge, before practical statesmen would condescend to pick them up. it has been shown, indeed, that the sound principles of commerce which have at last forced their way from the pages of thinking men into the councils of legislators, were more than a hundred years since promulgated by sir dudley north; [footnote: mcculloch's lectures on political economy]--and in the querist of bishop berkeley may be found the outlines of all that the best friends not only of free trade but of free religion would recommend to the rulers of ireland at the present day. thus frequently does truth, before the drowsy world is prepared for her, like "the nice morn on the indian steep, from her cabin'd loophole peep." though mr. sheridan spoke frequently in the course of the discussions, he does not appear to have, at any time, encountered the main body of the question, but to have confined himself chiefly to a consideration of the effects which the treaty would have upon the interests of ireland;-- a point which he urged with so much earnestness, as to draw down upon him from one of the speakers the taunting designation of "self-appointed representative of ireland." mr. fox was the most active antagonist of the treaty; and his speeches on the subject may be counted among those feats of prowess, with which the chivalry of genius sometimes adorns the cause of error. in founding, as he did, his chief argument against commercial intercourse upon the "natural enmity" between the two countries, he might have referred, it is true, to high whig authority:--"the late lord oxford told me," says lord bolingbroke, "that my lord somers being pressed, i know not on what occasion or by whom, on the unnecessary and ruinous continuation of the war, instead of giving reasons to show the necessity of it, contented himself to reply that he had been bred up in a hatred to france."--but no authority, however high, can promote a prejudice into a reason, or conciliate any respect for this sort of vague, traditional hostility, which is often obliged to seek its own justification in the very mischiefs which itself produces. if mr. fox ever happened to peruse the praises, which his _antigallican_ sentiments on this occasion procured for him, from the tedious biographer of his rival, mr. gifford, he would have suspected, like phocion, that he must have spoken something unworthy of himself, to have drawn down upon his head a panegyric from such a quarter. another of mr. fox's arguments against entering into commercial relations with france, was the danger lest english merchants, by investing their capital in foreign speculations, should become so entangled with the interests of another country as to render them less jealous than they ought to be of the honor of their own, and less ready to rise in its defence, when wronged or insulted. but, assuredly, a want of pugnacity is not the evil to be dreaded among nations--still less between two, whom the orator had just represented as inspired by a "natural enmity" against each other. he ought rather, upon this assumption, to have welcomed the prospect of a connection, which, by transfusing and blending their commercial interests, and giving each a stake in the prosperity of the other, would not only soften away the animal antipathy attributed to them, but, by enlisting selfishness on the side of peace and amity, afford the best guarantee against wanton warfare, that the wisdom of statesmen or philosophers has yet devised. mr. burke, in affecting to consider the question in an enlarged point of view, fell equally short of its real dimensions; and even descended to the weakness of ridiculing such commercial arrangements, as unworthy altogether of the contemplation of the higher order of statesmen. "the right honorable gentleman," he said, "had talked of the treaty as if it were the affair of two little counting-houses, and not of two great countries. he seemed to consider it as a contention between the sign of the fleur-de-lis, and the sign of the red lion, which house should obtain the best custom. such paltry considerations were below his notice." in such terms could burke, from temper or waywardness of judgment, attempt to depreciate a speech which may be said to have contained the first luminous statement of the principles of commerce, with the most judicious views of their application to details, that had ever, at that period, been presented to the house. the wise and enlightened opinions of mr. pitt, both with respect to trade, and another very different subject of legislation, religion, would have been far more worthy of the imitation of some of his self- styled followers, than those errors which they are so glad to shelter under the sanction of his name. for encroachments upon the property and liberty of the subject, for financial waste and unconstitutional severity, they have the precedent of their great master ever ready on their lips. but, in all that would require wisdom and liberality in his copyists--in the repugnance he felt to restrictions and exclusions, affecting either the worldly commerce of man with man, or the spiritual intercourse of man with his god,--in all this, like the indian that quarrels with his idol, these pretended followers not only dissent from their prototype themselves, but violently denounce, as mischievous, his opinions when adopted by others. in attributing to party feelings the wrong views entertained by the opposition on this question, we should but defend their sagacity at the expense of their candor; and the cordiality, indeed, with which they came forward this year to praise the spirited part taken by the minister in the affairs of holland--even allowing that it would be difficult for whigs not to concur in a measure so national--sufficiently acquits them of any such perverse spirit of party, as would, for the mere sake of opposition, go wrong because the minister was right. to the sincerity of one of their objections to the treaty--namely, that it was a design, on the part of france, to detach england, by the temptation of a mercantile advantage, from her ancient alliance with holland and her other continental connections--mr. burke bore testimony, as far as himself was concerned, by repeating the same opinions, after an interval of ten years, in his testamentary work, the "letters on a regicide peace." the other important question which i have mentioned as engaging, during the session of , the attention of mr. sheridan, was the application to parliament for the payment of the prince of wales's debts. the embarrassments of the heir apparent were but a natural consequence of his situation; and a little more graciousness and promptitude on the part of the king, in interposing to relieve his royal highness from the difficulties under which he labored, would have afforded a chance of detaching him from his new political associates, of which, however the affection of the royal parent may have slumbered, it is strange that his sagacity did not hasten to avail itself. a contrary system, however, was adopted. the haughty indifference both of the monarch and his minister threw the prince entirely on the sympathy of the opposition. mr. pitt identified himself with the obstinacy of the father, while mr. fox and the opposition committed themselves with the irregularities of the son; and the proceedings of both parties were such as might have been expected from their respective connections--the royal mark was but too visible upon each. one evil consequence, that was on the point of resulting from the embarrassed situation in which the prince now found himself, was his acceptance of a loan which the duke of orleans had proffered him, and which would have had the perilous tendency of placing the future sovereign of england in a state of dependence, as creditor, on a prince of france. that the negotiations in this extraordinary transaction had proceeded farther than is generally supposed, will appear from the following letters of the duke of portland to sheridan:-- "sunday noon, dec. "dear sheridan, "since i saw you i have received a confirmation of the intelligence which was the subject of our conversation. the particulars varied in no respect from those i related to you--except in the addition of a pension, which is to take place immediately on the event which entitles the creditors to payment, and is to be granted for life to a nominee of the d. of o----s. the loan was mentioned in a mixed company by two of the frenchwomen and a frenchman (none of whose names i know) in _calonne's_ presence, who interrupted them, by asking, how they came to know any thing of the matter, then set them right in two or three particulars which they had misstated, and afterwards begged them, for god's sake, not to talk of it, because it might be their complete ruin. "i am going to bulstrode--but will return at a moment's notice, if i can be of the least use in getting rid of this odious engagement, or preventing its being entered into, if it should not be yet completed. "yours ever, "p." "dear sheridan, "i think myself much obliged to you for what you have done. i hope i am not too sanguine in looking to a good conclusion of this bad business. i will certainly be in town by two o'clock. "yours ever, "p." "bulstrode, monday, . dec. " a. m." mr. sheridan, who was now high in the confidence of the prince, had twice, in the course of the year , taken occasion to allude publicly to the embarrassments of his royal highness. indeed, the decisive measure which this illustrious person himself had adopted, in reducing his establishment and devoting a part of his income to the discharge of his debts, sufficiently proclaimed the true state of affairs to the public. still, however, the strange policy was persevered in, of adding the discontent of the heir-apparent to the other weapons in the hands of the opposition;--and, as might be expected, they were not tardy in turning it to account. in the spring of , the embarrassed state of his royal highness's affairs was brought formally under the notice of parliament by alderman newenham. during one of the discussions to which the subject gave rise, mr. rolle, the member for devonshire, a strong adherent of the ministry, in deprecating the question about to be agitated, affirmed that "it went immediately to affect our constitution in church and state." in these solemn words it was well understood, that he alluded to a report at that time generally believed, and, indeed, acted upon by many in the etiquette of private life, that a marriage had been solemnized between the prince of wales and mrs. fitzherbert--a lady of the roman catholic persuasion, who, with more danger to her own peace than to that of either church or state, had for some time been the distinguished object of his royal highness's affection. even had an alliance of this description taken place, the provisions of the royal marriage act would have nullified it into a mere ceremony, inefficient, as it was supposed, for any other purpose than that of satisfying the scruples of one of the parties. but that dread of popery, which in england starts at its own shadow, took alarm at the consequences of an intercourse so heterodox; and it became necessary, in the opinion of the prince and his friends, to put an end to the apprehensions that were abroad on the subject. nor can it be denied that, in the minds of those who believed that the marriage had been actually solemnized, [footnote: home tooke, in his insidious pamphlet on the subject, presumed so far on this belief as to call mrs. fitzherbert "her royal highness."] there were, in one point of view, very sufficient grounds of alarm. by the statute of william and mary, commonly called the bill of rights, it is enacted, among other causes of exclusion from the throne, that "every person who shall marry a papist shall be excluded and for ever be incapable to inherit the crown of this realm."--in such cases (adds this truly revolutionary act) "the people of these realms shall be and are hereby absolved of their allegiance." under this act, which was confirmed by the act of settlement, it is evident that the heir-apparent would, by such a marriage as was now attributed to him, have forfeited his right of succession to the throne. from so serious a penalty, however, it was generally supposed, he would have been exempted by the operation of the royal marriage act ( george iii.), which rendered null and void any marriage contracted by any descendant of george ii. without the previous consent of the king, or a twelve months' notice given to the privy council. that this act would have nullified the alleged marriage of the prince of wales there is, of course, no doubt;--but that it would also have exempted him from the forfeiture incurred by marriage with a papist, is a point which, in the minds of many, still remains a question. there are, it is well known, analogous cases in law, where the nullity of an illegal transaction does not do away the penalty attached to it. [footnote: thus, a man, by contracting a second marriage, pending the first marriage, commits a felony; and the crime, according to its legal description, consists in marrying, or contracting a marriage--though what he does is no more a marriage than that of the heir-apparent would be under the circumstances in question. the same principle, it appears, runs through the whole law of entails both in england and scotland, and a variety of cases might be cited, in which, though the act done is void, yet the doing of it creates a forfeiture.] to persons, therefore, who believed that the actual solemnization of the marriage could be proved by witnesses present at the ceremony, this view of the case, which seemed to promise an interruption of the succession, could not fail to suggest some disquieting apprehensions and speculations, which nothing short, it was thought, of a public and authentic disavowal of the marriage altogether would be able effectually to allay. if in politics princes are unsafe allies, in connections of a tenderer nature they are still more perilous partners; and a triumph over a royal lover is dearly bought by the various risks and humiliations which accompany it. not only is a lower standard of constancy applied to persons of that rank, but when once love-affairs are converted into matters of state, there is an end to all the delicacy and mystery that ought to encircle them. the disavowal of a royal marriage in the gazette would have been no novelty in english history; [footnote: see, in ellis's letters of history, vol. iii. the declarations of charles ii. with respect to his marriage with "one mrs. walters," signed by himself and published in the london gazette.] and the disclaimer, on the present occasion, though intrusted to a less official medium, was equally public, strong, and unceremonious. mr. fox, who had not been present in the house of commons when the member for devonshire alluded to the circumstance, took occasion, on the next discussion of the question, and, as he declared, with the immediate authority of the prince, to contradict the report of the marriage in the fullest and most unqualified terms:--it was, he said, "a miserable calumny, a low malicious falsehood, which had been propagated without doors, and made the wanton sport of the vulgar;--a tale, fit only to impose upon the lowest orders, a monstrous invention, a report of a fact which had not the smallest degree of foundation, actually impossible to have happened." to an observation from mr. rolle that "they all knew there was an act of parliament which forbade such a marriage; but that, though it could not be done under the formal sanction of the law, there were ways in which it might have taken place, and in which that law, in the minds of some persons, might have been satisfactorily evaded,"--mr. fox replied, that--"he did not deny the calumny in question merely with regard to certain existing laws, but that he denied it _in toto_, in point of fact as well as of law:--it not only never could have happened legally, but it never did happen in any way whatsoever, and had from the beginning been a base and malicious falsehood." though mr. rolle, from either obstinacy or real distrust, refused, in spite of the repeated calls of mr. sheridan and mr. grey, to declare himself satisfied with this declaration, it was felt by the minister to be at least sufficiently explicit and decisive, to leave him no further pretext in the eyes of the public, for refusing the relief which the situation of the prince required. accordingly a message from the crown on the subject of his royal highness's debts was followed by an addition to his income of l , yearly out of the civil list; an issue of l , from the same source, for the discharge of his debts, and l , on account of the works at carlton house. in the same proportion that this authorized declaration was successful in satisfying the public mind, it must naturally have been painful and humiliating to the person whose honor was involved in it. the immediate consequence of this feeling was a breach between that person and mr. fox, which, notwithstanding the continuance, for so many years after, of the attachment of both to the same illustrious object, remained, it is understood, unreconciled to the last. if, in the first movement of sympathy with the pain excited in that quarter, a retractation of this public disavowal was thought of, the impossibility of finding any creditable medium through which to convey it, must soon have suggested itself to check the intention. some middle course, however, it was thought, might be adopted, which, without going the full length of retracting, might tend at least to unsettle the impression left upon the public, and, in some degree, retrieve that loss of station, which a disclaimer, coming in such an authentic shape, had entailed. to ask mr. fox to discredit his own statement was impossible. an application was, therefore, made to a young member of the party, who was then fast rising into the eminence which he has since so nobly sustained, and whose answer to the proposal is said to have betrayed some of that unaccommodating highmindedness, which, in more than one collision with royalty, has proved him but an unfit adjunct to a court. the reply to his refusal was, "then i must get sheridan to say something;"--and hence, it seems, was the origin of those few dexterously unmeaning compliments, with which the latter, when the motion of alderman newenham was withdrawn, endeavored, without in the least degree weakening the declaration of mr. fox, to restore that equilibrium of temper and self-esteem, which such a sacrifice of gallantry to expediency had naturally disturbed. in alluding to the offer of the prince, through mr. fox, to answer any questions upon the subject of his reported marriage, which it might be thought proper to put to him in the house, mr. sheridan said,--"that no such idea had been pursued, and no such inquiry had been adopted, was a point which did credit to the decorum, the feelings, and the dignity of parliament. but whilst his royal highness's feelings had no doubt been considered on this occasion, he must take the liberty of saying, however some might think it a subordinate consideration, that there was another person entitled, in every delicate and honorable mind, to the same attention; one, whom he would not otherwise venture to describe or allude to, but by saying it was a name, which malice or ignorance alone could attempt to injure, and whose character and conduct claimed and were entitled to the truest respect." end of vol. i. produced from images generously made available by the internet archive.) theory and practice, applied to the cultivation of the cucumber, in the winter season: to which is added, a chapter on melons: by thomas moore, member of the botanical society of london. second edition, with an appendix, containing remarks on heating aerating, and covering forcing houses; on transplanting, and the use of turf pots; on watering; on atmospheric humidity, &c., &c. london: richard groombridge and sons, paternoster row. mdcccxlvii. london: printed by david m. aied james st., covent garden. preface to the first edition. this little treatise is intended as an inducement to young gardeners especially, to seek for the reasons on which the operations of their daily practice are founded, and by which they are regulated. this announcement is here made, in order to prevent any reader from supposing that the author has unduly estimated the opinions of those who have benefited by a long course of application and experience. as, however, there can be no doubt that there is much to be learned, so is there but little question that there is also much to be unlearned, in the present state of the science of horticulture; and these pages are offered without hesitation, as a mite among the accumulating mass of available information on gardening subjects; and in the hope that some amongst those who are seeking to extend their knowledge, may at least be stimulated by their perusal, if they are not otherwise directly benefited. the great truths which it is the object of this treatise to impress, are these: that the ultimate success of gardening operations does not depend on the performance of any part of them, at a particular time, or in a particular or even superior manner, but rather upon the supplying, in a natural manner, as far as possible, _all the conditions_ which are necessary to the nutrition and perpetuation of plants; and, that it is within the open pathway of science, and not the bye-ways of empiricism, that the finger-post of direction should be sought. royal botanic garden, regent's park, march nd, . to the second edition. in the present edition, it has been thought best to preserve the original text exactly as it appeared in the first edition. the new matter will be found in the appendix. the author may take this opportunity of returning his thanks to those who have noticed and commended the former edition, and of expressing a hope that the present will receive an equal share of favour. camden town, aug. , . contents. chap. i. page botanical name, and affinities of the cucumber--properties-- foreign names--improvements in cultivation chap. ii. structures--dung beds--brick pits--forcing houses--gutter system of heating--the tank system--bottom heat--description of cucumber house--aspect--position--angle--covering chap. iii. propagation by cuttings--early fruitfulness--preservation of varieties--layers--objections to cuttings and layers--seeds-- disadvantages--progressive growth--seed sowing chap. iv. general principles of culture--importance of light--pruning and training chap. v. composition of the soil--heath soil--leaf mould--preparation of soil--charcoal--manures--liquid manures chap. vi. application of water to the soil--special conditions-- atmospheric moisture--insects--mildew--canker--mode of watering chap. vii. regulation of temperature--principles to be kept in view--day and night temperature--deductions chap. viii. admission of air--effect of cold air on tender plants-- deterioration--evils resulting from unguarded atmospheric changes--mode of admitting air--atmospheric influence on vegetation--nitrogen--carbon chap. ix. growth of persian melons in summer--peculiarities of treatment--soil--watering--solar heat--light chap. x. conclusion treatise. chap. i. introductory remarks. the cucumber, _cucumis sativa_, is supposed to be a native of the east indies; but like many other of our culinary plants, the real stations which it naturally has occupied, are involved in obscurity: in habit it is a trailing herb, with thick fleshy stems, broadly palmate leaves, and yellow axillary monæcious flowers. in the natural arrangement of the vegetable kingdom, the genus of which it forms part, ranks in the first grand class, _vasculares_, or those plants which are furnished with vessels, and woody fibre; in the sub-class _calycifloræ_, or those in which the stamens are perigynous; and in the order _cucurbitaceæ_, or that group, of which the genus _cucurbita_, or gourd family is the type. the affinities of this order, are chiefly with _loasaceæ_, and _onagraceæ_; with the former it agrees in its inferior unilocular fruit, having a parietal placentæ, and with the latter, in its definite perigynous stamens, single style, and exalbuminous seeds. it has also some affinity with _passifloraceæ_, and _papayaceæ_, in the nature of the fruit, and with _aristolochiaceæ_, in its twining habit, and inferior ovarium. m. auguste st. hiliare, also regards it as being related to _campanulaceæ_, in the perigynous insertion of the stamens, the single style with several stigmas, the inferior ovarium, and in the quinary division of the floral envelope, in connection with the ternary division of the fruit. the properties of the plants comprised in this natural family, are not numerous; a bitter laxative quality pervades many of them, a familiar example of which is the resinous substance called colycinthine, the production of the colocynth gourd, in which the active purgative principle is concentrated, rendering it drastic, and irritating. among our native plants the roots of _bryonia dioica_, in common with the perennial roots of all the plants in the order, possess these purgative properties. on the other hand, the seeds are sweet, yielding an abundant supply of oil; and it may be worthy of remark, that they never partake of the properties of the pulp with which they are surrounded in the fruit. the cucumber does not possess the properties common to the order, in very powerful degree; its fruit is however too cold for many persons, causing flatulency, diarrhoea, and even cholera; by others, it may be eaten with avidity, without producing any injurious effects. the names by which the cucumber is recognised by the hindoos, are _ketimon_, and _timou_. in the french, it is called _concombre_; in the german, _gurke_; and in the italian, _citriuolo_. as a cultivated plant, it is of nearly equal antiquity with the vine; being mentioned by the writer of the pentateuch, as being cultivated extensively in egypt, above years since. the cultivation of this plant, and the production of fine fruit at an early season, is an object of emulation among gardeners of the present day; and from this cause, many important improvements in the mode of its cultivation have been effected. the vast increase of means, arising from an acquaintance with powerful agents, formerly unknown, which are available by the present and rising races of gardeners, enable them to secure the same important results which cost their predecessors much both of labour and anxiety, with a comparatively small amount of the former, and a degree of certainty at which they could never arrive. the agents which an enlightened age has brought under controul, are indeed powerful engines, which require much skill in their adaptation and management; but the knowledge necessary to effect this, is so firmly and inseparably connected with the first principles of cultivation, that an acquaintance with these, will at all times supply a safe and unerring guide to their application. it is to assist the young gardener in this application of principles, to the growth of the cucumber in the winter season, that these pages are designed; and of those who may differ from the opinions which are here expressed, it is only required that they should receive a calm and deliberate consideration--a consideration unbiassed by prejudice, and unmixed with any of that feverish excitement after novelties, which with gardeners, as well as with all other classes of society, is becoming far too prevalent, and intense. chap. ii. on the structures adapted for the growth of cucumbers. i will preface the following remarks on the structures adapted for the growth of cucumbers, by stating, that a forcing house, a pit, and a common frame, present the means of bringing this fruit to its perfection, equally, one with the other, provided that a course of cultivation suitable to the structure, is followed out; the comparative merits of each, depend not so much on the nature of the results which may be obtained by adopting them, as on the facilities they afford for the attainment of those results. the use of the common frame, and the ordinary hotbed of fermenting manure, nevertheless involves these difficulties:--the fermentation is liable to become excessive, and that in a very rapid manner, and also to decline as rapidly; the heat, when declining, cannot be speedily restored in unpropitious weather; it is materially checked in its action, by that particular state of the weather, which renders its efficient action most essential; it involves almost an infinitude of labour; and after all, it is uncertain in its action: when such difficulties as these, are overcome, cucumbers can be grown to perfection, on dung beds, assisted by the common garden frame and sash. the brick pit, when heated by fermenting manure, presents difficulties of the same nature with the preceeding, though in a less powerful degree: but when these structures are heated by means of hot water, in any of its various modes of application, there need be no irregularity, nor uncertainty in its action; because the supply of the elements of vegetable developement, and of the agents by whose aid they are applied, may, to a very great extent, go on uninterruptedly. a forcing house, whilst it secures all the advantages which are presented by a pit, combines with these, some important points which are peculiarly its own: by adopting a pit, we provide a structure of which cucumbers manifest their approval, by thriving equally as well as in their more ancient location on a dung bed; but further than this, a pit enables us to dispense with much of the labour, and all the filth, and the uncertainty which are consequent on the use of fermenting manure as a means of keeping up the temperature in which they are grown. in a small forcing house, besides these advantages being secured, all the operations of care and culture, can be performed just when they become necessary, without exposing the tender foliage of plants which have been submitted to an artificially elevated temperature, to the chilling influence of cold air, which is admitted whenever the sashes of an ordinary frame or of a pit, are opened, in order to bestow these necessary attentions. it may be urged that a dung bed has still the advantage, on the ground of economy; but when a fair calculation is made of labour and loss or anxiety on the one hand, and of duration on the other, such an assumption, will be quite untenable. neatness, convenience, certainty, and economy, are the principal points of advantage which are gained by the adoption of pits heated by means of hot water, over those of a structure, depending for its supply of heat, on the aid of fermenting masses; whilst the attainment of a still greater degree both of convenience, and of certainty, which may be secured by cultivation in forcing houses, point out at once the advantages which render such houses, preferable to pits. the application of the gutter system of heating, was not long since thought to be an improvement of great importance, and there can be no question but that it affords a means of regulating the moisture of the atmosphere of hothouses, in conjunction with the temperature, which prior to its introduction had not been attained; and as such, it is worthy of extensive adoption: it requires however some judgement in its adaptation to particular structures, and to render, it suitable, to effect any particular object for which it may be employed. the tank system as a means of applying bottom heat, employed either in conjunction with the gutters, or with ordinary piping, to supply heat to the atmosphere, is the most important advance which has hitherto been made towards supplying the wants of those plants, which require such peculiar aid; and with reference to the cucumber, it may be regarded as furnishing a new era in its cultivation. the importance of bottom heat in the culture of tender plants, has always been well known by its practical effects. the mean temperature of the soil, at a slight distance below the surface, is universally above that of the superincumbent air; and consequently some degree of bottom heat is always supplied to plants, in a state of nature. naturally, by means of subterraneous heat, and also by the absorption of the sun's rays during the time they are forcibly directed towards the earth, it possesses the means whereby any material degree of cold at the roots of plants is prevented; and when the soil is acted on by the unveiled sun of an eastern sky, we cannot but feel certain, that even a considerable amount of heat must be experienced: hence arises the importance of taking advantage of every ray of sun which our climate affords, when the culture of the cucumber, or of any native of warmer latitudes, is attempted out of doors in this country; and also of using every possibly available means of increasing rather than diminishing the temperature of the soil: and hence too, in forcing not only the cucumber, but also every other plant which requires to be submitted to a confined atmosphere, and an elevated temperature, arises the necessity of providing such a degree of warmth at the root, as may tend to keep its vital powers in a vigorous state of action; it will effect this, by acting in conjunction with moisture, as a solvent of the food which is primarily contained in the soil in a solid form, but can only be taken up by the capillary action of the spongioles of the roots, when converted into a fluid state. the science of chemistry has taught us that the ingredients composing the soil, act on, and dissolve, and combine with each other in various ways, sometimes being simply dissolved and held in solution, and at other times, entering into new combinations, and forming new compounds; but in all cases, the natural agents, heat and moisture, are necessary to produce these results, and to present to the tender roots of plants, food so duly prepared, as to be fit for their assimilation. warmth in the soil, acts beneficially also, by preventing the sudden or undue interruption of the excitability of plants growing in it, which would be likely to result from the lowering of the temperature of the plants by evaporation, were it not for the action of the antagonist force, existing in and exercised by the heated soil, which heat, is communicated to, and absorbed by the plants. it may be regarded as an established and universal rule, that all plants require the soil, and the atmosphere in which they are cultivated, to correspond with the natural circumstances under which they flourish; and as it has been repeatedly ascertained that the soil is naturally a degree or two above the temperature of the atmosphere, we have certain and unerring data for the application of bottom heat, and no more powerful evidence than this can be desired, to condemn at once the application of a _very powerful degree of heat_, at the roots of plants. the importance of bottom heat in the culture of tender plants, being a practical fact established beyond question, another consideration arises as to the best means of producing it, and of regulating its application. various substances and materials have been submitted to a process of fermentation, and so employed to effect it: stable manure, tanner's bark, and the leaves of trees, are among the principal of these materials, and either of them will supply just what the plants require, as truly as these wants can be supplied by any other means; but from their very nature, they are violent, and fluctuating, and ephemeral in their action, and setting aside the labour which the employment of them necessarily involves, we have in these particulars, the special points in which the tank system of applying bottom heat far excels them: it is uniform, and constant, in its action; there need be no apprehension of the soil becoming overheated, for the source whence it derives its warmth ought never to boil; neither need there be any fear of its decline, or of a want of power, for when once thoroughly heated, a body of water will part with it in such a manner, that a very little attention to the fire, and a very little expenditure of fuel, will maintain its temperature for an almost incredible length of time; and as to power, it never should for a moment form a question, because a powerful degree of bottom heat ought never to be applied: a close attention for one or two hours during the twenty four which form a day, will maintain any apparatus in an effective state of action, if it is properly erected. how different is this, to what has been in days now past! when in rigorous weather, with the heat of his dung bed declining, the cultivator knew that at the peril of his crop, he scarcely dared to attempt to revive it, without involving a more serious because an accelerated evil; at any rate, if at an immense sacrifice of labour, his dung casings were replenished piece by piece, he knew too well, that often many days would elapse, before their action would be efficient and satisfactory, unless indeed an unlimited supply of materials, were in a constant state of preparation. by means of the tank, a fire could be lighted up, and the required effect produced in as many hours, as days would have been formerly required. what has been already advanced, tends to the conclusion, that small forcing houses are preferable, and in the end more economical than pits and dung beds; and that the tank as a means of supplying bottom heat, is preferable to the use of fermenting materials; _because the results in each case, are more perfectly under controul_. whilst on this part of the subject, i may be allowed to mention an error which is somewhat prevalent: we frequently hear of the humid nature of the heat given off by hot water pipes, in comparison with that derived from such appliances, as a flue; it is not unfrequently asserted, that the heat thus derived is so moist, so genial, so peculiarly adapted to plants: there can be no doubt but that the heat thus obtained is infinitely preferable to that obtained through the medium of flues, generally speaking; but its superiority consists rather in its purity, its freeness from noxious gasses, than in its possessing a greater degree of moisture. heat--that is--caloric, is the same, whatever may be the medium by which it may be conducted; and in the case of hot water pipes, they give off that which has been conducted to them by the water, directly from the fire, the water acting as a mere conductor; it is difficult to conceive any thing more thoroughly devoid of moisture than the heat thus communicated: let any one who doubts this, place a damp cloth on a series of hot water pipes when in action, and the result will soon work conviction. with these general remarks, i will proceed to describe the kind of structure which i regard as being peculiarly adapted to the growth of cucumbers; and notice some of the conditions which it is necessary to keep in view: the engraving on the next page, represents such a structure. the aspect of the cucumber house, should be nearly s.s.e; or in other words--it should be so regulated between the points south and east, that whilst the rays of the sun will be admitted as fully and as early as possible in the morning, there may be no obstruction offered to their more powerful action as that body approaches the meridian. in the growth of all tender plants, light and sun heat are required during the winter months as well as in summer, and there can be no greater error as regards the erection of structures devoted to such purposes, than to provide for their admitting the direct rays of the sun in the earlier part of the day, at the expense of refracting and thereby weakening, to a greater degree than is really unavoidable, the power of the noon-tide rays of that invigorating and life-sustaining agent: during the summer months, though plants then require both light and sun heat, yet the case is different; the sun's rays have then much greater power, and it is found that their influence is sufficient, without at all times admitting them directly on the plants growing in these artificial atmospheres. [illustration] the position of the cucumber house, with reference to the ground line, must be determined by local circumstances; if the situation and sub-soil be dry, it may be carried below the surface in the manner represented in the annexed engraving, of which (_a_) is the ground line, (_b_) the pathway, and (_c_) the lowest point excavated: the same course may be adopted if the soil, though not naturally so dry as this, can be rendered so by thorough drainage; but when the ground does not admit of perfect drainage, the structure must be sufficiently elevated to avoid the risk of injury from the dampness of the locality. the angle of elevation is not, as it is sometimes asserted to be, a point of indifference, though mathematical accuracy is certainly by no means required: in the annexed engraving, the angle of the roof is about °, this provides for the admission of the sun's rays in the winter months, when his position is comparatively low in the horizon, to a much greater extent than could take place if a more ordinary slope were adopted. a still more elevated pitch would doubtless effect this object in a still more perfect manner; but would not be equally applicable to the requirements from a permanent structure, which would be wanted for summer as well as winter use. a reference to the sketch, will at once shew the general nature of the internal arrangements. there should be a tank (_d_) supported by brick piers (_p_) in which a circulation of heated water would supply a genial warmth to the soil above, and to the roots of the plants growing in the soil; this tank should be heated by a small boiler, conveniently placed with reference to adjacent arrangements; a series of iron pipes (_e_) attached to the same boiler, would supply the requisite heat to the atmosphere. it may perhaps be thought that the application of the gutter system of heating would in this case be preferable; but as there would be a perfect command of moisture, as will be explained further on, it is desirable to have dry heat also, under controul, and this can be better effected by means of the pipes than by adopting the gutter plan of heating. i cannot in this place forbear protesting against the limited surface of piping generally employed in heating plant structures; what is thought to be just enough to maintain a given temperature, is usually after minute calculation, the quantity which is made use of, and the consequence is, that under adverse circumstances, the apparatus is necessarily worked at its highest pitch; and i believe that the application of heat in this form, whether it be by means of an hot water apparatus, or by a common flue, is most inimical to the plants submitted thereto. the admission of air, is a point which as far as i am aware, has never been effected in the manner represented in the sketch: it would be thus effected;--a series of apertures (_f_) should be provided at intervals along the front wall, which would externally be closed by small sliding shutters, and would communicate internally with a chamber (_g_) formed between the front wall and the side of the tank; this chamber would also communicate, by a series of openings, (_h_) with the interior space above the water in the tank, and from this space, through the covering of the tank, tubes (_m_), also placed at intervals, would be carried up through the soil, close to the side of the wall; these tubes should be furnished with caps or valves, so as so admit of the communication being stopped at any time. in applying this to the admission of air, we must not loose sight of a series of ventilators, (_i_), placed in the back wall of the house, which are of precisely the same nature and construction as the apertures (_f_), already spoken of. i shall have occasion hereafter, to notice the admission of air, but it will be well in this place, to explain the action of the plan proposed for that purpose: when it is judged that a change of the internal volume of air is requisite, the ventilators (_i_) are to be opened, which admits of a portion of the rarified air to pass off; the ventilators (_f_) are also to be opened, and by means of the action of these ventilators on each other, a portion of external air is taken in; this enters the chamber (_g_), which is warmed by its contiguity to the tank, and here becomes partially rarified, and rises to the top of the chamber; the apertures (_h_) admit it to the interior of the tank, where it becomes not only thoroughly warmed, but also imbibes a degree of moisture proportionate to the degree in which it becomes heated, and thence it enters the house by the tubes or shafts already spoken of. the advantages of warming and moistening the air thus admitted, are very important ones; for when either a cold or dry state, of the atmosphere prevails, its influence is very injurious to plants in these confined situations: cold raw air, when it comes in contact with the tender foliage of the plants, has the effect of chilling the sap in its progress through their tissue, and thus lessening their excitability, when it should be increased; whilst dry air acts as an incessant drain upon the vegetable juices, which it abstracts through the stomates and pores of the leaves and stems. when cold air is admitted to any position where it can unite with caloric, and not in an equal ratio with moisture, it necessarily becomes arid, and in that state it eagerly combines with moisture in any form with which it can come in contact therewith; and consequently if cold air is admitted to a plant structure, where it can have the means of combining with heat, faster than with moisture, it would be brought into this arid state, and would supply its voracious appetite, by abstracting the juices of the plant. it is a very important question how far this state of things is connected with many of the diseases as they are called, to which plants are subject; for my own part, i believe it to have a very considerable influence in the production of many of them. a shallow bed of soil (_k_), is all that would be required; for in the winter season, there is nothing gained by encouraging a very luxuriant and gross state of growth: the composition of this soil will be noticed hereafter: beneath it, and resting on the top of the tank, should be placed a layer of coarse open rubble, not less than six inches in thickness; and among this rubble by means of tubes (_n_), placed at intervals along the bed, i would occasionally pour considerable quantities of water, in order to maintain a due regulation of moisture in, and throughout the soil, among which the vapour arising from the water would ultimately rise. beneath the tank a space (_o_), might be provided, which would serve admirably either for the cultivation of mushrooms, or the forcing of rhubarb, or sea kale. transverse partitions should be introduced into the bed of soil, so as to divide the roots of each plant from those of its neighbours: this arrangement will admit of a complete succession of plants being maintained, by the removal of those which have become old and debilitated, and the substitution of young and vigorous ones; and this obstruction of the roots, will not be injurious, for the cucumber does not by any means require to be permitted to extend its roots at random, but will readily submit itself to any rational regimen, with regard to the area from whence it is permitted to extract its food. a portion of soil sufficient to support one or two plants, could by this arrangement be renewed as occasion might require, and the roots of the contiguous plants would suffer no injury from the operation. the pathway of the house, should be paved so as to admit of its being occasionally washed and cleansed. it will be found to be highly economical in reference to the consumption of fuel, to provide the structure with the means of being covered at night. shutters of light frame-work, covered with any waterproof material, would be found to answer the purpose admirably; they should be elevated a few inches from the surface of the glass, and they should be arranged so as to confine a body of air, which acting as a very slow conductor of heat, would serve to prevent that incessant drain upon the temperature of the internal atmosphere, which takes place when the material employed is in contact with the glass, as well as when coverings are altogether absent. this would not be the only advantage, for as the covering would to a great extent prevent the radiation of heat from the internal atmosphere, so would it also prevent the necessity of the application of so powerful a degree of fire heat at night; and thus the plants would be permitted to enjoy that natural season of repose so essential to their well being, instead of being forced into growth by reason of a high temperature kept up, solely for the purpose of obviating the external cold. chap. iii. on the propagation of the cucumber. cucumbers are propagated by cuttings, by layers, and by seeds; the two former of these methods being frequently practised by those who have conveniences to keep their plants growing throughout the year; the latter being adopted either through choice or necessity, by the majority of cultivators, or those whose means will not enable them, even if they desired it, to keep up continually a successional growth. propagation by cuttings has many advantages to recommend it, especially when viewed in connection with the production of winter fruit. the plants raised by this mode of treatment, in comparison with those raised from seeds, are less gross and succulent in their nature, and more subdued in their manner of growth; whether it may be that having mature and perfectly formed parts, they are enabled to assimilate their food more rapidly, than young and imperfectly formed plants can do; or whether it is owing to any difference in the balance between the roots and leaves, which latter organs, in cuttings, and the former, in seedling plants, may be regarded as predominant, does not appear quite evident, probably the effect depends partly on each of these supposed causes. they are moreover, sooner in arriving at a fruit-bearing state, by reason of a universal natural law, by which the inflorescence and fructification of a plant becomes more general and perfect, in proportion as the plant attains proximity to its perfect developement; which effect, is owing to the more perfect elaboration and preparation of the materials, which when so prepared, furnish the means of perfecting the organs of reproduction. for the same reason, the operation of budding a portion of a seedling fruit tree, on a matured stem, is practised, in order to accelerate its fruitfulness; which result generally follows, in consequence of the difference existing in the nature of the food elaborated by the mature plant, and that deposited by one in an infant state. thus it is also, that cuttings of flowering plants generally, are far sooner in arriving at a blooming state, than seedling plants of the same species: flowers and fruit being formed only by the aid of the perfectly elaborated sap; which is taken up into the system, and assimilated in the plant, in proportion to the number of healthy and mature leaves, in a full state of action: during the younger stages of growth, the crude material imbibed from the soil, is only partially elaborated, and in this state, is only converted into food suitable and destined to increase the foliaceous organs; but when these latter are in full and vigorous action, a supply of matter, not increased in quantity, but enriched in quality, becomes laid up in the store-house and structure of the plants; and it is by means of this matter, aided by the natural agents, that the nature of the developement is changed from being simply that of the organs of nutrition, to that of the more perfect and important organs of reproduction. besides the precocity of plants propagated by cuttings, there is also another advantage resulting from the practice, and that is the preservation of particularly desirable varieties; the cucumber is a plant which readily admits of hybridization, and although the result of this is sometimes to give rise to superior varieties, yet if impregnation is permitted to take place promiscuously, the bad qualities of particular varieties, are as likely to be combined in the succeeding race, as the good and desirable ones: this renders it important that the fruit which are preserved for seed, should have been carefully watched and protected when in blossom, from the reach of insects; which often effect the requisite union, in consequence of the pollen adhering to their bodies, and thus being brought into contact with the stigma. i need scarcely to say, that where only one variety is grown in any particular structure, the chances of admixture are less numerous. the manner in which the operation of propagation by cutting is performed, is very simple: the tops of healthy growing shoots are taken off, at about two or three joints in length; they are then planted in deep pots, which are about half filled with light earth, such as decayed vegetable matter, and then covered by laying a piece of glass on the top of the pot; a simple and effective protection is thus formed, the sides of the pot acting as a partial shade, the glass admitting light sufficiently abundant to secure the action of the leaves, and maintaining a calm and moist atmosphere: the pots are to be plunged in a gentle bottom heat, and the cuttings will soon become rooted; after which they may be treated as established plants. propagation by layers, is another method similar to the last, of which it is a mere modification; and those points which mark the superiority of the one, are equally applicable in the case of the other. the operation may be performed in various ways: thus the branches may be layered at once into the soil, when these are trained close to its surface, and they will thus grow on with renewed vigour: when required for removal to other positions, they may be layered into pots of light soil, in doing which, a convenient branch may be brought down, secured firmly at a joint to the soil, and slightly covered therewith, when it will soon become rooted: another plan, is, to suspend in convenient places, pots having large holes beneath; through these holes, the points of growing shoots are introduced, and the pots having a little moss in the bottom, are then lightly filled with vegetable mould: they may also be propagated, by enveloping a joint of a growing shoot lightly with moss; the moss should be kept continually moist, and roots will soon be emitted into it, and when enough are produced, the plant may be detached. either of these methods of propagation will secure not only healthy, but fruitful plants, in a short space of time; and this latter point will be found to be one of no small advantage. the principal objection which may be urged against their adoption, is that they necessarily involve a process of transplantation, which under any circumstances, and however carefully performed, must be regarded as an evil rather than otherwise. it may be thought that the _check_ arising from transplantation may do good, by preventing too great luxuriance of growth, and thereby tending to accelerate fruitfulness; but even if this result may be apparently produced by such means, it is surely far more natural to check the plants, by withholding a portion of food, rather than by mutilating the organs by which their food is conveyed to them, and then actually placing them in a position where food is still more abundantly supplied than before. it is very questionable however, how far what is called a "check" is justifiable as a means of inducing fructification; for if fructification be the most perfect state at which a plant can arrive, there does not seem to be much rationality in adopting any such means as a "check" in bringing about this perfection of developement. a _check_ applied as a means of accelerating maturity, can only be regarded as an expedient, rendered necessary by previous defective treatment. the most commonly practised as well as the most natural method of propagation, is by seeds, and this will generally be found to be also the best method, if the conditions required by its adoption can be properly carried out. there is however, one decided disadvantage attendant on the raising of cucumber plants intended for winter forcing from seeds; and hence in a great measure arises the apparent superiority of propagating by extension: the disadvantage consists in the exceedingly succulent and lax nature of the tissue of the young plants; owing to that natural principle, by which their increase and extension is most especially provided for during the infant stages of their existence: the result is, that in consequence of the deficiency of light and solar heat, which are the grand agents of vegetable fructification, their sap does not become sufficiently elaborated, nor their tissue rendered sufficiently solid by assimilation and deposition of matter, to bring about the developement of floral parts; the food and moisture imbibed, instead of being sublimated and fully elaborated, is only partially acted on by the vital and natural agents, and the result is an increase of growth, but not a developement of fruit-bearing parts. there is nevertheless, an advantage in raising plants from seeds, not only as regards the obtaining of improved races, but also in a cultural point of view. the science of horticulture, does acknowledge such a thing as progression, in the developement of plants; the functions of nutrition necessarily go on prior to those of reproduction or fructification, the latter being continually dependant on, as well as being the result of the former: hence we arrive at a conclusion, that _to supply uninterruptedly_, all _the elements which administer to the nutrition of a plant, is the most rational means of inducing a state of fruitfulness_. this may at first sight be questioned; cases may readily enough be quoted, in which food has been bountifully supplied, and the plants have grown amazingly, but not fruited; if however, food had been thus supplied, in connexion with a due share of _light_, and an _excess of heat_ had been avoided, we have natural evidence to prove unquestionably that fructification would have followed. an abundance of food, a high temperature, and a deficiency of light, are just the conditions which are opposed to the developement of the floral organs in plants, and are inductive of mere barren extension: not that plants grow thus, because they delight in such a state of things, but because they are thereby unnaturally excited and compelled to do so, although that growth cannot under such circumstances, become properly matured; and hence arises the impossibility of their producing blossoms. the advantage of raising plants of cucumbers from seeds, consists in the facility thus afforded of altogether avoiding transplantation: the roots of cucumbers are of a very tender nature, and however carefully they may be transplanted, they are liable to sustain injury in the removal: by having recourse to depositing the seeds at once in the soil where they are intended to grow, this is entirely obviated, and there can be no possible reason why the conditions necessary to germination should not be as fully supplied in a hillock of soil, as when a portion of the soil is placed within a garden pot; this vessel can certainly have no influence in producing more perfect or healthy germination, whilst the mutilation of even the most careful act of transplantation, may tend to check the future developement of the plant. it may be, however, that circumstances prevent the sowing of the seeds at once in their ultimate position, and in such cases, they may be sown singly in pots partly filled with decayed vegetable mould, plunged in a milk-warm bottom heat. the temperature both of the soil and atmosphere during this period, should not be high, but such as to permit the plants to push gradually forth from their dormitory, and assume by a natural process, the functions of active vitality. in order to maintain them in vigour of constitution, they should be exposed as much as possible to light; and that, by being placed near the glass, so as to receive the rays as little broken and refracted as possible. water should not be applied at all, until vegetation has manifested itself, and afterwards, but sparingly, whilst the plants are young, especially in prolonged periods of dull sunless weather. plants which are thus raised, should be planted out as soon as possible, when their fibres are least numerous, as a means of avoiding in part, the injuries to which they are exposed in transplantation. when the plan of depositing the seeds in the hillock of soil is adopted, it is necessary to arrange the soil so that any subsequent additions made to it, may not have the effect of covering too deeply the roots of the plants, neither of burying the neck of the stem beneath the surface; it should be arranged so that this latter may remain elevated above the surrounding soil on the top of a slight mound, after the whole of the soil is adjusted for the roots. i have already mentioned that the depth of soil ought not to be at all considerable, but rather shallow than otherwise, so as to expose the roots as far as possible to the influence of the sun. it will have been seen that the plan of raising young plants from seeds, has both its advantages and its disadvantages; and in order to avoid the latter, and secure some of the former, the seeds should be sown early in the autumn, whilst there is a sufficiency of heat and light, to mature the growth they make previous to the dull cheerless days which mark the near approach, and at length the arrival of winter. they will thus be endued with the "stamina" necessary to sustain them, through that trying period, and though not without difficulty, yet with comparative certainty, to reward the well-directed zeal of the cultivator. it is impossible to give any very minute directions as to the time of performing these operations of propagation, for like all other gardening operations, it is not at all requisite that they should be done on any particular day, nor ought they to be done except when natural conditions are favourable to success: from ten to twelve weeks generally elapse between the time of sowing the seeds and the production of fruit, according as the season may be favourable or otherwise. the numerous hybrid varieties which are in cultivation, render it a matter of some importance to make choice of those most suitable to the purpose; these are however so continually changing, that it is useless to attempt a record of them. the sion house cucumber is perhaps the best of all suited for cultivation in the winter season. the principal features which are required in cucumbers for winter forcing, are, precocity; compactness of growth, rather than luxuriance; prolificacy, rather than extreme length of fruit; and hardiness of constitution: these, are to the gardener far more important points, than those which entitle them to rank as "prize" varieties. chap. iv. on the treatment of the mature plants. from the time that the plants become established, which is the period of their existence now about to be considered, they require to have the elements of vegetable growth duly supplied to them, in order to secure their successful developement. it is not enough to plant them in proper soil, and duly to water them, unless attention is also paid to the temperature, as well as the constituents of the atmosphere to which they are submitted; neither will attention to these latter points be sufficient to ensure success, if at the same time, the former are neglected. a _soil_ of suitable chemical, as well as mechanical composition, a pure and wholesome _atmosphere_, _water_ promptly and properly applied, and _heat_ duly regulated, are conditions which equally require minute care and attention in their adaptation; and these being applied upon the comprehensive, and perfectly harmonious principles of nature, will leave but little to be done in the shape of expedients, which are too frequently resorted to, as the means of counterbalancing either defective or unsuitable management. the application of these agents to the cultivation of the plant under consideration, in the winter season, will form the subjects of succeeding chapters. i will here briefly direct attention to the importance of light in the growth of plants, and then devote some space to the consideration of the subject of pruning and training. light is most essential to the perfect and healthy developement of vegetable organization, the performance of the functions essential to the health of plants being dependent on its agency. it cannot indeed be assumed that plants will not continue to grow, unless they are supplied with an intense degree of light; but it is certain that the successful nature of their growth, their maturation, and their fructification, are dependent in no ordinary degree upon the nature and force of its action; for without it, the vital energies of animated beings are unable to maintain and perform the processes of elaboration, and assimilation, upon which their nutrition depends. the mere extension of vegetable tissue, may indeed go on, though less satisfactorily, under the almost total privation of light, but with the exception of cryptogamic vegetation, the organs of fructification are not under those circumstances, produced at all: the stem may be formed, but does not become solid: the leaves may expand, but their condition is imperfect; and it is only by means of the full and complete action of these organs in the nutrition of plants, that the developement of the floral parts is brought about: the roots may take up fluids, and these may be conveyed in the natural upward channels, and then dispersed among the stems and the leaves; but it is the action of solar light, aided indeed by the natural condition of the elements supplying heat and moisture, which alone, by a process of elaboration, can convert this fluid, once crude and undigested, into the compound organic substances, such as lignin, gum, starch, gluten, &c. which in their turn, are destined to minister to the support of the organs of reproduction. growth, that is mere extension, may go on in proportion as heat and moisture are supplied to plants, but light is the agent to whose especial influence we owe the production of their active properties and secretions, and the perfection of their fruit. if then light is so indispensable to the vegetable frame, how important it is that the structures which we devote to the cultivation of such plants as the cucumber, which are naturally habituated to an eastern clime, should be so designed, as to offer the least possible obstruction to its entrance: how important, too, that the glass we employ, which in its purest state, offers considerable obstruction, by refracting the rays of light, should be as transparent and untarnished as possible, so as to admit them as perfectly as can be practicable; instead of which, it is too often disfigured by an accumulation and deposit of filth, which, to say the least, must materially diminish their force: how important, moreover, that whatever coverings it may be necessary to employ during the night to prevent the outward radiation of heat, should be speedily removed in the morning, and kept off as long as they safely may be, in order to permit the inward radiation of light. when these matters are all duly attended to, our climate, at least during the winter, still offers obstruction enough to our success, in its mists, and fogs, its long dark nights, and dismal cloudy days, and therefore wisdom would teach us, to avail ourselves of all which we can grasp, by a course of untiring assiduity, and attention to such apparently trifling matters as these. the pruning and training of the plants, are operations, to which it will be necessary to direct attention; and in the performance of which, the circumstances which may have any influence upon them, as well as the object in view, must be taken into consideration. the plants being intended to occupy a surface of trellis-work in a line nearly parallel with the glass, it will be requisite to train their primary shoots to a sufficient length to reach from the soil to the trellis, before they are what is technically called "stopped;" this operation, by removing the central bud, or axis of developement, induces the buds which are latently formed at the nodes of the branches, to push forth and become the axes of further extension: two or three of the strongest of these lateral shoots situated towards the top of the stem, should be retained, and trained on the trellis in a direction towards the top of the house; these shoots should be placed about inches from each other, and when they have reached about one-third of the length of the trellis, they also should be stopped, and thus several more lateral shoots will be produced. the uppermost strong shoot should in each case, be still trained in the same upward direction, and the others must be disposed in the most convenient form in the space between the main branches: these, that is the young lateral shoots, if they do not shew a fruit blossom at the second joint or leaf from the main branch, must be stopped, and the young shoot thus induced to push forth, will in all probability have fruit at the first leaf; if not, it must be stopped at _every leaf_ as it extends, until fruit is observed. the upper portion of the branch after having extended about one-third further up the roof, should be submitted to the same process, and this must be again repeated until the whole of the trellis is covered. no reference has yet been made to the treatment of those lateral branches where the young fruit are perceived: these should be permitted to grow until the blossoms have expanded; and then, after this, they should be stopped at the leaf next beyond the fruit blossoms. by permitting them to grow until the flowers have expanded, the attraction of the growing branch will continue to draw up a regular supply of nutriment, part of which will be devoted in its course, to assist the developement of the blossoms; and besides the advantage of the growing point acting thus as a sucker to draw onwards the vital juices towards the young fruit, it will act also as an outlet, to drain off what would otherwise be superabundant and dangerous to these tender organs of reproduction. after the flowers have expanded, this danger does not exist to so great an extent, the infant fruit have new and important functions to perform, which are peculiarly their own; and these call for a greater supply from the nutritive organs of the plant: the stopping of the branch therefore, is the means of throwing in this increased supply of food; but those who can most fully appreciate the delicacy of the functions performed by the plant at this stage of its developement, will most fully value the suggestion not to stop back the growing branch _all at once_, but to do it by successional, though not distant operations. the leaf which is directed to be left above, or beyond each fruit, will serve, both as a reservoir, to receive all the superabundant food, which may either be induced or impelled upwards; and also, as a labaratory where this food will become purified and changed by its exposure to atmospheric influence, amongst the lax tissue; and whence, an appointed portion will be returned, and devoted by a process of assimilation, to aid in the extension of the plants. this system of pruning, with reference both to the barren and the fruitful branches, must be continued, whilst these continue in a vigorous and healthy condition; but when any symptoms of decay or of expended powers, are perceived, they should be pruned quite away, and young ones encouraged in their stead. all the pruning which has been spoken of, except the occasional removal of a main shoot, should be done at a sufficiently early period of growth, to admit of being effected by means of the thumb-nail; for like all other plants, cucumbers are much best treated, when whatever pruning they may require, is done at that stage of growth, when the least amount of trouble and labour is required to perform it. pruning is not under any circumstances a natural process, and when we have recourse to it in artificial cultivation, it is only an expedient, which is rendered necessary by the limited space, within which it becomes necessary to confine the extension of the plants; and since this is the case, it is far better to remove a portion of any plant, at an early period of its growth, and thus to economize its vital energies, rather than to suffer them to be expended, and the supply to become exhausted through a superfluous developement, and then to deprive it of those very organs, by the action of which, the expenditure would be again recompensed to the vital energies. chap. v. on the nature, and composition of the soil. plants absorb fluids through the extremities or spongioles of the roots, and it is thus that those portions of the substances which serve them as their food, and are derived from the soil, are carried into their system, in a state of solution: these spongioles are not strictly to be regarded as analogous to the mouths of animals, for they are not provided with openings, and cannot imbibe even the most impalpable powders; their action seems to be more analogous to that of the lacteals in animals, for these, as well as spongioles, serve to convey fluids only. these considerations render it necessary, that in the composition of soil for the growth of plants, the following important points should be held in consideration;--it should contain a sufficient ratio of organizable matter, that is of substances which can be rendered available as food to the plants; it should readily absorb fluids, since it is only when in a state of solution, that food can enter into the structure of the plants; it should be sufficiently retentive to avoid the risk of injury by reason of the evaporation, which takes place to a very great extent, when too great an abundance of silica is present, or when more than a due degree of porosity exists in its mechanical texture; and it should be sufficiently permeable, to prevent any thing like excess of moisture, by stagnation. soils composed either principally, or almost entirely of heath soil, or of vegetable mould, although very highly recommended for the growth of the cucumber in winter, are nevertheless objectionable when applied alone, as will be evident if the foregoing principles are taken into view: it cannot however be assumed that the plants will not grow in these soils, for they grow vigorously for a period; neither can it be asserted that such soils do not contain the qualities which are necessary to administer to the nutrition of plants, for it is scarcely possible to conceive any substances which are more nutritious, or whose application in this respect is more effectual; but they are objectionable, in consequence of their becoming soon expended, and failing to maintain for any length of time, an equable degree of moisture. the cause which tends to produce this effect, is the porosity, or the want of mechanical combination in the texture of the soil; which being highly favourable to evaporation, is liable to render it speedily, and very materially dry, when exposed to the influence of powerful solar heat: the frequent application of water, does not entirely obviate the objection, for even when so applied, it soon becomes again evaporated, and thus tends to deteriorate the soil, and decrease its fertility; this it does, by taking up much of the soluble matter contained in it, and conveying it by evaporation into the atmosphere, instead of its being taken up by the roots whilst in a fluid state, and applied to the plant as a means of nutrition: when it is thus conveyed to the atmosphere, the leaves though they are enabled to take up a portion of their food from thence, are still incapacitated to do so fully, and hence, much of the fertilizing properties of the soil, is carried off by the first current of air which passes through the structure; and the plants decline by reason of starvation, though they had been seated in the midst of plenty. the soil which i should recommend for the growth of the cucumber, would be composed of ingredients, capable of supplying a sufficient portion of vegetable food; of retaining a due portion of moisture, when placed under powerful evaporation; and of securing the free passage of water through its mass: the former of these conditions would be secured, by the use of mould from the decaying leaves of trees, in the proportion of about three-eighths; the latter would be ensured, by employing about one-fourth part of turfy heath mould, and one-eighth part of clean coarse sand; and the remaining quality, would result by combining these ingredients with one-fourth part of good turfy loam. the preparation of this soil should take place in the dry weather of the summer months, just previous to its being used, so that it can be frequently turned and mixed, without incurring the danger of reducing it to an adhesive consistency, which would at once render it ungenial for the roots of plants: the turfy portions both of the loam and heath soil should be piled up reversely, until the herbage and roots of the grass, become partially decayed; when required for use, it should be chopped into pieces of from two to four inches square, by the spade, and then adding the other ingredients _in a rough state_, the whole should be well mixed, without sifting, or any other mechanical operation which would have the effect of destroying its open texture. it should always be prevented from becoming saturated with water; and moreover, should never be applied to the roots of plants which are growing in a warm medium, without having been previously submitted to a high temperature, for a sufficient length of time, to have absorbed at least an equal degree of heat, with that in which the plants might be already growing. the admixture of charcoal with the soil, is said to be a means of adding to its nutritive qualities. charcoal, which is nearly pure carbon, may be supposed continually to give off a portion of this gaseous substance during its decomposition, and this uniting with a portion of the oxygen contained in the air, would furnish a supply of carbonic acid gas, to the atmosphere immediately about the plants. it should however be borne in mind, that charcoal, is a substance whose decomposition except under the influence of heat, proceeds very slowly indeed, and therefore its chemical influence must not be overrated: doubtless however, the small portion which does combine with the oxygen of the air, is directly beneficial to the plants; for it is a function of the vegetable kingdom by the action of their leaves, when under the influence of light, to decompose carbonic acid, the oxygen of which is liberated, and the carbon fixed in the living tissue. it is therefore probable that a supply of carbonic acid, artificially maintained about the leaves and stems of plants, may be beneficial to them, by furnishing them directly with a portion of carbon, which they cannot absorb in a seperate state. when the charcoal is made from twigs, and the small branches of trees, its decomposition is often more rapid, than when it is obtained by the usual course of manufactering it: if the latter kind of charcoal is employed, it should be broken into pieces of a small size; and in ordinary cases, it should not be used in larger proportion than with about twice its bulk of soil, with which it should be intimately blended. besides its chemical action, which is probably beneficial, charcoal has a decidedly advantageous mechanical action in the composition of soils, and this is of a twofold nature:--first, in common with any similar materials, it renders the soil "open," and thus effectually favours the free passage of water through its mass: secondly, it serves as a perpetual reservoir of moisture in the soil, for in consequence of its being extremely porous, it imbibes a great quantity of water, by its force of attraction, and this it parts with slowly to the soil; in this way, there is no doubt that its action is most salutary. probably a few pieces of charcoal placed perpendicularly in the soil, and kept continually _wet_, by the action of some little capillary contrivance, would serve as the best possible means of conducting moisture, and distributing it to the roots of plants. it will be observed that the application of dung, in any way whatever, has not been recommended; neither do i consider it to be at all requisite, or desirable, in the culture of winter cucumbers: luxuriance is not a consummation which it is at all desirable to attain to, a moderate, well matured growth, being far preferable; and as some care is supposed to be used to provide suitable soil, it should be of such a nature as to possess the properties, which are requisite to effect the desired end. dung containing as it does fertilizing properties, may do well to renew the fertility of exhausted soils, which may have been under a long course of cultivation; but it is questionable, whether it ought to be admissable to any extent in pot culture, or in the growth of forced plants, in preference to a supply of wholesome unexhausted natural soil. a very great objection to the use of dung when applied in a solid state in the composition of soils, consists, in its being presented to the roots of plants, not only in the advanced periods of their existence, but equally so, during the early stages of their growth; here must be an error, for infants, whether they belong to the animal or vegetable kingdom, are certainly not capacitated to appropriate the same kind of food, in the same proportion, as adults. if only a small portion of soil is at first employed, and portions more and more enriched, are from time to time added, as the roots may extend, we are still liable to stumble on an objection, almost as important, though of a somewhat different nature; for we can in that case scarcely fail to injure the spongioles of the roots in a greater or less degree, and the injury thus sustained, will consequently act as a check in the progress of their developement. these considerations seem at once to mark the propriety of applying liquid manures in highly artificial cultivation; they can be supplied in this state, when the plants are in such a mature and advanced state of growth, as from time to time to require their aid; and their fertilizing properties being held in solution by the fluid medium in which they are conveyed, they are just in the condition to be taken up at once by the rootlets. it must still however be recollected, that whilst even impalpable powders cannot as such be made to minister to the nutrition of plants, so neither can gross liquids effect this purpose: it is clear limpid fluids, only, which can be received by the delicate spongioles, and therefore the so-called manure water, when applied of the consistency of mud, is not only in an unfit state to effect its purpose, except by the addition of a more bountiful supply of pure liquid, but it is also liable to act injuriously by reason of the concentration of the strength or powerful qualities of the manure, and by counteracting the open texture of the soil. manure water, therefore, from whatever source it may be derived, though not necessarily a colourless, should without question, be a limpid fluid; if otherwise applied, it will at once destroy one of the best qualities a soil can possess, viz. porosity. chap. vi. on the application of moisture. from what has been stated in the preceeding chapter, it will be sufficiently evident, that a supply of water is required as a component of the soil, in which all plants are grown, in order to enable them to draw from it, other components, which form their food; and that, as it is necessary for them continually to take up a portion of this food, so is it necessary, that moisture should be continually present, in order to render it available by them. among other conditions to which the operation of applying water to the soil should be subjected, there are some which are specially important: it should never be either applied in _excess_, or unduly withheld; nor should it ever be applied when of a temperature below that of the atmosphere in which the plants to whose roots it is applied, are growing at the time of its application. there is a liability of applying water in excess, when the particular stage of growth, the peculiar state of the weather, or the season of the year, are not duly regarded: thus, an adult plant will consume more water than an infant plant; and any plant, will decompose a larger quantity of water, in sunny weather, when evaporation is going on briskly, than in cloudy weather, when it is scarcely perceptible; again, in the summer season, a much larger quantity will be appropriated, than in the winter. water has been applied in excess, whenever the soil becomes soddened or saturated therewith; but great as this evil is, it is equalled in its injurious effects, by falling into the opposite extreme, and withholding a quantity sufficient to render the constituents of the soil, available as food to the roots of plants placed in it. the necessity of applying water, of a temperature equal to that of the soil, is rendered evident by a reference to the natural conditions by which the soil is watered. in a small and nearly globular form, the water gathered up by the action of the sun, and forming the clouds above us, is precipitated through the atmosphere, and there its temperature becomes equalized or assimilated with that of the medium through which it has been passing; and although in our own latitude, we perhaps fail to discover any material degree of warmth in the drops of rain as they fall, yet in eastern climes, we cannot but imagine, that after having been submitted in the thin strata of the clouds to the action of the sun, they must previously to entering the soil, have imbibed some portion of heat. moreover, the importance of maintaining a gentle bottom heat, at the roots of forced plants, renders it necessary to avoid any application, which may tend to lesson its effect, and submit the roots to any chilling influence. the temperature of the soil is naturally above that of the atmosphere, and as the application of moisture by exciting evaporation, has an abstract tendency to lower the temperature, it should therefore, when applied, be in a slight degree warmed, so as thus to increase rather than diminish the heat contained in the soil. as some moisture in the soil is necessary to render the food contained therein, soluble, and available to the spongioles of the roots, so moisture in the atmosphere is essentially necessary to assist in applying the gaseous elements of that elastic compound fluid, to the nutrition of plants by the action of the leaves: without moisture in the atmosphere, the leaves and outer covering of plants would become dessicated, and the stomatas shrivelled up and closed, so that neither the exhaling nor the imbibing functions of the plants could then be carried on. the moisture of the atmosphere, then must not be neglected; not only because the healthy action of the vital organs of the plants depends on a proper hygrometrical state of the atmosphere, but, inasmuch as it is the readiest means both of avoiding, and when unhappily, they are present, of destroying, many of the most destructive and troublesome insect enemies, to whose depredations, plants are subject. when a moist atmosphere is duly and regularly maintained, there is but little fear need be entertained of the establishment of a colony of insects--such as the thrip, and the red spider, which are perhaps the greatest pests which have to be overcome in the forcing house; nor is there a more effectual method of destroying them, than by applying a high temperature in conjunction with an intense degree of moisture. to the want of a balance of moisture in the composition of the atmosphere, and in the soil, too, rather than as is commonly supposed, to an excess of it in the former, is the appearance called mildew to be attributed; this it occasions by checking the regular action of the perspiratory organs, and thereby inducing an eruption of the cells of the tissue: the extravasated sap lodging on the cuticle, affords a nidus for the germination of the sporules of that particular fungus, which when grown, is the mildew: the remedy consists in avoiding an irregular composition of the atmosphere, as regards heat and moisture; and also an excess or deficiency of moisture in the soil, so that each may be in a condition to exert its proper influence on the constitution and developement of the plants. canker, another disease, to which cucumbers are sometimes subject, appears to be produced by too low a degree of temperature, accompanied by an excess of moisture, both in the soil and the atmosphere, and it generally attacks those particular parts, where any check or obstruction is offered to the flow of the sap, such as that occasioned by a wound, or even the ramifications of the stem: this suggests that its remedy, would consist in a due regulation and balance of the constituents of the atmosphere, and the soil. moisture is generally applied to the soil by being poured directly on it, and to the atmosphere, by means of the syringe, and the use of evaporation troughs. when applied to the soil only from the upper surface, there is a liability of its failing thoroughly to moisten it, and by reason of this, together with the constant action of the heat from below, by whatever means heat may be applied, the soil is frequently found to be dry beneath, when the appearance of the surface might lead to the supposition that it was sufficiently moistened. by a reference to the sketch and description already given, it will be seen, that a provision is there made, whereby water can be poured in quantity _beneath the soil_, immediately on the top of the tank, whence in the form of vapour it will rise among the soil, and thus render it thoroughly moist; at the same time, it can be applied to the surface, whenever it may become necessary to do so. the moistening of the atmosphere will also be fully secured by the mode of ventilation which is there proposed, for the air, at the same time that it is warmed, will become charged with moisture in a ratio equal to its temperature, before it enters the house. if it becomes requisite to admit moisture without changing the volume of air, it can readily be effected by opening the tubes or shafts inside the house, without opening the exterior ventilators; and when dry heat may be required, it can be secured by closing entirely the communication with this reservoir of moisture, and the hot-water pipes will then radiate any quantity of dry heat that may be required. by means of a due application of these provisions, an equable degree of moisture beneath and among the soil, as well as in the composition of the atmosphere, can be secured with perfect ease, and a trifling amount of labour. chap. vii. on the regulation of the temperature. if we figure to our minds, a plant which in its native habitat enjoys a climate far more genial, and a temperature far more elevated, than our own country affords, it must be obvious that some regulation, and increase of temperature, either positively, by the artificial application of heat, or negatively, by affording shelter and protection, will be required in order to ensure any degree of success in its cultivation. the cucumber is a reputed native of the east, and we have therefore in this supposed fact, an indication of the nature of the climate, which it should be our object to provide for it; but still it must be borne in mind, that in conducting any system of artificial cultivation, it is not at all times desirable, or even safe, to supply a resemblance to any part of the natural circumstances affecting the growth of a particular plant, unless we have the means of supplying the _greater part_, or _all_ the conditions which exist in a state of nature: this i shall again have occasion to refer to. by another step we arrive at the conclusion that the standard of temperature, to which the cucumber is submitted in its cultivation in this country, is a point, varying with the individual opinion of cultivators; as some may take a part of the natural conditions of growth as their rule; others, all these circumstances; and others, again, various combinations of them. referring back again to the provisions of nature, we can scarcely hesitate to conclude, that in clear sunny weather, the temperature to which the cucumber is submitted, _cannot within reasonable limits_, be permitted to rise too high; whilst at other times, when the weather is dull, or cloudy, and always at night, a much lower degree of heat ought to be applied. in sunny weather, the natural agents which cause excitement and activity of the vital functions, are in full action; and consequently at such periods we may rationally indulge in the application of those exciting agents which are under our controul--always however bearing in mind, that we must not unduly apply one agent, when we either cannot, or neglect to apply the others also. on the other hand, in dull weather, and at night, the source of light being in the one case absent, in the other obscured, a comparative state of lethargy or repose is prevalent, and the natural functions of vitality are but feeble in their action, if not in some cases, absolutely in a quiescent state; with such a state of things existing, it is barely rational to apply stimulants, and to induce unnatural excitement. the application of exciting and stimulating agents at such periods, may be compared in its effects to the excitement of a frightful dream acting on the human frame; the vital functions--not the vitality itself--cease during sleep, and both the animal and the vegetable should be at rest; excitement acts on both by deranging the system, at least for a time, and since a succession of these derangements are known to produce injurious results, we may be certain, that each seperate instance must have an evil tendency. in applying this practically, to the case before us, it may be recommended, that the temperature in which cucumbers are grown during winter, should not fall much below ° fahrenheit, at night; and in the day time it should not rise above ° in dull weather, by the aid of heat artificially applied; in clear weather, by the influence of that glorious source of light and heat, the sun, it may be safely allowed to rise to °, or a little higher, before air is admitted. a somewhat higher range may be permitted, as the days lengthen, and the influence of the sun becomes more powerful; thus at night, it should not rise over °, by day ° to °, and by sun heat to °. thus it will be seen, that i have recommended the regulation of the temperature of the internal atmosphere, by that which is external; and it is my firm conviction that inattention to this simple rule, is the source of much of the failure, which is experienced by some of those who attempt the growth of plants, at any other than that, which may be regarded as their natural season of growth. it appears to me, most unreasonable, to aim at attaining any particular point of the thermometer, merely because any particular season of the year may be present, or any particular stage of growth attained. even if in the sunny climes, from whence the cucumber has been transmitted to us, there exists such an equality of temperature and atmospheric serenity, as some cultivators attempt in the growth of these plants; it surely cannot be consistent in us to equalize and elevate the temperature of our artificial atmospheres, when we cannot supply them at the same time with the same intensity of light, or provide for them the same serene and unclouded sky. it should rather be our object to adapt the plant to the climate of our country, since we cannot change the climate to supply the natural circumstances, with which the plant is favoured; and acting on this principle, we should never aim at supplying the agents which would induce a premature and therefore debilitated developement, when the whistling wind, and the drifting snow, tell us that nature, would have, at least the members of her vegetable kingdom, be at rest. since however, it is apparent that during the depth of the winter season, at least when wintry weather is present, the progress of plants in an artificially heated atmosphere, ought not to be rapid, or unduly forced; it by no means follows that no progression at all should be made: the elements of growth maybe supplied; but the application of them should be guided by moderation, being lessened at those particular periods when the weather is least propitious, and increased during those periods when it is most favourable. in the works of nature we may ever learn a lesson of consistency, for they are perfect: they teach us that food is requisite to maintain the life of all those objects which are endowed with it; that that food must undergo a process both of digestion and assimilation, ere its purpose is fulfilled; and that each of these processes depend on the action of natural agents. in the vegetable kingdom, heat and fight as derived from a united source, are the agents appointed to bring about these results, and in order to ensure their proper action, they must both be present in a powerful degree: in artificial schemes of culture, we can command a supply of the one, but the other is not within our power; our consistency therefore depends on our applying so much of the one under our controul, as will secure the united action of it, with the existing degree of the other--consequently, _when light is absent, or deficient, heat should also be diminished; and when light is present and abundant, heat may safely be increased_. chap. viii. on the admission of air. the question of the admission of air, is one of some importance. it is an opinion, which was i believe first publicly brought forward by the late mr. knight, that an influx of a large volume of the external atmosphere, to the interior of forcing houses, is by no means requisite, and is often the source of very serious evils. were it for no other reason, than that of avoiding the chilling influence of cold air on the tender tissue of plants growing in a high temperature, i should feel inclined to support such a view; but when there are facts sufficiently abundant, to prove, that plants do not themselves vitiate the air of such structures to an extent sufficient to render it unfit for their continued growth, or at least, that a sufficient interchange is constantly going on, without opening the sashes of a forcing house, the evidence appears to be overwhelming; and the necessity of continuing a practice so fraught with danger, and so frequently attended with disappointment, appears to be done away. the injury done to the tender foliage of plants in forcing houses, by contact with cold air, results from the increased capacity of air for moisture, as it become heated. when cold air is admitted to these structures, it cannot contain so great a quantity of aqueous matter, as it is capable of taking up when it becomes warmed: this increase of temperature, is soon in great measure, supplied to it, but rarely is a sufficient quantity of moisture, at the same time within its reach, to enable it to supply its increased capacity for aqueous matter: the consequence is, that on coming in contact with the foilage of the plants, which is of a succulent nature, and contains a great proportion of water, the warmed air continues to abstract a portion of moisture from the plants, until its capacity is satisfied; and hence the plants are robbed of their "life's blood." besides this action, which is the cause of serious evil, the tissue itself is contracted and thereby injured, by reason of the degree of cold, which is at the first gush, liable to come in contact with the warm foliage. these remarks apply to cold air, when admitted in a large bulk, by opening the sashes; and when a draught is produced, by opening them, both at the back and front, and the top and bottom of the house. deterioration of the air, by the action of the functions of the plants, could not take place, except in hermetically sealed structures: for by reason of the expansibility and elasticity of air, when it becomes at all heated, it not only gains egress, but also admission through the most minute crevices: that this interchange is sufficient to counteract any deteriorating influence which the plants might have on the internal air, with respect to their continued existence in it, is abundantly proved by the growth of plants in ward's cases, from the interior of which the external air is excluded as fully as it possibly can be, without their being actually sealed: if therefore, any injurious effects result to plants, from their being cultivated in a close atmosphere, we must seek for the cause, in some other source, than the plants themselves. if any noxious qualities exist in the atmosphere of structures, to which the external air has not free ingress, they must result from some neglect or ignorance on our part, in suffering extraneous and unwholesome matters to accumulate in such situations, and there to decompose, and enter into combination with those gaseous bodies, which form the volume of the internal atmosphere of our plant structures. the existence of such extraneous matters, may indeed be traced to various sources; and they may be present, even when much vigilance is employed to prevent their accumulation; and therefore, as an inconceivably minute quantity, inappreciable to the senses, would frequently be sufficient to effect deterioration, it is possible that these impurities may often originate in sources which are least of all suspected. the decomposition of organic matter, whether animal or vegetable, may frequently be the source of injurious results in this respect; for although this is principally resolved into those elementary gases, which appear to form the basis of all created objects, yet there are other matters liberated, which may then enter into fresh combinations; and either this, or a disproportionate accumulation, even of these elementary bodies, may reasonably give rise to serious apprehension, and demand the exercise of discretion, in order to prevent them from becoming injurious. besides this, these decomposing bodies, afford just the very state of things, which appears to be requisite to call into existence, and developement, a numerous phalanx of cryptogamic vegetables: not that such matters, can for a moment be rationally considered to generate, these _cellulares_; but that they afford a suitable pabulum, and medium of developement for those millions upon millions of sporules, which we may readily conceive to be dispersed in the atmosphere; and with which it may be teeming, though from their buoyancy and minuteness, they may float to us invisibly therein. the admission of the external air, by the ordinary process of opening the sashes of forcing houses, has been said to be unnecessary, or at least by no means important, in so far as the function of vegetable respiration is concerned, because the buoyancy of the air within all such structures, would enable it to escape in sufficient quantity through their openings and crevices, to counterbalance any thing like deterioration, which might by any means result from the vital action of the plant. the admission of external air, is also directly injurious to forced plants, during the winter and spring months, when a very material difference of temperature exists between it, and the internal volume, by contracting the vessels, impeding the circulation of the juices, and thereby checking the regular course of the growth of the plant. if these reasons fail to stamp it as a practice which ought not largely to be indulged in, it is further objectionable, as being productive of a prodigal expenditure of fuel: there can be little doubt but that generally speaking, a far greater quantity of fuel than is requisite, is expended in maintaining the temperature of forcing houses, solely from this cause; for the cold air when admitted, continues to abstract a portion of heat from the warmed air, until the temperature of both becomes equal, and consequently an increased application of fuel is requisite, in order to raise the newly admitted air to the same temperature as that which has been suffered to escape; and as the buoyancy of heated air is so great, an immense volume must necessarily rush out through a very small aperture, and thus there must also of necessity be an immense waste both of heat, and of fuel. a given portion of fuel, in its combustion, can give off but a certain proportionate ratio of heat, and if this is allowed unnecessarily to escape, the prodigality is self-evident. it is but a weak argument, which would seek to give to the admission of cold air, the office of regulating the temperature of plant houses; this ought to be effected by limiting the degree of heat _applied_, and not by attending to the _abstraction_ of that which had been previously administered with two lavish an hand. besides the extravagance of such a course, the constitutional vigour and energy of the plants is at the same time sacrificed by undue excitement. the admission of cold air in large quantities, therefore, brings condemnation in its train, since it is unnecessary, and extravagant, as well as directly injurious. there are nevertheless some considerations which render the admission of air, when regulated and applied with discretion, an operation of importance to the health of plants: it is productive of beneficial effects in carrying off the noxious vapours, which may although unseen, and guarded against, still float in the atmosphere; and there can be little doubt that another beneficial influence which it exercises, results from the motion which is produced by a body of air changing its position, which probably promotes circulation, and increases the excitability of the plants. since therefore a change of the volume of the atmosphere in plant houses, is productive of benefit, and the admission of a large body of cold air, is at the same time so decidedly objectionable, it is important, that in endeavouring to secure the benefits of the practice, the injuries which are liable to result, should if possible be avoided. the regulation for the admistion of air, which is described in the second chapter of this treatise, may be regarded as being of some importance in this respect, as well as in the provision which it includes, of supplying the heated air, with a due proportion of moisture. physiologists tell us, that plants derive a considerable proportion of their food, directly from the atmosphere, by a process similar to the inhaling of animals; and that the substances thus derived, are carbonic acid, ammonia, and water, which contain the elements of organic matter in considerable proportions. the influence of the atmosphere is exerted beneficially, by its constituents entering into combinations with other matters, which are taken into the system by the roots, and spread out and exposed in the leaves: this exposure has so far the effect of altering the character of the substance carried up from the roots, that it is no longer a body of crude juice, but is undergoing a process of elaboration, and is being assimilated with the superincumbent tissue of the plant. there seems to be no reason why those particular gaseous bodies which plants appropriate to themselves from the atmosphere, should not to a great extent be supplied to them artificially, at such periods as it may be necessary, or desirable, to accelerate their growth, and induce a more perfect and mature developement. it has been already stated, that the most important of these aeriform bodies, are nitrogen, which plants derive from ammonia; and carbon, which they derive from carbonic acid gas, on the liberation of the oxygen, which is one of its constituents; neither of these, can however be appropriated, when in a free state, but only when in a state of combination, and forming either a gaseous or a fluid body. it is probable that nitrogen might be supplied to plants, through the medium of the atmosphere in an artificial manner, by placing within any structure, a portion of some of the volatile salts of ammonia, which latter being given off, would at once supply the demands of vegetation. carbon might be applied, by the use of charcoal; and it is worthy of experiment how far the _combustion of charcoal_, in plant structures, by accelerating the formation of carbonic acid gas, may have a beneficial influence on vegetation. the use of charcoal as an ingredient in the soil, though doubtless partly, and perhaps principally mechanical, is nevertheless in all probability rendered advantageous in this very way; the slowness of its decomposition must however render the quantity applied, very homoeopathic in its nature. a series of experiments with the view of ascertaining the practicability of continually supplying to the atmosphere, those qualities which plants abstract from it, and of determining the manner, and the degree in which they should be applied, would be one of the most interesting and important matters, to which the minds of horticultural reformers could possibly be directed; but it is most essential, to remember, at the same time, "that these are powerful agents, requiring much skill in their adaptation," and capable of effecting serious injury and disappointment, if indiscriminately applied. chap. ix. on the growth of melons. it is barely possible to suppose any use to which a structure which during the winter season had been devoted to the growth of cucumbers, could be so legitimately appropriated in the summer, as that of the growth of the finer melons of persia, cashmere, and the east. the superiority of such as these, in every point of view, over those kinds, which have been long in cultivation, would be an ample recompense for the appropriation of such valuable space to their use; whilst in no other structure could the peculiarities of the treatment they require, be so fully complied with, and be rendered so completely under control, as in that under consideration. there are some peculiarities in the treatment of these melons, to the consideration of which, it may be desirable to devote a brief space; the most important of these, are the composition of the soil, the application of moisture at the root, the regulation of atmospheric warmth, and also, of atmospheric moisture; in these particulars, they offer some differences to what has been previously stated, with reference to the cucumber. the soil in which the melon delights to grow, is one of a more compact texture than is usually regarded as applicable for the cucumber: a suitable compost consists of the "top spit" from a loamy pasture, of a texture _rather adhesive_, and retaining the herbage and roots of the grass; this should be collected a few months before it is used, so that these vegetable substances may be in a _decaying_ state, and it should be broken roughly to pieces, but by no means sifted; to it, should be added, about one-fourth part of vegetable mould: the whole should be well incorporated, and, before using, should be placed in a situation where it may not be liable to become saturated by heavy rain; which would serve to destroy the free and open texture, which it is so desirable to retain. in the application of moisture to the soil, the structure which is described in a previous chapter, will be found to present facilities, which peculiarly adapt it for the growth of these plants. in persia, and the neighbouring countries, where the melon is so successfully grown, the ground is irrigated by means of numerous channels, which, from the limitation of their exposed surface, are not peculiarly adapted to supply atmospheric moisture; but are yet sufficiently numerous to secure the perfect irrigation of the soil, within the reach of the roots. the tubes or shafts, represented at (_n_) in the sketch referred to above, are intended to communicate directly with a layer of coarse open material, extending entirely over the top of the tank, and beneath the soil; by means of these a supply of water should be poured beneath the soil, which will thus keep that portion immediately about the young roots, in a constant and complete state of saturation, by means of the steam which will arise, in consequence of the heat from the tank. a uniformly warm, and a thoroughly moist soil, will be thus easily secured, which are two important points in the growth of persian melons. it must be recollected that these conditions for supplying moisture, are recommended only during the time of growing the plants, and swelling the fruit; but as these latter approach their maturity, the degree of moisture must of course be gradually diminished. in connection with this moistened and genial soil, the melon has naturally the advantage also, of powerful sun heat, and intense light; and these are two conditions which it is indispensable should be supplied in artificial cultivation, as fully as they can possibly be obtained. it is by means of the moisture of the soil, that the plants are enabled to grow on rapidly and vigorously, because that moisture renders the food contained in the soil, soluble, and therefore available to the roots; but the elaboration and assimilation of this food depends on the degree of _light_ and _heat_ with which they are supplied: without these conditions, to convert the crude sap, by their united agency, into organic compounds, such as lignin, gum, starch, and sugar, and to induce their deposition, the fruit will indeed be formed--it will grow, and perhaps may even tempt the eye; but unless these chemical and vital changes have taken place in its constituent parts, the eye, as it frequently happens, will have been deceived; and instead of the palate being gratified by a mature and luscious fruit, it will find nothing but a tasteless mass of pulp. the plants, therefore, cannot, in our latitude, receive too intense a degree of solar heat, or of light. the same cause which renders the natural atmosphere of the melon countries elevated in temperature, renders it also comparatively dry; the sun drinks up the moisture which is deposited near the surface, or which may rise to that position; and by an exceedingly powerful influence effectually prevents the accumulation of moisture about the exposed parts of the plants. the atmosphere is nevertheless not in an arid state; the evaporation from a well-moistened soil effectually prevents this from being the case, but the excessive heat also as effectually and continually prevents an undue accumulation of moisture in the atmosphere. the application of this fact, to artificial practice, is plain; a less amount of moisture artificially applied, in comparison with the temperature, must be permitted, than when the cultivation of those plants is attempted whose natural habitats are less strongly featured in this respect. such considerations as these naturally force on us the conclusion, that it is vain to attempt the cultivation of this noble fruit, except during that portion of the year when the sun exerts his greatest power in our latitude. it is not because they cannot be induced to grow at any other period of the year, for the mere extension of vegetable tissue will go on, though the influence of the natural agents is but limited and feeble; but it is because maturity, perfect development, and, above all, the full assimilation of the sap, cannot take place sufficiently to ensure a good flavour in the fruit, except light and heat are not only unimpeded and constant, but powerful and united in their action. chap. x. concluding remarks. i will here briefly recall attention to a most important point which the cultivator should continually keep in view: it is most important that he should _study nature_; for if we may believe our senses, or place any confidence in overwhelming evidence, we may be certain that all the conditions we observe in a natural state of things, have been planned by an all-wise hand; and further, that a finite mind can never attempt with success, either to surpass or to dispense with any portion of that which an infinite being has ordained. "order is heaven's first law," and in whatever we may attempt to do, we shall not be wise, if we endeavour to effect our purpose by any means which may distort the fair proportions which unaided nature presents to our view. in cultivating plants, therefore, we should administer the conditions which are favourable to their growth and development, in somewhat the same proportions each to the other, in which they are naturally blended--not supplying one essential, in an undue manner, and, at the same time, neglecting others; for successful cultivation must ever depend upon the connection and influence of numerous circumstances upon each other, and can never be attained, unless these conditions are complied with, either designedly, or, as it often happens, by mere accident. another point which it is important to keep in view, is that instructions should be studied, rather than copied, in their application to practice. no instructions can be given that should be blindly and implicitly followed. the circumstances under which plants are placed are varying every day, and even every hour, and, to be successful, horticultural practice must be varied also. it must, however, be varied according to principle. but even what are regarded as established laws and principles should not be heedlessly followed; to be truly successful, a man must not only be a practical enthusiast and a keen theorist; he must also be a skilful experimentalist: his experiments and their results, if carefully watched, deduced, recorded, and studied, will serve to guide him for the future. appendix. _on heating, ventilating or aerating, and covering._ since the publication of the first edition of this work in , the views expressed in the second chapter, with reference to structures best adapted for cucumber culture in the winter season, have met with much corroborative support. respecting the questions of heating, ventilation, and covering, a few more words may be added. i have before recommended hot water tanks for supplying bottom heat, with attached pipes for the circulation of hot water to warm the atmosphere. i can see no reason for recommending any other arrangement now; for the experience of successive years goes to show that hot water, applied on sound principles, is, above all other means of heating, effective in its operation; and as to the question of expense, raised as an objection to it by some, it is sufficient to say, that, although one hot water apparatus may be fitted up in an expensive manner, another may be rendered perfectly successful in its operation, at the same time that it is extremely simple in its arrangements, and correspondingly inexpensive in its cost. a seeming error in the engraving, at p. , has been pointed out to me. in the description of the sketch it is stated that, "a series of pipes attached to the same boiler [which heats the tank] would supply the requisite heat to the atmosphere." the sketch itself shows these pipes to be considerably above the level of the water in the tank, and where they could not, consistently with the other arrangements, be thus employed. this may be explained thus:--the sketch was introduced rather for the purpose of illustrating certain proposed arrangements, as regards bottom heat and ventilation, than as furnishing an exact and detailed design for a model structure; and thus it happened that the pipes were merely shown to be placed at the front part of the house, to indicate that this was their proper relative position. there would be no practical difficulty in placing the pipes lower down, and nearly close to the front wall, so as to admit of the proposed connection; all that would be required to effect this, being to fix the slab, on which they rest--and which prevents the air from rushing upwards into the atmosphere of the house at this point--in a sloping position, instead of a horizontal one. the principle involved in the plan proposed for aëration or ventilation, is no doubt a sound one; and though the plan which is more particularly described may be modified and varied, yet it is believed to be efficient for its intended purpose. there can be no doubt that the admission of cold air to a structure in which tender plants are being forced, either during winter or early spring, is materially hurtful to the plants, in proportion to the tenderness of their constitution; and the cucumber being, under those circumstances, a plant of a very tender and delicate nature, is especially susceptible of harm from this source. as a consequence resulting from this fact, there can be little hesitation in affirming that whatever fresh or external air it may be necessary to admit, during the period referred to, should be warmed before it reaches the plants, and in being warmed not burned, but supplied with the additional moisture its increased heat capacitates it to take up, and which, to be congenial to vegetation, it requires. this is provided for by the plan already recommended, where the cold air is made to pass through the tank containing the heated water which warms the soil. by a perfectly practicable modification of this arrangement, not only may this result be secured, but also the continual circulation of the internal atmosphere may at pleasure be assisted and accelerated, during the time when it might not be necessary to admit fresh air. this would be an additional advantage. the arrangement proposed to effect this, is to conduct the cold external air through a heated chamber containing the tanks--these latter being covered, but also admitting of being opened to any extent to supply moisture or steam in the proportion required. the cold air, after passing upwards through the chamber, escapes at the front of the house, and ascends to the upper part of the house, from whence it finds its way downwards near the back wall, and there again enters the chamber, through openings provided for the purpose. the circulation of the internal atmosphere would be thus facilitated and accelerated, even without the admission of any current of external air, for, of course, there is more or less of this kind of movement going on in the atmosphere, wherever and in whatever form a source of artificial heat is present. another mode of combining internal atmospheric motion, with ventilation, and by which the cold air is warmed before it reaches the plants, has been practised with very marked success, in a vinery at park-hill, streatham, surrey; and i have described it in the _journal of the horticultural society_[ ] as follows:--"this plan consists in passing a zinc pipe, thickly perforated with small holes, from end to end of the vinery, and exactly beneath the range of hot water pipes, which heat the structure. in the outer [end] wall, communicating with this perforated pipe by means of a kind of broad funnel, a register valve is fixed, by which the admission of air can be regulated with the utmost nicety, or the supply be shut off altogether: this valve is fixed a little below the level of the perforated pipe. the action of this contrivance was evident enough from the motion communicated to the foliage of the vines; and its effects were apparent in the unusually healthy and vigorous appearance they bore, until their period of ripening. in this case, sufficient moisture was kept up by syringing the walls and pipes, wetting the pathway, and by the use of evaporating troughs, placed on the metal pipes, and kept constantly filled with water." in another communication published in the work already quoted,[ ] after alluding to the now well-known garden truism, that a comparatively low night temperature is indispensable to the maintenance of vigorous growth in plants of all kinds, i have advocated a more extended adoption of the practice of night covering hot houses, as a means of permitting the low night temperature required, and at the same time securing the plants against the extreme cold to which they would thus be sometimes liable. from the changeable nature of our climate, there is some difficulty in apportioning the degree of applied heat, so as to suit exactly the requirements of the plants in these respects; and it is especially difficult to maintain with certainty the low degree of night temperature which would be desirable, and at the same time avoid risking the safety of the plants, through a sudden declension of the temperature of the exterior air. at present this difficulty has to be met by extraordinary care on the part of the gardener, and often by serious encroachments on his proper time for study and for rest: even then sometimes without success. this end would be much more effectually and certainly secured by a _complete system_ of covering hot-houses and forcing-houses; and this plan would secure the further advantage of avoiding the undue stimulation of the plants by a then unnecessary amount of heat, applied solely to prevent the very evil which covering also prevents, namely, the risk of excessive cold during the night. the principle upon which a covering acts most efficiently, is that of enclosing a complete body or stratum of air exterior to the glass, this body of air being entirely shut away from the surrounding outer atmosphere. air being a bad conductor of heat, the warmth of the interior is by this means prevented from passing to the exterior atmosphere; or, in other words, the exterior atmosphere, being prevented from coming in contact with the glass, cannot absorb from the interior any material proportion of its heat. to secure this advantage, however, the coverings _must_ be kept from contact with the glass, and they should extend on every side where the structure is formed of materials which readily conduct heat--such as glass or iron. the coverings should in fact form neither more nor less than _a close outer case_. one point connected with the application of these coverings, which i consider would constitute an improvement, and which, as far as i am aware, has never been acted on, is that of having them to fit so accurately as to exclude the external air (a matter of no difficulty in the degree required), and then to have a series of ventilators provided, to stand open during the night, whereby an interchange of the atmospheric volume would take place throughout the night, without exposing the plants to contact with cold air. the stagnation of the internal atmosphere would thus be prevented, in consequence of the interior air and the air between the glass and the covering being of different degrees of density, owing to their being differently charged with heat. by this plan, therefore, i conceive that direct benefit would accrue to the plants; and it would also materially assist in preserving that cooler--but not cold--night temperature, which the fear of injury from frost prevents from being more fully realised in ordinary cases. [illustration] the annexed diagram represents one of the many ways in which this idea might be carried into practice. it will be understood that, as here shown, the side shutters and end shutters (the latter not indicated), fit into grooves, the upper groove being attached to iron pins, and thus fixed at a proper distance from the building, without obstructing the passage of air along the enclosed space; and that on the lower side being so fixed as to exclude the external air in that direction. the top or roof shutters also run into a groove along the ridge of the roof, and at the lower end fix close down to the top of the side shutters, fastening with a button. each of the shutters should have a projecting fillet fixed on one side, so as to shut close over the adjoining one. the shutters themselves should of course be made of light frame-work, strengthened where necessary, with small iron rods. the material used for covering them may be the asphalte felt, now manufactured extensively for roofing purposes, or strong brown paper, coated with tar; the latter is used extensively in germany for this purpose, and is found to be very durable and cheap; it is there even preferred to every other material. though the covering of hot-houses has been already practised in some cases, i am not aware of any one having adopted a close covering with the view to facilitate ventilation or aëration during the night. it appears to me that the circulation of air, secured by the means here proposed, would have much influence in excluding cold, whilst at the same time it would prevent the interior from becoming too warm and close. _on transplanting and the use of turf pots._ i have, at p. , given what appear to me to be some of the principal reasons against the practice of transplanting, or planting out, cucumber and other plants. when this is done after any quantity of roots are produced, some injury or check must be sustained during the process; and checks of this kind are opposed to the realisation of the greatest results within the shortest period, which of course is the great object in view. where it is inconvenient to plant the seeds in the places the plants are intended to occupy, or to put out the young plants during the earliest period of their development, or where propagation by cuttings or layers, is adopted, and the plants of course have to be potted separately, so as to be in a removable state, the following simple plan may be adopted, and will be found to combine all the advantages and conveniences attending the use of pots, with the avoidance of the evils of transplantation, &c. the plan referred to, consists in the employment of turf or peat, so contrived as to supply the place of pots, and which of course at the time of planting is simply placed, along with the plant it contains, at once into the soil, without in the least disturbing the roots, which, growing through the substance of the turf, extend beyond it in all directions into the free soil provided for them. these turf pots are made of spongy, fibrous turf--whether loamy or peaty is not material, provided it is full of fibre, so as to admit of being readily traversed by the roots. the grassy surface is evenly removed, and the under-turves are cut three or four inches in thickness, and are then divided into squares of about three inches across. the centre of each of these little squares is taken out by means of an iron scoop, such as that represented in the annexed sketch; and this is then filled up with soil, and the plant, or seed, or cutting, or layer, inserted as if it were into an ordinary flower pot. it will be obvious that by this plan, every plant is independent and perfectly removable--thus securing the convenience of sowing or planting and rearing the plants in pots during their earliest stages: on the other hand, at the time of planting out permanently, the plant, turf, and all being set carefully into the soil, no check is sustained, because the roots remain undisturbed, and may, as they advance, penetrate through the turf into the prepared soil which surrounds them; in this way the advantages of sowing or planting at the very first in the position the plants are intended to occupy permanently, are secured. [illustration] this plan of sowing seeds, or of planting young plants intended for transplantation, into pots made of turf, is not only applicable to cucumbers, but might be very extensively adopted in the case of annuals and half hardy plants raised in frames, during the spring, in large quantities for the flower garden. in these cases, however, as the quantity that could be reared within a given space would be an object, the turves should be as small as possible in their lateral dimensions--a bore of two inches and a half, with half an inch on each side, thus making the diameter three inches and a half, would be found convenient in this respect. for cucumbers, however, or when the plan was applied to any special object, a larger size might be employed, which would allow of the plants attaining a larger size before it would be necessary to place them in their permanent positions. _on watering the soil._ in the diagram at p. , and the description of it at p. , i have indicated and recommended a plan of moistening the soil by pouring water down beneath the soil: this was to be done by the help of tubes provided for the purpose. the soil was supposed to rest on the top of the hot water-tank, which was to supply bottom heat; and immediately beneath the soil, a layer of open rubble was proposed to be placed, among which the water applied might find its way, and gradually moisten the superincumbent soil. mr. hunter, gardener at mawley hall, in detailing[ ] his sixteen years' experience in tank-heating, has in great measure corroborated these views; and as his corroboration of the plan i have recommended, embodies some useful hints, i will quote the substance of his remarks:--"i had a pit erected, thirty-eight feet long, seven and a half wide, divided into four compartments, for growing melons and cucumbers, with a tank extending the whole length of the pit, six feet wide and six inches deep. across this i put larch spars, and upon them turves, with the grassy side downwards, and on them the soil for the melons and cucumbers. the plants grew and did well for a time, but they were of short duration in comparison with the dung-bed. instead of the moisture ascending through the soil as i expected, i found that the heat from the tank dried the turves and soil next to them as dry as dust, and that there was no such thing as obtaining a moist heat from hot water without the soil was in contact with it. next year i put broken stones upon the spars, and turves upon them, and made my arrangements so that i could occasionally run water in the tank to wet the turves and the soil next them. this was an improvement; and i went on prosperously for some years, till the spars began to decay. i then had iron bars put across, and two of the compartments covered with squares, a foot in diameter, and one inch thick; the other two with slates; both slates and squares jointed with roman cement, to prevent the soil from getting into the tank, as i had found the inconvenience of it when using the spars. i put some broken stones upon the covers, and turves upon them, and then the soil. here my original difficulty occurred; the soil next the covers got too dry, and to moisten it from above was impracticable, without making the soil a complete puddle, which would have stopped the healthy growth of the plants. to remedy this, i put six small earthen pipes into each division, the one end resting upon the tank covers, the other standing up above the soil. when i found by the watch sticks that the soil was getting dry, i poured water down the pipes through a tin funnel which i had made on purpose; this spread itself over the surface of the tank covers, and diffused a gentle moisture to the soil, so congenial to the growth of plants. this was a move in the right direction. i then thought that it would be better to pour the manure water down upon the tank covers, which i have done since. i found the broken stones over the tank covers troublesome; they were also a harbour for wood-lice. i now use only a layer of leaves next the covers, and they are cleared out with the soil." _on atmospheric humidity._ cucumbers cannot at any time be successfully grown in an arid atmosphere, although, during the winter season, they require a much less proportion of atmospheric humidity, than under the influence of longer days and brighter light; and conversely, the degree which would be necessary to secure their welfare in summer, would be fatal to them in winter. an experienced gardener would tell almost instinctively, at either season, whether a sufficient supply was present or not; but less experienced cultivators would need some index, or register, to guide them. such an index is afforded by the hygrometer; but most of the kinds of hygrometers are delicate instruments, and hardly suited for garden use. what is needed in this case is, not an instrument which requires minute observations and calculations, but something that will at once indicate the atmospheric humidity as plainly as the thermometer does the temperature, and which may be as easily read off and understood. simmons' hygrometer, recently introduced to the notice of horticulturists, professes to supply this desideratum; and though, perhaps, not a sufficiently accurate instrument for purely scientific purposes, yet, as simply and clearly indicating what is at least an approximation to the existing degree of atmospheric humidity, it is to be regarded as a useful garden hygrometer. by it, the degree of dryness or humidity is indicated on a dial-plate, by means of a moveable arm resembling the hand of a clock. the dial-plate is marked off into degrees, expressing the amount of moisture in the air, between what is observed when the instrument is plunged in water on the one hand, and exposed to excessive dryness on the other. as my own experience of this instrument, though favourable to its use, is still but limited, i cannot do better than introduce here the following remarks of mr. beck, of isleworth, a very successful cultivator of plants, and one who has had considerable experience in the use of these instruments. it will be observed that mr. beck's standard for the orchid-house will be about suitable for cucumbers.[ ] mr. beck observes,--"the skilful gardener, observing the pointer to advance with dryness and return with moisture, will soon form a standard for himself, by which to regulate his stove, greenhouse, &c.; still some general scale is desirable. two conditions must be carefully observed:-- . the instrument must neither be hung in the sun, nor where it will be liable to get wetted or saturated. . it must not be subjected to greater heat than is suited to vegetable life. for the six months commencing with august and ending with january, deg. in, the morning, increasing to deg. about noon, and declining again to deg. at night, is about the right scale for the orchid-house; whilst a range from deg. to deg. would be suitable for both the stove and greenhouse in those months. in the other half year, february and july inclusive, deg. to deg., morning and evening, running up to deg. in the middle of the day for the orchid-house; deg. and deg., and up to deg. for the stove; and deg. to deg. for the greenhouse, will prove very suitable. the above scale is desirable, but i do not say it is always attainable. ours is an uncertain climate; sometimes a dry east wind will almost parch us up; at other times a southerly one, with wet, will cause a superabundance, which will have to be corrected, possibly by a gentle fire, and a free admission of air. the alteration hereby effected in the atmosphere of the houses will soon be evidenced by the hygrometer, and mildew and fogging off be kept at a distance. opposed to an excess of moisture in the dull months of the year, is the dryness consequent on the summer and autumnal sunshine. then, during the heat of the days, the instrument will seem to have run wild. throwing water on the floors of the houses, and every means of increasing the amount of moisture, seems but of little or temporary avail; simmons will go up, spite of all, to deg. or deg., and none the worse either, for it is still a faithful indicator, and as sure as the day declines, and the heat of the sun is withdrawn, so will it come back to a suitable point, when the plants are watered and the floors are wetted for the night. remembering then, the variableness of our climate, i candidly admit that i consider any precise directions of very little value. none can be given that shall be implicitly followed, or on which success shall certainly attend. horticultural practice should be made dependant upon ever-varying circumstances." mr. belville, of the royal observatory, has constructed the following table, from a series of observations made with simmons' hygrometer in connexion with the dew point, as obtained by a mason's hygrometer, or a dry and wet thermometer. +------------------------------------------------------------------+ | range mean | | |of simmons' humidity of| | |hygrometer. the air.| | +--------------------------| | | ° to ° · |extreme saturation; air precipitates | | | moisture at a fall of temperature. | | .. · | | | .. · | | | .. · | | | .. · | } | | .. · | }ordinary fine dry weather. | | .. · | } | | .. · | | | .. · | air contains one half of the moisture | | | it is capable of holding in solution;| | | in england very dry weather. | +--------------------------+---------------------------------------+ example:--suppose hygrometer read °, the mean humidity corresponding is . again, if hygrometer read °, the mean humidity corresponding is °. _mushrooms._ (see p. .) convenience for growing mushrooms may always be planned in a cucumber house; and as these excellent fungi are universally approved, it may be useful to append an epitome of the mode in which they should be cultivated. the best, or, at least, most convenient situation for the bed, would be beneath that provided for the cucumber plants (see p. ). the front may be formed of two course of brick-on-edge, and if divisions are required, they should be formed in the same way. the bottom should be made even, and rendered dry. the material for forming the bed itself consists of short stable litter, with horse-droppings, but chiefly the latter, brought to a certain state of fermentation. the droppings and litter should be obtained daily from the stable, until enough for a bed is collected; it should, from day to day, be thrown up into a flattish heap, in a dry place, where it will ferment very slightly. as soon as enough is got together to begin to ferment, the heap must be turned over; and in these turnings, the outer and inner parts of the heap, as well as the fresh and the fermenting, must be well mixed up together; the heaps should be turned every second day, and should never be made large, or else the dung would become both too hot and too dry, either of which would spoil it. to avoid this, the heaps should be flat and shallow, with as much outside as possible; in this way the air, acting on a considerable portion of it, renders it rather dry, and checks too rapid fermentation. this preparation must be continued until the whole mass is brought to an uniform mild, dryish state of fermentation. then the bed may be made in the following manner:--about three inches of the prepared dung is laid evenly over the bottom, and is beaten down firmly with a flat heavy wooden mallet. another layer is then put on in the same way, and this is repeated until the bed is formed to a thickness of about six inches. the next two inches of the dung should have about a sixth part of light turfy loam reduced to mould, and sifted, mixed with it to give it body. the bed is now prepared, and is to be spawned as soon as it is seen that it does not heat violently. the heat ought not to exceed degrees: if it reaches higher than this, holes must be made, a few inches apart, to let the heat pass off, and in a day or two these may be filled up again. the spawn is to be put in when the heat ranges about degrees; lumps of spawn about as large as a small egg may be used; a hole should be made with the fingers about two inches deep, the spawn inserted, and the material of the bed closed about it. probably by this time there will be no danger of overheating, and if so, the soil may be put on; if, however, there is any inclination to overheat, wait till it has passed off before putting on the soil. the soil used should be decomposed turfy loam, moderately dry, so as to bear compression without running together like paste, but damp enough to become firm, close, and even, when beaten closely. about two inches in thickness should be put on, and this is to be beaten down quite firm and close. the beds are then finished. it is as well to cover the surface with a thin layer of short hay, to prevent it becoming quite dry. mushroom beds seldom require water; after they have been some time in bearing, the beds sometimes get dry, and in such cases, if they have a moderate soaking of _tepid_ water, and the surface is covered as before, a new crop will spring up. the covering is best removed when the beds are in bearing. it is seldom advisable to apply water when the beds are coming into bearing. water should never be used in any other than a tepid state. mushrooms are most prized in the summer, though the atmosphere of a cucumber-house would not then be suitable for them, unless the space about them could be closed in, so as to retain a close, somewhat humid atmosphere. they would succeed very well without being enclosed, during the season for forcing cucumbers. under the treatment which has been detailed, the beds would usually come into bearing in about six weeks from the time of spawning; and, under favourable circumstances, would continue in bearing for two or three months. footnotes: [ ] the journal of the horticultural society of london, vol. i. p. . [ ] ib. vol. ii. p. . [ ] gardener's journal, , p. . [ ] gardener's chronicle . transcriber's notes: passages in italics are indicated by _underscore_. the following misprints have been corrected: "influenee" corrected to "influence" (page ) "circumstauces" corrected to "circumstances" (page ) "analagous" corrected to "analogous" (page ) "shonld" corrected to "should" (page ) "distributiug" corrected to "distributing" (page ) "appropaiated" corrected to "appropriated" (page ) "conditious" corrected to "conditions" (page ) other than the corrections listed above, printer's inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation usage have been retained. punctuation has been corrected without note. life of lord byron: with his letters and journals. by thomas moore, esq. in six volumes.--vol. iv. new edition. london: john murray, albemarle street. . contents of vol. iv letters and journals of lord byron, with notices of his life, from april, , to october, . notices of the life of lord byron. letter . to mr. murray. "venice, april . . "your letters of the th and th are arrived. in my own i have given you the rise, progress, decline, and fall, of my recent malady. it is gone to the devil: i won't pay him so bad a compliment as to say it came from him;--he is too much of a gentleman. it was nothing but a slow fever, which quickened its pace towards the end of its journey. i had been bored with it some weeks--with nocturnal burnings and morning perspirations; but i am quite well again, which i attribute to having had neither medicine nor doctor thereof. "in a few days i set off for rome: such is my purpose. i shall change it very often before monday next, but do you continue to direct and address to _venice_, as heretofore. if i go, letters will be forwarded: i say '_if_,' because i never know what i shall do till it is done; and as i mean most firmly to set out for rome, it is not unlikely i may find myself at st. petersburg. "you tell me to 'take care of myself;'--faith, and i will. i won't be posthumous yet, if i can help it. notwithstanding, only think what a 'life and adventures,' while i am in full scandal, would be worth, together with the 'membra' of my writing-desk, the sixteen beginnings of poems never to be finished! do you think i would not have shot myself last year, had i not luckily recollected that mrs. c * * and lady n * *, and all the old women in england would have been delighted;--besides the agreeable 'lunacy,' of the 'crowner's quest,' and the regrets of two or three or half a dozen? be assured that i _would live_ for two reasons, or more;--there are one or two people whom i have to put out of the world, and as many into it, before i can 'depart in peace;' if i do so before, i have not fulfilled my mission. besides, when i turn thirty, i will turn devout; i feel a great vocation that way in catholic churches, and when i hear the organ. "so * * is writing again! is there no bedlam in scotland? nor thumb-screw? nor gag? nor hand-cuff? i went upon my knees to him almost, some years ago, to prevent him from publishing a political pamphlet, which would have given him a livelier idea of 'habeas corpus' than the world will derive from his present production upon that suspended subject, which will doubtless be followed by the suspension of other of his majesty's subjects. "i condole with drury lane and rejoice with * *,--that is, in a modest way,--on the tragical end of the new tragedy. "you and leigh hunt have quarrelled then, it seems? i introduce him and his poem to you, in the hope that (malgré politics) the union would be beneficial to both, and the end is eternal enmity; and yet i did this with the best intentions: i introduce * * *, and * * * runs away with your money: my friend hobhouse quarrels, too, with the quarterly: and (except the last) i am the innocent istmhus (damn the word! i can't spell it, though i have crossed that of corinth a dozen times) of these enmities. "i will tell you something about chillon.--a mr. _de luc_, ninety years old, a swiss, had it read to him, and is pleased with it,--so my sister writes. he said that he was _with rousseau_ at _chillon_, and that the description is perfectly correct. but this is not all: i recollected something of the name, and find the following passage in 'the confessions,' vol. iii. page . liv. viii.:-- "'de tous ces amusemens celui qui me plût davantage fut une promenade autour du lac, que je fis en bateau avec _de luc_ père, sa bru, ses _deux fils_, et ma therése. nous mimes sept jours à cette tournée par le plus beau temps du monde. j'en gardai le vif souvenir des sites qui m'avoient frappé à l'autre extrémité du lac, et dont je fis la description, quelques années après, dans la nouvelle heloise' "this nonagenarian, de luc, must be one of the 'deux fils.' he is in england--infirm, but still in faculty. it is odd that he should have lived so long, and not wanting in oddness that he should have made this voyage with jean jacques, and afterwards, at such an interval, read a poem by an englishman (who had made precisely the same circumnavigation) upon the same scenery. "as for 'manfred,' it is of no use sending _proofs_; nothing of that kind comes. i sent the whole at different times. the two first acts are the best; the third so so; but i was blown with the first and second heats. you must call it 'a poem,' for it is _no drama_, and i do not choose to have it called by so * * a name--a 'poem in dialogue,' or--pantomime, if you will; any thing but a green-room synonyme; and this is your motto-- "'there are more things in heaven and earth, horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.' "yours ever, &c. "my love and thanks to mr. gifford." * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "venice, april . . "i shall continue to write to you while the fit is on me, by way of penance upon you for your former complaints of long silence. i dare say you would blush, if you could, for not answering. next week i set out for rome. having seen constantinople, i should like to look at t'other fellow. besides, i want to see the pope, and shall take care to tell him that i vote for the catholics and no veto. "i sha'n't go to naples. it is but the second best sea-view, and i have seen the first and third, viz. constantinople and lisbon, (by the way, the last is but a river-view; however, they reckon it after stamboul and naples, and before genoa,) and vesuvius is silent, and i have passed by Ætna. so i shall e'en return to venice in july; and if you write, i pray you to address to venice, which is my head, or rather my _heart_, quarters. "my late physician, dr. polidori, is here on his way to england, with the present lord g * * and the widow of the late earl. dr. polidori has, just now, no more patients, because his patients are no more. he had lately three, who are now all dead--one embalmed. horner and a child of thomas hope's are interred at pisa and rome. lord g * * died of an inflammation of the bowels: so they took them out, and sent them (on account of their discrepancies), separately from the carcass, to england. conceive a man going one way, and his intestines another, and his immortal soul a third!--was there ever such a distribution? one certainly has a soul; but how it came to allow itself to be enclosed in a body is more than i can imagine. i only know if once mine gets out, i'll have a bit of a tussle before i let it get in again to that or any other. "and so poor dear mr. maturin's second tragedy has been neglected by the discerning public! * * will be d----d glad of this, and d----d without being glad, if ever his own plays come upon 'any stage.' "i wrote to rogers the other day, with a message for you. i hope that he flourishes. he is the tithonus of poetry--immortal already. you and i must wait for it. "i hear nothing--know nothing. you may easily suppose that the english don't seek me, and i avoid them. to be sure, there are but few or none here, save passengers. florence and naples are their margate and ramsgate, and much the same sort of company too, by all accounts, which hurts us among the italians. "i want to hear of lalla rookh--are you out? death and fiends! why don't you tell me where you are, what you are, and how you are? i shall go to bologna by ferrara, instead of mantua: because i would rather see the cell where they caged tasso, and where he became mad and * *, than his own mss. at modena, or the mantuan birthplace of that harmonious plagiary and miserable flatterer, whose cursed hexameters were drilled into me at harrow. i saw verona and vicenza on my way here--padua too. "i go alone,--but alone, because i mean to return here. i only want to see rome. i have not the least curiosity about florence, though i must see it for the sake of the venus, &c. &c.; and i wish also to see the fall of terni. i think to return to venice by ravenna and rimini, of both of which i mean to take notes for leigh hunt, who will be glad to hear of the scenery of his poem. there was a devil of a review of him in the quarterly, a year ago, which he answered. all answers are imprudent: but, to be sure, poetical flesh and blood must have the last word--that's certain. i thought, and think, very highly of his poem; but i warned him of the row his favourite antique phraseology would bring him into. "you have taken a house at hornsey: i had much rather you had taken one in the apennines. if you think of coming out for a summer, or so, tell me, that i may be upon the hover for you. "ever," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, april . . "by the favour of dr. polidori, who is here on his way to england with the present lord g * *, (the late earl having gone to england by another road, accompanied by his bowels in a separate coffer,) i remit to you, to deliver to mrs. leigh, _two miniatures_; previously you will have the goodness to desire mr. love (as a peace-offering between him and me) to set them in plain gold, with my arms complete, and 'painted by prepiani--venice, ,' on the back. i wish also that you would desire holmes to make a copy of _each_--that is, both--for myself, and that you will retain the said copies till my return. one was done while i was very unwell; the other in my health, which may account for their dissimilitude. i trust that they will reach their destination in safety. "i recommend the doctor to your good offices with your government friends; and if you can be of any use to him in a literary point of view, pray be so. "to-day, or rather yesterday, for it is past midnight, i have been up to the battlements of the highest tower in venice, and seen it and its view, in all the glory of a clear italian sky. i also went over the manfrini palace, famous for its pictures. amongst them, there is a portrait of _ariosto_ by _titian_, surpassing all my anticipation of the power of painting or human expression: it is the poetry of portrait, and the portrait of poetry. there was also one of some learned lady, centuries old, whose name i forget, but whose features must always be remembered. i never saw greater beauty, or sweetness, or wisdom:--it is the kind of face to go mad for, because it cannot walk out of its frame. there is also a famous dead christ and live apostles, for which buonaparte offered in vain five thousand louis; and of which, though it is a capo d'opera of titian, as i am no connoisseur, i say little, and thought less, except of one figure in it. there are ten thousand others, and some very fine giorgiones amongst them, &c. &c. there is an original laura and petrarch, very hideous both. petrarch has not only the dress, but the features and air of an old woman, and laura looks by no means like a young one, or a pretty one. what struck me most in the general collection was the extreme resemblance of the style of the female faces in the mass of pictures, so many centuries or generations old, to those you see and meet every day among the existing italians. the queen of cyprus and giorgione's wife, particularly the latter, are venetians as it were of yesterday; the same eyes and expression, and, to my mind, there is none finer. "you must recollect, however, that i know nothing of painting; and that i detest it, unless it reminds me of something i have seen, or think it possible to see, for which reason i spit upon and abhor all the saints and subjects of one half the impostures i see in the churches and palaces; and when in flanders, i never was so disgusted in my life, as with rubens and his eternal wives and infernal glare of colours, as they appeared to me; and in spain i did not think much of murillo and velasquez. depend upon it, of all the arts, it is the most artificial and unnatural, and that by which the nonsense of mankind is most imposed upon. i never yet saw the picture or the statue which came a league within my conception or expectation; but i have seen many mountains, and seas, and rivers, and views, and two or three women, who went as far beyond it,--besides some horses; and a lion (at veli pacha's) in the morea; and a tiger at supper in exeter change. "when you write, continue to address to me at _venice_. where do you suppose the books you sent to me are? at _turin_! this comes of '_the foreign office_' which is foreign enough, god knows, for any good it can be of to me, or any one else, and be d----d to it, to its last clerk and first charlatan, castlereagh. "this makes my hundredth letter at least. "yours," &c. * * * * * to mr. murray. "venice, april . . "the present proofs (of the whole) begin only at the th page; but as i had corrected and sent back the first act, it does not signify. "the third act is certainly d----d bad, and, like the archbishop of grenada's homily (which savoured of the palsy), has the dregs of my fever, during which it was written. it must on _no account_ be published in its present state. i will try and reform it, or rewrite it altogether; but the impulse is gone, and i have no chance of making any thing out of it. i would not have it published as it is on any account. the speech of manfred to the sun is the only part of this act i thought good myself; the rest is certainly as bad as bad can be, and i wonder what the devil possessed me. "i am very glad indeed that you sent me mr. gifford's opinion without _deduction_. do you suppose me such a booby as not to be very much obliged to him? or that in fact i was not, and am not, convinced and convicted in my conscience of this same overt act of nonsense? "i shall try at it again: in the mean time, lay it upon the shelf (the whole drama, i mean): but pray correct your copies of the first and second acts from the original ms. "i am not coming to england; but going to rome in a few days. i return to venice in _june_; so, pray, address all letters, &c. to me _here_, as usual, that is, to _venice_. dr. polidori this day left this city with lord g * * for england. he is charged with some books to your care (from me), and two miniatures also to the same address, _both_ for my sister. "recollect not to publish, upon pain of i know not what, until i have tried again at the third act. i am not sure that i _shall_ try, and still less that i shall succeed, if i do; but i am very sure, that (as it is) it is unfit for publication or perusal; and unless i can make it out to my own satisfaction, i won't have any part published. "i write in haste, and after having lately written very often. yours," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "foligno, april . . "i wrote to you the other day from florence, inclosing a ms. entitled 'the lament of tasso.' it was written in consequence of my having been lately at ferrara. in the last section of this ms. _but one_ (that is, the penultimate), i think that i have omitted a line in the copy sent to you from florence, viz. after the line-- "and woo compassion to a blighted name, insert, "sealing the sentence which my foes proclaim. the _context_ will show you _the sense_, which is not clear in this quotation. _remember, i write this in the supposition that you have received my florentine packet._ "at florence i remained but a day, having a hurry for rome, to which i am thus far advanced. however, i went to the two galleries, from which one returns drunk with beauty. the venus is more for admiration than love; but there are sculpture and painting, which for the first time at all gave me an idea of what people mean by their _cant_, and what mr. braham calls 'entusimusy' (_i.e._ enthusiasm) about those two most artificial of the arts. what struck me most were, the mistress of raphael, a portrait; the mistress of titian, a portrait; a venus of titian in the medici gallery--_the_ venus; canova's venus also in the other gallery: titian's mistress is also in the other gallery (that is, in the pitti palace gallery): the parcæ of michael angelo, a picture: and the antinous, the alexander, and one or two not very decent groups in marble; the genius of death, a sleeping figure, &c. &c. "i also went to the medici chapel--fine frippery in great slabs of various expensive stones, to commemorate fifty rotten and forgotten carcasses. it is unfinished, and will remain so. "the church of 'santa croce' contains much illustrious nothing. the tombs of machiavelli, michael angelo, galileo galilei, and alfieri, make it the westminster abbey of italy. i did not admire any of these tombs--beyond their contents. that of alfieri is heavy, and all of them seem to me overloaded. what is necessary but a bust and name? and perhaps a date? the last for the unchronological, of whom i am one. but all your allegory and eulogy is infernal, and worse than the long wigs of english numskulls upon roman bodies in the statuary of the reigns of charles ii., william, and anne. "when you write, write to _venice_, as usual; i mean to return there in a fortnight. i shall not be in england for a long time. this afternoon i met lord and lady jersey, and saw them for some time: all well; children grown and healthy; she very pretty, but sunburnt; he very sick of travelling; bound for paris. there are not many english on the move, and those who are, mostly homewards. i shall not return till business makes me, being much better where i am in health, &c. &c. "for the sake of my personal comfort, i pray you send me immediately _to venice_--_mind, venice_--viz. _waites' tooth-powder_, _red_, a quantity; _calcined magnesia_, of the best quality, a quantity; and all this by safe, sure, and speedy means; and, by the lord! do it. "i have done nothing at manfred's third act. you must wait; i'll have at it in a week or two, or so. yours ever," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "rome, may . . "by this post, (or next at farthest) i send you in two _other_ covers, the new third act of 'manfred.' i have re-written the greater part, and returned what is not altered in the _proof_ you sent me. the abbot is become a good man, and the spirits are brought in at the death. you will find i think, some good poetry in this new act, here and there; and if so, print it, without sending me farther proofs, _under mr. gifford's correction_, if he will have the goodness to overlook it. address all answers to venice, as usual; i mean to return there in ten days. "'the lament of tasso,' which i sent from florence, has, i trust, arrived: i look upon it as a 'these be good rhymes,' as pope's papa said to him when he was a boy. for the two--it and the drama--you will disburse to me (_via_ kinnaird) _six_ hundred guineas. you will perhaps be surprised that i set the same price upon this as upon the drama; but, besides that i look upon it as _good_, i won't take less than three hundred guineas for any thing. the two together will make you a larger publication than the 'siege' and 'parisina;' so you may think yourself let off very easy: that is to say, if these poems are good for any thing, which i hope and believe. "i have been some days in rome the wonderful. i am seeing sights, and have done nothing else, except the new third act for you. i have this morning seen a live pope and a dead cardinal: pius vii. has been burying cardinal bracchi, whose body i saw in state at the chiesa nuova. rome has delighted me beyond every thing, since athens and constantinople. but i shall not remain long this visit. address to venice. "ever, &c. "p.s. i have got my saddle-horses here, and have ridden, and am riding, all about the country." * * * * * from the foregoing letters to mr. murray, we may collect some curious particulars respecting one of the most original and sublime of the noble poet's productions, the drama of manfred. his failure (and to an extent of which the reader shall be enabled presently to judge), in the completion of a design which he had, through two acts, so magnificently carried on,--the impatience with which, though conscious of this failure, he as usual hurried to the press, without deigning to woo, or wait for, a happier moment of inspiration,--his frank docility in, at once, surrendering up his third act to reprobation, without urging one parental word in its behalf,--the doubt he evidently felt, whether, from his habit of striking off these creations at a heat, he should be able to rekindle his imagination on the subject,--and then, lastly, the complete success with which, when his mind _did_ make the spring, he at once cleared the whole space by which he before fell short of perfection,--all these circumstances, connected with the production of this grand poem, lay open to us features, both of his disposition and genius, in the highest degree interesting, and such as there is a pleasure, second only to that of perusing the poem itself, in contemplating. as a literary curiosity, and, still more, as a lesson to genius, never to rest satisfied with imperfection or mediocrity, but to labour on till even failures are converted into triumphs, i shall here transcribe the third act, in its original shape, as first sent to the publisher:-- act iii.--scene i. a hall in the castle of manfred. manfred and herman. _man._ what is the hour? _her._ it wants but one till sunset, and promises a lovely twilight. _man._ say, are all things so disposed of in the tower as i directed? _her._ all, my lord, are ready: here is the key and casket. _man._ it is well: thou may'st retire. [_exit_ herman. _man._ (_alone._) there is a calm upon me-- inexplicable stillness! which till now did not belong to what i knew of life. if that i did not know philosophy to be of all our vanities the motliest, the merest word that ever fool'd the ear from out the schoolman's jargon, i should deem the golden secret, the sought 'kalon,' found, and seated in my soul. it will not last, but it is well to have known it, though but once: it hath enlarged my thoughts with a new sense, and i within my tablets would note down that there is such a feeling. who is there? _re-enter_ herman. _her._ my lord, the abbot of st. maurice craves to greet your presence. _enter the_ abbot of st. maurice. _abbot._ peace be with count manfred! _man._ thanks, holy father! welcome to these walls; thy presence honours them, and blesseth those who dwell within them. _abbot._ would it were so, count! but i would fain confer with thee alone. _man._ herman, retire. what would my reverend guest? [_exit_ herman. _abbot._ thus, without prelude:--age and zeal, my office, and good intent, must plead my privilege; our near, though not acquainted neighbourhood, may also be my herald. rumours strange, and of unholy nature, are abroad, and busy with thy name--a noble name for centuries; may he who bears it now transmit it unimpair'd. _man._ proceed,--i listen. _abbot._ 'tis said thou boldest converse with the things which are forbidden to the search of man; that with the dwellers of the dark abodes, the many evil and unheavenly spirits which walk the valley of the shade of death, thou communest. i know that with mankind, thy fellows in creation, thou dost rarely exchange thy thoughts, and that thy solitude is as an anchorite's, were it but holy. _man._ and what are they who do avouch these things? _abbot._ my pious brethren--the scared peasantry-- even thy own vassals--who do look on thee with most unquiet eyes. thy life's in peril. _man._ take it. _abbot._ i come to save, and not destroy-- i would not pry into thy secret soul; but if these things be sooth, there still is time for penitence and pity: reconcile thee with the true church, and through the church to heaven. _man._ i hear thee. this is my reply; whate'er i may have been, or am, doth rest between heaven and myself.--i shall not choose a mortal to be my mediator. have i sinn'd against your ordinances? prove and punish![ ] _abbot._ then, hear and tremble! for the headstrong wretch who in the mail of innate hardihood would shield himself, and battle for his sins, there is the stake on earth, and beyond earth eternal-- _man._ charity, most reverend father, becomes thy lips so much more than this menace, that i would call thee back to it; but say, what wouldst thou with me? _abbot._ it may be there are things that would shake thee--but i keep them back, and give thee till to-morrow to repent. then if thou dost not all devote thyself to penance, and with gift of all thy lands to the monastery-- _man._ i understand thee,--well! _abbot._ expect no mercy; i have warned thee. _man._ (_opening the casket._) stop-- there is a gift for thee within this casket. [manfred _opens the casket, strikes a light, and burns some incense._ ho! ashtaroth! _the_ demon ashtaroth _appears, singing as follows:--_ the raven sits on the raven-stone, and his black wing flits o'er the milk-white bone; to and fro, as the night-winds blow, the carcass of the assassin swings; and there alone, on the raven-stone[ ], the raven flaps his dusky wings. the fetters creak--and his ebon beak croaks to the close of the hollow sound; and this is the tune by the light of the moon to which the witches dance their round-- merrily, merrily, cheerily, cheerily, merrily, speeds the ball: the dead in their shrouds, and the demons in clouds, flock to the witches' carnival. _abbot._ i fear thee not--hence--hence-- avaunt thee, evil one!--help, ho! without there! _man._ convey this man to the shreckhorn--to its peak-- to its extremest peak--watch with him there from now till sunrise; let him gaze, and know he ne'er again will be so near to heaven. but harm him not; and, when the morrow breaks, set him down safe in his cell--away with him! _ash._ had i not better bring his brethren too, convent and all, to bear him company? _man._ no, this will serve for the present. take him up. _ash._ come, friar! now an exorcism or two, and we shall fly the lighter. ashtaroth _disappears with the_ abbot, _singing as follows:--_ a prodigal son and a maid undone, and a widow re-wedded within the year; and a worldly monk and a pregnant nun, are things which every day appear. manfred _alone._ _man._ why would this fool break in on me, and force my art to pranks fantastical?--no matter, it was not of my seeking. my heart sickens, and weighs a fix'd foreboding on my soul; but it is calm--calm as a sullen sea after the hurricane; the winds are still, but the cold waves swell high and heavily, and there is danger in them. such a rest is no repose. my life hath been a combat. and every thought a wound, till i am scarr'd in the immortal part of me--what now? _re-enter_ herman. _her._ my lord, you bade me wait on you at sunset: he sinks behind the mountain. _man._ doth he so? i will look on him. [manfred _advances to the window of the hall._ glorious orb![ ] the idol of early nature, and the vigorous race of undiseased mankind, the giant sons of the embrace of angels, with a sex more beautiful than they, which did draw down the erring spirits who can ne'er return.-- most glorious orb! that wert a worship, ere the mystery of thy making was reveal'd! thou earliest minister of the almighty, which gladden'd, on their mountain tops, the hearts of the chaldean shepherds, till they pour'd themselves in orisons! thou material god! and representative of the unknown-- who chose thee for his shadow! thou chief star! centre of many stars! which mak'st our earth endurable, and temperest the hues and hearts of all who walk within thy rays! sire of the seasons! monarch of the climes, and those who dwell in them! for, near or far, our inborn spirits have a tint of thee, even as our outward aspects;--thou dost rise, and shine, and set in glory. fare thee well! i ne'er shall see thee more. as my first glance of love and wonder was for thee, then take my latest look: thou wilt not beam on one to whom the gifts of life and warmth have been of a more fatal nature. he is gone: i follow. [_exit_ manfred. scene ii. _the mountains--the castle of manfred at some distance--a terrace before a tower--time, twilight._ herman, manuel, _and other dependants of_ manfred. _her._ 'tis strange enough; night after night, for years, he hath pursued long vigils in this tower, without a witness. i have been within it,-- so have we all been oft-times; but from it, or its contents, it were impossible to draw conclusions absolute of aught his studies tend to. to be sure, there is one chamber where none enter; i would give the fee of what i have to come these three years, to pore upon its mysteries. _manuel._ 'twere dangerous; content thyself with what thou know'st already. _her._ ah! manuel! thou art elderly and wise, and couldst say much; thou hast dwelt within the castle-- how many years is't? _manuel._ ere count manfred's birth, i served his father, whom he nought resembles. _her._ there be more sons in like predicament. but wherein do they differ? _manuel._ i speak not of features or of form, but mind and habits: count sigismund was proud,--but gay and free,-- a warrior and a reveller; he dwelt not with books and solitude, nor made the night a gloomy vigil, but a festal time, merrier than day; he did not walk the rocks and forests like a wolf, nor turn aside from men and their delights. _her._ beshrew the hour, but those were jocund times! i would that such would visit the old walls again; they look as if they had forgotten them. _manuel._ these walls must change their chieftain first. oh! i have seen some strange things in these few years.[ ] _her._ come, be friendly; relate me some, to while away our watch: i've heard thee darkly speak of an event which happened hereabouts, by this same tower. _manuel._ that was a night indeed! i do remember 'twas twilight, as it may be now, and such another evening;--yon red cloud, which rests on eigher's pinnacle, so rested then,-- so like that it might be the same; the wind was faint and gusty, and the mountain snows began to glitter with the climbing moon; count manfred was, as now, within his tower,-- how occupied, we knew not, but with him the sole companion of his wanderings and watchings--her, whom of all earthly things that lived, the only thing he seemed to love,-- as he, indeed, by blood was bound to do, the lady astarte, his-- _her._ look--look--the tower-- the tower's on fire. oh, heavens and earth! what sound, what dreadful sound is that? [_a crash like thunder._ _manuel._ help, help, there!--to the rescue of the count,-- the count's in danger,--what ho! there! approach! _the servants, vassals, and peasantry approach, stupified with terror._ if there be any of you who have heart and love of human kind, and will to aid those in distress--pause not--but follow me-- the portal's open, follow. [manuel _goes in._ _her._ come--who follows? what, none of ye?--ye recreants! shiver then without. i will not see old manuel risk his few remaining years unaided. [herman _goes in._ _vassal._ hark!-- no--all is silent--not a breath--the flame which shot forth such a blaze is also gone; what may this mean? let's enter! _peasant._ faith, not i,-- not that, if one, or two, or more, will join, i then will stay behind; but, for my part, i do not see precisely to what end. _vassal._ cease your vain prating--come. _manuel._ (_speaking within._) 'tis all in vain-- he's dead. _her._ (_within._) not so--even now methought he moved; but it is dark--so bear him gently out-- softly--how cold he is! take care of his temples in winding down the staircase. _re-enter_ manuel _and_ herman, _bearing_ manfred _in their arms._ _manuel._ hie to the castle, some of ye, and bring what aid you can. saddle the barb, and speed for the leech to the city--quick! some water there! _her._ his cheek is black--but there is a faint beat still lingering about the heart. some water. [_they sprinkle_ manfred _with water; after a pause, he gives some signs of life._ _manuel._ he seems to strive to speak--come--cheerly, count! he moves his lips--canst hear him? i am old, and cannot catch faint sounds. [herman _inclining his head and listening._ _her._ i hear a word or two--but indistinctly--what is next? what's to be done? let's bear him to the castle. [manfred _motions with his hand not to remove him._ _manuel._ he disapproves--and 'twere of no avail-- he changes rapidly. _her._ 'twill soon be over. _manuel._ oh! what a death is this! that i should live to shake my gray hairs over the last chief of the house of sigismund.--and such a death! alone--we know not how--unshrived--untended-- with strange accompaniments and fearful signs-- i shudder at the sight--but must not leave him. _manfred._ (_speaking faintly and slowly._) old man! 'tis not so difficult to die. [manfred _having said this expires._ _her._ his eyes are fixed and lifeless.--he is gone.-- _manuel._ close them.--my old hand quivers.--he departs-- whither? i dread to think--but he is gone! [footnote : it will be perceived that, as far as this, the original matter of the third act has been retained.] [footnote : "raven-stone (rabenstein), a translation of the german word for the gibbet, which in germany and switzerland is permanent, and made of stone."] [footnote : this fine soliloquy, and a great part of the subsequent scene, have, it is hardly necessary to remark been retained in the present form of the drama.] [footnote : altered in the present form, to "some strange things in them, herman."] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "rome, may . . "address all answers to venice; for there i shall return in fifteen days, god willing. "i sent you from florence 'the lament of tasso,' and from rome the third act of manfred, both of which, i trust, will duly arrive. the terms of these two i mentioned in my last, and will repeat in this, it is three hundred for each, or _six_ hundred guineas for the two--that is, if you like, and they are good for any thing. "at last one of the parcels is arrived. in the notes to childe harold there is a blunder of yours or mine: you talk of arrival at _st. gingo_, and, immediately after, add--'on the height is the château of clarens.' this is sad work: clarens is on the _other_ side of the lake, and it is quite impossible that i should have so bungled. look at the ms.; and at any rate rectify it. "the 'tales of my landlord' i have read with great pleasure, and perfectly understand now why my sister and aunt are so very positive in the very erroneous persuasion that they must have been written by me. if you knew me as well as they do, you would have fallen, perhaps, into the same mistake. some day or other, i will explain to you _why_--when i have time; at present, it does not much matter; but you must have thought this blunder of theirs very odd, and so did i, till i had read the book. croker's letter to you is a very great compliment; i shall return it to you in my next. "i perceive you are publishing a life of raffael d'urbino: it may perhaps interest you to hear that a set of german artists here allow their _hair_ to grow, and trim it into _his fashion_, thereby drinking the cummin of the disciples of the old philosopher; if they would cut their hair, convert it into brushes, and paint like him, it would be more '_german_ to the matter.' "i'll tell you a story: the other day, a man here--an english--mistaking the statues of charlemagne and constantine, which are _equestrian_, for those of peter and paul, asked another _which_ was paul of these same horsemen?--to which the reply was,--'i thought, sir, that st. paul had never got on _horseback_ since his _accident_?' "i'll tell you another: henry fox, writing to some one from naples the other day, after an illness, adds--'and i am so changed, that my _oldest creditors_ would hardly know me.' "i am delighted with rome--as i would be with a bandbox, that is, it is a fine thing to see, finer than greece; but i have not been here long enough to affect it as a residence, and i must go back to lombardy, because i am wretched at being away from marianna. i have been riding my saddle-horses every day, and been to albano, its lakes, and to the top of the alban mount, and to frescati, aricia, &c. &c. with an &c. &c. &c. about the city, and in the city: for all which--vide guide-book. as a whole, ancient and modern, it beats greece, constantinople, every thing--at least that i have ever seen. but i can't describe, because my first impressions are always strong and confused, and my memory _selects_ and reduces them to order, like distance in the landscape, and blends them better, although they may be less distinct. there must be a sense or two more than we have, us mortals; for * * * * * where there is much to be grasped we are always at a loss, and yet feel that we ought to have a higher and more extended comprehension. "i have had a letter from moore, who is in some alarm about his poem. i don't see why. "i have had another from my poor dear augusta, who is in a sad fuss about my late illness; do, pray, tell her (the truth) that i am better than ever, and in importunate health, growing (if not grown) large and ruddy, and congratulated by impertinent persons on my robustious appearance, when i ought to be pale and interesting. "you tell me that george byron has got a son, and augusta says, a daughter; which is it?--it is no great matter: the father is a good man, an excellent officer, and has married a very nice little woman, who will bring him more babes than income; howbeit she had a handsome dowry, and is a very charming girl;--but he may as well get a ship. "i have no thoughts of coming amongst you yet awhile, so that i can fight off business. if i could but make a tolerable sale of newstead, there would be no occasion for my return; and i can assure you very sincerely, that i am much happier (or, at least, have been so) out of your island than in it. "yours ever. "p.s. there are few english here, but several of my acquaintance; amongst others, the marquis of lansdowne, with whom i dine to-morrow. i met the jerseys on the road at foligno--all well. "oh--i forgot--the italians have printed chillon, &c. a _piracy_,--a pretty little edition, prettier than yours--and published, as i found to my great astonishment on arriving here; and what is odd, is, that the english is quite correctly printed. why they did it, or who did it, i know not; but so it is;--i suppose, for the english people. i will send you a copy." * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "rome, may . . "i have received your letter here, where i have taken a cruise lately; but i shall return back to venice in a few days, so that if you write again, address there, as usual. i am not for returning to england so soon as you imagine; and by no means at all as a residence. if you cross the alps in your projected expedition, you will find me somewhere in lombardy, and very glad to see you. only give me a word or two beforehand, for i would readily diverge some leagues to meet you. "of rome i say nothing; it is quite indescribable, and the guide-book is as good as any other. i dined yesterday with lord lansdowne, who is on his return. but there are few english here at present; the winter is _their_ time. i have been on horseback most of the day, all days since my arrival, and have taken it as i did constantinople. but rome is the elder sister, and the finer. i went some days ago to the top of the alban mount, which is superb. as for the coliseum, pantheon, st. peter's, the vatican, palatine, &c. &c.--as i said, vide guide-book. they are quite inconceivable, and must _be seen_. the apollo belvidere is the image of lady adelaide forbes--i think i never saw such a likeness. "i have seen the pope alive, and a cardinal dead,--both of whom looked very well indeed. the latter was in state in the chiesa nuova, previous to his interment. "your poetical alarms are groundless; go on and prosper. here is hobhouse just come in, and my horses at the door, so that i must mount and take the field in the campus martius, which, by the way, is all built over by modern rome. "yours very and ever, &c. "p.s. hobhouse presents his remembrances, and is eager, with all the world, for your new poem." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, may . . "i returned from rome two days ago, and have received your letter; but no sign nor tidings of the parcel sent through sir c. stuart, which you mention. after an interval of months, a packet of 'tales,' &c. found me at rome; but this is all, and may be all that ever will find me. the post seems to be the only sure conveyance; and _that only for letters_. from florence i sent you a poem on tasso, and from rome the new third act of 'manfred,' and by dr. polidori two portraits for my sister. i left rome and made a rapid journey home. you will continue to direct here as usual. mr. hobhouse is gone to naples: i should have run down there too for a week, but for the quantity of english whom i heard of there. i prefer hating them at a distance; unless an earthquake, or a good real irruption of vesuvius, were ensured to reconcile me to their vicinity. "the day before i left rome i saw three robbers guillotined. the ceremony--including the _masqued_ priests; the half-naked executioners; the bandaged criminals; the black christ and his banner; the scaffold; the soldiery; the slow procession, and the quick rattle and heavy fall of the axe; the splash of the blood, and the ghastliness of the exposed heads--is altogether more impressive than the vulgar and ungentlemanly dirty 'new drop,' and dog-like agony of infliction upon the sufferers of the english sentence. two of these men behaved calmly enough, but the first of the three died with great terror and reluctance. what was very horrible, he would not lie down; then his neck was too large for the aperture, and the priest was obliged to drown his exclamations by still louder exhortations. the head was off before the eye could trace the blow; but from an attempt to draw back the head, notwithstanding it was held forward by the hair, the first head was cut off close to the ears: the other two were taken off more cleanly. it is better than the oriental way, and (i should think) than the axe of our ancestors. the pain seems little, and yet the effect to the spectator, and the preparation to the criminal, is very striking and chilling. the first turned me quite hot and thirsty, and made me shake so that i could hardly hold the opera-glass (i was close, but was determined to see, as one should see every thing, once, with attention); the second and third (which shows how dreadfully soon things grow indifferent), i am ashamed to say, had no effect on me as a horror, though i would have saved them if i could. yours," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, june . . "i have received the proofs of the 'lament of tasso,' which makes me hope that you have also received the reformed third act of manfred, from rome, which i sent soon after my arrival there. my date will apprise you of my return home within these few days. for me, i have received _none_ of your packets, except, after long delay, the 'tales of my landlord,' which i before acknowledged. i do not at all understand the _why nots_, but so it is; no manuel, no letters, no tooth-powder, no _extract_ from moore's italy concerning marino faliero, no nothing--as a man hallooed out at one of burdett's elections, after a long ululatus of 'no bastille! no governor-ities! no--'god knows who or what;--but his _ne plus ultra_ was, 'no nothing!'--and my receipts of your packages amount to about his meaning. i want the extract from _moore's_ italy very much, and the tooth-powder, and the magnesia; i don't care so much about the poetry, or the letters, or mr. maturin's by-jasus tragedy. most of the things sent by the post have come--i mean proofs and letters; therefore send me marino faliero by the post, in a letter. "i was delighted with rome, and was on horseback all round it many hours daily, besides in it the rest of my time, bothering over its marvels. i excursed and skirred the country round to alba, tivoli, frescati, licenza, &c. &c.; besides, i visited twice the fall of terni, which beats every thing. on my way back, close to the temple by its banks, i got some famous trout out of the river clitumnus--the prettiest little stream in all poesy, near the first post from foligno and spoletto.--i did not stay at florence, being anxious to get home to venice, and having already seen the galleries and other sights. i left my commendatory letters the evening before i went, so i saw nobody. "to-day, pindemonte, the celebrated poet of verona, called on me; he is a little thin man, with acute and pleasing features; his address good and gentle; his appearance altogether very philosophical; his age about sixty, or more. he is one of their best going. i gave him _forsyth_, as he speaks, or reads rather, a little english, and will find there a favourable account of himself. he enquired after his old cruscan friends, parsons, greathead, mrs. piozzi, and merry, all of whom he had known in his youth. i gave him as bad an account of them as i could, answering, as the false 'solomon lob' does to 'totterton' in the farce, 'all gone dead,' and damned by a satire more than twenty years ago; that the name of their extinguisher was gifford; that they were but a sad set of scribes after all, and no great things in any other way. he seemed, as was natural, very much pleased with this account of his old acquaintances, and went away greatly gratified with that and mr. forsyth's sententious paragraph of applause in his own (pindemonte's) favour. after having been a little libertine in his youth, he is grown devout, and takes prayers, and talks to himself, to keep off the devil; but for all that, he is a very nice little old gentleman. "i forgot to tell you that at bologna (which is celebrated for producing popes, painters, and sausages) i saw an anatomical gallery, where there is a deal of waxwork, in which * *. "i am sorry to hear of your row with hunt; but suppose him to be exasperated by the quarterly and your refusal to _deal_; and when one is angry and edites a paper, i should think the temptation too strong for literary nature, which is not always human. i can't conceive in what, and for what, he abuses you: what have you done? you are not an author, nor a politician, nor a public character; i know no scrape you have tumbled into. i am the more sorry for this because i introduced you to hunt, and because i believe him to be a good man; but till i know the particulars, i can give no opinion. "let me know about lalla rookh, which must be out by this time. "i restore the proofs, but the _punctuation_ should be corrected. i feel too lazy to have at it myself; so beg and pray mr. gifford for me.--address to venice. in a few days i go to my _villeggiatura_, in a cassino near the brenta, a few miles only on the main land. i have determined on another year, and _many years_ of residence if i can compass them. marianna is with me, hardly recovered of the fever, which has been attacking all italy last winter. i am afraid she is a little hectic; but i hope the best. "ever, &c. "p.s. torwaltzen has done a bust of me at rome for mr. hobhouse, which is reckoned very good. he is their best after canova, and by some preferred to him. "i have had a letter from mr. hodgson. he is very happy, has got a living, but not a child: if he had stuck to a curacy, babes would have come of course, because he could not have maintained them. "remember me to all friends, &c. &c. "an austrian officer, the other day, being in love with a venetian, was ordered, with his regiment, into hungary. distracted between love and duty, he purchased a deadly drug, which dividing with his mistress, both swallowed. the ensuing pains were terrific, but the pills were purgative, and not poisonous, by the contrivance of the unsentimental apothecary; so that so much suicide was all thrown away. you may conceive the previous confusion and the final laughter; but the intention was good on all sides." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, june . . "the present letter will be delivered to you by two armenian friars, on their way, by england, to madras. they will also convey some copies of the grammar, which i think you agreed to take. if you can be of any use to them, either amongst your naval or east indian acquaintances, i hope you will so far oblige me, as they and their order have been remarkably attentive and friendly towards me since my arrival at venice. their names are father sukias somalian and father sarkis theodorosian. they speak italian, and probably french, or a little english. repeating earnestly my recommendatory request, believe me, very truly, yours, "byron. "perhaps you can help them to their passage, or give or get them letters for india." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "la mira, near venice, june . . "i write to you from the banks of the brenta, a few miles from venice, where i have colonised for six months to come. address, as usual, to venice. "three months after date ( th march),--like the unnegotiable bill despondingly received by the reluctant tailor,--your despatch has arrived, containing the extract from moore's italy and mr. maturin's bankrupt tragedy. it is the absurd work of a clever man. i think it might have done upon the stage, if he had made manuel (by some trickery, in a masque or vizor) fight his own battle, instead of employing molineux as his champion; and, after the defeat of torismond, have made him spare the son of his enemy, by some revulsion of feeling, not incompatible with a character of extravagant and distempered emotions. but as it is, what with the justiza, and the ridiculous conduct of the whole _dram. pers._ (for they are all as mad as manuel, who surely must have had more interest with a corrupt bench than a distant relation and heir presumptive, somewhat suspect of homicide,) i do not wonder at its failure. as a play, it is impracticable; as a poem, no great things. who was the 'greek that grappled with glory naked?' the olympic wrestlers? or alexander the great, when he ran stark round the tomb of t'other fellow? or the spartan who was fined by the ephori for fighting without his armour? or who? and as to 'flaying off life like a garment,' helas! that's in tom thumb--see king arthur's soliloquy: "'life's a mere rag, not worth a prince's wearing; i'll cast it off.' and the stage-directions--'staggers among the bodies;'--the slain are too numerous, as well as the blackamoor knights-penitent being one too many: and de zelos is such a shabby monmouth street villain, without any redeeming quality--stap my vitals! maturin seems to be declining into nat. lee. but let him try again; he has talent, but not much taste. i 'gin to fear, or to hope, that sotheby, after all, is to be the eschylus of the age, unless mr. shiel be really worthy his success. the more i see of the stage, the less i would wish to have any thing to do with it; as a proof of which, i hope you have received the third act of manfred, which will at least prove that i wish to steer very clear of the possibility of being put into scenery. i sent it from _rome_. "i returned the proof of tasso. by the way, have you never received a translation of st. paul which i sent you, _not_ for publication, before i went to rome? "i am at present on the brenta. opposite is a spanish marquis, ninety years old; next his casino is a frenchman's,--besides the natives; so that, as somebody said the other day, we are exactly one of goldoni's comedies (la vedova scaltra), where a spaniard, english, and frenchman are introduced: but we are all very good neighbours, venetians, &c. &c. &c. "i am just getting on horseback for my evening ride, and a visit to a physician, who has an agreeable family, of a wife and four unmarried daughters, all under eighteen, who are friends of signora s * *, and enemies to nobody. there are, and are to be, besides, conversaziones and i know not what, a countess labbia's and i know not whom. the weather is mild; the thermometer in the _sun_ this day, and odd in the shade. yours, &c. "n." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "la mira, near venice, june . . "it gives me great pleasure to hear of moore's success, and the more so that i never doubted that it would be complete. whatever good you can tell me of him and his poem will be most acceptable: i feel very anxious indeed to receive it. i hope that he is as happy in his fame and reward as i wish him to be; for i know no one who deserves both more--if any so much. "now to business; * * * * * * i say unto you, verily, it is not so; or, as the foreigner said to the waiter, after asking him to bring a glass of water, to which the man answered, 'i will, sir,'--'you will!--g----d d----n,--i say, you _mush_!' and i will submit this to the decision of any person or persons to be appointed by both, on a fair examination of the circumstances of this as compared with the preceding publications. so there's for you. there is always some row or other previously to all our publications: it should seem that, on approximating, we can never quite get over the natural antipathy of author and bookseller, and that more particularly the ferine nature of the latter must break forth. "you are out about the third canto: i have not done, nor designed, a line of continuation to that poem. i was too short a time at rome for it, and have no thought of recommencing. "i cannot well explain to you by letter what i conceive to be the origin of mrs. leigh's notion about 'tales of my landlord;' but it is some points of the characters of sir e. manley and burley, as well as one or two of the jocular portions, on which it is founded, probably. "if you have received dr. polidori as well as a parcel of books, and you can be of use to him, be so. i never was much more disgusted with any human production than with the eternal nonsense, and tracasseries, and emptiness, and ill humour, and vanity of that young person; but he has some talent, and is a man of honour, and has dispositions of amendment, in which he has been aided by a little subsequent experience, and may turn out well. therefore, use your government interest for him, for he is improved and improvable. "yours," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "la mira, near venice, june . . "enclosed is a letter to _dr._ holland from pindemonte. not knowing the doctor's address, i am desired to enquire, and, perhaps, being a literary man, you will know or discover his haunt near some populous churchyard. i have written to you a scolding letter--i believe, upon a misapprehended passage in your letter--but never mind: it will do for next time, and you will surely deserve it. talking of doctors reminds me once more to recommend to you one who will not recommend himself,--the doctor polidori. if you can help him to a publisher, do; or, if you have any sick relation, i would advise his advice: all the patients he had in italy are dead--mr. * *'s son, mr. horner, and lord g * *, whom he embowelled with great success at pisa. "remember me to moore, whom i congratulate. how is rogers? and what is become of campbell and all t'other fellows of the druid order? i got maturin's bedlam at last, but no other parcel; i am in fits for the tooth-powder, and the magnesia. i want some of burkitt's _soda_-powders. will you tell mr. kinnaird that i have written him two letters on pressing business, (about newstead, &c.) to which i humbly solicit his attendance. i am just returned from a gallop along the banks of the brenta--time, sunset. yours, "b." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "la mira, near venice, july . . "since my former letter, i have been working up my impressions into a _fourth_ canto of childe harold, of which i have roughened off about rather better than thirty stanzas, and mean to go on; and probably to make this 'fytte' the concluding one of the poem, so that you may propose against the autumn to draw out the conscription for . you must provide moneys, as this new resumption bodes you certain disbursements. somewhere about the end of september or october, i propose to be under way (_i.e._ in the press); but i have no idea yet of the probable length or calibre of the canto, or what it will be good for; but i mean to be as mercenary as possible, an example (i do not mean of any individual in particular, and least of all, any person or persons of our mutual acquaintance) which i should have followed in my youth, and i might still have been a prosperous gentleman. "no tooth-powder, no letters, no recent tidings of you. "mr. lewis is at venice, and i am going up to stay a week with him there--as it is one of his enthusiasms also to like the city. "i stood in venice on the 'bridge of sighs,' &c. &c. "the 'bridge of sighs' (_i.e._ ponte de'i sospiri) is that which divides, or rather joins, the palace of the doge to the prison of the state. it has two passages: the criminal went by the one to judgment, and returned by the other to death, being strangled in a chamber adjoining, where there was a mechanical process for the purpose. "this is the first stanza of our new canto; and now for a line of the second:-- "in venice, tasso's echoes are no more, and silent rows the songless gondolier, her palaces, &c. &c. "you know that formerly the gondoliers sung always, and tasso's gierusalemme was their ballad. venice is built on seventy-two islands. "there! there's a brick of your new babel! and now, sirrah! what say you to the sample? "yours, &c. "p.s. i shall write again by and by." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "la mira, near venice, july . "if you can convey the enclosed letter to its address, or discover the person to whom it is directed, you will confer a favour upon the venetian creditor of a deceased englishman. this epistle is a dun to his executor, for house-rent. the name of the insolvent defunct is, or was, _porter valter_, according to the account of the plaintiff, which i rather suspect ought to be _walter porter_, according to our mode of collocation. if you are acquainted with any dead man of the like name a good deal in debt, pray dig him up, and tell him that 'a pound of his fair flesh' or the ducats are required, and that 'if you deny them, fie upon your law!' "i hear nothing more from you about moore's poem, rogers, or other literary phenomena; but to-morrow, being post-day, will bring perhaps some tidings. i write to you with people talking venetian all about, so that you must not expect this letter to be all english. "the other day, i had a squabble on the highway, as follows: i was riding pretty quickly from dolo home about eight in the evening, when i passed a party of people in a hired carriage, one of whom, poking his head out of the window, began bawling to me in an inarticulate but insolent manner. i wheeled my horse round, and overtaking, stopped the coach, and said, 'signor, have you any commands for me?' he replied, impudently as to manner, 'no.' i then asked him what he meant by that unseemly noise, to the discomfiture of the passers-by. he replied by some piece of impertinence, to which i answered by giving him a violent slap in the face. i then dismounted, (for this passed at the window, i being on horseback still,) and opening the door desired him to walk out, or i would give him another. but the first had settled him except as to words, of which he poured forth a profusion in blasphemies, swearing that he would go to the police and avouch a battery sans provocation. i said he lied, and was a * *, and if he did not hold his tongue, should be dragged out and beaten anew. he then held his tongue. i of course told him my name and residence, and defied him to the death, if he were a gentleman, or not a gentleman, and had the inclination to be genteel in the way of combat. he went to the police, but there having been bystanders in the road,--particularly a soldier, who had seen the business,--as well as my servant, notwithstanding the oaths of the coachman and five insides besides the plaintiff, and a good deal of paying on all sides, his complaint was dismissed, he having been the aggressor;--and i was subsequently informed that, had i not given him a blow, he might have been had into durance. "so set down this,--'that in aleppo once' i 'beat a venetian;' but i assure you that he deserved it, for i am a quiet man, like candide, though with somewhat of his fortune in being forced to forego my natural meekness every now and then. "yours, &c. b." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, july , . "i have got the sketch and extracts from lalla rookh. the plan, as well as the extracts, i have seen, please me very much indeed, and i feel impatient for the whole. "with regard to the critique on 'manfred,' you have been in such a devil of a hurry, that you have only sent me the half: it breaks off at page . send me the rest; and also page ., where there is 'an account of the supposed origin of this dreadful story,'--in which, by the way, whatever it may be, the conjecturer is out, and knows nothing of the matter. i had a better origin than he can devise or divine, for the soul of him. "you say nothing of manfred's luck in the world; and i care not. he is one of the best of my misbegotten, say what they will. "i got at last an extract, but _no parcels_. they will come, i suppose, some time or other. i am come up to venice for a day or two to bathe, and am just going to take a swim in the adriatic; so, good evening--the post waits. yours, &c. "b. "p.s. pray, was manfred's speech to _the sun_ still retained in act third? i hope so: it was one of the best in the thing, and better than the colosseum. i have done _fifty-six_ of canto fourth, childe harold; so down with your ducats." * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "la mira, venice, july . . "murray, the mokanna of booksellers, has contrived to send me extracts from lalla rookh by the post. they are taken from some magazine, and contain a short outline and quotations from the two first poems. i am very much delighted with what is before me, and very thirsty for the rest. you have caught the colours as if you had been in the rainbow, and the tone of the east is perfectly preserved. i am glad you have changed the title from 'persian tale.' "i suspect you have written a devilish fine composition, and i rejoice in it from my heart; because 'the douglas and the percy both together are confident against a world in arms.' i hope you won't be affronted at my looking on us as 'birds of a feather;' though on whatever subject you had written, i should have been very happy in your success. "there is a simile of an orange-tree's 'flowers and fruits,' which i should have liked better if i did not believe it to be a reflection on * * *. "do you remember thurlow's poem to sam--'_when_ rogers;' and that d----d supper of rancliffe's that ought to have been a _dinner_? 'ah, master shallow, we have heard the chimes at midnight.' but "my boat is on the shore, and my bark is on the sea; but, before i go, tom moore, here's a double health to thee! "here's a sigh to those who love me, and a smile to those who hate; and whatever sky's above me, here's a heart for every fate. "though the ocean roar around me, yet it still shall bear me on; though a desert should surround me, it hath springs that may be won. "were't the last drop in the well, as i gasp'd upon the brink, ere my fainting spirit fell, 'tis to thee that i would drink. "with that water, as this wine, the libation i would pour, should be--peace with thine and mine, and a health to thee, tom moore. "this should have been written fifteen moons ago--the first stanza was. i am just come out from an hour's swim in the adriatic; and i write to you with a black-eyed venetian girl before me, reading boccacio. "last week i had a row on the road (i came up to venice from my casino, a few miles on the paduan road, this blessed day, to bathe) with a fellow in a carriage, who was impudent to my horse. i gave him a swingeing box on the ear, which sent him to the police, who dismissed his complaint. witnesses had seen the transaction. he first shouted, in an unseemly way, to frighten my palfry. i wheeled round, rode up to the window, and asked him what he meant. he grinned, and said some foolery, which produced him an immediate slap in the face, to his utter discomfiture. much blasphemy ensued, and some menace, which i stopped by dismounting and opening the carriage door, and intimating an intention of mending the road with his immediate remains, if he did not hold his tongue. he held it. "monk lewis is here--'how pleasant!'[ ] he is a very good fellow, and very much yours. so is sam--so is every body--and amongst the number, "yours ever, "b. "p.s. what think you of manfred?" [footnote : an allusion (such as often occurs in these letters) to an anecdote with which he had been amused.] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "la mira, near venice, july . . "i have finished (that is, written--the file comes afterwards) ninety and eight stanzas of the fourth canto, which i mean to be the concluding one. it will probably be about the same length as the _third_, being already of the dimensions of the first or second cantos. i look upon parts of it as very good, that is, if the three former are good, but this we shall see; and at any rate, good or not, it is rather a different style from the last--less metaphysical--which, at any rate, will be a variety. i sent you the shaft of the column as a specimen the other day, _i.e._ the first stanza. so you may be thinking of its arrival towards autumn, whose winds will not be the only ones to be raised, _if so be as how that_ it is ready by that time. "i lent lewis, who is at venice, (in or on the canalaccio, the grand canal,) your extracts from lalla rookh and manuel[ ], and, out of contradiction, it may be, he likes the last, and is not much taken with the first, of these performances. of manuel, i think, with the exception of a few capers, it is as heavy a nightmare as was ever bestrode by indigestion. "of the extracts i can but judge as extracts, and i prefer the 'peri' to the 'silver veil.' he seems not so much at home in his versification of the 'silver veil,' and a little embarrassed with his horrors; but the conception of the character of the impostor is fine, and the plan of great scope for his genius,--and i doubt not that, as a whole, it will be very arabesque and beautiful. "your late epistle is not the most abundant in information, and has not yet been succeeded by any other; so that i know nothing of your own concerns, or of any concerns, and as i never hear from any body but yourself who does not tell me something as disagreeable as possible, i should not be sorry to hear from you: and as it is not very probable,--if i can, by any device or possible arrangement with regard to my personal affairs, so arrange it,--that i shall return soon, or reside ever in england, all that you tell me will be all i shall know or enquire after, as to our beloved realm of grub street, and the black brethren and blue sisterhood of that extensive suburb of babylon. have you had no new babe of literature sprung up to replace the dead, the distant, the tired, and the _re_tired? no prose, no verse, no _nothing_?" [footnote : a tragedy, by the rev. mr. maturin.] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, july . . "i write to give you notice that i have completed the _fourth_ and _ultimate_ canto of childe harold. it consists of stanzas, and is consequently the longest of the four. it is yet to be copied and polished; and the notes are to come, of which it will require more than the _third_ canto, as it necessarily treats more of works of art than of nature. it shall be sent towards autumn;--and now for our barter. what do you bid? eh? you shall have samples, an' it so please you: but i wish to know what i am to expect (as the saying is) in these hard times, when poetry does not let for half its value. if you are disposed to do what mrs. winifred jenkins calls 'the handsome thing,' i may perhaps throw you some odd matters to the lot,--translations, or slight originals; there is no saying what may be on the anvil between this and the booking season. recollect that it is the _last_ canto, and completes the work; whether as good as the others, i cannot judge, in course--least of all as yet,--but it shall be as little worse as i can help. i may, perhaps, give some little gossip in the notes as to the present state of italian literati and literature, being acquainted with some of their _capi_--men as well as books;--but this depends upon my humour at the time. so, now, pronounce: i say nothing. "when you have got the whole _four_ cantos, i think you might venture on an edition of the whole poem in quarto, with spare copies of the two last for the purchasers of the old edition of the first two. there is a hint for you, worthy of the row; and now, perpend--pronounce. "i have not received a word from you of the fate of 'manfred' or 'tasso,' which seems to me odd, whether they have failed or succeeded. "as this is a scrawl of business, and i have lately written at length and often on other subjects, i will only add that i am," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "la mira, near venice, august , "your letter of the th, and, what will please you, as it did me, the parcel sent by the good-natured aid and abetment of mr. croker, are arrived.--messrs. lewis and hobhouse are here: the former in the same house, the latter a few hundred yards distant. "you say nothing of manfred, from which its failure may be inferred; but i think it odd you should not say so at once. i know nothing, and hear absolutely nothing, of any body or any thing in england; and there are no english papers, so that all you say will be news--of any person, or thing, or things. i am at present very anxious about newstead, and sorry that kinnaird is leaving england at this minute, though i do not tell him so, and would rather he should have _his_ pleasure, although it may not in this instance tend to my profit. "if i understand rightly, you have paid into morland's _pounds_: as the agreement in the paper is two thousand _guineas_, there will remain therefore _six_ hundred _pounds_, and not five hundred, the odd hundred being the extra to make up the specie. six hundred and thirty pounds will bring it to the like for manfred and tasso, making a total of twelve hundred and thirty, i believe, for i am not a good calculator. i do not wish to press you, but i tell you fairly that it will be a convenience to me to have it paid as soon as it can be made convenient to yourself. "the new and last canto is stanzas in length; and may be made more or less. i have fixed no price, even in idea, and have no notion of what it may be good for. there are no metaphysics in it; at least, i think not. mr. hobhouse has promised me a copy of tasso's will, for notes; and i have some curious things to say about ferrara, and parisina's story, and perhaps a farthing candle's worth of light upon the present state of italian literature. i shall hardly be ready by october; but that don't matter. i have all to copy and correct, and the notes to write. "i do not know whether scott will like it; but i have called him the '_ariosto_ of the north' in my _text_. _if he should not, say so in time._ "an italian translation of 'glenarvon' came lately to be printed at venice. the censor (sr. petrotini) refused to sanction the publication till he had seen me on the subject. i told him that i did not recognise the slightest relation between that book and myself; but that, whatever opinions might be upon that subject, _i_ would never prevent or oppose the publication of _any_ book, in _any_ language, on my own private account; and desired him (against his inclination) to permit the poor translator to publish his labours. it is going forwards in consequence. you may say this, with my compliments, to the author. "yours." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, august . . "i have been very sorry to hear of the death of madame de staël, not only because she had been very kind to me at copet, but because now i can never requite her. in a general point of view, she will leave a great gap in society and literature. "with regard to death, i doubt that we have any right to pity the dead for their own sakes. "the copies of manfred and tasso are arrived, thanks to mr. croker's cover. you have destroyed the whole effect and moral of the poem by omitting the last line of manfred's speaking; and why this was done, i know not. why you persist in saying nothing of the thing itself, i am equally at a loss to conjecture. if it is for fear of telling me something disagreeable, you are wrong; because sooner or later i must know it, and i am not so new, nor so raw, nor so inexperienced, as not to be able to bear, not the mere paltry, petty disappointments of authorship, but things more serious,--at least i hope so, and that what you may think irritability is merely mechanical, and only acts like galvanism on a dead body, or the muscular motion which survives sensation. "if it is that you are out of humour, because i wrote to you a sharp letter, recollect that it was partly from a misconception of your letter, and partly because you did a thing you had no right to do without consulting me. "i have, however, heard good of manfred from two other quarters, and from men who would not be scrupulous in saying what they thought, or what was said; and so 'good morrow to you, good master lieutenant.' "i wrote to you twice about the fourth canto, which you will answer at your pleasure. mr. hobhouse and i have come up for a day to the city; mr. lewis is gone to england; and i am "yours." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "la mira, near venice, august . . "i take you at your word about mr. hanson, and will feel obliged if you will _go_ to him, and request mr. davies also to visit him by my desire, and repeat that i trust that neither mr. kinnaird's absence nor mine will prevent his taking all proper steps to accelerate and promote the sale of newstead and rochdale, upon which the whole of my future personal comfort depends. it is impossible for me to express how much any delays upon these points would inconvenience me; and i do not know a greater obligation that can be conferred upon me than the pressing these things upon hanson, and making him act according to my wishes. i wish you would _speak out_, at least to _me_, and tell me what you allude to by your cold way of mentioning him. all mysteries at such a distance are not merely tormenting but mischievous, and may be prejudicial to my interests; so, pray expound, that i may consult with mr. kinnaird when he arrives; and remember that i prefer the most disagreeable certainties to hints and innuendoes. the devil take every body: i never can get any person to be explicit about any thing or any body, and my whole life is passed in conjectures of what people mean: you all talk in the style of c * * l * *'s novels. "it is not mr. st. john, but _mr. st. aubyn_, son of sir john st. aubyn. _polidori_ knows him, and introduced him to me. he is of oxford, and has got my parcel. the doctor will ferret him out, or ought. the parcel contains many letters, some of madame de staël's, and other people's, besides mss., &c. by ----, if i find the gentleman, and he don't find the parcel, i will say something he won't like to hear. "you want a 'civil and delicate declension' for the medical tragedy? take it-- "dear doctor, i have read your play, which is a good one in its way,-- purges the eyes and moves the bowels, and drenches handkerchiefs like towels with tears, that, in a flux of grief, afford hysterical relief to shatter'd nerves and quicken'd pulses, which your catastrophe convulses. "i like your moral and machinery; your plot, too, has such scope for scenery! your dialogue is apt and smart; the play's concoction full of art; your hero raves, your heroine cries, all stab, and every body dies. in short, your tragedy would be the very thing to hear and see: and for a piece of publication, if i decline on this occasion, it is not that i am not sensible to merits in themselves ostensible, but--and i grieve to speak it--plays are drugs, mere drugs, sir--now-a-days. i had a heavy loss by 'manuel,'-- too lucky if it prove not annual,-- and s * *, with his 'orestes,' (which, by the by, the author's best is,) has lain so very long on hand that i despair of all demand. i've advertised, but see my books, or only watch my shopman's looks;-- still ivan, ina, and such lumber, my back-shop glut, my shelves encumber. "there's byron too, who once did better, has sent me, folded in a letter, a sort of--it's no more a drama than darnley, ivan, or kehama; so alter'd since last year his pen is, i think he's lost his wits at venice. in short, sir, what with one and t'other, i dare not venture on another. i write in haste; excuse each blunder; the coaches through the street so thunder! my room's so full--we've gifford here reading ms., with hookham frere, pronouncing on the nouns and particles of some of our forthcoming articles. "the quarterly--ah, sir, if you had but the genius to review!-- a smart critique upon st. helena, or if you only would but tell in a short compass what--but, to resume: as i was saying, sir, the room-- the room's so full of wits and bards, crabbes, campbells, crokers, freres, and wards, and others, neither bards nor wits:-- my humble tenement admits all persons in the dress of gent., from mr. hammond to dog dent. "a party dines with me to-day, all clever men, who make their way; they're at this moment in discussion on poor de staël's late dissolution. her book, they say, was in advance-- pray heaven, she tell the truth of france! "thus run our time and tongues away.-- but, to return, sir, to your play: sorry, sir, but i cannot deal, unless 'twere acted by o'neill. my hands so full, my head so busy, i'm almost dead, and always dizzy; and so, with endless truth and hurry, dear doctor, i am yours, "john murray. "p.s. i've done the fourth and last canto, which amounts to stanzas. i desire you to name a price; if you don't, _i_ will; so i advise you in time. "yours, &c. "there will be a good many notes." * * * * * among those minor misrepresentations of which it was lord byron's fate to be the victim, advantage was, at this time, taken of his professed distaste to the english, to accuse him of acts of inhospitality, and even rudeness, towards some of his fellow-countrymen. how far different was his treatment of all who ever visited him, many grateful testimonies might be collected to prove; but i shall here content myself with selecting a few extracts from an account given me by mr. henry joy of a visit which, in company with another english gentleman, he paid to the noble poet this summer, at his villa on the banks of the brenta. after mentioning the various civilities they had experienced from lord byron; and, among others, his having requested them to name their own day for dining with him,--"we availed ourselves," says mr. joy, "of this considerate courtesy by naming the day fixed for our return to padua, when our route would lead us to his door; and we were welcomed with all the cordiality which was to be expected from so friendly a bidding. such traits of kindness in such a man deserve to be recorded on account of the numerous slanders thrown upon him by some of the tribes of tourists, who resented, as a personal affront, his resolution to avoid their impertinent inroads upon his retirement. so far from any appearance of indiscriminate aversion to his countrymen, his enquiries about his friends in england (_quorum pars magna fuisti_) were most anxious and particular. "he expressed some opinions," continues my informant, "on matters of taste, which cannot fail to interest his biographer. he contended that sculpture, as an art, was vastly superior to painting;--a preference which is strikingly illustrated by the fact that, in the fourth canto of childe harold, he gives the most elaborate and splendid account of several statues, and none of any pictures; although italy is, emphatically, the land of painting, and her best statues are derived from greece. by the way, he told us that there were more objects of interest in rome alone than in all greece from one extremity to the other. after regaling us with an excellent dinner, (in which, by the by, a very english joint of roast beef showed that he did not extend his antipathies to all john-bullisms,) he took me in his carriage some miles of our route towards padua, after apologising to my fellow-traveller for the separation, on the score of his anxiety to hear all he could of his friends in england; and i quitted him with a confirmed impression of the strong ardour and sincerity of his attachment to those by whom he did not fancy himself slighted or ill treated." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "sept. . . "your letter of the th has conveyed with its contents the impression of a seal, to which the 'saracen's head' is a seraph, and the 'bull and mouth' a delicate device. i knew that calumny had sufficiently _blackened_ me of later days, but not that it had given the features as well as complexion of a negro. poor augusta is not less, but rather more, shocked than myself, and says 'people seem to have lost their recollection strangely' when they engraved such a 'blackamoor.' pray don't seal (at least to me) with such a caricature of the human numskull altogether; and if you don't break the seal-cutter's head, at least crack his libel (or likeness, if it should be a likeness) of mine. "mr. kinnaird is not yet arrived, but expected. he has lost by the way all the tooth-powder, as a letter from spa informs me. "by mr. rose i received safely, though tardily, magnesia and tooth-powder, and * * * *. why do you send me such trash--worse than trash, the sublime of mediocrity? thanks for lalla, however, which is good; and thanks for the edinburgh and quarterly, both very amusing and well-written. paris in , &c.--good. modern greece--good for nothing; written by some one who has never been there, and not being able to manage the spenser stanza, has invented a thing of his own, consisting of two elegiac stanzas, an heroic line, and an alexandrine, twisted on a string. besides, why '_modern_?' you may say _modern greeks_, but surely _greece_ itself is rather more ancient than ever it was. now for business. "you offer guineas for the new canto: i won't take it. i ask two thousand five hundred guineas for it, which you will either give or not, as you think proper. it concludes the poem, and consists of stanzas. the notes are numerous, and chiefly written by mr. hobhouse, whose researches have been indefatigable; and who, i will venture to say, has more real knowledge of rome and its environs than any englishman who has been there since gibbon. by the way, to prevent any mistakes, i think it necessary to state the fact that _he_, mr. hobhouse, has no interest whatever in the price or profit to be derived from the copyright of either poem or notes directly or indirectly; so that you are not to suppose that it is by, for, or through him, that i require more for this canto than the preceding.--no: but if mr. eustace was to have had two thousand for a poem on education; if mr. moore is to have three thousand for lalla, &c.; if mr. campbell is to have three thousand for his prose on poetry--i don't mean to disparage these gentlemen in their labours--but i ask the aforesaid price for mine. you will tell me that their productions are considerably _longer_: very true, and when they shorten them, i will lengthen mine, and ask less. you shall submit the ms. to mr. gifford, and any other two gentlemen to be named by you, (mr. frere, or mr. croker, or whomever you please, except such fellows as your * *s and * *s,) and if they pronounce this canto to be inferior as a _whole_ to the preceding, i will not appeal from their award, but burn the manuscript, and leave things as they are. "yours very truly. "p.s. in answer to a former letter, i sent you a short statement of what i thought the state of our present copyright account, viz. six hundred _pounds_ still (or lately) due on childe harold, and six hundred _guineas_, manfred and tasso, making a total of twelve hundred and thirty pounds. if we agree about the new poem, i shall take the liberty to reserve the choice of the manner in which it should be published, viz. a quarto, certes." * * * * * letter . to mr. hoppner. "la mira, sept. . . "i set out yesterday morning with the intention of paying my respects, and availing myself of your permission to walk over the premises.[ ] on arriving at padua, i found that the march of the austrian troops had engrossed so many horses[ ], that those i could procure were hardly able to crawl; and their weakness, together with the prospect of finding none at all at the post-house of monselice, and consequently either not arriving that day at este, or so late as to be unable to return home the same evening, induced me to turn aside in a second visit to arqua, instead of proceeding onwards; and even thus i hardly got back in time. "next week i shall be obliged to be in venice to meet lord kinnaird and his brother, who are expected in a few days. and this interruption, together with that occasioned by the continued march of the austrians for the next few days, will not allow me to fix any precise period for availing myself of your kindness, though i should wish to take the earliest opportunity. perhaps, if absent, you will have the goodness to permit one of your servants to show me the grounds and house, or as much of either as may be convenient; at any rate, i shall take the first occasion possible to go over, and regret very much that i was yesterday prevented. "i have the honour to be your obliged," &c. [footnote : a country-house on the euganean hills, near este, which mr. hoppner, who was then the english consul-general at venice, had for some time occupied, and which lord byron afterwards rented of him, but never resided in it.] [footnote : so great was the demand for horses, on the line of march of the austrians, that all those belonging to private individuals were put in requisition for their use, and lord byron himself received an order to send his for the same purpose. this, however, he positively refused to do, adding, that if an attempt were made to take them by force, he would shoot them through the head in the middle of the road, rather than submit to such an act of tyranny upon a foreigner who was merely a temporary resident in the country. whether his answer was ever reported to the higher authorities i know not; but his horses were suffered to remain unmolested in his stables.] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "september . . "i enclose a sheet for correction, if ever you get to another edition. you will observe that the blunder in printing makes it appear as if the château was _over_ st. gingo, instead of being on the opposite shore of the lake, over clarens. so, separate the paragraphs, otherwise my _to_pography will seem as inaccurate as your _ty_pography on this occasion. "the other day i wrote to convey my proposition with regard to the fourth and concluding canto. i have gone over and extended it to one hundred and fifty stanzas, which is almost as long as the two first were originally, and longer by itself than any of the smaller poems except 'the corsair.' mr. hobhouse has made some very valuable and accurate notes of considerable length, and you may be sure that i will do for the text all that i can to finish with decency. i look upon childe harold as my best; and as i begun, i think of concluding with it. but i make no resolutions on that head, as i broke my former intention with regard to 'the corsair.' however, i fear that i shall never do better; and yet, not being thirty years of age, for some moons to come, one ought to be progressive as far as intellect goes for many a good year. but i have had a devilish deal of tear and wear of mind and body in my time, besides having published too often and much already. god grant me some judgment to do what may be most fitting in that and every thing else, for i doubt my own exceedingly. "i have read 'lalla rookh,' but not with sufficient attention yet, for i ride about, and lounge, and ponder, and--two or three other things; so that my reading is very desultory, and not so attentive as it used to be. i am very glad to hear of its popularity, for moore is a very noble fellow in all respects, and will enjoy it without any of the bad feelings which success--good or evil--sometimes engenders in the men of rhyme. of the poem, itself, i will tell you my opinion when i have mastered it: i say of the _poem_, for i don't like the _prose_ at all; and in the mean time, the 'fire-worshippers' is the best, and the 'veiled prophet' the worst, of the volume. "with regard to poetry in general[ ], i am convinced, the more i think of it, that he and _all_ of us--scott, southey, wordsworth, moore, campbell, i,--are all in the wrong, one as much as another; that we are upon a wrong revolutionary poetical system, or systems, not worth a damn in itself, and from which none but rogers and crabbe are free; and that the present and next generations will finally be of this opinion. i am the more confirmed in this by having lately gone over some of our classics, particularly _pope_, whom i tried in this way,--i took moore's poems and my own and some others, and went over them side by side with pope's, and i was really astonished (i ought not to have been so) and mortified at the ineffable distance in point of sense, learning, effect, and even _imagination_, passion, and _invention_, between the little queen anne's man, and us of the lower empire. depend upon it, it is all horace then, and claudian now, among us; and if i had to begin again, i would mould myself accordingly. crabbe's the man, but he has got a coarse and impracticable subject, and * * * is retired upon half-pay, and has done enough, unless he were to do as he did formerly." [footnote : on this paragraph, in the ms. copy of the above letter, i find the following note, in the handwriting of mr. gifford:-- "there is more good sense, and feeling, and judgment in this passage, than in any other i ever read, or lord byron wrote."] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "september . . "mr. hobhouse purposes being in england in november; he will bring the fourth canto with him, notes and all; the text contains one hundred and fifty stanzas, which is long for that measure. "with regard to the 'ariosto of the north,' surely their themes, chivalry, war, and love, were as like as can be; and as to the compliment, if you knew what the italians think of ariosto, you would not hesitate about that. but as to their 'measures,' you forget that ariosto's is an octave stanza, and scott's any thing but a stanza. if you think scott will dislike it, say so, and i will expunge. i do not call him the '_scotch_ ariosto,' which would be sad _provincial_ eulogy, but the 'ariosto of the _north_, meaning of all _countries_ that are _not_ the _south_. * * "as i have recently troubled you rather frequently, i will conclude, repeating that i am "yours ever," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "october . . "mr. kinnaird and his brother, lord kinnaird, have been here, and are now gone again. all your missives came, except the tooth-powder, of which i request further supplies, at all convenient opportunities; as also of magnesia and soda-powders, both great luxuries here, and neither to be had good, or indeed hardly at all, of the natives. * * * "in * *'s life, i perceive an attack upon the then committee of d.l. theatre for acting bertram, and an attack upon maturin's bertram for being acted. considering all things, this is not very grateful nor graceful on the part of the worthy autobiographer; and i would answer, if i had _not_ obliged him. putting my own pains to forward the views of * * out of the question, i know that there was every disposition, on the part of the sub-committee, to bring forward any production of his, were it feasible. the play he offered, though poetical, did not appear at all practicable, and bertram did;--and hence this long tirade, which is the last chapter of his vagabond life. "as for bertram, maturin may defend his own begotten, if he likes it well enough; i leave the irish clergyman and the new orator henley to battle it out between them, satisfied to have done the best i could for _both_. i may say this to _you_, who know it. "mr. * * may console himself with the fervour,--the almost religious fervour of his and w * *'s disciples, as he calls it. if he means that as any proof of their merits, i will find him as much 'fervour' in behalf of richard brothers and joanna southcote as ever gathered over his pages or round his fire-side. "my answer to your proposition about the fourth canto you will have received, and i await yours;--perhaps we may not agree. i have since written a poem (of octave stanzas), humorous, in or after the excellent manner of mr. whistlecraft (whom i take to be frere), on a venetian anecdote which amused me:--but till i have your answer, i can say nothing more about it. "mr. hobhouse does not return to england in november, as he intended, but will winter here and as he is to convey the poem, or poems,--for there may perhaps be more than the two mentioned, (which, by the way, i shall not perhaps include in the same publication or agreement,) i shall not be able to publish so soon as expected; but i suppose there is no harm in the delay. "i have _signed_ and sent your former _copyrights_ by mr. kinnaird, but _not_ the _receipt_, because the money is not yet paid. mr. kinnaird has a power of attorney to sign for me, and will, when necessary. "many thanks for the edinburgh review, which is very kind about manfred, and defends its originality, which i did not know that any body had attacked. i _never read_, and do not know that i ever saw, the 'faustus of marlow,' and had, and have, no dramatic works by me in english, except the recent things you sent me; but i heard mr. lewis translate verbally some scenes of _goethe's faust_ (which were, some good, and some bad) last summer;--which is all i know of the history of that magical personage; and as to the germs of manfred, they may be found in the journal which i sent to mrs. leigh (part of which you saw) when i went over first the dent de jaman, and then the wengen or wengeberg alp and sheideck, and made the giro of the jungfrau, shreckhorn, &c. &c. shortly before i left switzerland. i have the whole scene of manfred before me as if it was but yesterday, and could point it out, spot by spot, torrent and all. "of the prometheus of Æschylus i was passionately fond as a boy (it was one of the greek plays we read thrice a year at harrow);--indeed that and the 'medea' were the only ones, except the 'seven before thebes,' which ever much pleased me. as to the 'faustus of marlow,' i never read, never saw, nor heard of it--at least, thought of it, except that i think mr. gifford mentioned, in a note of his which you sent me, something about the catastrophe; but not as having any thing to do with mine, which may or may not resemble it, for any thing i know. "the prometheus, if not exactly in my plan, has always been so much in my head, that i can easily conceive its influence over all or any thing that i have written;--but i deny marlow and his progeny, and beg that you will do the same. "if you can send me the paper in question[ ], which the edinburgh review mentions, _do_. the review in the magazine you say was written by wilson? it had all the air of being a poet's, and was a very good one. the edinburgh review i take to be jeffrey's own by its friendliness. i wonder they thought it worth while to do so, so soon after the former; but it was evidently with a good motive. "i saw hoppner the other day, whose country-house at este i have taken for two years. if you come out next summer, let me know in time. love to gifford. "yours ever truly. "crabbe, malcolm, hamilton, and chantrey, are all partakers of my pantry. these two lines are omitted in your letter to the doctor, after-- "all clever men who make their way." [footnote : a paper in the edinburgh magazine, in which it was suggested that the general conception of manfred, and much of what is excellent in the manner of its execution, had been borrowed from "the tragical history of dr. faustus," of marlow.] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, october . . "your two letters are before me, and our bargain is so far concluded. how sorry i am to hear that gifford is unwell! pray tell me he is better: i hope it is nothing but _cold_. as you say his illness originates in cold, i trust it will get no further. "mr. whistlecraft has no greater admirer than myself: i have written a story in stanzas, in imitation of him, called _beppo_, (the short name for giuseppe, that is, the _joe_ of the italian joseph,) which i shall throw you into the balance of the fourth canto, to help you round to your money; but you perhaps had better publish it anonymously; but this we will see to by and by. "in the notes to canto fourth, mr. hobhouse has pointed out _several errors_ of _gibbon_. you may depend upon h.'s research and accuracy. you may print it in what shape you please. "with regard to a future large edition, you may print all, or any thing, except 'english bards,' to the republication of which at _no_ time will i consent. i would not reprint them on any consideration. i don't think them good for much, even in point of poetry; and, as to other things, you are to recollect that i gave up the publication on account of the _hollands_, and i do not think that any time or circumstances can neutralise the suppression. add to which, that, after being on terms with almost all the bards and critics of the day, it would be savage at any time, but worst of all _now_, to revive this foolish lampoon. "the review of manfred came very safely, and i am much pleased with it. it is odd that they should say (that is somebody in a magazine whom the edinburgh controverts) that it was taken from marlow's faust, which i never read nor saw. an american, who came the other day from germany, told mr. hobhouse that manfred was taken from goethe's faust. the devil may take both the faustuses, german and english--i have taken neither. "will you send to _hanson_, and say that he has not written since th september?--at least i have had no letter since, to my great surprise. "will you desire messrs. morland to send out whatever additional sums have or may be paid in credit immediately, and always to their venice correspondents? it is two months ago that they sent me out an additional credit for _one thousand pounds_. i was very glad of it, but i don't know how the devil it came; for i can only make out of hanson's payment, and i had thought the other came from you; but it did not, it seems, as, by yours of the th instant, you have only just paid the _l._ balance. "mr. kinnaird is on his way home with the assignments. i can fix no time for the arrival of canto fourth, which depends on the journey of mr. hobhouse home; and i do not think that this will be immediate. "yours in great haste and very truly, "b. "p.s. morlands have not yet written to my bankers apprising the payment of your balances: pray desire them to do so. "ask them about the _previous_ thousand--of which i know came from hanson's--and make out the other --that is, whence it came." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, november . . "mr. kinnaird has probably returned to england by this time, and will have conveyed to you any tidings you may wish to have of us and ours. i have come back to venice for the winter. mr. hobhouse will probably set off in december, but what day or week i know not. he is my opposite neighbour at present. "i wrote yesterday in some perplexity, and no very good humour, to mr. kinnaird, to inform me about newstead and the hansons, of which and whom i hear nothing since his departure from this place, except in a few unintelligible words from an unintelligible woman. "i am as sorry to hear of dr. polidori's accident as one can be for a person for whom one has a dislike, and something of contempt. when he gets well, tell me, and how he gets on in the sick line. poor fellow! how came he to fix there? "i fear the doctor's skill at norwich will hardly salt the doctor's porridge. methought he was going to the brazils to give the portuguese physic (of which they are fond to desperation) with the danish consul. "your new canto has expanded to one hundred and sixty-seven stanzas. it will be long, you see; and as for the notes by hobhouse, i suspect they will be of the heroic size. you must keep mr. * * in good humour, for he is devilish touchy yet about your review and all which it inherits, including the editor, the admiralty, and its bookseller. i used to think that _i_ was a good deal of an author in _amour propre_ and _noli me tangere_; but these prose fellows are worst, after all, about their little comforts. "do you remember my mentioning, some months ago, the marquis moncada--a spaniard of distinction and fourscore years, my summer neighbour at la mira? well, about six weeks ago, he fell in love with a venetian girl of family, and no fortune or character; took her into his mansion; quarrelled with all his former friends for giving him advice (except me who gave him none), and installed her present concubine and future wife and mistress of himself and furniture. at the end of a month, in which she demeaned herself as ill as possible, he found out a correspondence between her and some former keeper, and after nearly strangling, turned her out of the house, to the great scandal of the keeping part of the town, and with a prodigious éclat, which has occupied all the canals and coffee-houses in venice. he said she wanted to poison him; and she says--god knows what; but between them they have made a great deal of noise. i know a little of both the parties: moncada seemed a very sensible old man, a character which he has not quite kept up on this occasion; and the woman is rather showy than pretty. for the honour of religion, she was bred in a convent, and for the credit of great britain, taught by an englishwoman. "yours," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, december . . "a venetian lady, learned and somewhat stricken in years, having, in her intervals of love and devotion, taken upon her to translate the letters and write the life of lady mary wortley montague,--to which undertaking there are two obstacles, firstly, ignorance of english, and, secondly, a total dearth of information on the subject of her projected biography, has applied to me for facts or falsities upon this promising project. lady montague lived the last twenty or more years of her life in or near venice, i believe; but here they know nothing, and remember nothing, for the story of to-day is succeeded by the scandal of to-morrow; and the wit, and beauty, and gallantry, which might render your countrywoman notorious in her own country, must have been _here_ no great distinction--because the first is in no request, and the two latter are common to all women, or at least the last of them. if you can therefore tell me any thing, or get any thing told, of lady wortley montague, i shall take it as a favour, and will transfer and translate it to the 'dama' in question. and i pray you besides to send me, by some quick and safe voyager, the edition of her letters, and the stupid life, by _dr. dallaway_, published by her proud and foolish family. "the death of the princess charlotte has been a shock even here, and must have been an earthquake at home. the courier's list of some three hundred heirs to the crown (including the house of wirtemberg, with that * * *, p----, of disreputable memory, whom i remember seeing at various balls during the visit of the muscovites, &c. in ) must be very consolatory to all true lieges, as well as foreigners, except signor travis, a rich jew merchant of this city, who complains grievously of the length of british mourning, which has countermanded all the silks which he was on the point of transmitting, for a year to come. the death of this poor girl is melancholy in every respect, dying at twenty or so, in childbed--of a _boy_ too, a present princess and future queen, and just as she began to be happy, and to enjoy herself, and the hopes which she inspired. "i think, as far as i can recollect, she is the first royal defunct in childbed upon record in _our_ history. i feel sorry in every respect--for the loss of a female reign, and a woman hitherto harmless; and all the lost rejoicings, and addresses, and drunkenness, and disbursements, of john bull on the occasion. "the prince will marry again, after divorcing his wife, and mr. southey will write an elegy now, and an ode then; the quarterly will have an article against the press, and the edinburgh an article, _half_ and _half_, about reform and right of divorce; the british will give you dr. chalmers's funeral sermon much commended, with a place in the stars for deceased royalty; and the morning post will have already yelled forth its 'syllables of dolour.' "woe, woe, nealliny!--the young nealliny! "it is some time since i have heard from you: are you in bad humour? i suppose so. i have been so myself, and it is your turn now, and by and by mine will come round again. yours truly, "b. "p.s. countess albrizzi, come back from paris, has brought me a medal of himself, a present from denon to me, and a likeness of mr. rogers (belonging to her), by denon also." * * * * * letter . to mr. hoppner. "venice, december . . "i should have thanked you before, for your favour a few days ago, had i not been in the intention of paying my respects, personally, this evening, from which i am deterred by the recollection that you will probably be at the count goess's this evening, which has made me postpone my intrusion. "i think your elegy a remarkably good one, not only as a composition, but both the politics and poetry contain a far greater portion of truth and generosity than belongs to the times, or to the professors of these opposite pursuits, which usually agree only in one point, as extremes meet. i do not know whether you wished me to retain the copy, but i shall retain it till you tell me otherwise; and am very much obliged by the perusal. "my own sentiments on venice, &c., such as they are, i had already thrown into verse last summer, in the fourth canto of childe harold, now in preparation for the press; and i think much more highly of them, for being in coincidence with yours. "believe me yours," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, january . . "my dear mr. murray, you're in a damn'd hurry to set up this ultimate canto; but (if they don't rob us) you'll see mr. hobhouse will bring it safe in his portmanteau. "for the journal you hint of, as ready to print off, no doubt you do right to commend it; but as yet i have writ off the devil a bit of our 'beppo;'--when copied, i'll send it. "then you've * * * tour,-- no great things, so be sure, you could hardly begin with a less work; for the pompous rascallion, who don't speak italian nor french, must have scribbled by guess-work. "you can make any loss up with 'spence' and his gossip, a work which must surely succeed; then queen mary's epistle-craft, with the new 'fytte' of 'whistlecraft,' must make people purchase and read. "then you've general gordon, who girded his sword on, to serve with a muscovite master, and help him to polish a nation so owlish, they thought shaving their beards a disaster. "for the man, '_poor and shrewd_[ ],' with whom you'd conclude a compact without more delay, perhaps some such pen is still extant in venice; but please, sir, to mention _your pay_." [footnote : "vide your letter."] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, january . . "i send you the story[ ] in three other separate covers. it won't do for your journal, being full of political allusions. _print alone, without name_; alter nothing; get a scholar to see that the _italian phrases_ are correctly published, (your printing, by the way, always makes me ill with its eternal blunders, which are incessant,) and god speed you. hobhouse left venice a fortnight ago, saving two days. i have heard nothing of or from him. "yours, &c. "he has the whole of the mss.; so put up prayers in your back shop, or in the printer's 'chapel.'" [footnote : beppo.] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, january . . "my father--that is, my armenian father, padre pasquali--in the name of all the other fathers of our convent, sends you the enclosed, greeting. "inasmuch as it has pleased the translators of the long-lost and lately-found portions of the text of eusebius to put forth the enclosed prospectus, of which i send six copies, you are hereby implored to obtain subscribers in the two universities, and among the learned, and the unlearned who would unlearn their ignorance--this _they_ (the convent) request, _i_ request, and _do you_ request. "i sent you beppo some weeks agone. you must publish it alone; it has politics and ferocity, and won't do for your isthmus of a journal. "mr. hobhouse, if the alps have not broken his neck, is, or ought to be, swimming with my commentaries and his own coat of mail in his teeth and right hand, in a cork jacket, between calais and dover. "it is the height of the carnival, and i am in the extreme and agonies of a new intrigue with i don't exactly know whom or what, except that she is insatiate of love, and won't take money, and has light hair and blue eyes, which are not common here, and that i met her at the masque, and that when her mask is off, i am as wise as ever. i shall make what i can of the remainder of my youth." * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "venice, february . . "your letter of december th arrived but this day, by some delay, common but inexplicable. your domestic calamity is very grievous, and i feel with you as much as i _dare_ feel at all. throughout life, your loss must be my loss, and your gain my gain; and, though my heart may ebb, there will always be a drop for you among the dregs. "i know how to feel with you, because (selfishness being always the substratum of our damnable clay) i am quite wrapt up in my own children. besides my little legitimate, i have made unto myself an _il_legitimate since (to say nothing of one before[ ]), and i look forward to one of these as the pillar of my old age, supposing that i ever reach--which i hope i never shall--that desolating period. i have a great love for my little ada, though perhaps she may torture me, like * * *. "your offered address will be as acceptable as you can wish. i don't much care what the wretches of the world think of me--all _that's_ past. but i care a good deal what _you_ think of me, and, so, say what you like. you _know_ that i am not sullen; and, as to being _savage_, such things depend on circumstances. however, as to being in good humour in _your_ society, there is no great merit in that, because it would be an effort, or an insanity, to be otherwise. "i don't know what murray may have been saying or quoting.[ ] i called crabbe and sam the fathers of present poesy; and said, that i thought--except them--_all_ of '_us youth_' were on a wrong tack. but i never said that we did not sail well. our fame will be hurt by _admiration_ and _imitation_. when i say _our_, i mean _all_ (lakers included), except the postscript of the augustans. the next generation (from the quantity and facility of imitation) will tumble and break their necks off our pegasus, who runs away with us; but we keep the _saddle_, because we broke the rascal and can ride. but though easy to mount, he is the devil to guide; and the next fellows must go back to the riding-school and the manège, and learn to ride the 'great horse.' "talking of horses, by the way, i have transported my own, four in number, to the lido (_beach_ in english), a strip of some ten miles along the adriatic, a mile or two from the city; so that i not only get a row in my gondola, but a spanking gallop of some miles daily along a firm and solitary beach, from the fortress to malamocco, the which contributes considerably to my health and spirits. "i have hardly had a wink of sleep this week past. we are in the agonies of the carnival's last days, and i must be up all night again, as well as to-morrow. i have had some curious masking adventures this carnival; but, as they are not yet over, i shall not say on. i will work the mine of my youth to the last veins of the ore, and then--good night. i have lived, and am content. "hobhouse went away before the carnival began, so that he had little or no fun. besides, it requires some time to be thoroughgoing with the venetians; but of all this anon, in some other letter. "i must dress for the evening. there is an opera and ridotto, and i know not what, besides balls; and so, ever and ever yours, "b. "p.s. i send this without revision, so excuse errors. i delight in the fame and fortune of lalla, and again congratulate you on your well-merited success." [footnote : this possibly may have been the subject of the poem given in p. . of the first volume.] [footnote : having seen by accident the passage in one of his letters to mr. murray, in which he denounces, as false and worthless, the poetical system on which the greater number of his contemporaries, as well as himself, founded their reputation, i took an opportunity, in the next letter i wrote to him, of jesting a little on this opinion, and his motives for it. it was, no doubt (i ventured to say), excellent policy in him, who had made sure of his own immortality in this style of writing, thus to _throw overboard_ all _us poor devils_, who were embarked with him. he was, in fact, i added, behaving towards us much in the manner of the methodist preacher who said to his congregation--"you may think, at the last day, to get to heaven by laying hold on my skirts; but i'll cheat you all, for i'll wear a spencer, i'll wear a spencer!"] * * * * * of his daily rides on the lido, which he mentions in this letter, the following account, by a gentleman who lived a good deal with him at venice, will be found not a little interesting:-- "almost immediately after mr. hobhouse's departure, lord byron proposed to me to accompany him in his rides on the lido. one of the long narrow islands which separate the lagune, in the midst of which venice stands, from the adriatic, is more particularly distinguished by this name. at one extremity is a fortification, which, with the castle of st. andrea on an island on the opposite side, defends the nearest entrance to the city from the sea. in times of peace this fortification is almost dismantled, and lord byron had hired here of the commandant an unoccupied stable, where he kept his horses. the distance from the city was not very considerable; it was much less than to the terra firma, and, as far as it went, the spot was not ineligible for riding. "every day that the weather would permit, lord byron called for me in his gondola, and we found the horses waiting for us outside of the fort. we rode as far as we could along the sea-shore, and then on a kind of dyke, or embankment, which has been raised where the island was very narrow, as far as another small fort about half way between the principal one which i have already mentioned, and the town or village of malamocco, which is near the other extremity of the island,--the distance between the two forts being about three miles. "on the land side of the embankment, not far from the smaller fort, was a boundary stone which probably marked some division of property,--all the side of the island nearest the lagune being divided into gardens for the cultivation of vegetables for the venetian markets. at the foot of this stone lord byron repeatedly told me that i should cause him to be interred, if he should die in venice, or its neighbourhood, during my residence there; and he appeared to think, as he was not a catholic, that, on the part of the government, there could be no obstacle to his interment in an unhallowed spot of ground by the sea-side. at all events, i was to overcome whatever difficulties might be raised on this account. i was, by no means, he repeatedly told me, to allow his body to be removed to england, nor permit any of his family to interfere with his funeral. "nothing could be more delightful than these rides on the lido were to me. we were from half to three quarters of an hour crossing the water, during which his conversation was always most amusing and interesting. sometimes he would bring with him any new book he had received, and read to me the passages which most struck him. often he would repeat to me whole stanzas of the poems he was engaged in writing, as he had composed them on the preceding evening; and this was the more interesting to me, because i could frequently trace in them some idea which he had started in our conversation of the preceding day, or some remark, the effect of which he had been evidently trying upon me. occasionally, too, he spoke of his own affairs, making me repeat all i had heard with regard to him, and desiring that i would not spare him, but let him know the worst that was said." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, feb. . . "i have to thank mr. croker for the arrival, and you for the contents, of the parcel which came last week, much quicker than any before, owing to mr. croker's kind attention and the official exterior of the bags; and all safe, except much friction amongst the magnesia, of which only two bottles came entire; but it is all very well, and i am exceedingly obliged to you. "the books i have read, or rather am reading. pray, who may be the sexagenarian, whose gossip is very amusing? many of his sketches i recognise, particularly gifford, mackintosh, drummond, dutens, h. walpole, mrs. inchbald, opie, &c., with the scotts, loughborough, and most of the divines and lawyers, besides a few shorter hints of authors, and a few lines about a certain '_noble author_,' characterised as malignant and sceptical, according to the good old story, 'as it was in the beginning, is now, but _not_ always shall be:' do you know such a person, master murray? eh?--and pray, of the booksellers, which be _you_? the dry, the dirty, the honest, the opulent, the finical, the splendid, or the coxcomb bookseller? stap my vitals, but the author grows scurrilous in his grand climacteric! "i remember to have seen porson at cambridge, in the hall of our college, and in private parties, but not frequently; and i never can recollect him except as drunk or brutal, and generally both: i mean in an evening, for in the hall he dined at the dean's table, and i at the vice-master's, so that i was not near him; and he then and there appeared sober in his demeanour, nor did i ever hear of excess or outrage on his part in public,--commons, college, or chapel; but i have seen him in a private party of undergraduates, many of them fresh men and strangers, take up a poker to one of them, and heard him use language as blackguard as his action. i have seen sheridan drunk, too, with all the world; but his intoxication was that of bacchus, and porson's that of silenus. of all the disgusting brutes, sulky, abusive, and intolerable, porson was the most bestial, as far as the few times that i saw him went, which were only at william bankes's (the nubian discoverer's) rooms. i saw him once go away in a rage, because nobody knew the name of the 'cobbler of messina,' insulting their ignorance with the most vulgar terms of reprobation. he was tolerated in this state amongst the young men for his talents, as the turks think a madman inspired, and bear with him. he used to recite, or rather vomit, pages of all languages, and could hiccup greek like a helot; and certainly sparta never shocked her children with a grosser exhibition than this man's intoxication. "i perceive, in the book you sent me, a long account of him, which is very savage. i cannot judge, as i never saw him sober, except in _hall_ or combination-room; and then i was never near enough to hear, and hardly to see him. of his drunken deportment, i can be sure, because i saw it. "with the reviews i have been much entertained. it requires to be as far from england as i am to relish a periodical paper properly: it is like soda-water in an italian summer. but what cruel work you make with lady * * * *! you should recollect that she is a woman; though, to be sure, they are now and then very provoking; still, as authoresses, they can do no great harm; and i think it a pity so much good invective should have been laid out upon her, when there is such a fine field of us jacobin gentlemen for you to work upon. "i heard from moore lately, and was sorry to be made aware of his domestic loss. thus it is--'medio de fonte leporum'--in the acmé of his fame and his happiness comes a drawback as usual. "mr. hoppner, whom i saw this morning, has been made the father of a very fine boy[ ].--mother and child doing very well indeed. by this time hobhouse should be with you, and also certain packets, letters, &c. of mine, sent since his departure.--i am not at all well in health within this last eight days. my remembrances to gifford and all friends. "yours, &c. "b. "p.s. in the course of a month or two, hanson will have probably to send off a clerk with conveyances to sign (newstead being sold in november last for ninety-four thousand five hundred pounds), in which case i supplicate supplies of articles as usual, for which, desire mr. kinnaird to settle from funds in their bank, and deduct from my account with him. "p.s. to-morrow night i am going to see 'otello,' an opera from our 'othello,' and one of rossini's best, it is said. it will be curious to see in venice the venetian story itself represented, besides to discover what they will make of shakspeare in music." [footnote : on the birth of this child, who was christened john william rizzo, lord byron wrote the four following lines, which are in no other respect remarkable than that they were thought worthy of being metrically translated into no less than ten different languages; namely, greek, latin, italian (also in the venetian dialect), german, french, spanish, illyrian, hebrew, armenian, and samaritan:-- "his father's sense, his mother's grace in him, i hope, will always fit so; with (still to keep him in good case) the health and appetite of rizzo." the original lines, with the different versions just mentioned, were printed, in a small neat volume (which now lies before me), in the seminary of padua.] * * * * * letter . to mr. hoppner. "venice, february . . "my dear sir, "our friend, il conte m., threw me into a cold sweat last night, by telling me of a menaced version of manfred (in venetian, i hope, to complete the thing) by some italian, who had sent it to you for correction, which is the reason why i take the liberty of troubling you on the subject. if you have any means of communication with the man, would you permit me to convey to him the offer of any price he may obtain or think to obtain for his project, provided he will throw his translation into the fire[ ], and promise not to undertake any other of that or any other of _my_ things: i will send his money immediately on this condition. "as i did not write _to_ the italians, nor _for_ the italians, nor _of_ the italians, (except in a poem not yet published, where i have said all the good i know or do not know of them, and none of the harm,) i confess i wish that they would let me alone, and not drag me into their arena as one of the gladiators, in a silly contest which i neither understand nor have ever interfered with, having kept clear of all their literary parties, both here and at milan, and elsewhere.--i came into italy to feel the climate and be quiet, if possible. mossi's translation i would have prevented, if i had known it, or could have done so; and i trust that i shall yet be in time to stop this new gentleman, of whom i heard yesterday for the first time. he will only hurt himself, and do no good to his party, for in _party_ the whole thing originates. our modes of thinking and writing are so unutterably different, that i can conceive no greater absurdity than attempting to make any approach between the english and italian poetry of the present day. i like the people very much, and their literature very much, but i am not the least ambitious of being the subject of their discussions literary and personal (which appear to be pretty much the same thing, as is the case in most countries); and if you can aid me in impeding this publication, you will add to much kindness already received from you by yours ever and truly, "byron. "p.s. how is _the_ son, and mamma? well, i dare say." [footnote : having ascertained that the utmost this translator could expect to make by his manuscript was two hundred francs, lord byron offered him that sum, if he would desist from publishing. the italian, however, held out for more; nor could he be brought to terms, till it was intimated to him pretty plainly from lord byron that, should the publication be persisted in, he would horsewhip him the very first time they met. being but little inclined to suffer martyrdom in the cause, the translator accepted the two hundred francs, and delivered up his manuscript, entering at the same time into a written engagement never to translate any other of the noble poet's works. of the qualifications of this person as a translator of english poetry, some idea may be formed from the difficulty he found himself under respecting the meaning of a line in the incantation in manfred,--"and the wisp on the morass,"--which he requested of mr. hoppner to expound to him, not having been able to find in the dictionaries to which he had access any other signification of the word "wisp" than "a bundle of straw."] * * * * * letter . to mr. rogers. "venice, march . . "i have not, as you say, 'taken to wife the adriatic.' i heard of moore's loss from himself in a letter which was delayed upon the road three months. i was sincerely sorry for it, but in such cases what are words? "the villa you speak of is one at este, which mr. hoppner (consul-general here) has transferred to me. i have taken it for two years as a place of villeggiatura. the situation is very beautiful, indeed, among the euganean hills, and the house very fair. the vines are luxuriant to a great degree, and all the fruits of the earth abundant. it is close to the old castle of the estes, or guelphs, and within a few miles of arqua, which i have visited twice, and hope to visit often. "last summer (except an excursion to rome) i passed upon the brenta. in venice i winter, transporting my horses to the lido, bordering the adriatic (where the fort is), so that i get a gallop of some miles daily along the strip of beach which reaches to malamocco, when in health; but within these few weeks i have been unwell. at present i am getting better. the carnival was short, but a good one. i don't go out much, except during the time of masques; but there are one or two conversazioni, where i go regularly, just to keep up the system; as i had letters to their givers; and they are particular on such points; and now and then, though very rarely, to the governor's. "it is a very good place for women. i like the dialect and their manner very much. there is a _naïveté_ about them which is very winning, and the romance of the place is a mighty adjunct; the _bel sangue_ is not, however, now amongst the _dame_ or higher orders; but all under _i fazzioli_, or kerchiefs (a white kind of veil which the lower orders wear upon their heads);--the _vesta zendale_, or old national female costume, is no more. the city, however, is decaying daily, and does not gain in population. however, i prefer it to any other in italy; and here have i pitched my staff, and here do i purpose to reside for the remainder of my life, unless events, connected with business not to be transacted out of england, compel me to return for that purpose; otherwise i have few regrets, and no desires to visit it again for its own sake. i shall probably be obliged to do so, to sign papers for my affairs, and a proxy for the whigs, and to see mr. waite, for i can't find a good dentist here, and every two or three years one ought to consult one. about seeing my children i must take my chance. one i shall have sent here; and i shall be very happy to see the legitimate one, when god pleases, which he perhaps will some day or other. as for my mathematical * * *, i am as well without her. "your account of your visit to fonthill is very striking: could you beg of _him_ for _me_ a copy in ms. of the remaining _tales_?[ ] i think i deserve them, as a strenuous and public admirer of the first one. i will return it when read, and make no ill use of the copy, if granted. murray would send me out any thing safely. if ever i return to england, i should like very much to see the author, with his permission. in the mean time, you could not oblige me more than by obtaining me the perusal i request, in french or english,--all's one for that, though i prefer italian to either. i have a french copy of vathek which i bought at lausanne. i can read french with great pleasure and facility, though i neither speak nor write it. now italian i _can_ speak with some fluency, and write sufficiently for my purposes, but i don't like their _modern_ prose at all; it is very heavy, and so different from machiavelli. "they say francis is junius;--i think it looks like it. i remember meeting him at earl grey's at dinner. has not he lately married a young woman; and was not he madame talleyrand's _cavaliere servente_ in india years ago? "i read my death in the papers, which was not true. i see they are marrying the remaining singleness of the royal family. they have brought out fazio with great and deserved success at covent garden: that's a good sign. i tried, during the directory, to have it done at drury lane, but was overruled. if you think of coming into this country, you will let me know perhaps beforehand. i suppose moore won't move. rose is here. i saw him the other night at madame albrizzi's; he talks of returning in may. my love to the hollands. "ever, &c. "p.s. they have been crucifying othello into an opera (_otello_, by rossini): the music good, but lugubrious; but as for the words, all the real scenes with iago cut out, and the greatest nonsense instead; the handkerchief turned into a _billet-doux_, and the first singer would not _black_ his face, for some exquisite reasons assigned in the preface. singing, dresses, and music, very good." [footnote : a continuation of vathek, by the author of that very striking and powerful production. the "tales" of which this unpublished sequel consists are, i understand, those supposed to have been related by the princes in the hall of eblis.] * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "venice, march . . "my dear tom, "since my last, which i hope that you have received, i have had a letter from our friend samuel. he talks of italy this summer--won't you come with him? i don't know whether you would like our italian way of life or not. "they are an odd people. the other day i was telling a girl, 'you must not come to-morrow, because margueritta is coming at such a time,'--(they are both about five feet ten inches high, with great black eyes and fine figures--fit to breed gladiators from--and i had some difficulty to prevent a battle upon a rencontre once before,)--'unless you promise to be friends, and'--the answer was an interruption, by a declaration of war against the other, which she said would be a 'guerra di candia.' is it not odd, that the lower order of venetians should still allude proverbially to that famous contest, so glorious and so fatal to the republic? "they have singular expressions, like all the italians. for example, 'viscere'--as we would say, 'my love,' or 'my heart,' as an expression of tenderness. also, 'i would go for you into the midst of a hundred _knives_.'--'_mazza ben_,' excessive attachment,--literally, 'i wish you well even to killing.' then they say (instead of our way, 'do you think i would do you so much harm?') 'do you think i would _assassinate_ you in such a manner?'--'tempo _perfido_,' bad weather; 'strade _perfide_,' bad roads,--with a thousand other allusions and metaphors, taken from the state of society and habits in the middle ages. "i am not so sure about _mazza_, whether it don't mean _massa_, _i.e._ a great deal, a _mass_, instead of the interpretation i have given it. but of the other phrases i am sure. "three o' th' clock--i must 'to bed, to bed, to bed,' as mother s * * (that tragical friend of the mathematical * * *) says. "have you ever seen--i forget what or whom--no matter. they tell me lady melbourne is very unwell. i shall be so sorry. she was my greatest _friend_, of the feminine gender:--when i say 'friend,' i mean _not_ mistress, for that's the antipode. tell me all about you and every body--how sam is--how you like your neighbours, the marquis and marchesa, &c. &c. "ever," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, march . . "i have your letter, with the account of 'beppo,' for which i sent you four new stanzas a fortnight ago, in case you print, or reprint. "croker's is a good guess; but the style is not english, it is italian;--berni is the original of _all_. whistlecraft was _my_ immediate _model_! rose's 'animali' i never saw till a few days ago,--they are excellent. but (as i said above) berni is the father of that kind of writing, which, i think, suits our language, too, very well;--we shall see by the experiment. if it does, i shall send you a volume in a year or two, for i know the italian way of life well, and in time may know it yet better; and as for the verse and the passions, i have them still in tolerable vigour. "if you think that it will do you and the work, or works, any good, you may put my name to it; _but first consult the knowing ones_. it will, at any rate, show them that i can write cheerfully, and repel the charge of monotony and mannerism. "yours," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, april . . "will you send me by letter, packet, or parcel, half a dozen of the coloured prints from holmes's miniature (the latter done shortly before i left your country, and the prints about a year ago); i shall be obliged to you, as some people here have asked me for the like. it is a picture of my upright self done for scrope b. davies, esq.[ ] "why have you not sent me an answer, and list of subscribers to the translation of the armenian _eusebius_? of which i sent you printed copies of the prospectus (in french) two moons ago. have you had the letter?--i shall send you another:--you must not neglect my armenians. tooth-powder, magnesia, tincture of myrrh, tooth-brushes, diachylon plaster, peruvian bark, are my personal demands. "strahan, tonson, lintot of the times, patron and publisher of rhymes, for thee the bard up pindus climbs, my murray. "to thee, with hope and terror dumb, the unfledged ms. authors come; thou printest all--and sellest some-- my murray. "upon thy table's baize so green the last new quarterly is seen, but where is thy new magazine, my murray? "along thy sprucest bookshelves shine the works thou deemest most divine-- the 'art of cookery,' and mine, my murray. "tours, travels, essays, too, i wist, and sermons to thy mill bring grist! and then thou hast the 'navy list,' my murray. "and heaven forbid i should conclude without 'the board of longitude,' although this narrow paper would, my murray!" [footnote : there follows, in this place, among other matter, a long string of verses, in various metres, to the amount of about sixty lines, so full of light gaiety and humour, that it is with some reluctance i suppress them. they might, however, have the effect of giving pain in quarters where even the author himself would not have deliberately inflicted it;--from a pen like his, touches may be wounds, and without being actually intended as such.] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, april . . "this letter will be delivered by signor gioe. bata. missiaglia, proprietor of the apollo library, and the principal publisher and bookseller now in venice. he sets out for london with a view to business and correspondence with the english booksellers: and it is in the hope that it may be for your mutual advantage that i furnish him with this letter of introduction to you. if you can be of use to him, either by recommendation to others, or by any personal attention on your own part, you will oblige him and gratify me. you may also perhaps both be able to derive advantage, or establish some mode of literary communication, pleasing to the public, and beneficial to one another. "at any rate, be civil to him for my sake, as well as for the honour and glory of publishers and authors now and to come for evermore. "with him i also consign a great number of ms. letters written in english, french, and italian, by various english established in italy during the last century:--the names of the writers, lord hervey, lady m.w. montague, (hers are but few--some billets-doux in french to algarotti, and one letter in english, italian, and all sorts of jargon, to the same,) gray, the poet (one letter), mason (two or three), garrick, lord chatham, david hume, and many of lesser note,--all addressed to count algarotti. out of these, i think, with discretion, an amusing miscellaneous volume of letters might be extracted, provided some good editor were disposed to undertake the selection, and preface, and a few notes, &c. "the proprietor of these is a friend of mine, _dr. aglietti_,--a great name in italy,--and if you are disposed to publish, it will be for _his benefit_, and it is to and for him that you will name a price, if you take upon you the work. _i_ would _edite_ it myself, but am too far off, and too lazy to undertake it; but i wish that it could be done. the letters of lord hervey, in mr. rose's[ ] opinion and mine, are good; and the _short_ french love letters _certainly_ are lady m.w. montague's--the _french_ not good, but the sentiments beautiful. gray's letter good; and mason's tolerable. the whole correspondence must be _well weeded_; but this being done, a small and pretty popular volume might be made of it.--there are many ministers' letters--gray, the ambassador at naples, horace mann, and others of the same kind of animal. "i thought of a preface, defending lord hervey against pope's attack, but pope--_quoad_ pope, the poet--against all the world, in the unjustifiable attempts begun by warton and carried on at this day by the new school of critics and scribblers, who think themselves poets because they do _not_ write like pope. i have no patience with such cursed humbug and bad taste; your whole generation are not worth a canto of the rape of the lock, or the essay on man, or the dunciad, or 'any thing that is his.'--but it is three in the matin, and i must go to bed. yours alway," &c. [footnote : among lord byron's papers, i find some verses addressed to him, about this time, by mr. w. rose, with the following note annexed to them:--"these verses were sent to me by w.s. rose, from abaro, in the spring of . they are good and true; and rose is a fine fellow, and one of the few english who understand _italy_, without which italian is nothing." the verses begin thus: "byron[ ], while you make gay what circle fits ye, bandy venetian slang with the benzòn, or play at company with the albrizzi, the self-pleased pedant, and patrician crone, grimanis, mocenigos, balbis, rizzi, compassionate our cruel case,--alone, our pleasure an academy of frogs, who nightly serenade us from the bogs," &c. &c. ] [footnote : "i have _hunted_ out a precedent for this unceremonious address."] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, april . . "a few days ago, i wrote to you a letter, requesting you to desire hanson to desire his messenger to come on from geneva to venice, because i won't go from venice to geneva; and if this is not done, the messenger may be damned, with him who mis-sent him. pray reiterate my request. "with the proofs returned, i sent two additional stanzas for canto fourth: did they arrive? "your monthly reviewer has made a mistake: _cavaliere_, alone, is well enough; but '_cavalier' servente_' has always the _e_ mute in conversation, and omitted in writing; so that it is not for the sake of metre; and pray let griffiths know this, with my compliments. i humbly conjecture that i know as much of italian society and language as any of his people; but, to make assurance doubly sure, i asked, at the countess benzona's last night, the question of more than one person in _the office_, and of these 'cavalieri serventi' (in the plural, recollect) i found that they all accorded in pronouncing for 'cavalier' servente' in the _singular_ number. i wish mr. * * * * (or whoever griffiths' scribbler may be) would not talk of what he don't understand. such fellows are not fit to be intrusted with italian, even in a quotation. "did you receive two additional stanzas, to be inserted towards the close of canto fourth? respond, that (if not) they may be sent. "tell mr. * * and mr. hanson that they may as well expect geneva to come to me, as that i should go to geneva. the messenger may go on or return, as he pleases; i won't stir: and i look upon it as a piece of singular absurdity in those who know me imagining that i should;--not to say _malice_, in attempting unnecessary torture. if, on the occasion, my interests should suffer, it is their neglect that is to blame; and they may all be d----d together. "it is ten o'clock and time to dress. "yours," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "april . . "the time is past in which i could feel for the dead,--or i should feel for the death of lady melbourne, the best, and kindest, and ablest female i ever knew, old or young. but 'i have supped full of horrors,' and events of this kind have only a kind of numbness worse than pain,--like a violent blow on the elbow or the head. there is one link less between england and myself. "now to business. i presented you with beppo, as part of the contract for canto fourth,--considering the price you are to pay for the same, and intending to eke you out in case of public caprice or my own poetical failure. if you choose to suppress it entirely, at mr. * * * *'s suggestion, you may do as you please. but recollect it is not to be published in a _garbled_ or _mutilated_ state. i reserve to my friends and myself the right of correcting the press;--if the publication continue, it is to continue in its present form. "as mr. * * says that he did not write this letter, &c. i am ready to believe him; but for the firmness of my former persuasion, i refer to mr. * * * *, who can inform you how sincerely i erred on this point. he has also the note--or, at least, had it, for i gave it to him with my verbal comments thereupon. as to 'beppo,' i will not alter or suppress a syllable for any man's pleasure but my own. "you may tell them this; and add, that nothing but force or necessity shall stir me one step towards places to which they would wring me. "if your literary matters prosper let me know. if 'beppo' pleases, you shall have more in a year or two in the same mood. and so 'good morrow to you, good master lieutenant.' yours," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "palazzo mocenigo, canal grande, "venice, june . . "your letter is almost the only news, as yet, of canto fourth, and it has by no means settled its fate,--at least, does not tell me how the 'poeshie' has been received by the public. but i suspect, no great things,--firstly, from murray's 'horrid stillness;' secondly, from what you say about the stanzas running into each other[ ], which i take _not_ to be _yours_, but a notion you have been dinned with among the blues. the fact is, that the terza rima of the italians, which always _runs_ on and in, may have led me into experiments, and carelessness into conceit--or conceit into carelessness--in either of which events failure will be probable, and my fair woman, 'superne,' end in a fish; so that childe harold will be like the mermaid, my family crest, with the fourth canto for a tail thereunto. i won't quarrel with the public, however, for the 'bulgars' are generally right; and if i miss now, i may hit another time:--and so, the 'gods give us joy.' "you like beppo, that's right. i have not had the fudges yet, but live in hopes. i need not say that your successes are mine. by the way, lydia white is here, and has just borrowed my copy of 'lalla rookh.' "hunt's letter is probably the exact piece of vulgar coxcombry you might expect from his situation. he is a good man, with some poetical elements in his chaos; but spoilt by the christ-church hospital and a sunday newspaper,--to say nothing of the surrey gaol, which conceited him into a martyr. but he is a good man. when i saw 'rimini' in ms., i told him that i deemed it good poetry at bottom, disfigured only by a strange style. his answer was, that his style was a system, or _upon system_, or some such cant; and, when a man talks of system, his case is hopeless: so i said no more to him, and very little to any one else. "he believes his trash of vulgar phrases tortured into compound barbarisms to be _old_ english; and we may say of it as aimwell says of captain gibbet's regiment, when the captain calls it an 'old corps,'--'the _oldest_ in europe, if i may judge by your uniform.' he sent out his 'foliage' by percy shelley * * *, and, of all the ineffable centaurs that were ever begotten by self-love upon a night-mare, i think this monstrous sagittary the most prodigious. _he_ (leigh h.) is an honest charlatan, who has persuaded himself into a belief of his own impostures, and talks punch in pure simplicity of heart, taking himself (as poor fitzgerald said of _himself_ in the morning post) for _vates_ in both senses, or nonsenses, of the word. did you look at the translations of his own which he prefers to pope and cowper, and says so?--did you read his skimble-skamble about * * being at the head of his own _profession_, in the _eyes_ of _those_ who followed it? i thought that poetry was an _art_, or an _attribute_, and not a _profession_;--but be it one, is that * * * * * * at the head of _your_ profession in _your_ eyes? i'll be curst if he is of _mine_, or ever shall be. he is the only one of us (but of us he is not) whose coronation i would oppose. let them take scott, campbell, crabbe, or you, or me, or any of the living, and throne him;--but not this new jacob behmen, this * * * * * * whose pride might have kept him true, even had his principles turned as perverted as his _soi-disant_ poetry. "but leigh hunt is a good man, and a good father--see his odes to all the masters hunt;--a good husband--see his sonnet to mrs. hunt;--a good friend--see his epistles to different people;--and a great coxcomb and a very vulgar person in every thing about him. but that's not his fault, but of circumstances.[ ] "i do not know any good model for a life of sheridan but that of _savage_. recollect, however, that the life of such a man may be made far more amusing than if he had been a wilberforce;--and this without offending the living, or insulting the dead. the whigs abuse him; however, he never left them, and such blunderers deserve neither credit nor compassion. as for his creditors,--remember, sheridan _never had_ a shilling, and was thrown, with great powers and passions, into the thick of the world, and placed upon the pinnacle of success, with no other external means to support him in his elevation. did fox * * * _pay his_ debts?--or did sheridan take a subscription? was the * *'s drunkenness more excusable than his? were his intrigues more notorious than those of all his contemporaries? and is his memory to be blasted, and theirs respected? don't let yourself be led away by clamour, but compare him with the coalitioner fox, and the pensioner burke, as a man of principle, and with ten hundred thousand in personal views, and with none in talent, for he beat them all _out_ and _out_. without means, without connection, without character, (which might be false at first, and make him mad afterwards from desperation,) he beat them all, in all he ever attempted. but alas, poor human nature! good night--or rather, morning. it is four, and the dawn gleams over the grand canal, and unshadows the rialto. i must to bed; up all night--but, as george philpot says, 'it's life, though, damme, it's life!' ever yours, b. "excuse errors--no time for revision. the post goes out at noon, and i sha'n't be up then. i will write again soon about your _plan_ for a publication." [footnote : i had said, i think, in my letter to him, that this practice of carrying one stanza into another was "something like taking on horses another stage without baiting."] [footnote : i had, in first transcribing the above letter for the press, omitted the whole of this caustic, and, perhaps, over-severe character of mr. hunt; but the tone of that gentleman's book having, as far as himself is concerned, released me from all those scruples which prompted the suppression, i have considered myself at liberty to restore the passage.] * * * * * during the greater part of the period which this last series of letters comprises, he had continued to occupy the same lodgings in an extremely narrow street called the spezieria, at the house of the linen-draper, to whose lady he devoted so much of his thoughts. that he was, for the time, attached to this person,--as far as a passion so transient can deserve the name of attachment,--is evident from his whole conduct. the language of his letters shows sufficiently how much the novelty of this foreign tie had caught his fancy; and to the venetians, among whom such arrangements are mere matters of course, the assiduity with which he attended his signora to the theatre, and the ridottos, was a subject of much amusement. it was with difficulty, indeed, that he could be prevailed upon to absent himself from her so long as to admit of that hasty visit to the immortal city, out of which one of his own noblest titles to immortality sprung; and having, in the space of a few weeks, drunk in more inspiration from all he saw than, in a less excited state, possibly, he might have imbibed in years, he again hurried back, without extending his journey to naples,--having written to the fair marianna to meet him at some distance from venice. besides some seasonable acts of liberality to the husband, who had, it seems, failed in trade, he also presented to the lady herself a handsome set of diamonds; and there is an anecdote related in reference to this gift, which shows the exceeding easiness and forbearance of his disposition towards those who had acquired any hold on his heart. a casket, which was for sale, being one day offered to him, he was not a little surprised on discovering them to be the same jewels which he had, not long before, presented to his fair favourite, and which had, by some unromantic means, found their way back into the market. without enquiring, however, any further into the circumstances, he generously repurchased the casket and presented it to the lady once more, good-humouredly taxing her with the very little estimation in which, as it appeared, she held his presents. to whatever extent this unsentimental incident may have had a share in dispelling the romance of his passion, it is certain that, before the expiration of the first twelvemonth, he began to find his lodgings in the spezieria inconvenient, and accordingly entered into treaty with count gritti for his palace on the grand canal,--engaging to give for it, what is considered, i believe, a large rent in venice, louis a year. on finding, however, that, in the counterpart of the lease brought for his signature, a new clause had been introduced, prohibiting him not only from underletting the house, in case he should leave venice, but from even allowing any of his own friends to occupy it during his occasional absence, he declined closing on such terms; and resenting so material a departure from the original engagement, declared in society, that he would have no objection to give the same rent, though acknowledged to be exorbitant, for any other palace in venice, however inferior, in all respects, to count gritti's. after such an announcement, he was not likely to remain long unhoused; and the countess mocenigo having offered him one of her three palazzi, on the grand canal, he removed to this house in the summer of the present year, and continued to occupy it during the remainder of his stay in venice. highly censurable, in point of morality and decorum, as was his course of life while under the roof of madame * *, it was (with pain i am forced to confess) venial in comparison with the strange, headlong career of licence to which, when weaned from that connection, he so unrestrainedly and, it may be added, defyingly abandoned himself. of the state of his mind on leaving england i have already endeavoured to convey some idea, and, among the feelings that went to make up that self-centred spirit of resistance which he then opposed to his fate, was an indignant scorn of his own countrymen for the wrongs he thought they had done him. for a time, the kindly sentiments which he still harboured towards lady byron, and a sort of vague hope, perhaps, that all would yet come right again, kept his mind in a mood somewhat more softened and docile, as well as sufficiently under the influence of english opinion to prevent his breaking out into such open rebellion against it, as he unluckily did afterwards. by the failure of the attempted mediation with lady byron, his last link with home was severed; while, notwithstanding the quiet and unobtrusive life which he had led at geneva, there was as yet, he found, no cessation of the slanderous warfare against his character;--the same busy and misrepresenting spirit which had tracked his every step at home having, with no less malicious watchfulness, dogged him into exile. to this persuasion, for which he had but too much grounds, was added all that an imagination like his could lend to truth,--all that he was left to interpret, in his own way, of the absent and the silent,--till, at length, arming himself against fancied enemies and wrongs, and, with the condition (as it seemed to him) of an outlaw, assuming also the desperation, he resolved, as his countrymen would not do justice to the better parts of his nature, to have, at least, the perverse satisfaction of braving and shocking them with the worst. it is to this feeling, i am convinced, far more than to any depraved taste for such a course of life, that the extravagances to which he now, for a short time, gave loose, are to be attributed. the exciting effect, indeed, of this mode of existence while it lasted, both upon his spirits and his genius,--so like what, as he himself tells us, was always produced in him by a state of contest and defiance,--showed how much of this latter feeling must have been mixed with his excesses. the altered character too, of his letters in this respect cannot fail, i think, to be remarked by the reader,--there being, with an evident increase of intellectual vigour, a tone of violence and bravado breaking out in them continually, which marks the high pitch of re-action to which he had now wound up his temper. in fact, so far from the powers of his intellect being at all weakened or dissipated by these irregularities, he was, perhaps, at no time of his life, so actively in the full possession of all its energies; and his friend shelley, who went to venice, at this period, to see him[ ], used to say, that all he observed of the workings of byron's mind, during his visit, gave him a far higher idea of its powers than he had ever before entertained. it was, indeed, then that shelley sketched out, and chiefly wrote, his poem of "julian and maddalo," in the latter of which personages he has so picturesquely shadowed forth his noble friend[ ]; and the allusions to "the swan of albion," in his "lines written among the euganean hills," were also, i understand, the result of the same access of admiration and enthusiasm. in speaking of the venetian women, in one of the preceding letters, lord byron, it will be recollected, remarks, that the beauty for which they were once so celebrated is no longer now to be found among the "dame," or higher orders, but all under the "fazzioli," or kerchiefs, of the lower. it was, unluckily, among these latter specimens of the "bel sangue" of venice that he now, by a suddenness of descent in the scale of refinement, for which nothing but the present wayward state of his mind can account, chose to select the companions of his disengaged hours;--and an additional proof that, in this short, daring career of libertinism, he was but desperately seeking relief for a wronged and mortified spirit, and "what to us seem'd guilt might be but woe,"-- is that, more than once, of an evening, when his house has been in the possession of such visitants, he has been known to hurry away in his gondola, and pass the greater part of the night upon the water, as if hating to return to his home. it is, indeed, certain, that to this least defensible portion of his whole life he always looked back, during the short remainder of it, with painful self-reproach; and among the causes of the detestation which he afterwards felt for venice, this recollection of the excesses to which he had there abandoned himself was not the least prominent. the most distinguished and, at last, the reigning favourite of all this unworthy harem was a woman named margarita cogni, who has been already mentioned in one of these letters, and who, from the trade of her husband, was known by the title of the fornarina. a portrait of this handsome virago, drawn by harlowe when at venice, having fallen into the hands of one of lord byron's friends after the death of that artist, the noble poet, on being applied to for some particulars of his heroine, wrote a long letter on the subject, from which the following are extracts:-- "since you desire the story of margarita cogni, you shall be told it, though it may be lengthy. "her face is the fine venetian cast of the old time; her figure, though perhaps too tall, is not less fine--and taken altogether in the national dress. "in the summer of , * * * * and myself were sauntering on horseback along the brenta one evening, when, amongst a group of peasants, we remarked two girls as the prettiest we had seen for some time. about this period, there had been great distress in the country, and i had a little relieved some of the people. generosity makes a great figure at very little cost in venetian livres, and mine had probably been exaggerated as an englishman's. whether they remarked us looking at them or no, i know not; but one of them called out to me in venetian, 'why do not you, who relieve others, think of us also?' i turned round and answered her--'cara, tu sei troppo bella e giovane per aver' bisogna del' soccorso mio.' she answered, 'if you saw my hut and my food, you would not say so.' all this passed half jestingly, and i saw no more of her for some days. "a few evenings after, we met with these two girls again, and they addressed us more seriously, assuring us of the truth of their statement. they were cousins; margarita married, the other single. as i doubted still of the circumstances, i took the business in a different light, and made an appointment with them for the next evening. in short, in a few evenings we arranged our affairs, and for a long space of time she was the only one who preserved over me an ascendency which was often disputed, and never impaired. "the reasons of this were, firstly, her person;--very dark, tall, the venetian face, very fine black eyes. she was two-and-twenty years old, * * * she was, besides, a thorough venetian in her dialect, in her thoughts, in her countenance, in every thing, with all their _naïveté_ and pantaloon humour. besides, she could neither read nor write, and could not plague me with letters,--except twice that she paid sixpence to a public scribe, under the piazza, to make a letter for her, upon some occasion when i was ill and could not see her. in other respects, she was somewhat fierce and 'prepotente,' that is, over-bearing, and used to walk in whenever it suited her, with no very great regard to time, place, nor persons; and if she found any women in her way, she knocked them down. "when i first knew her, i was in 'relazione' (liaison) with la signora * *, who was silly enough one evening at dolo, accompanied by some of her female friends, to threaten her; for the gossips of the villeggiatura had already found out, by the neighing of my horse one evening, that i used to 'ride late in the night' to meet the fornarina. margarita threw back her veil (fazziolo), and replied in very explicit venetian, '_you_ are _not_ his _wife_: _i_ am _not_ his _wife_: you are his donna, and _i_ am his _donna_: your husband is a _becco_, and mine is another. for the rest, what _right_ have you to reproach me? if he prefers me to you, is it my fault? if you wish to secure him, tie him to your petticoat-string.--but do not think to speak to me without a reply, because you happen to be richer than i am.' having delivered this pretty piece of eloquence (which i translate as it was related to me by a bystander), she went on her way, leaving a numerous audience with madame * *, to ponder at her leisure on the dialogue between them. "when i came to venice for the winter, she followed; and as she found herself out to be a favourite, she came to me pretty often. but she had inordinate self-love, and was not tolerant of other women. at the 'cavalchina,' the masked ball on the last night of the carnival, where all the world goes, she snatched off the mask of madame contarini, a lady noble by birth, and decent in conduct, for no other reason, but because she happened to be leaning on my arm. you may suppose what a cursed noise this made; but this is only one of her pranks. "at last she quarrelled with her husband, and one evening ran away to my house. i told her this would not do: she said she would lie in the street, but not go back to him; that he beat her, (the gentle tigress!) spent her money, and scandalously neglected her. as it was midnight i let her stay, and next day there was no moving her at all. her husband came, roaring and crying, and entreating her to come back:--_not_ she! he then applied to the police, and they applied to me: i told them and her husband to _take_ her; i did not want her; she had come, and i could not fling her out of the window; but they might conduct her through that or the door if they chose it. she went before the commissary, but was obliged to return with that 'becco ettico,' as she called the poor man, who had a phthisic. in a few days she ran away again. after a precious piece of work, she fixed herself in my house, really and truly without my consent; but, owing to my indolence, and not being able to keep my countenance, for if i began in a rage, she always finished by making me laugh with some venetian pantaloonery or another; and the gipsy knew this well enough, as well as her other powers of persuasion, and exerted them with the usual tact and success of all she-things; high and low, they are all alike for that. "madame benzoni also took her under her protection, and then her head turned. she was always in extremes, either crying or laughing, and so fierce when angered, that she was the terror of men, women, and children--for she had the strength of an amazon, with the temper of medea. she was a fine animal, but quite untameable. _i_ was the only person that could at all keep her in any order, and when she saw me really angry (which they tell me is a savage sight), she subsided. but she had a thousand fooleries. in her fazziolo, the dress of the lower orders, she looked beautiful; but, alas! she longed for a hat and feathers; and all i could say or do (and i said much) could not prevent this travestie. i put the first into the fire; but i got tired of burning them, before she did of buying them, so that she made herself a figure--for they did not at all become her. "then she would have her gowns with a _tail_--like a lady, forsooth; nothing would serve her but 'l'abita colla _coua_,' or _cua_, (that is the venetian for 'la cola,' the tail or train,) and as her cursed pronunciation of the word made me laugh, there was an end of all controversy, and she dragged this diabolical tail after her every where. "in the mean time, she beat the women and stopped my letters. i found her one day pondering over one. she used to try to find out by their shape whether they were feminine or no; and she used to lament her ignorance, and actually studied her alphabet, on purpose (as she declared) to open all letters addressed to me and read their contents. "i must not omit to do justice to her housekeeping qualities. after she came into my house as 'donna di governo,' the expenses were reduced to less than half, and every body did their duty better--the apartments were kept in order, and every thing and every body else, except herself. "that she had a sufficient regard for me in her wild way, i had many reasons to believe. i will mention one. in the autumn, one day, going to the lido with my gondoliers, we were overtaken by a heavy squall, and the gondola put in peril--hats blown away, boat filling, oar lost, tumbling sea, thunder, rain in torrents, night coming, and wind unceasing. on our return, after a tight struggle, i found her on the open steps of the mocenigo palace, on the grand canal, with her great black eyes flashing through her tears, and the long dark hair, which was streaming, drenched with rain, over her brows and breast. she was perfectly exposed to the storm; and the wind blowing her hair and dress about her thin tall figure, and the lightning flashing round her, and the waves rolling at her feet, made her look like medea alighted from her chariot, or the sibyl of the tempest that was rolling around her, the only living thing within hail at that moment except ourselves. on seeing me safe, she did not wait to greet me, as might have been expected, but calling out to me--'ah! can' della madonna, xe esto il tempo per andar' al' lido?' (ah! dog of the virgin, is this a time to go to lido?) ran into the house, and solaced herself with scolding the boatmen for not foreseeing the 'temporale.' i am told by the servants that she had only been prevented from coming in a boat to look after me, by the refusal of all the gondoliers of the canal to put out into the harbour in such a moment; and that then she sat down on the steps in all the thickest of the squall, and would neither be removed nor comforted. her joy at seeing me again was moderately mixed with ferocity, and gave me the idea of a tigress over her recovered cubs. "but her reign drew near a close. she became quite ungovernable some months after, and a concurrence of complaints, some true, and many false--'a favourite has no friends'--determined me to part with her. i told her quietly that she must return home, (she had acquired a sufficient provision for herself and mother, &c. in my service,) and she refused to quit the house. i was firm, and she went threatening knives and revenge. i told her that i had seen knives drawn before her time, and that if she chose to begin, there was a knife, and fork also, at her service on the table, and that intimidation would not do. the next day, while i was at dinner, she walked in, (having broken open a glass door that led from the hall below to the staircase, by way of prologue,) and advancing straight up to the table, snatched the knife from my hand, cutting me slightly in the thumb in the operation. whether she meant to use this against herself or me, i know not--probably against neither--but fletcher seized her by the arms, and disarmed her. i then called my boatmen, and desired them to get the gondola ready, and conduct her to her own house again, seeing carefully that she did herself no mischief by the way. she seemed quite quiet, and walked down stairs. i resumed my dinner. "we heard a great noise, and went out, and met them on the staircase, carrying her up stairs. she had thrown herself into the canal. that she intended to destroy herself, i do not believe; but when we consider the fear women and men who can't swim have of deep or even of shallow water, (and the venetians in particular, though they live on the waves,) and that it was also night, and dark, and very cold, it shows that she had a devilish spirit of some sort within her. they had got her out without much difficulty or damage, excepting the salt water she had swallowed, and the wetting she had undergone. "i foresaw her intention to refix herself, and sent for a surgeon, enquiring how many hours it would require to restore her from her agitation; and he named the time. i then said, 'i give you that time, and more if you require it; but at the expiration of this prescribed period, if _she_ does not leave the house, _i_ will.' "all my people were consternated. they had always been frightened at her, and were now paralysed: they wanted me to apply to the police, to guard myself, &c. &c. like a pack of snivelling servile boobies as they were. i did nothing of the kind, thinking that i might as well end that way as another; besides, i had been used to savage women, and knew their ways. "i had her sent home quietly after her recovery, and never saw her since, except twice at the opera, at a distance amongst the audience. she made many attempts to return, but no more violent ones. and this is the story of margarita cogni, as far as it relates to me. "i forgot to mention that she was very devout, and would cross herself if she heard the prayer time strike. "she was quick in reply; as, for instance--one day when she had made me very angry with beating somebody or other, i called her a _cow_ (_cow_, in italian, is a sad affront). i called her 'vacca.' she turned round, courtesied, and answered, 'vacca _tua_, 'celenza' (_i.e._ eccelenza). '_your_ cow, please your excellency.' in short, she was, as i said before, a very fine animal, of considerable beauty and energy, with many good and several amusing qualities, but wild as a witch and fierce as a demon. she used to boast publicly of her ascendency over me, contrasting it with that of other women, and assigning for it sundry reasons. true it was, that they all tried to get her away, and no one succeeded till her own absurdity helped them. "i omitted to tell you her answer, when i reproached her for snatching madame contarini's mask at the cavalchina. i represented to her that she was a lady of high birth, 'una dama,' &c. she answered, 'se ella è dama _mi_ (_io_) son veneziana;'--'if she is a lady, i am a venetian.' this would have been fine a hundred years ago, the pride of the nation rising up against the pride of aristocracy: but, alas! venice, and her people, and her nobles, are alike returning fast to the ocean; and where there is no independence, there can be no real self-respect. i believe that i mistook or mis-stated one of her phrases in my letter; it should have been--'can' della madonna cosa vus' tu? esto non é tempo per andar' a lido?'" [footnote : the following are extracts from a letter of shelley's to a friend at this time. "venice, august, . "we came from padua hither in a gondola; and the gondolier, among other things, without any hint on our part, began talking of lord byron. he said he was a 'giovanotto inglese,' with a 'nome stravagante,' who lived very luxuriously, and spent great sums of money. "at three o'clock i called on lord byron. he was delighted to see me, and our first conversation of course consisted in the object of our visit. he took me in his gondola, across the laguna, to a long, strandy sand, which defends venice from the adriatic. when we disembarked, we found his horses waiting for us, and we rode along the sands, talking. our conversation consisted in histories of his own wounded feelings, and questions as to my affairs, with great professions of friendship and regard for me. he said that if he had been in england, at the time of the chancery affair, he would have moved heaven and earth to have prevented such a decision. he talked of literary matters,--his fourth canto, which he says is very good, and indeed repeated some stanzas, of great energy, to me. when we returned to his palace, which is one if the most magnificent in venice," &c. &c. ] [footnote : in the preface also to this poem, under the fictitious name of count maddalo, the following just and striking portrait of lord byron is drawn:-- "he is a person of the most consummate genius, and capable, if he would direct his energies to such an end, of becoming the redeemer of his degraded country. but it is his weakness to be proud: he derives, from a comparison of his own extraordinary mind with the dwarfish intellects that surround him, an intense apprehension of the nothingness of human life. his passions and his powers are incomparably greater than those of other men, and instead of the latter having been employed in curbing the former, they have mutually lent each other strength. his ambition preys upon itself for want of objects which it can consider worthy of exertion. i say that maddalo is proud, because i can find no other word to express the concentred and impatient feelings which consume him; but it is on his own hopes and affections only that he seems to trample, for in social life no human being can be more gentle, patient, and unassuming than maddalo. he is cheerful, frank, and witty. his more serious conversation is a sort of intoxication. he has travelled much; and there is an inexpressible charm in his relation of his adventures in different countries."] * * * * * it was at this time, as we shall see by the letters i am about to produce, and as the features, indeed, of the progeny itself would but too plainly indicate, that he conceived, and wrote some part of, his poem of 'don juan;'--and never did pages more faithfully and, in many respects, lamentably, reflect every variety of feeling, and whim, and passion that, like the wrack of autumn, swept across the author's mind in writing them. nothing less, indeed, than that singular combination of attributes, which existed and were in full activity in his mind at this moment, could have suggested, or been capable of, the execution of such a work. the cool shrewdness of age, with the vivacity and glowing temperament of youth,--the wit of a voltaire, with the sensibility of a rousseau,--the minute, practical knowledge of the man of society, with the abstract and self-contemplative spirit of the poet,--a susceptibility of all that is grandest and most affecting in human virtue, with a deep, withering experience of all that is most fatal to it,--the two extremes, in short, of man's mixed and inconsistent nature, now rankly smelling of earth, now breathing of heaven,--such was the strange assemblage of contrary elements, all meeting together in the same mind, and all brought to bear, in turn, upon the same task, from which alone could have sprung this extraordinary poem,--the most powerful and, in many respects, painful display of the versatility of genius that has ever been left for succeeding ages to wonder at and deplore. i shall now proceed with his correspondence,--having thought some of the preceding observations necessary, not only to explain to the reader much of what he will find in these letters, but to account to him for much that has been necessarily omitted. * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, june . . "business and the utter and inexplicable silence of all my correspondents renders me impatient and troublesome. i wrote to mr. hanson for a balance which is (or ought to be) in his hands;--no answer. i expected the messenger with the newstead papers two months ago, and instead of him, i received a requisition to proceed to geneva, which (from * *, who knows my wishes and opinions about approaching england) could only be irony or insult. "i must, therefore, trouble _you_ to pay into my bankers' _immediately_ whatever sum or sums you can make it convenient to do on our agreement; otherwise, i shall be put to the _severest_ and most immediate inconvenience; and this at a time when, by every rational prospect and calculation, i ought to be in the receipt of considerable sums. pray do not neglect this; you have no idea to what inconvenience you will otherwise put me. * * had some absurd notion about the disposal of this money in annuity (or god knows what), which i merely listened to when he was here to avoid squabbles and sermons; but i have occasion for the principal, and had never any serious idea of appropriating it otherwise than to answer my personal expenses. hobhouse's wish is, if possible, to force me back to england[ ]: he will not succeed; and if he did, i would not stay. i hate the country, and like this; and all foolish opposition, of course, merely adds to the feeling. _your_ silence makes me doubt the success of canto fourth. if it has failed, i will make such deduction as you think proper and fair from the original agreement; but i could wish whatever is to be paid were remitted to me, without delay, through the usual channel, by course of post. "when i tell you that i have not heard a word from england since very early in may, i have made the eulogium of my friends, or the persons who call themselves so, since i have written so often and in the greatest anxiety. thank god, the longer i am absent, the less cause i see for regretting the country or its living contents. i am yours," &c. [footnote : deeply is it, for many reasons, to be regretted that this friendly purpose did not succeed.] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, july . . "i have received your letter and the credit from morlands, &c. for whom i have also drawn upon you at sixty days' sight for the remainder, according to your proposition. "i am still waiting in venice, in expectancy of the arrival of hanson's clerk. what can detain him, i do not know; but i trust that mr. hobhouse, and mr. kinnaird, when their political fit is abated, will take the trouble to enquire and expedite him, as i have nearly a hundred thousand pounds depending upon the completion of the sale and the signature of the papers. "the draft on you is drawn up by siri and willhalm. i hope that the form is correct. i signed it two or three days ago, desiring them to forward it to messrs. morland and ransom. "your projected editions for november had better be postponed, as i have some things in project, or preparation, that may be of use to you, though not very important in themselves. i have completed an ode on venice, and have two stories, one serious and one ludicrous (à la beppo), not yet finished, and in no hurry to be so. "you talk of the letter to hobhouse being much admired, and speak of prose. i think of writing (for your full edition) some memoirs of my life, to prefix to them, upon the same model (though far enough, i fear, from reaching it) of gifford, hume, &c.; and this without any intention of making disclosures or remarks upon living people, which would be unpleasant to them: but i think it might be done, and well done. however, this is to be considered. i have _materials_ in plenty, but the greater part of them could not be used by _me_, nor for these hundred years to come. however, there is enough without these, and merely as a literary man, to make a preface for such an edition as you meditate. but this is by the way: i have not made up my mind. "i enclose you a _note_ on the subject of '_parisina_,' which hobhouse can dress for you. it is an extract of particulars from a history of ferrara. "i trust you have been attentive to missiaglia, for the english have the character of neglecting the italians, at present, which i hope you will redeem. "yours in haste, b." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, july . . "i suppose that aglietti will take whatever you offer, but till his return from vienna i can make him no proposal; nor, indeed, have you authorised me to do so. the three french notes _are_ by lady mary; also another half-english-french-italian. they are very pretty and passionate; it is a pity that a piece of one of them is lost. algarotti seems to have treated her ill; but she was much his senior, and all women are used ill--or say so, whether they are or not. "i shall be glad of your books and powders. i am still in waiting for hanson's clerk, but luckily not at geneva. all my good friends wrote to me to hasten _there_ to meet him, but not one had the good sense or the good nature, to write afterwards to tell me that it would be time and a journey thrown away, as he could not set off for some months after the period appointed. if i _had_ taken the journey on the general suggestion, i never would have spoken again to one of you as long as i existed. i have written to request mr. kinnaird, when the foam of his politics is wiped away, to extract a positive answer from that * * * *, and not to keep me in a state of suspense upon the subject. i hope that kinnaird, who has my power of attorney, keeps a look-out upon the gentleman, which is the more necessary, as i have a great dislike to the idea of coming over to look after him myself. "i have several things begun, verse and prose, but none in much forwardness. i have written some six or seven sheets of a life, which i mean to continue, and send you when finished. it may perhaps serve for your projected editions. if you would tell me exactly (for i know nothing, and have no correspondents except on business) the state of the reception of our late publications, and the feeling upon them, without consulting any delicacies (i am too seasoned to require them), i should know how and in what manner to proceed. i should not like to give them too much, which may probably have been the case already; but, as i tell you, i know nothing. "i once wrote from the fulness of my mind and the love of fame, (not as an _end_, but as a _means_, to obtain that influence over men's minds which is power in itself and in its consequences,) and now from habit and from avarice; so that the effect may probably be as different as the inspiration. i have the same facility, and indeed necessity, of composition, to avoid idleness (though idleness in a hot country is a pleasure), but a much greater indifference to what is to become of it, after it has served my immediate purpose. however, i should on no account like to--but i won't go on, like the archbishop of granada, as i am very sure that you dread the fate of gil blas, and with good reason. yours, &c. "p.s. i have written some very savage letters to mr. hobhouse, kinnaird, to you, and to hanson, because the silence of so long a time made me tear off my remaining rags of patience. i have seen one or two late english publications which are no great things, except rob roy. i shall be glad of whistlecraft." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, august . . "you may go on with your edition, without calculating on the memoir, which i shall not publish at present. it is nearly finished, but will be too long; and there are so many things, which, out of regard to the living, cannot be mentioned, that i have written with too much detail of that which interested me least; so that my autobiographical essay would resemble the tragedy of hamlet at the country theatre, recited 'with the part of hamlet left out by particular desire.' i shall keep it among my papers; it will be a kind of guide-post in case of death, and prevent some of the lies which would otherwise be told, and destroy some which have been told already. "the tales also are in an unfinished state, and i can fix no time for their completion: they are also not in the best manner. you must not, therefore, calculate upon any thing in time for this edition. the memoir is already above forty-four sheets of very large, long paper, and will be about fifty or sixty; but i wish to go on leisurely; and when finished, although it might do a good deal for you at the time, i am not sure that it would serve any good purpose in the end either, as it is full of many passions and prejudices, of which it has been impossible for me to keep clear:--i have not the patience. "enclosed is a list of books which dr. aglietti would be glad to receive by way of price for his ms. letters, if you are disposed to purchase at the rate of fifty pounds sterling. these he will be glad to have as part, and the rest _i_ will give him in money, and you may carry it to the account of books, &c. which is in balance against me, deducting it accordingly. so that the letters are yours, if you like them, at this rate; and he and i are going to hunt for more lady montague letters, which he thinks of finding. i write in haste. thanks for the article, and believe me "yours," &c. * * * * * to the charge brought against lord byron by some english travellers of being, in general, repulsive and inhospitable to his own countrymen, i have already made allusion; and shall now add to the testimony then cited in disproof of such a charge some particulars, communicated to me by captain basil hall, which exhibit the courtesy and kindliness of the noble poet's disposition in their true, natural light. "on the last day of august, (says this distinguished writer and traveller), i was taken ill with an ague at venice, and having heard enough of the low state of the medical art in that country, i was not a little anxious as to the advice i should take. i was not acquainted with any person in venice to whom i could refer, and had only one letter of introduction, which was to lord byron; but as there were many stories floating about of his lordship's unwillingness to be pestered with tourists, i had felt unwilling, before this moment, to intrude myself in that shape. now, however, that i was seriously unwell, i felt sure that this offensive character would merge in that of a countryman in distress, and i sent the letter by one of my travelling companions to lord byron's lodgings, with a note, excusing the liberty i was taking, explaining that i was in want of medical assistance, and saying i should not send to any one till i heard the name of the person who, in his lordship's opinion, was the best practitioner in venice. "unfortunately for me, lord byron was still in bed, though it was near noon, and still more unfortunately, the bearer of my message scrupled to awake him, without first coming back to consult me. by this time i was in all the agonies of a cold ague fit, and, therefore, not at all in a condition to be consulted upon any thing--so i replied pettishly, 'oh, by no means disturb lord byron on my account--ring for the landlord, and send for any one he recommends.' this absurd injunction being forthwith and literally attended to, in the course of an hour i was under the discipline of mine host's friend, whose skill and success it is no part of my present purpose to descant upon:--it is sufficient to mention that i was irrevocably in his hands long before the following most kind note was brought to me, in great haste, by lord byron's servant. "'venice, august . . "'dear sir, "'dr. aglietti is the best physician, not only in venice, but in italy: his residence is on the grand canal, and easily found; i forget the number, but am probably the only person in venice who don't know it. there is no comparison between him and any of the other medical people here. i regret very much to hear of your indisposition, and shall do myself the honour of waiting upon you the moment i am up. i write this in bed, and have only just received the letter and note. i beg you to believe that nothing but the extreme lateness of my hours could have prevented me from replying immediately, or coming in person. i have not been called a minute.--i have the honour to be, very truly, "'your most obedient servant, "'byron.' "his lordship soon followed this note, and i heard his voice in the next room; but although he waited more than an hour, i could not see him, being under the inexorable hands of the doctor. in the course of the same evening he again called, but i was asleep. when i awoke i found his lordship's valet sitting by my bedside. 'he had his master's orders,' he said, 'to remain with me while i was unwell, and was instructed to say, that whatever his lordship had, or could procure, was at my service, and that he would come to me and sit with me, or do whatever i liked, if i would only let him know in what way he could be useful.' "accordingly, on the next day, i sent for some book, which was brought, with a list of his library. i forget what it was which prevented my seeing lord byron on this day, though he called more than once; and on the next, i was too ill with fever to talk to any one. "the moment i could get out, i took a gondola and went to pay my respects, and to thank his lordship for his attentions. it was then nearly three o'clock, but he was not yet up; and when i went again on the following day at five, i had the mortification to learn that he had gone, at the same hour, to call upon me, so that we had crossed each other on the canal; and, to my deep and lasting regret, i was obliged to leave venice without seeing him." * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "venice, september . . "an english newspaper here would be a prodigy, and an opposition one a monster; and except some ex tracts _from_ extracts in the vile, garbled paris gazettes, nothing of the kind reaches the veneto-lombard public, who are, perhaps, the most oppressed in europe. my correspondences with england are mostly on business, and chiefly with my * * *, who has no very exalted notion, or extensive conception, of an author's attributes; for he once took up an edinburgh review, and, looking at it a minute, said to me, 'so, i see you have got into the magazine,'--which is the only sentence i ever heard him utter upon literary matters, or the men thereof. "my first news of your irish apotheosis has, consequently, been from yourself. but, as it will not be forgotten in a hurry, either by your friends or your enemies, i hope to have it more in detail from some of the former, and, in the mean time, i wish you joy with all my heart. such a moment must have been a good deal better than westminster-abbey,--besides being an assurance of _that_ one day (many years hence, i trust,) into the bargain. "i am sorry to perceive, however, by the close of your letter, that even _you_ have not escaped the 'surgit amari,' &c. and that your damned deputy has been gathering such 'dew from the still _vext_ bermoothes'--or rather _vexatious_. pray, give me some items of the affair, as you say it is a serious one; and, if it grows more so, you should make a trip over here for a few months, to see how things turn out. i suppose you are a violent admirer of england by your staying so long in it. for my own part, i have passed, between the age of one-and-twenty and thirty, half the intervenient years out of it without regretting any thing, except that i ever returned to it at all, and the gloomy prospect before me of business and parentage obliging me, one day, to return to it again,--at least, for the transaction of affairs, the signing of papers, and inspecting of children. "i have here my natural daughter, by name allegra,--a pretty little girl enough, and reckoned like papa.[ ] her mamma is english,--but it is a long story, and--there's an end. she is about twenty months old. "i have finished the first canto (a long one, of about octaves) of a poem in the style and manner of 'beppo', encouraged by the good success of the same. it is called 'don juan', and is meant to be a little quietly facetious upon every thing. but i doubt whether it is not--at least, as far as it has yet gone--too free for these very modest days. however, i shall try the experiment, anonymously, and if it don't take, it will be discontinued. it is dedicated to s * * in good, simple, savage verse, upon the * * * *'s politics, and the way he got them. but the bore of copying it out is intolerable; and if i had an amanuensis he would be of no use, as my writing is so difficult to decipher. "my poem's epic, and is meant to be divided in twelve books, each book containing with love and war, a heavy gale at sea-- a list of ships, and captains, and kings reigning-- new characters, &c. &c. the above are two stanzas, which i send you as a brick of my babel, and by which you can judge of the texture of the structure. "in writing the life of sheridan, never mind the angry lies of the humbug whigs. recollect that he was an irishman and a clever fellow, and that we have had some very pleasant days with him. don't forget that he was at school at harrow, where, in my time, we used to show his name--r.b. sheridan, ,--as an honour to the walls. remember * *. depend upon it that there were worse folks going, of that gang, than ever sheridan was. "what did parr mean by 'haughtiness and coldness?' i listened to him with admiring ignorance, and respectful silence. what more could a talker for fame have?--they don't like to be answered. it was at payne knight's i met him, where he gave me more greek than i could carry away. but i certainly meant to (and _did_) treat him with the most respectful deference. "i wish you a good night, with a venetian benediction, 'benedetto te, e la terra che ti fara!'--'may you be blessed, and the _earth_ which you will _make_!'--is it not pretty? you would think it still prettier if you had heard it, as i did two hours ago, from the lips of a venetian girl, with large black eyes, a face like faustina's, and the figure of a juno--tall and energetic as a pythoness, with eyes flashing, and her dark hair streaming in the moonlight--one of those women who may be made any thing. i am sure if i put a poniard into the hand of this one, she would plunge it where i told her,--and into _me_, if i offended her. i like this kind of animal, and am sure that i should have preferred medea to any woman that ever breathed. you may, perhaps, wonder that i don't in that case. i could have forgiven the dagger or the bowl, any thing, but the deliberate desolation piled upon me, when i stood alone upon my hearth, with my household gods shivered around me[ ] * * do you suppose i have forgotten or forgiven it? it has comparatively swallowed up in me every other feeling, and i am only a spectator upon earth, till a tenfold opportunity offers. it may come yet. there are others more to be blamed than * * * *, and it is on these that my eyes are fixed unceasingly." [footnote : this little child had been sent to him by its mother about four or five months before, under the care of a swiss nurse, a young girl not above nineteen or twenty years of age, and in every respect unfit to have the charge of such an infant, without the superintendence of some more experienced person. "the child, accordingly," says my informant, "was but ill taken care of;--not that any blame could attach to lord byron, for he always expressed himself most anxious for her welfare, but because the nurse wanted the necessary experience. the poor girl was equally to be pitied; for, as lord byron's household consisted of english and italian men servants, with whom she could hold no converse, and as there was no other female to consult with and assist her in her charge, nothing could be more forlorn than her situation proved to be." soon after the date of the above letter, mrs. hoppner, the lady of the consul general, who had, from the first, in compassion both to father and child, invited the little allegra occasionally to her house, very kindly proposed to lord byron to take charge of her altogether, and an arrangement was accordingly concluded upon for that purpose.] [footnote : "i had one only fount of quiet left, and that they poison'd! _my pure household gods were shivered on my hearth._" marino faliero. ] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, september . . "in the one hundredth and thirty-second stanza of canto fourth, the stanza runs in the manuscript-- "and thou, who never yet of human wrong left the unbalanced scale, great nemesis! and _not 'lost,'_ which is nonsense, as what losing a scale means, i know not; but _leaving_ an unbalanced scale, or a scale unbalanced, is intelligible.[ ] correct this, i pray,--not for the public, or the poetry, but i do not choose to have blunders made in addressing any of the deities so seriously as this is addressed. "yours, &c. "p.s. in the translation from the spanish, alter "in increasing squadrons flew, to-- to a mighty squadron grew. "what does 'thy waters _wasted_ them' mean (in the canto)? _that is not me._[ ] consult the ms. _always_. "i have written the first canto ( octave stanzas) of a poem in the style of beppo, and have mazeppa to finish besides. "in referring to the mistake in stanza . i take the opportunity to desire that in future, in all parts of my writings referring to religion, you will be more careful, and not forget that it is possible that in addressing the deity a blunder may become a blasphemy; and i do not choose to suffer such infamous perversions of my words or of my intentions. "i saw the canto by accident." [footnote : this correction, i observe, has never been made,--the passage still remaining, unmeaningly, "_lost_ the unbalanced scale." ] [footnote : this passage also remains uncorrected.] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, january . . "the opinions which i have asked of mr. h. and others were with regard to the poetical merit, and not as to what they may think due to the _cant_ of the day, which still reads the bath guide, little's poems, prior, and chaucer, to say nothing of fielding and smollet. if published, publish entire, with the above-mentioned exceptions; or you may publish anonymously, or _not at all_. in the latter event, print on my account, for private distribution. "yours, &c. "i have written to messrs. k. and h. to desire that they will not erase more than i have stated. "the second canto of don juan is finished in stanzas." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, january . . "you will do me the favour to print privately (for private distribution) fifty copies of 'don juan.' the list of the men to whom i wish it to be presented, i will send hereafter. the other two poems had best be added to the collective edition: i do not approve of _their_ being published separately. print don juan _entire_, omitting, of course, the lines on castlereagh, as i am not on the spot to meet him. i have a second canto ready, which will be sent by and by. by this post, i have written to mr. hobhouse, addressed to your care. "yours, &c. "p.s. i have acquiesced in the request and representation; and having done so, it is idle to detail my arguments in favour of my own self-love and 'poeshie;' but i _protest_. if the poem has poetry, it would stand; if not, fall; the rest is 'leather and prunello,' and has never yet affected any human production 'pro or con.' dulness is the only annihilator in such cases. as to the cant of the day, i despise it, as i have ever done all its other finical fashions, which become you as paint became the ancient britons. if you admit this prudery, you must omit half ariosto, la fontaine, shakspeare, beaumont, fletcher, massinger, ford, all the charles second writers; in short, _something_ of most who have written before pope and are worth reading, and much of pope himself. _read him_--most of you _don't_--but _do_--and i will forgive you; though the inevitable consequence would be that you would burn all i have ever written, and all your other wretched claudians of the day (except scott and crabbe) into the bargain. i wrong claudian, who _was_ a _poet_, by naming him with such fellows; but he was the 'ultimus romanorum,' the tail of the comet, and these persons are the tail of an old gown cut into a waistcoat for jackey; but being both _tails_, i have compared the one with the other, though very unlike, like all similes. i write in a passion and a sirocco, and i was up till six this morning at the carnival: but i _protest_, as i did in my former letter." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, february . . "after one of the concluding stanzas of the first canto of 'don juan,' which ends with (i forget the number)-- "to have ... ... when the original is dust, a book, a d----d bad picture, and worse bust, insert the following stanza:-- "what are the hopes of man, &c. "i have written to you several letters, some with additions, and some upon the subject of the poem itself, which my cursed puritanical committee have protested against publishing. but we will circumvent them on that point. i have not yet begun to copy out the second canto, which is finished, from natural laziness, and the discouragement of the milk and water they have thrown upon the first. i say all this to them as to you, that is, for _you_ to say to _them_, for i will have nothing underhand. if they had told me the poetry was bad, i would have acquiesced; but they say the contrary, and then talk to me about morality--the first time i ever heard the word from any body who was not a rascal that used it for a purpose. i maintain that it is the most moral of poems; but if people won't discover the moral, that is their fault, not mine. i have already written to beg that in any case you will print _fifty_ for private distribution. i will send you the list of persons to whom it is to be sent afterwards. "within this last fortnight i have been rather indisposed with a rebellion of stomach, which would retain nothing, (liver, i suppose,) and an inability, or fantasy, not to be able to eat of any thing with relish but a kind of adriatic fish called 'scampi,' which happens to be the most indigestible of marine viands. however, within these last two days, i am better, and very truly yours." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, april . . "the second canto of don juan was sent, on saturday last, by post, in four packets, two of four, and two of three sheets each, containing in all two hundred and seventeen stanzas, octave measure. but i will permit no curtailments, except those mentioned about castlereagh and * * * *. you sha'n't make _canticles_ of my cantos. the poem will please, if it is lively; if it is stupid, it will fail: but i will have none of your damned cutting and slashing. if you please, you may publish _anonymously_; it will perhaps be better; but i will battle my way against them all, like a porcupine. "so you and mr. foscolo, &c. want me to undertake what you call a 'great work?' an epic poem, i suppose, or some such pyramid. i'll try no such thing; i hate tasks. and then 'seven or eight years!' god send us all well this day three months, let alone years. if one's years can't be better employed than in sweating poesy, a man had better be a ditcher. and works, too!--is childe harold nothing? you have so many 'divine poems,' is it nothing to have written a _human_ one? without any of your worn-out machinery. why, man, i could have spun the thoughts of the four cantos of that poem into twenty, had i wanted to book-make, and its passion into as many modern tragedies. since you want _length_, you shall have enough of _juan_, for i'll make fifty cantos. "and foscolo, too! why does _he_ not do something more than the letters of ortis, and a tragedy, and pamphlets? he has good fifteen years more at his command than i have: what has he done all that time?--proved his genius, doubtless, but not fixed its fame, nor done his utmost. "besides, i mean to write my best work in _italian_, and it will take me nine years more thoroughly to master the language; and then if my fancy exist, and i exist too, i will try what i _can_ do _really_. as to the estimation of the english which you talk of, let them calculate what it is worth, before they insult me with their insolent condescension. "i have not written for their pleasure. if they are pleased, it is that they chose to be so; i have never flattered their opinions, nor their pride; nor will i. neither will i make 'ladies' books 'al dilettar le femine e la plebe.' i have written from the fulness of my mind, from passion, from impulse, from many motives, but not for their 'sweet voices.' "i know the precise worth of popular applause, for few scribblers have had more of it; and if i chose to swerve into their paths, i could retain it, or resume it. but i neither love ye, nor fear ye; and though i buy with ye and sell with ye, i will neither eat with ye, drink with ye, nor pray with ye. they made me, without any search, a species of popular idol; they, without reason or judgment, beyond the caprice of their good pleasure, threw down the image from its pedestal; it was not broken with the fall, and they would, it seems, again replace it,--but they shall not. "you ask about my health: about the beginning of the year i was in a state of great exhaustion, attended by such debility of stomach that nothing remained upon it; and i was obliged to reform my 'way of life,' which was conducting me from the 'yellow leaf' to the ground, with all deliberate speed. i am better in health and morals, and very much yours, &c. "p.s. i have read hodgson's 'friends.' he is right in defending pope against the bastard pelicans of the poetical winter day, who add insult to their parricide, by sucking the blood of the parent of english _real_ poetry,--poetry without fault,--and then spurning the bosom which fed them." * * * * * it was about the time when the foregoing letter was written, and when, as we perceive, like the first return of reason after intoxication, a full consciousness of some of the evils of his late libertine course of life had broken upon him, that an attachment differing altogether, both in duration and devotion, from any of those that, since the dream of his boyhood, had inspired him, gained an influence over his mind which lasted through his few remaining years; and, undeniably wrong and immoral (even allowing for the italian estimate of such frailties) as was the nature of the connection to which this attachment led, we can hardly perhaps,--taking into account the far worse wrong from which it rescued and preserved him,--consider it otherwise than as an event fortunate both for his reputation and happiness. the fair object of this last, and (with one signal exception) only _real_ love of his whole life, was a young romagnese lady, the daughter of count gamba, of ravenna, and married, but a short time before lord byron first met with her, to an old and wealthy widower, of the same city, count guiccioli. her husband had in early life been the friend of alfieri, and had distinguished himself by his zeal in promoting the establishment of a national theatre, in which the talents of alfieri and his own wealth were to be combined. notwithstanding his age, and a character, as it appears, by no means reputable, his great opulence rendered him an object of ambition among the mothers of ravenna, who, according to the too frequent maternal practice, were seen vying with each other in attracting so rich a purchaser for their daughters, and the young teresa gamba, not yet sixteen, and just emancipated from a convent, was the selected victim. the first time lord byron had ever seen this lady was in the autumn of , when she made her appearance, three days after her marriage, at the house of the countess albrizzi, in all the gaiety of bridal array, and the first delight of exchanging a convent for the world. at this time, however, no acquaintance ensued between them;--it was not till the spring of the present year that, at an evening party of madame benzoni's, they were introduced to each other. the love that sprung out of this meeting was instantaneous and mutual, though with the usual disproportion of sacrifice between the parties; such an event being, to the man, but one of the many scenes of life, while, with woman, it generally constitutes the whole drama. the young italian found herself suddenly inspired with a passion of which, till that moment, her mind could not have formed the least idea;--she had thought of love but as an amusement, and now became its slave. if at the outset, too, less slow to be won than an englishwoman, no sooner did she begin to understand the full despotism of the passion than her heart shrunk from it as something terrible, and she would have escaped, but that the chain was already around her. no words, however, can describe so simply and feelingly as her own, the strong impression which their first meeting left upon her mind:-- "i became acquainted (says madame guiccioli) with lord byron in the april of :--he was introduced to me at venice, by the countess benzoni, at one of that lady's parties. this introduction, which had so much influence over the lives of us both, took place contrary to our wishes, and had been permitted by us only from courtesy. for myself, more fatigued than usual that evening on account of the late hours they keep at venice, i went with great repugnance to this party, and purely in obedience to count guiccioli. lord byron, too, who was averse to forming new acquaintances,--alleging that he had entirely renounced all attachments, and was unwilling any more to expose himself to their consequences,--on being requested by the countess benzoni to allow himself to be presented to me, refused, and, at last, only assented from a desire to oblige her. "his noble and exquisitely beautiful countenance, the tone of his voice, his manners, the thousand enchantments that surrounded him, rendered him so different and so superior a being to any whom i had hitherto seen, that it was impossible he should not have left the most profound impression upon me. from that evening, during the whole of my subsequent stay at venice, we met every day."[ ] [footnote : "nell' aprile del , io feci la conoscenza di lord byron; e mi fu presentato a venezia dalla contessa benzoni nella di lei società. questa presentazione che ebbe tante consequenze per tutti e due fu fatta contro la volontà d'entrambi, e solo per condiscendenza l'abbiamo permessa. io stanca più che mai quella sera par le ore tarde che si costuma fare in venezia andai con molta ripugnanza e solo per ubbidire al conte guiccioli in quella società. lord byron che scansava di fare nuove conoscenze, dicendo sempre che aveva interamente rinunciato alle passioni e che non voleva esporsi più alle loro consequenze, quando la contessa benzoni la pregò di volersi far presentare a me eglì recusò, e solo per la compiàcenza glielo permise. la nobile e bellissima sua fisonomia, il suono della sua voce, le sue maniere, i mille incanti che lo circondavano lo rendevano un essere così differente, così superiore a tutti quelli che io aveva sino allora veduti che non potei a meno di non provarne la più profonda impressione. da quella sera in poi in tutti i giorni che mi fermai in venezia ei siamo seinpre veduti."--ms.] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, may . . "i have got your extract, and the 'vampire.' i need not say it is _not mine_. there is a rule to go by: you are my publisher (till we quarrel), and what is not published by you is not written by me. "next week i set out for romagna--at least, in all probability. you had better go on with the publications, without waiting to hear farther, for i have other things in my head. 'mazeppa' and the 'ode' separate?--what think you? _juan anonymous, without the dedication;_ for i won't be shabby, and attack southey under cloud of night. "yours," &c. * * * * * in another letter on the subject of the vampire, i find the following interesting particulars:-- "to mr. ----. "the story of shelley's agitation is true.[ ] i can't tell what seized him, for he don't want courage. he was once with me in a gale of wind, in a small boat, right under the rocks between meillerie and st. gingo. we were five in the boat--a servant, two boatmen, and ourselves. the sail was mismanaged, and the boat was filling fast. he can't swim. i stripped off my coat, made him strip off his, and take hold of an oar, telling him that i thought (being myself an expert swimmer) i could save him, if he would not struggle when i took hold of him--unless we got smashed against the rocks, which were high and sharp, with an awkward surf on them at that minute. we were then about a hundred yards from shore, and the boat in peril. he answered me with the greatest coolness, 'that he had no notion of being saved, and that i would have enough to do to save myself, and begged not to trouble me.' luckily, the boat righted, and, bailing, we got round a point into st. gingo, where the inhabitants came down and embraced the boatmen on their escape, the wind having been high enough to tear up some huge trees from the alps above us, as we saw next day. "and yet the same shelley, who was as cool as it was possible to be in such circumstances, (of which i am no judge myself, as the chance of swimming naturally gives self-possession when near shore,) certainly had the fit of phantasy which polidori describes, though _not exactly_ as he describes it. "the story of the agreement to write the ghost-books is true; but the ladies are _not_ sisters. mary godwin (now mrs. shelley) wrote frankenstein, which you have reviewed, thinking it shelley's. methinks it is a wonderful book for a girl of nineteen,--not nineteen, indeed, at that time. i enclose you the beginning of mine, by which you will see how far it resembles mr. colburn's publication. if you choose to publish it, you may, _stating why_, and with such explanatory proem as you please. i never went on with it, as you will perceive by the date. i began it in an old account-book of miss milbanke's, which i kept because it contains the word 'household,' written by her twice on the inside blank page of the covers, being the only two scraps i have in the world in her writing, except her name to the deed of separation. her letters i sent back except those of the quarrelling correspondence, and those, being documents, are placed in the hands of a third person, with copies of several of my own; so that i have no kind of memorial whatever of her, but these two words,--and her actions. i have torn the leaves containing the part of the tale out of the book, and enclose them with this sheet. "what do you mean? first you seem hurt by my letter, and then, in your next, you talk of its 'power,' and so forth. 'this is a d----d blind story, jack; but never mind, go on.' you may be sure i said nothing _on purpose_ to plague you; but if you will put me 'in a frenzy, i will never call you _jack_ again.' i remember nothing of the epistle at present. "what do you mean by polidori's _diary_? why, i defy him to say any thing about me, but he is welcome. i have nothing to reproach me with on his score, and i am much mistaken if that is not his _own_ opinion. but why publish the names of the two girls? and in such a manner?--what a blundering piece of exculpation! _he_ asked pictet, &c. to dinner, and of course was left to entertain them. i went into society _solely_ to present _him_ (as i told him), that he might return into good company if he chose; it was the best thing for his youth and circumstances: for myself, i had done with society, and, having presented him, withdrew to my own 'way of life.' it is true that i returned without entering lady dalrymple hamilton's, because i saw it full. it is true that mrs. hervey (she writes novels) fainted at my entrance into coppet, and then came back again. on her fainting, the duchess de broglie exclaimed, 'this is _too much_--at _sixty-five_ years of age!'--i never gave 'the english' an opportunity of avoiding me; but i trust that, if ever i do, they will seize it. with regard to mazeppa and the ode, you may join or separate them, as you please, from the two cantos. "don't suppose i want to put you out of humour. i have a great respect for your good and gentlemanly qualities, and return your personal friendship towards me; and although i think you a little spoilt by 'villanous company,'--wits, persons of honour about town, authors, and fashionables, together with your 'i am just going to call at carlton house, are you walking that way?'--i say, notwithstanding 'pictures, taste, shakspeare, and the musical glasses,' you deserve and possess the esteem of those whose esteem is worth having, and of none more (however useless it may be) than yours very truly, &c. "p.s. make my respects to mr. gifford. i am perfectly aware that 'don juan' must set us all by the ears, but that is my concern, and my beginning. there will be the 'edinburgh,' and all, too, against it, so that, like 'rob roy,' i shall have my hands full." [footnote : this story, as given in the preface to the "vampire," is as follows:-- "it appears that one evening lord b., mr. p.b. shelley, two ladies, and the gentleman before alluded to, after having perused a german work called phantasmagoria, began relating ghost stories, when his lordship having recited the beginning of christabel, then unpublished, the whole took so strong a hold of mr. shelley's mind, that he suddenly started up, and ran out of the room. the physician and lord byron followed, and discovered him leaning against a mantel-piece, with cold drops of perspiration trickling down his face. after having given him something to refresh him, upon enquiring into the cause of his alarm, they found that his wild imagination having pictured to him the bosom of one of the ladies with eyes (which was reported of a lady in the neighbourhood where he lived), he was obliged to leave the room in order to destroy the impression."] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, may . . "i have received no proofs by the last post, and shall probably have quitted venice before the arrival of the next. there wanted a few stanzas to the termination of canto first in the last proof; the next will, i presume, contain them, and the whole or a portion of canto second; but it will be idle to wait for further answers from me, as i have directed that my letters wait for my return (perhaps in a month, and probably so); therefore do not wait for further advice from me. you may as well talk to the wind, and better--for _it_ will at least convey your accents a little further than they would otherwise have gone; whereas _i_ shall neither echo nor acquiesce in your 'exquisite reasons.' you may omit the _note_ of reference to hobhouse's travels, in canto second, and you will put as motto to the whole-- 'difficile est proprie communia dicere.'--horace. "a few days ago i sent you all i know of polidori's vampire. he may do, say, or write, what he pleases, but i wish he would not attribute to me his own compositions. if he has any thing of mine in his possession, the ms. will put it beyond controversy; but i scarcely think that any one who knows me would believe the thing in the magazine to be mine, even if they saw it in my own hieroglyphics. "i write to you in the agonies of a _sirocco_, which annihilates me; and i have been fool enough to do four things since dinner, which are as well omitted in very hot weather: stly, * * * *; dly, to play at billiards from to , under the influence of lighted lamps, that doubled the heat; dly, to go afterwards into a red-hot conversazione of the countess benzoni's; and, thly, to begin this letter at three in the morning: but being begun, it must be finished. "ever very truly and affectionately yours, "b. "p.s. i petition for tooth-brushes, powder, magnesia, macassar oil (or russia), _the_ sashes, and sir nl. wraxall's memoirs of his own times. i want, besides, a bull-dog, a terrier, and two newfoundland dogs; and i want (is it buck's?) a life of _richard d_, advertised by longman _long, long, long_ ago; i asked for it at least three years since. see longman's advertisements." * * * * * about the middle of april, madame guiccioli had been obliged to quit venice with her husband. having several houses on the road from venice to ravenna, it was his habit to stop at these mansions, one after the other, in his journeys between the two cities; and from all these places the enamoured young countess now wrote to lord byron, expressing, in the most passionate and pathetic terms, her despair at leaving him. so utterly, indeed, did this feeling overpower her, that three times, in the course of her first day's journey, she was seized with fainting fits. in one of her letters, which i saw when at venice, dated, if i recollect right, from "cà zen, cavanelle di po," she tells him that the solitude of this place, which she had before found irksome, was, now that one sole idea occupied her mind, become dear and welcome to her, and promises that, as soon as she arrives at ravenna, "she will, according to his wish, avoid all general society, and devote herself to reading, music, domestic occupations, riding on horseback,--every thing, in short, that she knew he would most like." what a change for a young and simple girl, who, but a few weeks before, had thought only of society and the world, but who now saw no other happiness but in the hope of making herself worthy, by seclusion and self-instruction, of the illustrious object of her devotion! on leaving this place, she was attacked with a dangerous illness on the road, and arrived half dead at ravenna; nor was it found possible to revive or comfort her till an assurance was received from lord byron, expressed with all the fervour of real passion, that, in the course of the ensuing month, he would pay her a visit. symptoms of consumption, brought on by her state of mind, had already shown themselves; and, in addition to the pain which this separation had caused her, she was also suffering much grief from the loss of her mother, who, at this time, died in giving birth to her fourteenth child. towards the latter end of may she wrote to acquaint lord byron that, having prepared all her relatives and friends to expect him, he might now, she thought, venture to make his appearance at ravenna. though, on the lady's account, hesitating as to the prudence of such a step, he, in obedience to her wishes, on the d of june, set out from la mira (at which place he had again taken a villa for the summer), and proceeded towards romagna. from padua he addressed a letter to mr. hoppner, chiefly occupied with matters of household concern which that gentleman had undertaken to manage for him at venice, but, on the immediate object of his journey, expressing himself in a tone so light and jesting, as it would be difficult for those not versed in his character to conceive that he could ever bring himself, while under the influence of a passion so sincere, to assume. but such is ever the wantonness of the mocking spirit, from which nothing,--not even love,--remains sacred; and which, at last, for want of other food, turns upon himself. the same horror, too, of hypocrisy that led lord byron to exaggerate his own errors, led him also to disguise, under a seemingly heartless ridicule, all those natural and kindly qualities by which they were redeemed. this letter from padua concludes thus:-- "a journey in an italian june is a conscription; and if i was not the most constant of men, i should now be swimming from the lido, instead of smoking in the dust of padua. should there be letters from england, let them wait my return. and do look at my house and (not lands, but) waters, and scold;--and deal out the monies to edgecombe[ ] with an air of reluctance and a shake of the head--and put queer questions to him--and turn up your nose when he answers. "make my respect to the consules--and to the chevalier--and to scotin--and to all the counts and countesses of our acquaintance. "and believe me ever "your disconsolate and affectionate," &c. [footnote : a clerk of the english consulate, whom he at this time employed to control his accounts.] * * * * * as a contrast to the strange levity of this letter, as well as in justice to the real earnestness of the passion, however censurable in all other respects, that now engrossed him, i shall here transcribe some stanzas which he wrote in the course of this journey to romagna, and which, though already published, are not comprised in the regular collection of his works. "river[ ], that rollest by the ancient walls, where dwells the lady of my love, when she walks by thy brink, and there perchance recalls a faint and fleeting memory of me; "what if thy deep and ample stream should be a mirror of my heart, where she may read the thousand thoughts i now betray to thee, wild as thy wave, and headlong as thy speed! "what do i say--a mirror of my heart? are not thy waters sweeping, dark, and strong? such as my feelings were and are, thou art; and such as thou art were my passions long. "time may have somewhat tamed them,--not for ever; thou overflow'st thy banks, and not for aye thy bosom overboils, congenial river! thy floods subside, and mine have sunk away, "but left long wrecks behind, and now again, borne in our old unchanged career, we move; thou tendest wildly onwards to the main, and i--to loving _one_ i should not love. "the current i behold will sweep beneath her native walls and murmur at her feet; her eyes will look on thee, when she shall breathe the twilight air, unharm'd by summer's heat. "she will look on thee,--i have look'd on thee, full of that thought; and, from that moment, ne'er thy waters could i dream of, name, or see, without the inseparable sigh for her! "her bright eyes will be imaged in thy stream,-- yes! they will meet the wave i gaze on now: mine cannot witness, even in a dream, that happy wave repass me in its flow! "the wave that bears my tears returns no more: will she return by whom that wave shall sweep?-- both tread thy banks, both wander on thy shore, i by thy source, she by the dark-blue deep. "but that which keepeth us apart is not distance, nor depth of wave, nor space of earth. but the distraction of a various lot, as various as the climates of our birth. "a stranger loves the lady of the land, born far beyond the mountains, but his blood is all meridian, as if never fann'd by the black wind that chills the polar flood. "my blood is all meridian; were it not, i had not left my clime, nor should i be, in spite of tortures, ne'er to be forgot, a slave again of love,--at least of thee. "'tis vain to struggle--let me perish young-- live as i lived, and love as i have loved; to dust if i return, from dust i sprung, and then, at least, my heart can ne'er be moved." on arriving at bologna and receiving no further intelligence from the contessa, he began to be of opinion, as we shall perceive in the annexed interesting letters, that he should act most prudently, for all parties, by returning to venice. [footnote : the po.] * * * * * letter . to mr. hoppner. "bologna, june . . "i am at length joined to bologna, where i am settled like a sausage, and shall be broiled like one, if this weather continues. will you thank mengaldo on my part for the ferrara acquaintance, which was a very agreeable one. i stayed two days at ferrara, and was much pleased with the count mosti, and the little the shortness of the time permitted me to see of his family. i went to his conversazione, which is very far superior to any thing of the kind at venice--the women almost all young--several pretty--and the men courteous and cleanly. the lady of the mansion, who is young, lately married, and with child, appeared very pretty by candlelight (i did not see her by day), pleasing in her manners, and very lady-like, or thorough-bred, as we call it in england,--a kind of thing which reminds one of a racer, an antelope, or an italian greyhound. she seems very fond of her husband, who is amiable and accomplished; he has been in england two or three times, and is young. the sister, a countess somebody--i forget what--(they are both maffei by birth, and veronese of course)--is a lady of more display; she sings and plays divinely; but i thought she was a d----d long time about it. her likeness to madame flahaut (miss mercer that was) is something quite extraordinary. "i had but a bird's eye view of these people, and shall not probably see them again; but i am very much obliged to mengaldo for letting me see them at all. whenever i meet with any thing agreeable in this world, it surprises me so much, and pleases me so much (when my passions are not interested one way or the other), that i go on wondering for a week to come. i feel, too, in great admiration of the cardinal legate's red stockings. "i found, too, such a pretty epitaph in the certosa cemetery, or rather two: one was 'martini luigi implora pace;' the other, 'lucrezia picini implora eterna quiete.' that was all; but it appears to me that these two and three words comprise and compress all that can be said on the subject,--and then, in italian, they are absolute music. they contain doubt, hope, and humility; nothing can be more pathetic than the 'implora' and the modesty of the request;--they have had enough of life--they want nothing but rest--they implore it, and 'eterna quiete.' it is like a greek inscription in some good old heathen 'city of the dead.' pray, if i am shovelled into the lido churchyard in your time, let me have the 'implora pace,' and nothing else, for my epitaph. i never met with any, ancient or modern, that pleased me a tenth part so much. "in about a day or two after you receive this letter, i will thank you to desire edgecombe to prepare for my return. i shall go back to venice before i village on the brenta. i shall stay but a few days in bologna. i am just going out to see sights, but shall not present my introductory letters for a day or two, till i have run over again the place and pictures; nor perhaps at all, if i find that i have books and sights enough to do without the inhabitants. after that, i shall return to venice, where you may expect me about the eleventh, or perhaps sooner. pray make my thanks acceptable to mengaldo: my respects to the consuless, and to mr. scott. i hope my daughter is well. "ever yours, and truly. "p.s. i went over the ariosto ms. &c. &c. again at ferrara, with the castle, and cell, and house, &c. &c. "one of the ferrarese asked me if i knew 'lord byron,' an acquaintance of his, _now_ at naples. i told him '_no!_' which was true both ways; for i knew not the impostor, and in the other, no one knows himself. he stared when told that i was 'the real simon pure.' another asked me if i had _not translated_ 'tasso.' you see what _fame_ is! how _accurate!_ how _boundless!_ i don't know how others feel, but i am always the lighter and the better looked on when i have got rid of mine; it sits on me like armour on the lord mayor's champion; and i got rid of all the husk of literature, and the attendant babble, by answering, that i had not translated tasso, but a namesake had; and by the blessing of heaven, i looked so little like a poet, that every body believed me." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "bologna, june . . "tell mr. hobhouse that i wrote to him a few days ago from ferrara. it will therefore be idle in him or you to wait for any further answers or returns of proofs from venice, as i have directed that no english letters be sent after me. the publication can be proceeded in without, and i am already sick of your remarks, to which i think not the least attention ought to be paid. "tell mr. hobhouse that, since i wrote to him, i had availed myself of my ferrara letters, and found the society much younger and better there than at venice. i am very much pleased with the little the shortness of my stay permitted me to see of the gonfaloniere count mosti, and his family and friends in general. "i have been picture-gazing this morning at the famous domenichino and guido, both of which are superlative. i afterwards went to the beautiful cemetery of bologna, beyond the walls, and found, besides the superb burial-ground, an original of a custode, who reminded one of the grave-digger in hamlet. he has a collection of capuchins' skulls, labelled on the forehead, and taking down one of them, said, 'this was brother desiderio berro, who died at forty--one of my best friends. i begged his head of his brethren after his decease, and they gave it me. i put it in lime, and then boiled it. here it is, teeth and all, in excellent preservation. he was the merriest, cleverest fellow i ever knew. wherever he went, he brought joy; and whenever any one was melancholy, the sight of him was enough to make him cheerful again. he walked so actively, you might have taken him for a dancer--he joked--he laughed--oh! he was such a frate as i never saw before, nor ever shall again!' "he told me that he had himself planted all the cypresses in the cemetery; that he had the greatest attachment to them and to his dead people; that since they had buried fifty-three thousand persons. in showing some older monuments, there was that of a roman girl of twenty, with a bust by bernini. she was a princess bartorini, dead two centuries ago: he said that, on opening her grave, they had found her hair complete, and 'as yellow as gold.' some of the epitaphs at ferrara pleased me more than the more splendid monuments at bologna; for instance:-- "martini luigi implora pace; "lucrezia picini implora eterna quiete. can any thing be more full of pathos? those few words say all that can be said or sought: the dead had had enough of life; all they wanted was rest, and this they _implore_! there is all the helplessness, and humble hope, and deathlike prayer, that can arise from the grave--'implora pace.'[ ] i hope, whoever may survive me, and shall see me put in the foreigners' burying-ground at the lido, within the fortress by the adriatic, will see those two words, and no more, put over me. i trust they won't think of 'pickling, and bringing me home to clod or blunderbuss hall.' i am sure my bones would not rest in an english grave, or my clay mix with the earth of that country. i believe the thought would drive me mad on my deathbed, could i suppose that any of my friends would be base enough to convey my carcass back to your soil. i would not even feed your worms, if i could help it. "so, as shakspeare says of mowbray, the banished duke of norfolk, who died at venice (see richard ii.) that he, after fighting "'against black pagans, turks, and saracens, and toiled with works of war, retired himself to italy, and there, at _venice_, gave his body to that _pleasant_ country's earth, and his pure soul unto his captain, christ, under whose colours he had fought so long.' "before i left venice, i had returned to you your late, and mr. hobhouse's sheets of juan. don't wait for further answers from me, but address yours to venice, as usual. i know nothing of my own movements; i may return there in a few days, or not for some time. all this depends on circumstances. i left mr. hoppner very well. my daughter allegra was well too, and is growing pretty; her hair is growing darker, and her eyes are blue. her temper and her ways, mr. hoppner says, are like mine, as well as her features: she will make, in that case, a manageable young lady. "i have never heard any thing of ada, the little electra of mycenae. but there will come a day of reckoning, even if i should not live to see it.[ ] what a long letter i have scribbled! yours, &c. "p.s. here, as in greece, they strew flowers on the tombs. i saw a quantity of rose-leaves, and entire roses, scattered over the graves at ferrara. it has the most pleasing effect you can imagine." [footnote : though lord byron, like most other persons, in writing to different friends, was sometimes led to repeat the same circumstances and thoughts, there is, from the ever ready fertility of his mind, much less of such repetition in his correspondence than in that, perhaps, of any other multifarious letter-writer; and, in the instance before us, where the same facts and reflections are, for the second time, introduced, it is with such new touches, both of thought and expression, as render them, even a second time, interesting;--what is wanting in the novelty of the matter being made up by the new aspect given to it.] [footnote : there were, in the former edition, both here and in a subsequent letter, some passages reflecting upon the late sir samuel romilly, which, in my anxiety to lay open the workings of lord byron's mind upon a subject in which so much of his happiness and character were involved, i had been induced to retain, though aware of the erroneous impression under which they were written;--the evident morbidness of the feeling that dictated the attack, and the high, stainless reputation of the person assailed, being sufficient, i thought, to neutralise any ill effects such reflections might otherwise have produced. as i find it, however, to be the opinion of all those whose opinions i most respect, that, even with these antidotes, such an attack upon such a man ought not to be left on record, i willingly expunge all trace of it from these pages.] * * * * * while he was thus lingering irresolute at bologna, the countess guiccioli had been attacked with an intermittent fever, the violence of which, combining with the absence of a confidential person to whom she had been in the habit of intrusting her letters, prevented her from communicating with him. at length, anxious to spare him the disappointment of finding her so ill on his arrival, she had begun a letter, requesting that he would remain at bologna till the visit to which she looked forward should bring her there also; and was in the act of writing, when a friend came in to announce the arrival of an english lord in ravenna. she could not doubt for an instant that it was her noble friend; and he had, in fact, notwithstanding his declaration to mr. hoppner that it was his intention to return to venice immediately, wholly altered this resolution before the letter announcing it was despatched,--the following words being written on the outside cover:--"i am just setting off for ravenna, june . .--i changed my mind this morning, and decided to go on." the reader, however, shall have madame guiccioli's own account of these events, which, fortunately for the interest of my narration, i am enabled to communicate. "on my departure from venice, he had promised to come and see me at ravenna. dante's tomb, the classical pine wood[ ], the relics of antiquity which are to be found in that place, afforded a sufficient pretext for me to invite him to come, and for him to accept my invitation. he came, in fact, in the month of june, arriving at ravenna on the day of the festival of the corpus domini; while i, attacked by a consumptive complaint, which had its origin from the moment of my quitting venice, appeared on the point of death. the arrival of a distinguished foreigner at ravenna, a town so remote from the routes ordinarily followed by travellers, was an event which gave rise to a good deal of conversation. his motives for such a visit became the subject of discussion, and these he himself afterwards involuntarily divulged; for having made some enquiries with a view to paying me a visit, and being told that it was unlikely that he would ever see me again, as i was at the point of death, he replied, if such were the case, he hoped that he should die also; which circumstance, being repeated, revealed the object of his journey. count guiccioli, having been acquainted with lord byron at venice, went to visit him now, and in the hope that his presence might amuse, and be of some use to me in the state in which i then found myself, invited him to call upon me. he came the day following. it is impossible to describe the anxiety he showed,--the delicate attentions that he paid me. for a long time he had perpetually medical books in his hands; and not trusting my physicians, he obtained permission from count guiccioli to send for a very clever physician, a friend of his, in whom he placed great confidence. the attentions of professor aglietti (for so this celebrated italian was called), together with tranquillity, and the inexpressible happiness which i experienced in lord byron's society, had so good an effect on my health, that only two months afterwards i was able to accompany my husband in a tour he was obliged to make to visit his various estates."[ ] [footnote : "tal qual di ramo in ramo si raccoglie per la pineta in sul lito di chiassi, quando eolo scirocco fuor discioglie." dante, purg. canto xxviii. dante himself (says mr. carey, in one of the notes on his admirable translation of this poet) "perhaps wandered in this wood during his abode with guido novello da polenta."] [footnote : "partendo io da venezia egli promise di venir a vedermi a ravenna. la tomba di dante, il classico bosco di pini, gli avvanzi di antichità che a ravenna si trovano davano a me ragioni plausibili per invitarlo a venire, ed a lui per accettare l'invito. egli venne difatti nel mese guigno, e giunse a ravenna nel giorno della solennità del corpus domini, mentre io attaccata da una malattia de consunzione ch' ebbe principio dalla mia partenza da venezia ero vicina a morire. l'arrivo in ravenna d'un forestiero distinto, in un paese così lontano dalle strade che ordinariamente tengono i viaggiatori era un avvenimento del quale molto si parlava, indagandosene i motivi, che involontariamente poi egli feci conoscere. perchè avendo egli domandato di me per venire a vedermi ed essendogli risposto 'che non potrebbe vedermi più perchè ero vicina a morire'--egli rispose che in quel caso voleva morire egli pure; la qual cosa essendosi poi ripetata si conobbe cosi l'oggetto del suo viaggio. "il conte guiccioli visitò lord byron, essendolo conosciuto in venezia, e nella speranza che la di lui compagnia potesse distrarmi ed essermi di qualche giovamento nello stato in cui mi trovavo egli lo invitò di venire a visitarmi. il giorno appresso egli venne. non si potrebbero descrivere le cure, i pensieri delicati, quanto egli fece per me. per molto tempo egli non ebbe per le mani che dei libri di medicina; e poco confidandosi nel miei medici ottenne dal conte guiccioli il permesso di far venire un valente medico di lui amico nel quale egli aveva molta confidenza. le cure del professore aglietti (cosi si chiama questo distinto italiano) la tranquillità, anzi la felicità inesprimibile che mi cagionava la presenza di lord byron migliorarono così rapidamente la mia salute che entro lo spazio di due mesi potei seguire mio marito in un giro che egli doveva fare per le sue terre."--ms.] * * * * * letter . to mr. hoppner. "ravenna, june . . "i wrote to you from padua, and from bologna, and since from ravenna. i find my situation very agreeable, but want my horses very much, there being good riding in the environs. i can fix no time for my return to venice--it may be soon or late--or not at all--it all depends on the donna, whom i found very seriously in _bed_ with a cough and spitting of blood, &c. all of which has subsided. i found all the people here firmly persuaded that she would never recover;--they were mistaken, however. "my letters were useful as far as i employed them; and i like both the place and people, though i don't trouble the latter more than i can help _she_ manages very well--but if i come away with a stiletto in my gizzard some fine afternoon, i shall not be astonished. i can't make _him_ out at all--he visits me frequently, and takes me out (like whittington, the lord mayor) in a coach and _six_ horses. the fact appears to be, that he is completely _governed_ by her--for that matter, so am i.[ ] the people here don't know what to make of us, as he had the character of jealousy with all his wives--this is the third. he is the richest of the ravennese, by their own account, but is not popular among them. now do, pray, send off augustine, and carriage and cattle, to bologna, without fail or delay, or i shall lose my remaining shred of senses. don't forget this. my coming, going, and every thing, depend upon her entirely, just as mrs. hoppner (to whom i remit my reverences) said in the true spirit of female prophecy. "you are but a shabby fellow not to have written before. and i am truly yours," &c. [footnote : that this task of "governing" him was one of more ease than, from the ordinary view of his character, might be concluded, i have more than once, in these pages, expressed my opinion, and shall here quote, in corroboration of it, the remark of his own servant (founded on an observation of more than twenty years), in speaking of his master's matrimonial fate:-- "it is very odd, but i never yet knew a lady that could not manage my lord, _except_ my lady." "more knowledge," says johnson, "may be gained of a man's real character by a short conversation with one of his servants than from the most formal and studied narrative."] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "ravenna, june . . "the letters have been forwarded from venice, but i trust that you will not have waited for further alterations--i will make none. "i have no time to return you the proofs--publish without them. i am glad you think the poesy good; and as to 'thinking of the effect,' think _you_ of the sale, and leave me to pluck the porcupines who may point their quills at you. "i have been here (at ravenna) these four weeks, having left venice a month ago;--i came to see my 'amica,' the countess guiccioli, who has been, and still continues, very unwell. * * she is only in her seventeenth, but not of a strong constitution. she has a perpetual cough and an intermittent fever, but bears up most _gallantly_ in every sense of the word. her husband (this is his third wife) is the richest noble of ravenna, and almost of romagna; he is also _not_ the youngest, being upwards of three-score, but in good preservation. all this will appear strange to you, who do not understand the meridian morality, nor our way of life in such respects, and i cannot at present expound the difference;--but you would find it much the same in these parts. at faenza there is lord * * * * with an opera girl; and at the inn in the same town is a neapolitan prince, who serves the wife of the gonfaloniere of that city. i am on duty here--so you see 'così fan tut_ti_ e tut_te_.' "i have my horses here, _saddle_ as well as carriage, and ride or drive every day in the forest, the _pineta_, the scene of boccaccio's novel, and dryden's fable of honoria, &c. &c.; and i see my dama every day; but i feel seriously uneasy about her health, which seems very precarious. in losing her, i should lose a being who has run great risks on my account, and whom i have every reason to love--but i must not think this possible. i do not know what i _should_ do if she died, but i ought to blow my brains out--and i hope that i should. her husband is a very polite personage, but i wish he would not carry me out in his coach and six, like whittington and his cat. "you ask me if i mean to continue d.j. &c. how should i know? what encouragement do you give me, all of you, with your nonsensical prudery? publish the two cantos, and then you will see. i desired mr. kinnaird to speak to you on a little matter of business; either he has not spoken, or you have not answered. you are a pretty pair, but i will be even with you both. i perceive that mr. hobhouse has been challenged by major cartwright--is the major 'so cunning of fence?'--why did not they fight?--they ought. "yours," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. hoppner. "ravenna, july . . "thanks for your letter and for madame's. i will answer it directly. will you recollect whether i did not consign to you one or two receipts of madame mocenigo's for house-rent--(i am not sure of this, but think i did--if not, they will be in my drawers)--and will you desire mr. dorville[ ] to have the goodness to see if edgecombe has _receipts_ to all payments _hitherto_ made by him on my account, and that there are _no debts_ at venice? on your answer, i shall send order of further remittance to carry on my household expenses, as my present return to venice is very problematical; and it may happen--but i can say nothing positive--every thing with me being indecisive and undecided, except the disgust which venice excites when fairly compared with any other city in this part of italy. when i say _venice_, i mean the _venetians_--the city itself is superb as its history--but the people are what i never thought them till they taught me to think so. "the best way will be to leave allegra with antonio's spouse till i can decide something about her and myself--but i thought that you would have had an answer from mrs. v----r.[ ] you have had bore enough with me and mine already. "i greatly fear that the guiccioli is going into a consumption, to which her constitution tends. thus it is with every thing and every body for whom i feel any thing like a real attachment;--'war, death, or discord, doth lay siege to them.' i never even could keep alive a dog that i liked or that liked me. her symptoms are obstinate cough of the lungs, and occasional fever, &c. &c. and there are latent causes of an eruption in the skin, which she foolishly repelled into the system two years ago: but i have made them send her case to aglietti; and have begged him to come--if only for a day or two--to consult upon her state. "if it would not bore mr. dorville, i wish he would keep an eye on e---- and on my other ragamuffins. i might have more to say, but i am absorbed about la gui. and her illness. i cannot tell you the effect it has upon me. "the horses came, &c. &c. and i have been galloping through the pine forest daily. "believe me, &c. "p.s. my benediction on mrs. hoppner, a pleasant journey among the bernese tyrants, and safe return. you ought to bring back a platonic bernese for my reformation. if any thing happens to my present amica, i have done with the passion for ever--it is my _last_ love. as to libertinism, i have sickened myself of that, as was natural in the way i went on, and i have at least derived that advantage from vice, to _love_ in the better sense of the word. _this_ will be my last adventure--i can hope no more to inspire attachment, and i trust never again to feel it." [footnote : the vice-consul of mr. hoppner.] [footnote : an english widow lady, of considerable property in the north of england, who, having seen the little allegra at mr. hoppner's, took an interest in the poor child's fate, and having no family of her own, offered to adopt and provide for this little girl, if lord byron would consent to renounce all claim to her. at first he seemed not disinclined to enter into her views--so far, at least, as giving permission that she should take the child with her to england and educate it; but the entire surrender of his paternal authority he would by no means consent to. the proposed arrangement accordingly was never carried into effect.] * * * * * the impression which, i think, cannot but be entertained, from some passages of these letters, of the real fervour and sincerity of his attachment to madame guiccioli[ ], would be still further confirmed by the perusal of his letters to that lady herself, both from venice and during his present stay at ravenna--all bearing, throughout, the true marks both of affection and passion. such effusions, however, are but little suited to the general eye. it is the tendency of all strong feeling, from dwelling constantly on the same idea, to be monotonous; and those often-repeated vows and verbal endearments, which make the charm of true love-letters to the parties concerned in them, must for ever render even the best of them cloying to others. those of lord byron to madame guiccioli, which are for the most part in italian, and written with a degree of ease and correctness attained rarely by foreigners, refer chiefly to the difficulties thrown in the way of their meetings,--not so much by the husband himself, who appears to have liked and courted lord byron's society, as by the watchfulness of other relatives, and the apprehension felt by themselves lest their intimacy should give uneasiness to the father of the lady, count gamba, a gentleman to whose good nature and amiableness of character all who know him bear testimony. in the near approaching departure of the young countess for bologna, lord byron foresaw a risk of their being again separated; and under the impatience of this prospect, though through the whole of his preceding letters the fear of committing her by any imprudence seems to have been his ruling thought, he now, with that wilfulness of the moment which has so often sealed the destiny of years, proposed that she should, at once, abandon her husband and fly with him:--"c'è uno solo rimedio efficace," he says,--"cioè d' andar vià insieme." to an italian wife, almost every thing but this is permissible. the same system which so indulgently allows her a friend, as one of the regular appendages of her matrimonial establishment, takes care also to guard against all unseemly consequences of this privilege; and in return for such convenient facilities of wrong exacts rigidly an observance of all the appearances of right. accordingly, the open step of deserting the husband for the lover instead of being considered, as in england, but a sign and sequel of transgression, takes rank, in italian morality, as the main transgression itself; and being an offence, too, rendered wholly unnecessary by the latitude otherwise enjoyed, becomes, from its rare occurrence, no less monstrous than odious. the proposition, therefore, of her noble friend seemed to the young contessa little less than sacrilege, and the agitation of her mind, between the horrors of such a step, and her eager readiness to give up all and every thing for him she adored, was depicted most strongly in her answer to the proposal. in a subsequent letter, too, the romantic girl even proposed, as a means of escaping the ignominy of an elopement, that she should, like another juliet, "pass for dead,"--assuring him that there were many easy ways of effecting such a deception. [footnote : "during my illness," says madame guiccioli, in her recollections of this period, "he was for ever near me, paying me the most amiable attentions, and when i became convalescent he was constantly at my side. in society, at the theatre, riding, walking, he never was absent from me. being deprived at that time of his books, his horses, and all that occupied him at venice, i begged him to gratify me by writing something on the subject of dante, and, with his usual facility and rapidity, he composed his 'prophecy.'"--"durante la mia malattia l.b. era sempre presso di me, prestandomi le più sensibili cure, e quando passai allo stato di convalescenza egli era sempre al mio fianco;--e in società, e al teatro, e cavalcando, e passeggiando egli non si allontanava mai da me. in quel' epoca essendo egli privo de' suoi libri, e de' suoi cavalli, e di tuttociò che lo occupava in venezia io lo pregai di volersi occupare per me scrivendo qualche cosa sul dante; ed egli colla usata sua facilita e rapidita scrisse la sua profezia."] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "ravenna, august . . [address your answer to venice, however.] "don't be alarmed. you will see me defend myself gaily--that is, if i happen to be in spirits; and by spirits, i don't mean your meaning of the word, but the spirit of a bull-dog when pinched, or a bull when pinned; it is then that they make best sport; and as my sensations under an attack are probably a happy compound of the united energies of these amiable animals, you may perhaps see what marrall calls 'rare sport,' and some good tossing and goring, in the course of the controversy. but i must be in the right cue first, and i doubt i am almost too far off to be in a sufficient fury for the purpose. and then i have effeminated and enervated myself with love and the summer in these last two months. "i wrote to mr. hobhouse, the other day, and foretold that juan would either fall entirely or succeed completely; there will be no medium. appearances are not favourable; but as you write the day after publication, it can hardly be decided what opinion will predominate. you seem in a fright, and doubtless with cause. come what may i never will flatter the million's canting in any shape. circumstances may or may not have placed me at times in a situation to lead the public opinion, but the public opinion never led, nor ever shall lead, me. i will not sit on a degraded throne; so pray put messrs. * * or * *, or tom moore, or * * * upon it; they will all of them be transported with their coronation. "p.s. the countess guiccioli is much better than she was. i sent you, before leaving venice, the real original sketch which gave rise to the 'vampire,' &c.--did you get it?" * * * * * this letter was, of course (like most of those he addressed to england at this time), intended to be shown; and having been, among others, permitted to see it, i took occasion, in my very next communication to lord byron, to twit him a little with the passage in it relating to myself,--the only one, as far as i can learn, that ever fell from my noble friend's pen during our intimacy, in which he has spoken of me otherwise than in terms of kindness and the most undeserved praise. transcribing his own words, as well as i could recollect them, at the top of my letter, i added, underneath, "is _this_ the way you speak of your friends?" not long after, too, when visiting him at venice, i remember making the same harmless little sneer a subject of raillery with him; but he declared boldly that he had no recollection of having ever written such words, and that, if they existed, "he must have been half asleep when he wrote them." i have mentioned the circumstance merely for the purpose of remarking, that with a sensibility vulnerable at so many points as his was, and acted upon by an imagination so long practised in self-tormenting, it is only wonderful that, thinking constantly, as his letters prove him to have been, of distant friends, and receiving from few or none equal proofs of thoughtfulness in return, he should not more frequently have broken out into such sallies against the absent and "unreplying." for myself, i can only say that, from the moment i began to unravel his character, the most slighting and even acrimonious expressions that i could have heard he had, in a fit of spleen, uttered against me, would have no more altered my opinion of his disposition, nor disturbed my affection for him, than the momentary clouding over of a bright sky could leave an impression on the mind of gloom, after its shadow had passed away. * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "ravenna, august . . "talking of blunders reminds me of ireland--ireland of moore. what is this i see in galignani about 'bermuda--agent--deputy--appeal--attachment,' &c.? what is the matter? is it any thing in which his friends can be of use to him? pray inform me. "of don juan i hear nothing further from you; * * *, but the papers don't seem so fierce as the letter you sent me seemed to anticipate, by their extracts at least in galignani's messenger. i never saw such a set of fellows as you are! and then the pains taken to exculpate the modest publisher--he remonstrated, forsooth! i will write a preface that _shall_ exculpate _you_ and * * *, &c. completely, on that point; but, at the same time, i will cut you up, like gourds. you have no more soul than the count de caylus, (who assured his friends, on his death-bed, that he had none, and that _he_ must know better than they whether he had one or no,) and no more blood than a water-melon! and i see there hath been asterisks, and what perry used to called 'd_o_mned cutting and slashing'--but, never mind. "i write in haste. to-morrow i set off for bologna. i write to you with thunder, lightning, &c. and all the winds of heaven whistling through my hair, and the racket of preparation to boot. 'my mistress dear, who hath fed my heart upon smiles and wine' for the last two months, set off with her husband for bologna this morning, and it seems that i follow him at three to-morrow morning. i cannot tell how our romance will end, but it hath gone on hitherto most erotically. such perils and escapes! juan's are as child's play in comparison. the fools think that all my _poeshie_ is always allusive to my _own_ adventures: i have had at one time or another better and more extraordinary and perilous and pleasant than these, every day of the week, if i might tell them; but that must never be. "i hope mrs. m. has accouched. "yours ever." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "bologna, august . . "i do not know how far i may be able to reply to your letter, for i am not very well to-day. last night i went to the representation of alfieri's mirra, the two last acts of which threw me into convulsions. i do not mean by that word a lady's hysterics, but the agony of reluctant tears, and the choking shudder, which i do not often undergo for fiction. this is but the second time for any thing under reality: the first was on seeing kean's sir giles overreach. the worst was, that the 'dama' in whose box i was, went off in the same way, i really believe more from fright than any other sympathy--at least with the players: but she has been ill, and i have been ill, and we are all languid and pathetic this morning, with great expenditure of sal volatile.[ ] but, to return to your letter of the d of july. "you are right, gifford is right, crabbe is right, hobhouse is right--you are all right, and i am all wrong; but do, pray, let me have that pleasure. cut me up root and branch; quarter me in the quarterly; send round my 'disjecti membra poetæ,' like those of the levite's concubine; make me, if you will, a spectacle to men and angels; but don't ask me to alter, for i won't:--i am obstinate and lazy--and there's the truth. "but, nevertheless, i will answer your friend p * *, who objects to the quick succession of fun and gravity, as if in that case the gravity did not (in intention, at least) heighten the fun. his metaphor is, that 'we are never scorched and drenched at the same time.' blessings on his experience! ask him these questions about 'scorching and drenching.' did he never play at cricket, or walk a mile in hot weather? did he never spill a dish of tea over himself in handing the cup to his charmer, to the great shame of his nankeen breeches? did he never swim in the sea at noonday with the sun in his eyes and on his head, which all the foam of ocean could not cool? did he never draw his foot out of too hot water, d----ning his eyes and his valet's? did he never tumble into a river or lake, fishing, and sit in his wet clothes in the boat, or on the bank, afterwards 'scorched and drenched,' like a true sportsman? 'oh for breath to utter!'--but make him my compliments; he is a clever fellow for all that--a very clever fellow. "you ask me for the plan of donny johnny: i _have_ no plan; i _had_ no plan; but i had or have materials; though if, like tony lumpkin, 'i am to be snubbed so when i am in spirits,' the poem will be naught, and the poet turn serious again. if it don't take, i will leave it off where it is, with all due respect to the public; but if continued, it must be in my own way. you might as well make hamlet (or diggory) 'act mad' in a strait waistcoat as trammel my buffoonery, if i am to be a buffoon; their gestures and my thoughts would only be pitiably absurd and ludicrously constrained. why, man, the soul of such writing is its licence; at least the _liberty_ of that _licence_, if one likes--_not_ that one should abuse it. it is like trial by jury and peerage and the habeas corpus--a very fine thing, but chiefly in the _reversion;_ because no one wishes to be tried for the mere pleasure of proving his possession of the privilege. "but a truce with these reflections. you are too earnest and eager about a work never intended to be serious. do you suppose that i could have any intention but to giggle and make giggle?--a playful satire, with as little poetry as could be helped, was what i meant. and as to the indecency, do, pray, read in boswell what _johnson_, the sullen moralist, says of _prior_ and paulo purgante. "will you get a favour done for me? _you_ can, by your government friends, croker, canning, or my old schoolfellow peel, and i can't. here it is. will you ask them to appoint (_without salary or emolument_) a noble italian (whom i will name afterwards) consul or vice-consul for ravenna? he is a man of very large property,--noble, too; but he wishes to have a british protection, in case of changes. ravenna is near the sea. he wants no _emolument_ whatever. that his office might be useful, i know; as i lately sent off from ravenna to trieste a poor devil of an english sailor, who had remained there sick, sorry, and pennyless (having been set ashore in ), from the want of any accredited agent able or willing to help him homewards. will you get this done? if you do, i will then send his name and condition, subject, of course, to rejection, if _not_ approved when known. "i know that in the levant you make consuls and vice-consuls, perpetually, of foreigners. this man is a patrician, and has twelve thousand a year. his motive is a british protection in case of new invasions. don't you think croker would do it for us? to be sure, my _interest_ is rare!! but, perhaps, a brother wit in the tory line might do a good turn at the request of so harmless and long absent a whig, particularly as there is no _salary_ or _burden_ of any sort to be annexed to the office. "i can assure you, i should look upon it as a great obligation; but, alas! that very circumstance may, very probably, operate to the contrary--indeed, it ought; but i have, at least, been an honest and an open enemy. amongst your many splendid government connections, could not you, think you, get our bibulus made a consul? or make me one, that i may make him my vice. you may be assured that, in case of accidents in italy, he would be no feeble adjunct--as you would think, if you knew his patrimony. "what is all this about tom moore? but why do i ask? since the state of my own affairs would not permit me to be of use to him, though they are greatly improved since , and may, with some more luck and a little prudence, become quite clear. it seems his claimants are _american_ merchants? _there goes nemesis!_ moore abused america. it is always thus in the long run:--time, the avenger. you have seen every trampler down, in turn, from buonaparte to the simplest individuals. you saw how some were avenged even upon my insignificance, and how in turn * * * paid for his atrocity. it is an odd world; but the watch has its mainspring, after all. "so the prince has been repealing lord edward fitzgerald's forfeiture? _ecco un' sonetto!_ "to be the father of the fatherless, to stretch the hand from the throne's height, and raise _his_ offspring, who expired in other days to make thy sire's sway by a kingdom less,-- _this_ is to be a monarch, and repress envy into unutterable praise. dismiss thy guard, and trust thee to such traits, for who would lift a hand, except to bless? were it not easy, sir, and is't not sweet to make thyself beloved? and to be omnipotent by mercy's means? for thus thy sovereignty would grow but more complete, a despot thou, and yet thy people free, and by the heart, not hand, enslaving us. "there, you dogs! there's a sonnet for you: you won't have such as that in a hurry from mr. fitzgerald. you may publish it with my name, an' ye wool. he deserves all praise, bad and good; it was a very noble piece of principality. would you like an epigram--a translation? "if for silver, or for gold, you could melt ten thousand pimples into half a dozen dimples, then your face we might behold, looking, doubtless, much more snugly, yet ev'n _then_ 'twould be d----d _ugly_. "this was written on some frenchwoman, by rulhieres, i believe. yours." [footnote : the "dama," in whose company he witnessed this representation, thus describes its effect upon him:--"the play was that of mirra; the actors, and particularly the actress who performed the part of mirra, seconded with much success the intentions of our great dramatist. lord byron took a strong interest in the representation, and it was evident that he was deeply affected. at length there came a point of the performance at which he could no longer restrain his emotions;--he burst into a flood of tears, and, his sobs preventing him from remaining any longer in the box, he rose and left the theatre.--i saw him similarly affected another time during a representation of alfieri's 'philip,' at ravenna."--"gli attori, e specialmente l' attrice che rappresentava mirra secondava assai bene la mente del nostro grande tragico. l.b. prece molto interesse alla rappresentazione, e si conosceva che era molto commosso. venne un punto poi della tragedia in cui non potè più frenare la sua emozione,--diede in un diretto pianto e i singhiozzi gl' impedirono di più restare nel palco; onde si levò, e parti dal teatro. in uno stato simile lo viddi un altra volta a ravenna ad una rappresentazione del filippo d'alfieri."] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "bologna, august . . "i send you a letter to r * *ts, signed wortley clutterbuck, which you may publish in what form you please, in answer to his article. i have had many proofs of men's absurdity, but he beats all in folly. why, the wolf in sheep's clothing has tumbled into the very trap! we'll strip him. the letter is written in great haste, and amidst a thousand vexations. your letter only came yesterday, so that there is no time to polish: the post goes out to-morrow. the date is 'little piddlington.' let * * * * correct the press: he knows and can read the handwriting. continue to keep the _anonymous_ about 'juan;' it helps us to fight against overwhelming numbers. i have a thousand distractions at present; so excuse haste, and wonder i can act or write at all. answer by post, as usual. "yours. "p.s. if i had had time, and been quieter and nearer, i would have cut him to hash; but as it is, you can judge for yourselves." * * * * * the letter to the reviewer, here mentioned, had its origin in rather an amusing circumstance. in the first canto of don juan appeared the following passage:-- "for fear some prudish readers should grow skittish, i've bribed my grandmother's review,--the british! "i sent it in a letter to the editor, who thank'd me duly by return of post-- i'm for a handsome article his creditor; yet if my gentle muse he please to roast, and break a promise after having made it her, denying the receipt of what it cost, and smear his page with gall instead of honey, all i can say is--that he had the money." on the appearance of the poem, the learned editor of the review in question allowed himself to be decoyed into the ineffable absurdity of taking the charge as serious, and, in his succeeding number, came forth with an indignant contradiction of it. to this tempting subject the letter, written so hastily off at bologna, related; but, though printed for mr. murray, in a pamphlet consisting of twenty-three pages, it was never published by him.[ ] being valuable, however, as one of the best specimens we have of lord byron's simple and thoroughly english prose, i shall here preserve some extracts from it. [footnote : it appeared afterwards in the liberal.] * * * * * "to the editor of the british review. "my dear r----ts, "as a believer in the church of england--to say nothing of the state--i have been an occasional reader, and great admirer, though not a subscriber, to your review. but i do not know that any article of its contents ever gave me much surprise till the eleventh of your late twenty-seventh number made its appearance. you have there most manfully refuted a calumnious accusation of bribery and corruption, the credence of which in the public mind might not only have damaged your reputation as a clergyman and an editor, but, what would have been still worse, have injured the circulation of your journal; which, i regret to hear, is not so extensive as the 'purity (as you well observe) of its, &c. &c.' and the present taste for propriety, would induce us to expect. the charge itself is of a solemn nature; and, although in verse, is couched in terms of such circumstantial gravity as to induce a belief little short of that generally accorded to the thirty-nine articles, to which you so generously subscribed on taking your degrees. it is a charge the most revolting to the heart of man from its frequent occurrence; to the mind of a statesman from its occasional truth; and to the soul of an editor from its moral impossibility. you are charged then in the last line of one octave stanza, and the whole eight lines of the next, viz. th and th of the first canto of that 'pestilent poem,' don juan, with receiving, and still more foolishly acknowledging, the receipt of certain moneys to eulogise the unknown author, who by this account must be known to you, if to nobody else. an impeachment of this nature, so seriously made, there is but one way of refuting; and it is my firm persuasion, that whether you did or did not (and _i_ believe that you did not) receive the said moneys, of which i wish that he had specified the sum, you are quite right in denying all knowledge of the transaction. if charges of this nefarious description are to go forth, sanctioned by all the solemnity of circumstance, and guaranteed by the veracity of verse (as counsellor phillips would say), what is to become of readers hitherto implicitly confident in the not less veracious prose of our critical journals? what is to become of the reviews; and, if the reviews fail, what is to become of the editors? it is common cause, and you have done well to sound the alarm. i myself, in my humble sphere, will be one of your echoes. in the words of the tragedian liston, 'i love a row,' and you seem justly determined to make one. "it is barely possible, certainly improbable, that the writer might have been in jest; but this only aggravates his crime. a joke, the proverb says, 'breaks no bones;' but it may break a bookseller, or it may be the cause of bones being broken. the jest is but a bad one at the best for the author, and might have been a still worse one for you, if your copious contradiction did not certify to all whom it may concern your own indignant innocence, and the immaculate purity of the british review. i do not doubt your word, my dear r----ts, yet i cannot help wishing that, in a case of such vital importance, it had assumed the more substantial shape of an affidavit sworn before the lord mayor atkins, who readily receives any deposition; and doubtless would have brought it in some way as evidence of the designs of the reformers to set fire to london, at the same time that he himself meditates the same good office towards the river thames. "i recollect hearing, soon after the publication, this subject discussed at the tea-table of mr. * * * the poet,--and mrs. and the misses * * * * * being in a corner of the room perusing the proof sheets of mr. * * *'s poems, the male part of the _conversazione_ were at liberty to make some observations on the poem and passage in question, and there was a difference of opinion. some thought the allusion was to the 'british critic;' others, that by the expression 'my grandmother's review,' it was intimated that 'my grandmother' was not the reader of the review, but actually the writer; thereby insinuating, my dear mr. r----ts, that you were an old woman; because, as people often say, 'jeffrey's review," 'gifford's review,' in lieu of edinburgh and quarterly, so 'my grandmother's review' and r----ts's might be also synonymous. now, whatever colour this insinuation might derive from the circumstance of your wearing a gown, as well as from your time of life, your general style, and various passages of your writings,--i will take upon myself to exculpate you from all suspicion of the kind, and assert, without calling mrs. r----ts in testimony, that if ever you should be chosen pope, you will pass through all the previous ceremonies with as much credit as any pontiff since the parturition of joan. it is very unfair to judge of sex from writings, particularly from those of the british review. we are all liable to be deceived, and it is an indisputable fact that many of the best articles in your journal, which were attributed to a veteran female, were actually written by you yourself, and yet to this day there are people who could never find out the difference. but let us return to the more immediate question. "i agree with you that it is impossible lord b. should be the author, not only because, as a british peer and a british poet, it would be impracticable for him to have recourse to such facetious fiction, but for some other reasons which you have omitted to state. in the first place, his lordship has no grandmother. now the author--and we may believe him in this--doth expressly state that the 'british' is his 'grandmother's review;' and if, as i think i have distinctly proved, this was not a mere figurative allusion to your supposed intellectual age and sex, my dear friend, it follows, whether you be she or no, that there is such an elderly lady still extant. "shall i give you what i think a prudent opinion? i don't mean to insinuate, god forbid! but if, by any accident, there should have been such a correspondence between you and the unknown author, whoever he may be, send him back his money; i dare say he will be very glad to have it again; it can't be much, considering the value of the article and the circulation of the journal; and you are too modest to rate your praise beyond its real worth:--don't be angry, i know you won't, at this appraisement of your powers of eulogy: for on the other hand, my dear fellow, depend upon it your abuse is worth, not its own weight, that's a feather, but _your_ weight in gold. so don't spare it; if he has bargained for _that_, give it handsomely, and depend upon your doing him a friendly office. "what the motives of this writer may have been for (as you magnificently translate his quizzing you) 'stating, with the particularity which belongs to fact, the forgery of a groundless fiction,' (do, pray, my dear r., talk a little less 'in king cambyses' vein,') i cannot pretend to say; perhaps to laugh at you, but that is no reason for your benevolently making all the world laugh also. i approve of your being angry, i tell you i am angry too, but you should not have shown it so outrageously. your solemn '_if_ somebody personating the editor of the, &c. &c. has received from lord b. or from any other person,' reminds me of charley incledon's usual exordium when people came into the tavern to hear him sing without paying their share of the reckoning--'if a maun, or _ony_ maun, or _ony other_ maun,' &c. &c.; you have both the same redundant eloquence. but why should you think any body would personate you? nobody would dream of such a prank who ever read your compositions, and perhaps not many who have heard your conversation. but i have been inoculated with a little of your prolixity. the fact is, my dear r----ts, that somebody has tried to make a fool of you, and what he did not succeed in doing, you have done for him and for yourself." * * * * * towards the latter end of august, count guiccioli, accompanied by his lady, went for a short time to visit some of his romagnese estates, while lord byron remained at bologna alone. and here, with a heart softened and excited by the new feeling that had taken possession of him, he appears to have given himself up, during this interval of solitude, to a train of melancholy and impassioned thought, such as, for a time, brought back all the romance of his youthful days. that spring of natural tenderness within his soul, which neither the world's efforts nor his own had been able to chill or choke up, was now, with something of its first freshness, set flowing once more. he again knew what it was to love and be loved,--too late, it is true, for happiness, and too wrongly for peace, but with devotion enough, on the part of the woman, to satisfy even his thirst for affection, and with a sad earnestness, on his own, a foreboding fidelity, which made him cling but the more passionately to this attachment from feeling that it would be his last. a circumstance which he himself used to mention as having occurred at this period will show how over-powering, at times, was the rush of melancholy over his heart. it was his fancy, during madame guiccioli's absence from bologna, to go daily to her house at his usual hour of visiting her, and there, causing her apartments to be opened, to sit turning over her books, and writing in them.[ ] he would then descend into her garden, where he passed hours in musing; and it was on an occasion of this kind, as he stood looking, in a state of unconscious reverie, into one of those fountains so common in the gardens of italy, that there came suddenly into his mind such desolate fancies, such bodings of the misery he might bring on her he loved, by that doom which (as he has himself written) "makes it fatal to be loved[ ]," that, overwhelmed with his own thoughts, he burst into an agony of tears. during the same few days it was that he wrote in the last page of madame guiccioli's copy of "corinne" the following remarkable note:-- "my dearest teresa,--i have read this book in your garden;--my love, you were absent, or else i could not have read it. it is a favourite book of yours, and the writer was a friend of mine. you will not understand these english words, and _others_ will not understand them--which is the reason i have not scrawled them in italian. but you will recognise the hand-writing of him who passionately loved you, and you will divine that, over a book which was yours, he could only think of love. in that word, beautiful in all languages, but most so in yours--_amor mio_--is comprised my existence here and hereafter. i feel i exist here, and i fear that i shall exist hereafter,--to _what_ purpose you will decide; my destiny rests with you, and you are a woman, seventeen years of age, and two out of a convent. i wish that you had stayed there, with all my heart,--or, at least, that i had never met you in your married state. "but all this is too late. i love you, and you love me,--at least, you _say so_, and _act_ as if you _did_ so, which last is a great consolation in all events. but _i_ more than love you, and cannot cease to love you. "think of me, sometimes, when the alps and the ocean divide us,--but they never will, unless you _wish_ it. byron. "bologna, august . ." [footnote : one of these notes, written at the end of the th chapter, th book of corinne ("fragmens des pensées de corinne") is as follows:-- "i knew madame de staël well,--better than she knew italy,--but i little thought that, one day, i should _think with her thoughts_, in the country where she has laid the scene of her most attractive productions. she is sometimes right, and often wrong, about italy and england; but almost always true in delineating the heart, which is of but one nation, and of no country,--or, rather, of all. "byron. "bologna, august . ." ] [footnote : "oh love! what is it, in this world of ours, which makes it fatal to be loved? ah! why with cypress branches hast thou wreath'd thy bowers, and made thy best interpreter a sigh? as those who dote on odours pluck the flowers, and place them on their breasts--but place to die.-- thus the frail beings we would fondly cherish are laid within our bosoms but to perish." ] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "bologna, august . . "i wrote to you by last post, enclosing a buffooning letter for publication, addressed to the buffoon r----ts, who has thought proper to tie a canister to his own tail. it was written off-hand, and in the midst of circumstances not very favourable to facetiousness, so that there may, perhaps, be more bitterness than enough for that sort of small acid punch:--you will tell me. "keep the anonymous, in any case: it helps what fun there may be. but if the matter grow serious about _don juan_, and you feel _yourself_ in a scrape, or _me_ either, _own that i am the author._ _i_ will never _shrink_; and if _you_ do, i can always answer you in the question of guatimozin to his minister--each being on his own coals.[ ] "i wish that i had been in better spirits; but i am out of sorts, out of nerves, and now and then (i begin to fear) out of my senses. all this italy has done for me, and not england: i defy all you, and your climate to boot, to make me mad. but if ever i do really become a bedlamite, and wear a strait waistcoat, let me be brought back among you; your people will then be proper company. "i assure you what i here say and feel has nothing to do with england, either in a literary or personal point of view. all my present pleasures or plagues are as italian as the opera. and after all, they are but trifles; for all this arises from my 'dama's' being in the country for three days (at capo-fiume). but as i could never live but for one human being at a time, (and, i assure you, _that one_ has never been _myself_, as you may know by the consequences, for the _selfish_ are _successful_ in life,) i feel alone and unhappy. "i have sent for my daughter from venice, and i ride daily, and walk in a garden, under a purple canopy of grapes, and sit by a fountain, and talk with the gardener of his tools, which seem greater than adam's, and with his wife, and with his son's wife, who is the youngest of the party, and, i think, talks best of the three. then i revisit the campo santo, and my old friend, the sexton, has two--but _one_ the prettiest daughter imaginable; and i amuse myself with contrasting her beautiful and innocent face of fifteen with the skulls with which he has peopled several cells, and particularly with that of one skull dated , which was once covered (the tradition goes) by the most lovely features of bologna--noble and rich. when i look at these, and at this girl--when i think of what _they were_, and what she must be--why, then, my dear murray, i won't shock you by saying what i think. it is little matter what becomes of us 'bearded men,' but i don't like the notion of a beautiful woman's lasting less than a beautiful tree--than her own picture--her own shadow, which won't change so to the sun as her face to the mirror. i must leave off, for my head aches consumedly. i have never been quite well since the night of the representation of alfieri's mirra, a fortnight ago. yours ever." [footnote : "am i now reposing on a bed of flowers?" see robertson.] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "bologna, august . . "i have been in a rage these two days, and am still bilious therefrom. you shall hear. a captain of dragoons, * *, hanoverian by birth, in the papal troops at present, whom i had obliged by a loan when nobody would lend him a paul, recommended a horse to me, on sale by a lieutenant * *, an officer who unites the sale of cattle to the purchase of men. i bought it. the next day, on shoeing the horse, we discovered the _thrush_,--the animal being warranted sound. i sent to reclaim the contract and the money. the lieutenant desired to speak with me in person. i consented. he came. it was his own particular request. he began a story. i asked him if he would return the money. he said no--but he would exchange. he asked an exorbitant price for his other horses. i told him that he was a thief. he said he was an _officer_ and a man of honour, and pulled out a parmesan passport signed by general count neifperg. i answered, that as he was an officer, i would treat him as such; and that as to his being a gentleman, he might prove it by returning the money: as for his parmesan passport, i should have valued it more if it had been a parmesan cheese. he answered in high terms, and said that if it were the _morning_ (it was about eight o'clock in the evening) he would have _satisfaction_. i then lost my temper: 'as for that,' i replied, 'you shall have it directly,--it will be _mutual_ satisfaction, i can assure you. you are a thief, and, as you say, an officer; my pistols are in the next room loaded; take one of the candles, examine, and make your choice of weapons.' he replied, that _pistols_ were _english weapons_; _he_ always fought with the _sword_. i told him that i was able to accommodate him, having three regimental swords in a drawer near us: and he might take the longest and put himself on guard. "all this passed in presence of a third person. he then said _no_; but to-morrow morning he would give me the meeting at any time or place. i answered that it was not usual to appoint meetings in the presence of witnesses, and that we had best speak man to man, and appoint time and instruments. but as the man present was leaving the room, the lieutenant * *, before he could shut the door after him, ran out roaring 'help and murder' most lustily, and fell into a sort of hysteric in the arms of about fifty people, who all saw that i had no weapon of any sort or kind about me, and followed him, asking him what the devil was the matter with him. nothing would do: he ran away without his hat, and went to bed, ill of the fright. he then tried his complaint at the police, which dismissed it as frivolous. he is, i believe, gone away, or going. "the horse was warranted, but, i believe, so worded that the villain will not be obliged to refund, according to law. he endeavoured to raise up an indictment of assault and battery, but as it was in a public inn, in a frequented street, there were too many witnesses to the contrary; and, as a military man, he has not cut a martial figure, even in the opinion of the priests. he ran off in such a hurry that he left his hat, and never missed it till he got to his hostel or inn. the facts are as i tell you, i can assure you. he began by 'coming captain grand over me,' or i should never have thought of trying his 'cunning in fence.' but what could i do? he talked of 'honour, and satisfaction, and his commission;' he produced a military passport; there are severe punishments for _regular duels_ on the continent, and trifling ones for _rencontres_, so that it is best to fight it out directly; he had robbed, and then wanted to insult me;--what could i do? my patience was gone, and the weapons at hand, fair and equal. besides, it was just after dinner, when my digestion was bad, and i don't like to be disturbed. his friend * * is at forli; we shall meet on my way back to ravenna. the hanoverian seems the greater rogue of the two; and if my valour does not ooze away like acres's--'odds flints and triggers!' if it should be a rainy morning, and my stomach in disorder, there may be something for the obituary. "now pray, 'sir lucius, do not you look upon me as a very ill-used gentleman?' i send my lieutenant to match mr. hobhouse's major cartwright: and so 'good morrow to you, good master lieutenant.' with regard to other things i will write soon, but i have been quarrelling and fooling till i can scribble no more." * * * * * in the month of september, count guiccioli, being called away by business to ravenna, left his young countess and her lover to the free enjoyment of each other's society at bologna. the lady's ill health, which had been the cause of her thus remaining behind, was thought, soon after, to require the still further advantage of a removal to venice; and the count her husband, being written to on the subject, consented, with the most complaisant readiness, that she should proceed thither in company with lord byron. "some business" (says the lady's own memoir) "having called count guiccioli to ravenna, i was obliged, by the state of my health, instead of accompanying him, to return to venice, and he consented that lord byron should be the companion of my journey. we left bologna on the fifteenth of september: we visited the euganean hills and arquà, and wrote our names in the book which is presented to those who make this pilgrimage. but i cannot linger over these recollections of happiness;--the contrast with the present is too dreadful. if a blessed spirit, while in the full enjoyment of heavenly happiness, were sent down to this earth to suffer all its miseries, the contrast could not be more dreadful between the past and the present, than what i have endured from the moment when that terrible word reached my ears, and i for ever lost the hope of again beholding him, one look from whom i valued beyond earth's all happiness. when i arrived at venice, the physicians ordered that i should try the country air, and lord byron, having a villa at la mira, gave it up to me, and came to reside there with me. at this place we passed the autumn, and there i had the pleasure of forming your acquaintance."[ ] it was my good fortune, at this period, in the course of a short and hasty tour through the north of italy, to pass five or six days with lord byron at venice. i had written to him on my way thither to announce my coming, and to say how happy it would make me could i tempt him to accompany me as far as rome. during my stay at geneva, an opportunity had been afforded me of observing the exceeding readiness with which even persons the least disposed to be prejudiced gave an ear to any story relating to lord byron, in which the proper portions of odium and romance were but plausibly mingled. in the course of conversation, one day, with the late amiable and enlightened monsieur d * *, that gentleman related, with much feeling, to my fellow-traveller and myself, the details of a late act of seduction of which lord byron had, he said, been guilty, and which was made to comprise within itself all the worst features of such unmanly frauds upon innocence;--the victim, a young unmarried lady, of one of the first families of venice, whom the noble seducer had lured from her father's house to his own, and, after a few weeks, most inhumanly turned her out of doors. in vain, said the relator, did she entreat to become his servant, his slave;--in vain did she ask to remain in some dark corner of his mansion, from which she might be able to catch a glimpse of his form as he passed. her betrayer was obdurate, and the unfortunate young lady, in despair at being thus abandoned by him, threw herself into the canal, from which she was taken out but to be consigned to a mad-house. though convinced that there must be considerable exaggeration in this story, it was only on my arrival at venice i ascertained that the whole was a romance; and that out of the circumstances (already laid before the reader) connected with lord byron's fantastic and, it must be owned, discreditable fancy for the fornarina, this pathetic tale, so implicitly believed at geneva, was fabricated. having parted at milan, with lord john russell, whom i had accompanied from england, and whom i was to rejoin, after a short visit to rome, at genoa, i made purchase of a small and (as it soon proved) crazy travelling carriage, and proceeded alone on my way to venice. my time being limited, i stopped no longer at the intervening places than was sufficient to hurry over their respective wonders, and, leaving padua at noon on the th of october, i found myself, about two o'clock, at the door of my friend's villa, at la mira. he was but just up, and in his bath; but the servant having announced my arrival, he returned a message that, if i would wait till he was dressed, he would accompany me to venice. the interval i employed in conversing with my old acquaintance, fletcher, and in viewing, under his guidance, some of the apartments of the villa. it was not long before lord byron himself made his appearance; and the delight i felt in meeting him once more, after a separation of so many years, was not a little heightened by observing that his pleasure was, to the full, as great, while it was rendered doubly touching by the evident rarity of such meetings to him of late, and the frank outbreak of cordiality and gaiety with which he gave way to his feelings. it would be impossible, indeed, to convey to those who have not, at some time or other, felt the charm of his manner, any idea of what it could be when under the influence of such pleasurable excitement as it was most flatteringly evident he experienced at this moment. i was a good deal struck, however, by the alteration that had taken place in his personal appearance. he had grown fatter both in person and face, and the latter had most suffered by the change,--having lost, by the enlargement of the features, some of that refined and spiritualised look that had, in other times, distinguished it. the addition of whiskers, too, which he had not long before been induced to adopt, from hearing that some one had said he had a "faccia di musico," as well as the length to which his hair grew down on his neck, and the rather foreign air of his coat and cap,--all combined to produce that dissimilarity to his former self i had observed in him. he was still, however, eminently handsome: and, in exchange for whatever his features might have lost of their high, romantic character, they had become more fitted for the expression of that arch, waggish wisdom, that epicurean play of humour, which he had shown to be equally inherent in his various and prodigally gifted nature; while, by the somewhat increased roundness of the contours, the resemblance of his finely formed mouth and chin to those of the belvedere apollo had become still more striking. his breakfast, which i found he rarely took before three or four o'clock in the afternoon, was speedily despatched,--his habit being to eat it standing, and the meal in general consisting of one or two raw eggs, a cup of tea without either milk or sugar, and a bit of dry biscuit. before we took our departure, he presented me to the countess guiccioli, who was at this time, as my readers already know, living under the same roof with him at la mira; and who, with a style of beauty singular in an italian, as being fair-complexioned and delicate, left an impression upon my mind, during this our first short interview, of intelligence and amiableness such as all that i have since known or heard of her has but served to confirm. we now started together, lord byron and myself, in my little milanese vehicle, for fusina,--his portly gondolier tita, in a rich livery and most redundant mustachios, having seated himself on the front of the carriage, to the no small trial of its strength, which had already once given way, even under my own weight, between verona and vicenza. on our arrival at fusina, my noble friend, from his familiarity with all the details of the place, had it in his power to save me both trouble and expense in the different arrangements relative to the custom-house, remise, &c.; and the good-natured assiduity with which he bustled about in despatching these matters, gave me an opportunity of observing, in his use of the infirm limb, a much greater degree of activity than i had ever before, except in sparring, witnessed. as we proceeded across the lagoon in his gondola, the sun was just setting, and it was an evening such as romance would have chosen for a first sight of venice, rising "with her tiara of bright towers" above the wave; while, to complete, as might be imagined, the solemn interest of the scene, i beheld it in company with him who had lately given a new life to its glories, and sung of that fair city of the sea thus grandly:-- "i stood in venice on the bridge of sighs; a palace and a prison on each hand: i saw from out the wave her structures rise as from the stroke of the enchanter's wand: a thousand years their cloudy wings expand around me, and a dying glory smiles o'er the far times, when many a subject land look'd to the winged lion's marble piles, where venice sat in state, throned in her hundred isles." but, whatever emotions the first sight of such a scene might, under other circumstances, have inspired me with, the mood of mind in which i now viewed it was altogether the very reverse of what might have been expected. the exuberant gaiety of my companion, and the recollections,--any thing but romantic,--into which our conversation wandered, put at once completely to flight all poetical and historical associations; and our course was, i am almost ashamed to say, one of uninterrupted merriment and laughter till we found ourselves at the steps of my friend's palazzo on the grand canal. all that had ever happened, of gay or ridiculous, during our london life together,--his scrapes and my lecturings,--our joint adventures with the bores and blues, the two great enemies, as he always called them, of london happiness,--our joyous nights together at watier's, kinnaird's, &c. and "that d----d supper of rancliffe's which _ought_ to have been a dinner,"--all was passed rapidly in review between us, and with a flow of humour and hilarity, on his side, of which it would have been difficult, even for persons far graver than i can pretend to be, not to have caught the contagion. he had all along expressed his determination that i should not go to any hotel, but fix my quarters at his house during the period of my stay; and, had he been residing there himself, such an arrangement would have been all that i most desired. but, this not being the case, a common hotel was, i thought, a far readier resource; and i therefore entreated that he would allow me to order an apartment at the gran bretagna, which had the reputation, i understood, of being a comfortable hotel. this, however, he would not hear of; and, as an inducement for me to agree to his plan, said that, as long as i chose to stay, though he should be obliged to return to la mira in the evenings, he would make it a point to come to venice every day and dine with me. as we now turned into the dismal canal, and stopped before his damp-looking mansion, my predilection for the gran bretagna returned in full force; and i again ventured to hint that it would save an abundance of trouble to let me proceed thither. but "no--no," he answered,--"i see you think you'll be very uncomfortable here; but you'll find that it is not quite so bad as you expect." as i groped my way after him through the dark hall, he cried out, "keep clear of the dog;" and before we had proceeded many paces farther, "take care, or that monkey will fly at you;"--a curious proof, among many others, of his fidelity to all the tastes of his youth, as it agrees perfectly with the description of his life at newstead, in , and of the sort of menagerie which his visiters had then to encounter in their progress through his hall. having escaped these dangers, i followed him up the staircase to the apartment destined for me. all this time he had been despatching servants in various directions,--one, to procure me a _laquais de place_; another to go in quest of mr. alexander scott, to whom he wished to give me in charge; while a third was sent to order his segretario to come to him. "so, then, you keep a secretary?" i said. "yes," he answered, "a fellow who _can't write_[ ]--but such are the names these pompous people give to things." when we had reached the door of the apartment it was discovered to be locked, and, to all appearance, had been so for some time, as the key could not be found;--a circumstance which, to my english apprehension, naturally connected itself with notions of damp and desolation, and i again sighed inwardly for the gran bretagna. impatient at the delay of the key, my noble host, with one of his humorous maledictions, gave a vigorous kick to the door and burst it open; on which we at once entered into an apartment not only spacious and elegant, but wearing an aspect of comfort and habitableness which to a traveller's eye is as welcome as it is rare. "here," he said, in a voice whose every tone spoke kindness and hospitality,--"these are the rooms i use myself, and here i mean to establish you." he had ordered dinner from some tratteria, and while waiting its arrival--as well as that of mr. alexander scott, whom he had invited to join us--we stood out on the balcony, in order that, before the daylight was quite gone, i might have some glimpses of the scene which the canal presented. happening to remark, in looking up at the clouds, which were still bright in the west, that "what had struck me in italian sunsets was that peculiar rosy hue--" i had hardly pronounced the word "rosy," when lord byron, clapping his hand on my mouth, said, with a laugh, "come, d----n it, tom, don't be poetical." among the few gondolas passing at the time, there was one at some distance, in which sat two gentlemen, who had the appearance of being english; and, observing them to look our way, lord byron putting his arms a-kimbo, said with a sort of comic swagger, "ah! if you, john bulls, knew who the two fellows are, now standing up here, i think you _would_ stare!"--i risk mentioning these things, though aware how they may be turned against myself, for the sake of the otherwise indescribable traits of manner and character which they convey. after a very agreeable dinner, through which the jest, the story, and the laugh were almost uninterruptedly carried on, our noble host took leave of us to return to la mira, while mr. scott and i went to one of the theatres, to see the ottavia of alfieri. the ensuing evenings, during my stay, were passed much in the same manner,--my mornings being devoted, under the kind superintendence of mr. scott, to a hasty, and, i fear, unprofitable view of the treasures of art with which venice abounds. on the subjects of painting and sculpture lord byron has, in several of his letters, expressed strongly and, as to most persons will appear, heretically his opinions. in his want, however, of a due appreciation of these arts, he but resembled some of his great precursors in the field of poetry;--both tasso and milton, for example, having evinced so little tendency to such tastes[ ], that, throughout the whole of their pages, there is not, i fear, one single allusion to any of those great masters of the pencil and chisel, whose works, nevertheless, both had seen. that lord byron, though despising the imposture and jargon with which the worship of the arts is, like other worships, clogged and mystified, felt deeply, more especially in sculpture, whatever imaged forth true grace and energy, appears from passages of his poetry, which are in every body's memory, and not a line of which but thrills alive with a sense of grandeur and beauty such as it never entered into the capacity of a mere connoisseur even to conceive. in reference to this subject, as we were conversing one day after dinner about the various collections i had visited that morning, on my saying that fearful as i was, at all times, of praising any picture, lest i should draw upon myself the connoisseur's sneer for my pains, i would yet, to _him_, venture to own that i had seen a picture at milan which--"the hagar!" he exclaimed, eagerly interrupting me; and it was in fact this very picture i was about to mention as having wakened in me, by the truth of its expression, more real emotion than any i had yet seen among the chefs-d'oeuvre of venice. it was with no small degree of pride and pleasure i now discovered that my noble friend had felt equally with myself the affecting mixture of sorrow and reproach with which the woman's eyes tell the whole story in that picture. on the second evening of my stay, lord byron having, as before, left us for la mira, i most willingly accepted the offer of mr. scott to introduce me to the conversazioni of the two celebrated ladies, with whose names, as leaders of venetian fashion, the tourists to italy have made every body acquainted. to the countess a * *'s parties lord byron had chiefly confined himself during the first winter he passed at venice; but the tone of conversation at these small meetings being much too learned for his tastes, he was induced, the following year, to discontinue his attendance at them, and chose, in preference, the less erudite, but more easy, society of the countess b * *. of the sort of learning sometimes displayed by the "blue" visitants at madame a * *'s, a circumstance mentioned by the noble poet himself may afford some idea. the conversation happening to turn, one evening, upon the statue of washington, by canova, which had been just shipped off for the united states, madame a * *, who was then engaged in compiling a description raisonnée of canova's works, and was anxious for information respecting the subject of this statue, requested that some of her learned guests would detail to her all they knew of him. this task a signor * * (author of a book on geography and statistics) undertook to perform, and, after some other equally sage and authentic details, concluded by informing her that "washington was killed in a duel by burke."--"what," exclaimed lord byron, as he stood biting his lips with impatience during this conversation, "what, in the name of folly, are you all thinking of?"--for he now recollected the famous duel between hamilton and colonel burr, whom, it was evident, this learned worthy had confounded with washington and burke! in addition to the motives easily conceivable for exchanging such a society for one that offered, at least, repose from such erudite efforts, there was also another cause more immediately leading to the discontinuance of his visits to madame a * *. this lady, who has been sometimes honoured with the title of "the de staël of italy," had written a book called "portraits," containing sketches of the characters of various persons of note; and it being her intention to introduce lord byron into this assemblage, she had it intimated to his lordship that an article in which his portraiture had been attempted was to appear in a new edition she was about to publish of her work. it was expected, of course, that this intimation would awaken in him some desire to see the sketch; but, on the contrary, he was provoking enough not to manifest the least symptoms of curiosity. again and again was the same hint, with as little success, conveyed; till, at length, on finding that no impression could be produced in this manner, a direct offer was made, in madame a * *'s own name, to submit the article to his perusal. he could now contain himself no longer. with more sincerity than politeness, he returned for answer to the lady, that he was by no means ambitious of appearing in her work; that, from the shortness, as well as the distant nature of their acquaintance, it was impossible she could have qualified herself to be his portrait-painter, and that, in short, she could not oblige him more than by committing the article to the flames. whether the tribute thus unceremoniously treated ever met the eyes of lord byron, i know not; but he could hardly, i think, had he seen it, have escaped a slight touch of remorse at having thus spurned from him a portrait drawn in no unfriendly spirit, and, though affectedly expressed, seizing some of the less obvious features of his character,--as, for instance, that diffidence so little to be expected from a career like his, with the discriminating niceness of a female hand. the following are extracts from this portrait:-- "'toi, dont le monde encore ignore le vrai nom, esprit mystérieux, mortel, ange, ou démon, qui que tu sois, byron, bon ou fatal génie, j'aime de tes conceits la sauvage harmonie.' lamartine. "it would be to little purpose to dwell upon the mere beauty of a countenance in which the expression of an extraordinary mind was so conspicuous. what serenity was seated on the forehead, adorned with the finest chestnut hair, light, curling, and disposed with such art, that the art was hidden in the imitation of most pleasing nature! what varied expression in his eyes! they were of the azure colour of the heavens, from which they seemed to derive their origin. his teeth, in form, in colour, in transparency, resembled pearls; but his cheeks were too delicately tinged with the hue of the pale rose. his neck, which he was in the habit of keeping uncovered as much as the usages of society permitted, seemed to have been formed in a mould, and was very white. his hands were as beautiful as if they had been the works of art. his figure left nothing to be desired, particularly by those who found rather a grace than a defect in a certain light and gentle undulation of the person when he entered a room, and of which you hardly felt tempted to enquire the cause. indeed it was scarcely perceptible,--the clothes he wore were so long. "he was never seen to walk through the streets of venice, nor along the pleasant banks of the brenta, where he spent some weeks of the summer; and there are some who assert that he has never seen, excepting from a window, the wonders of the 'piazza di san marco;'--so powerful in him was the desire of not showing himself to be deformed in any part of his person. i, however, believe that he has often gazed on those wonders, but in the late and solitary hour, when the stupendous edifices which surrounded him, illuminated by the soft and placid light of the moon, appeared a thousand times more lovely. "his face appeared tranquil like the ocean on a fine spring morning; but, like it, in an instant became changed into the tempestuous and terrible, if a passion, (a passion did i say?) a thought, a word, occurred to disturb his mind. his eyes then lost all their sweetness, and sparkled so that it became difficult to look on them. so rapid a change would not have been thought possible; but it was impossible to avoid acknowledging that the natural state of his mind was the tempestuous. "what delighted him greatly one day annoyed him the next; and whenever he appeared constant in the practice of any habits, it arose merely from the indifference, not to say contempt, in which he held them all: whatever they might be, they were not worthy that he should occupy his thoughts with them. his heart was highly sensitive, and suffered itself to be governed in an extraordinary degree by sympathy; but his imagination carried him away, and spoiled every thing. he believed in presages, and delighted in the recollection that he held this belief in common with napoleon. it appeared that, in proportion as his intellectual education was cultivated, his moral education was neglected, and that he never suffered himself to know or observe other restraints than those imposed by his inclinations. nevertheless, who could believe that he had a constant, and almost infantine timidity, of which the evidences were so apparent as to render its existence indisputable, notwithstanding the difficulty experienced in associating with lord byron a sentiment which had the appearance of modesty? conscious as he was that, wherever he presented himself, all eyes were fixed on him, and all lips, particularly those of the women, were opened to say, 'there he is, that is lord byron,'--he necessarily found himself in the situation of an actor obliged to sustain a character, and to render an account, not to others (for about them he gave himself no concern), but to himself, of his every action and word. this occasioned him a feeling of uneasiness which was obvious to every one. "he remarked on a certain subject (which in was the topic of universal discourse) that 'the world was worth neither the trouble taken in its conquest, nor the regret felt at its loss,' which saying (if the worth of an expression could ever equal that of many and great actions) would almost show the thoughts and feelings of lord byron to be more stupendous and unmeasured than those of him respecting whom he spoke. "his gymnastic exercises were sometimes violent, and at others almost nothing. his body, like his spirit, readily accommodated itself to all his inclinations. during an entire winter, he went out every morning alone to row himself to the island of armenians, (a small island situated in the midst of a tranquil lake, and distant from venice about half a league,) to enjoy the society of those learned and hospitable monks, and to learn their difficult language; and, in the evening, entering again into his gondola, he went, but only for a couple of hours, into company. a second winter, whenever the water of the lake was violently agitated, he was observed to cross it, and landing on the nearest _terra firma_, to fatigue at least two horses with riding. "no one ever heard him utter a word of french, although he was perfectly conversant with that language. he hated the nation and its modern literature; in like manner, he held the modern italian literature in contempt, and said it possessed but one living author,--a restriction which i know not whether to term ridiculous, or false and injurious. his voice was sufficiently sweet and flexible. he spoke with much suavity, if not contradicted, but rather addressed himself to his neighbour than to the entire company. "very little food sufficed him; and he preferred fish to flesh for this extraordinary reason, that the latter, he said, rendered him ferocious. he disliked seeing women eat; and the cause of this extraordinary antipathy must be sought in the dread he always had, that the notion he loved to cherish of their perfection and almost divine nature might be disturbed. having always been governed by them, it would seem that his very self-love was pleased to take refuge in the idea of their excellence,--a sentiment which he knew how (god knows how) to reconcile with the contempt in which, shortly afterwards, almost with the appearance of satisfaction, he seemed to hold them. but contradictions ought not to surprise us in characters like lord byron's; and then, who does not know that the slave holds in detestation his ruler? "lord byron disliked his countrymen, but only because he knew that his morals were held in contempt by them. the english, themselves rigid observers of family duties, could not pardon him the neglect of his, nor his trampling on principles; therefore neither did he like being presented to them, nor did they, especially when they had their wives with them, like to cultivate his acquaintance. still there was a strong desire in all of them to see him, and the women in particular, who did not dare to look at him but by stealth, said in an under voice, 'what a pity it is!' if, however, any of his compatriots of exalted rank and of high reputation came forward to treat him with courtesy, he showed himself obviously flattered by it, and was greatly pleased with such association. it seemed that to the wound which remained always open in his ulcerated heart such soothing attentions were as drops of healing balm, which comforted him. "speaking of his marriage,--a delicate subject, but one still agreeable to him, if it was treated in a friendly voice,--he was greatly moved, and said it had been the innocent cause of all his errors and all his griefs. of his wife he spoke with much respect and affection. he said she was an illustrious lady, distinguished for the qualities of her heart and understanding, and that all the fault of their cruel separation lay with himself. now, was such language dictated by justice or by vanity? does it not bring to mind the saying of julius, that the wife of caesar must not even be suspected? what vanity in that saying of caesar! in fact, if it had not been from vanity, lord byron would have admitted this to no one. of his young daughter, his dear ada, he spoke with great tenderness, and seemed to be pleased at the great sacrifice he had made in leaving her to comfort her mother. the intense hatred he bore his mother-in-law, and a sort of euryclea of lady byron, two women to whose influence he, in a great measure, attributed her estrangement from him,--demonstrated clearly how painful the separation was to him, notwithstanding some bitter pleasantries which occasionally occur in his writings against her also, dictated rather by rancour than by indifference." [footnote : "il conte guiccioli doveva per affari ritornare a ravenna; lo stato della mia salute esiggeva che io ritornassi in vece a venezia. egli acconsenti dunque che lord byron, mi fosse compagno di viaggio. partimmo da bologna alli di sre.--visitammo insieme i colli euganei ed arquà; scrivemmo i nostri nomi nel libro che si presenta a quelli che fanno quel pellegrinaggio. ma sopra tali rimembranze di felicità non posso fermarmi, caro signr. moore; l'opposizione col presente é troppo forte, e se un anima benedetta nel pieno godimento di tutte le felicità celesti fosse mandata quaggiù e condannata a sopportare tutte le miserie della nostra terra non potrebbe sentire più terribile contrasto frà il passato ed il presente di quello che io sento dacchè quella terribile parola è giunta alle mie orecchie, dacchè ho perduto la speranza di più vedere quello di cui uno sguardo valeva per me più di tutte le felicità della terra. giunti a venezia i medici mi ordinarono di respirare l'aria della campagna. egli aveva una villa alla mira,--la cedesse a me, e venne meco. là passammo l'autunno, e là ebbi il bene di fare la vostra conoscenza."--ms.] [footnote : the title of segretario is sometimes given, as in this case, to a head-servant or house-steward.] [footnote : that this was the case with milton is acknowledged by richardson, who admired both milton and the arts too warmly to make such an admission upon any but valid grounds. "he does not appear," says this writer, "to have much regarded what was done with the pencil; no, not even when in italy, in rome, in the vatican. neither does it seem sculpture was much esteemed by him." after an authority like this, the theories of hayley and others, with respect to the impressions left upon milton's mind by the works of art he had seen in italy, are hardly worth a thought. though it may be conceded that dante was an admirer of the arts, his recommendation of the apocalypse to giotto, as a source of subjects for the pencil, shows, at least, what indifferent judges poets are, in general, of the sort of fancies fittest to be embodied by the painter.] * * * * * from the time of his misunderstanding with madame a * * *, the visits of the noble poet were transferred to the house of the other great rallying point of venetian society, madame b * * *,--a lady in whose manners, though she had long ceased to be young, there still lingered much of that attaching charm, which a youth passed in successful efforts to please seldom fails to leave behind. that those powers of pleasing, too, were not yet gone, the fidelity of, at least, one devoted admirer testified; nor is she supposed to have thought it impossible that lord byron himself might yet be linked on at the end of that long chain of lovers, which had, through so many years, graced the triumphs of her beauty. if, however, there could have been, in any case, the slightest chance of such a conquest, she had herself completely frustrated it by introducing her distinguished visitor to madame guiccioli,--a step by which she at last lost, too, even the ornament of his presence at her parties, as in consequence of some slighting conduct, on her part, towards his "dama," he discontinued his attendance at her evening assemblies, and at the time of my visit to venice had given up society altogether. i could soon collect, from the tone held respecting his conduct at madame b * * *'s, how subversive of all the morality of intrigue they considered the late step of which he had been guilty in withdrawing his acknowledged "amica" from the protection of her husband, and placing her, at once, under the same roof with himself. "you must really (said the hostess herself to me) scold your friend;--till this unfortunate affair, he conducted himself _so_ well!"--a eulogy on his previous moral conduct which, when i reported it the following day to my noble host, provoked at once a smile and sigh from his lips. the chief subject of our conversation, when alone, was his marriage, and the load of obloquy which it had brought upon him. he was most anxious to know the worst that had been alleged of his conduct; and as this was our first opportunity of speaking together on the subject, i did not hesitate to put his candour most searchingly to the proof, not only by enumerating the various charges i had heard brought against him by others, but by specifying such portions of these charges as i had been inclined to think not incredible myself. to all this he listened with patience, and answered with the most unhesitating frankness, laughing to scorn the tales of unmanly outrage related of him, but, at the same time, acknowledging that there had been in his conduct but too much to blame and regret, and stating one or two occasions, during his domestic life, when he had been irritated into letting "the breath of bitter words" escape him,--words, rather those of the unquiet spirit that possessed him than his own, and which he now evidently remembered with a degree of remorse and pain which might well have entitled them to be forgotten by others. it was, at the same time, manifest, that, whatever admissions he might be inclined to make respecting his own delinquencies, the inordinate measure of the punishment dealt out to him had sunk deeply into his mind, and, with the usual effect of such injustice, drove him also to be unjust himself;--so much so, indeed, as to impute to the quarter, to which he now traced all his ill fate, a feeling of fixed hostility to himself, which would not rest, he thought, even at his grave, but continue to persecute his memory as it was now embittering his life. so strong was this impression upon him, that during one of our few intervals of seriousness, he conjured me, by our friendship, if, as he both felt and hoped, i should survive him, not to let unmerited censure settle upon his name, but, while i surrendered him up to condemnation, where he deserved it, to vindicate him where aspersed. how groundless and wrongful were these apprehensions, the early death which he so often predicted and sighed for has enabled us, unfortunately but too soon, to testify. so far from having to defend him against any such assailants, an unworthy voice or two, from persons more injurious as friends than as enemies, is all that i find raised in hostility to his name; while by none, i am inclined to think, would a generous amnesty over his grave be more readily and cordially concurred in than by her, among whose numerous virtues a forgiving charity towards himself was the only one to which she had not yet taught him to render justice. i have already had occasion to remark, in another part of this work, that with persons who, like lord byron, live centred in their own tremulous web of sensitiveness, those friends of whom they see least, and who, therefore, least frequently come in collision with them in those every-day realities from which such natures shrink so morbidly, have proportionately a greater chance of retaining a hold on their affections. there is, however, in long absence from persons of this temperament, another description of risk hardly less, perhaps, to be dreaded. if the station a friend holds in their hearts is, in near intercourse with them, in danger from their sensitiveness, it is almost equally, perhaps, at the mercy of their too active imaginations during absence. on this very point, i recollect once expressing my apprehensions to lord byron, in a passage of a letter addressed to him but a short time before his death, of which the following is, as nearly as i can recall it, the substance:--"when _with_ you, i feel _sure_ of you; but, at a distance, one is often a little afraid of being made the victim, all of a sudden, of some of those fanciful suspicions, which, like meteoric stones, generate themselves (god knows how) in the upper regions of your imagination, and come clattering down upon our heads, some fine sunny day, when we are least expecting such an invasion." in writing thus to him, i had more particularly in recollection a fancy of this kind respecting myself, which he had, not long before my present visit to him at venice, taken into his head. in a ludicrous, and now, perhaps, forgotten publication of mine, giving an account of the adventures of an english family in paris, there had occurred the following description of the chief hero of the tale:-- "a fine, sallow, sublime sort of werter-faced man, with mustachios which gave (what we read of so oft) the dear corsair expression, half savage, half soft,-- as hyænas in love may be fancied to look, or a something between abelard and old blucher." on seeing this doggrel, my noble friend,--as i might, indeed, with a little more thought, have anticipated,--conceived the notion that i meant to throw ridicule on his whole race of poetic heroes, and accordingly, as i learned from persons then in frequent intercourse with him, flew out into one of his fits of half humorous rage against me. this he now confessed himself, and, in laughing over the circumstance with me, owned that he had even gone so far as, in his first moments of wrath, to contemplate some little retaliation for this perfidious hit at his heroes. "but when i recollected," said he, "what pleasure it would give the whole tribe of blockheads and blues to see you and me turning out against each other, i gave up the idea." he was, indeed, a striking instance of what may be almost invariably observed, that they who best know how to wield the weapon of ridicule themselves, are the most alive to its power in the hands of others. i remember, one day,--in the year , i think,--as we were conversing together about critics and their influence on the public. "for my part," he exclaimed, "i don't care what they say of me, so they don't quiz me."--"oh, you need not fear that,"--i answered, with something, perhaps, of a half suppressed smile on my features,--"nobody could quiz _you_"--"_you could_, you villain!" he replied, clenching his hand at me, and looking, at the same time, with comic earnestness into my face. before i proceed any farther with my own recollections, i shall here take the opportunity of extracting some curious particulars respecting the habits and mode of life of my friend while at venice, from an account obligingly furnished me by a gentleman who long resided in that city, and who, during the greater part of lord byron's stay, lived on terms of the most friendly intimacy with him. "i have often lamented that i kept no notes of his observations during our rides and aquatic excursions. nothing could exceed the vivacity and variety of his conversation, or the cheerfulness of his manner. his remarks on the surrounding objects were always original: and most particularly striking was the quickness with which he availed himself of every circumstance, however trifling in itself, and such as would have escaped the notice of almost any other person, to carry his point in such arguments as we might chance to be engaged in. he was feelingly alive to the beauties of nature, and took great interest in any observations, which, as a dabbler in the arts, i ventured to make upon the effects of light and shadow, or the changes produced in the colour of objects by every variation in the atmosphere. "the spot where we usually mounted our horses had been a jewish cemetery; but the french, during their occupation of venice, had thrown down the enclosures, and levelled all the tombstones with the ground, in order that they might not interfere with the fortifications upon the lido, under the guns of which it was situated. to this place, as it was known to be that where he alighted from his gondola and met his horses, the curious amongst our country people, who were anxious to obtain a glimpse of him, used to resort; and it was amusing in the extreme to witness the excessive coolness with which ladies, as well as gentlemen, would advance within a very few paces of him, eyeing him, some with their glasses, as they would have done a statue in a museum, or the wild beasts at exeter 'change. however flattering this might be to a man's vanity, lord byron, though he bore it very patiently, expressed himself, as i believe he really was, excessively annoyed at it. "i have said that our usual ride was along the sea-shore, and that the spot where we took horse, and of course dismounted, had been a cemetery. it will readily be believed, that some caution was necessary in riding over the broken tombstones, and that it was altogether an awkward place for horses to pass. as the length of our ride was not very great, scarcely more than six miles in all, we seldom rode fast, that we might at least prolong its duration; and enjoy as much as possible the refreshing air of the adriatic. one day, as we were leisurely returning homewards, lord byron, all at once, and without saying any thing to me, set spurs to his horse and started off at full gallop, making the greatest haste he could to get to his gondola. i could not conceive what fit had seized him, and had some difficulty in keeping even within a reasonable distance of him, while i looked around me to discover, if i were able, what could be the cause of his unusual precipitation. at length i perceived at some distance two or three gentlemen, who were running along the opposite side of the island nearest the lagoon, parallel with him, towards his gondola, hoping to get there in time to see him alight; and a race actually took place between them, he endeavouring to outstrip them. in this he, in fact, succeeded, and, throwing himself quickly from his horse, leapt into his gondola, of which he hastily closed the blinds, ensconcing himself in a corner so as not to be seen. for my own part, not choosing to risk my neck over the ground i have spoken of, i followed more leisurely as soon as i came amongst the gravestones, but got to the place of embarkation just at the same moment with my curious countrymen, and in time to witness their disappointment at having had their run for nothing. i found him exulting in his success in outstripping them. he expressed in strong terms his annoyance at what he called their impertinence, whilst i could not but laugh at his impatience, as well as at the mortification of the unfortunate pedestrians, whose eagerness to see him, i said, was, in my opinion, highly flattering to him. that, he replied, depended on the feeling with which they came; and he had not the vanity to believe that they were influenced by any admiration of his character or of his abilities, but that they were impelled merely by idle curiosity. whether it was so or not, i cannot help thinking that if they had been of the other sex, he would not have been so eager to escape from their observation, as in that case he would have repaid them glance for glance. "the curiosity that was expressed by all classes of travellers to see him, and the eagerness with which they endeavoured to pick up any anecdotes of his mode of life, were carried to a length which will hardly be credited. it formed the chief subject of their enquiries of the gondoliers who conveyed them from terra firma to the floating city; and these people, who are generally loquacious, were not at all backward in administering to the taste and humours of their passengers, relating to them the most extravagant and often unfounded stories. they took care to point out the house where he lived, and to give such hints of his movements as might afford them an opportunity of seeing him. many of the english visiters, under pretext of seeing his house, in which there were no paintings of any consequence, nor, besides himself, any thing worthy of notice, contrived to obtain admittance through the cupidity of his servants, and with the most barefaced impudence forced their way even into his bedroom, in the hopes of seeing him. hence arose, in a great measure, his bitterness towards them, which he has expressed in a note to one of his poems, on the occasion of some unfounded remark made upon him by an anonymous traveller in italy; and it certainly appears well calculated to foster that cynicism which prevails in his latter works more particularly, and which, as well as the misanthropical expressions that occur in those which first raised his reputation, i do not believe to have been his natural feeling. of this i am certain, that i never witnessed greater kindness than in lord byron. "the inmates of his family were all extremely attached to him, and would have endured any thing on his account. he was indeed culpably lenient to them; for even when instances occurred of their neglecting their duty, or taking an undue advantage of his good-nature, he rather bantered than spoke seriously to them upon it, and could not bring himself to discharge them, even when he had threatened to do so. an instance occurred within my knowledge of his unwillingness to act harshly towards a tradesman whom he had materially assisted, not only by lending him money, but by forwarding his interest in every way that he could. notwithstanding repeated acts of kindness on lord byron's part, this man robbed and cheated him in the most barefaced manner; and when at length lord byron was induced to sue him at law for the recovery of his money, the only punishment he inflicted upon him, when sentence against him was passed, was to put him in prison for one week, and then to let him out again, although his debtor had subjected him to a considerable additional expense, by dragging him into all the different courts of appeal, and that he never at last recovered one halfpenny of the money owed to him. upon this subject he writes to me from ravenna, 'if * * is in (prison), let him out; if out, put him in for a week, merely for a lesson, and give him a good lecture.' "he was also ever ready to assist the distressed, and he was most unostentatious in his charities: for besides considerable sums which he gave away to applicants at his own house, he contributed largely by weekly and monthly allowances to persons whom he had never seen, and who, as the money reached them by other hands, did not even know who was their benefactor. one or two instances might be adduced where his charity certainly bore an appearance of ostentation; one particularly, when he sent fifty louis d'or to a poor printer whose house had been burnt to the ground, and all his property destroyed; but even this was not unattended with advantage; for it in a manner compelled the austrian authorities to do something for the poor sufferer, which i have no hesitation in saying they would not have done otherwise; and i attribute it entirely to the publicity of his donation, that they allowed the man the use of an unoccupied house belonging to the government until he could rebuild his own, or re-establish his business elsewhere. other instances might be perhaps discovered where his liberalities proceeded from selfish, and not very worthy motives[ ]; but these are rare, and it would be unjust in the extreme to assume them as proofs of his character." it has been already mentioned that, in writing to my noble friend to announce my coming, i had expressed a hope that he would be able to go on with me to rome; and i had the gratification of finding, on my arrival, that he was fully prepared to enter into this plan. on becoming acquainted, however, with all the details of his present situation, i so far sacrificed my own wishes and pleasure as to advise strongly that he should remain at la mira. in the first place, i saw reason to apprehend that his leaving madame guiccioli at this crisis might be the means of drawing upon him the suspicion of neglecting, if not actually deserting, a young person who had just sacrificed so much to her devotion for him, and whose position, at this moment, between the count and lord byron, it required all the generous prudence of the latter to shield from shame or fall. there had just occurred too, as it appeared to me, a most favourable opening for the retrieval of, at least, the imprudent part of the transaction, by replacing the lady instantly under her husband's protection, and thus enabling her still to retain that station in society which, in such society, nothing but such imprudence could have endangered. this latter hope had been suggested by a letter he one day showed me, (as we were dining together alone, at the well-known pellegrino,) which had that morning been received by the contessa from her husband, and the chief object of which was--_not_ to express any censure of her conduct, but to suggest that she should prevail upon her noble admirer to transfer into his keeping a sum of _l._, which was then lying, if i remember right, in the hands of lord byron's banker at ravenna, but which the worthy count professed to think would be more advantageously placed in his own. security, the writer added, would be given, and five per cent. interest allowed; as to accept of the sum on any other terms he should hold to be an "avvilimento" to him. though, as regarded the lady herself, who has since proved, by a most noble sacrifice, how perfectly disinterested were her feelings throughout[ ], this trait of so wholly opposite a character in her lord must have still further increased her disgust at returning to him, yet so important did it seem, as well for her friend's sake as her own, to retrace, while there was yet time, their last imprudent step, that even the sacrifice of this sum, which i saw would materially facilitate such an arrangement, did not appear to me by any means too high a price to pay for it. on this point, however, my noble friend entirely differed with me; and nothing could be more humorous and amusing than the manner in which, in his newly assumed character of a lover of money, he dilated on the many virtues of a thousand pounds, and his determination not to part with a single one of them to count guiccioli. of his confidence, too, in his own power of extricating himself from this difficulty he spoke with equal gaiety and humour; and mr. scott, who joined our party after dinner, having taken the same view of the subject as i did, he laid a wager of two sequins with that gentleman, that, without any such disbursement, he would yet bring all right again, and "save the lady and the money too." it is indeed, certain, that he had at this time taken up the whim (for it hardly deserves a more serious name) of minute and constant watchfulness over his expenditure; and, as most usually happens, it was with the increase of his means that this increased sense of the value of money came. the first symptom i saw of this new fancy of his was the exceeding joy which he manifested on my presenting to him a rouleau of twenty napoleons, which lord k * *d, to whom he had, on some occasion, lent that sum, had intrusted me with, at milan, to deliver into his hands. with the most joyous and diverting eagerness, he tore open the paper, and, in counting over the sum, stopped frequently to congratulate himself on the recovery of it. of his household frugalities i speak but on the authority of others; but it is not difficult to conceive that, with a restless spirit like his, which delighted always in having something to contend with, and which, but a short time before, "for want," as he said, "of something craggy to break upon," had tortured itself with the study of the armenian language, he should, in default of all better excitement, find a sort of stir and amusement in the task of contesting, inch by inch, every encroachment of expense, and endeavouring to suppress what he himself calls "that climax of all earthly ills, the inflammation of our weekly bills." in truth, his constant recurrence to the praise of avarice in don juan, and the humorous zest with which he delights to dwell on it, shows how new-fangled, as well as how far from serious, was his adoption of this "good old-gentlemanly vice." in the same spirit he had, a short time before my arrival at venice, established a hoarding-box, with a slit in the lid, into which he occasionally put sequins, and, at stated periods, opened it to contemplate his treasures. his own ascetic style of living enabled him, as far as himself was concerned, to gratify this taste for economy in no ordinary degree,--his daily bill of fare, when the margarita was his companion, consisting, i have been assured, of but four beccafichi, of which the fornarina eat three, leaving even him hungry. that his parsimony, however (if this new phasis of his ever-shifting character is to be called by such a name), was very far from being of that kind which bacon condemns, as "withholding men from works of liberality," is apparent from all that is known of his munificence, at this very period,--some particulars of which, from a most authentic source, have just been cited, proving amply that while, for the indulgence of a whim, he kept one hand closed, he gave free course to his generous nature by dispensing lavishly from the other. it should be remembered, too, that as long as money shall continue to be one of the great sources of power, so long will they who seek influence over their fellow-men attach value to it as an instrument; and the more lowly they are inclined to estimate the disinterestedness of the human heart, the more available and precious will they consider the talisman that gives such power over it. hence, certainly, it is not among those who have thought highest of mankind that the disposition to avarice has most generally displayed itself. in swift the love of money was strong and avowed; and to voltaire the same propensity was also frequently imputed,--on about as sufficient grounds, perhaps, as to lord byron. on the day preceding that of my departure from venice, my noble host, on arriving from la mira to dinner, told me, with all the glee of a schoolboy who had been just granted a holiday, that, as this was my last evening, the contessa had given him leave to "make a night of it," and that accordingly he would not only accompany me to the opera, but we should sup together at some cafe (as in the old times) afterwards. observing a volume in his gondola, with a number of paper marks between the leaves, i enquired of him what it was?--"only a book," he answered, "from which i am trying to _crib_, as i do wherever i can[ ];--and that's the way i get the character of an original poet." on taking it up and looking into it, i exclaimed, "ah, my old friend, agathon!"[ ]--"what!" he cried, archly, "you have been beforehand with me there, have you?" though in imputing to himself premeditated plagiarism, he was, of course, but jesting, it was, i am inclined to think, his practice, when engaged in the composition of any work, to excite thus his vein by the perusal of others, on the same subject or plan, from which the slightest hint caught by his imagination, as he read, was sufficient to kindle there such a train of thought as, but for that spark, had never been awakened, and of which he himself soon forgot the source. in the present instance, the inspiration he sought was of no very elevating nature,--the anti-spiritual doctrines of the sophist in this romance[ ] being what chiefly, i suspect, attracted his attention to its pages, as not unlikely to supply him with fresh argument and sarcasm for those depreciating views of human nature and its destiny, which he was now, with all the wantonness of unbounded genius, enforcing in don juan. of this work he was, at the time of my visit to him, writing the third canto, and before dinner, one day, read me two or three hundred lines of it;--beginning with the stanzas "oh wellington," &c. which at that time formed the opening of this third canto, but were afterwards reserved for the commencement of the ninth. my opinion of the poem, both as regarded its talent and its mischief, he had already been made acquainted with, from my having been one of those,--his committee, as he called us,--to whom, at his own desire, the manuscript of the two first cantos had been submitted, and who, as the reader has seen, angered him not a little by deprecating the publication of it. in a letter which i, at that time, wrote to him on the subject, after praising the exquisite beauty of the scenes between juan and haidée, i ventured to say, "is it not odd that the same licence which, in your early satire, you blamed _me_ for being guilty of on the borders of my twentieth year, you are now yourself (with infinitely greater power, and therefore infinitely greater mischief) indulging in _after_ thirty!" though i now found him, in full defiance of such remonstrances, proceeding with this work, he had yet, as his own letters prove, been so far influenced by the general outcry against his poem, as to feel the zeal and zest with which he had commenced it considerably abated,--so much so, as to render, ultimately, in his own opinion, the third and fourth cantos much inferior in spirit to the two first. so sensitive, indeed,--in addition to his usual abundance of this quality,--did he, at length, grow on the subject, that when mr. w. bankes, who succeeded me, as his visiter, happened to tell him, one day, that he had heard a mr. saunders (or some such name), then resident at venice, declare that, in his opinion, "don juan was all grub street," such an effect had this disparaging speech upon his mind, (though coming from a person who, as he himself would have it, was "nothing but a d----d salt-fish seller,") that, for some time after, by his own confession to mr. bankes, he could not bring himself to write another line of the poem; and, one morning, opening a drawer where the neglected manuscript lay, he said to his friend, "look here--this is all mr. saunders's 'grub street.'" to return, however, to the details of our last evening together at venice. after a dinner with mr. scott at the pellegrino, we all went, rather late, to the opera, where the principal part in the baccanali di roma was represented by a female singer, whose chief claim to reputation, according to lord byron, lay in her having _stilettoed_ one of her favourite lovers. in the intervals between the singing he pointed out to me different persons among the audience, to whom celebrity of various sorts, but, for the most part, disreputable, attached; and of one lady who sat near us, he related an anecdote, which, whether new or old, may, as creditable to venetian facetiousness, be worth, perhaps, repeating. this lady had, it seems, been pronounced by napoleon the finest woman in venice; but the venetians, not quite agreeing with this opinion of the great man, contented themselves with calling her "la bella _per decréto_,"--adding (as the decrees always begin with the word "considerando"), "ma _senza_ il considerando." from the opera, in pursuance of our agreement to "make a night of it," we betook ourselves to a sort of _cabaret_ in the place of st. mark, and there, within a few yards of the palace of the doges, sat drinking hot brandy punch, and laughing over old times, till the clock of st. mark struck the second hour of the morning. lord byron then took me in his gondola, and, the moon being in its fullest splendour, he made the gondoliers row us to such points of view as might enable me to see venice, at that hour, to advantage. nothing could be more solemnly beautiful than the whole scene around, and i had, for the first time, the venice of my dreams before me. all those meaner details which so offend the eye by day were now softened down by the moonlight into a sort of visionary indistinctness; and the effect of that silent city of palaces, sleeping, as it were, upon the waters, in the bright stillness of the night, was such as could not but affect deeply even the least susceptible imagination. my companion saw that i was moved by it, and though familiar with the scene himself, seemed to give way, for the moment, to the same strain of feeling; and, as we exchanged a few remarks suggested by that wreck of human glory before us, his voice, habitually so cheerful, sunk into a tone of mournful sweetness, such as i had rarely before heard from him, and shall not easily forget. this mood, however, was but of the moment; some quick turn of ridicule soon carried him off into a totally different vein, and at about three o'clock in the morning, at the door of his own palazzo, we parted, laughing, as we had met;--an agreement having been first made that i should take an early dinner with him next day at his villa, on my road to ferrara. having employed the morning of the following day in completing my round of sights at venice,--taking care to visit specially "that picture by giorgione," to which the poet's exclamation, "_such_ a woman!"[ ] will long continue to attract all votaries of beauty,--i took my departure from venice, and, at about three o'clock, arrived at la mira. i found my noble host waiting to receive me, and, in passing with him through the hall, saw his little allegra, who, with her nursery maid, was standing there as if just returned from a walk. to the perverse fancy he had for falsifying his own character, and even imputing to himself faults the most alien to his nature, i have already frequently adverted, and had, on this occasion, a striking instance of it. after i had spoken a little, in passing, to the child, and made some remark on its beauty, he said to me,--"have you any notion--but i suppose _you_ have--of what they call the parental feeling? for myself, i have not the least." and yet, when that child died, in a year or two afterwards, he who now uttered this artificial speech was so overwhelmed by the event, that those who were about him at the time actually trembled for his reason! a short time before dinner he left the room, and in a minute or two returned, carrying in his hand a white leather bag. "look here," he said, holding it up--"this would be worth something to murray, though _you_, i dare say, would not give sixpence for it."--"what is it?" i asked.--"my life and adventures," he answered. on hearing this, i raised my hands in a gesture of wonder. "it is not a thing," he continued, "that can be published during my lifetime, but you may have it--if you like--there, do whatever you please with it." in taking the bag, and thanking him most warmly, i added, "this will make a nice legacy for my little tom, who shall astonish the latter days of the nineteenth century with it." he then added, "you may show it to any of our friends you think worthy of it:"--and this is, nearly word for word, the whole of what passed between us on the subject. at dinner we were favoured with the presence of madame guiccioli, who was so obliging as to furnish me, at lord byron's suggestion, with a letter of introduction to her brother, count gamba, whom it was probable, they both thought, i should meet at rome. this letter i never had an opportunity of presenting; and as it was left open for me to read, and was, the greater part of it, i have little doubt, dictated by my noble friend, i may venture, without impropriety, to give an extract from it here;--premising that the allusion to the "castle," &c. refers to some tales respecting the cruelty of lord byron to his wife, which the young count had heard, and, at this time, implicitly believed. after a few sentences of compliment to the bearer, the letter proceeds:--"he is on his way to see the wonders of rome, and there is no one, i am sure, more qualified to enjoy them. i shall be gratified and obliged by your acting, as far as you can, as his guide. he is a friend of lord byron's, and much more accurately acquainted with his history than those who have related it to you. he will accordingly describe to you, if you ask him, _the shape, the dimensions_, and whatever else you may please to require, of _that castle in which he keeps imprisoned a young and innocent wife_, &c. &c. my dear pietro, whenever you feel inclined to laugh, do send two lines of answer to your sister, who loves and ever will love you with the greatest tenderness.--teresa guiccioli."[ ] after expressing his regret that i had not been able to prolong my stay at venice, my noble friend said, "at least, i think, you might spare a day or two to go with me to arquà. i should like," he continued, thoughtfully, "to visit that tomb with you:"--then, breaking off into his usual gay tone; "a pair of poetical pilgrims--eh, tom, what say you?"--that i should have declined this offer, and thus lost the opportunity of an excursion which would have been remembered, as a bright dream, through all my after-life, is a circumstance i never can think of without wonder and self-reproach. but the main design on which i had then set my mind of reaching rome, and, if possible, naples, within the limited period which circumstances allowed, rendered me far less alive than i ought to have been to the preciousness of the episode thus offered to me. when it was time for me to depart, he expressed his intention to accompany me a few miles; and, ordering his horses to follow, proceeded with me in the carriage as far as strà, where for the last time--how little thinking it was to be the last!--i bade my kind and admirable friend farewell. [footnote : the writer here, no doubt, alludes to such questionable liberalities as those exercised towards the husbands of his two favourites, madame s * * and the fornarina.] [footnote : the circumstance here alluded to may be most clearly, perhaps, communicated to my readers through the medium of the following extract from a letter which mr. barry (the friend and banker of lord byron) did me the favour of addressing to me, soon after his lordship's death:--"when lord byron went to greece, he gave me orders to advance money to madame g * *; but that lady would never consent to receive any. his lordship had also told me that he meant to leave his will in my hands, and that there would be a bequest in it of , _l._ to madame g * *. he mentioned this circumstance also to lord blessington. when the melancholy news of his death reached me, i took for granted that this will would be found among the sealed papers he had left with me; but there was no such instrument. i immediately then wrote to madame g * *, enquiring if she knew any thing concerning it, and mentioning, at the same time, what his lordship had said is to the legacy. to this the lady replied, that he had frequently spoken to her on the same subject, but that she had always cut the conversation short, as it was a topic she by no means liked to hear him speak upon. in addition, she expressed a wish that no such will as i had mentioned would be found; as her circumstances were already sufficiently independent, and the world might put a wrong construction on her attachment, should it appear that her fortunes were, in any degree, bettered by it."] [footnote : this will remind the reader of molière's avowal in speaking of wit:--"c'est mon bien, et je le prends partout où je le trouve."] [footnote : the history of agathon, by wieland.] [footnote : between wieland, the author of this romance, and lord byron, may be observed some of those generic points of resemblance which it is so interesting to trace in the characters of men of genius. the german poet, it is said, never perused any work that made a strong impression upon him, without being stimulated to commence one, himself, on the same topic and plan; and in lord byron the imitative principle was almost equally active,--there being few of his poems that might not, in the same manner, be traced to the strong impulse given to his imagination by the perusal of some work that had just before interested him. in the history, too, of their lives and feelings, there was a strange and painful coincidence,--the revolution that took place in all wieland's opinions, from the platonism and romance of his youthful days, to the material and epicurean doctrines that pervaded all his maturer works, being chiefly, it is supposed, brought about by the shock his heart had received from a disappointment of its affections in early life. speaking of the illusion of this first passion, in one of his letters, he says,--"it is one for which no joys, no honours, no gifts of fortune, not even wisdom itself can afford an equivalent, and which, when it has once vanished, returns no more."] [footnote : "'tis but a portrait of his son and wife, and self; but such a woman! love in life!" beppo, stanza xii. this seems, by the way, to be an incorrect description of the picture, as, according to vasari and others, giorgione never was married, and died young.] [footnote : "egli viene per vedere le meraviglie di questa città, e sono certa che nessuno meglio di lui saprebbe gustarle. mi sarà grato che vi facciate sua guida come potrete, e voi poi me ne avrete obbligo. egli è amico de lord byron--sà la sua storia assai più precisamente di quelli che a voi la raccontarono. egli dunque vi racconterà se lo interrogherete _la forma, le dimensioni_, e tuttociò che vi piacerà del _castello ove tiene imprigionata una giovane innocente sposa_, &c. &c. mio caro pietro, quando ti sei bene sfogato a ridere, allora rispondi due righe alla tua sorella, che t' ama e t' amerà sempre colla maggiore tenerezza."] * * * * * letter . to mr. hoppner. "october . . "i am glad to hear of your return, but i do not know how to congratulate you--unless you think differently of venice from what i think now, and you thought always. i am, besides, about to renew your troubles by requesting you to be judge between mr. e * * * and myself in a small matter of imputed peculation and irregular accounts on the part of that phoenix of secretaries. as i knew that you had not parted friends, at the same time that _i_ refused for my own part any judgment but _yours_, i offered him his choice of any person, the _least_ scoundrel native to be found in venice, as his own umpire; but he expressed himself so convinced of your impartiality, that he declined any but _you_. this is in his favour.--the paper within will explain to you the default in his accounts. you will hear his explanation, and decide if it so please you. i shall not appeal from the decision. "as he complained that his salary was insufficient, i determined to have his accounts examined, and the enclosed was the result.--it is all in black and white with documents, and i have despatched fletcher to explain (or rather to perplex) the matter. "i have had much civility and kindness from mr. dorville during your journey, and i thank him accordingly. "your letter reached me at your departure[ ], and displeased me very much:--not that it might not be true in its statement and kind in its intention, but you have lived long enough to know how useless all such representations ever are and must be in cases where the passions are concerned. to reason with men in such a situation is like reasoning with a drunkard in his cups--the only answer you will get from him is, that he is sober, and you are drunk. "upon that subject we will (if you like) be silent. you might only say what would distress me without answering any purpose whatever; and i have too many obligations to you to answer you in the same style. so that you should recollect that you have also that advantage over me. i hope to see you soon. "i suppose you know that they said at venice, that i was arrested at bologna as a _carbonaro_--story about as true as their usual conversation. moore has been here--i lodged him in my house at venice, and went to see him daily; but i could not at that time quit la mira entirely. you and i were not very far from meeting in switzerland. with my best respects to mrs. hoppner, believe me ever and truly, &c. "p.s. allegra is here in good health and spirits--i shall keep her with me till i go to england, which will perhaps be in the spring. it has just occurred to me that you may not perhaps like to undertake the office of judge between mr. e. and your humble servant.--of course, as mr. liston (the comedian, not the ambassador) says, '_it is all hoptional_;' but i have no other resource. i do not wish to find him a rascal, if it can be avoided, and would rather think him guilty of carelessness than cheating. the case is this--can i, or not, give him a character for _honesty_?--it is not my intention to continue him in my service." [footnote : mr. hoppner, before his departure from venice for switzerland, had, with all the zeal of a true friend, written a letter to lord byron, entreating him "to leave ravenna while yet he had a whole skin, and urging him not to risk the safety of a person he appeared so sincerely attached to--as well as his own--for the gratification of a momentary passion, which could only be a source of regret to both parties." in the same letter mr. hoppner informed him of some reports he had heard lately at venice, which, though possibly, he said, unfounded, had much increased his anxiety respecting the consequences of the connection formed by him.] * * * * * letter . to mr. hoppner. "october . . "you need not have made any excuses about the letter: i never said but that you might, could, should, or would have reason. i merely described my own state of inaptitude to listen to it at that time, and in those circumstances. besides, you did not speak from your _own_ authority--but from what you said you had heard. now my blood boils to hear an italian speaking ill of another italian, because, though they lie in particular, they speak truth in general by speaking ill at all;--and although they know that they are trying and wishing to lie, they do not succeed, merely because they can say nothing so bad of each other, that it _may_ not, and must not be true, from the atrocity of their long debased national character.[ ] "with regard to e., you will perceive a most irregular, extravagant account, without proper documents to support it. he demanded an increase of salary, which made me suspect him; he supported an outrageous extravagance of expenditure, and did not like the dismission of the cook; he never complained of him--as in duty bound--at the time of his robberies. i can only say, that the house expense is now under _one half_ of what it then was, as he himself admits. he charged for a comb _eighteen_ francs,--the real price was _eight_. he charged a passage from fusina for a person named iambelli, who paid it _herself_, as she will prove if necessary. he fancies, or asserts himself, the victim of a domestic complot against him;--accounts are accounts--prices are prices;--let him make out a fair detail. _i_ am not prejudiced against him--on the contrary, i supported him against the complaints of his wife, and of his former master, at a time when i could have crushed him like an earwig; and if he is a scoundrel, he is the greatest of scoundrels, an ungrateful one. the truth is, probably, that he thought i was leaving venice, and determined to make the most of it. at present he keeps bringing in _account after account_, though he had always money in hand--as i believe you know my system was never to allow longer than a week's bills to run. pray read him this letter--i desire nothing to be concealed against which he may defend himself. "pray how is your little boy? and how are you?--i shall be up in venice very soon, and we will be bilious together. i hate the place and all that it inherits. "yours," &c. [footnote : "this language" (says mr. hoppner, in some remarks upon the above letter) "is strong, but it was the language of prejudice; and he was rather apt thus to express the feelings of the moment, without troubling himself to consider how soon he might be induced to change them. he was at this time so sensitive on the subject of madame * *, that, merely because some persons had disapproved of her conduct, he declaimed in the above manner against the whole nation. i never" (continues mr. hoppner) "was partial to venice; but disliked it almost from the first month of my residence there. yet i experienced more kindness in that place than i ever met with in any country, and witnessed acts of generosity and disinterestedness such as rarely are met with elsewhere."] * * * * * letter . to mr. hoppner. "october . . "i have to thank you for your letter, and your compliment to don juan. i said nothing to you about it, understanding that it is a sore subject with the moral reader, and has been the cause of a great row; but i am glad you like it. i will say nothing about the shipwreck, except that i hope you think it is as nautical and technical as verse could admit in the octave measure. "the poem has _not sold well_, so murray says--'but the best judges, &c. say, &c.' so says that worthy man. i have never seen it in print. the third canto is in advance about one hundred stanzas; but the failure of the two first has weakened my _estro_, and it will neither be so good as the two former, nor completed, unless i get a little more _riscaldato_ in its behalf. i understand the outcry was beyond every thing.--pretty cant for people who read tom jones, and roderick random, and the bath guide, and ariosto, and dryden, and pope--to say nothing of little's poems! of course i refer to the _morality_ of these works, and not to any pretension of mine to compete with them in any thing but decency. i hope yours is the paris edition, and that you did not pay the london price. i have seen neither except in the newspapers. "pray make my respects to mrs. h., and take care of your little boy. all my household have the fever and ague, except fletcher, allegra, and my_sen_ (as we used to say in nottinghamshire), and the horses, and mutz, and moretto. in the beginning of november, perhaps sooner, i expect to have the pleasure of seeing you. to-day i got drenched by a thunder-storm, and my horse and groom too, and his horse all bemired up to the middle in a cross-road. it was summer at noon, and at five we were bewintered; but the lightning was sent perhaps to let us know that the summer was not yet over. it is queer weather for the th october. "yours," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, october . . "yours of the th came yesterday. i am sorry that you do not mention a large letter addressed to _your care_ for lady byron, from me, at bologna, two months ago. pray tell me, was this letter received and forwarded? "you say nothing of the vice-consulate for the ravenna patrician, from which it is to be inferred that the thing will not be done. "i had written about a hundred stanzas of a _third_ canto to don juan, but the reception of the two first is no encouragement to you nor me to proceed. "i had also written about lines of a poem, the vision (or prophecy) of dante, the subject a view of italy in the ages down to the present--supposing dante to speak in his own person, previous to his death, and embracing all topics in the way of prophecy, like lycophron's cassandra; but this and the other are both at a stand-still for the present. "i gave moore, who is gone to rome, my life in ms., in seventy-eight folio sheets, brought down to . but this i put into his hands for _his_ care, as he has some other mss. of mine--a journal kept in , &c. neither are for publication during my life; but when i am cold you may do what you please. in the mean time, if you like to read them you may, and show them to anybody you like--i care not. "the life is _memoranda_, and not _confessions_ i have left out all my _loves_ (except in a general way), and many other of the most important things (because i must not compromise other people), so that it is like the play of hamlet--'the part of hamlet omitted by particular desire.' but you will find many opinions, and some fun, with a detailed account of my marriage, and its consequences, as true as a party concerned can make such account, for i suppose we are all prejudiced. "i have never read over this life since it was written, so that i know not exactly what it may repeat or contain. moore and i passed some merry days together. "i probably must return for business, or in my way to america. pray, did you get a letter for hobhouse, who will have told you the contents? i understand that the venezuelan commissioners had orders to treat with emigrants; now i want to go there. i should not make a bad south-american planter, and i should take my natural daughter, allegra, with me, and settle. i wrote, at length, to hobhouse, to get information from perry, who, i suppose, is the best topographer and trumpeter of the new republicans. pray write. "yours ever. "p.s. moore and i did nothing but laugh. he will tell you of 'my whereabouts,' and all my proceedings at this present; they are as usual. you should not let those fellows publish false 'don juans;' but do not put _my name_, because i mean to cut r----ts up like a gourd, in the preface, if i continue the poem." * * * * * letter . to mr. hoppner. "october . . "the ferrara story is of a piece with all the rest of the venetian manufacture,--you may judge. i only changed horses there since i wrote to you, after my visit in june last. '_convent_' and '_carry off_', quotha! and '_girl_.' i should like to know _who_ has been carried off, except poor dear _me_. i have been more ravished myself than anybody since the trojan war; but as to the arrest and its causes, one is as true as the other, and i can account for the invention of neither. i suppose it is some confusion of the tale of the f * * and of me. guiccioli, and half a dozen more; but it is useless to unravel the web, when one has only to brush it away. i shall settle with master e. who looks very blue at your _in-decision_, and swears that he is the best arithmetician in europe; and so i think also, for he makes out two and two to be five. "you may see me next week. i have a horse or two more (five in all), and i shall repossess myself of lido, and i will rise earlier, and we will go and shake our livers over the beach, as heretofore, if you like--and we will make the adriatic roar again with our hatred of that now empty oyster-shell, without its pearl, the city of venice. "murray sent me a letter yesterday: the impostors have published _two_ new _third_ cantos of _don juan_;--the devil take the impudence of some blackguard bookseller or other _therefor_! perhaps i did not make myself understood; he told me the sale had been great, out of quarto, i believe (which is nothing after selling , of the corsair in one day); but that the 'best judges,' &c. had said it was very fine, and clever, and particularly good english, and poetry, and all those consolatory things, which are not, however, worth a single copy to a bookseller: and as to the author, of course i am in a d----ned passion at the bad taste of the times, and swear there is nothing like posterity, who, of course, must know more of the matter than their grandfathers. there has been an eleventh commandment to the women not to read it, and, what is still more extraordinary, they seem not to have broken it. but that can be of little import to them, poor things, for the reading or non-reading a book will never * * * *. "count g. comes to venice next week, and i am requested to consign his wife to him, which shall be done. what you say of the long evenings at the mira, or venice, reminds me of what curran said to moore:--'so i hear you have married a pretty woman, and a very good creature, too--an excellent creature. pray--um! _how do you pass your evenings?_' it is a devil of a question that, and perhaps as easy to answer with a wife as with a mistress. "if you go to milan, pray leave at least a _vice-consul_--the only vice that will ever be wanting in venice. d'orville is a good fellow. but you shall go to england in the spring with me, and plant mrs. hoppner at berne with her relations for a few months. i wish you had been here (at venice, i mean, not the mira) when moore was here--we were very merry and tipsy. he _hated_ venice, by the way, and swore it was a sad place.[ ] "so madame albrizzi's death is in danger--poor woman! moore told me that at geneva they had made a devil of a story of the fornaretta:--'young lady seduced!--subsequent abandonment!--leap into the grand canal!'--and her being in the 'hospital of _fous_ in consequence!' i should like to know who was nearest being made '_fou_,' and be d----d to them i don't you think me in the interesting character of a very ill used gentleman? i hope your little boy is well. allegrina is flourishing like a pomegranate blossom. yours," &c. [footnote : i beg to say that this report of my opinion of venice is coloured somewhat too deeply by the feelings of the reporter.] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, november . . "mr. hoppner has lent me a copy of 'don juan,' paris edition, which he tells me is read in switzerland by clergymen and ladies with considerable approbation. in the second canto, you must alter the th stanza to "'twas twilight, and the sunless day went down over the waste of waters, like a veil which if withdrawn would but disclose the frown of one whose hate is mask'd but to assail; thus to their hopeless eyes the night was shown, and grimly darkled o'er their faces pale and the dim desolate deep; twelve days had fear been their familiar, and now death was here. "i have been ill these eight days with a tertian fever, caught in the country on horseback in a thunderstorm. yesterday i had the fourth attack: the two last were very smart, the first day as well as the last being preceded by vomiting. it is the fever of the place and the season. i feel weakened, but not unwell, in the intervals, except headach and lassitude. "count guiccioli has arrived in venice, and has presented his spouse (who had preceded him two months for her health and the prescriptions of dr. aglietti) with a paper of conditions, regulations of hours and conduct, and morals, &c. &c. &c. which he insists on her accepting, and she persists in refusing. i am expressly, it should seem, excluded by this treaty, as an indispensable preliminary; so that they are in high dissension, and what the result may be i know not, particularly as they are consulting friends. "to-night, as countess guiccioli observed me poring over 'don juan,' she stumbled by mere chance on the th stanza of the first canto, and asked me what it meant. i told her, 'nothing--but "your husband is coming."' as i said this in italian, with some emphasis, she started up in a fright, and said, '_oh, my god, is_ he _coming_?' thinking it was _her own_, who either was or ought to have been at the theatre. you may suppose we laughed when she found out the mistake. you will be amused, as i was;--it happened not three hours ago. "i wrote to you last week, but have added nothing to the third canto since my fever, nor to 'the prophecy of dante.' of the former there are about octaves done; of the latter about lines--perhaps more. moore saw the third juan, as far as it then went. i do not know if my fever will let me go on with either, and the tertian lasts, they say, a good while. i had it in malta on my way home, and the malaria fever in greece the year before that. the venetian is not very fierce, but i was delirious one of the nights with it, for an hour or two, and, on my senses coming back, found fletcher sobbing on one side of the bed, and la contessa guiccioli[ ] weeping on the other; so that i had no want of attendance. i have not yet taken any physician, because, though i think they may relieve in chronic disorders, such as gout and the like, &c. &c. &c. (though they can't cure them)--just as surgeons are necessary to set bones and tend wounds--yet i think fevers quite out of their reach, and remediable only by diet and nature. "i don't like the taste of bark, but i suppose that i must take it soon. "tell rose that somebody at milan (an austrian, mr. hoppner says) is answering his book. william bankes is in quarantine at trieste. i have not lately heard from you. excuse this paper: it is long paper shortened for the occasion. what folly is this of carlile's trial? why let him have the honours of a martyr? it will only advertise the books in question. yours, &c. "p.s. as i tell you that the guiccioli business is on the eve of exploding in one way or the other, i will just add that, without attempting to influence the decision of the contessa, a good deal depends upon it. if she and her husband make it up, you will, perhaps, see me in england sooner than you expect. if not, i shall retire with her to france or america, change my name, and lead a quiet provincial life. all this may seem odd, but i have got the poor girl into a scrape; and as neither her birth, nor her rank, nor her connections by birth or marriage are inferior to my own, i am in honour bound to support her through. besides, she is a very pretty woman--ask moore--and not yet one and twenty. "if she gets over this and i get over my tertian, i will, perhaps, look in at albemarle street, some of these days, _en passant_ to bolivar." [footnote : the following curious particulars of his delirium are given by madame guiccioli:--"at the beginning of winter count guiccioli came from ravenna to fetch me. when he arrived, lord byron was ill of a fever, occasioned by his having got wet through;--a violent storm having surprised him while taking his usual exercise on horseback. he had been delirious the whole night, and i had watched continually by his bedside. during his delirium he composed a good many verses, and ordered his servant to write them down from his dictation. the rhythm of these verses was quite correct, and the poetry itself had no appearance of being the work of a delirious mind. he preserved them for some time after he got well, and then burned them."--"sul cominciare dell' inverno il conte guiccioli venne a prendermi per ricondurmi a ravenna. quando egli giunse ld. byron era ammalato di febbri prese per essersi bagnato avendolo sorpreso un forte temporale mentre faceva l' usato suo esercizio a cavallo. egli aveva delirato tutta la notte, ed io aveva sempre vegliato presso al suo letto. nel suo delirio egli compose molti versi che ordinò al suo domestico di scrivere sotto la sua dittatura. la misura dei versi era esatissima, e la poesia pure non pareva opera di una mente in delirio. egli la conservò lungo tempo dopo restabilito--poi l' abbrucciò." i have been informed, too, that, during his ravings at this time, he was constantly haunted by the idea of his mother-in-law,--taking every one that came near him for her, and reproaching those about him for letting her enter his room.] * * * * * letter . to mr. bankes. "venice, november . . "a tertian ague which has troubled me for some time, and the indisposition of my daughter, have prevented me from replying before to your welcome letter. i have not been ignorant of your progress nor of your discoveries, and i trust that you are no worse in health from your labours. you may rely upon finding every body in england eager to reap the fruits of them; and as you have done more than other men, i hope you will not limit yourself to saying less than may do justice to the talents and time you have bestowed on your perilous researches. the first sentence of my letter will have explained to you why i cannot join you at trieste. i was on the point of setting out for england (before i knew of your arrival) when my child's illness has made her and me dependent on a venetian proto-medico. "it is now seven years since you and i met;--which time you have employed better for others and more honourably for yourself than i have done. "in england you will find considerable changes, public and private,--you will see some of our old college contemporaries turned into lords of the treasury, admiralty, and the like,--others become reformers and orators,--many settled in life, as it is called,--and others settled in death; among the latter, (by the way, not our fellow collegians,) sheridan, curran, lady melbourne, monk lewis, frederick douglas, &c. &c. &c.; but you will still find mr. * * living and all his family, as also * * * * *. "should you come up this way, and i am still here, you need not be assured how glad i shall be to see you; i long to hear some part from you, of that which i expect in no long time to see. at length you have had better fortune than any traveller of equal enterprise (except humboldt), in returning safe; and after the fate of the brownes, and the parkes, and the burckhardts, it is hardly less surprise than satisfaction to get you back again. "believe me ever "and very affectionately yours, "byron." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, december . . "you may do as you please, but you are about a hopeless experiment. eldon will decide against you, were it only that my name is in the record. you will also recollect that if the publication is pronounced against, on the grounds you mention, as _indecent and blasphemous_, that _i_ lose all right in my daughter's _guardianship_ and _education_, in short, all paternal authority, and every thing concerning her, except * * * * * * * * it was so decided in shelley's case, because he had written queen mab, &c. &c. however, you can ask the lawyers, and do as you like: i do not inhibit you trying the question; i merely state one of the consequences to me. with regard to the copyright, it is hard that you should pay for a nonentity: i will therefore refund it, which i can very well do, not having spent it, nor begun upon it; and so we will be quits on that score. it lies at my banker's. "of the chancellor's law i am no judge; but take up tom jones, and read his mrs. waters and molly seagrim; or prior's hans carvel and paulo purganti: smollett's roderick random, the chapter of lord strutwell, and many others; peregrine pickle, the scene of the beggar girl; johnson's _london_, for coarse expressions; for instance, the words '* *,' and '* *;' anstey's bath guide, the 'hearken, lady betty, hearken;'--take up, in short, pope, prior, congreve, dryden, fielding, smollett, and let the counsel select passages, and what becomes of _their_ copyright, if his wat tyler decision is to pass into a precedent? i have nothing more to say: you must judge for yourselves. "i wrote to you some time ago. i have had a tertian ague; my daughter allegra has been ill also, and i have been almost obliged to run away with a married woman; but with some difficulty, and many internal struggles, i reconciled the lady with her lord, and cured the fever of the child with bark, and my own with cold water. i think of setting out for england by the tyrol in a few days, so that i could wish you to direct your next letter to calais. excuse my writing in great haste and late in the morning, or night, whichever you please to call it. the third canto of 'don juan' is completed, in about two hundred stanzas; very decent, i believe, but do not know, and it is useless to discuss until it be ascertained if it may or may not be a property. "my present determination to quit italy was unlooked for; but i have explained the reasons in letters to my sister and douglas kinnaird, a week or two ago. my progress will depend upon the snows of the tyrol, and the health of my child, who is at present quite recovered; but i hope to get on well, and am "yours ever and truly. "p.s. many thanks for your letters, to which you are not to consider this as an answer, but as an acknowledgment." * * * * * the struggle which, at the time of my visit to him, i had found lord byron so well disposed to make towards averting, as far as now lay in his power, some of the mischievous consequences which, both to the object of his attachment and himself, were likely to result from their connection, had been brought, as the foregoing letters show, to a crisis soon after i left him. the count guiccioli, on his arrival at venice, insisted, as we have seen, that his lady should return with him; and, after some conjugal negotiations, in which lord byron does not appear to have interfered, the young contessa consented reluctantly to accompany her lord to ravenna, it being first covenanted that, in future, all communication between her and her lover should cease. "in a few days after this," says mr. hoppner, in some notices of his noble friend with which he has favoured me, "he returned to venice, very much out of spirits, owing to madame guiccioli's departure, and out of humour with every body and every thing around him. we resumed our rides at the lido; and i did my best not only to raise his spirits, but to make him forget his absent mistress, and to keep him to his purpose of returning to england. he went into no society; and having no longer any relish for his former occupation, his time, when he was not writing, hung heavy enough on hand." the promise given by the lovers not to correspond was, as all parties must have foreseen, soon violated; and the letters lord byron addressed to the lady, at this time, though written in a language not his own, are rendered frequently even eloquent by the mere force of the feeling that governed him--a feeling which could not have owed its fuel to fancy alone, since now that reality had been so long substituted, it still burned on. from one of these letters, dated november th, i shall so far presume upon the discretionary power vested in me, as to lay a short extract or two before the reader--not merely as matters of curiosity, but on account of the strong evidence they afford of the struggle between passion and a sense of right that now agitated him. "you are," he says, "and ever will be, my first thought. but, at this moment, i am in a state most dreadful, not knowing which way to decide;--on the one hand, fearing that i should compromise you for ever, by my return to ravenna and the consequences of such a step, and, on the other, dreading that i shall lose both you and myself, and all that i have ever known or tasted of happiness, by never seeing you more. i pray of you, i implore you to be comforted, and to believe that i cannot cease to love you but with my life." [ ] in another part he says, "i go to save you, and leave a country insupportable to me without you. your letters to f * * and myself do wrong to my motives--but you will yet see your injustice. it is not enough that i must leave you--from motives of which ere long you will be convinced--it is not enough that i must fly from italy, with a heart deeply wounded, after having passed all my days in solitude since your departure, sick both in body and mind--but i must also have to endure your reproaches without answering and without deserving them. farewell! in that one word is comprised the death of my happiness." [ ] he had now arranged every thing for his departure for england, and had even fixed the day, when accounts reached him from ravenna that the contessa was alarmingly ill;--her sorrow at their separation having so much preyed upon her mind, that even her own family, fearful of the consequences, had withdrawn all opposition to her wishes, and now, with the sanction of count guiccioli himself, entreated her lover to hasten to ravenna. what was he, in this dilemma, to do? already had he announced his coming to different friends in england, and every dictate, he felt, of prudence and manly fortitude urged his departure. while thus balancing between duty and inclination, the day appointed for his setting out arrived; and the following picture, from the life, of his irresolution on the occasion, is from a letter written by a female friend of madame guiccioli, who was present at the scene:--"he was ready dressed for the journey, his gloves and cap on, and even his little cane in his hand. nothing was now waited for but his coming down stairs,--his boxes being already all on board the gondola. at this moment, my lord, by way of pretext, declares, that if it should strike one o'clock before every thing was in order (his arms being the only thing not yet quite ready), he would not go that day. the hour strikes, and he remains!"[ ] the writer adds, "it is evident he has not the heart to go;" and the result proved that she had not judged him wrongly. the very next day's tidings from ravenna decided his fate, and he himself, in a letter to the contessa, thus announces the triumph which she had achieved. "f * * * will already have told you, _with her accustomed sublimity_, that love has gained the victory. i could not summon up resolution enough to leave the country where you are, without, at least, once more seeing you. on _yourself_, perhaps, it will depend, whether i ever again shall leave you. of the rest we shall speak when we meet. you ought, by this time, to know which is most conducive to your welfare, my presence or my absence. for myself, i am a citizen of the world--all countries are alike to me. you have ever been, since our first acquaintance, _the sole object of my thoughts_. my opinion was, that the best course i could adopt, both for your peace and that of all your family, would have been to depart and go far, _far_ away from you;--since to have been near and not approach you would have been, for me, impossible. you have however decided that i am to return to ravenna. i shall accordingly return--and shall _do_--and _be_ all that you wish. i cannot say more.[ ] on quitting venice he took leave of mr. hoppner in a short but cordial letter, which i cannot better introduce than by prefixing to it the few words of comment with which this excellent friend of the noble poet has himself accompanied it:--"i need not say with what painful feeling i witnessed the departure of a person who, from the first day of our acquaintance, had treated me with unvaried kindness, reposing a confidence in me which it was beyond the power of my utmost efforts to deserve; admitting me to an intimacy which i had no right to claim, and listening with patience, and the greatest good temper, to the remonstrances i ventured to make upon his conduct." [footnote : "tu sei, e sarai sempre mio primo pensier. ma in questo momento sono in un' stato orribile non sapendo cosa decidere;--temendo, da una parte, comprometterti in eterno col mio ritorno a ravenna, e colle sue consequenze; e, dal' altra perderti, e me stesso, e tutto quel che ho conosciuto o gustato di felicità, nel non vederti più. ti prego, ti supplico calmarti, e credere che non posso cessare ad amarti che colla vita."] [footnote : "io parto, per _salvarti_, e lascio un paese divenuto insopportabile senza di te. le tue lettere alla f * *, ed anche a me stesso fanno torto ai miei motivi; ma col tempo vedrai la tua ingiustizia. tu parli del dolor--io lo sento, ma mi mancano le parole. non basta lasciarti per dei motivi dei quali tu eri persuasa (non molto tempo fa)--non basta partire dall' italia col cuore lacerato, dopo aver passato tutti i giorni dopo la tua partenza nella solitudine, ammalato di corpo e di anima--ma ho anche a sopportare i tuoi rimproveri, senza replicarti, e senza meritarli. addio--in quella parola è compresa la morte _di_ mia felicità." the close of this last sentence exhibits one of the very few instances of incorrectness that lord byron falls into in these letters;--the proper construction being "_della_ mia felicità."] [footnote : "egli era tutto vestito di viaggio coi guanti fra le mani, col suo bonnet, e persino colla piccola sua canna; non altro aspettavasi che egli scendesse le scale, tutti i bauli erano in barca. milord fa la pretesta che se suona un ora dopo il mezzodi e che non sia ogni cosa all' ordine (poichè le armi sole non erano in pronto) egli non partirebbe più per quel giorno. l'ora suona ed egli resta."] [footnote : "la f * * ti avra detta, _colla sua solita sublimità_, che l'amor ha vinto. io non ho potuto trovare forza di anima per lasciare il paese dove tu sei, senza vederti almeno un' altra volta:--forse dipenderà da _te_ se mai ti lascio più. per il resto parleremo. tu dovresti adesso sapere cosa sarà più convenevole al tuo ben essere la mia presenza o la mia lontananza. io sono cittadino del mondo--tutti i paesi sono eguali per me. tu sei stata sempre (dopo che ci siamo conosciuti) _l'unico oggetto di miei_ pensieri. credeva che il miglior partito per la pace tua e la pace di tua famiglia fosse il mio partire, e andare ben _lontano_; poichè stare vicino e non avvicinarti sarebbe per me impossible. ma tu hai deciso che io debbo ritornare a ravenna--tornaro--e farò--e sarò ciò die tu vuoi. non posso dirti di più."] * * * * * letter . to mr. hoppner. "my dear hoppner, "partings are but bitter work at best, so that i shall not venture on a second with you. pray make my respects to mrs. hoppner, and assure her of my unalterable reverence for the singular goodness of her disposition, which is not without its reward even in this world--for those who are no great believers in human virtues would discover enough in her to give them a better opinion of their fellow-creatures and--what is still more difficult--of themselves, as being of the same species, however inferior in approaching its nobler models. make, too, what excuses you can for my omission of the ceremony of leave-taking. if we all meet again, i will make my humblest apology; if not, recollect that i wished you all well; and, if you can, forget that i have given you a great deal of trouble. "yours," &c. &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, december . . "since i last wrote, i have changed my mind, and shall not come to england. the more i contemplate, the more i dislike the place and the prospect. you may, therefore, address to me as usual _here_, though i mean to go to another city. i have finished the third canto of don juan, but the things i have read and heard discourage all further publication--at least for the present. you may try the copy question, but you'll lose it: the cry is up, and cant is up. i should have no objection to return the price of the copyright, and have written to mr. kinnaird by this post on the subject. talk with him. "i have not the patience, nor do i feel interest enough in the question, to contend with the fellows in their own slang; but i perceive mr. blackwood's magazine and one or two others of your missives have been hyperbolical in their praise, and diabolical in their abuse. i like and admire w * *n, and _he_ should not have indulged himself in such outrageous licence.[ ] it is overdone and defeats itself. what would he say to the grossness without passion and the misanthropy without feeling of gulliver's travels?--when he talks of lady's byron's business, he talks of what he knows nothing about; and you may tell him that no one can more desire a public investigation of that affair than i do. "i sent home by moore (_for_ moore only, who has my journal also) my memoir written up to , and i gave him leave to show it to whom he pleased, but _not to publish_, on any account. you may read it, and you may let w * *n read it, if he likes--not for his _public_ opinion, but his private; for i like the man, and care very little about his magazine. and i could wish lady b. herself to read it, that she may have it in her power to mark any thing mistaken or mis-stated; as it may probably appear after my extinction, and it would be but fair she should see it,--that is to say, herself willing. "perhaps i may take a journey to you in the spring; but i _have_ been ill and _am_ indolent and indecisive, because few things interest me. these fellows first abused me for being gloomy, and now they are wroth that i am, or attempted to be, facetious. i have got such a cold and headach that i can hardly see what i scrawl:--the winters here are as sharp as needles. some time ago, i wrote to you rather fully about my italian affairs; at present i can say no more except that you shall hear further by and by. "your blackwood accuses me of treating women harshly: it may be so, but i have been their martyr; my whole life has been sacrificed _to_ them and _by_ them. i mean to leave venice in a few days, but you will address your letters _here_ as usual. when i fix elsewhere, you shall know." [footnote : this is one of the many mistakes into which his distance from the scene of literary operations led him. the gentleman, to whom the hostile article in the magazine is here attributed, has never, either then or since, written upon the subject of the noble poet's character or genius, without giving vent to a feeling of admiration as enthusiastic as it is always eloquently and powerfully expressed.] * * * * * soon after this letter to mr. murray he set out for ravenna, from which place we shall find his correspondence for the next year and a half dated. for a short time after his arrival, he took up his residence at an inn; but the count guiccioli having allowed him to hire a suite of apartments in the palazzo guiccioli itself, he was once more lodged under the same roof with the countess guiccioli. * * * * * letter . to mr. hoppner. "ravenna, dec. . . "i have been here this week, and was obliged to put on my armour and go the night after my arrival to the marquis cavalli's, where there were between two and three hundred of the best company i have seen in italy,--more beauty, more youth, and more diamonds among the women than have been seen these fifty years in the sea-sodom.[ ] i never saw such a difference between two places of the same latitude, (or platitude, it is all one,)--music, dancing, and play, all in the same _salle_. the g.'s object appeared to be to parade her foreign friend as much as possible, and, faith, if she seemed to glory in so doing, it was not for me to be ashamed of it. nobody seemed surprised;--all the women, on the contrary, were, as it were, delighted with the excellent example. the vice-legate, and all the other vices, were as polite as could be;--and i, who had acted on the reserve, was fairly obliged to take the lady under my arm, and look as much like a cicisbeo as i could on so short a notice,--to say nothing of the embarrassment of a cocked hat and sword, much more formidable to me than ever it will be to the enemy. "i write in great haste--do you answer as hastily. i can understand nothing of all this; but it seems as if the g. had been presumed to be _planted_, and was determined to show that she was not,--_plantation_, in this hemisphere, being the greatest moral misfortune. but this is mere conjecture, for i know nothing about it--except that every body are very kind to her, and not discourteous to me. fathers, and all relations, quite agreeable. "yours ever, "b. "p.s. best respects to mrs. h. "i would send the _compliments_ of the season; but the season itself is so complimentary with snow and rain that i wait for sunshine." [footnote : "gehenna of the waters! thou sea-sodom!" marino faliero. ] * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "january . . "my dear moore, "'to-day it is my wedding day; and all the folks would stare, if wife should dine at edmonton, and i should dine at ware.' or _thus_: "here's a happy new year! but with reason, i beg you'll permit me to say-- wish me many returns of the _season_, but as _few_ as you please of the _day_. "my this present writing is to direct you that, if _she chooses_, she may see the ms. memoir in your possession. i wish her to have fair play, in all cases, even though it will not be published till after my decease. for this purpose, it were but just that lady b. should know what is there said of her and hers, that she may have full power to remark on or respond to any part or parts, as may seem fitting to herself. this is fair dealing, i presume, in all events. "to change the subject, are you in england? i send you an epitaph for castlereagh. * * * * * another for pitt:-- "with death doom'd to grapple beneath this cold slab, he who lied in the chapel now lies in the abbey. "the gods seem to have made me poetical this day:-- "in digging up your bones, tom paine, will. cobbett has done well: you visit him on earth again, he'll visit you in hell. or, "you come to him on earth again, he'll go with you to hell. "pray let not these versiculi go forth with my name, except among the initiated, because my friend h. has foamed into a reformer, and, i greatly fear, will subside into newgate; since the honourable house, according to galignani's reports of parliamentary debates, are menacing a prosecution to a pamphlet of his. i shall be very sorry to hear of any thing but good for him, particularly in these miserable squabbles; but these are the natural effects of taking a part in them. "for my own part i had a sad scene since you went. count gu. came for his wife, and _none_ of those consequences which scott prophesied ensued. there was no damages, as in england, and so scott lost his wager. but there was a great scene, for she would not, at first, go back with him--at least, she _did_ go back with him; but he insisted, reasonably enough, that all communication should be broken off between her and me. so, finding italy very dull, and having a fever tertian, i packed up my valise, and prepared to cross the alps; but my daughter fell ill, and detained me. "after her arrival at ravenna, the guiccioli fell ill again too; and at last, her father (who had, all along, opposed the liaison most violently till now) wrote to me to say that she was in such a state that _he_ begged me to come and see her,--and that her husband had acquiesced, in consequence of her relapse, and that _he_ (her father) would guarantee all this, and that there would be no farther scenes in consequence between them, and that i should not be compromised in any way. i set out soon after, and have been here ever since. i found her a good deal altered, but getting better:--_all_ this comes of reading corinna. "the carnival is about to begin, and i saw about two or three hundred people at the marquis cavalli's the other evening, with as much youth, beauty, and diamonds among the women, as ever averaged in the like number. my appearance in waiting on the guiccioli was considered as a thing of course. the marquis is her uncle, and naturally considered me as her relation. "the paper is out, and so is the letter. pray write. address to venice, whence the letters will be forwarded. yours, &c. b." * * * * * letter . to mr. hoppner. "ravenna, january . . "i have not decided any thing about remaining at ravenna. i may stay a day, a week, a year, all my life; but all this depends upon what i can neither see nor foresee. i came because i was called, and will go the moment that i perceive what may render my departure proper. my attachment has neither the blindness of the beginning, nor the microscopic accuracy of the close to such liaisons; but 'time and the hour' must decide upon what i do. i can as yet say nothing, because i hardly know any thing beyond what i have told you. "i wrote to you last post for my movables, as there is no getting a lodging with a chair or table here ready; and as i have already some things of the sort at bologna which i had last summer there for my daughter, i have directed them to be moved; and wish the like to be done with those of venice, that i may at least get out of the 'albergo imperiale,' which _is imperial_ in all true sense of the epithet. buffini may be paid for his poison. i forgot to thank you and mrs. hoppner for a whole treasure of toys for allegra before our departure; it was very kind, and we are very grateful. "your account of the weeding of the governor's party is very entertaining. if you do not understand the consular exceptions, i do; and it is right that a man of honour, and a woman of probity, should find it so, particularly in a place where there are not 'ten righteous.' as to nobility--in england none are strictly noble but peers, not even peers' sons, though titled by courtesy; nor knights of the garter, unless of the peerage, so that castlereagh himself would hardly pass through a foreign herald's ordeal till the death of his father. "the snow is a foot deep here. there is a theatre, and opera,--the barber of seville. balls begin on monday next. pay the porter for never looking after the gate, and ship my chattels, and let me know, or let castelli let me know, how my law-suits go on--but fee him only in proportion to his success. perhaps we may meet in the spring yet, if you are for england. i see h * * has got into a scrape, which does not please me; he should not have gone so deep among those men without calculating the consequences. i used to think myself the most imprudent of all among my friends and acquaintances, but almost begin to doubt it. "yours," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. hoppner. "ravenna, january . . "you would hardly have been troubled with the removal of my furniture, but there is none to be had nearer than bologna, and i have been fain to have that of the rooms which i fitted up for my daughter there in the summer removed here. the expense will be at least as great of the land carriage, so that you see it was necessity, and not choice. here they get every thing from bologna, except some lighter articles from forli or faenza. "if scott is returned, pray remember me to him, and plead laziness the whole and sole cause of my not replying:--dreadful is the exertion of letter-writing. the carnival here is less boisterous, but we have balls and a theatre. i carried bankes to both, and he carried away, i believe, a much more favourable impression of the society here than of that of venice,--recollect that i speak of the _native_ society only. "i am drilling very hard to learn how to double a shawl, and should succeed to admiration if i did not always double it the wrong side out; and then i sometimes confuse and bring away two, so as to put all the servanti out, besides keeping their _servite_ in the cold till every body can get back their property. but it is a dreadfully moral place, for you must not look at anybody's wife except your neighbour's,--if you go to the next door but one, you are scolded, and presumed to be perfidious. and then a relazione or an amicizia seems to be a regular affair of from five to fifteen years, at which period, if there occur a widowhood, it finishes by a sposalizio; and in the mean time it has so many rules of its own that it is not much better. a man actually becomes a piece of female property,--they won't let their serventi marry until there is a vacancy for themselves. i know two instances of this in one family here. "to-night there was a ----[ ] lottery after the opera; it is an odd ceremony. bankes and i took tickets of it, and buffooned together very merrily. he is gone to firenze. mrs. j * * should have sent you my postscript; there was no occasion to have bored you in person. i never interfere in anybody's squabbles,--she may scratch your face herself. "the weather here has been dreadful--snow several feet--a _fiume_, broke down a bridge, and flooded heaven knows how many _campi_; then rain came--and it is still thawing--so that my saddle-horses have a sinecure till the roads become more practicable. why did lega give away the goat? a blockhead--i must have him again. "will you pay missiaglia and the buffo buffini of the gran bretagna? i heard from moore, who is at paris; i had previously written to him in london, but he has not yet got my letter, apparently. "believe me," &c. [footnote : the word here, being under the seal, is illegible.] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "ravenna, february . . "i have had no letter from you these two months; but since i came here in december, , i sent you a letter for moore, who is god knows _where_--in paris or london, i presume. i have copied and cut the third canto of don juan _into two_, because it was too long; and i tell you this beforehand, because in case of any reckoning between you and me, these two are only to go for one, as this was the original form, and, in fact, the two together are not longer than one of the first: so remember that i have not made this division to _double_ upon _you_; but merely to suppress some tediousness in the aspect of the thing. i should have served you a pretty trick if i had sent you, for example, cantos of stanzas each. "i am translating the first canto of pulci's morgante maggiore, and have half done it; but these last days of the carnival confuse and interrupt every thing. "i have not yet sent off the cantos, and have some doubt whether they ought to be published, for they have not the spirit of the first. the outcry has not frightened but it has _hurt_ me, and i have not written _con amore_ this time. it is very decent, however, and as dull as 'the last new comedy.' "i think my translations of pulci will make you stare. it must be put by the original, stanza for stanza, and verse for verse; and you will see what was permitted in a catholic country and a bigoted age to a churchman, on the score of religion;--and so tell those buffoons who accuse me of attacking the liturgy. "i write in the greatest haste, it being the hour of the corso, and i must go and buffoon with the rest. my daughter allegra is just gone with the countess g. in count g.'s coach and six to join the cavalcade, and i must follow with all the rest of the ravenna world. our old cardinal is dead, and the new one not appointed yet; but the masquing goes on the same, the vice-legate being a good governor. we have had hideous frost and snow, but all is mild again. "yours," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. bankes. "ravenna, february . . "i have room for you in the house here, as i had in venice, if you think fit to make use of it; but do not expect to find the same gorgeous suite of tapestried halls. neither dangers nor tropical heats have ever prevented your penetrating wherever you had a mind to it, and why should the snow now?--italian snow--fie on it!--so pray come. tita's heart yearns for you, and mayhap for your silver broad pieces; and your playfellow, the monkey, is alone and inconsolable. "i forget whether you admire or tolerate red hair, so that i rather dread showing you all that i have about me and around me in this city. come, nevertheless,--you can pay dante a morning visit, and i will undertake that theodore and honoria will be most happy to see you in the forest hard by. we goths, also, of ravenna, hope you will not despise our arch-goth, theodoric. i must leave it to these worthies to entertain you all the fore part of the day, seeing that i have none at all myself--the lark that rouses me from my slumbers, being an afternoon bird. but, then, all your evenings, and as much as you can give me of your nights, will be mine. ay! and you will find me eating flesh, too, like yourself or any other cannibal, except it be upon fridays. then, there are more cantos (and be d----d to them) of what the courteous reader, mr. s----, calls grub street, in my drawer, which i have a little scheme to commit to your charge for england; only i must first cut up (or cut down) two aforesaid cantos into three, because i am grown base and mercenary, and it is an ill precedent to let my mecænas, murray, get too much for his money. i am busy, also, with pulci--translating--servilely translating, stanza for stanza, and line for line--two octaves every night,--the same allowance as at venice. "would you call at your banker's at bologna, and ask him for some letters lying there for me, and burn them?--or i will--so do not burn them, but bring them,--and believe me ever and very affectionately yours, "byron. "p.s. i have a particular wish to hear from yourself something about cyprus, so pray recollect all that you can.--good night." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "ravenna, february . . "the bull-dogs will be very agreeable. i have only those of this country, who, though good, have not the tenacity of tooth and stoicism in endurance of my canine fellow-citizens: then pray send them by the readiest conveyance--perhaps best by sea. mr. kinnaird will disburse for them, and deduct from the amount on your application or that of captain tyler. "i see the good old king is gone to his place. one can't help being sorry, though blindness, and age, and insanity, are supposed to be drawbacks on human felicity; but i am not at all sure that the latter, at least, might not render him happier than any of his subjects. "i have no thoughts of coming to the coronation, though i should like to see it, and though i have a right to be a puppet in it; but my division with lady byron, which has drawn an equinoctial line between me and mine in all other things, will operate in this also to prevent my being in the same procession. "by saturday's post i sent you four packets, containing cantos third and fourth. recollect that these two cantos reckon only as _one_ with you and me, being, in fact, the third canto cut into two, because i found it too long. remember this, and don't imagine that there could be any other motive. the whole is about stanzas, more or less, and a lyric of lines, so that they are no longer than the first _single_ cantos: but the truth is, that i made the first too long, and should have cut those down also had i thought better. instead of saying in future for so many cantos, say so many stanzas or pages: it was jacob tonson's way, and certainly the best; it prevents mistakes. i might have sent you a dozen cantos of stanzas each,--those of 'the minstrel' (beattie's) are no longer,--and ruined you at once, if you don't suffer as it is. but recollect that you are not _pinned down_ to any thing you say in a letter, and that, calculating even these two cantos as _one_ only (which they were and are to be reckoned), you are not bound by your offer. act as may seem fair to all parties. "i have finished my translation of the first canto of 'the morgante maggiore' of pulci, which i will transcribe and send. it is the parent, not only of whistlecraft, but of all jocose italian poetry. you must print it side by side with the original italian, because i wish the reader to judge of the fidelity: it is stanza for stanza, and often line for line, if not word for word. "you ask me for a volume of manners, &c. on italy. perhaps i am in the case to know more of them than most englishmen, because i have lived among the natives, and in parts of the country where englishmen never resided before (i speak of romagna and this place particularly); but there are many reasons why i do not choose to treat in print on such a subject. i have lived in their houses and in the heart of their families, sometimes merely as 'amico di casa,' and sometimes as 'amico di cuore' of the dama, and in neither case do i feel myself authorised in making a book of them. their moral is not your moral; their life is not your life; you would not understand it; it is not english, nor french, nor german, which you would all understand. the conventual education, the cavalier servitude, the habits of thought and living are so entirely different, and the difference becomes so much more striking the more you live intimately with them, that i know not how to make you comprehend a people who are at once temperate and profligate, serious in their characters and buffoons in their amusements, capable of impressions and passions, which are at once _sudden_ and _durable_ (what you find in no other nation), and who actually have no society (what we would call so), as you may see by their comedies; they have no real comedy, not even in goldoni, and that is because they have no society to draw it from. "their conversazioni are not society at all. they go to the theatre to talk, and into company to hold their tongues. the _women_ sit in a circle, and the men gather into groups, or they play at dreary faro, or 'lotto reale,' for small sums. their academic are concerts like our own, with better music and more form. their best things are the carnival balls and masquerades, when every body runs mad for six weeks. after their dinners and suppers they make extempore verses and buffoon one another; but it is in a humour which you would not enter into, ye of the north. "in their houses it is better. i should know something of the matter, having had a pretty general experience among their women, from the fisherman's wife up to the nobil dama, whom i serve. their system has its rules, and its fitnesses, and its decorums, so as to be reduced to a kind of discipline or game at hearts, which admits few deviations, unless you wish to lose it. they are extremely tenacious, and jealous as furies, not permitting their lovers even to marry if they can help it, and keeping them always close to them in public as in private, whenever they can. in short, they transfer marriage to adultery, and strike the _not_ out of that commandment. the reason is, that they marry for their parents, and love for themselves. they exact fidelity from a lover as a debt of honour, while they pay the husband as a tradesman, that is, not at all. you hear a person's character, male or female, canvassed not as depending on their conduct to their husbands or wives, but to their mistress or lover. if i wrote a quarto, i don't know that i could do more than amplify what i have here noted. it is to be observed that while they do all this, the greatest outward respect is to be paid to the husbands, not only by the ladies, but by their serventi--particularly if the husband serves no one himself (which is not often the case, however); so that you would often suppose them relations--the servente making the figure of one adopted into the family. sometimes the ladies run a little restive and elope, or divide, or make a scene: but this is at starting, generally, when they know no better, or when they fall in love with a foreigner, or some such anomaly,--and is always reckoned unnecessary and extravagant. "you enquire after dante's prophecy: i have not done more than six hundred lines, but will vaticinate at leisure. "of the bust i know nothing. no cameos or seals are to be cut here or elsewhere that i know of, in any good style. hobhouse should write himself to thorwaldsen: the bust was made and paid for three years ago. "pray tell mrs. leigh to request lady byron to urge forward the transfer from the funds. i wrote to lady byron on business this post, addressed to the care of mr. d. kinnaird." * * * * * letter . to mr. bankes. "ravenna, february . . "pulci and i are waiting for you with impatience; but i suppose we must give way to the attraction of the bolognese galleries for a time. i know nothing of pictures myself, and care almost as little: but to me there are none like the venetian--above all, giorgione. i remember well his judgment of solomon in the mariscalchi in bologna. the real mother is beautiful, exquisitely beautiful. buy her, by all means, if you can, and take her home with you: put her in safety: for be assured there are troublous times brewing for italy; and as i never could keep out of a row in my life, it will be my fate, i dare say, to be over head and ears in it; but no matter, these are the stronger reasons for coming to see me soon. "i have more of scott's novels (for surely they are scott's) since we met, and am more and more delighted. i think that i even prefer them to his poetry, which (by the way) i redde for the first time in my life in your rooms in trinity college. "there are some curious commentaries on dante preserved here, which you should see. believe me ever, faithfully and most affectionately, yours," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "ravenna, march . . "i sent you by last post the translation of the first canto of the morgante maggiore, and wish you to ask rose about the word 'sbergo,' _i.e._ 'usbergo,' which i have translated _cuirass_. i suspect that it means _helmet_ also. now, if so, which of the senses is best accordant with the text? i have adopted cuirass, but will be amenable to reasons. of the natives, some say one, and some t'other: but they are no great tuscans in romagna. however, i will ask sgricci (the famous improvisatore) to-morrow, who is a native of arezzo. the countess guiccioli who is reckoned a very cultivated young lady, and the dictionary, say _cuirass_. i have written cuirass, but _helmet_ runs in my head nevertheless--and will run in verse very well, whilk is the principal point. i will ask the sposa spina spinelli, too, the florentine bride of count gabriel rusponi, just imported from florence, and get the sense out of somebody. "i have just been visiting the new cardinal, who arrived the day before yesterday in his legation. he seems a good old gentleman, pious and simple, and not quite like his predecessor, who was a bon-vivant, in the worldly sense of the words. "enclosed is a letter which i received some time ago from dallas. it will explain itself. i have not answered it. this comes of doing people good. at one time or another (including copyrights) this person has had about fourteen hundred pounds of my money, and he writes what he calls a posthumous work about me, and a scrubby letter accusing me of treating him ill, when i never did any such thing. it is true that i left off letter-writing, as i have done with almost everybody else; but i can't see how that was misusing him. "i look upon his epistle as the consequence of my not sending him another hundred pounds, which he wrote to me for about two years ago, and which i thought proper to withhold, he having had his share, methought, of what i could dispone upon others. "in your last you ask me after my articles of domestic wants; i believe they are as usual: the bull-dogs, magnesia, soda-powders, tooth-powders, brushes, and every thing of the kind which are here unattainable. you still ask me to return to england: alas! to what purpose? you do not know what you are requiring. return i must, probably, some day or other (if i live), sooner or later; but it will not be for pleasure, nor can it end in good. you enquire after my health and spirits in large letters: my health can't be very bad, for i cured myself of a sharp tertian ague, in three weeks, with cold water, which had held my stoutest gondolier for months, notwithstanding all the bark of the apothecary,--a circumstance which surprised dr. aglietti, who said it was a proof of great stamina, particularly in so epidemic a season. i did it out of dislike to the taste of bark (which i can't bear), and succeeded, contrary to the prophecies of every body, by simply taking nothing at all. as to _spirits_, they are unequal, now high, now low, like other people's i suppose, and depending upon circumstances. "pray send me w. scott's new novels. what are their names and characters? i read some of his former ones, at least once a day, for an hour or so. the last are too hurried: he forgets ravenswood's name, and calls him _edgar_ and then _norman_; and girder, the cooper, is styled now _gilbert_, and now _john_; and he don't make enough of montrose; but dalgetty is excellent, and so is lucy ashton, and the b----h her mother. what is _ivanhoe_? and what do you call his other? are there _two_? pray make him write at least two a year: i like no reading so well. "the editor of the bologna telegraph has sent me a paper with extracts from mr. mulock's (his name always reminds me of muley moloch of morocco) 'atheism answered,' in which there is a long eulogium of my poesy, and a great 'compatimento' for my misery. i never could understand what they mean by accusing me of irreligion. however, they may have it their own way. this gentleman seems to be my great admirer, so i take what he says in good part, as he evidently intends kindness, to which i can't accuse myself of being invincible. "yours," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "ravenna, march . . "in case, in your country, you should not readily lay hands on the morgante maggiore, i send you the original text of the first canto, to correspond with the translation which i sent you a few days ago. it is from the naples edition in quarto of ,--_dated florence_, however, by a trick of _the trade_, which you, as one of the allied sovereigns of the profession, will perfectly understand without any further spiegazione. "it is strange that here nobody understands the real precise meaning of 'sbergo,' or 'usbergo[ ],' an old tuscan word, which i have rendered _cuirass_ (but am not sure it is not _helmet_). i have asked at least twenty people, learned and ignorant, male and female, including poets, and officers civil and military. the dictionary says _cuirass_, but gives no authority; and a female friend of mine says _positively cuirass_, which makes me doubt the fact still more than before. ginguené says 'bonnet de fer,' with the usual superficial decision of a frenchman, so that i can't believe him: and what between the dictionary, the italian woman, and the frenchman, there's no trusting to a word they say. the context, too, which should decide, admits equally of either meaning, as you will perceive. ask rose, hobhouse, merivale, and foscolo, and vote with the majority. is frere a good tuscan? if he be, bother him too. i have tried, you see, to be as accurate as i well could. this is my third or fourth letter, or packet, within the last twenty days." [footnote : it has been suggested to me that usbergo is obviously the same as hauberk, habergeon, &c. all from the german _halsberg_, or covering of the neck.] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "ravenna, march . . "enclosed is dante's prophecy--vision--or what not.[ ] where i have left more than one reading (which i have done often), you may adopt that which gifford, frere, rose, and hobhouse, and others of your utican senate think the best or least bad. the preface will explain all that is explicable. these are but the four first cantos: if approved, i will go on. "pray mind in printing; and let some good italian scholar correct the italian quotations. "four days ago i was overturned in an open carriage between the river and a steep bank:--wheels dashed to pieces, slight bruises, narrow escape, and all that; but no harm done, though coachman, foot-man, horses, and vehicle, were all mixed together like macaroni. it was owing to bad driving, as i say; but the coachman swears to a start on the part of the horses. we went against a post on the verge of a steep bank, and capsized. i usually go out of the town in a carriage, and meet the saddle horses at the bridge; it was in going there that we boggled; but i got my ride, as usual, after the accident. they say here it was all owing to st. antonio of padua, (serious, i assure you,)--who does thirteen miracles a day,--that worse did not come of it. i have no objection to this being his fourteenth in the four-and-twenty-hours. he presides over overturns and all escapes therefrom, it seems: and they dedicate pictures, &c. to him, as the sailors once did to neptune, after 'the high roman fashion.' "yours, in haste." [footnote : there were in this poem, originally, three lines of remarkable strength and severity, which, as the italian poet against whom they were directed was then living, were omitted in the publication. i shall here give them from memory. "the prostitution of his muse and wife, both beautiful, and both by him debased, shall salt his bread and give him means of life." ] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "ravenna, march . . "last post i sent you 'the vision of dante,'--four first cantos. enclosed you will find, _line for line_, in _third rhyme_ (_terza rima_), of which your british blackguard reader as yet understands nothing, fanny of rimini. you know that she was born here, and married, and slain, from gary, boyd, and such people. i have done it into _cramp_ english, line for line, and rhyme for rhyme, to try the possibility. you had best append it to the poems already sent by last three posts. i shall not allow you to play the tricks you did last year, with the prose you _post_-scribed to mazeppa, which i sent to you _not_ to be published, if not in a periodical paper,--and there you tacked it, without a word of explanation. if this is published, publish it _with the original_, and _together_ with the _pulci_ translation, _or_ the _dante imitation_. i suppose you have both by now, and the _juan_ long before. "francesca of rimini. "_translation from the inferno of dante, canto th._ "'the land where i was born sits by the seas, upon that shore to which the po descends, with all his followers, in search of peace. love, which the gentle heart soon apprehends, seized him for the fair person which was ta'en from me, and me even yet the mode offends. love, who to none beloved to love again remits, seized me with wish to please, so strong, that, as thou seest, yet, yet it doth remain. love to one death conducted us along, but caina waits for him our life who ended:' these were the accents utter'd by her tongue,-- since first i listen'd to these souls offended, i bow'd my visage and so kept it till-- {_then_} 'what think'st thou?' said the bard; { when } i unbended, and recommenced: 'alas! unto such ill how many sweet thoughts, what strong ecstasies led these their evil fortune to fulfil!' and then i turn'd unto their side my eyes, and said, 'francesca, thy sad destinies have made me sorrow till the tears arise. but tell me, in the season of sweet sighs, by what and how thy love to passion rose, so as his dim desires to recognise?' then she to me: 'the greatest of all woes {_recall to mind_} is to { remind us of } our happy days {_this_} in misery, and { that } thy teacher knows. but if to learn our passion's first root preys upon thy spirit with such sympathy, { _relate_ } i will {do[ ] even} as he who weeps and says.-- we read one day for pastime, seated nigh, of lancilot, how love enchain'd him too. we were alone, quite unsuspiciously, but oft our eyes met, and our cheeks in hue all o'er discolour'd by that reading were; { _overthrew_ } but one point only wholly {us o'erthrew;} { _desired_ } when we read the {long-sighed-for} smile of her, {_a fervent_} to be thus kiss'd by such { devoted } lover, he who from me can be divided ne'er kiss'd my mouth, trembling in the act all over. accursed was the book and he who wrote! that day no further leaf we did uncover.-- while thus one spirit told us of their lot, the other wept, so that with pity's thralls i swoon'd as if by death i had been smote, and fell down even as a dead body falls.'" [footnote : "in some of the editions, it is, 'diro,' in others 'faro;'--an essential difference between 'saying' and 'doing,' which i know not how to decide. ask foscolo. the d----d editions drive me mad."] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "ravenna, march . . "i have received your letter of the th. besides the four packets you have already received, i have sent the pulci a few days after, and since (a few days ago) the four first cantos of dante's prophecy, (the best thing i ever wrote, if it be not _unintelligible_,) and by last post a literal translation, word for word (versed like the original), of the episode of francesca of rimini. i want to hear what you think of the new juans, and the translations, and the vision. they are all things that are, or ought to be, very different from one another. "if you choose to make a print from the venetian, you may; but she don't correspond at all to the character you mean her to represent. on the contrary, the contessa g. does (except that she is fair), and is much prettier than the fornarina; but i have no picture of her except a miniature, which is very ill done; and, besides, it would not be proper, on any account whatever, to make such a use of it, even if you had a copy. "recollect that the two new cantos only count with us for one. you may put the pulci and dante together: perhaps that were best. so you have put your name to juan, after all your panic. you are a rare fellow. i must now put myself in a passion to continue my prose. yours," &c. "i have caused write to thorwaldsen. pray be careful in sending my daughter's picture--i mean, that it be not hurt in the carriage, for it is a journey rather long and jolting." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "ravenna, march . . "enclosed is a 'screed of doctrine' for you, of which i will trouble you to acknowledge the receipt by next post. mr. hobhouse must have the correction of it for the press. you may show it first to whom you please. "i wish to know what became of my two epistles from st. paul (translated from the armenian three years ago and more), and of the letter to r----ts of last autumn, which you never have attended to? there are two packets with this. "p.s. i have some thoughts of publishing the 'hints from horace,' written ten years ago[ ],--if hobhouse can rummage them out of my papers left at his father's,--with some omissions and alterations previously to be made when i see the proofs." [footnote : when making the observations which occur in the early part of this work, on the singular preference given by the noble author to the "hints from horace," i was not aware of the revival of this strange predilection, which (as it appears from the above letter, and, still more strongly, from some that follow) took place so many years after, in the full maturity of his powers and taste. such a delusion is hardly conceivable, and can only, perhaps, be accounted for by that tenaciousness of early opinions and impressions by which his mind, in other respects so versatile, was characterised.] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "ravenna, march . . "herewith you will receive a note (enclosed) on pope, which you will find tally with a part of the text of last post. i have at last lost all patience with the atrocious cant and nonsense about pope, with which our present * *s are overflowing, and am determined to make such head against it as an individual can, by prose or verse; and i will at least do it with good will. there is no bearing it any longer; and if it goes on, it will destroy what little good writing or taste remains amongst us. i hope there are still a few men of taste to second me; but if not, i'll battle it alone, convinced that it is in the best cause of english literature. "i have sent you so many packets, verse and prose, lately, that you will be tired of the postage, if not of the perusal. i want to answer some parts of your last letter, but i have not time, for i must 'boot and saddle,' as my captain craigengelt (an officer of the old napoleon italian army) is in waiting, and my groom and cattle to boot. "you have given me a screed of metaphor and what not about _pulci_, and manners, and 'going without clothes, like our saxon ancestors.' now, the _saxons did not go without clothes_; and, in the next place, they are not my ancestors, nor yours either; for mine were norman, and yours, i take it by your name, were _gael_. and, in the next, i differ from you about the 'refinement' which has banished the comedies of congreve. are not the comedies of _sheridan_? acted to the thinnest houses? i know (as _ex-committed_) that 'the school for scandal' was the worst stock piece upon record. i also know that congreve gave up writing because mrs. centlivre's balderdash drove his comedies off. so it is not decency, but stupidity, that does all this; for sheridan is as decent a writer as need be, and congreve no worse than mrs. centlivre, of whom wilks (the actor) said, 'not only her play would be damned, but she too.' he alluded to 'a bold stroke for a wife.' but last, and most to the purpose, pulci is _not_ an _indecent_ writer--at least in his first canto, as you will have perceived by this time. "you talk of _refinement_:--are you all _more_ moral? are you _so_ moral? no such thing. _i_ know what the world is in england, by my own proper experience of the best of it--at least of the loftiest; and i have described it every where as it is to be found in all places. "but to return. i should like to see the _proofs_ of mine answer, because there will be something to omit or to alter. but pray let it be carefully printed. when convenient let me have an answer. "yours." * * * * * letter . to mr. hoppner. "ravenna, march . . "ravenna continues much the same as i described it. conversazioni all lent, and much better ones than any at venice. there are small games at hazard, that is, faro, where nobody can point more than a shilling or two;--other card-tables, and as much talk and coffee as you please. every body does and says what they please; and i do not recollect any disagreeable events, except being three times falsely accused of flirtation, and once being robbed of six sixpences by a nobleman of the city, a count * * *. i did not suspect the illustrious delinquent; but the countess v * * * and the marquis l * * * told me of it directly, and also that it was a way he had, of filching money when he saw it before him; but i did not ax him for the cash, but contented myself with telling him that if he did it again, i should anticipate the law. "there is to be a theatre in april, and a fair, and an opera, and another opera in june, besides the fine weather of nature's giving, and the rides in the forest of pine. with my best respects to mrs. hoppner, believe me ever, &c. byron. "p.s. could you give me an item of what books remain at venice? i don't want them, but want to know whether the few that are not here are there, and were not lost by the way. i hope and trust you have got all your wine safe, and that it is drinkable. allegra is prettier, i think, but as obstinate as a mule, and as ravenous as a vulture: health good, to judge of the complexion--temper tolerable, but for vanity and pertinacity. she thinks herself handsome, and will do as she pleases." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "ravenna, april . . "in the name of all the devils in the printing-office, why don't you write to acknowledge the receipt of the second, third, and fourth packets, viz. the pulci translation and original, the _danticles_, the observations on, &c.? you forget that you keep me in hot water till i know whether they are arrived, or if i must have the bore of re-copying. "have you gotten the cream of translations, francesca of rimini, from the inferno? why, i have sent you a warehouse of trash within the last month, and you have no sort of feeling about you: a pastry-cook would have had twice the gratitude, and thanked me at least for the quantity. "to make the letter heavier, i enclose you the cardinal legate's (our campeius) circular for his conversazione this evening. it is the anniversary of the pope's _tiara_-tion, and all polite christians, even of the lutheran creed, must go and be civil. and there will be a circle, and a faro-table, (for shillings, that is, they don't allow high play,) and all the beauty, nobility, and sanctity of ravenna present. the cardinal himself is a very good-natured little fellow, bishop of muda, and legate here,--a decent believer in all the doctrines of the church. he has kept his housekeeper these forty years * * * *; but is reckoned a pious man, and a moral liver. "i am not quite sure that i won't be among you this autumn, for i find that business don't go on--what with trustees and lawyers--as it should do, 'with all deliberate speed.' they differ about investments in ireland. "between the devil and deep sea, between the lawyer and trustee, i am puzzled; and so much time is lost by my not being upon the spot, what with answers, demurs, rejoinders, that it may be i must come and look to it; for one says do, and t'other don't, so that i know not which way to turn: but perhaps they can manage without me. "yours, &c. "p.s. i have begun a tragedy on the subject of marino faliero, the doge of venice; but you sha'n't see it these six years, if you don't acknowledge my packets with more quickness and precision. _always write, if but a line_, by return of post, when any thing arrives, which is not a mere letter. "address direct to ravenna; it saves a week's time, and much postage." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "ravenna, april . . "post after post arrives without bringing any acknowledgment from you of the different packets (excepting the first) which i sent within the last two months, all of which ought to be arrived long ere now; and as they were announced in other letters, you ought at least to say whether they are come or not. you are not expected to write frequent, or long letters, as your time is much occupied; but when parcels that have cost some pains in the composition, and great trouble in the copying, are sent to you, i should at least be put out of suspense, by the immediate acknowledgment, per return of post, addressed _directly_ to _ravenna_. i am naturally--knowing what continental posts are--anxious to hear that they are arrived; especially as i loathe the task of copying so much, that if there was a human being that could copy my blotted mss. he should have all they can ever bring for his trouble. all i desire is two lines, to say, such a day i received such a packet. there are at least six unacknowledged. this is neither kind nor courteous. "i have, besides, another reason for desiring you to be speedy, which is, that there is that brewing in italy which will speedily cut off all security of communication, and set all your anglo-travellers flying in every direction, with their usual fortitude in foreign tumults. the spanish and french affairs have set the italians in a ferment; and no wonder: they have been too long trampled on. this will make a sad scene for your exquisite traveller, but not for the resident, who naturally wishes a people to redress itself. i shall, if permitted by the natives, remain to see what will come of it, and perhaps to take a turn with them, like dugald dalgetty and his horse, in case of business; for i shall think it by far the most interesting spectacle and moment in existence, to see the italians send the barbarians of all nations back to their own dens. i have lived long enough among them to feel more for them as a nation than for any other people in existence. but they want union, and they want principle; and i doubt their success. however, they will try, probably, and if they do, it will be a good cause. no italian can hate an austrian more than i do: unless it be the english, the austrians seem to me the most obnoxious race under the sky. "but i doubt, if any thing be done, it won't be so quietly as in spain. to be sure, revolutions are not to be made with rose-water, where there are foreigners as masters. "write while you can; for it is but the toss up of a paul that there will not be a row that will somewhat retard the mail by and by. "yours," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. hoppner. "ravenna, april . . "i have caused write to siri and willhalm to send with vincenza, in a boat, the camp-beds and swords left in their care when i quitted venice. there are also several pounds of mantons best powder in a japan case; but unless i felt sure of getting it away from v. without seizure, i won't have it ventured. i can get it in here, by means of an acquaintance in the customs, who has offered to get it ashore for me; but should like to be certiorated of its safety in leaving venice. i would not lose it for its weight in gold--there is none such in italy, as i take it to be. "i wrote to you a week or so ago, and hope you are in good plight and spirits. sir humphry davy is here, and was last night at the cardinal's. as i had been there last sunday, and yesterday was warm, i did not go, which i should have done, if i had thought of meeting the man of chemistry. he called this morning, and i shall go in search of him at corso time. i believe to-day, being monday, there is no great conversazione, and only the family one at the marchese cavalli's, where i go as a relation sometimes, so that, unless he stays a day or two, we should hardly meet in public. "the theatre is to open in may for the fair, if there is not a row in all italy by that time,--the spanish business has set them all a constitutioning, and what will be the end, no one knows--it is also necessary thereunto to have a beginning. "yours, &c. "p.s. my benediction to mrs. hoppner. how is your little boy? allegra is growing, and has increased in good looks and obstinacy." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "ravenna, april . . "the proofs don't contain the _last_ stanzas of canto second, but end abruptly with the th stanza. "i told you long ago that the new cantos[ ] were _not_ good, and i also _told you a reason_. recollect, i do not oblige you to publish them; you may suppress them, if you like, but i can alter nothing. i have erased the six stanzas about those two impostors * * * * (which i suppose will give you great pleasure), but i can do no more. i can neither recast, nor replace; but i give you leave to put it all into the fire, if you like, or _not_ to publish, and i think that's sufficient. "i told you that i wrote on with no good will--that i had been, _not_ frightened, but _hurt_ by the outcry, and, besides, that when i wrote last november, i was ill in body, and in very great distress of mind about some private things of my own; but you would have it: so i sent it to you, and to make it lighter, cut it in two--but i can't piece it together again. i can't cobble: i must 'either make a spoon or spoil a horn,'--and there's an end; for there's no remeid: but i leave you free will to suppress the whole, if you like it. "about the _morgante maggiore, i won't have a line omitted_. it may circulate, or it may not; but all the criticism on earth sha'n't touch a line, unless it be because it is badly translated. now you say, and i say, and others say, that the translation is a good one; and so it shall go to press as it is. pulci must answer for his own irreligion: i answer for the translation only. "pray let mr. hobhouse look to the italian next time in the proofs: this time, while i am scribbling to you, they are corrected by one who passes for the prettiest woman in romagna, and even the marches, as far as ancona, be the other who she may. "i am glad you like my answer to your enquiries about italian society. it is fit you should like _something_, and be d----d to you. "my love to scott. i shall think higher of knighthood ever after for his being dubbed. by the way, he is the first poet titled for his talent in britain: it has happened abroad before now; but on the continent titles are universal and worthless. why don't you send me ivanhoe and the monastery? i have never written to sir walter, for i know he has a thousand things, and i a thousand nothings, to do; but i hope to see him at abbotsford before very long, and i will sweat his claret for him, though italian abstemiousness has made my brain but a shilpit concern for a scotch sitting 'inter pocula.' i love scott, and moore, and all the better brethren; but i hate and abhor that puddle of water-worms whom you have taken into your troop. "yours, &c. "p.s. you say that _one half_ is very good: you are _wrong_; for, if it were, it would be the finest poem in existence. _where_ is the poetry of which _one half_ is good? is it the _Æneid_? is it _milton's_? is it _dryden's_? is it any one's except _pope's_ and _goldsmith's_, of which _all_ is good? and yet these two last are the poets your pond poets would explode. but if _one half_ of the two new cantos be good in your opinion, what the devil would you have more? no--no; no poetry is _generally_ good--only by fits and starts--and you are lucky to get a sparkle here and there. you might as well want a midnight _all stars_ as rhyme all perfect. "we are on the verge of a _row_ here. last night they have overwritten all the city walls with 'up with the republic!' and 'death to the pope!' &c. &c. this would be nothing in london, where the walls are privileged. but here it is a different thing: they are not used to such fierce political inscriptions, and the police is all on the alert, and the cardinal glares pale through all his purple. "april . . o'clock, p.m. "the police have been, all noon and after, searching for the inscribers, but have caught none as yet. they must have been all night about it, for the 'live republics--death to popes and priests,' are innumerable, and plastered over all the palaces: ours has plenty. there is 'down with the nobility,' too; they are down enough already, for that matter. a very heavy rain and wind having come on, i did not go out and 'skirr the country;' but i shall mount to-morrow, and take a canter among the peasantry, who are a savage, resolute race, always riding with guns in their hands. i wonder they don't suspect the serenaders, for they play on the guitar here all night, as in spain, to their mistresses. "talking of politics, as caleb quotem says, pray look at the _conclusion_ of my ode on _waterloo_, written in the year , and, comparing it with the duke de berri's catastrophe in , tell me if i have not as good a right to the character of '_vates_' in both senses of the word, as fitzgerald and coleridge? "'crimson tears will follow yet--' and have not they? "i can't pretend to foresee what will happen among you englishers at this distance, but i vaticinate a row in italy; in whilk case, i don't know that i won't have a finger in it. i dislike the austrians, and think the italians infamously oppressed; and if they begin, why, i will recommend 'the erection of a sconce upon drumsnab,' like dugald dalgetty." [footnote : of don juan.] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "ravenna, may . . "from your not having written again, an intention which your letter of the th ultimo indicated, i have to presume that the 'prophecy of dante' has not been found more worthy than its predecessors in the eyes of your illustrious synod. in that case, you will be in some perplexity; to end which, i repeat to you, that you are not to consider yourself as bound or pledged to publish any thing because it is _mine_, but always to act according to your own views, or opinions, or those of your friends; and to be sure that you will in no degree offend me by 'declining the article,' to use a technical phrase. the _prose_ observations on john wilson's attack, i do not intend for publication at this time; and i send a copy of verses to mr. kinnaird (they were written last year on crossing the po) which must _not_ be published either. i mention this, because it is probable he may give you a copy. pray recollect this, as they are mere verses of society, and written upon private feelings and passions. and, moreover, i can't consent to any mutilations or omissions of _pulci_: the original has been ever free from such in italy, the capital of christianity, and the translation may be so in england; though you will think it strange that they should have allowed such _freedom_ for many centuries to the morgante, while the other day they confiscated the whole translation of the fourth canto of childe harold, and have persecuted leoni, the translator--so he writes me, and so i could have told him, had he consulted me before his publication. this shows how much more politics interest men in these parts than religion. half a dozen invectives against tyranny confiscate childe harold in a month; and eight and twenty cantos of quizzing monks and knights, and church government, are let loose for centuries. i copy leoni's account. "'non ignorerà forse che la mia versione del ° canto del childe harold fu confiscata in ogni parte: ed io stesso ho dovuto soffrir vessazioni altrettanto ridicole quanto illiberaii, ad arte che alcuni versi fossero esclusi dalla censura. ma siccome il divieto non fa d'ordinario che accrescere la curiosita cos! quel carme sull' italia è ricercato più che mai, e penso di farlo ristampare in inghil-terra senza nulla escludere. sciagurata condizione di questa mia patria! se patria si può chiamare una terra così avvilita dalla fortuna, dagli uomini, da se medesima.' "rose will translate this to you. has he had his letter? i enclosed it to you months ago. "this intended piece of publication i shall dissuade him from, or he may chance to see the inside of st. angelo's. the last sentence of his letter is the common and pathetic sentiment of all his countrymen. "sir humphry davy was here last fortnight, and i was in his company in the house of a very pretty italian lady of rank, who, by way of displaying her learning in presence of the great chemist, then describing his fourteenth ascension to mount vesuvius, asked 'if there was not a similar volcano in _ireland_?' my only notion of an irish volcano consisted of the lake of killarney, which i naturally conceived her to mean; but, on second thoughts, i divined that she alluded to _ice_land and to hecla--and so it proved, though she sustained her volcanic topography for some time with all the amiable pertinacity of 'the feminie.' she soon after turned to me and asked me various questions about sir humphry's philosophy, and i explained as well as an oracle his skill in gasen safety lamps, and ungluing the pompeian mss. 'but what do you call him?' said she. 'a great chemist,' quoth i. 'what can he do?' repeated the lady. 'almost any thing,' said i. 'oh, then, mio caro, do pray beg him to give me something to dye my eyebrows black. i have tried a thousand things, and the colours all come off; and besides, they don't grow; can't he invent something to make them grow?' all this with the greatest earnestness; and what you will be surprised at, she is neither ignorant nor a fool, but really well educated and clever. but they speak like children, when first out of their convents; and, after all, this is better than an english blue-stocking. "i did not tell sir humphry of this last piece of philosophy, not knowing how he might take it. davy was much taken with ravenna, and the primitive _italianism_ of the people, who are unused to foreigners: but he only stayed a day. "send me scott's novels and some news. "p.s. i have begun and advanced into the second act of a tragedy on the subject of the doge's conspiracy (_i.e._ the story of marino faliero); but my present feeling is so little encouraging on such matters, that i begin to think i have mined my talent out, and proceed in no great phantasy of finding a new vein. "p.s. i sometimes think (if the italians don't rise) of coming over to england in the autumn after the coronation, (at which i would not appear, on account of my family schism,) but as yet i can decide nothing. the place must be a great deal changed since i left it, now more than four years ago." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "ravenna, may . . "murray, my dear, make my respects to thomas campbell, and tell him from me, with faith and friendship, three things that he must right in his poets: firstly, he says anstey's bath guide characters are taken from smollett. 'tis impossible:--the guide was published in , and humphrey clinker in --_dunque_, 'tis smollett who has taken from anstey. secondly, he does not know to whom cowper alludes, when he says that there was one who 'built a church to _god_, and then blasphemed his name:' it was 'deo erexit _voltaire_' to whom that maniacal calvinist and coddled poet alludes. thirdly, he misquotes and spoils a passage from shakspeare, 'to gild refined gold, to paint the lily,' &c.; for _lily_ he puts rose, and bedevils in more words than one the whole quotation. "now, tom is a fine fellow; but he should be correct; for the first is an _injustice_ (to anstey), the second an _ignorance_, and the third a _blunder_. tell him all this, and let him take it in good part; for i might have rammed it into a review and rowed him--instead of which, i act like a christian. "yours," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "ravenna, may . . "first and foremost, you must forward my letter to _moore_ dated d _january_, which i said you might open, but desired you _to forward_. now, you should really not forget these little things, because they do mischief among friends. you are an excellent man, a great man, and live among great men, but do pray recollect your absent friends and authors. "in the first place, _your packets_; then a letter from kinnaird, on the most urgent business; another from moore, about a communication to lady byron of importance; a fourth from the mother of allegra; and, fifthly, at ravenna, the countess g. is on the eve of being separated. but the italian public are on her side, particularly the women,--and the men also, because they say that _he_ had no business to take the business up now after a year of toleration. all her relations (who are numerous, high in rank, and powerful) are furious _against him_ for his conduct. i am warned to be on my guard, as he is very capable of employing _sicarii_--this is latin as well as italian, so you can understand it; but i have arms, and don't mind them, thinking that i could pepper his ragamuffins, if they don't come unawares, and that, if they do, one may as well end that way as another; and it would besides serve _you_ as an advertisement:-- "man may escape from rope or gun, &c. but he who takes woman, woman, woman, &c. "yours. "p.s. i have looked over the press, but heaven knows how. think what i have on hand and the post going out to-morrow. do you remember the epitaph on voltaire? "'ci-git l'enfant gâté,' &c. "'here lies the spoilt child of the world which he spoil'd.' the original is in grimm and diderot, &c. &c. &c." * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "ravenna, may . . "i wrote to you a few days ago. there is also a letter of january last for you at murray's, which will explain to you why i am here. murray ought to have forwarded it long ago. i enclose you an epistle from a countrywoman of yours at paris, which has moved my entrails. you will have the goodness, perhaps, to enquire into the truth of her story, and i will help her as far as i can,--though not in the useless way she proposes. her letter is evidently unstudied, and so natural, that the orthography is also in a state of nature. "here is a poor creature, ill and solitary, who thinks, as a last resource, of translating you or me into french! was there ever such a notion? it seems to me the consummation of despair. pray enquire, and let me know, and, if you could draw a bill on me _here_ for a few hundred francs, at your banker's, i will duly honour it,--that is, if she is not an impostor.[ ] if not, let me know, that i may get something remitted by my banker longhi, of bologna, for i have no correspondence myself, at paris: but tell her she must not translate;--if she does, it will be the height of ingratitude. "i had a letter (not of the same kind, but in french and flattery) from a madame sophie gail, of paris, whom i take to be the spouse of a gallo-greek of that name. who is she? and what is she? and how came she to take an interest in my _poeshie_ or its author? if you know her, tell her, with my compliments, that, as i only _read_ french, i have not answered her letter; but would have done so in italian, if i had not thought it would look like an affectation. i have just been scolding my monkey for tearing the seal of her letter, and spoiling a mock book, in which i put rose leaves. i had a civet-cat the other day, too; but it ran away, after scratching my monkey's cheek, and i am in search of it still. it was the fiercest beast i ever saw, and like * * in the face and manner. "i have a world of things to say; but, as they are not come to a _dénouement_, i don't care to begin their history till it is wound up. after you went, i had a fever, but got well again without bark. sir humphry davy was here the other day, and liked ravenna very much. he will tell you any thing you may wish to know about the place and your humble servitor. "your apprehensions (arising from scott's) were unfounded. there are _no damages_ in this country, but there will probably be a separation between them, as her family, which is a principal one, by its connections, are very much against _him_, for the whole of his conduct;--and he is old and obstinate, and she is young and a woman, determined to sacrifice every thing to her affections. i have given her the best advice, viz. to stay with him,--pointing out the state of a separated woman, (for the priests won't let lovers live openly together, unless the husband sanctions it,) and making the most exquisite moral reflections,--but to no purpose. she says, 'i will stay with him, if he will let you remain with me. it is hard that i should be the only woman in romagna who is not to have her amico; but, if not, i will not live with him; and as for the consequences, love, &c. &c. &c.'--you know how females reason on such occasions. "he says he has let it go on till he can do so no longer. but he wants her to stay, and dismiss me; for he doesn't like to pay back her dowry and to make an alimony. her relations are rather for the separation, as they detest him,--indeed, so does every body. the populace and the women are, as usual, all for those who are in the wrong, viz. the lady and her lover. i should have retreated, but honour, and an erysipelas which has attacked her, prevent me,--to say nothing of love, for i love her most entirely, though not enough to persuade her to sacrifice every thing to a frenzy. 'i see how it will end; she will be the sixteenth mrs. shuffleton.' "my paper is finished, and so must this letter. "yours ever, b. "p.s. i regret that you have not completed the italian fudges. pray, how come you to be still in paris? murray has four or five things of mine in hand--the new don juan, which his back-shop synod don't admire;--a translation of the first canto of pulci's morgante maggiore, excellent;--short ditto from dante, not so much approved; the prophecy of dante, very grand and worthy, &c. &c. &c.;--a furious prose answer to blackwood's observations on don juan, with a savage defence of pope--likely to make a row. the opinions above i quote from murray and his utican senate;--you will form your own, when you see the things. "you will have no great chance of seeing me, for i begin to think i must finish in italy. but, if you come my way, you shall have a tureen of macaroni. pray tell me about yourself, and your intents. "my trustees are going to lend earl blessington sixty thousand pounds (at six per cent.) on a dublin mortgage. only think of my becoming an irish absentee!" [footnote : according to his desire, i waited upon this young lady, having provided myself with a rouleau of fifteen or twenty napoleons to present to her from his lordship; but, with a very creditable spirit, my young countrywoman declined the gift, saying that lord byron had mistaken the object of her application to him, which was to request that, by allowing her to have the sheets of some of his works before publication, he would enable her to prepare early translations for the french booksellers, and thus afford her the means of acquiring something towards a livelihood.] * * * * * letter . to mr. hoppner. "ravenna, may . . "a german named ruppsecht has sent me, heaven knows why, several deutsche gazettes, of all which i understand neither word nor letter. i have sent you the enclosed to beg you to translate to me some remarks, which appear to be _goethe's upon_ manfred--and if i may judge by _two_ notes of _admiration_ (generally put after something ridiculous by us) and the word '_hypocondrisch_,' are any thing but favourable. i shall regret this, for i should have been proud of goethe's good word; but i sha'n't alter my opinion of him, even though he should be savage. "will you excuse this trouble, and do me this favour?--never mind--soften nothing--i am literary proof--having had good and evil said in most modern languages. "believe me," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "ravenna, june . , "i have received a parisian letter from w.w., which i prefer answering through you, if that worthy be still at paris, and, as he says, an occasional visiter of yours. in november last he wrote to me a well-meaning letter, stating, for some reasons of his own, his belief that a re-union might be effected between lady b. and myself. to this i answered as usual; and he sent me a second letter, repeating his notions, which letter i have never answered, having had a thousand other things to think of. he now writes as if he believed that he had offended me by touching on the topic; and i wish you to assure him that i am not at all so,--but, on the contrary, obliged by his good nature. at the same time acquaint him the _thing is impossible. you know this_, as well as i,--and there let it end. "i believe that i showed you his epistle in autumn last. he asks me if i have heard of _my_ 'laureat' at paris[ ],--somebody who has written 'a most sanguinary epître' against me; but whether in french, or dutch, or on what score, i know not, and he don't say,--except that (for my satisfaction) he says it is the best thing in the fellow's volume. if there is any thing of the kind that i _ought_ to know, you will doubtless tell me. i suppose it to be something of the usual sort;--he says, he don't remember the author's name. "i wrote to you some ten days ago, and expect an answer at your leisure. "the separation business still continues, and all the world are implicated, including priests and cardinals. the public opinion is furious against _him_, because he ought to have cut the matter short _at first_, and not waited twelve months to begin. he has been trying at evidence, but can get none _sufficient_; for what would make fifty divorces in england won't do here--there must be the _most decided_ proofs. "it is the first cause of the kind attempted in ravenna for these two hundred years; for, though they often separate, they assign a different motive. you know that the continental incontinent are more delicate than the english, and don't like proclaiming their coronation in a court, even when nobody doubts it. "all her relations are furious against him. the father has challenged him--a superfluous valour, for he don't fight, though suspected of two assassinations--one of the famous monzoni of forli. warning was given me not to take such long rides in the pine forest without being on my guard; so i take my stiletto and a pair of pistols in my pocket during my daily rides. "i won't stir from this place till the matter is settled one way or the other. she is as femininely firm as possible; and the opinion is so much against him, that the _advocates_ decline to undertake his cause, because they say that he is either a fool or a rogue--fool, if he did not discover the liaison till now; and rogue, if he did know it, and waited, for some bad end, to divulge it. in short, there has been nothing like it since the days of guido di polenta's family, in these parts. "if the man has me taken off, like polonius 'say, he made a good end,'--for a melodrama. the principal security is, that he has not the courage to spend twenty scudi--the average price of a clean-handed bravo--otherwise there is no want of opportunity, for i ride about the woods every evening, with one servant, and sometimes an acquaintance, who latterly looks a little queer in solitary bits of bushes. "good bye.--write to yours ever," &c. [footnote : m. lamartine.] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "ravenna, june . . "enclosed is something which will interest you, to wit, the opinion of _the_ greatest man of germany--perhaps of europe--upon one of the great men of your advertisements, (all 'famous hands,' as jacob tonson used to say of his ragamuffins,)--in short, a critique of _goethe's_ upon _manfred_. there is the original, an english translation, and an italian one; keep them all in your archives,--for the opinions of such a man as goethe, whether favourable or not, are always interesting--and this is more so, as favourable. his _faust_ i never read, for i don't know german; but matthew monk lewis, in , at coligny, translated most of it to me _vivâ voce_, and i was naturally much struck with it; but it was the _steinbach_ and the _jungfrau_, and something else, much more than faustus, that made me write manfred. the first scene, however, and that of faustus are very similar. acknowledge this letter. "yours ever. "p.s. i have received _ivanhoe_;--_good_. pray send me some tooth-powder and tincture of myrrh, by _waite_, &c. ricciardetto should have been _translated literally, or not at all_. as to puffing _whistlecraft_, it _won't_ do. i'll tell you why some day or other. cornwall's a poet, but spoilt by the detestable schools of the day. mrs. hemans is a poet also, but too stiltified and apostrophic,--and quite wrong. men died calmly before the christian era, and since, without christianity: witness the romans, and, lately, thistlewood, sandt, and lovel--_men who ought to have been weighed down with their crimes, even had they believed_. a deathbed is a matter of nerves and constitution, and not of religion. voltaire was frightened, frederick of prussia not: christians the same, according to their strength rather than their creed. what does h * * h * * mean by his stanza? which is octave got drunk or gone mad. he ought to have his ears boxed with thor's hammer for rhyming so fantastically." * * * * * the following is the article from goethe's "kunst und alterthum," enclosed in this letter. the grave confidence with which the venerable critic traces the fancies of his brother poet to real persons and events, making no difficulty even of a double murder at florence to furnish grounds for his theory, affords an amusing instance of the disposition so prevalent throughout europe, to picture byron as a man of marvels and mysteries, as well in his life as his poetry. to these exaggerated, or wholly false notions of him, the numerous fictions palmed upon the world of his romantic tours and wonderful adventures in places he never saw, and with persons that never existed[ ], have, no doubt, considerably contributed; and the consequence is, so utterly out of truth and nature are the representations of his life and character long current upon the continent, that it may be questioned whether the real "flesh and blood" hero of these pages,--the social, practical-minded, and, with all his faults and eccentricities, _english_ lord byron,--may not, to the over-exalted imaginations of most of his foreign admirers, appear but an ordinary, unromantic, and prosaic personage. [footnote : of this kind are the accounts, filled with all sorts of circumstantial wonders, of his residence in the island of mytilene;--his voyages to sicily,--to ithaca, with the countess guiccioli, &c. &c. but the most absurd, perhaps, of all these fabrications, are the stories told by pouqueville, of the poet's religious conferences in the cell of father paul, at athens; and the still more unconscionable fiction in which rizo has indulged, in giving the details of a pretended theatrical scene, got up (according to this poetical historian) between lord byron and the archbishop of arta, at the tomb of botzaris, in missolonghi.] * * * * * "goethe on manfred. [ .] "byron's tragedy, manfred, was to me a wonderful phenomenon, and one that closely touched me. this singular intellectual poet has taken my faustus to himself, and extracted from it the strongest nourishment for his hypochondriac humour. he has made use of the impelling principles in his own way, for his own purposes, so that no one of them remains the same; and it is particularly on this account that i cannot enough admire his genius. the whole is in this way so completely formed anew, that it would be an interesting task for the critic to point out not only the alterations he has made, but their degree of resemblance with, or dissimilarity to, the original: in the course of which i cannot deny that the gloomy heat of an unbounded and exuberant despair becomes at last oppressive to us. yet is the dissatisfaction we feel always connected with esteem and admiration. "we find thus in this tragedy the quintessence of the most astonishing talent born to be its own tormentor. the character of lord byron's life and poetry hardly permits a just and equitable appreciation. he has often enough confessed what it is that torments him. he has repeatedly pourtrayed it; and scarcely any one feels compassion for this intolerable suffering, over which he is ever laboriously ruminating. there are, properly speaking, two females whose phantoms for ever haunt him, and which, in this piece also, perform principal parts--one under the name of astarte, the other without form or actual presence, and merely a voice. of the horrid occurrence which took place with the former, the following is related:--when a bold and enterprising young man, he won the affections of a florentine lady. her husband discovered the amour, and murdered his wife; but the murderer was the same night found dead in the street, and there was no one on whom any suspicion could be attached. lord byron removed from florence, and these spirits haunted him all his life after. "this romantic incident is rendered highly probable by innumerable allusions to it in his poems. as, for instance, when turning his sad contemplations inwards, he applies to himself the fatal history of the king of sparta. it is as follows:--pausanias, a lacedemonian general, acquires glory by the important victory at platæa, but afterwards forfeits the confidence of his countrymen through his arrogance, obstinacy, and secret intrigues with the enemies of his country. this man draws upon himself the heavy guilt of innocent blood, which attends him to his end; for, while commanding the fleet of the allied greeks, in the black sea, he is inflamed with a violent passion for a byzantine maiden. after long resistance, he at length obtains her from her parents, and she is to be delivered up to him at night. she modestly desires the servant to put out the lamp, and, while groping her way in the dark, she overturns it. pausanias is awakened from his sleep--apprehensive of an attack from murderers, he seizes his sword, and destroys his mistress. the horrid sight never leaves him. her shade pursues him unceasingly, and he implores for aid in vain from the gods and the exorcising priests. "that poet must have a lacerated heart who selects such a scene from antiquity, appropriates it to himself, and burdens his tragic image with it. the following soliloquy, which is overladen with gloom and a weariness of life, is, by this remark, rendered intelligible. we recommend it as an exercise to all friends of declamation. hamlet's soliloquy appears improved upon here."[ ] [footnote : the critic here subjoins the soliloquy from manfred, beginning "we are the fools of time and terror," in which the allusion to pausanias occurs.] * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "ravenna, june . . "galignani has just sent me the paris edition of your works (which i wrote to order), and i am glad to see my old friends with a french face. i have been skimming and dipping, in and over them, like a swallow, and as pleased as one. it is the first time that i had seen the melodies without music; and, i don't know how, but i can't read in a music-book--the crotchets confound the words in my head, though i recollect them perfectly when _sung_. music assists my memory through the ear, not through the eye; i mean, that her quavers perplex me upon paper, but they are a help when heard. and thus i was glad to see the words without their borrowed robes;--to my mind they look none the worse for their nudity. "the biographer has made a botch of your life--calling your father 'a _venerable old_ gentleman,' and prattling of 'addison,' and 'dowager countesses.' if that damned fellow was to _write my_ life, i would certainly _take his_. and then, at the dublin dinner, you have 'made a speech' (do you recollect, at douglas k.'s, 'sir, he made me a speech?') too complimentary to the 'living poets,' and somewhat redolent of universal praise. _i_ am but too well off in it, but * * *. "you have not sent me any poetical or personal news of yourself. why don't you complete an italian tour of the fudges? i have just been turning over little, which i knew by heart in , being then in my fifteenth summer. heigho! i believe all the mischief i have ever done, or sung, has been owing to that confounded book of yours. "in my last i told you of a cargo of 'poeshie,' which i had sent to m. at his own impatient desire;--and, now he has got it, he don't like it, and demurs. perhaps he is right. i have no great opinion of any of my last shipment, except a translation from pulci, which is word for word, and verse for verse. "i am in the third act of a tragedy; but whether it will be finished or not, i know not: i have, at this present, too many passions of my own on hand to do justice to those of the dead. besides the vexations mentioned in my last, i have incurred a quarrel with the pope's carabiniers, or gens d'armerie, who have petitioned the cardinal against my liveries, as resembling too nearly their own lousy uniform. they particularly object to the epaulettes, which all the world with us have on upon gala days. my liveries are of the colours conforming to my arms, and have been the family hue since the year . "i have sent a tranchant reply, as you may suppose; and have given to understand that, if any soldados of that respectable corps insult my servants, i will do likewise by their gallant commanders; and i have directed my ragamuffins, six in number, who are tolerably savage, to defend themselves, in case of aggression; and, on holidays and gaudy days, i shall arm the whole set, including myself, in case of accidents or treachery. i used to play pretty well at the broad-sword, once upon a time, at angelo's; but i should like the pistol, our national buccaneer weapon, better, though i am out of practice at present. however, i can 'wink and hold out mine iron.' it makes me think (the whole thing does) of romeo and juliet--'now, gregory, remember thy _swashing_ blow.' "all these feuds, however, with the cavalier for his wife, and the troopers for my liveries, are very tiresome to a quiet man, who does his best to please all the world, and longs for fellowship and good will. pray write. i am yours," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "ravenna, july . . "to remove or increase your irish anxiety about my being 'in a wisp[ ],' i answer your letter forth-with; premising that, as i am a '_will_ of the wisp,' i may chance to flit out of it. but, first, a word on the memoir;--i have no objection, nay, i would rather that _one_ correct copy was taken and deposited in honourable hands, in case of accidents happening to the original; for you know that i have none, and have never even _re_-read, nor, indeed, _read_ at all what is there written; i only know that i wrote it with the fullest intention to be 'faithful and true' in my narrative, but _not_ impartial--no, by the lord! i can't pretend to be that, while i feel. but i wish to give every body concerned the opportunity to contradict or correct me. "i have no objection to any proper person seeing what is there written,--seeing it was written, like every thing else, for the purpose of being read, however much many writings may fail in arriving at that object. "with regard to 'the wisp,' the pope has pronounced _their separation_. the decree came yesterday from babylon,--it was _she_ and _her friends_ who demanded it, on the grounds of her husband's (the noble count cavalier's) extraordinary usage. _he_ opposed it with all his might because of the alimony, which has been assigned, with all her goods, chattels, carriage, &c. to be restored by him. in italy they can't divorce. he insisted on her giving me up, and he would forgive every thing,--* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * but, in this country, the very courts hold such proofs in abhorrence, the italians being as much more delicate in public than the english, as they are more passionate in private. "the friends and relatives, who are numerous and powerful, reply to him--'_you_, yourself, are either fool or knave,--fool, if you did not see the consequences of the approximation of these two young persons,--knave, if you connive at it. take your choice,--but don't break out (after twelve months of the closest intimacy, under your own eyes and positive sanction) with a scandal, which can only make you ridiculous and her unhappy.' "he swore that he thought our intercourse was purely amicable, and that _i_ was more partial to him than to her, till melancholy testimony proved the contrary. to this they answer, that 'will of _this_ wisp' was not an unknown person, and that 'clamosa fama' had not proclaimed the purity of my morals;--that _her_ brother, a year ago, wrote from rome to warn him that his wife would infallibly be led astray by this ignis fatuus, unless he took proper measures, all of which he neglected to take, &c. &c. "now he says that he encouraged my return to ravenna, to see '_in quanti piedi di acqua siamo_,' and he has found enough to drown him in. in short, "'ce ne fut pas le tout; sa femme se plaignit-- procès--la parenté se joint en excuse et dit que du _docteur_ venoit tout le mauvais ménage; que cet homme étoit fou, que sa femme étoit sage. on fit casser le mariage.' it is but to let the women alone, in the way of conflict, for they are sure to win against the field. she returns to her father's house, and i can only see her under great restrictions--such is the custom of the country. the relations behave very well:--i offered any settlement, but they refused to accept it, and swear she _shan't_ live with g. (as he has tried to prove her faithless), but that he shall maintain her; and, in fact, a judgment to this effect came yesterday. i am, of course, in an awkward situation enough. "i have heard no more of the carabiniers who protested against my liveries. they are not popular, those same soldiers, and, in a small row, the other night, one was slain, another wounded, and divers put to flight, by some of the romagnuole youth, who are dexterous, and somewhat liberal of the knife. the perpetrators are not discovered, but i hope and believe that none of my ragamuffins were in it, though they are somewhat savage, and secretly armed, like most of the inhabitants. it is their way, and saves sometimes a good deal of litigation. "there is a revolution at naples. if so, it will probably leave a card at ravenna in its way to lombardy. "your publishers seem to have used you like mine. m. has shuffled, and almost insinuated that my last productions are _dull_. dull, sir!--damme, dull! i believe he is right. he begs for the completion of my tragedy on marino faliero, none of which is yet gone to england. the fifth act is nearly completed, but it is dreadfully long-- sheets of long paper of pages each--about when printed; but 'so full of pastime and prodigality' that i think it will do. "pray send and publish your _pome_ upon me; and don't be afraid of praising me too highly. i shall pocket my blushes. "'not actionable!'--_chantre d'enfer!_[ ]--by * * that's 'a speech,' and i won't put up with it. a pretty title to give a man for doubting if there be any such place! "so my gail is gone--and miss mah_ony_ won't take _mo_ney. i am very glad of it--i like to be generous free of expense. but beg her not to translate me. "oh, pray tell galignani that i shall send him a screed of doctrine if he don't be more punctual. somebody _regularly detains two_, and sometimes _four_, of his messengers by the way. do, pray, entreat him to be more precise. news are worth money in this remote kingdom of the ostrogoths. "pray, reply. i should like much to share some of your champagne and la fitte, but i am too italian for paris in general. make murray send my letter to you--it is full of _epigrams_. "yours," &c. [footnote : an irish phrase for being in a scrape.] [footnote : the title given him by m. lamartine, in one of his poems.] * * * * * in the separation that had now taken place between count guiccioli and his wife, it was one of the conditions that the lady should, in future, reside under the paternal roof:--in consequence of which, madame guiccioli, on the th of july, left ravenna and retired to a villa belonging to count gamba, about fifteen miles distant from that city. here lord byron occasionally visited her--about once or twice, perhaps, in a month--passing the rest of his time in perfect solitude. to a mind like his, whose world was within itself, such a mode of life could have been neither new nor unwelcome; but to the woman, young and admired, whose acquaintance with the world and its pleasures had but just begun, this change was, it must be confessed, most sudden and trying. count guiccioli was rich, and, as a young wife, she had gained absolute power over him. she was proud, and his station placed her among the highest in ravenna. they had talked of travelling to naples, florence, paris,--and every luxury, in short, that wealth could command was at her disposal. all this she now voluntarily and determinedly sacrificed for byron. her splendid home abandoned--her relations all openly at war with her--her kind father but tolerating, from fondness, what he could not approve--she was now, upon a pittance of _l._ a year, living apart from the world, her sole occupation the task of educating herself for her illustrious friend, and her sole reward the few brief glimpses of him which their now restricted intercourse allowed. of the man who could inspire and keep alive so devoted a feeling, it may be pronounced with confidence that he could not have been such as, in the freaks of his own wayward humour, he represented himself; while, on the lady's side, the whole history of her attachment goes to prove how completely an italian woman, whether by nature or from her social position, is led to invert the usual course of such frailties among ourselves, and, weak in resisting the first impulses of passion, to reserve the whole strength of her character for a display of constancy and devotedness afterwards. * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "ravenna, july . . "i have received some books, and quarterlies, and edinburghs, for all which i am grateful: they contain all i know of england, except by galignani's newspaper. "the tragedy is completed, but now comes the task of copy and correction. it is very long, ( _sheets_ of long paper, of four pages each,) and i believe must make more than or pages, besides many historical extracts as notes, which i mean to append. history is closely followed. dr. moore's account is in some respects false, and in all foolish and flippant. _none_ of the chronicles (and i have consulted sanuto, sandi, navagero, and an anonymous siege of zara, besides the histories of laugier, daru, sismondi, &c.) state, or even hint, that he begged his life; they merely say that he did not deny the conspiracy. he was one of their great men,--commanded at the siege of zara,--beat , hungarians, killing , and at the same time kept the town he was besieging in order,--took capo d'istria,--was ambassador at genoa, rome, and finally doge, where he fell for treason, in attempting to alter the government, by what sanuto calls a judgment on him for, many years before (when podesta and captain of treviso), having knocked down a bishop, who was sluggish in carrying the host at a procession. he 'saddles him,' as thwackum did square, 'with a judgment;' but he does not mention whether he had been punished at the time for what would appear very strange, even now, and must have been still more so in an age of papal power and glory. sanuto says, that heaven took away his senses for this buffet, and induced him to conspire. 'però fù permesso che il faliero perdette l'intelletto,' &c. "i do not know what your parlour-boarders will think of the drama i have founded upon this extraordinary event. the only similar one in history is the story of agis, king of sparta, a prince _with_ the commons against the aristocracy, and losing his life therefor. but it shall be sent when copied. "i should be glad to know why your quarter_ing_ reviewers, at the close of 'the fall of jerusalem,' accuse me of manicheism? a compliment to which the sweetener of 'one of the mightiest spirits' by no means reconciles me. the poem they review is very noble; but could they not do justice to the writer without converting him into my religious antidote? i am not a manichean, nor an _any_-chean. i should like to know what harm my 'poeshies' have done? i can't tell what people mean by making me a hobgoblin." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "ravenna, august . . "i have '_put my soul_' into the tragedy (as you _if_ it); but you know that there are d----d souls as well as tragedies. recollect that it is not a political play, though it may look like it: it is strictly historical. read the history and judge. "ada's picture is her mother's. i am glad of it--the mother made a good daughter. send me gifford's opinion, and never mind the archbishop. i can neither send you away, nor give you a hundred pistoles, nor a better taste: i send you a tragedy, and you ask for 'facetious epistles;' a little like your predecessor, who advised dr. prideaux to 'put some more humour into his life of mahomet.' "bankes is a wonderful fellow. there is hardly one of my school or college contemporaries that has not turned out more or less celebrated. peel, palmerstone, bankes, hobhouse, tavistock, bob mills, douglas kinnaird, &c. &c. have all talked and been talked about. "we are here going to fight a little next month, if the huns don't cross the po, and probably if they do. i can't say more now. if any thing happens, you have matter for a posthumous work, in ms.; so pray be civil. depend upon it, there will be savage work, if once they begin here. the french courage proceeds from vanity, the german from phlegm, the turkish from fanaticism and opium, the spanish from pride, the english from coolness, the dutch from obstinacy, the russian from insensibility, but the _italian_ from _anger_; so you'll see that they will spare nothing." * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "ravenna, august , . "d----n your 'mezzo cammin[ ]'--you should say 'the prime of life,' a much more consolatory phrase. besides, it is not correct. i was born in , and consequently am but thirty-two. you are mistaken on another point. the 'sequin box' never came into requisition, nor is it likely to do so. it were better that it had, for then a man is not _bound_, you know. as to reform, i did reform--what would you have? 'rebellion lay in his way, and he found it.' i verily believe that nor you, nor any man of poetical temperament, can avoid a strong passion of some kind. it is the poetry of life. what should i have known or written, had i been a quiet, mercantile politician, or a lord in waiting? a man must travel, and turmoil, or there is no existence. besides, i only meant to be a cavalier servente, and had no idea it would turn out a romance, in the anglo fashion. "however, i suspect i know a thing or two of italy--more than lady morgan has picked up in her posting. what do englishmen know of italians beyond their museums and saloons--and some hack * *, _en passant_? now, i have lived in the heart of their houses, in parts of italy freshest and least influenced by strangers,--have seen and become (_pars magna fui_) a portion of their hopes, and fears, and passions, and am almost inoculated into a family. this is to see men and things as they are. "you say that i called you 'quiet [ ]'--i don't recollect any thing of the sort. on the contrary, you are always in scrapes. "what think you of the queen? i hear mr. hoby says, 'that it makes him weep to see her, she reminds him so much of jane shore.' "mr. hoby the bootmaker's heart is quite sore, for seeing the queen makes him think of jane shore; and, in fact, * * pray excuse this ribaldry. what is your poem about? write and tell me all about it and you. "yours, &c. "p.s. did you write the lively quiz on peter bell? it has wit enough to be yours, and almost too much to be any body else's now going. it was in galignani the other day or week." [footnote : i had congratulated him upon arriving at what dante calls the "mezzo cammin" of life, the age of thirty-three.] [footnote : i had mistaken the concluding words of his letter of the th of june.] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "ravenna, september . . "in correcting the proofs you must refer to the _manuscript_, because there are in it various readings. pray attend to this, and choose what gifford thinks best, let me hear what he thinks of the whole. "you speak of lady * *'s illness; she is not of those who die:--the amiable only do; and those whose death would _do good_ live. whenever she is pleased to return, it may be presumed she will take her 'divining rod' along with her: it may be of use to her at home, as well as to the 'rich man' of the evangelists. "pray do not let the papers paragraph me back to england. they may say what they please, any loathsome abuse but that. contradict it. "my last letters will have taught you to expect an explosion here: it was primed and loaded, but they hesitated to fire the train. one of the cities shirked from the league. i cannot write more at large for a thousand reasons. our 'puir hill folk' offered to strike, and raise the first banner, but bologna paused; and now 'tis autumn, and the season half over. 'o jerusalem! jerusalem!' the huns are on the po; but if once they pass it on their way to naples, all italy will be behind them. the dogs--the wolves--may they perish like the host of sennacherib! if you want to publish the prophecy of dante, you never will have a better time." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "ravenna, sept. . . "here is another historical _note_ for you. i want to be as near truth as the drama can be. "last post i sent you a note fierce as faliero himself[ ], in answer to a trashy tourist, who pretends that he could have been introduced to me. let me have a proof of it, that i may cut its lava into some shape. "what gifford says is very consolatory (of the first act). english, sterling _genuine english_, is a desideratum amongst you, and i am glad that i have got so much left; though heaven knows how i retain it: i _hear_ none but from my valet, and his is _nottinghamshire_: and i _see_ none but in your new publications, and theirs is _no_ language at all, but jargon. even your * * * * is terribly stilted and affected, with '_very, very_' so soft and pamby. "oh! if ever i do come amongst you again, i will give you such a 'baviad and mæviad!' not as good as the old, but even _better merited_. there never was such a _set_ as your _ragamuffins_ (i mean _not_ yours only, but every body's). what with the cockneys, and the lakers, and the _followers_ of scott, and moore, and byron, you are in the very uttermost decline and degradation of literature. i can't think of it without all the remorse of a murderer. i wish that johnson were alive again to crush them!" [footnote : the angry note against english travellers appended to this tragedy, in consequence of an assertion made by some recent tourist, that he (or as it afterwards turned out, she) "had repeatedly declined an introduction to lord byron while in italy."] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "ravenna, sept. . . "what! not a line? well, have it your own way. "i wish you would inform perry, that his stupid paragraph is the cause of all my newspapers being stopped in paris. the fools believe me in your infernal country, and have not sent on their gazettes, so that i know nothing of your beastly trial of the queen. "i cannot avail myself of mr. gifford's remarks, because i have received none, except on the first act. yours, &c. "p.s. do, pray, beg the editors of papers to say any thing blackguard they please; but not to put me amongst their arrivals. they do me more mischief by such nonsense than all their abuse can do." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "ravenna, sept. . . "so you are at your old tricks again. this is the second packet i have received unaccompanied by a single line of good, bad, or indifferent. it is strange that you have never forwarded any further observations of gifford's. how am i to alter or amend, if i hear no further? or does this silence mean that it is well enough as it is, or too bad to be repaired? if the last, why do you not say so at once, instead of playing pretty, while you know that soon or late you must out with the truth. "yours, &c. "p.s. my sister tells me that you sent to her to enquire where i was, believing in my arrival, _driving a curricle_, &c. &c. into palace-yard. do you think me a coxcomb or a madman, to be capable of such an exhibition? my sister knew me better, and told you, that could not be me. you might as well have thought me entering on 'a pale horse,' like death in the revelations." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "ravenna, sept. ' . . "get from mr. hobhouse, and send me a proof (with the latin) of my hints from horace; it has now the _nonum prematur in annum_ complete for its production, being written at athens in . i have a notion that, with some omissions of names and passages, it will do; and i could put my late observations _for_ pope amongst the notes, with the date of , and so on. as far as versification goes, it is good; and, on looking back to what i wrote about that period, i am astonished to see how _little_ i have trained on. i wrote better then than now; but that comes of my having fallen into the atrocious bad taste of the times. if i can trim it for present publication, what with the other things you have of mine, you will have a volume or two of _variety_ at least, for there will be all measures, styles, and topics, whether good or no. i am anxious to hear what gifford thinks of the tragedy: pray let me know. i really do not know what to think myself. "if the germans pass the po, they will be treated to a mass out of the cardinal de retz's _breviary_. * *'s a fool, and could not understand this: frere will. it is as pretty a conceit as you would wish to see on a summer's day. "nobody here believes a word of the evidence against the queen. the very mob cry shame against their countrymen, and say, that for half the money spent upon the trial, any testimony whatever may be brought out of italy. this you may rely upon as fact. i told you as much before. as to what travellers report, what _are travellers_? now i have _lived_ among the italians--not _florenced_, and _romed_, and galleried, and conversationed it for a few months, and then home again; but been of their families, and friendships, and feuds, and loves, and councils, and correspondence, in a part of italy least known to foreigners,--and have been amongst them of all classes, from the conte to the contadine; and you may be sure of what i say to you. "yours," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "ravenna, sept. . . "i thought that i had told you long ago, that it never was intended nor written with any view to the stage. i have said so in the preface too. it is too long and too regular for your stage, the persons too few, and the _unity_ too much observed. it is more like a play of alfieri's than of your stage (i say this humbly in speaking of that great man); but there is poetry, and it is equal to manfred, though i know not what esteem is held of manfred. "i have now been nearly as long _out_ of england as i was there during the time i saw you frequently. i came home july th, , and left again april th, : so that sept. th, , brings me within a very few months of the same duration of time of my stay and my absence. in course, i can know nothing of the public taste and feelings, but from what i glean from letters, &c. both seem to be as bad as possible. "i thought _anastasius excellent_: did i not say so? matthews's diary most excellent; it, and forsyth, and parts of hobhouse, are all we have of truth or sense upon italy. the letter to julia very good indeed, i do not despise * * * * * *; but if she knit blue stockings instead of wearing them, it would be better. _you_ are taken in by that false stilted trashy style, which is a mixture of all the styles of the day, which are _all bombastic_ (i don't except my _own_--no one has done more through negligence to corrupt the language); but it is neither english nor poetry. time will show. "i am sorry gifford has made no further remarks beyond the first act: does he think all the english equally sterling as he thought the first? you did right to send the proofs: i was a fool; but i do really detest the sight of proofs: it is an absurdity; but comes from laziness. "you can steal the two juans into the world quietly, tagged to the others. the play as you will--the dante too; but the _pulci_ i am proud of: it is superb; you have no such translation. it is the best thing i ever did in my life. i wrote the play from beginning to end, and not a _single scene without interruption_, and being obliged to break off in the middle; for i had my hands full, and my head, too, just then; so it can be no great shakes--i mean the play; and the head too, if you like. "p.s. politics here still savage and uncertain. however, we are all in our 'bandaliers,' to join the 'highlanders if they cross the forth,' _i.e._ to crush the austrians if they cross the po. the rascals!--and that dog liverpool, to say their subjects are _happy_! if ever i come back, i'll work some of these ministers. "sept. . "i opened my letter to say, that on reading _more_ of the four volumes on italy, where the author says 'declined an introduction,' i perceive (_horresco referens_) it is written by a woman!!! in that case you must suppress my note and answer, and all i have said about the book and the writer. i never dreamed of it until now, in my extreme wrath at that precious note. i can only say that i am sorry that a lady should say any thing of the kind. what i would have said to one of the other sex you know already. her book too (as a _she_ book) is not a bad one; but she evidently don't know the italians, or rather don't like them, and forgets the _causes_ of their misery and profligacy (_matthews_ and _forsyth_ are your men for truth and tact), and has gone over italy in _company_--_always_ a _bad_ plan: you must be _alone_ with people to know them well. ask her, who was the '_descendant of lady m.w. montague_,' and by whom? by algarotti? "i suspect that, in marino faliero, you and yours won't like the _politics_, which are perilous to you in these times; but recollect that it is _not a political_ play, and that i was obliged to put into the mouths of the characters the sentiments upon which they acted. i hate all things written like pizarro, to represent france, england, and so forth. all i have done is meant to be purely venetian, even to the very prophecy of its present state. "your angles in general know little of the _italians_, who detest them for their numbers and their genoa treachery. besides, the english travellers have not been composed of the best company. how could they?--out of , , how many gentlemen were there, or honest men? "mitchell's aristophanes is excellent. send me the rest of it. "these fools will force me to write a book about italy myself, to give them 'the loud lie.' they prate about assassination; what is it but the origin of duelling--and '_a wild justice_,' as lord bacon calls it? it is the fount of the modern point of honour in what the laws can't or _won't_ reach. every man is liable to it more or less, according to circumstances or place. for instance, i am living here exposed to it daily, for i have happened to make a powerful and unprincipled man my enemy;--and i never sleep the worse for it, or ride in less solitary places, because precaution is useless, and one thinks of it as of a disease which may or may not strike. it is true that there are those here, who, if he did, would 'live to think on't;' but that would not awake my bones: i should be sorry if it would, were they once at rest." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "ravenna, bre °, . "you will have now received all the acts, corrected, of the marino faliero. what you say of the 'bet of guineas' made by some one who says that he saw me last week, reminds me of what happened in : you can easily ascertain the fact, and it is an odd one. "in the latter end of , i met one evening at the alfred my old school and form fellow (for we were within two of each other, _he_ the higher, though both very near the top of our remove,) _peel_, the irish secretary. he told me that, in , he met me, as he thought, in st. james's street, but we passed without speaking. he mentioned this, and it was denied as impossible, i being then in turkey. a day or two afterward, he pointed out to his brother a person on the opposite side of the way:--'there,' said he, 'is the man whom i took for byron.' his brother instantly answered, 'why, it is byron, and no one else.' but this is not all:--i was _seen_ by somebody to _write down my name_ amongst the enquirers after the king's health, then attacked by insanity. now, at this very period, as nearly as i could make out, i was ill of a _strong fever_ at patras, caught in the marshes near olympia, from the _malaria_. if i had died there, this would have been a new ghost story for you. you can easily make out the accuracy of this from peel himself, who told it in detail. i suppose you will be of the opinion of lucretius, who (denies the immortality of the soul, but) asserts that from the 'flying off of the surfaces of bodies, these surfaces or cases, like the coats of an onion, are sometimes seen entire when they are separated from it, so that the shapes and shadows of both the dead and living are frequently beheld.' "but if they are, are their coats and waistcoats also seen? i do not disbelieve that we may be two by some unconscious process, to a certain sign, but which of these two i happen at present to be, i leave you to decide. i only hope that _t'other me_ behaves like a gemman. "i wish you would get peel asked how far i am accurate in my recollection of what he told me; for i don't like to say such things without authority. "i am not sure that i was _not spoken_ with; but this also you can ascertain. i have written to you such letters that i stop. "yours, &c. "p.s. last year (in june, ), i met at count mosti's, at ferrara, an italian who asked me 'if i knew lord byron?' i told him _no_ (no one knows himself, _you_ know). 'then,' says he, 'i do; i met him at naples the other day.' i pulled out my card and asked him if that was the way he spelt his name: he answered, _yes_. i suspect that it was a blackguard navy surgeon, who attended a young travelling madam about, and passed himself for a lord at the post-houses. he was a vulgar dog--quite of the cock-pit order--and a precious representative i must have had of him, if it was even so; but i don't know. he passed himself off as a gentleman, and squired about a countess * * (of this place), then at venice, an ugly battered woman, of bad morals even for italy." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "ravenna, bre °, . "foscolo's letter is exactly the thing wanted; firstly, because he is a man of genius; and, next, because he is an italian, and therefore the best judge of italics. besides, "he's more an antique roman than a dane; that is, he is more of the ancient greek than of the modern italian. though 'somewhat,' as dugald dalgetty says, 'too wild and sa_l_vage' (like 'ronald of the mist'), 'tis a wonderful man, and my friends hobhouse and rose both swear by him; and they are good judges of men and of italian humanity. "here are in all _two_ worthy voices gain'd: gifford says it is good 'sterling genuine english,' and foscolo says that the characters are right venetian. shakspeare and otway had a million of advantages over me, besides the incalculable one of being _dead_ from one to two centuries, and having been both born blackguards (which are such attractions to the gentle living reader); let me then preserve the only one which i could possibly have--that of having been at venice, and entered more into the local spirit of it. i claim no more. "i know what foscolo means about calendaro's _spitting_ at bertram; _that's_ national--the objection, i mean. the italians and french, with those 'flags of abomination,' their pocket handkerchiefs, spit there, and here, and every where else--in your face almost, and therefore _object_ to it on the stage as _too familiar_. but we who _spit_ nowhere--but in a man's face when we grow savage--are not likely to feel this. remember _massinger_, and kean's sir giles overreach-- "lord! _thus_ i _spit_ at thee and at thy counsel! besides, calendaro does _not_ spit in bertram's face; he spits _at_ him, as i have seen the mussulmans do upon the ground when they are in a rage. again, he _does not in fact despise_ bertram, though he affects it--as we all do, when angry with one we think our inferior. he is angry at not being allowed to die in his own way (although not afraid of death); and recollect that he suspected and hated bertram from the first. israel bertuccio, on the other hand, is a cooler and more concentrated fellow: he acts upon _principle and impulse_; calendaro upon _impulse_ and _example_. "so there's argument for you. "the doge _repeats_;--_true_, but it is from engrossing passion, and because he sees _different_ persons, and is always obliged to recur to the _cause_ uppermost in his mind. his speeches are long:--true, but i wrote for the _closet_, and on the french and italian model rather than yours, which i think not very highly of, for all your _old_ dramatists, who are long enough too, god knows:--_look_ into any of them. "i return you foscolo's letter, because it alludes also to his private affairs. i am sorry to see such a man in straits, because i know what they are, or what they were. i never met but three men who would have held out a finger to me: one was yourself, the other william bankes, and the other a nobleman long ago dead: but of these the first was the only one who offered it while i _really_ wanted it; the second from good will--but i was not in need of bankes's aid, and would not have accepted it if i had (though i love and esteem him); and the _third_ --------.[ ] "so you see that i have seen some strange things in my time. as for your own offer, it was in , when i was in actual uncertainty of five pounds. i rejected it; but i have not forgotten it, although you probably have. "p.s. foscolo's ricciardo was lent, with the _leaves uncut_, to some italians, now in villeggiatura, so that i have had no opportunity of hearing their decision, or of reading it. they seized on it as foscolo's, and on account of the beauty of the paper and printing, directly. if i find it takes, i will reprint it _here_. the italians think as highly of foscolo as they can of any man, divided and miserable as they are, and with neither leisure at present to read, nor head nor heart to judge of any thing but extracts from french newspapers and the lugano gazette. "we are all looking at one another, like wolves on their prey in pursuit, only waiting for the first falling on to do unutterable things. they are a great world in chaos, or angels in hell, which you please; but out of chaos came paradise, and out of hell--i don't know what; but the devil went _in_ there, and he was a fine fellow once, you know. "you need never favour me with any periodical publication, except the edinburgh quarterly, and an occasional blackwood; or now and then a monthly review; for the rest i do not feel curiosity enough to look beyond their covers. "to be sure i took in the british finely. he fell precisely into the glaring trap laid for him. it was inconceivable how he could be so absurd as to imagine us serious with him. "recollect, that if you put my name to 'don juan' in these canting days, any lawyer might oppose my guardian right of my daughter in chancery, on the plea of its containing the _parody_;--such are the perils of a foolish jest. i was not aware of this at the time, but you will find it correct, i believe; and you may be sure that the noels would not let it slip. now i prefer my child to a poem at any time, and so should you, as having half a dozen. "let me know your notions. "if you turn over the earlier pages of the huntingdon peerage story, you will see how common a name ada was in the early plantagenet days. i found it in my own pedigree in the reign of john and henry, and gave it to my daughter. it was also the name of charlemagne's sister. it is in an early chapter of genesis, as the name of the wife of lamech; and i suppose ada is the feminine of _adam_. it is short, ancient, vocalic, and had been in my family; for which reason i gave it to my daughter." [footnote : the paragraph is left thus imperfect in the original.] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "ravenna, bre °, . "by land and sea carriage a considerable quantity of books have arrived; and i am obliged and grateful: but 'medio de fonte leporum, surgit amari aliquid,' &c. &c.; which, being interpreted, means, "i'm thankful for your books, dear murray; but why not send scott's monast_ery_? the only book in four _living_ volumes i would give a baioccolo to see--'bating the rest of the same author, and an occasional edinburgh and quarterly, as brief chroniclers of the times. instead of this, here are johnny keats's * * poetry, and three novels by god knows whom, except that there is peg * * *'s name to one of them--a spinster whom i thought we had sent back to her spinning. crayon is very good; hogg's tales rough, but racy, and welcome. "books of travels are expensive, and i don't want them, having travelled already; besides, they lie. thank the author of 'the profligate' for his (or her) present. pray send me _no more_ poetry but what is rare and decidedly good. there is such a trash of keats and the like upon my tables that i am ashamed to look at them. i say nothing against your parsons, your s * *s and your c * *s--it is all very fine--but pray dispense me from the pleasure. instead of poetry, if you will favour me with a few soda-powders, i shall be delighted: but all prose ('bating _travels_ and novels not by scott) is welcome, especially scott's tales of my landlord, and so on. "in the notes to marino faliero, it may be as well to say that '_benintende_' was not really of _the ten_, but merely _grand chancellor_, a separate office (although important): it was an arbitrary alteration of mine. the doges too were all _buried_ in st. _mark's before_ faliero. it is singular that when his predecessor, andrea dandolo, died, _the ten_ made a law that _all_ the _future doges_ should be _buried with their families, in their own churches,--one would think by a kind of presentiment_. so that all that is said of his _ancestral doges_, as buried at st. john's and paul's, is altered from the fact, _they being in st. mark's. make a note_ of this, and put _editor_ as the subscription to it. "as i make such pretensions to accuracy, i should not like to be _twitted_ even with such trifles on that score. of the play they may say what they please, but not so of my costume and _dram. pers._ they having been real existences. "i omitted foscolo in my list of living _venetian worthies, in the notes_, considering him as an _italian_ in general, and not a mere provincial like the rest; and as an italian i have spoken of him in the preface to canto th of childe harold. "the french translation of us!!! _oimè! oimè!_--the german; but i don't understand the latter and his long dissertation at the end about the fausts. excuse haste. of politics it is not safe to speak, but nothing is decided as yet. "i am in a very fierce humour at not having scott's monastery. you are _too liberal_ in quantity, and somewhat careless of the quality, of your missives. all the _quarterlies_ (four in number) i had had before from you, and _two_ of the edinburgh; but no matter; we shall have new ones by and by. no more keats, i entreat:--flay him alive; if some of you don't, i must skin him myself. there is no bearing the drivelling idiotism of the manikin. "i don't feel inclined to care further about 'don juan.' what do you think a very pretty italian lady said to me the other day? she had read it in the french, and paid me some compliments, with due drawbacks, upon it. i answered that what she said was true, but that i suspected it would live longer than childe harold. '_ah but_' (said she). '_i would rather have the fame of childe harold for three years than an_ immortality _of don juan!_' the truth is that _it is_ too true, and the women hate many things which strip off the tinsel of _sentiment_; and they are right, as it would rob them of their weapons. i never knew a woman who did not hate _de grammont's memoirs_ for the same reason: even lady * * used to abuse them. "rose's work i never received. it was seized at venice. such is the liberality of the huns, with their two hundred thousand men, that they dare not let such a volume as his circulate." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "ravenna, bre °, . "the abbot has just arrived; many thanks; as also for the _monastery--when you send it!!!_ "the abbot will have a more than ordinary interest for me, for an ancestor of mine by the mother's side, sir j. gordon of gight, the handsomest of his day, died on a scaffold at aberdeen for his loyalty to mary, of whom he was an imputed paramour as well as her relation. his fate was much commented on in the chronicles of the times. if i mistake not, he had something to do with her escape from loch leven, or with her captivity there. but this you will know better than i. "i recollect loch leven as it were but yesterday. i saw it in my way to england in , being then ten years of age. my mother, who was as haughty as lucifer with her descent from the stuarts, and her right line from the _old gordons, not the seyton gordons_, as she disdainfully termed the ducal branch, told me the story, always reminding me how superior _her_ gordons were to the southern byrons, notwithstanding our norman, and always masculine descent, which has never lapsed into a female, as my mother's gordons had done in her own person. "i have written to you so often lately, that the brevity of this will be welcome. yours," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "ravenna, bre °, . "enclosed is the dedication of marino faliero to _goethe_. query,--is his title _baron_ or not? i think yes. let me know your opinion, and so forth. "p.s. let me know what mr. hobhouse and you have decided about the two prose letters and their publication. "i enclose you an italian abstract of the german translator of manfred's appendix, in which you will perceive quoted what goethe says of the _whole body_ of english poetry (and _not_ of me in particular). on this the dedication is founded, as you will perceive, though i had thought of it before, for i look upon him as a great man." * * * * * the very singular dedication transmitted with this letter has never before been published, nor, as far as i can learn, ever reached the hands of the illustrious german. it is written in the poet's most whimsical and mocking mood; and the unmeasured severity poured out in it upon the two favourite objects of his wrath and ridicule compels me to deprive the reader of some of its most amusing passages. dedication to baron goethe, &c. &c. &c. "sir,--in the appendix to an english work lately translated into german and published at leipsic, a judgment of yours upon english poetry is quoted as follows: 'that in english poetry, great genius, universal power, a feeling of profundity, with sufficient tenderness and force, are to be found; but that _altogether these do not constitute poets_,' &c. &c. "i regret to see a great man falling into a great mistake. this opinion of yours only proves that the '_dictionary of ten thousand living english authors_' has not been translated into german. you will have read, in your friend schlegel's version, the dialogue in macbeth-- "'there are _ten thousand_! _macbeth_. _geese_, villain? _answer_. _authors_, sir.' now, of these 'ten thousand authors,' there are actually nineteen hundred and eighty-seven poets, all alive at this moment, whatever their works may be, as their booksellers well know; and amongst these there are several who possess a far greater reputation than mine, although considerably less than yours. it is owing to this neglect on the part of your german translators that you are not aware of the works of * * *. "there is also another, named * * * * "i mention these poets by way of sample to enlighten you. they form but two bricks of our babel, (windsor bricks, by the way,) but may serve for a specimen of the building. "it is, moreover, asserted that 'the predominant character of the whole body of the present english poetry is a _disgust_ and _contempt_ for life.' but i rather suspect that, by one single work of _prose_, _you_ yourself have excited a greater contempt for life than all the english volumes of poesy that ever were written. madame de staël says, that 'werther has occasioned more suicides than the most beautiful woman;' and i really believe that he has put more individuals out of this world than napoleon himself, except in the way of his profession. perhaps, illustrious sir, the acrimonious judgment passed by a celebrated northern journal upon you in particular, and the germans in general, has rather indisposed you towards english poetry as well as criticism. but you must not regard our critics, who are at bottom good-natured fellows, considering their two professions,--taking up the law in court, and laying it down out of it. no one can more lament their hasty and unfair judgment, in your particular, than i do; and i so expressed myself to your friend schlegel, in , at coppet. "in behalf of my 'ten thousand' living brethren, and of myself, i have thus far taken notice of an opinion expressed with regard to 'english poetry' in general, and which merited notice, because it was yours. "my principal object in addressing you was to testify my sincere respect and admiration of a man, who, for half a century, has led the literature of a great nation, and will go down to posterity as the first literary character of his age. "you have been fortunate, sir, not only in the writings which have illustrated your name, but in the name itself, as being sufficiently musical for the articulation of posterity. in this you have the advantage of some of your countrymen, whose names would perhaps be immortal also--if any body could pronounce them. "it may, perhaps, be supposed, by this apparent tone of levity, that i am wanting in intentional respect towards you; but this will be a mistake: i am always flippant in prose. considering you, as i really and warmly do, in common with all your own, and with most other nations, to be by far the first literary character which has existed in europe since the death of voltaire, i felt, and feel, desirous to inscribe to you the following work,--_not_ as being either a tragedy or a _poem_, (for i cannot pronounce upon its pretensions to be either one or the other, or both, or neither,) but as a mark of esteem and admiration from a foreigner to the man who has been hailed in germany 'the great goethe.' "i have the honour to be, "with the truest respect, "your most obedient and "very humble servant, "byron. "ravenna, bre °, . "p.s. i perceive that in germany, as well as in italy, there is a great struggle about what they call '_classical_' and '_romantic_,'--terms which were not subjects of classification in england, at least when i left it four or five years ago. some of the english scribblers, it is true, abused pope and swift, but the reason was that they themselves did not know how to write either prose or verse; but nobody thought them worth making a sect of. perhaps there may be something of the kind sprung up lately, but i have not heard much about it, and it would be such bad taste that i shall be very sorry to believe it." end of the fourth volume. file was produced from images generously made available by case western reserve university preservation department digital library) the odes of anacreon. 'nec, si quid olim lusit anacreon delevit ætas.' _hor._ [illustration] the odes of anacreon. translated by thomas moore. with fifty-four illustrative designs by girodet de roussy. _now first produced in england._ london: john camden hotten, piccadilly. london: strangeways and walden, printers, castle st. leicester sq. introduction to the english edition. amongst the innumerable translators of anacreon, there was one--a frenchman by birth--who was both an illustrious painter and a literary enthusiast. girodet de roussy, inspired by a genius altogether greek in its character, has translated anacreon better by his pencil than he could have been translated by words. one might fancy that his designs had been executed under anacreon's own eye by some greek artist, who had himself witnessed that soft and voluptuous existence, where song and pleasure are one. seldom indeed have chasteness of execution and voluptuousness of character been so curiously and indissolubly blended. seldom has a modern artist so happily caught the spirit of an ancient poet. we seem to be transported, as in a dream, to the vines, and orange-groves, and cloudless skies of greece, and the wearied spirit abandons itself for a while to the soft influences of the azure heaven, the countless luxuriance of roses, the undulating forms of the fair girls dancing in the shade, while youthful attendants brim the beaker with wine. under such influences we remember that youth, and love, and mirth are immortal, and we say with horace,-- 'nec, si quid olim lusit anacreon delevit ætas.'[ ] in that close wrestle of the genius that imitates with the genius that creates, girodet alone came out from the trial successfully. he has shown himself the rival of anacreon in grace, in _abandon_, in _naïveté_. he has succeeded in depicting his poet's theme with equal elegance and delicacy. loving with a real love those old greek songs, he has displayed them in living beauty before our eyes in fifty-four exquisite drawings. to attempt such a masterpiece required a poet's as well as a painter's skill; and girodet was both a painter and a poet. in examining these compositions, one cannot abstain from a certain kind of surprise: all the odes of anacreon revolve upon two or three central ideas, expressed in a manner full of grace, unquestionably, but still always the same ideas. the artist, while not deviating from the narrow circle traced for him by the poet, shows a fecundity and variety that are truly marvellous--that astonish and enchant us at the same time. the nobility, elegance, and wealth of accessories that prevail throughout the whole series might, as we have already hinted, lead us to suppose that we owed them to one of the famous artists that greece produced: the painter and the poet seem to have been born under one heaven, and informed with one soul. the manners of the time in which anacreon lived permitted him to say many things which, in their crudity, might offend our modern taste. girodet is not less voluptuous than anacreon; but he always maintains that grace and delicacy which add so great a charm to the voluptuous: nowhere in his animated panorama is sight or sense shocked. these designs originally accompanied a translation of the odes of anacreon, made by the painter himself and published shortly after his death. some small photographs of them on a greatly reduced scale appeared in , in an exquisite little edition of the original greek, from the press of firmin didot, at the almost prohibitive price of two pounds. the present reproductions are on a scale more proportionate with the originals, and constitute the first appearance of girodet's designs in england, where, we feel assured, they will be appreciated as they deserve by all true lovers of classical art. the english verse-translation of moore has been chosen to accompany them, because, though it has often been objected to by the learned for its imperfect scholarship, it seemed to us to be most in harmony with the real spirit of the great french painter, and of the old greek poet himself. _oct. , ._ footnotes: [ ] 'time cannot raze anacreon's name, nor prey upon his youthful strains.' list of illustrations. _frontispiece_--the apotheosis of anacreon. page the lyre of anacreon nature's gift to woman cupid belated anacreon tending cupid cupid tries his bow love and wine the rose the genius of festivity a race with cupid anacreon's dream the dove the gift of venus the dove tended by anacreon the image of cupid age and pleasure the conflict with love the surrender the wreath of roses the victory of the eye the cup cupid disarmed the mirror the chaplet of flowers the true wealth the power of wine song and dance the portrait bathyllus the ransom of cupid the fair fugitive the lily and the rose europa and the bull anacreon defying the philosopher the graces and spring the summons to festivity the bowl of wine vows to venus cupid stung the dance of mirth the frontlet of hyacinth caught by love the lemnian cave the evergreen heart the blushing year the queen of love the rose youth and dance the lover's eyes spring vision of the teian bard the harp bacchants cupid in the goblet _ode i._ i often wish this languid lyre, this warbler of my soul's desire, could raise the breath of song sublime, to men of fame in former time. but when the soaring theme i try, along the chords my numbers die, and whisper, with dissolving tone, 'our sighs are given to love alone!' indignant at the feeble lay, i tore the panting chords away, attuned them to a nobler swell, and struck again the breathing shell; [illustration] in all the glow of epic fire, to hercules i wake the lyre! but still its fainting sighs repeat, 'the tale of love alone is sweet!' then fare thee well, seductive dream, that madest me follow glory's theme; for thou my lyre, and thou my heart, shall never more in spirit part; and thou the flame shalt feel as well as thou the flame shalt sweetly tell. _ode ii._ to all that breathe the airs of heaven, some boon of strength has nature given. when the majestic bull was born, she fenced his brow with wreathèd horn. she arm'd the courser's foot of air, and wing'd with speed the panting hare. she gave the lion fangs of terror, and, on the ocean's crystal mirror, taught the unnumber'd scaly throng to trace their liquid path along; while for the umbrage of the grove, [illustration] she plumed the warbling bird of love. to man she gave the flame refined, the spark of heaven--a thinking mind! and had she no surpassing treasure, for thee, oh woman! child of pleasure? she gave thee beauty--shaft of eyes, that every shaft of war outflies! she gave thee beauty--blush of fire, that bids the flames of war retire! woman! be fair, we must adore thee; smile, and a world is weak before thee! _ode iii._ 'twas noon of night, when round the pole the sullen bear is seen to roll; and mortals, wearied with the day, are slumbering all their cares away; an infant, at that dreary hour, came weeping to my silent bower, and waked me with a piteous prayer, to save him from the midnight air! 'and who art thou,' i waking cry, 'that bidd'st my blissful visions fly?' 'o gentle sire!' the infant said, 'in pity take me to thy shed; nor fear deceit: a lonely child i wander o'er the gloomy wild. [illustration] chill drops the rain, and not a ray illumes the drear and misty way!' i hear the baby's tale of woe; i hear the bitter night-winds blow; and sighing for his piteous fate, i trimm'd my lamp and oped the gate. 'twas love! the little wandering sprite, his pinion sparkled through the night! i knew him by his bow and dart; i knew him by my fluttering heart! i take him in, and fondly raise the dying embers' cheering blaze; [illustration] press from his dank and clinging hair the crystals of the freezing air, and in my hand and bosom hold his little fingers thrilling cold. and now the embers' genial ray had warm'd his anxious fears away: 'i pray thee,' said the wanton child, (my bosom trembled as he smiled,) 'i pray thee let me try my bow, for through the rain i've wander'd so, that much i fear the ceaseless shower has injured its elastic power.' the fatal bow the urchin drew; swift from the string the arrow flew; [illustration] oh! swift it flew as glancing flame and to my very soul it came! 'fare thee well,' i heard him say, as laughing wild he wing'd away: 'fare thee well, for now i know the rain has not relax'd my bow; it still can send a maddening dart, as thou shalt own with all thy heart!' _ode iv._ strew me a breathing bed of leaves, where lotos with the myrtle weaves; and while in luxury's dream i sink, let me the balm of bacchus drink! in this delicious hour of joy, young love shall be my goblet-boy; folding his little golden vest, with cinctures, round his snowy breast, himself shall hover by my side, and minister the racy tide! swift as the wheels that kindling roll, our life is hurrying to the goal: a scanty dust, to feed the wind, is all the trace 'twill leave behind. why do we shed the rose's bloom upon the cold insensate tomb? can flowery breeze, or odour's breath, [illustration] affect the slumbering chill of death? no, no; i ask no balm to steep with fragrant tears my bed of sleep: but now, while every pulse is glowing, now let me breathe the balsam flowing; now let the rose, with blush of fire, upon my brow its scent expire; and bring the nymph with floating eye,-- oh! she will teach me how to die! yes, cupid! ere my soul retire, to join the blest elysian choir, with wine, and love, and blisses dear, i'll make my own elysium here! _ode v._ buds of roses, virgin flowers, cull'd from cupid's balmy bowers, in the bowl of bacchus steep, till with crimson drops they weep! twine the rose, the garland twine, every leaf distilling wine; drink and smile, and learn to think that we were born to smile and drink. rose! thou art the sweetest flower that ever drank the amber shower; rose! thou art the fondest child of dimpled spring, the wood-nymph wild! e'en the gods, who walk the sky, are amorous of thy scented sigh. cupid too, in paphian shades, his hair with rosy fillet braids, when with the blushing naked graces, the wanton winding dance he traces. [illustration] then bring me showers of roses, bring, and shed them round me while i sing: great bacchus! in thy hallow'd shade, with some celestial, glowing maid, while gales of roses round me rise, in perfume, sweeten'd by her sighs, i'll bill and twine in airy dance, commingling soul with every glance! _ode vi._ while our rosy fillets shed blushes o'er each fervid head, with many a cup and many a smile the festal moments we beguile. and while the harp, impassion'd, flings tuneful rapture from the strings, some airy nymph, with fluent limbs, through the dance luxuriant swims, waving, in her snowy hand, the leafy bacchanalian wand, which, as the tripping wanton flies, shakes its tresses to her sighs; a youth the while, with loosen'd hair, floating on the listless air, sings to the wild harp's tender tone, [illustration] a tale of woes, alas! his own; and then what nectar in his sigh, as o'er his lip the murmurs die! surely never yet has been so divine, so blest a scene! has cupid left the starry sphere, to wave his golden tresses here? oh yes! and venus, queen of wiles, and bacchus, shedding rosy smiles, all, all are here, to hail with me the genius of festivity! _ode vii._ arm'd with hyacinthine rod, (arms enough for such a god,) cupid bade me wing my pace, and try with him the rapid race, o'er the wild torrent, rude and deep. by tangled brake and pendent steep, with weary foot i panting flew, my brow was chill with drops of dew. and now my soul, exhausted, dying, [illustration] to my lip was faintly flying; and now i thought the spark had fled, when cupid hover'd o'er my head, and fanning light his breezy plume, recall'd me from my languid gloom; then said, in accents half-reproving, 'why hast thou been a foe to loving?' _ode viii._ 'twas night, and many a circling bowl had deeply warmed my swimming soul; as lull'd in slumber i was laid, bright visions o'er my fancy play'd! with virgins blooming as the dawn, i seem'd to trace the opening lawn; light, on tiptoe bathed in dew, we flew, and sported as we flew! some ruddy striplings, young and sleek, with blush of bacchus on their cheek, saw me trip the flowery wild with dimpled girls, and slily smiled; smiled indeed with wanton glee, but, ah! 'twas plain they envied me. [illustration] and still i flew--and now i caught the panting nymphs, and fondly thought to kiss--when all my dream of joys, dimpled girls and ruddy boys, all were gone! 'alas!' i said, sighing for the illusions fled, 'sleep! again my joys restore, oh! let me dream them o'er and o'er!' _ode ix._ tell me, why, my sweetest dove, thus your humid pinions move, shedding through the air in showers essence of the balmiest flowers? tell me whither, whence you rove, tell me all, my sweetest dove.-- curious stranger! i belong to the bard of teian song: [illustration] with his mandate now i fly to the nymph of azure eye; ah! that eye has madden'd many, but the poet more than any! venus, for a hymn of love, warbled in her votive grove, ('twas in sooth a gentle lay,) gave me to the bard away. see me now his faithful minion, thus with softly-gliding pinion, to his lovely girl i bear songs of passion through the air. oft he blandly whispers me, 'soon, my bird, i'll set you free.' but in vain he'll bid me fly, i shall serve him till i die. [illustration] never could my plumes sustain ruffling winds and chilling rain, o'er the plains, or in the dell, on the mountain's savage swell; seeking in the desert wood gloomy shelter, rustic food. now i lead a life of ease, far from such retreats as these; from anacreon's hand i eat food delicious, viands sweet; flutter o'er his goblet's brim, sip the foamy wine with him. then i dance and wanton round to the lyre's beguiling sound; or with gently-fanning wings shade the minstrel while he sings: [illustration] on his harp then sink in slumbers, dreaming still of dulcet numbers! this is all--away--away-- you have made me waste the day. how i've chatter'd! prating crow never yet did chatter so. _ode x._ 'tell me, gentle youth, i pray thee, what in purchase shall i pay thee for this little waxen toy, image of the paphian boy?' thus i said the other day, to a youth who pass'd my way: 'sir,' he answer'd, and the while answer'd all in doric style, 'take it, for a trifle take it; think not yet that i could make it; pray, believe it was not i; no--it cost me many a sigh, and i can no longer keep little gods, who murder sleep! [illustration] here, then, here,' (i said with joy) 'here is silver for the boy: he shall be my bosom guest, idol of my pious breast!' little love! thou now art mine, warm me with that torch of thine; make me feel as i have felt, or thy waxen frame shall melt. i must burn in warm desire, or thou, my boy, in yonder fire! _ode xi._ the women tell me every day, that all my bloom has past away. 'behold,' the pretty wantons cry, 'behold this mirror with a sigh; the locks upon thy brow are few, and like the rest, they're withering too!' whether decline has thinn'd my hair, i'm sure i neither know nor care; but this i know, and this i feel, [illustration] as onward to the tomb i steal, that still as death approaches nearer, the joys of life are sweeter, dearer; and had i but an hour to live, that little hour to bliss i'd give! _ode xii._ i will; i will; the conflict's past, and i'll consent to love at last. cupid has long, with smiling art, invited me to yield my heart; and i have thought that peace of mind should not be for a smile resign'd; and i've repell'd the tender lure, and hoped my heart should sleep secure. but, slighted in his boasted charms, the angry infant flew to arms; he slung his quiver's golden frame, he took his bow, his shafts of flame, and proudly summon'd me to yield, [illustration] or meet him on the martial field. and what did i unthinking do? i took to arms, undaunted too; assumed the corslet, shield, and spear, and, like pelides, smiled at fear. then (hear it, all you powers above!) i fought with love! i fought with love! and now his arrows all were shed and i had just in terrors fled-- when heaving an indignant sigh to see me thus unwounded fly, and having now no other dart, he glanced himself into my heart! my heart--alas the luckless day! received the god, and died away. [illustration] farewell, farewell, my faithless shield! thy lord at length is forced to yield. vain, vain, is every outward care, my foe's within, and triumphs there. _ode xiii._ i care not for the idle state of persia's king, the rich, the great! i envy not the monarch's throne, nor wish the treasured gold my own. but oh! be mine the rosy braid, the fervour of my brows to shade; be mine the odours, richly sighing, amidst my hoary tresses flying. to-day, i'll haste to quaff my wine, as if to-morrow ne'er should shine; but if to-morrow comes, why then-- i'll haste to quaff my wine again. and thus while all our days are bright, nor time has dimm'd their bloomy light, [illustration] let us the festal hours beguile with mantling cup and cordial smile; and shed from every bowl of wine the richest drop on bacchus' shrine! for death may come, with brow unpleasant, may come, when least we wish him present, and beckon to the sable shore, and grimly bid us drink no more! _ode xiv._ thy harp may sing of troy's alarms, or tell the tale of theban arms; with other wars my song shall burn, for other wounds my harp shall mourn. 'twas not the crested warrior's dart, which drank the current of my heart; nor naval arms, nor mailed steed, have made this vanquish'd bosom bleed; [illustration] no--from an eye of liquid blue, a host of quiver'd cupids flew; and now my heart all bleeding lies beneath this army of the eyes! _ode xv_. grave me a cup with brilliant grace, deep as the rich and holy vase, which on the shrine of spring reposes, when shepherds hail that hour of roses. grave it with themes of chaste design, form'd for a heavenly bowl like mine. display not there the barbarous rites, in which religious zeal delights; [illustration] nor any tale of tragic fate, which history trembles to relate! no--cull thy fancies from above, themes of heaven and themes of love. let bacchus, jove's ambrosial boy, distil the grape in drops of joy, and while he smiles at every tear, let warm-eyed venus dancing near, with spirits of the genial bed, the dewy herbage deftly tread. let love be there, without his arms, in timid nakedness of charms; [illustration] and all the graces link'd with love, blushing through the shadowy grove; while rosy boys disporting round, in circlets trip the velvet ground; but ah! if there apollo toys, i tremble for my rosy boys! _ode xvi._ the phrygian rock that braves the storm, was once a weeping matron's form; and progne, hapless, frantic maid, is now a swallow in the shade. oh! that a mirror's form were mine, to sparkle with that smile divine; and like my heart i then should be, reflecting thee, and only thee! or were i, love, the robe which flows o'er every charm that secret glows, in many a lucid fold to swim, and cling and grow to every limb! oh! could i, as the streamlet's wave, thy warmly-mellowing beauties lave, or float as perfume on thine hair, [illustration] and breathe my soul in fragrance there! i wish i were the zone, that lies warm to thy breast, and feels its sighs! or like those envious pearls that show so faintly round that neck of snow, yes, i would be a happy gem, like them to hang, to fade like them. what more would thy anacreon be? oh! anything that touches thee. nay, sandals for those airy feet-- thus to be press'd by thee were sweet! _ode xvii._ now the star of day is high, fly, my girls, in pity fly, bring me wine in brimming urns, cool my lip, it burns, it burns! sunn'd by the meridian fire, panting, languid i expire! give me all those humid flowers, drop them o'er my brow in showers. scarce a breathing chaplet now lives upon my feverish brow; [illustration] every dewy rose i wear sheds its tears and withers there. but for you, my burning mind! oh! what shelter shall i find? can the bowl, or floweret's dew, cool the flame that scorches you? _ode xviii._ if hoarded gold possess'd a power to lengthen life's too fleeting hour, and purchase from the land of death a little span, a moment's breath, how i would love the precious ore! and every day should swell my store; that when the fates would send their minion, to waft me off on shadowy pinion, i might some hours of life obtain, and bribe him back to hell again. but, since we ne'er can charm away the mandate of that awful day, why do we vainly weep at fate, and sigh for life's uncertain date? the light of gold can ne'er illume the dreary midnight of the tomb! and why should i then pant for treasures? [illustration] mine be the brilliant round of pleasures; the goblet rich, the board of friends, whose flowing souls the goblet blends: mine be the nymph, whose form reposes seductive on that bed of roses; and oh! be mine the soul's excess, expiring in her warm caress! _ode xix._ when my thirsty soul i steep, every sorrow's lull'd to sleep. talk of monarchs! i am then richest, happiest, first of men; careless, o'er my cup i sing, fancy makes me more than king; gives me wealthy croesus' store, can i, can i wish for more? on my velvet couch reclining, ivy leaves my brow entwining, while my soul dilates with glee, what are kings and crowns to me? [illustration] if before my feet they lay, i would spurn them all away! arm you, arm you, men of might, hasten to the sanguine fight; let me, oh my budding vine, spill no other blood than thine. yonder brimming goblet see, that alone shall vanquish me. oh! i think it sweeter far to fall in banquet than in war! _ode xx._ when bacchus, jove's immortal boy, the rosy harbinger of joy, who, with the sunshine of the bowl, thaws the winter of our soul; when to the inmost core he glides, and bathes it with his ruby tides, a flow of joy, a lively heat, fires my brain, and wings my feet; 'tis surely something sweet, i think, nay, something heavenly sweet, to drink! [illustration] sing, sing of love, let music's breath softly beguile our rapturous death, while, my young venus, thou and i to the voluptuous cadence die! then waking from our languid trance, again we'll sport, again we'll dance. _ode xxi._ thou, whose soft and rosy hues, mimic form and soul infuse; best of painters! come portray the lovely maid that's far away. far away, my soul! thou art, but i've thy beauties all by heart. paint her jetty ringlets straying, silky twine in tendrils playing; and, if painting hath the skill to make the spicy balm distil, let every little lock exhale a sigh of perfume on the gale. where her tresses' curly flow darkles o'er the brow of snow, let her forehead beam to light, burnish'd as the ivory bright. let her eyebrows sweetly rise in jetty arches o'er her eyes, gently in her crescent gliding, just commingling, just dividing. but hast thou any sparkles warm, the lightning of her eyes to form? [illustration] let them effuse the azure ray with which minerva's glances play, and give them all that liquid fire that venus' languid eyes respire. o'er her nose and cheek be shed flushing white and mellow'd red; gradual tints, as when there glows in snowy milk the bashful rose. then her lip, so rich in blisses! sweet petitioner for kisses! pouting nest of bland persuasion, ripely suing love's invasion. then beneath the velvet chin, whose dimple shades a love within, mould her neck with grace descending. in a heaven of beauty ending; while airy charms, above, below, sport and flutter on its snow. now let a floating, lucid veil, shadow her limbs, but not, conceal; a charm may peep, a hue may beam, and leave the rest to fancy's dream. enough--'tis she! 'tis all i seek; it glows, it lives, it soon will speak. _ode xxii._ and now with all thy pencil's truth, portray bathyllus, lovely youth! let his hair in lapses bright, fall like streaming rays of light, and there the raven's dye confuse with the yellow sunbeam's hues. let not the braid, with artful twine, the flowing of his locks confine; but loosen every golden ring, to float upon the breeze's wing, beneath the front of polished glow. front as fair as mountain-snow, and guileless as the dews of dawn, [illustration] let the majestic brows be drawn, of ebon dies, enriched by gold, such as the scaly snakes unfold. mingle in his jetty glances, power that awes, and love that trances; steal from venus bland desire, steal from mars the look of fire, blend them in such expression here, that we by turns may hope and fear! now from the sunny apple seek the velvet down that spreads his cheek; and there let beauty's rosy ray in flying blushes richly play; blushes, of that celestial flame which lights the cheek of virgin shame. then for his lips, that ripely gem-- but let thy mind imagine them! paint, where the ruby cell uncloses, persuasion sleeping upon roses; and give his lip that speaking air, as if a word was hovering there! his neck of ivory splendour trace, moulded with soft but manly grace; fair as the neck of paphia's boy, where paphia's arms have hung in joy. give him the winged hermes' hand. with which he waves his snaky wand: let bacchus then the breast supply, and leda's son the sinewy thigh. but oh! suffuse his limbs of fire with all that glow of young desire, [illustration] which kindles, when the wishful sigh steals from the heart, unconscious why. thy pencil, though divinely bright, is envious of the eye's delight, or its enamoured touch would shew his shoulder, fair as sunless snow, which now in veiling shadow lies, removed from all but fancy's eyes, now, for his feet--but hold--forbear-- i see a godlike portrait there; so like bathyllus! sure there's none so like bathyllus but the sun! oh! let this pictured god be mine, and keep the boy for samos' shrine; phoebus shall then bathyllus be, bathyllus then the deity! _ode xxiii._ one day, the muses twined the hands of baby love, with flowery bands; and to celestial beauty gave the captive infant as her slave. his mother comes with many a toy, to ransom her beloved boy; his mother sues, but all in vain! [illustration] he ne'er will leave his chains again. nay, should they take his chains away, the little captive still would stay. 'if this,' he cries, 'a bondage be, who could wish for liberty?' _ode xxiv._ fly not thus my brow of snow, lovely wanton! fly not so. though the wane of age is mine, though the brilliant flush is thine, still i'm doom'd to sigh for thee, blest, if thou couldst sigh for me! see, in yonder flowery braid, cull'd for thee, my blushing maid, [illustration] how the rose, of orient glow, mingles with the lily's snow; mark, how sweet their tints agree, just, my girl, like thee and me! _ode xxv._ methinks, the pictur'd bull we see is amorous jove--it must be he! how fondly blest he seems to bear that fairest of phoenician fair! how proud he breasts the foamy tide and spurns the billowy surge aside! could any beast of vulgar vein, undaunted thus defy the main? no: he descends from climes above, he looks the god, he breathes of jove! [illustration] _ode xxvi._ away, away, you men of rules, what have i to do with schools? they'd make me learn, they'd make me think, but would they make me love and drink? teach me this; and let me swim my soul upon the goblet's brim; teach me this, and let me twine my arms around the nymph divine! age begins to blanch my brow, i've time for nought but pleasure now. fly, and cool my goblet's glow at yonder fountain's gelid flow; i'll quaff, my boy, and calmly sink [illustration] this soul to slumber as i drink! soon, too soon, my jocund slave, you'll deck your master's grassy grave; and there's an end--for ah! you know they drink but little wine below! _ode xxvii._ see the young, the rosy spring, gives to the breeze her spangled wing; while virgin graces, warm with may, fling roses o'er her dewy way! the murmuring billows of the deep have languished into silent sleep; and mark! the flitting sea-birds lave their plumes in the reflecting wave; while cranes from hoary winter fly to flutter in a kinder sky. now the genial star of day [illustration] dissolves the murky clouds away; and cultur'd field, and winding stream, are sweetly tissued by his beam. now the earth prolific swells with leafy buds and flowery bells; gemming shoots the olive twine, clusters ripe festoon the vine; all along the branches creeping, through the velvet foliage peeping, little infant fruits we see nursing into luxury! _ode xxviii._ 'tis true, my fading years decline, yet i can quaff the brimming wine, as deep as any stripling fair, whose cheeks the flush of morning wear; and if, amidst the wanton crew, i'm call'd to wind the dance's clue, thou shall behold this vigorous hand, not faltering on the bacchant's wand, [illustration] but brandishing a rosy flask, the only thyrsus e'er i'll ask! let those who pant for glory's charms, embrace her in the held of arms; while my inglorious placid soul breathes not a wish beyond the bowl. then fill it high, my ruddy slave, and bathe me in its honied wave! for though my fading years decay, and though my bloom has passed away, like old silenus, sire divine, with blushes borrowed from my wine, i'll wanton 'mid the dancing train, and live my follies all again! [illustration] _ode xxix._ when i drink, i feel, i feel, visions of poetic zeal! warm with the goblet's fresh'ning dews, my heart invokes the heavenly muse. when i drink my sorrow's o'er; i think of doubts and fears no more; but scatter to the railing wind each gloomy phantom of the mind! when i drink, the jesting boy bacchus himself partakes my joy; and while we dance through breathing bowers, whose every gale is rich with flowers, in bowls he makes my senses swim, till the gale breathes of nought but him! when i drink, i deftly twine flowers, begemm'd with tears of wine; and, while with festive hand i spread the smiling garland round my head, something whispers in my breast, how sweet it is to live at rest! when i drink, and perfume stills around me all in balmy rills, then as some beauty, smiling roses, in languor on my breast reposes, venus! i breathe my vows to thee, in many a sigh of luxury! when i drink, my heart refines, and rises as the cup declines; [illustration] rises in the genial flow, that none but social spirits know, when youthful revellers round the bowl, dilating, mingle soul with soul! when i drink, the bliss is mine; there's bliss in every drop of wine! all other joys that i have known, i've scarcely dared to call my own; but this the fates can ne'er destroy, till death o'ershadows all my joy! _ode xxx._ cupid once upon a bed of roses laid his weary head; luckless urchin, not to see within the leaves a slumbering bee! the bee awaked--with anger wild the bee awaked, and stung the child. loud and piteous are his cries; to venus quick he runs, he flies! 'oh, mother!--i am wounded through-- i die with pain--in sooth i do! stung by some little angry thing, some serpent on a tiny wing-- a bee it was--for once, i know [illustration] i heard a rustic call it so.' thus he spoke, and she the while heard him with a soothing smile; then said, 'my infant, if so much thou feel the little wild-bee's touch, how must the heart, ah, cupid! be, the hapless heart that's stung by thee?' _ode xxxi._ let us drain the nectar'd bowl, let us raise the song of soul to him, the god who loves so well the nectar'd bowl, the choral swell! him, who instructs the sons of earth to thrid the tangled dance of mirth; him, who was nursed with infant love, and cradled in the paphian grove; him, that the snowy queen of charms has fondled in her twining arms. from him that dream of transport flows, which sweet intoxication knows; with him, the brow forgets to darkle, and brilliant graces learn to sparkle. behold! my boys a goblet bear, whose sunny foam bedews the air. where are now the tear, the sigh? to the winds they fly, they fly! [illustration] grasp the bowl; in nectar sinking, man of sorrow, drown thy thinking! oh! can the tears we lend to thought in life's account avail us aught? can we discern, with all our lore, the path we're yet to journey o'er? no, no! the walk of life is dark; 'tis wine alone can strike a spark! then let me quaff the foamy tide, and through the dance meandering glide; let me imbibe the spicy breath of odours chafed to fragrant death; or from the kiss of love inhale a more voluptuous, richer gale! to souls that court the phantom care, let him retire and shroud him there; while we exhaust the nectar'd bowl, and swell the choral song of soul to him, the god who loves so well the nectar'd bowl, the choral swell! _ode xxxii._ yes, be the glorious revel mine, where humour sparkles from the wine! around me let the youthful choir respond to my beguiling lyre; and while the red cup circles round, mingle in soul as well as sound! let the bright nymph, with trembling eye, beside me all in blushes lie; and, while she weaves a frontlet fair of hyacinth to deck my hair, oh! let me snatch her sidelong kisses, and that shall be my bliss of blisses! my soul, to festive feeling true, one pang of envy never knew; [illustration] and little has it learn'd to dread the gall that envy's tongue can shed. away--i hate the slanderous dart, which steals to wound th' unwary heart; and oh! i hate, with all my soul, discordant clamours o'er the bowl, where every cordial heart should be attuned to peace and harmony. come, let us hear the soul of song expire the silver harp along; and through the dance's ringlet move, with maidens mellowing into love: thus simply happy, thus at peace, sure such a life should never cease! _ode xxxiii._ 'twas in an airy dream of night, i fancied that i wing'd my flight on pinions fleeter than the wind, while little love, whose feet were twined (i know not why) with chains of lead, pursued me as i trembling fled; pursued--and could i e'er have thought?-- swift as the moment i was caught! what does the wanton fancy mean by such a strange, illusive scene? [illustration] i fear she whispers to my breast, that you, my girl, have stol'n my rest; that though my fancy, for a while, has hung on many a woman's smile, i soon dissolved the passing vow, and ne'er was caught by love till now! _ode xxxiv._ as in the lemnian caves of fire, the mate of her who nursed desire moulded the glowing steel, to form arrows for cupid, thrilling warm; while venus every barb imbues with droppings of her honied dews; and love (alas the victim-heart!) tinges with gall the burning dart; once, to this lemnian cave of flame, the crested lord of battles came; 'twas from the ranks of war he rush'd, his spear with many a life-drop blush'd! he saw the mystic darts, and smiled derision on the archer-child. [illustration] 'and dost thou smile?' said little love; 'take this dart, and thou mayst prove, that though they pass the breeze's flight, my bolts are not so feathery light.' he took the shaft--and oh! thy look, sweet venus! when the shaft he took-- he sigh'd, and felt the urchin's art; he sigh'd, in agony of heart, 'it is not light--i die with pain! take--take thy arrow back again.' 'no,' said the child, 'it must not be, that little dart was made for thee!' _ode xxxv._ how i love the festive boy, tripping wild the dance of joy! how i love the mellow sage, smiling through the veil of age! and whene'er this man of years in the dance of joy appears, age is on his temples hung, but his heart--his heart is young! [illustration] _ode xxxvi._ he, who instructs the youthful crew to bathe them in the brimmer's dew, and taste, uncloy'd by rich excesses, all the bliss that wine possesses! he, who inspires the youth to glance in winged circlets through the dance; bacchus, the god again is here, and leads along the blushing year; the blushing year with rapture teems, ready to shed those cordial streams, which, sparkling in the cup of mirth, illuminate the sons of earth, and when the ripe and vermeil wine, sweet infant of the pregnant vine, which now in mellow clusters swells, oh! when it bursts its rosy cells, the heavenly stream shall mantling flow, to balsam every mortal woe! no youth shall then be wan or weak, for dimpling health shall light the cheek; no heart shall then desponding sigh, for wine shall bid despondence fly! thus--till another autumn's glow shall bid another vintage flow! [illustration] _ode xxxvii._ and whose immortal hand could shed upon this disk the ocean's bed? and, in a frenzied flight of soul sublime as heaven's eternal pole, imagine thus, in semblance warm, the queen of love's voluptuous form floating along the silvery sea in beauty's naked majesty! oh! he has given the raptured sight a witching banquet of delight; and all those sacred scenes of love, where only hallow'd eyes may rove, lie, faintly glowing, half conceal'd, within the lucid billows veil'd. light as the leaf, that summer's breeze has wafted o'er the glassy seas, she floats upon the ocean's breast, which undulates in sleepy rest, and stealing on, she gently pillows her bosom on the amorous billows. her bosom, like the humid rose, her neck, like dewy-sparkling snows, illume the liquid path she traces, and burn within the stream's embraces! in languid luxury soft she glides, encircled by the azure tides, like some fair lily, faint with weeping, upon a bed of violets sleeping! beneath their queen's inspiring glance, the dolphins o'er the green sea dance, bearing in triumph young desire, and baby love with smiles of fire! while, sparkling on the silver waves, the tenants of the briny caves around the pomp in eddies play, and gleam along the watery way. [illustration] _ode xxxviii._ while we invoke the wreathed spring, resplendent rose! to thee we'll sing; resplendent rose, the flower of flowers, whose breath perfumes olympus' bowers; whose virgin blush of chasten'd dye, enchants so much our mortal eye. when pleasure's bloomy season glows, the graces love to twine the rose; the rose is warm dione's bliss, and flushes like dione's kiss! oft has the poet's magic tongue the rose's fair luxuriance sung; and long the muses, heavenly maids, have rear'd it in their tuneful shades. when, at the early glance of morn, it sleeps upon the glittering thorn, 'tis sweet to dare the tangled fence, to cull the timid flowret thence, and wipe with tender hand away the tear that on its blushes lay! 'tis sweet to hold the infant stems, yet dropping with aurora's gems, and fresh inhale the spicy sighs that from the weeping buds arise. when revel reigns, when mirth is high, and bacchus beams in every eye, our rosy fillets scent exhale, and fill with balm the fainting gale! oh! there is nought in nature bright, where roses do not shed their light! when morning paints the orient skies, her fingers burn with roseate dyes; the nymphs display the rose's charms, it mantles o'er their graceful arms; through cytherea's form it glows, and mingles with the living snows. the rose distils a healing balm, the beating pulse of pain to calm; preserves the cold inurned clay, and mocks the vestige of decay: and when at length, in pale decline, its florid beauties fade and pine, sweet as in youth, its balmy breath diffuses odour e'en in death! oh! whence could such a plant have sprung? attend--for thus the tale is sung. [illustration] when, humid, from the silvery stream, effusing beauty's warmest beam, venus appear'd, in flushing hues, mellow'd by ocean's briny dews; when, in the starry courts above, the pregnant brain of mighty jove disclosed the nymph of azure glance, the nymph who shakes the martial lance! then, then, in strange eventful hour, the earth produced an infant flower, which sprung, with blushing tinctures drest, and wanton'd o'er its parent breast. the gods beheld this brilliant birth, and hail'd the rose, the boon of earth! with nectar drops, a ruby tide, the sweetly orient buds they dyèd, and bade them bloom, the flowers divine of him who sheds the teeming vine; and bade them on the spangled thorn expand their bosoms to the morn. _ode xxxix._ when i behold the festive train of dancing youth, i'm young again! memory wakes her magic trance, and wings me lightly through the dance. come, cybeba, smiling maid! cull the flower and twine the braid; bid the blush of summer's rose burn upon my brow of snows; and let me, while the wild and young trip the mazy dance along, fling my heap of years away, and be as wild, as young as they. [illustration] hither haste, some cordial soul! give my lips the brimming bowl; oh! you will see this hoary sage forget his locks, forget his age. he still can chant the festive hymn, he still can kiss the goblet's brim; he still can act the mellow raver, and play the fool as sweet as ever! _ode xl._ we read the flying courser's name upon his side in marks of flame; and, by their turban'd brows alone, the warriors of the east are known. but in the lover's glowing eyes, the inlet to his bosom lies; [illustration] thro' them we see the small faint mark, where love has dropt his burning spark! _ode xli._ when spring begems the dewy scene, how sweet to walk the velvet green, and hear the zephyr's languid sighs, as o'er the scented mead he flies! how sweet to mark the pouting vine, ready to fall in tears of wine; [illustration] and with the maid, whose every sigh is love and bliss, entranced to lie where the imbowering branches meet-- oh! is not this divinely sweet? _ode xlii._ i saw the smiling bard of pleasure, the minstrel of the teian measure; 'twas in a vision of the night. he beam'd upon my wond'ring sight; i heard his voice, and warmly prest the dear enthusiast to my breast. his tresses wore a silvery dye, but beauty sparkled in his eye; sparkled in his eyes of fire, through the mist of soft desire. his lip exhaled, whene'er he sigh'd, the fragrance of the racy tide; and, as with weak and reeling feet, he came my coral kiss to meet, [illustration] an infant, of the cyprian band, guided him on with tender hand. quick from his glowing brows he drew his braid, of many a wanton hue, i took the braid of wanton twine, it breathed of him and blush'd with wine! i hung it o'er my thoughtless brow, and ah! i feel its magic now! i feel that e'en his garland's touch can make the bosom love too much! _ode xliii._ give me the harp of epic song, which homer's finger thrill'd along; but tear away the sanguine string, for war is not the theme i sing. proclaim the laws of festal right i'm monarch of the board to-night; and all around shall brim as high, and quaff the tide as deep as i! and when the cluster's mellowing dews their warm, enchanting balm infuse our feet shall catch th' elastic bound, and reel us through the dance's round. [illustration] oh, bacchus! we shall sing to thee, in wild but sweet ebriety! and flash around such sparks of thought, as bacchus could alone have taught! then give the harp of epic song, which homer's finger thrill'd along; but tear away the sanguine string, for war is not the theme i sing! _ode xliv._ listen to the muse's lyre, master of the pencil's fire! sketch'd in painting's bold display, many a city first pourtray; many a city revelling free, warm with loose festivity. picture then a rosy train, bacchants straying o'er the plain; piping, as they roam along, roundelay or shepherd-song. [illustration] paint me next, if painting may such a theme as this pourtray, all the happy heaven of love, these elect of cupid prove. _ode xlv._ as late i sought the spangled bowers, to cull a wreath of matin flowers, where many an early rose was weeping, i found the urchin cupid sleeping. i caught the boy, a goblet's tide was richly mantling by my side, i caught him by his downy wing, and whelm'd him in the racy spring. [illustration] oh! then i drank the poison'd bowl, and love now nestles in my soul! yes, yes, my soul is cupid's nest, i feel him fluttering in my breast. _choice illustrated works._ =lives of the saints.= enriched with exquisite full-page miniatures in gold and colours, bound in silk velvet, enriched with gold, _l._ _s._ =saint ursula=, princess of britain, and her companions. illustrated with full-page to illuminated miniatures by van eyck, bound in purple satin, enriched with gold, _l._ _s._ =golden verses= from the new testament, with illuminations and miniatures from celebrated missals, in gold and colours, _s._ the author's own edition. =robinson crusoe=, illustrated by ernest griset, _s._ _d._ this is the standard edition of this famous work, and _is the only one correctly printed_ since the death of defoe. =doctor syntax's three tours=, with the droll coloured illustrations by rowlandson, _s._ _d._ =wonderful characters=, the book of, with engravings of eccentric or remarkable persons, _s._ _d._ =tom and jerry=; or, life in london: the favourite book of george iv. with cruikshank's inimitable coloured plates, _s._ _d._ _choice illustrated works of humour for the drawing room; price s. each._ carols of cockayne. by henry s. leigh. the bab ballads. by w. s. gilbert. puniana. best book of riddles and puns. artemus ward's lectures. tinted illustrations. 'enormous burlesque--unapproachable and preeminent.'--_saturday review._ =caricature history of the georges.= pages, and pictures, caricatures, squibs, broadsides, &c., _s._ _d._ =signboards: their history.= with anecdotes of famous taverns, &c. illustrations, _s._ _d._ =puck on pegasus.= a clever and brilliant book; illustrated by sir noel paton, richard doyle, millais, tenniel, cruikshank, and all our best artists, _s._ _d._ =german popular stories.= the favourite book amongst children; with illustrations by george cruikshank, _s._ _d._ =family fairy tales.= a book of delightful stories; coloured plates by ellen edwards, _s._ _d._ =prince ubbely bubble's new story= book. a new volume of charming tales; illustrated by matt morgan, barnes, and other artists, _s._ _d._ =aaron penley's sketching in water= colours; with beautiful illustrations of water colour drawings. gilt, gilt edges, _s._ =the standard work on diamonds= and precious stones. by harry emanuel, f.r.g.s. _s._ =the best hand-book of heraldry=, pedigrees, liveries. by john e. cussans; profusely illustrated, _s._ _d._ =romance of the rod.= a pictorial history of flagellation, _s._ _d._ mr. swinburne's new book. =william blake.= a critical essay; with coloured paintings, _s._ * * * * * transcriber's notes in ode iii, beginning of last line on page , the word 'the' is mostly illegible and has been added by comparison with another version of the text. in ode iii, after the phrase 'my blissful visions fly?', the missing punctuation mark ' has been added. in ode vii, after 'rapid race', period has been replaced with comma. in ode x, after the phrase 'who murder sleep!' the single quotation mark ' has been deleted. in ode xxiii, after the phrase 'wish for liberty', the missing punctuation marks ?' have been added. there are three words with the [oe] ligature. this is normalised to 'oe' in the text file; in the html file the ligature has been retained. there is one word with the 'ae' ligature; this has been retained in both versions. life of lord byron: with his letters and journals. by thomas moore, esq. in six volumes.--vol. iii. new edition. london: john murray, albemarle street. . contents of vol. iii. letters and journals of lord byron, with notices of his life, from february, , to april, . notices of the life of lord byron. "journal, . "february . "better than a month since i last journalised:--most of it out of london and at notts., but a busy one and a pleasant, at least three weeks of it. on my return, i find all the newspapers in hysterics[ ], and town in an uproar, on the avowal and republication of two stanzas on princess charlotte's weeping at regency's speech to lauderdale in . they are daily at it still;--some of the abuse good, all of it hearty. they talk of a motion in our house upon it--be it so. "got up--redde the morning post, containing the battle of buonaparte, the destruction of the custom-house, and a paragraph on me as long as my pedigree, and vituperative, as usual. "hobhouse is returned to england. he is my best friend, the most lively, and a man of the most sterling talents extant. "'the corsair' has been conceived, written, published, &c. since i last took up this journal. they tell me it has great success;--it was written _con amore_, and much from _existence_. murray is satisfied with its progress; and if the public are equally so with the perusal, there's an end of the matter. [footnote : immediately on the appearance of the corsair, (with those obnoxious verses, "weep, daughter of a royal line," appended to it,) a series of attacks, not confined to lord byron himself, but aimed also at all those who had lately become his friends, was commenced in the courier and morning post, and carried on through the greater part of the months of february and march. the point selected by these writers, as a ground of censure on the poet, was one which _now_, perhaps, even themselves would agree to class among his claims to praise,--namely, the atonement which he had endeavoured to make for the youthful violence of his satire by a measure of justice, amiable even in its overflowings, to every one whom he conceived he had wronged. notwithstanding the careless tone in which, here and elsewhere, he speaks of these assaults, it is evident that they annoyed him;--an effect which, in reading them over now, we should be apt to wonder they could produce, did we not recollect the property which dryden attributes to "small wits," in common with certain other small animals:-- "we scarce could know they live, but that they _bite_." the following is a specimen of the terms in which these party scribes could then speak of one of the masters of english song:--"they might have slept in oblivion with lord carlisle's dramas and lord byron's poems."--"some certainly extol lord byron's poem much, but most of the best judges place his lordship rather low in the list of our minor poets."] "nine o'clock. "been to hanson's on business. saw rogers, and had a note from lady melbourne, who says, it is said i am 'much out of spirits.' i wonder if i really am or not? i have certainly enough of 'that perilous stuff which weighs upon the heart,' and it is better they should believe it to be the result of these attacks than of the real cause; but--ay, ay, always _but_, to the end of the chapter. "hobhouse has told me ten thousand anecdotes of napoleon, all good and true. my friend h. is the most entertaining of companions, and a fine fellow to boot. "redde a little--wrote notes and letters, and am alone, which locke says, is bad company. 'be not solitary, be not idle.'--um!--the idleness is troublesome; but i can't see so much to regret in the solitude. the more i see of men, the less i like them. if i could but say so of women too, all would be well. why can't i? i am now six-and-twenty; my passions have had enough to cool them; my affections more than enough to wither them,--and yet--and yet--always _yet_ and _but_--'excellent well, you are a fishmonger--get thee to a nunnery.'--'they fool me to the top of my bent.' "midnight. "began a letter, which i threw into the fire. redde--but to little purpose. did not visit hobhouse, as i promised and ought. no matter, the loss is mine. smoked cigars. "napoleon!--this week will decide his fate. all seems against him; but i believe and hope he will win--at least, beat back the invaders. what right have we to prescribe sovereigns to france? oh for a republic! 'brutus, thou sleepest.' hobhouse abounds in continental anecdotes of this extraordinary man; all in favour of his intellect and courage, but against his _bonhommie_. no wonder;--how should he, who knows mankind well, do other than despise and abhor them? "the greater the equality, the more impartially evil is distributed, and becomes lighter by the division among so many--therefore, a republic! "more notes from mad. de * * unanswered--and so they shall remain. i admire her abilities, but really her society is overwhelming--an avalanche that buries one in glittering nonsense--all snow and sophistry. "shall i go to mackintosh's on tuesday? um!--i did not go to marquis lansdowne's, nor to miss berry's, though both are pleasant. so is sir james's,--but i don't know--i believe one is not the better for parties; at least, unless some _regnante_ is there. "i wonder how the deuce any body could make such a world; for what purpose dandies, for instance, were ordained--and kings--and fellows of colleges--and women of 'a certain age'--and many men of any age--and myself, most of all! "'divesne prisco et natus ab inacho, nil interest, an pauper, et infimâ de gente, sub dio moreris, victima nil miserantis orci. * * * * * omnes eodem cogimur.' "is there any thing beyond?--_who_ knows? _he_ that can't tell. who tells that there _is_? he who don't know. and when shall he know? perhaps, when he don't expect, and generally when he don't wish it. in this last respect, however, all are not alike: it depends a good deal upon education,--something upon nerves and habits--but most upon digestion. "saturday, feb. . "just returned from seeing kean in richard. by jove, he is a soul! life--nature--truth without exaggeration or diminution. kemble's hamlet is perfect;--but hamlet is not nature. richard is a man; and kean is richard. now to my own concerns. "went to waite's. teeth all right and white; but he says that i grind them in my sleep and chip the edges. that same sleep is no friend of mine, though i court him sometimes for half the twenty-four. "february . "got up and tore out two leaves of this journal--i don't know why. hodgson just called and gone. he has much _bonhommie_ with his other good qualities, and more talent than he has yet had credit for beyond his circle. "an invitation to dine at holland house to meet kean. he is worth meeting; and i hope, by getting into good society, he will be prevented from falling like cooke. he is greater now on the stage, and off he should never be less. there is a stupid and under-rating criticism upon him in one of the newspapers. i thought that, last night, though great, he rather under-acted more than the first time. this may be the effect of these cavils; but i hope he has more sense than to mind them. he cannot expect to maintain his present eminence, or to advance still higher, without the envy of his green-room fellows, and the nibbling of their admirers. but, if he don't beat them all, why then--merit hath no purchase in 'these coster-monger days.' "i wish that i had a talent for the drama; i would write a tragedy _now_. but no,--it is gone. hodgson talks of one,--he will do it well;--and i think m--e should try. he has wonderful powers, and much variety; besides, he has lived and felt. to write so as to bring home to the heart, the heart must have been tried,--but, perhaps, ceased to be so. while you are under the influence of passions, you only feel, but cannot describe them,--any more than, when in action, you could turn round and tell the story to your next neighbour! when all is over,--all, all, and irrevocable,--trust to memory--she is then but too faithful. "went out, and answered some letters, yawned now and then, and redde the robbers. fine,--but fiesco is better; and alfieri and monti's aristodemo _best_. they are more equal than the tedeschi dramatists. "answered--or, rather acknowledged--the receipt of young reynolds's poem, safie. the lad is clever, but much of his thoughts are borrowed,--_whence_, the reviewers may find out. i hate discouraging a young one; and i think,--though wild and more oriental than he would be, had he seen the scenes where he has placed his tale,--that he has much talent, and, certainly, fire enough. "received a very singular epistle; and the mode of its conveyance, through lord h.'s hands, as curious as the letter itself. but it was gratifying and pretty. "sunday, february . "here i am, alone, instead of dining at lord h.'s, where i was asked,--but not inclined to go anywhere. hobhouse says i am growing a _loup garou_,--a solitary hobgoblin. true;--'i am myself alone.' the last week has been passed in reading--seeing plays--now and then visiters--sometimes yawning and sometimes sighing, but no writing,--save of letters. if i could always read, i should never feel the want of society. do i regret it?--um!--'man delights not me,' and only one woman--at a time. "there is something to me very softening in the presence of a woman,--some strange influence, even if one is not in love with them,--which i cannot at all account for, having no very high opinion of the sex. but yet,--i always feel in better humour with myself and every thing else, if there is a woman within ken. even mrs. mule[ ], my fire-lighter,--the most ancient and withered of her kind,--and (except to myself) not the best-tempered--always makes me laugh,--no difficult task when i am 'i' the vein.' "heigho! i would i were in mine island!--i am not well; and yet i look in good health. at times, i fear, 'i am not in my perfect mind;'--and yet my heart and head have stood many a crash, and what should ail them now? they prey upon themselves, and i am sick--sick--'prithee, undo this button--why should a cat, a rat, a dog have life--and _thou_ no life at all?' six-and-twenty years, as they call them, why, i might and should have been a pasha by this time. 'i 'gin to be a weary of the sun.' "buonaparte is not yet beaten; but has rebutted blucher, and repiqued swartzenburg. this it is to have a head. if he again wins, 'væ victis!' [footnote : this ancient housemaid, of whose gaunt and witch-like appearance it would be impossible to convey any idea but by the pencil, furnished one among the numerous instances of lord byron's proneness to attach himself to any thing, however homely, that had once enlisted his good nature in its behalf, and become associated with his thoughts. he first found this old woman at his lodgings in bennet street, where, for a whole season, she was the perpetual scarecrow of his visiters. when, next year, he took chambers in albany, one of the great advantages which his friends looked to in the change was, that they should get rid of this phantom. but, no,--there she was again--he had actually brought her with him from bennet street. the following year saw him married, and, with a regular establishment of servants, in piccadilly; and here,--as mrs. mule had not made her appearance to any of the visiters,--it was concluded, rashly, that the witch had vanished. one of those friends, however, who had most fondly indulged in this persuasion, happening to call one day when all the male part of the establishment were abroad, saw, to his dismay, the door opened by the same grim personage, improved considerably in point of habiliments since he last saw her, and keeping pace with the increased scale of her master's household, as a new peruke, and other symptoms of promotion, testified. when asked "how he came to carry this old woman about with him from place to place," lord byron's only answer was, "the poor old devil was so kind to me."] "sunday, march . "on tuesday last dined with rogers,--madame de staël, mackintosh, sheridan, erskine, and payne knight, lady donegall and miss r. there. sheridan told a very good story of himself and madame de recamier's handkerchief; erskine a few stories of himself only. _she_ is going to write a big book about england, she says;--i believe her. asked by her how i liked miss * *'s thing, called * *, and answered (very sincerely) that i thought it very bad for _her_, and worse than any of the others. afterwards thought it possible lady donegall, being irish, might be a patroness of * *, and was rather sorry for my opinion, as i hate putting people into fusses, either with themselves or their favourites; it looks as if one did it on purpose. the party went off very well, and the fish was very much to my gusto. but we got up too soon after the women; and mrs. corinne always lingers so long after dinner that we wish her in--the drawing-room. "to-day c. called, and while sitting here, in came merivale. during our colloquy, c.(ignorant that m. was the writer) abused the 'mawkishness of the quarterly review of grimm's correspondence.' i (knowing the secret) changed the conversation as soon as i could; and c. went away, quite convinced of having made the most favourable impression on his new acquaintance. merivale is luckily a very good-natured fellow, or, god he knows what might have been engendered from such a malaprop. i did not look at him while this was going on, but i felt like a coal--for i like merivale, as well as the article in question. "asked to lady keith's to-morrow evening--i think i will go; but it is the first party invitation i have accepted this 'season,' as the learned fletcher called it, when that youngest brat of lady * *'s cut my eye and cheek open with a misdirected pebble--'never mind, my lord, the scar will be gone before the _season_;' as if one's eye was of no importance in the mean time. "lord erskine called, and gave me his famous pamphlet, with a marginal note and corrections in his handwriting. sent it to be bound superbly, and shall treasure it. "sent my fine print of napoleon to be framed. it _is_ framed; and the emperor becomes his robes as if he had been hatched in them. "march . "rose at seven--ready by half-past eight--went to mr. hanson's, berkeley square--went to church with his eldest daughter, mary anne (a good girl), and gave her away to the earl of portsmouth. saw her fairly a countess--congratulated the family and groom (bride)--drank a bumper of wine (wholesome sherris) to their felicity, and all that--and came home. asked to stay to dinner, but could not. at three sat to phillips for faces. called on lady m.--i like her so well, that i always stay too long. (mem. to mend of that.) "passed the evening with hobhouse, who has begun a poem, which promises highly;--wish he would go on with it. heard some curious extracts from a life of morosini, the blundering venetian, who blew up the acropolis at athens with a bomb, and be d----d to him! waxed sleepy--just come home--must go to bed, and am engaged to meet sheridan to-morrow at rogers's. "queer ceremony that same of marriage--saw many abroad, greek and catholic--one, at _home_, many years ago. there be some strange phrases in the prologue (the exhortation), which made me turn away, not to laugh in the face of the surpliceman. made one blunder, when i joined the hands of the happy--rammed their left hands, by mistake, into one another. corrected it--bustled back to the altar-rail, and said 'amen.' portsmouth responded as if he had got the whole by heart; and, if any thing, was rather before the priest. it is now midnight, and * * *. "march . thor's day. "on tuesday dined with rogers,--mackintosh, sheridan, sharpe,--much talk, and good,--all, except my own little prattlement. much of old times--horne tooke--the trials--evidence of sheridan, and anecdotes of those times, when _i_, alas! was an infant. if i had been a man, i would have made an english lord edward fitzgerald. "set down sheridan at brookes's,--where, by the by, he could not have well set down himself, as he and i were the only drinkers. sherry means to stand for westminster, as cochrane (the stock-jobbing hoaxer) must vacate. brougham is a candidate. i fear for poor dear sherry. both have talents of the highest order, but the youngster has _yet_ a character. we shall see, if he lives to sherry's age, how he will pass over the redhot ploughshares of public life. i don't know why, but i hate to see the _old_ ones lose; particularly sheridan, notwithstanding all his _méchanceté_. "received many, and the kindest, thanks from lady portsmouth, _père_ and _mère_, for my match-making. i don't regret it, as she looks the countess well, and is a very good girl. it is odd how well she carries her new honours. she looks a different woman, and high-bred, too. i had no idea that i could make so good a peeress. "went to the play with hobhouse. mrs. jordan superlative in hoyden, and jones well enough in foppington. _what plays!_ what wit!--helas! congreve and vanbrugh are your only comedy. our society is too insipid now for the like copy. would _not_ go to lady keith's. hobhouse thought it odd. i wonder _he_ should like parties. if one is in love, and wants to break a commandment and covet any thing that is there, they do very well. but to go out amongst the mere herd, without a motive, pleasure, or pursuit--'sdeath! 'i'll none of it.' he told me an odd report,--that _i_ am the actual conrad, the veritable corsair, and that part of my travels are supposed to have passed in privacy. um!--people sometimes hit near the truth; but never the whole truth. h. don't know what i was about the year after he left the levant; nor does any one--nor--nor--nor--however, it is a lie--but, 'i doubt the equivocation of the fiend that lies like truth!' "i shall have letters of importance to-morrow. which, * *, * *, or * *? heigho!--* * is in my heart, * * in my head, * * in my eye, and the _single_ one, heaven knows where. all write, and will be answered. 'since i have crept in favour with myself, i must maintain it;' but _i_ never 'mistook my person,' though i think others have. "* * called to-day in great despair about his mistress, who has taken a freak of * * *. he began a letter to her, but was obliged to stop short--i finished it for him, and he copied and sent it. if he holds out, and keeps to my instructions of affected indifference, she will lower her colours. if she don't, he will, at least, get rid of her, and she don't seem much worth keeping. but the poor lad is in love--if that is the case, she will win. when they once discover their power, _finita e la musica_. "sleepy, and must go to bed. "tuesday, march . "dined yesterday with r., mackintosh, and sharpe. sheridan could not come. sharpe told several very amusing anecdotes of henderson, the actor. stayed till late, and came home, having drank so much _tea_, that i did not get to sleep till six this morning. r. says i am to be in _this_ quarterly--cut up, i presume, as they 'hate us youth.' _n'importe_. as sharpe was passing by the doors of some debating society (the westminster forum), in his way to dinner, he saw rubricked on the walls _scott_'s name and _mine_--'which the best poet?' being the question of the evening; and i suppose all the templars and _would bes_ took our rhymes in vain, in the course of the controversy. which had the greater show of hands, i neither know nor care; but i feel the coupling of the names as a compliment,--though i think scott deserves better company. "w.w. called--lord erskine, lord holland, &c. &c. wrote to * * the corsair report. she says she don't wonder, since 'conrad is so _like_.' it is odd that one, who knows me so thoroughly, should tell me this to my face. however, if she don't know, nobody can. "mackintosh is, it seems, the writer of the defensive letter in the morning chronicle. if so, it is very kind, and more than i did for myself. "told murray to secure for me bandello's italian novels at the sale to-morrow. to me they will be _nuts_. redde a satire on myself, called 'anti-byron,' and told murray to publish it if he liked. the object of the author is to prove me an atheist and a systematic conspirator against law and government. some of the verse is good; the prose i don't quite understand. he asserts that my 'deleterious works' have had 'an effect upon civil society, which requires,' &c. &c. &c. and his own poetry. it is a lengthy poem, and a long preface, with a harmonious title-page. like the fly in the fable, i seem to have got upon a wheel which makes much dust; but, unlike the said fly, i do not take it all for my own raising. "a letter from _bella_, which i answered. i shall be in love with her again, if i don't take care. "i shall begin a more regular system of reading soon. "thursday, march . "i have been sparring with jackson for exercise this morning; and mean to continue and renew my acquaintance with the muffles. my chest, and arms, and wind are in very good plight, and i am not in flesh. i used to be a hard hitter, and my arms are very long for my height ( feet - / inches). at any rate, exercise is good, and this the severest of all; fencing and the broad-sword never fatigued me half so much. "redde the 'quarrels of authors' (another sort of _sparring_)--a new work, by that most entertaining and researching writer, israeli. they seem to be an irritable set, and i wish myself well out of it. 'i'll not march through coventry with them, that's flat.' what the devil had i to do with scribbling? it is too late to enquire, and all regret is useless. but, an' it were to do again,--i should write again, i suppose. such is human nature, at least my share of it;--though i shall think better of myself, if i have sense to stop now. if i have a wife, and that wife has a son--by any body--i will bring up mine heir in the most anti-poetical way--make him a lawyer, or a pirate, or--any thing. but, if he writes too, i shall be sure he is none of mine, and cut him off with a bank token. must write a letter--three o'clock. "sunday, march . "i intended to go to lady hardwicke's, but won't. i always begin the day with a bias towards going to parties; but, as the evening advances, my stimulus fails, and i hardly ever go out--and, when i do, always regret it. this might have been a pleasant one;--at least, the hostess is a very superior woman. lady lansdowne's to morrow--lady heathcote's wednesday. um!--i must spur myself into going to some of them, or it will look like rudeness, and it is better to do as other people do--confound them! "redde machiavel, parts of chardin, and sismondi, and bandello--by starts. redde the edinburgh, , just come out. in the beginning of the article on 'edgeworth's patronage,' i have gotten a high compliment, i perceive. whether this is creditable to me, i know not; but it does honour to the editor, because he once abused me. many a man will retract praise; none but a high-spirited mind will revoke its censure, or _can_ praise the man it has once attacked. i have often, since my return to england, heard jeffrey most highly commended by those who know him for things independent of his talents. i admire him for _this_--not because he has _praised me_, (i have been so praised elsewhere and abused, alternately, that mere habit has rendered me as indifferent to both as a man at twenty-six can be to any thing,) but because he is, perhaps, the _only man_ who, under the relations in which he and i stand, or stood, with regard to each other, would have had the liberality to act thus; none but a great soul dared hazard it. the height on which he stands has not made him giddy:--a little scribbler would have gone on cavilling to the end of the chapter. as to the justice of his panegyric, that is matter of taste. there are plenty to question it, and glad, too, of the opportunity. "lord erskine called to-day. he means to carry down his reflections on the war--or rather wars--to the present day. i trust that he will. must send to mr. murray to get the binding of my copy of his pamphlet finished, as lord e. has promised me to correct it, and add some marginal notes to it. any thing in his handwriting will be a treasure, which will gather compound interest from years. erskine has high expectations of mackintosh's promised history. undoubtedly it must be a classic, when finished. "sparred with jackson again yesterday morning, and shall to-morrow. i feel all the better for it, in spirits, though my arms and shoulders are very stiff from it. mem. to attend the pugilistic dinner:--marquess huntley is in the chair. "lord erskine thinks that ministers must be in peril of going out. so much the better for him. to me it is the same who are in or out;--we want something more than a change of ministers, and some day we will have it. "i remember[ ], in riding from chrisso to castri (delphos), along the sides of parnassus, i saw six eagles in the air. it is uncommon to see so many together; and it was the number--not the species, which is common enough--that excited my attention. "the last bird i ever fired at was an _eaglet_, on the shore of the gulf of lepanto, near vostitza. it was only wounded, and i tried to save it, the eye was so bright; but it pined, and died in a few days; and i never did since, and never will, attempt the death of another bird. i wonder what put these two things into my head just now? i have been reading sismondi, and there is nothing there that could induce the recollection. "i am mightily taken with braccio di montone, giovanni galeazzo, and eccelino. but the last is _not_ bracciaferro (of the same name), count of ravenna, whose history i want to trace. there is a fine engraving in lavater, from a picture by fuseli, of _that_ ezzelin, over the body of meduna, punished by him for a _hitch_ in her constancy during his absence in the crusades. he was right--but i want to know the story. [footnote : part of this passage has been already extracted, but i have allowed it to remain here in its original position, on account of the singularly sudden manner in which it is introduced.] "tuesday, march . "last night, _party_ at lansdowne house. to-night, _party_ at lady charlotte greville's--deplorable waste of time, and something of temper. nothing imparted--nothing acquired--talking without ideas:--if any thing like _thought_ in my mind, it was not on the subjects on which we were gabbling. heigho!--and in this way half london pass what is called life. to-morrow there is lady heathcote's--shall i go? yes--to punish myself for not having a pursuit. "let me see--what did i see? the only person who much struck me was lady s* *d's eldest daughter, lady c.l. they say she is _not_ pretty. i don't know--every thing is pretty that pleases; but there is an air of _soul_ about her--and her colour changes--and there is that shyness of the antelope (which i delight in) in her manner so much, that i observed her more than i did any other woman in the rooms, and only looked at any thing else when i thought she might perceive and feel embarrassed by my scrutiny. after all, there may be something of association in this. she is a friend of augusta's, and whatever she loves i can't help liking. "her mother, the marchioness, talked to me a little; and i was twenty times on the point of asking her to introduce me to _sa fille_, but i stopped short. this comes of that affray with the carlisles. "earl grey told me laughingly of a paragraph in the last _moniteur_, which has stated, among other symptoms of rebellion, some particulars of the _sensation_ occasioned in all our government gazettes by the 'tear' lines,--_only_ amplifying, in its re-statement, an epigram (by the by, no epigram except in the _greek_ acceptation of the word) into a _roman_. i wonder the couriers, &c. &c., have not translated that part of the moniteur, with additional comments. "the princess of wales has requested fuseli to paint from 'the corsair,'--leaving to him the choice of any passage for the subject: so mr. locke tells me. tired, jaded, selfish, and supine--must go to bed. "_roman_, at least _romance_, means a song sometimes, as in the spanish. i suppose this is the moniteur's meaning, unless he has confused it with 'the corsair.' "albany, march . "this night got into my new apartments, rented of lord althorpe, on a lease of seven years. spacious, and room for my books and sabres. _in_ the _house_, too, another advantage. the last few days, or whole week, have been very abstemious, regular in exercise, and yet very _un_well. "yesterday, dined _tête-à-tête_ at the cocoa with scrope davies--sat from six till midnight--drank between us one bottle of champagne and six of claret, neither of which wines ever affect me. offered to take scrope home in my carriage; but he was tipsy and pious, and i was obliged to leave him on his knees praying to i know not what purpose or pagod. no headach, nor sickness, that night nor to-day. got up, if any thing, earlier than usual--sparred with jackson _ad sudorem_, and have been much better in health than for many days. i have heard nothing more from scrope. yesterday paid him four thousand eight hundred pounds, a debt of some standing, and which i wished to have paid before. my mind is much relieved by the removal of that _debit_. "augusta wants me to make it up with carlisle. i have refused _every_ body else, but i can't deny her any thing;--so i must e'en do it, though i had as lief 'drink up eisel--eat a crocodile.' let me see--ward, the hollands, the lambs, rogers, &c. &c.--every body, more or less, have been trying for the last two years to accommodate this _couplet_ quarrel to no purpose. i shall laugh if augusta succeeds. "redde a little of many things--shall get in all my books to-morrow. luckily this room will hold them--with 'ample room and verge, &c. the characters of hell to trace.' i must set about some employment soon; my heart begins to eat _itself_ again. "april . "out of town six days. on my return, find my poor little pagod, napoleon, pushed off his pedestal;--the thieves are in paris. it is his own fault. like milo, he would rend the oak[ ]; but it closed again, wedged his hands, and now the beasts--lion, bear, down to the dirtiest jackall--may all tear him. that muscovite winter _wedged_ his arms;--ever since, he has fought with his feet and teeth. the last may still leave their marks; and 'i guess now' (as the yankees say) that he will yet play them a pass. he is in their rear--between them and their homes. query--will they ever reach them? [footnote : he adopted this thought afterwards in his ode to napoleon, as well as most of the historical examples in the following paragraph.] "saturday, april . . "i mark this day! "napoleon buonaparte has abdicated the throne of the world. 'excellent well.' methinks sylla did better; for he revenged and resigned in the height of his sway, red with the slaughter of his foes--the finest instance of glorious contempt of the rascals upon record. dioclesian did well too--amurath not amiss, had he become aught except a dervise--charles the fifth but so so--but napoleon, worst of all. what! wait till they were in his capital, and then talk of his readiness to give up what is already gone!! 'what whining monk art thou--what holy cheat?' 'sdeath!--dionysius at corinth was yet a king to this. the 'isle of elba' to retire to!--well--if it had been caprea, i should have marvelled less. 'i see men's minds are but a parcel of their fortunes.' i am utterly bewildered and confounded. "i don't know--but i think _i_, even _i_ (an insect compared with this creature), have set my life on casts not a millionth part of this man's. but, after all, a crown may be not worth dying for. yet, to outlive _lodi_ for this!!! oh that juvenal or johnson could rise from the dead! 'expende--quot libras in duce summo invenies?' i knew they were light in the balance of mortality; but i thought their living dust weighed more _carats_. alas! this imperial diamond hath a flaw in it, and is now hardly fit to stick in a glazier's pencil:--the pen of the historian won't rate it worth a ducat. "psha! 'something too much of this.' but i won't give him up even now; though all his admirers have, 'like the thanes, fallen from him.' "april . "i do not know that i am happiest when alone; but this i am sure of, that i never am long in the society even of _her_ i love, (god knows too well, and the devil probably too,) without a yearning for the company of my lamp and my utterly confused and tumbled-over library.[ ] even in the day, i send away my carriage oftener than i use or abuse it. _per esempio_,--i have not stirred out of these rooms for these four days past: but i have sparred for exercise (windows open) with jackson an hour daily, to attenuate and keep up the ethereal part of me. the more violent the fatigue, the better my spirits for the rest of the day; and then, my evenings have that calm nothingness of languor, which i most delight in. to-day i have boxed one hour--written an ode to napoleon buonaparte--copied it--eaten six biscuits--drunk four bottles of soda water--redde away the rest of my time--besides giving poor * * a world of advice about this mistress of his, who is plaguing him into a phthisic and intolerable tediousness. i am a pretty fellow truly to lecture about 'the sect.' no matter, my counsels are all thrown away. [footnote : "as much company," says pope, "as i have kept, and as much as i love it, i love reading better, and would rather be employed in reading than in the most agreeable conversation."] "april . . "there is ice at both poles, north and south--all extremes are the same--misery belongs to the highest and the lowest only,--to the emperor and the beggar, when unsixpenced and unthroned. there is, to be sure, a damned insipid medium--an equinoctial line--no one knows where, except upon maps and measurement. "'and all our _yesterdays_ have lighted fools the way to dusty death.' i will keep no further journal of that same hesternal torch-light; and, to prevent me from returning, like a dog, to the vomit of memory, i tear out the remaining leaves of this volume, and write, in _ipecacuanha_,--'that the bourbons are restored!!!'--'hang up philosophy.' to be sure, i have long despised myself and man, but i never spat in the face of my species before--'o fool! i shall go mad.'" * * * * * the perusal of this singular journal having made the reader acquainted with the chief occurrences that marked the present period of his history--the publication of the corsair, the attacks upon him in the newspapers, &c.--there only remains for me to add his correspondence at the same period, by which the moods and movements of his mind, during these events, will be still further illustrated. * * * * * to mr. murray. "sunday, jan. . . "excuse this dirty paper--it is the _pen_ultimate half-sheet of a quire. thanks for your book and the ln. chron., which i return. the corsair is copied, and now at lord holland's; but i wish mr. gifford to have it to-night. "mr. dallas is very _perverse_; so that i have offended both him and you, when i really meaned to do good, at least to one, and certainly not to annoy either.[ ] but i shall manage him, i hope.--i am pretty confident of the _tale_ itself; but one cannot be sure. if i get it from lord holland, it shall be sent. "yours," &c. [footnote : he had made a present of the copyright of "the corsair" to mr. dallas, who thus describes the manner in which the gift was bestowed:--"on the th of december, i called in the morning on lord byron, whom i found composing 'the corsair.' he had been working upon it but a few days, and he read me the portion he had written. after some observations, he said, 'i have a great mind--i will.' he then added that he should finish it soon, and asked me to accept of the copyright. i was much surprised. he had, before he was aware of the value of his works, declared that he never would take money for them, and that i should have the whole advantage of all he wrote. this declaration became morally void when the question was about thousands, instead of a few hundreds; and i perfectly agree with the admired and admirable author of waverley, that 'the wise and good accept not gifts which are made in heat of blood, and which may be after repented of.'--i felt this on the sale of 'childe harold,' and observed it to him. the copyright of 'the giaour' and 'the bride of abydos' remained undisposed of, though the poems were selling rapidly, nor had i the slightest notion that he would ever again give me a copyright. but as he continued in the resolution of not appropriating the sale of his works to his own use, i did not scruple to accept that of 'the corsair,' and i thanked him. he asked me to call and hear the portions read as he wrote them. i went every morning, and was astonished at the rapidity of his composition. he gave me the poem complete on new-year's day, , saying, that my acceptance of it gave him great pleasure, and that i was fully at liberty to publish it with any bookseller i pleased, independent of the profit." out of this last-mentioned permission arose the momentary embarrassment between the noble poet and his publisher, to which the above notes allude.] * * * * * to mr. murray. ["jan. .] "i will answer your letter this evening; in the mean time, it may be sufficient to say, that there was no intention on my part to annoy you, but merely to _serve_ dallas, and also to rescue myself from a possible imputation that _i_ had other objects than fame in writing so frequently. whenever i avail myself of any profit arising from my pen, depend upon it, it is not for my own convenience; at least it never has been so, and i hope never will. "p.s. i shall answer this evening, and will set all right about dallas. i thank you for your expressions of personal regard, which i can assure you i do not lightly value." * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "january . . "i have got a devil of a long story in the press, entitled 'the corsair,' in the regular heroic measure. it is a pirate's isle, peopled with my own creatures, and you may easily suppose they do a world of mischief through the three cantos. now for your dedication--if you will accept it. this is positively my last experiment on public _literary_ opinion, till i turn my thirtieth year,--if so be i flourish until that downhill period. i have a confidence for you--a perplexing one to me, and, just at present, in a state of abeyance in itself. "however, we shall see. in the mean time, you may amuse yourself with my suspense, and put all the justices of peace in requisition, in case i come into your county with 'hackbut bent.' "seriously, whether i am to hear from her or him, it is a _pause_, which i shall fill up with as few thoughts of my own as i can borrow from other people. any thing is better than stagnation; and now, in the interregnum of my autumn and a strange summer adventure, which i don't like to think of, (i don't mean * *'s, however, which is laughable only,) the antithetical state of my lucubrations makes me alive, and macbeth can 'sleep no more:'--he was lucky in getting rid of the drowsy sensation of waking again. "pray write to me. i must send you a copy of the letter of dedication. when do you come out? i am sure we don't _clash_ this time, for i am all at sea, and in action,--and a wife, and a mistress, &c. "thomas, thou art a happy fellow; but if you wish us to be so, you must come up to town, as you did last year: and we shall have a world to say, and to see, and to hear. let me hear from you. "p.s. of course you will keep my secret, and don't even talk in your sleep of it. happen what may, your dedication is ensured, being already written; and i shall copy it out fair to-night, in case business or amusement--_amant alterna camænæ_." * * * * * to mr. murray. "jan. . . "you don't like the dedication--very well; there is another: but you will send the other to mr. moore, that he may know i _had_ written it. i send also mottoes for the cantos. i think you will allow that an elephant may be more sagacious, but cannot be more docile. "yours, bn. "the _name_ is again altered to _medora_"[ ] [footnote : it had been at first genevra,--not francesca, as mr. dallas asserts.] * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "january . . "as it would not be fair to press you into a dedication, without previous notice, i send you _two_, and i will tell you _why two_. the first, mr. m., who sometimes takes upon him the critic (and i bear it from _astonishment_), says, may do you _harm_--god forbid!--this alone makes me listen to him. the fact is, he is a damned tory, and has, i dare swear, something of _self_, which i cannot divine, at the bottom of his objection, as it is the allusion to ireland to which he objects. but he be d----d--though a good fellow enough (your sinner would not be worth a d----n). "take your choice;--no one, save he and mr. dallas, has seen either, and d. is quite on my side, and for the first.[ ] if i can but testify to you and the world how truly i admire and esteem you, i shall be quite satisfied. as to prose, i don't know addison's from johnson's; but i will try to mend my cacology. pray perpend, pronounce, and don't be offended with either. "my last epistle would probably put you in a fidget. but the devil, who _ought_ to be civil on such occasions, proved so, and took my letter to the right place. "is it not odd?--the very fate i said she had escaped from * *, she has now undergone from the worthy * *. like mr. fitzgerald, shall i not lay claim to the character of 'vates?'--as he did in the morning herald for prophesying the fall of buonaparte,--who, by the by, i don't think is yet fallen. i wish he would rally and route your legitimate sovereigns, having a mortal hate to all royal entails.--but i am scrawling a treatise. good night. ever," &c. [footnote : the first was, of course, the one that i preferred. the other ran as follows:-- "january . . "my dear moore, "i had written to you a long letter of dedication, which i suppress, because, though it contained something relating to you which every one had been glad to hear, yet there was too much about politics, and poesy, and all things whatsoever, ending with that topic on which most men are fluent, and none very amusing--_one's self_. it might have been re-written--but to what purpose? my praise could add nothing to your well-earned and firmly-established fame; and with my most hearty admiration of your talents, and delight in your conversation, you are already acquainted. in availing myself of your friendly permission to inscribe this poem to you, i can only wish the offering were as worthy your acceptance as your regard is dear to, "yours, most affectionately and faithfully, "byron." ] * * * * * to mr. murray. "january . . "correct this proof by mr. gifford's (and from the mss.), particularly as to the _pointing_. i have added a section for _gulnare_, to fill up the parting, and dismiss her more ceremoniously. if mr. gifford or you dislike, 'tis but a _sponge_ and another midnight better employed than in yawning over miss * *; who, by the by, may soon return the compliment. "wednesday or thursday. "p.s. i have redde * *. it is full of praises of lord ellenborough!!! (from which i infer near and dear relations at the bar), and * * * *. "i do not love madame de staël; but, depend upon it, she beats all your natives hollow as an authoress, in my opinion; and i would not say this if i could help it. "p.s. pray report my best acknowledgments to mr. gifford in any words that may best express how truly his kindness obliges me. i won't bore him with _lip_ thanks or _notes_." * * * * * to mr. moore. "january . . "i have but a moment to write, but all is as it should be. i have said really far short of my opinion, but if you think enough, i am content. will you return the proof by the post, as i leave town on sunday, and have no other corrected copy. i put 'servant,' as being less familiar before the public; because i don't like presuming upon our friendship to infringe upon forms. as to the other _word_, you may be sure it is one i cannot hear or repeat too often. "i write in an agony of haste and confusion.--perdonate." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "january . . "before any proof goes to mr. gifford, it may be as well to revise this, where there are _words omitted_, faults committed, and the devil knows what. as to the dedication, i cut out the parenthesis of _mr._[ ], but not another word shall move unless for a better. mr. moore has seen, and decidedly preferred the part your tory bile sickens at. if every syllable were a rattle-snake, or every letter a pestilence, they should not be expunged. let those who cannot swallow chew the expressions on ireland; or should even mr. croker array himself in all his terrors them, i care for none of you, except gifford; and he won't abuse me, except i deserve it--which will at least reconcile me to his justice. as to the poems in hobhouse's volume, the translation from the romaic is well enough; but the best of the other volume (of _mine_, i mean) have been already printed. but do as you please--only, as i shall be absent when you come out, _do_, _pray_, let mr. _dallas_ and _you_ have a care of the _press_. yours," &c. [footnote : he had at first, after the words "scott alone," inserted, in a parenthesis,--"he will excuse the _mr._----'we do not say _mr._ cæsar.'"] * * * * * to mr. murray. [" . january .] "i do believe that the devil never created or perverted such a fiend as the fool of a printer.[ ] i am obliged to enclose you, _luckily_ for me, this _second_ proof, _corrected_, because there is an ingenuity in his blunders peculiar to himself. let the press be guided by the present sheet. yours, &c. "_burn the other_. "correct _this also_ by the other in some things which i may have forgotten. there is one mistake he made, which, if it had stood, i would most certainly have broken his neck." [footnote : the amusing rages into which he was thrown by the printer were vented not only in these notes, but frequently on the proof-sheets themselves. thus, a passage in the dedication having been printed "the first of her bands in estimation," he writes in the margin, "bards, not bands--was there ever such a stupid misprint?" and, in correcting a line that had been curtailed of its due number of syllables, he says, "do _not_ omit words--it is quite enough to alter or mis-spell them."] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "newstead abbey, january . . "you will be glad to hear of my safe arrival here. the time of my return will depend upon the weather, which is so impracticable, that this letter has to advance through more snows than ever opposed the emperor's retreat. the roads are impassable, and return impossible for the present; which i do not regret, as i am much at my ease, and _six-and-twenty_ complete this day--a very pretty age, if it would always last. our coals are excellent, our fire-places large, my cellar full, and my head empty; and i have not yet recovered my joy at leaving london. if any unexpected turn occurred with my purchasers, i believe i should hardly quit the place at all; but shut my door, and let my beard grow. "i forgot to mention (and i hope it is unnecessary) that the lines beginning--_remember him_, &c. must _not_ appear with _the corsair_. you may slip them in with the smaller pieces newly annexed to _childe harold_; but on no account permit them to be appended to the corsair. have the goodness to recollect this particularly. "the books i have brought with me are a great consolation for the confinement, and i bought more as we came along. in short, i never consult the thermometer, and shall not put up prayers for a _thaw_, unless i thought it would sweep away the rascally invaders of france. was ever such a thing as blucher's proclamation? "just before i left town, kemble paid me the compliment of desiring me to write a _tragedy_; i wish i could, but i find my scribbling mood subsiding--not before it was time; but it is lucky to check it at all. if i lengthen my letter, you will think it is coming on again; so, good-by. yours alway, "b. "p.s. if you hear any news of battle or retreat on the part of the allies (as they call them), pray send it. he has my best wishes to manure the fields of france with an _invading_ army. i hate invaders of all countries, and have no patience with the cowardly cry of exultation over him, at whose name you all turned whiter than the snow to which you are indebted for your triumphs. "i open my letter to thank you for yours just received. the 'lines to a lady weeping' must go with the corsair. i care nothing for consequence, on this point. my politics are to me like a young mistress to an old man--the worse they grow, the fonder i become of them. as mr. gilford likes the 'portuguese translation[ ],' pray insert it as an addition to the corsair. "in all points of difference between mr. gifford and mr. dallas, let the first keep his place; and in all points of difference between mr. gifford and mr. anybody-else, i shall abide by the former; if i am wrong, i can't help it. but i would rather not be right with any other person. so there is an end of that matter. after all the trouble he has taken about me and mine, i should be very ungrateful to feel or act otherwise. besides, in point of judgment, he is not to be lowered by a comparison. in _politics_, he may be right too; but that with me is a _feeling_, and i can't _torify_ my nature." [footnote : his translation of the pretty portuguese song, "tu mi chamas." he was tempted to try another version of this ingenious thought, which is, perhaps, still more happy, and has never, i believe, appeared in print. "you call me still your _life_--ah! change the word-- life is as transient as th' inconstant's sigh; say rather i'm your _soul_, more just that name, for, like the soul, my love can never die." ] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "newstead abbey, february . . "i need not say that your obliging letter was very welcome, and not the less so for being unexpected. "it doubtless gratifies me much that our _finale_ has pleased, and that the curtain drops gracefully.[ ] _you_ deserve it should, for your promptitude and good nature in arranging immediately with mr. dallas; and i can assure you that i esteem your entering so warmly into the subject, and writing to me so soon upon it, as a personal obligation. we shall now part, i hope, satisfied with each other. i _was_ and am quite in earnest in my prefatory promise not to intrude any more; and this not from any affectation, but a thorough conviction that it is the best policy, and is at least respectful to my readers, as it shows that i would not willingly run the risk of forfeiting their favour in future. besides, i have other views and objects, and think that i shall keep this resolution; for, since i left london, though shut up, _snow_-bound, _thaw_-bound, and tempted with all kinds of paper, the dirtiest of ink, and the bluntest of pens, i have not even been haunted by a wish to put them to their combined uses, except in letters of business. my rhyming propensity is quite gone, and i feel much as i did at patras on recovering from my fever--weak, but in health, and only afraid of a relapse. i do most fervently hope i never shall. "i see by the morning chronicle there hath been discussion in the _courier_; and i read in the morning post a wrathful letter about mr. moore, in which some protestant reader has made a sad confusion about _india_ and ireland. "you are to do as you please about the smaller poems; but i think removing them _now_ from the corsair looks like _fear_; and if so, you must allow me not to be pleased. i should also suppose that, after the _fuss_ of these newspaper esquires, they would materially assist the circulation of the corsair; an object i should imagine at _present_ of more importance to _yourself_ than childe harold's seventh appearance. do as you like; but don't allow the withdrawing that _poem_ to draw any imputation of _dismay_ upon me. "pray make my respects to mr. ward, whose praise i value most highly, as you well know; it is in the approbation of such men that fame becomes worth having. to mr. gifford i am always grateful, and surely not less so now than ever. and so good night to my authorship. "i have been sauntering and dozing here very quietly, and not unhappily. you will be happy to hear that i have completely established my title-deeds as marketable, and that the purchaser has succumbed to the terms, and fulfils them, or is to fulfil them forthwith. he is now here, and we go on very amicably together,--one in each _wing_ of the abbey. we set off on sunday--i for town, he for cheshire. "mrs. leigh is with me--much pleased with the place, and less so with me for parting with it, to which not even the price can reconcile her. your parcel has not yet arrived--at least the _mags_. &c.; but i have received childe harold and the corsair. "i believe both are very correctly printed, which is a great satisfaction. "i thank you for wishing me in town; but i think one's success is most felt at a distance, and i enjoy my solitary self-importance in an agreeable sulky way of my own, upon the strength of your letter--for which i once more thank you, and am, very truly, &c. "p.s. don't you think buonaparte's next _publication_ will be rather expensive to the allies? perry's paris letter of yesterday looks very reviving. what a hydra and briareus it is! i wish they would pacify: there is no end to this campaigning." [footnote : it will be recollected that he had announced the corsair as "the last production with which he should trespass on public patience for some years."] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "newstead abbey, february . . "i quite forgot, in my answer of yesterday, to mention that i have no means of ascertaining whether the newark _pirate_ has been doing what you say.[ ] if so, he is a rascal, and a _shabby_ rascal too; and if his offence is punishable by law or pugilism, he shall be fined or buffeted. do you try and discover, and i will make some enquiry here. perhaps some _other_ in town may have gone on printing, and used the same deception. "the _fac-simile_ is omitted in childe harold, which is very awkward, as there is a _note_ expressly on the subject. pray _replace_ it as _usual_. "on second and third thoughts, the withdrawing the small poems from the corsair (even to add to childe harold) looks like shrinking and shuffling after the fuss made upon one of them by the tories. pray replace them in the corsair's appendix. i am sorry that childe harold requires some and such abetments to make him move off; but, if you remember, i told you his popularity would not be permanent. it is very lucky for the author that he had made up his mind to a temporary reputation in time. the truth is, i do not think that any of the present day (and least of all, one who has not consulted the flattering side of human nature,) have much to hope from posterity; and you may think it affectation very probably, but, to me, my present and past success has appeared very singular, since it was in the teeth of so many prejudices. i almost think people like to be contradicted. if childe harold flags, it will hardly be worth while to go on with the engravings: but do as you please; i have done with the whole concern; and the enclosed lines, written years ago, and copied from my skull-cap, are among the last with which you will be troubled. if you like, add them to childe harold, if only for the sake of another outcry. you received so long an answer yesterday, that i will not intrude on you further than to repeat myself, "yours, &c. "p.s. of course, in reprinting (if you have occasion), you will take great care to be correct. the present editions seem very much so, except in the last note of childe harold, where the word _responsible_ occurs twice nearly together; correct the second into _answerable_." [footnote : reprinting the "hours of idleness."] * * * * * to mr. murray. "newark, february . . "i am thus far on my way to town. master ridge[ ] i have seen, and he owns to having _reprinted_ some _sheets_, to make up a few complete remaining copies! i have now given him fair warning, and if he plays such tricks again, i must either get an injunction, or call for an account of profits (as i never have parted with the copyright), or, in short, any thing vexatious, to repay him in his own way. if the weather does not relapse, i hope to be in town in a day or two. yours," &c. [footnote : the printer at newark.] * * * * * to mr. murray. "february . . "i see all the papers in a sad commotion with those eight lines; and the morning post, in particular, has found out that i am a sort of richard iii.--deformed in mind and _body_. the _last_ piece of information is not very new to a man who passed five years at a public school. "i am very sorry you cut out those lines for childe harold. pray re-insert them in their old place in 'the corsair.'" * * * * * letter . to mr. hodgson. "february . . "there is a youngster, and a clever one, named reynolds, who has just published a poem called 'safie,' published by cawthorne. he is in the most natural and fearful apprehension of the reviewers; and as you and i both know by experience the effect of such things upon a _young_ mind, i wish you would take his production into dissection, and do it _gently_. _i_ cannot, because it is inscribed to me; but i assure you this is not my motive for wishing him to be tenderly entreated, but because i know the misery at his time of life, of untoward remarks upon first appearance. "now for _self_. pray thank your _cousin_--it is just as it should be, to my liking, and probably _more_ than will suit any one else's. i hope and trust that you are well and well doing. peace be with you. ever yours, my dear friend." * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "february . . "i arrived in town late yesterday evening, having been absent three weeks, which i passed in notts. quietly and pleasantly. you can have no conception of the uproar the eight lines on the little royalty's weeping in (now republished) have occasioned. the r * *, who had always thought them _yours_, chose--god knows why--on discovering them to be mine, to be _affected_ 'in sorrow rather than anger.' the morning post, sun, herald, courier, have all been in hysterics ever since. m. is in a fright, and wanted to shuffle; and the abuse against me in all directions is vehement, unceasing, loud--some of it good, and all of it hearty. i feel a little compunctious as to the r * *'s _regret_;--'would he had been only angry! but i fear him not.' "some of these same assailments you have probably seen. my person (which is excellent for 'the nonce') has been denounced in verses, the more like the subject, inasmuch as they halt exceedingly. then, in another, i am an _atheist_, a _rebel_, and, at last, the _devil_ (_boiteux_, i presume). my demonism seems to be a female's conjecture; if so, perhaps, i could convince her that i am but a mere mortal,--if a queen of the amazons may be believed, who says [greek: ariston chôlos oiphei]. i quote from memory, so my greek is probably deficient; but the passage is _meant_ to mean * *. "seriously, i am in, what the learned call, a dilemma, and the vulgar, a scrape; and my friends desire me not to be in a passion; and, like sir fretful, i assure them that i am 'quite calm,'--but i am nevertheless in a fury. "since i wrote thus far, a friend has come in, and we have been talking and buffooning till i have quite lost the thread of my thoughts; and, as i won't send them unstrung to you, good morning, and "believe me ever, &c. "p.s. murray, during my absence, _omitted_ the tears in several of the copies. i have made him replace them, and am very wroth with his qualms,--'as the wine is poured out, let it be drunk to the dregs.'" * * * * * to mr. murray. "february . . "i am much better, and indeed quite well, this morning. i have received _two_, but i presume there are more of the _ana_, subsequently, and also something previous, to which the morning chronicle replied. you also mentioned a parody on the _skull_. i wish to see them all, because there may be things that require notice either by pen or person. "yours, &c. "you need not trouble yourself to answer this; but send me the things when you get them." * * * * * to mr. murray. "february . . "if you have copies of the 'intercepted letters,' lady holland would be glad of a volume; and when you have served others, have the goodness to think of your humble servant. "you have played the devil by that injudicious _suppression_, which you did totally without my consent. some of the papers have exactly said what might be expected. now i _do_ not, and _will_ not be supposed to shrink, although myself and every thing belonging to me were to perish with my memory. yours, &c. bn. "p.s. pray attend to what i stated yesterday on _technical_ topics." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "monday, february . . "before i left town yesterday, i wrote you a note, which i presume you received. i have heard so many different accounts of _your_ proceedings, or rather of those of others towards _you_, in consequence of the publication of these everlasting lines, that i am anxious to hear from yourself the real state of the case. whatever responsibility, obloquy, or effect is to arise from the publication, should surely _not_ fall upon you in any degree; and i can have no objection to your stating, as distinctly and publicly as you please, _your_ unwillingness to publish them, and my own obstinacy upon the subject. take any course you please to vindicate _yourself_, but leave me to fight my own way; and, as i before said, do not _compromise_ me by any thing which may look like _shrinking_ on my part; as for your own, make the best of it. yours, bn." * * * * * letter . to mr. rogers. "february . . "my dear rogers, "i wrote to lord holland briefly, but i hope distinctly, on the subject which has lately occupied much of my conversation with him and you.[ ] as things now stand, upon that topic my determination must be unalterable. "i declare to you most sincerely that there is no human being on whose regard and esteem i set a higher value than on lord holland's; and, as far as concerns himself, i would concede even to humiliation, without any view to the future, and solely from my sense of his conduct as to the past. for the rest, i conceive that i have already done all in my power by the suppression.[ ] if that is not enough, they must act as they please; but i will not 'teach my tongue a most inherent baseness,' come what may. you will probably be at the marquis lansdowne's to-night. i am asked, but i am not sure that i shall be able to go. hobhouse will be there. i think, if you knew him well, you would like him. "believe me always yours very affectionately, "b." [footnote : relative to a proposed reconciliation between lord carlisle and himself.] [footnote : of the satire.] * * * * * letter . to mr. rogers. "february . . "if lord holland is satisfied, as far as regards himself and lady hd., and as this letter expresses him to be, it is enough. "as for any impression the public may receive from the revival of the lines on lord carlisle, let them keep it,--the more favourable for him, and the worse for me,--better for all. "all the sayings and doings in the world shall not make me utter another word of conciliation to any thing that breathes. i shall bear what i can, and what i cannot i shall resist. the worst they could do would be to exclude me from society. i have never courted it, nor, i may add, in the general sense of the word, enjoyed it--and 'there is a world elsewhere!' "any thing remarkably injurious, i have the same means of repaying as other men, with such interest as circumstances may annex to it. "nothing but the necessity of adhering to regimen prevents me from dining with you to-morrow. "i am yours most truly, "bn." * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "february . . "you may be assured that the only prickles that sting from the royal hedgehog are those which possess a torpedo property, and may benumb some of my friends. _i_ am quite silent, and 'hush'd in grim repose.' the frequency of the assaults has weakened their effects,--if ever they had any;--and, if they had had much, i should hardly have held my tongue, or withheld my fingers. it is something quite new to attack a man for abandoning his resentments. i have heard that previous praise and subsequent vituperation were rather ungrateful, but i did not know that it was wrong to endeavour to do justice to those who did not wait till i had made some amends for former and boyish prejudices, but received me into their friendship, when i might still have been their enemy. "you perceive justly that i must _intentionally_ have made my fortune like sir francis wronghead. it were better if there were more merit in my independence, but it really is something nowadays to be independent at all, and the _less_ temptation to be otherwise, the more uncommon the case, in these times of paradoxical servility. i believe that most of our hates and likings have been hitherto nearly the same; but from henceforth they must, of necessity, be one and indivisible,--and now for it! i am for any weapon,--the pen, till one can find something sharper, will do for a beginning. "you can have no conception of the ludicrous solemnity with which these two stanzas have been treated. the morning post gave notice of an intended motion in the house of my brethren on the subject, and god he knows what proceedings besides;--and all this, as bedreddin in the 'nights' says, 'for making a cream tart without pepper.' this last piece of intelligence is, i presume, too laughable to be true; and the destruction of the custom-house appears to have, in some degree, interfered with mine; added to which, the last battle of buonaparte has usurped the column hitherto devoted to my bulletin. "i send you from this day's morning post the best which have hitherto appeared on this 'impudent doggerel,' as the courier calls it. there was another about my _diet_, when a boy--not at all bad--some time ago; but the rest are but indifferent. "i shall think about your _oratorical_ hint[ ];--but i have never set much upon 'that cast,' and am grown as tired as solomon of every thing, and of myself more than any thing. this is being what the learned call philosophical, and the vulgar lack-a-daisical. i am, however, always glad of a blessing[ ]; pray, repeat yours soon,--at least your letter, and i shall think the benediction included. "ever," &c. [footnote : i had endeavoured to persuade him to take a part in parliamentary affairs, and to exercise his talent for oratory more frequently.] [footnote : in concluding my letter, having said "god bless you!" i added--"that is, if you have no objection."] * * * * * letter . to mr. dallas. "february . . "the courier of this evening accuses me of having 'received and pocketed' large sums for my works. i have never yet received, nor wish to receive, a farthing for any. mr. murray offered a thousand for the giaour and bride of abydos, which i said was too much, and that if he could afford it at the end of six months, i would then direct how it might be disposed of; but neither then, nor at any other period, have i ever availed myself of the profits on my own account. for the republication of the satire i refused four hundred guineas; and for the previous editions i never asked nor received a _sous_, nor for any writing whatever. i do not wish you to do any thing disagreeable to yourself; there never was nor shall be any conditions nor stipulations with regard to any accommodation that i could afford you; and, on your part, i can see nothing derogatory in receiving the copyright. it was only assistance afforded to a worthy man, by one not quite so worthy. "mr. murray is going to contradict this [ ]; but your name will not be mentioned: for your own part, you are a free agent, and are to do as you please. i only hope that now, as always, you will think that i wish to take no unfair advantage of the accidental opportunity which circumstances permitted me of being of use to you. ever," &c. [footnote : the statement of the courier, &c.] * * * * * in consequence of this letter, mr. dallas addressed an explanation to one of the newspapers, of which the following is a part;--the remainder being occupied with a rather clumsily managed defence of his noble benefactor on the subject of the stanzas. to the editor of the morning post. "sir, "i have seen the paragraph in an evening paper, in which lord byron is _accused_ of 'receiving and pocketing' large sums for his works. i believe no one who knows him has the slightest suspicion of this kind; but the assertion being public, i think it a justice i owe to lord byron to contradict it publicly. i address this letter to you for that purpose, and i am happy that it gives me an opportunity at this moment to make some observations which i have for several days been anxious to do publicly, but from which i have been restrained by an apprehension that i should be suspected of being prompted by his lordship. "i take upon me to affirm, that lord byron never received a shilling for any of his works. to my certain knowledge, the profits of the satire were left entirely to the publisher of it. the gift of the copyright of childe harold's pilgrimage i have already publicly acknowledged in the dedication of the new edition of my novels; and i now add my acknowledgment for that of the corsair, not only for the profitable part of it, but for the delicate and delightful manner of bestowing it while yet unpublished. with respect to his two other poems, the giaour and the bride of abydos, mr. murray, the publisher of them, can truly attest that no part of the sale of them has ever touched his hands, or been disposed of for his use. having said thus much as to facts, i cannot but express my surprise that it should ever be deemed a matter of reproach that he should appropriate the pecuniary returns of his works. neither rank nor fortune seems to me to place any man above this; for what difference does it make in honour and noble feelings, whether a copyright be bestowed, or its value employed, in beneficent purposes? i differ with my lord byron on this subject as well as some others; and he has constantly, both by word and action, shown his aversion to receiving money for his productions." * * * * * letter. . to mr. moore. "february . . "dallas had, perhaps, have better kept silence;--but that was _his_ concern, and, as his facts are correct, and his motive not dishonourable to himself, i wished him well through it. as for his interpretations of the lines, he and any one else may interpret them as they please. i have and shall adhere to my taciturnity, unless something very particular occurs to render this impossible. do _not you_ say a word. if any one is to speak, it is the person principally concerned. the most amusing thing is, that every one (to me) attributes the abuse to the _man they personally most dislike!_--some say c * * r, some c * * e, others f * * d, &c. &c. &c. i do not know, and have no clue but conjecture. if discovered, and he turns out a hireling, he must be left to his wages; if a cavalier, he must 'wink, and hold out his iron.' "i had some thoughts of putting the question to c * * r, but h., who, i am sure, would not dissuade me if it were right, advised me by all means _not_;--'that i had no right to take it upon suspicion,' &c. &c. whether h. is correct i am not aware, but he believes himself so, and says there can be but one opinion on that subject. this i am, at least, sure of, that he would never prevent me from doing what he deemed the duty of a _preux_ chevalier. in such cases--at least, in this country--we must act according to usages. in considering this instance, i dismiss my own personal feelings. any man will and must fight, when necessary,--even without a motive. _here_, i should take it up really without much resentment; for, unless a woman one likes is in the way, it is some years since i felt a _long_ anger. but, undoubtedly, could i, or may i, trace it to a man of station, i should and shall do what is proper. "* * was angerly, but tried to conceal it. _you_ are not called upon to avow the 'twopenny,' and would only gratify them by so doing. do you not see the great object of all these fooleries is to set him, and you, and me, and all persons whatsoever, by the ears?--more especially those who are on good terms,--and nearly succeeded. lord h. wished me to _concede_ to lord carlisle--concede to the devil!--to a man who used me ill? i told him, in answer, that i would neither concede, nor recede on the subject, but be silent altogether; unless any thing more could be said about lady h. and himself, who had been since my very good friends;--and there it ended. this was no time for concessions to lord c. "i have been interrupted, but shall write again soon. believe me ever, my dear moore," &c. * * * * * another of his friends having expressed, soon after, some intention of volunteering publicly in his defence, he lost no time in repressing him by the following sensible letter:-- letter . to w * * w * *, esq. "february . . "my dear w., "i have but a few moments to write to you. _silence_ is the only answer to the things you mention; nor should i regard that man as my friend who said a word more on the subject. i care little for attacks, but i will not submit to _defences_; and i do hope and trust that _you_ have never entertained a serious thought of engaging in so foolish a controversy. dallas's letter was, to his credit, merely as to facts which he had a right to state; _i_ neither have nor shall take the least _public_ notice, nor permit any one else to do so. if i discover the writer, then i may act in a different manner; but it will not be in writing. "an expression in your letter has induced me to write this to you, to entreat you not to interfere in any way in such a business,--it is now nearly over, and depend upon it _they_ are much more chagrined by my silence than they could be by the best defence in the world. i do not know any thing that would vex me more than any further reply to these things. "ever yours, in haste, "b." * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "march . . "my dear friend, "i have a great mind to tell you that i _am_ 'uncomfortable,' if only to make you come to town; where no one ever more delighted in seeing you, nor is there any one to whom i would sooner turn for consolation in my most vapourish moments. the truth is, i have 'no lack of argument' to ponder upon of the most gloomy description, but this arises from _other_ causes. some day or other, when we are _veterans_, i may tell you a tale of present and past times; and it is not from want of confidence that i do not now,--but--but--always a _but_ to the end of the chapter. "there is nothing, however, upon the _spot_ either to love or hate;--but i certainly have subjects for both at no very great distance, and am besides embarrassed between _three_ whom i know, and one (whose name, at least,) i do not know. all this would be very well if i had no heart; but, unluckily, i have found that there is such a thing still about me, though in no very good repair, and, also, that it has a habit of attaching itself to _one_ whether i will or no. 'divide et impera,' i begin to think, will only do for politics. "if i discover the 'toad' as you call him, i shall 'tread,'--and put spikes in my shoes to do it more effectually. the effect of all these fine things i do not enquire much nor perceive. i believe * * felt them more than either of us. people are civil enough, and i have had no dearth of invitations,--none of which, however, i have accepted. i went out very little last year, and mean to go about still less. i have no passion for circles, and have long regretted that i ever gave way to what is called a town life;--which, of all the lives i ever saw (and they are nearly as many as plutarch's), seems to me to leave the least for the past and future. "how proceeds the poem? do not neglect it, and i have no fears. i need not say to you that your fame is dear to me,--i really might say _dearer_ than my own; for i have lately begun to think my things have been strangely over-rated; and, at any rate, whether or not, i have done with them for ever. i may say to you what i would not say to every body, that the last two were written, the bride in four, and the corsair in ten days[ ],--which i take to be a most humiliating confession, as it proves my own want of judgment in publishing, and the public's in reading things, which cannot have stamina for permanent attention. 'so much for buckingham.' "i have no dread of your being too hasty, and i have still less of your failing. but i think a _year_ a very fair allotment of time to a composition which is not to be epic; and even horace's 'nonum prematur' must have been intended for the millennium, or some longer-lived generation than ours. i wonder how much we should have had of _him_, had he observed his own doctrines to the letter. peace be with you! remember that i am always and most truly yours, &c. "p.s. i never heard the 'report' you mention, nor, i dare say, many others. but, in course, you, as well as others, have 'damned good-natured friends,' who do their duty in the usual way. one thing will make you laugh. * * * *" [footnote : in asserting that he devoted but four days to the composition of the bride, he must be understood to refer only to the first sketch of that poem,--the successive additions by which it was increased to its present length having occupied, as we have seen, a much longer period. the corsair, on the contrary, was, from beginning to end, struck off at a heat--there being but little alteration or addition afterwards,--and the rapidity with which it was produced (being at the rate of nearly two hundred lines a day) would be altogether incredible, had we not his own, as well as his publisher's, testimony to the fact. such an achievement,--taking into account the surpassing beauty of the work,--is, perhaps, wholly without a parallel in the history of genius, and shows that 'écrire _par passion_,' as rousseau expresses it, may be sometimes a shorter road to perfection than any that art has ever struck out.] * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "march . . "guess darkly, and you will seldom err. at present, i shall say no more, and, perhaps--but no matter. i hope we shall some day meet, and whatever years may precede or succeed it, i shall mark it with the 'white stone' in my calendar. i am not sure that i shall not soon be in your neighbourhood again. if so, and i am alone (as will probably be the case), i shall invade and carry you off, and endeavour to atone for sorry fare by a sincere welcome. i don't know the person absent (barring 'the sect') i should be so glad to see again. "i have nothing of the sort you mention but _the lines_ (the weepers), if you like to have them in the bag. i wish to give them all possible circulation. the _vault_ reflection is downright actionable, and to print it would be peril to the publisher; but i think the tears have a natural right to be bagged, and the editor (whoever he may be) might supply a facetious note or not, as he pleased. "i cannot conceive how the _vault_[ ] has got about,--but so it is. it is too _farouche_; but, truth to say, my satires are not very playful. i have the plan of an epistle in my head, _at_ him and _to_ him; and, if they are not a little quieter, i shall embody it. i should say little or nothing of _myself_. as to mirth and ridicule, that is out of my way; but i have a tolerable fund of sternness and contempt, and, with juvenal before me, i shall perhaps read him a lecture he has not lately heard in the c----t. from particular circumstances, which came to my knowledge almost by accident, i could 'tell him what he is--i know him well.' "i meant, my dear m., to write to you a long letter, but i am hurried, and time clips my inclination down to yours, &c. "p.s. _think again_ before you _shelf_ your poem. there is a youngster, (older than me, by the by, but a younger poet,) mr. g. knight, with a vol. of eastern tales, written since his return,--for he has been in the countries. he sent to me last summer, and i advised him to write one in _each measure_, without any intention, at that time, of doing the same thing. since that, from a habit of writing in a fever, i have anticipated him in the variety of measures, but quite unintentionally. of the stories, i know nothing, not having seen them[ ]; but he has some lady in a sack, too, like the giaour:--he told me at the time. "the best way to make the public 'forget' me is to remind them of yourself. you cannot suppose that _i_ would ask you or advise you to publish, if i thought you would _fail_. i really have _no_ literary envy; and i do not believe a friend's success ever sat nearer another than yours do to my best wishes. it is for _elderly gentlemen_ to 'bear no brother near,' and cannot become our disease for more years than we may perhaps number. i wish you to be out before eastern subjects are again before the public." [footnote : those bitter and powerful lines which he wrote on the opening of the vault that contained the remains of henry viii. and charles i.] [footnote : he was not yet aware, it appears, that the anonymous manuscript sent to him by his publisher was from the pen of mr. knight.] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "march . . "i have not time to read the whole ms. [ ], but what i have seen seems very well written (both _prose_ and _verse_), and, though i am and can be no judge (at least a fair one on this subject), containing nothing which you _ought_ to hesitate publishing upon _my_ account. if the author is not dr. _busby_ himself, i think it a pity, on his _own_ account, that he should dedicate it to his subscribers; nor can i perceive what dr. busby has to do with the matter except as a translator of lucretius, for whose doctrines he is surely not responsible. i tell you openly, and really most sincerely, that, if published at all, there is no earthly reason why you should _not_; on the contrary, i should receive it as the greatest compliment _you_ could pay to your good opinion of my candour, to print and circulate that or any other work, attacking me in a manly manner, and without any malicious intention, from which, as far as i have seen, i must exonerate this writer. "he is wrong in one thing--_i_ am no _atheist_; but if he thinks i have published principles tending to such opinions, he has a perfect right to controvert them. pray publish it; i shall never forgive myself if i think that i have prevented you. "make my compliments to the author, and tell him i wish him success: his verse is very deserving of it; and i shall be the last person to suspect his motives. yours, &c. "p.s. if _you_ do not publish it, some one else will. you cannot suppose me so narrow-minded as to shrink from discussion. i repeat once for all, that i think it a good poem (as far as i have redde); and that is the only point _you_ should consider. how odd that eight lines should have given birth, i really think, to _eight thousand_, including _all_ that has been said, and will be on the subject!" [footnote : the manuscript of a long grave satire, entitled "anti-byron," which had been sent to mr. murray, and by him forwarded to lord byron, with a _request_--not meant, i believe, seriously--that he would give his opinion as to the propriety of publishing it.] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "april . . "all these news are very fine; but nevertheless i want my books, if you can find, or cause them to be found for me,--if only to lend them to napoleon, in "the island of elba," during his retirement. i also (if convenient, and you have no party with you,) should be glad to speak with you, for a few minutes, this evening, as i have had a letter from mr. moore, and wish to ask you, as the best judge, of the best time for him to publish the work he has composed. i need not say, that i have his success much at heart; not only because he is my friend, but something much better--a man of great talent, of which he is less sensible than i believe any even of his enemies. if you can so far oblige me as to step down, do so; and if you are otherwise occupied, say nothing about it. i shall find you at home in the course of next week. "p.s. i see sotheby's tragedies advertised. the death of darnley is a famous subject--one of the best, i should think, for the drama. pray let me have a copy when ready. "mrs. leigh was very much pleased with her books, and desired me to thank you; she means, i believe, to write to you her acknowledgments." * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. " . albany, april . . "viscount althorp is about to be married, and i have gotten his spacious bachelor apartments in albany, to which you will, i hope, address a speedy answer to this mine epistle. "i am but just returned to town, from which you may infer that i have been out of it; and i have been boxing, for exercise, with jackson for this last month daily. i have also been drinking, and, on one occasion, with three other friends at the cocoa tree, from six till four, yea, unto five in the matin. we clareted and champagned till two--then supped, and finished with a kind of regency punch composed of madeira, brandy, and _green_ tea, no _real_ water being admitted therein. there was a night for you! without once quitting the table, except to ambulate home, which i did alone, and in utter contempt of a hackney-coach and my own _vis_, both of which were deemed necessary for our conveyance. and so,--i am very well, and they say it will hurt my constitution. "i have also, more or less, been breaking a few of the favourite commandments; but i mean to pull up and marry, if any one will have me. in the mean time, the other day i nearly killed myself with a collar of brawn, which i swallowed for supper, and _in_digested for i don't know how long: but that is by the by. all this gourmandise was in honour of lent; for i am forbidden meat all the rest of the year, but it is strictly enjoined me during your solemn fast. i have been, and am, in very tolerable love; but of that hereafter as it may be. "my dear moore, say what you will in your preface; and quiz any thing or any body,--me if you like it. oons! dost thou think me of the _old_, or rather _elderly_, school? if one can't jest with one's friends, with whom can we be facetious? you have nothing to fear from * *, whom i have not seen, being out of town when he called. he will be very correct, smooth, and all that, but i doubt whether there will be any 'grace beyond the reach of art;'--and, whether there is or not, how long will you be so d----d modest? as for jeffrey, it is a very handsome thing of him to speak well of an old antagonist,--and what a mean mind dared not do. any one will revoke praise; but--were it not partly my own case--i should say that very few have strength of mind to unsay their censure, or follow it up with praise of other things. "what think you of the review of _levis_? it beats the bag and my hand-grenade hollow, as an invective, and hath thrown the court into hysterics, as i hear from very good authority. have you heard from * * *? "no more rhyme for--or rather, _from_--me. i have taken my leave of that stage, and henceforth will mountebank it no longer. i have had my day, and there's an end. the utmost i expect, or even wish, is to have it said in the biographia britannica, that i might perhaps have been a poet, had i gone on and amended. my great comfort is, that the temporary celebrity i have wrung from the world has been in the very teeth of all opinions and prejudices. i have flattered no ruling powers; i have never concealed a single thought that tempted me. they can't say i have truckled to the times, nor to popular topics, (as johnson, or somebody, said of cleveland,) and whatever i have gained has been at the expenditure of as much _personal_ favour as possible; for i do believe never was a bard more unpopular, _quoad homo_, than myself. and now i have done;--'ludite nunc alios.' every body may be d----d, as they seem fond of it, and resolve to stickle lustily for endless brimstone. "oh--by the by, i had nearly forgot. there is a long poem, an 'anti-byron,' coming out, to prove that i have formed a conspiracy to overthrow, by _rhyme_, all religion and government, and have already made great progress! it is not very scurrilous, but serious and ethereal. i never felt myself important, till i saw and heard of my being such a little voltaire as to induce such a production. murray would not publish it, for which he was a fool, and so i told him; but some one else will, doubtless. 'something too much of this.' "your french scheme is good, but let it be _italian_; all the angles will be at paris. let it be rome, milan, naples, florence, turin, venice, or switzerland, and 'egad!' (as bayes saith,) i will connubiate and join you; and we will write a new 'inferno' in our paradise. pray think of this--and i will really buy a wife and a ring, and say the ceremony, and settle near you in a summer-house upon the arno, or the po, or the adriatic. "ah! my poor little pagod, napoleon, has walked off his pedestal. he has abdicated, they say. this would draw molten brass from the eyes of zatanai. what! 'kiss the ground before young malcolm's feet, and then be baited by the rabble's curse!' i cannot bear such a crouching catastrophe. i must stick to sylla, for my modern favourites don't do,--their resignations are of a different kind. all health and prosperity, my dear moore. excuse this lengthy letter. ever, &c. "p.s. the quarterly quotes you frequently in an article on america; and every body i know asks perpetually after you and yours. when will you answer them in person?" * * * * * he did not long persevere in his resolution against writing, as will be seen from the following notes to his publisher. to mr. murray. "april . . "i have written an ode on the fall of napoleon, which, if you like, i will copy out, and make you a present of. mr. merivale has seen part of it, and likes it. you may show it to mr. gifford, and print it, or not, as you please--it is of no consequence. it contains nothing in _his_ favour, and no allusion whatever to our own government or the bourbons. yours, &c. "p.s. it is in the measure of my stanzas at the end of childe harold, which were much liked, beginning 'and thou art dead,' &c. &c. there are ten stanzas of it--ninety lines in all." * * * * * to mr. murray. "april . . "i enclose you a letter_et_ from mrs. leigh. "it will be best _not_ to put my name to our _ode_; but you may _say_ as openly as you like that it is mine, and i can inscribe it to mr. hobhouse, from the _author_, which will mark it sufficiently. after the resolution of not publishing, though it is a thing of little length and less consequence, it will be better altogether that it is anonymous; but we will incorporate it in the first _tome_ of ours that you find time or the wish to publish. yours alway, b. "p.s. i hope you got a note of alterations, sent this matin? "p.s. oh my books! my books! will you never find my books? "alter '_potent_ spell' to '_quickening_ spell:' the first (as polonius says) 'is a vile phrase,' and means nothing, besides being common-place and _rosa-matilda-ish_." * * * * * to mr. murray. "april . . "i send you a few notes and trifling alterations, and an additional motto from gibbon, which you will find _singularly appropriate_. a 'good-natured friend' tells me there is a most scurrilous attack on _us_ in the anti-jacobin review, which you have _not_ sent. send it, as i am in that state of languor which will derive benefit from getting into a passion. ever," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "albany, april . . "i _am_ very glad to hear that you are to be transient from mayfield so very soon, and was taken in by the first part of your letter.[ ] indeed, for aught i know, you may be treating me, as slipslop says, with 'ironing' even now. i shall say nothing of the _shock_, which had nothing of _humeur_ in it; as i am apt to take even a critic, and still more a friend, at his word, and never to doubt that i have been writing cursed nonsense, if they say so. there was a mental reservation in my pact with the public[ ], in behalf of _anonymes_; and, even had there not, the provocation was such as to make it physically impossible to pass over this damnable epoch of triumphant tameness. 'tis a cursed business; and, after all, i shall think higher of rhyme and reason, and very humbly of your heroic people, till--elba becomes a volcano, and sends him out again. i can't think it all over yet. "my departure for the continent depends, in some measure, on the _in_continent. i have two country invitations at home, and don't know what to say or do. in the mean time, i have bought a macaw and a parrot, and have got up my books; and i box and fence daily, and go out very little. "at this present writing, louis the gouty is wheeling in triumph into piccadilly, in all the pomp and rabblement of royalty. i had an offer of seats to see them pass; but, as i have seen a sultan going to mosque, and been at _his_ reception of an ambassador, the most christian king 'hath no attractions for me:'--though in some coming year of the hegira, i should not dislike to see the place where he _had_ reigned, shortly after the second revolution, and a happy sovereignty of two months, the last six weeks being civil war. "pray write, and deem me ever," &c. [footnote : i had begun my letter in the following manner:--"have you seen the 'ode to napoleon buonaparte?'--i suspect it to be either f----g----d's or rosa matilda's. those rapid and masterly portraits of all the tyrants that preceded napoleon have a vigour in them which would incline me to say that rosa matilda is the person--but then, on the other hand, that powerful grasp of history," &c. &c. after a little more of this mock parallel, the letter went on thus:--"i should like to know what _you_ think of the matter?--some friends of mine here _will_ insist that it is the work of the author of childe harold,--but then they are not so well read in f----g----d and rosa matilda as i am; and, besides, they seem to forget that _you_ promised, about a month or two ago, not to write any more for years. seriously," &c. &c. i quote this foolish banter merely to show how safely, even on his most sensitive points, one might venture to jest with him.] [footnote : we find d'argenson thus encouraging voltaire to break a similar vow:--"continue to write without fear for five-and-twenty years longer, but write poetry, notwithstanding your oath in the preface to newton."] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "april . . "many thanks with the letters which i return. you know i am a jacobin, and could not wear white, nor see the installation of louis the gouty. "this is sad news, and very hard upon the sufferers at any, but more at _such_ a time--i mean the bayonne sortie. "you should urge moore to come _out_. "p.s. i want _moreri_ to purchase for good and all. i have a bayle, but want moreri too. "p.s. perry hath a piece of compliment to-day; but i think the _name_ might have been as well omitted. no matter; they can but throw the old story of inconsistency in my teeth--let them,--i mean, as to not publishing. however, _now_ i will keep my word. nothing but the occasion, which was _physically_ irresistible, made me swerve; and i thought an _anonyme_ within my _pact_ with the public. it is the only thing i have or shall set about." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "april . . "let mr. gifford have the letter and return it at his leisure. i would have offered it, had i thought that he liked things of the kind. "do you want the last page _immediately_! i have doubts about the lines being worth printing; at any rate, i must see them again and alter some passages, before they go forth in any shape into the _ocean_ of circulation;--a very conceited phrase, by the by: well then--_channel_ of publication will do. "'i am not i' the vein,' or i could knock off a stanza or three for the ode, that might answer the purpose better.[ ] at all events, i _must_ see the lines again _first_, as there be two i have altered in my mind's manuscript already. has any one seen or judged of them? that is the criterion by which i will abide--only give me a _fair_ report, and 'nothing extenuate,' as i will in that case do something else. "ever," &c. "i want _moreri_, and an _athenæus_." [footnote : mr. murray had requested of him to make some additions to the ode, so as to save the stamp duty imposed upon publications not exceeding a single sheet; and he afterwards added, in successive editions, five or six stanzas, the original number being but eleven. there were also three more stanzas, which he never printed, but which, for the just tribute they contain to washington, are worthy of being preserved:-- "there was a day--there was an hour, while earth was gaul's--gaul thine-- when that immeasurable power unsated to resign had been an act of purer fame than gathers round marengo's name and gilded thy decline, through the long twilight of all time, despite some passing clouds of crime. "but thou, forsooth, must be a king, and don the purple vest, as if that foolish robe could wring remembrance from thy breast. where is that faded garment? where the gewgaws thou wert fond to wear, the star--the string--the crest? vain froward child of empire! say, are all thy playthings snatch'd away? "where may the wearied eye repose when gazing on the great; where neither guilty glory glows, nor despicable state? yes--one--the first--the last--the best-- the cincinnatus of the west, whom envy dared not hate, bequeathed the name of washington, to make man blush there was but one!" ] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "april . . "i have been thinking that it might be as well to publish no more of the ode separately, but incorporate it with any of the other things, and include the smaller poem too (in that case)--which i must previously correct, nevertheless. i can't, for the head of me, add a line worth scribbling; my 'vein' is quite gone, and my present occupations are of the gymnastic order--boxing and fencing--and my principal conversation is with my macaw and bayle. i want my moreri, and i want athenæus. "p.s. i hope you sent back that poetical packet to the address which i forwarded to you on sunday: if not, pray do; or i shall have the author screaming after his epic." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "april . . "i have no guess at your author,--but it is a noble poem[ ], and worth a thousand odes of anybody's. i suppose i may keep this copy;--after reading it, i really regret having written my own. i say this very sincerely, albeit unused to think humbly of myself. "i don't like the additional stanzas at _all_, and they had better be left out. the fact is, i can't do any thing i am asked to do, however gladly i _would_; and at the end of a week my interest in a composition goes off. this will account to you for my doing no better for your 'stamp duty' postscript. "the s.r. is very civil--but what do they mean by childe harold resembling marmion? and the next two, giaour and bride, _not_ resembling scott? i certainly never intended to copy him; but, if there be any copyism, it must be in the two poems, where the same versification is adopted. however, they exempt the corsair from all resemblance to any thing, though i rather wonder at his escape. "if ever i did any thing original, it was in childe harold, which _i_ prefer to the other things always, after the first week. yesterday i re-read english bards;--bating the _malice_, it is the _best_. "ever," &c. [footnote : a poem by mr. stratford canning, full of spirit and power, entitled "buonaparte." in a subsequent note to mr. murray, lord byron says,--"i do not think less highly of 'buonaparte' for knowing the author. i was aware that he was a man of talent, but did not suspect him of possessing _all_ the _family_ talents in such perfection."] * * * * * a resolution was, about this time, adopted by him, which, however strange and precipitate it appeared, a knowledge of the previous state of his mind may enable us to account for satisfactorily. he had now, for two years, been drawing upon the admiration of the public with a rapidity and success which seemed to defy exhaustion,--having crowded, indeed, into that brief interval the materials of a long life of fame. but admiration is a sort of impost from which most minds are but too willing to relieve themselves. the eye grows weary of looking up to the same object of wonder, and begins to exchange, at last, the delight of observing its elevation for the less generous pleasure of watching and speculating on its fall. the reputation of lord byron had already begun to experience some of these consequences of its own prolonged and constantly renewed splendour. even among that host of admirers who would have been the last to find fault, there were some not unwilling to repose from praise; while they, who had been from the first reluctant eulogists, took advantage of these apparent symptoms of satiety to indulge in blame.[ ] the loud outcry raised, at the beginning of the present year, by his verses to the princess charlotte, had afforded a vent for much of this reserved venom; and the tone of disparagement in which some of his assailants now affected to speak of his poetry was, however absurd and contemptible in itself, precisely that sort of attack which was the most calculated to wound his, at once, proud and diffident spirit. as long as they confined themselves to blackening his moral and social character, so far from offending, their libels rather fell in with his own shadowy style of self-portraiture, and gratified the strange inverted ambition that possessed him. but the slighting opinion which they ventured to express of his genius,--seconded as it was by that inward dissatisfaction with his own powers, which they whose standard of excellence is highest are always the surest to feel,--mortified and disturbed him; and, being the first sounds of ill augury that had come across his triumphal career, startled him, as we have seen, into serious doubts of its continuance. had he been occupying himself, at the time, with any new task, that confidence in his own energies, which he never truly felt but while in the actual exercise of them, would have enabled him to forget these humiliations of the moment in the glow and excitement of anticipated success. but he had just pledged himself to the world to take a long farewell of poesy,--had sealed up that only fountain from which his heart ever drew refreshment or strength,--and thus was left, idly and helplessly, to brood over the daily taunts of his enemies, without the power of avenging himself when they insulted his person, and but too much disposed to agree with them when they made light of his genius. "i am afraid, (he says, in noticing these attacks in one of his letters,) what you call _trash_ is plaguily to the purpose, and very good sense into the bargain; and, to tell the truth, for some little time past, i have been myself much of the same opinion." in this sensitive state of mind,--which he but ill disguised or relieved by an exterior of gay defiance or philosophic contempt,--we can hardly feel surprised that he should have, all at once, come to the resolution, not only of persevering in his determination to write no more in future, but of purchasing back the whole of his past copyrights, and suppressing every page and line he had ever written. on his first mention of this design, mr. murray naturally doubted as to its seriousness; but the arrival of the following letter, enclosing a draft for the amount of the copyrights, put his intentions beyond question. [footnote : it was the fear of this sort of back-water current to which so rapid a flow of fame seemed liable, that led some even of his warmest admirers, ignorant as they were yet of the boundlessness of his resources, to tremble a little at the frequency of his appearances before the public. in one of my own letters to him, i find this apprehension thus expressed:--"if you did not write so well,--as the royal wit observed,--i should say you write too much; at least, too much in the same strain. the pythagoreans, you know, were of opinion that the reason why we do not hear or heed the music of the heavenly bodies is that they are always sounding in our ears; and i fear that even the influence of _your_ song may be diminished by falling upon the world's dull ear too constantly." the opinion, however, which a great writer of our day (himself one of the few to whom his remark replies) had the generosity, as well as sagacity, to pronounce on this point, at a time when lord byron was indulging in the fullest lavishment of his powers, must be regarded, after all, as the most judicious and wise:--"but they cater ill for the public," says sir walter scott, "and give indifferent advice to the poet, supposing him possessed of the highest qualities of his art, who do not advise him to labour while the laurel around his brows yet retains its freshness. sketches from lord byron are more valuable than finished pictures from others; nor are we at all sure that any labour which he might bestow in revisal would not rather efface than refine those outlines of striking and powerful originality which they exhibit when flung rough from the hand of a master."--_biographical memoirs_, by sir w. scott.] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. " . albany, april . . "dear sir, "i enclose a draft for the money; when paid, send the copyright. i release you from the thousand pounds agreed on for the giaour and bride, and there's an end. "if any accident occurs to me, you may do then as you please; but, with the exception of two copies of each for _yourself_ only, i expect and request that the advertisements be withdrawn, and the remaining copies of _all_ destroyed; and any expense so incurred i will be glad to defray. "for all this, it might be as well to assign some reason. i have none to give, except my own caprice, and i do not consider the circumstances of consequence enough to require explanation. "in course, i need hardly assure you that they never shall be published with my consent, directly, or indirectly, by any other person whatsoever,--that i am perfectly satisfied, and have every reason so to be, with your conduct in all transactions between us as publisher and author. "it will give me great pleasure to preserve your acquaintance, and to consider you as my friend. believe me very truly, and for much attention, "your obliged and very obedient servant, "byron. "p.s. i do not think that i have overdrawn at hammersley's; but if _that_ be the case, i can draw for the superflux on hoare's. the draft is _l._ short, but that i will make up. on payment--_not_ before--return the copyright papers." * * * * * in such a conjuncture, an appeal to his good nature and considerateness was, as mr. murray well judged, his best resource; and the following prompt reply, will show how easily, and at once, it succeeded. letter . to mr. murray. "may . . "dear sir, "if your present note is serious, and it really would be inconvenient, there is an end of the matter; tear my draft, and go on as usual: in that case, we will recur to our former basis. that _i_ was perfectly _serious_, in wishing to suppress all future publication, is true; but certainly not to interfere with the convenience of others, and more particularly your own. some day, i will tell you the reason of this apparently strange resolution. at present, it may be enough to say that i recall it at your suggestion; and as it appears to have annoyed you, i lose no time in saying so. "yours truly, "b." * * * * * during my stay in town this year, we were almost daily together; and it is in no spirit of flattery to the dead i say, that the more intimately i became acquainted with his disposition and character, the more warmly i felt disposed to take an interest in every thing that concerned him. not that, in the opportunities thus afforded me of observing more closely his defects, i did not discover much to lament, and not a little to condemn. but there was still, in the neighbourhood of even his worst faults, some atoning good quality, which was always sure, if brought kindly and with management into play, to neutralise their ill effects. the very frankness, indeed, with which he avowed his errors seemed to imply a confidence in his own power of redeeming them,--a consciousness that he could afford to be sincere. there was also, in such entire unreserve, a pledge that nothing worse remained behind; and the same quality that laid open the blemishes of his nature gave security for its honesty. "the cleanness and purity of one's mind," says pope, "is never better proved than in discovering its own faults, at first view; as when a stream shows the dirt at its bottom, it shows also the transparency of the water." the theatre was, at this time, his favourite place of resort. we have seen how enthusiastically he expresses himself on the subject of mr. kean's acting, and it was frequently my good fortune, during this season, to share in his enjoyment of it,--the orchestra being, more than once, the place where, for a nearer view of the actor's countenance, we took our station. for kean's benefit, on the th of may, a large party had been made by lady j * *, to which we both belonged; but lord byron having also taken a box for the occasion, so anxious was he to enjoy the representation uninterrupted, that, by rather an unsocial arrangement, only himself and i occupied his box during the play, while every other in the house was crowded almost to suffocation; nor did we join the remainder of our friends till supper. between the two parties, however, mr. kean had no reason to complain of a want of homage to his talents; as lord j * *, on that occasion, presented him with a hundred pound share in the theatre; while lord byron sent him, next day, the sum of fifty guineas[ ]; and, not long after, on seeing him act some of his favourite parts, made him presents of a handsome snuff-box and a costly turkish sword. such effect had the passionate energy of kean's acting on his mind, that, once, in seeing him play sir giles overreach, he was so affected as to be seized with a sort of convulsive fit; and we shall find him, some years after, in italy, when the representation of alfieri's tragedy of mirra had agitated him in the same violent manner, comparing the two instances as the only ones in his life when "any thing under reality" had been able to move him so powerfully. the following are a few of the notes which i received from him during this visit to town. [footnote : to such lengths did he, at this time, carry his enthusiasm for kean, that when miss o'neil soon after appeared, and, by her matchless representation of feminine tenderness, attracted all eyes and hearts, he was not only a little jealous of her reputation, as interfering with that of his favourite, but, in order to guard himself against the risk of becoming a convert, refused to go to see her act. i endeavoured sometimes to persuade him into witnessing, at least, one of her performances; but his answer was, (punning upon shakspeare's word, "unanealed,") "no--i'm resolved to continue _un-oneiled_." to the great queen of all actresses, however, it will be seen, by the following extract from one of his journals, he rendered due justice:-- "of actors, cooke was the most natural, kemble the most supernatural,--kean the medium between the two. but mrs. siddons was worth them all put together."--_detached thoughts_.] * * * * * to mr. moore. "may . . "last night we supp'd at r----fe's board, &c.[ ] "i wish people would not shirk their _dinners_--ought it not to have been a dinner?[ ]--and that d----d anchovy sandwich! "that plaguy voice of yours made me sentimental, and almost fall in love with a girl who was recommending herself, during your song, by _hating_ music. but the song is past, and my passion can wait, till the _pucelle_ is more harmonious. "do you go to lady jersey's to-night? it is a large party, and you won't be bored into 'softening rocks,' and all that. othello is to-morrow and saturday too. which day shall we go? when shall i see you? if you call, let it be after three, and as near four as you please. "ever," &c. [footnote : an epigram here followed, which, as founded on a scriptural allusion, i thought it better to omit.] [footnote : we had been invited by lord r. to dine _after_ the play,--an arrangement which, from its novelty, delighted lord byron exceedingly. the dinner, however, afterwards dwindled into a mere supper, and this change was long a subject of jocular resentment with him.] * * * * * to mr. moore. "may . . "dear tom, "thou hast asked me for a song, and i enclose you an experiment, which has cost me something more than trouble, and is, therefore, less likely to be worth your taking any in your proposed setting.[ ] now, if it be so, throw it into the fire without _phrase_. "ever yours, "byron. "i speak not, i trace not, i breathe not thy name, there is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame; but the tear which now burns on my cheek may impart the deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart. "too brief for our passion, too long for our peace were those hours--can their joy or their bitterness cease? we repent--we abjure--we will break from our chain-- we will part,--we will fly to--unite it again! "oh! thine be the gladness, and mine be the guilt! forgive me, adored one!--forsake, if thou wilt;-- but the heart which is thine shall expire undebased, and _man_ shall not break it--whatever _thou_ mayst. "and stern to the haughty, but humble to thee, this soul, in its bitterest blackness, shall be; and our days seem as swift, and our moments more sweet, with thee by my side, than with worlds at our feet. "one sigh of thy sorrow, one look of thy love, shall turn me or fix, shall reward or reprove; and the heartless may wonder at all i resign-- thy lip shall reply, not to them, but to _mine_." [footnote : i had begged of him to write something for me to set to music.] * * * * * to mr. moore. "will you and rogers come to my box at covent, then? i shall be there, and none else--or i won't be there, if you _twain_ would like to go without me. you will not get so good a place hustling among the publican _boxers_, with damnable apprentices (six feet high) on a back row. will you both oblige me and come,--or one--or neither--or, what you will? "p.s. an' you will, i will call for you at half-past six, or any time of your own dial." * * * * * to mr. moore. "i have gotten a box for othello to-night, and send the ticket for your friends the r----fes. i seriously recommend to you to recommend to them to go for half an hour, if only to see the third act--they will not easily have another opportunity. we--at least, i--cannot be there, so there will be no one in their way. will you give or send it to them? it will come with a better grace from you than me. "i am in no good plight, but will dine at * *'s with you, if i can. there is music and covent-g. "will you go, at all events, to my box there afterwards, to see a _début_ of a young [ ] in the 'child of nature?'" [footnote : miss foote's first appearance, which we witnessed together.] * * * * * to mr. moore. "sunday matin. "was not iago perfection? particularly the last look. i was _close_ to him (in the orchestra), and never saw an english countenance half so expressive. "i am acquainted with no _im_material sensuality so delightful as good acting; and, as it is fitting there should be good plays, now and then, besides shakspeare's, i wish you or campbell would write one:--the rest of 'us youth' have not heart enough. "you were cut up in the champion--is it not so? this day so am i--even to _shocking_ the editor. the critic writes well; and as, at present, poesy is not my passion predominant, and my snake of aaron has swallowed up all the other serpents, i don't feel fractious. i send you the paper, which i mean to take in for the future. we go to m.'s together. perhaps i shall see you before, but don't let me _bore_ you, now nor ever. "ever, as now, truly and affectionately," &c. * * * * * to mr. moore. "may . . "do you go to the lady cahir's this even? if you do--and whenever we are bound to the same follies--let us embark in the same 'shippe of fooles.' i have been up till five, and up at nine; and feel heavy with only winking for the last three or four nights. "i lost my party and place at supper trying to keep out of the way of * * * *. i would have gone away altogether, but that would have appeared a worse affectation than t'other. you are of course engaged to dinner, or we may go quietly together to my box at covent garden, and afterwards to this assemblage. why did you go away so soon? "ever, &c. "p.s. _ought not_ r * * * fe's supper to have been a dinner? jackson is here, and i must fatigue myself into spirits." * * * * * to mr. moore. "may . . "thanks--and punctuality. _what_ has passed at * * * *s house? i suppose that _i_ am to know, and 'pars fui' of the conference. i regret that your * * * *s will detain you so late, but i suppose you will be at lady jersey's. i am going earlier with hobhouse. you recollect that to-morrow we sup and see kean. "p.s. _two_ to-morrow is the hour of pugilism." * * * * * the supper, to which he here looks forward, took place at watier's, of which club he had lately become a member; and, as it may convey some idea of his irregular mode of diet, and thus account, in part, for the frequent derangement of his health, i shall here attempt, from recollection, a description of his supper on this occasion. we were to have been joined by lord r * *, who however did not arrive, and the party accordingly consisted but of ourselves. having taken upon me to order the repast, and knowing that lord byron, for the last two days, had done nothing towards sustenance, beyond eating a few biscuits and (to appease appetite) chewing mastic, i desired that we should have a good supply of, at least, two kinds of fish. my companion, however, confined himself to lobsters, and of these finished two or three, to his own share,--interposing, sometimes, a small liqueur-glass of strong white brandy, sometimes a tumbler of very hot water, and then pure brandy again, to the amount of near half a dozen small glasses of the latter, without which, alternately with the hot water, he appeared to think the lobster could not be digested. after this, we had claret, of which having despatched two bottles between us, at about four o'clock in the morning we parted. as pope has thought his "delicious lobster-nights" worth commemorating, these particulars of one in which lord byron was concerned may also have some interest. among other nights of the same description which i had the happiness of passing with him, i remember once, in returning home from some assembly at rather a late hour, we saw lights in the windows of his old haunt stevens's, in bond street, and agreed to stop there and sup. on entering, we found an old friend of his, sir g * * w* *, who joined our party, and the lobsters and brandy and water being put in requisition, it was (as usual on such occasions) broad daylight before we separated. * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "may . . "i must send you the java government gazette of july d, , just sent to me by murray. only think of _our_ (for it is you and i) setting paper warriors in array in the indian seas. does not this sound like fame--something almost like _posterity_? it is something to have scribblers squabbling about us miles off, while we are agreeing so well at home. bring it with you in your pocket;--it will make you laugh, as it hath me. ever yours, "b. "p.s. oh the anecdote!" * * * * * to the circumstance mentioned in this letter he recurs more than once in the journals which he kept abroad; as thus, in a passage of his "detached thoughts,"--where it will be perceived that, by a trifling lapse of memory, he represents himself as having produced this gazette, for the first time, on our way to dinner. "in the year , as moore and i were going to dine with lord grey in portman square, i pulled out a 'java gazette' (which murray had sent to me), in which there was a controversy on our respective merits as poets. it was amusing enough that we should be proceeding peaceably to the same table while they were squabbling about us in the indian seas (to be sure the paper was dated six months before), and filling columns with batavian criticism. but this is fame, i presume." the following poem, written about this time, and, apparently, for the purpose of being recited at the caledonian meeting, i insert principally on account of the warm feeling which it breathes towards scotland and her sons:-- "who hath not glow'd above the page where fame hath fix'd high caledon's unconquer'd name; the mountain-land which spurn'd the roman chain, and baffled back the fiery-crested dane, whose bright claymore and hardihood of hand no foe could tame--no tyrant could command. "that race is gone--but still their children breathe, and glory crowns them with redoubled wreath: o'er gael and saxon mingling banners shine, and, england! add their stubborn strength to thine. the blood which flow'd with wallace flows as free, but now 'tis only shed for fame and thee! oh! pass not by the northern veteran's claim, but give support--the world hath given him fame! "the humbler ranks, the lowly brave, who bled while cheerly following where the mighty led-- who sleep beneath the undistinguish'd sod where happier comrades in their triumph trod, to us bequeath--'tis all their fate allows-- the sireless offspring and the lonely spouse: she on high albyn's dusky hills may raise the tearful eye in melancholy gaze, or view, while shadowy auguries disclose the highland seer's anticipated woes, the bleeding phantom of each martial form dim in the cloud, or darkling in the storm; while sad, she chants the solitary song, the soft lament for him who tarries long-- for him, whose distant relics vainly crave the coronach's wild requiem to the brave! "'tis heaven--not man--must charm away the woe which bursts when nature's feelings newly flow; yet tenderness and time may rob the tear of half its bitterness for one so dear: a nation's gratitude perchance may spread a thornless pillow for the widow'd head; may lighten well her heart's maternal care, and wean from penury the soldier's heir." * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "may . . "as i shall probably not see you here to-day, i write to request that, if not inconvenient to yourself, you will stay in town till _sunday_; if not to gratify me, yet to please a great many others, who will be very sorry to lose you. as for myself, i can only repeat that i wish you would either remain a long time with us, or not come at all; for these _snatches_ of society make the subsequent separations bitterer than ever. "i believe you think that i have not been quite fair with that alpha and omega of beauty, &c. with whom you would willingly have united me. but if you consider what her sister said on the subject, you will less wonder that my pride should have taken the alarm; particularly as nothing but the every-day flirtation of every-day people ever occurred between your heroine and myself. had lady * * appeared to wish it--or even not to oppose it--i would have gone on, and very possibly married (that is, _if_ the other had been equally accordant) with the same indifference which has frozen over the 'black sea' of almost all my passions. it is that very indifference which makes me so uncertain and apparently capricious. it is not eagerness of new pursuits, but that nothing impresses me sufficiently to _fix_; neither do i feel disgusted, but simply indifferent to almost all excitements. the proof of this is, that obstacles, the slightest even, _stop_ me. this can hardly be _timidity_, for i have done some impudent things too, in my time; and in almost all cases, opposition is a stimulus. in mine, it is not; if a straw were in my way, i could not stoop to pick it up. "i have sent this long tirade, because i would not have you suppose that i have been _trifling_ designedly with you or others. if you think so, in the name of st. hubert (the patron of antlers and hunters) let me be married out of hand--i don't care to whom, so it amuses any body else, and don't interfere with me much in the daytime. ever," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "june . . "i _could_ be very sentimental now, but i won't. the truth is, that i have been all my life trying to harden my heart, and have not yet quite succeeded--though there are great hopes--and you do not know how it sunk with your departure. what adds to my regret is having seen so little of you during your stay in this crowded desert, where one ought to be able to bear thirst like a camel,--the springs are so few, and most of them so muddy. "the newspapers will tell you all that is to be told of emperors, &c.[ ] they have dined, and supped, and shown their flat faces in all thoroughfares, and several saloons. their uniforms are very becoming, but rather short in the skirts; and their conversation is a catechism, for which and the answers i refer you to those who have heard it. "i think of leaving town for newstead soon. if so, i shall not be remote from your recess, and (unless mrs. m. detains you at home over the caudle-cup and a new cradle,) we will meet. you shall come to me, or i to you, as you like it;--but _meet_ we will. an invitation from aston has reached me, but i do not think i shall go. i have also heard of * * *--i should like to see her again, for i have not met her for years; and though 'the light that ne'er can shine again' is set, i do not know that 'one dear smile like those of old' might not make me for a moment forget the 'dulness' of 'life's stream.' "i am going to r * *'s to-night--to one of those suppers which '_ought_ to be dinners.' i have hardly seen her, and never _him_, since you set out. i told you, you were the last link of that chain. as for * *, we have not syllabled one another's names since. the post will not permit me to continue my scrawl. more anon. "ever, dear moore, &c. "p.s. keep the journal[ ]; i care not what becomes of it; and if it has amused you i am glad that i kept it. 'lara' is finished, and i am copying him for my third vol., now collecting;--but _no separate_ publication." [footnote : in a few days after this, he sent me a long rhyming epistle full of jokes and pleasantries upon every thing and every one around him, of which the following are the only parts producible:-- 'what say _i_?'--not a syllable further in prose; i'm your man 'of all measures,' dear tom,--so, here goes! here goes, for a swim on the stream of old time, on those buoyant supporters the bladders of rhyme. if our weight breaks them down, and we sink in the flood, we are smother'd, at least, in respectable mud, where the divers of bathos lie drown'd in a heap, and s * * 's last paean has pillow'd his sleep;-- that 'felo de se' who, half drunk with his malmsey, walk'd out of his depth and was lost in a calm sea, singing 'glory to god' in a spick-and-span stanza, the like (since tom sternhold was choked) never man saw. "the papers have told you, no doubt, of the fusses, the fêtes, and the gapings to get at these russes,-- of his majesty's suite, up from coachman to hetman,-- and what dignity decks the flat face of the great man. i saw him, last week, at two balls and a party,-- for a prince, his demeanour was rather too hearty. you know, _we_ are used to quite different graces, * * * * * the czar's look, i own, was much brighter and brisker, but then he is sadly deficient in whisker; and wore but a starless blue coat, and in kersey- mere breeches whisk'd round in a waltz with the j * *, who, lovely as ever, seem'd just as delighted with majesty's presence as those she invited." ] [footnote : the journal from which i have given extracts in the preceding pages.] * * * * * to mr. murray. "june . . "i return your packet of this morning. have you heard that bertrand has returned to paris with the account of napoleon's having lost his senses? it is a _report_; but, if true, i must, like mr. fitzgerald and jeremiah (of lamentable memory), lay claim to prophecy; that is to say, of saying, that he _ought_ to go out of his senses, in the penultimate stanza of a certain ode,--the which, having been pronounced _nonsense_ by several profound critics, has a still further pretension, by its unintelligibility, to inspiration. ever," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. rogers. "june . . "i am always obliged to trouble you with my awkwardnesses, and now i have a fresh one. mr. w.[ ] called on me several times, and i have missed the honour of making his acquaintance, which i regret, but which _you_, who know my desultory and uncertain habits, will not wonder at, and will, i am sure, attribute to any thing but a wish to offend a person who has shown me much kindness, and possesses character and talents entitled to general respect. my mornings are late, and passed in fencing and boxing, and a variety of most unpoetical exercises, very wholesome, &c., but would be very disagreeable to my friends, whom i am obliged to exclude during their operation. i never go out till the evening, and i have not been fortunate enough to meet mr. w. at lord lansdowne's or lord jersey's, where i had hoped to pay him my respects. "i would have written to him, but a few words from you will go further than all the apologetical sesquipedalities i could muster on the occasion. it is only to say that, without intending it, i contrive to behave very ill to every body, and am very sorry for it. "ever, dear r.," &c. [footnote : mr. wrangham.] * * * * * the following undated notes to mr. rogers must have been written about the same time:-- "sunday. "your non-attendance at corinne's is very _à propos_, as i was on the eve of sending you an excuse. i do not feel well enough to go there this evening, and have been obliged to despatch an apology. i believe i need not add one for not accepting mr. sheridan's invitation on wednesday, which i fancy both you and i understood in the same sense:--with him the saying of mirabeau, that '_words_ are _things_,' is not to be taken literally. "ever," &c. "i will call for you at a quarter before _seven_, if that will suit you. i return you sir proteus[ ], and shall merely add in return, as johnson said of, and to, somebody or other, 'are we alive after all this censure?' "believe me," &c. [footnote : a satirical pamphlet, in which all the writers of the day were attacked.] "tuesday. "sheridan was yesterday, at first, too sober to remember your invitation, but in the dregs of the third bottle he fished up his memory. the staël out-talked whitbread, was _ironed_ by sheridan, confounded sir humphry, and utterly perplexed your slave. the rest (great names in the red book, nevertheless,) were mere segments of the circle. ma'mselle danced a russ saraband with great vigour, grace, and expression. "ever," &c. * * * * * to mr. murray. "june . . "i suppose 'lara' is gone to the devil,--which is no great matter, only let me know, that i may be saved the trouble of copying the rest, and put the first part into the fire. i really have no anxiety about it, and shall not be sorry to be saved the copying, which goes on very slowly, and may prove to you that you may _speak out_--or i should be less sluggish. yours," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. rogers. "june . . "you could not have made me a more acceptable present than jacqueline,--she is all grace, and softness, and poetry; there is so much of the last, that we do not feel the want of story, which is simple, yet _enough_. i wonder that you do not oftener unbend to more of the same kind. i have some sympathy with the _softer_ affections, though very little in _my_ way, and no one can depict them so truly and successfully as yourself. i have half a mind to pay you in kind, or rather _un_kind, for i have just 'supped full of horror' in two cantos of darkness and dismay. "do you go to lord essex's to-night? if so, will you let me call for you at your own hour? i dined with holland-house yesterday at lord cowper's; my lady very gracious, which she can be more than any one when she likes. i was not sorry to see them again, for i can't forget that they have been very kind to me. ever yours most truly, "bn. "p.s. is there any chance or possibility of making it up with lord carlisle, as i feel disposed to do any thing reasonable or unreasonable to effect it? i would before, but for the 'courier,' and the possible misconstructions at such a time. perpend, pronounce." * * * * * on my return to london, for a short time, at the beginning of july, i found his poem of 'lara,' which he had begun at the latter end of may, in the hands of the printer, and nearly ready for publication. he had, before i left town, repeated to me, as we were on our way to some evening party, the first one hundred and twenty lines of the poem, which he had written the day before,--at the same time giving me a general sketch of the characters and the story. his short notes to mr. murray, during the printing of this work, are of the same impatient and whimsical character as those, of which i have already given specimens, in my account of his preceding publications: but, as matter of more interest now presses upon us, i shall forbear from transcribing them at length. in one of them he says, "i have just corrected some of the most horrible blunders that ever crept into a proof:"--in another, "i hope the next proof will be better; this was one which would have consoled job, if it had been of his 'enemy's book:'" --a third contains only the following words: "dear sir, you demanded more _battle_--there it is. "yours," &c. the two letters that immediately follow were addressed to me, at this time, in town. letter . to mr. moore. "july . . "i returned to town last night, and had some hopes of seeing you to-day, and would have called,--but i have been (though in exceeding distempered good health) a little head-achy with free living, as it is called, and am now at the freezing point of returning soberness. of course, i should be sorry that our parallel lines did not deviate into intersection before you return to the country,--after that same nonsuit[ ], whereof the papers have told us,--but, as you must be much occupied, i won't be affronted, should your time and business militate against our meeting. "rogers and i have almost coalesced into a joint invasion of the public. whether it will take place or not, i do not yet know, and i am afraid jacqueline (which is very beautiful) will be in bad company.[ ] but in this case, the lady will not be the sufferer. "i am going to the sea, and then to scotland; and i have been doing nothing,--that is, no good,--and am very truly," &c. [footnote : he alludes to an action for piracy brought by mr. power (the publisher of my musical works), to the trial of which i had been summoned as a witness.] [footnote : lord byron afterwards proposed that i should make a third in this publication; but the honour was a perilous one, and i begged leave to decline it.] * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "i suppose, by your non-appearance, that the phil_a_sophy of my note, and the previous silence of the writer, have put or kept you in _humeur_. never mind--it is hardly worth while. "this day have i received information from my man of law of the _non_--and never likely to be--performance of purchase by mr. claughton, of _im_pecuniary memory. he don't know what to do, or when to pay; and so all my hopes and worldly projects and prospects are gone to the devil. he (the purchaser, and the devil too, for aught i care,) and i, and my legal advisers, are to meet to-morrow, the said purchaser having first taken special care to enquire 'whether i would meet him with temper?'--certainly. the question is this--i shall either have the estate back, which is as good as ruin, or i shall go on with him dawdling, which is rather worse. i have brought my pigs to a mussulman market. if i had but a wife now, and children, of whose paternity i entertained doubts, i should be happy, or rather fortunate, as candide or scarmentado. in the mean time, if you don't come and see me, i shall think that sam.'s bank is broke too; and that you, having assets there, are despairing of more than a piastre in the pound for your dividend. ever," &c. * * * * * to mr. murray. "july . . "you shall have one of the pictures. i wish you to send the proof of 'lara' to mr. moore, . bury street, _to-night_, as he leaves town to-morrow, and wishes to see it before he goes[ ]; and i am also willing to have the benefit of his remarks. yours," &c. [footnote : in a note which i wrote to him, before starting, next day, i find the following:--"i got lara at three o'clock this morning--read him before i slept, and was enraptured. i take the proofs with me."] * * * * * to mr. murray. "july . . "i think _you_ will be satisfied even to _repletion_ with our northern friends[ ], and i won't deprive you longer of what i think will give you pleasure; for my own part, my modesty, or my vanity, must be silent. "p.s. if you could spare it for an hour in the evening, i wish you to send it up to mrs. leigh, your neighbour, at the london hotel, albemarle street." [footnote : he here refers to an article in the number of the edinburgh review, just then published (no. .), on the corsair and bride of abydos.] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "july . . "i am sorry to say that the print[ ] is by no means approved of by those who have seen it, who are pretty conversant with the original, as well as the picture from whence it is taken. i rather suspect that it is from the _copy_ and not the _exhibited_ portrait, and in this dilemma would recommend a suspension, if not an abandonment, of the _prefixion_ to the volumes which you purpose inflicting upon the public. "with regard to _lara_, don't be in any hurry. i have not yet made up my mind on the subject, nor know what to think or do till i hear from you; and mr. moore appeared to me in a similar state of indetermination. i do not know that it may not be better to _reserve_ it for the _entire_ publication you proposed, and not adventure in hardy singleness, or even backed by the fairy jacqueline. i have been seized with all kinds of doubts, &c. &c. since i left london. "pray let me hear from you, and believe me," &c. [footnote : an engraving by agar from phillips's portrait of him.] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "july . . "the minority must, in this case, carry it, so pray let it be so, for i don't care sixpence for any of the opinions you mention, on such a subject: and p * * must be a dunce to agree with them. for my own part, i have no objection at all; but mrs. leigh and my cousin must be better judges of the likeness than others; and they hate it; and so i won't have it at all. "mr. hobhouse is right as for his conclusion: but i deny the premises. the name only is spanish[ ]; the country is not spain, but the morea. "waverley is the best and most interesting novel i have redde since--i don't know when. i like it as much as i hate * *, and * *, and * *, and all the feminine trash of the last four months. besides, it is all easy to me, i have been in scotland so much (though then young enough too), and feel at home with the people, lowland and gael. "a note will correct what mr. hobhouse thinks an error (about the feudal system in spain);--it is _not_ spain. if he puts a few words of prose any where, it will set all right. "i have been ordered to town to vote. i shall disobey. there is no good in so much prating, since 'certain issues strokes should arbitrate.' if you have any thing to say, let me hear from you. "yours," &c. [footnote : alluding to lara.] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "august . . "it is certainly a little extraordinary that you have not sent the edinburgh review, as i requested, and hoped it would not require a note a day to remind you. i see _advertisements_ of lara and jacqueline; pray, _why?_ when i requested you to postpone publication till my return to town. "i have a most amusing epistle from the ettrick bard--hogg; in which, speaking of his bookseller, whom he denominates the 'shabbiest' of the _trade_ for not 'lifting his bills,' he adds, in so many words, 'g----d d----n him and them both.' this is a pretty prelude to asking you to adopt him (the said hogg); but this he wishes; and if you please, you and i will talk it over. he has a poem ready for the press (and your _bills_ too, if '_lift_able'), and bestows some benedictions on mr. moore for his abduction of lara from the forthcoming miscellany.[ ] "p.s. sincerely, i think mr. hogg would suit you very well; and surely he is a man of great powers, and deserving of encouragement. i must knock out a tale for him, and you should at all events consider before you reject his suit. scott is gone to the orkneys in a gale of wind; and hogg says that, during the said gale, 'he is sure that scott is not quite at his ease, to say the best of it.' ah! i wish these home-keeping bards could taste a mediterranean white squall, or 'the gut' in a gale of wind, or even the 'bay of biscay' with no wind at all." [footnote : mr. hogg had been led to hope that he should be permitted to insert this poem in a miscellany which he had at this time some thoughts of publishing; and whatever advice i may have given against such a mode of disposing of the work arose certainly not from any ill will to this ingenious and remarkable man, but from a consideration of what i thought most advantageous to the fame of lord byron.] * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "hastings, august . . "by the time this reaches your dwelling, i shall (god wot) be in town again probably. i have been here renewing my acquaintance with my old friend ocean; and i find his bosom as pleasant a pillow for an hour in the morning as his daughters of paphos could be in the twilight. i have been swimming and eating turbot, and smuggling neat brandies and silk handkerchiefs,--and listening to my friend hodgson's raptures about a pretty wife-elect of his,--and walking on cliffs, and tumbling down hills, and making the most of the 'dolce far-niente' for the last fortnight. i met a son of lord erskine's, who says he has been married a year, and is the 'happiest of men;' and i have met the aforesaid h., who is also the 'happiest of men;' so, it is worth while being here, if only to witness the superlative felicity of these foxes, who have cut off their tails, and would persuade the rest to part with their brushes to keep them in countenance. "it rejoiceth me that you like 'lara.' jeffrey is out with his th number, which i suppose you have got. he is only too kind to me, in my share of it, and i begin to fancy myself a golden pheasant, upon the strength of the plumage wherewith he hath bedecked me. but then, 'surgit amari,' &c.--the gentlemen of the champion, and perry, have got hold (i know not how) of the condolatory address to lady j. on the picture-abduction by our r * * *, and have published them--with my name, too, smack--without even asking leave, or enquiring whether or no! d----n their impudence, and d----n every thing. it has put me out of patience, and so, i shall say no more about it. "you shall have lara and jacque (both with some additions) when out; but i am still demurring and delaying, and in a fuss, and so is r. in his way. "newstead is to be mine again. claughton forfeits twenty-five thousand pounds; but that don't prevent me from being very prettily ruined. i mean to bury myself there--and let my beard grow--and hate you all. "oh! i have had the most amusing letter from hogg, the ettrick minstrel and shepherd. he wants me to recommend him to murray; and, speaking of his present bookseller, whose 'bills' are never 'lifted,' he adds, _totidem verbis_, 'god d----n him and them both.' i laughed, and so would you too, at the way in which this execration is introduced. the said hogg is a strange being, but of great, though uncouth, powers. i think very highly of him, as a poet; but he, and half of these scotch and lake troubadours, are spoilt by living in little circles and petty societies. london and the world is the only place to take the conceit out of a man--in the milling phrase. scott, he says, is gone to the orkneys in a gale of wind;--during which wind, he affirms, the said scott, 'he is sure, is not at his ease,--to say the best of it.' lord, lord, if these homekeeping minstrels had crossed your atlantic or my mediterranean, and tasted a little open boating in a white squall--or a gale in 'the gut'--or the 'bay of biscay,' with no gale at all--how it would enliven and introduce them to a few of the sensations!--to say nothing of an illicit amour or two upon shore, in the way of essay upon the passions, beginning with simple adultery, and compounding it as they went along. "i have forwarded your letter to murray,--by the way, you had addressed it to miller. pray write to me, and say what art thou doing? 'not finished!'--oons! how is this?--these 'flaws and starts' must be 'authorised by your grandam,' and are unbecoming of any other author. i was sorry to hear of your discrepancy with the * *s, or rather your abjuration of agreement. i don't want to be impertinent, or buffoon on a serious subject, and am therefore at a loss what to say. "i hope nothing will induce you to abate from the proper price of your poem, as long as there is a prospect of getting it. for my own part, i have _seriously_ and _not whiningly_, (for that is not my way--at least, it used not to be,) neither hopes, nor prospects, and scarcely even wishes. i am, in some respects, happy, but not in a manner that can or ought to last,--but enough of that. the worst of it is, i feel quite enervated and indifferent. i really do not know, if jupiter were to offer me my choice of the contents of his benevolent cask, what i would pick out of it. if i was born, as the nurses say, with a 'silver spoon in my mouth,' it has stuck in my throat, and spoiled my palate, so that nothing put into it is swallowed with much relish,--unless it be cayenne. however, i have grievances enough to occupy me that way too;--but for fear of adding to yours by this pestilent long diatribe, i postpone the reading of them, _sine die_. "ever, dear m., yours, &c. "p.s. don't forget my godson. you could not have fixed on a fitter porter for his sins than me, being used to carry double without inconvenience." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "august . . "not having received the slightest answer to my last three letters, nor the book (the last number of the edinburgh review) which they requested, i presume that you were the unfortunate person who perished in the pagoda on monday last, and address this rather to your executors than yourself, regretting that you should have had the ill luck to be the sole victim on that joyous occasion. "i beg leave, then, to inform these gentlemen (whoever they may be) that i am a little surprised at the previous neglect of the deceased, and also at observing an advertisement of an approaching publication on saturday next, against the which i protested, and do protest for the present. "yours (or theirs), &c. "b." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "august . . "the edinburgh review is arrived--thanks. i enclose mr. hobhouse's letter, from which you will perceive the work you have made. however, i have done: you must send my rhymes to the devil your own way. it seems, also, that the 'faithful and spirited likeness' is another of your publications. i wish you joy of it; but it is no likeness--that is the point. seriously, if i have delayed your journey to scotland, i am sorry that you carried your complaisance so far; particularly as upon trifles you have a more summary method;--witness the grammar of hobhouse's 'bit of prose,' which has put him and me into a fever. "hogg must translate his own words: '_lifting_' is a quotation from his letter, together with 'god d----n,' &c., which i suppose requires no translation. "i was unaware of the contents of mr. moore's letter; i think your offer very handsome, but of that you and he must judge. if he can get more, you won't wonder that he should accept it. "out with lara, since it must be. the tome looks pretty enough--on the outside, i shall be in town next week, and in the mean time wish you a pleasant journey. "yours," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "august . . "i was _not_ alone, nor will be while i can help it. newstead is not yet decided. claughton is to make a grand effort by saturday week to complete,--if not, he must give up twenty-five thousand pounds and the estate, with expenses, &c. &c. if i resume the abbacy, you shall have due notice, and a cell set apart for your reception, with a pious welcome. rogers i have not seen, but larry and jacky came out a few days ago. of their effect i know nothing. "there is something very amusing in _your_ being an edinburgh reviewer. you know, i suppose, that t * * is none of the placidest, and may possibly enact some tragedy on being told that he is only a fool. if, now, jeffery were to be slain on account of an article of yours, there would be a fine conclusion. for my part, as mrs. winifred jenkins says, 'he has done the handsome thing by me,' particularly in his last number; so, he is the best of men and the ablest of critics, and i won't have him killed,--though i dare say many wish he were, for being so good-humoured. "before i left hastings i got in a passion with an ink bottle, which i flung out of the window one night with a vengeance;--and what then? why, next morning i was horrified by seeing that it had struck, and split upon, the petticoat of euterpe's graven image in the garden, and grimed her as if it were on purpose[ ]. only think of my distress,--and the epigrams that might be engendered on the muse and her misadventure. "i had an adventure almost as ridiculous, at some private theatricals near cambridge--though of a different description--since i saw you last. i quarrelled with a man in the dark for asking me who i was (insolently enough to be sure), and followed him into the green-room (a _stable_) in a rage, amongst a set of people i never saw before. he turned out to be a low comedian, engaged to act with the amateurs, and to be a civil-spoken man enough, when he found out that nothing very pleasant was to be got by rudeness. but you would have been amused with the row, and the dialogue, and the dress--or rather the undress--of the party, where i had introduced myself in a devil of a hurry, and the astonishment that ensued. i had gone out of the theatre, for coolness, into the garden;--there i had tumbled over some dogs, and, coming away from them in very ill humour, encountered the man in a worse, which produced all this confusion. "well--and why don't you 'launch?'--now is your time. the people are tolerably tired with me, and not very much enamoured of * *, who has just spawned a quarto of metaphysical blank verse, which is nevertheless only a part of a poem. "murray talks of divorcing larry and jacky--a bad sign for the authors, who, i suppose, will be divorced too, and throw the blame upon one another. seriously, i don't care a cigar about it, and i don't see why sam should. "let me hear from and of you and my godson. if a daughter, the name will do quite as well. "ever," &c. [footnote : his servant had brought him up a large jar of ink, into which, not supposing it to be full, he had thrust his pen down to the very bottom. enraged, on finding it come out all smeared with ink, he flung the bottle out of the window into the garden, where it lighted, as here described, upon one of eight leaden muses, that had been imported, some time before, from holland,--the ninth having been, by some accident, left behind.] * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "august . . "i wrote yesterday to mayfield, and have just now enfranked your letter to mamma. my stay in town is so uncertain (not later than next week) that your packets for the north may not reach me; and as i know not exactly where i am going--however, _newstead_ is my most probable destination, and if you send your despatches before tuesday, i can forward them to our new ally. but, after that day, you had better not trust to their arrival in time. "* * has been exiled from paris, _on dit_, for saying the bourbons were old women. the bourbons might have been content, i think, with returning the compliment. "i told you all about jacky and larry yesterday;--they are to be separated,--at least, so says the grand m., and i know no more of the matter. jeffrey has done me more than 'justice;' but as to tragedy--um!--i have no time for fiction at present. a man cannot paint a storm with the vessel under bare poles on a lee-shore. when i get to land, i will try what is to be done, and, if i founder, there be plenty of mine elders and betters to console melpomene. "when at newstead, you must come over, if only for a day--should mrs. m. be _exigeante_ of your presence. the place is worth seeing, as a ruin, and i can assure you there _was_ some fun there, even in my time; but that is past. the ghosts [ ], however, and the gothics, and the waters, and the desolation, make it very lively still. "ever, dear tom, yours," &c. [footnote : it was, if i mistake not, during his recent visit to newstead, that he himself actually fancied he saw the ghost of the black friar, which was supposed to have haunted the abbey from the time of the dissolution of the monasteries, and which he thus describes, from the recollection perhaps of his own fantasy, in don juan:-- "it was no mouse, but, lo! a monk, array'd in cowl and beads and dusky garb, appear'd, now in the moonlight, and now lapsed in shade, with steps that trod as heavy, yet unheard: his garments only a slight murmur made: he moved as shadowy as the sisters weird, but slowly; and as he pass'd juan by, glanced, without pausing, on him a bright eye." it is said, that the newstead ghost appeared, also, to lord byron's cousin, miss fanny parkins, and that she made a sketch of him from memory.] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "newstead abbey, septembers. . "i am obliged by what you have sent, but would rather not see any thing of the kind[ ]; we have had enough of these things already, good and bad, and next month you need not trouble yourself to collect even the _higher_ generation--on my account. it gives me much pleasure to hear of mr. hobhouse's and mr. merivale's good entreatment by the journals you mention. "i still think mr. hogg and yourself might make out an alliance. _dodsley's_ was, i believe, the last decent thing of the kind, and _his_ had great success in its day, and lasted several years; but then he had the double advantage of editing and publishing. the spleen, and several of _gray's_ odes, much of _shenstone_, and many others of good repute, made their first appearance in his collection. now, with the support of scott, wordsworth, southey, &c., i see little reason why you should not do as well; and, if once fairly established, you would have assistance from the youngsters, i dare say. stratford canning (whose 'buonaparte' is excellent), and many others, and moore, and hobhouse, and i, would try a fall now and then (if permitted), and you might coax campbell, too, into it. by the by, _he_ has an unpublished (though printed) poem on a scene in germany, (bavaria, i think,) which i saw last year, that is perfectly magnificent, and equal to himself. i wonder he don't publish it. "oh!--do you recollect s * *, the engraver's, mad letter about not engraving phillips's picture of lord _foley_? (as he blundered it;) well, i have traced it, i think. it seems, by the papers, a preacher of johanna southcote's is named _foley_; and i can no way account for the said s * *'s confusion of words and ideas, but by that of his head's running on johanna and her apostles. it was a mercy he did not say lord _tozer_. you know, of course, that s * * is a believer in this new (old) virgin of spiritual impregnation. "i long to know what she will produce[ ]; her being with child at sixty-five is indeed a miracle, but her getting any one to beget it, a greater. "if you were not going to paris or scotland, i could send you some game: if you remain, let me know. "p.s. a word or two of 'lara,' which your enclosure brings before me. it is of no great promise separately; but, as connected with the other tales, it will do very well for the volumes you mean to publish. i would recommend this arrangement--childe harold, the smaller poems, giaour, bride, corsair, lara; the last completes the series, and its very likeness renders it necessary to the others. cawthorne writes that they are publishing _english bards in ireland:_ pray enquire into this; because _it must_ be stopped." [footnote : the reviews and magazines of the month.] [footnote : the following characteristic note, in reference to this passage, appears, in mr. gifford's hand-writing, on the copy of the above letter:--"it is a pity that lord b. was ignorant of jonson. the old poet has a satire on the court pucelle that would have supplied him with some pleasantry on johanna's pregnancy."] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "newstead abbey, september . . "i should think mr. hogg, for his own sake as well as yours, would be 'critical' as iago himself in his editorial capacity; and that such a publication would answer his purpose, and yours too, with tolerable management. you should, however, have a good number to start with--i mean, _good_ in quality; in these days, there can be little fear of not coming up to the mark in quantity. there must be many 'fine things' in wordsworth; but i should think it difficult to make _six_ quartos (the amount of the whole) all fine, particularly the pedler's portion of the poem; but there can be no doubt of his powers to do almost any thing. "i _am_ 'very idle.' i have read the few books i had with me, and been forced to fish, for lack of argument. i have caught a great many perch and some carp, which is a comfort, as one would not lose one's labour willingly. "pray, who corrects the press of your volumes? i hope 'the corsair' is printed from the copy i corrected, with the additional lines in the first canto, and some _notes_ from sismondi and lavater, which i gave you to add thereto. the arrangement is very well. "my cursed people have not sent my papers since sunday, and i have lost johanna's divorce from jupiter. who hath gotten her with prophet? is it sharpe, and how? * * * i should like to buy one of her seals: if salvation can be had at half-a-guinea a head, the landlord of the crown and anchor should be ashamed of himself for charging double for tickets to a mere terrestrial banquet. i am afraid, seriously, that these matters will lend a sad handle to your profane scoffers, and give a loose to much damnable laughter. "i have not seen hunt's sonnets nor descent of liberty: he has chosen a pretty place wherein to compose the last. let me hear from you before you embark. ever," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "newstead abbey, september . . "this is the fourth letter i have begun to you within the month. whether i shall finish or not, or burn it like the rest, i know not. when we meet, i will explain _why_ i have not written--_why_ i have not asked you here, as i wished--with a great many other _whys_ and wherefores, which will keep cold. in short, you must excuse all my seeming omissions and commissions, and grant me more _re_mission than st. athanasius will to yourself, if you lop off a single shred of mystery from his pious puzzle. it is my creed (and it may be st. athanasius's too) that your article on t * * will get somebody killed, and _that_, on the _saints_, get him d----d afterwards, which will be quite enow for one number. oons, tom! you must not meddle just now with the incomprehensible; for if johanna southcote turns out to be * * * "now for a little egotism. my affairs stand thus. to-morrow, i shall know whether a circumstance of importance enough to change many of my plans will occur or not. if it does not, i am off for italy next month, and london, in the mean time, next week. i have got back newstead and twenty-five thousand pounds (out of twenty-eight paid already),--as a 'sacrifice,' the late purchaser calls it, and he may choose his own name. i have paid some of my debts, and contracted others; but i have a few thousand pounds, which i can't spend after my own heart in this climate, and so, i shall go back to the south. hobhouse, i think and hope, will go with me; but, whether he will or not, i shall. i want to see venice, and the alps, and parmesan cheeses, and look at the coast of greece, or rather epirus, from italy, as i once did--or fancied i did--that of italy, when off corfu. all this, however, depends upon an event, which may, or may not, happen. whether it will, i shall know probably to-morrow, and, if it does, i can't well go abroad at present. "pray pardon this parenthetical scrawl. you shall hear from me again soon;--i don't call this an answer. ever most affectionately," &c. the "circumstance of importance," to which he alludes in this letter, was his second proposal for miss milbanke, of which he was now waiting the result. his own account, in his memoranda, of the circumstances that led to this step is, in substance, as far as i can trust my recollection, as follows. a person, who had for some time stood high in his affection and confidence, observing how cheerless and unsettled was the state both of his mind and prospects, advised him strenuously to marry; and, after much discussion, he consented. the next point for consideration was--who was to be the object of his choice; and while his friend mentioned one lady, he himself named miss milbanke. to this, however, his adviser strongly objected,--remarking to him, that miss milbanke had at present no fortune, and that his embarrassed affairs would not allow him to marry without one; that she was, moreover, a learned lady, which would not at all suit him. in consequence of these representations, he agreed that his friend should write a proposal for him to the other lady named, which was accordingly done;--and an answer, containing a refusal, arrived as they were, one morning, sitting together. "you see," said lord byron, "that, after all, miss milbanke is to be the person;--i will write to her." he accordingly wrote on the moment, and, as soon as he had finished, his friend, remonstrating still strongly against his choice, took up the letter,--but, on reading it over, observed, "well, really, this is a very pretty letter;--it is a pity it should not go. i never read a prettier one."--"then it _shall_ go," said lord byron; and in so saying, sealed and sent off, on the instant, this fiat of his fate. * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "nd., september . . "i have written to you one letter to-night, but must send you this much more, as i have not franked my number, to say that i rejoice in my god-daughter, and will send her a coral and bells, which i hope she will accept, the moment i get back to london. "my head is at this moment in a state of confusion, from various causes, which i can neither describe nor explain--but let that pass. my employments have been very rural--fishing, shooting, bathing, and boating. books i have but few here, and those i have read ten times over, till sick of them. so, i have taken to breaking soda-water bottles with my pistols, and jumping into the water, and rowing over it, and firing at the fowls of the air. but why should i 'monster my nothings' to you, who are well employed, and happily too, i should hope? for my part, i am happy, too, in my way--but, as usual, have contrived to get into three or four perplexities, which i do not see my way through. but a few days, perhaps a day, will determine one of them. "you do not say a word to me of your poem. i wish i could see or hear it. i neither could, nor would, do it or its author any harm. i believe i told you of larry and jacquy. a friend of mine was reading--at least a friend of his was reading--said larry and jacquy in a brighton coach. a passenger took up the book and queried as to the author. the proprietor said 'there were _two_'--to which the answer of the unknown was, 'ay, ay--a joint concern, i suppose, _summot_ like sternhold and hopkins.' "is not this excellent? i would not have missed the 'vile comparison' to have 'scaped being one of the 'arcades ambo et cantare pares.' good night. again yours." * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "newstead abbey, sept. . . "here's to her who long hath waked the poet's sigh! the girl who gave to song what gold could never buy. --my dear moore, i am going to be married--that is, i am accepted[ ], and one usually hopes the rest will follow. my mother of the gracchi (that _are_ to be) _you_ think too strait-laced for me, although the paragon of only children, and invested with 'golden opinions of all sorts of men,' and full of 'most blest conditions' as desdemona herself. miss milbanke is the lady, and i have her father's invitation to proceed there in my elect capacity,--which, however, i cannot do till i have settled some business in london and got a blue coat. "she is said to be an heiress, but of that i really know nothing certainly, and shall not enquire. but i do know, that she has talents and excellent qualities; and you will not deny her judgment, after having refused six suitors and taken me. "now, if you have any thing to say against this, pray do; my mind's made up, positively fixed, determined, and therefore i will listen to reason, because now it can do no harm. things may occur to break it off, but i will hope not. in the mean time, i tell you (a _secret_, by the by,--at least, till i know she wishes it to be public,) that i have proposed and am accepted. you need not be in a hurry to wish me joy, for one mayn't be married for months. i am going to town to-morrow; but expect to be here, on my way there, within a fortnight. "if this had not happened, i should have gone to italy. in my way down, perhaps, you will meet me at nottingham, and come over with me here. i need not say that nothing will give me greater pleasure. i must, of course, reform thoroughly; and, seriously, if i can contribute to her happiness, i shall secure my own. she is so good a person, that--that--in short, i wish i was a better. ever," &c. [footnote : on the day of the arrival of the lady's answer, he was sitting at dinner, when his gardener came in and presented him with his mother's wedding ring, which she had lost many years before, and which the gardener had just found in digging up the mould under her window. almost at the same moment, the letter from miss milbanke arrived; and lord byron exclaimed, "if it contains a consent, i will be married with this very ring." it did contain a very flattering acceptance of his proposal, and a duplicate of the letter had been sent to london, in case this should have missed him.--_memoranda_.] * * * * * letter . to the countess of * * *. "albany, october . . "dear lady * *, "your recollection and invitation do me great honour; but i am going to be 'married, and can't come.' my intended is two hundred miles off, and the moment my business here is arranged, i must set out in a great hurry to be happy. miss milbanke is the good-natured person who has undertaken me, and, of course, i am very much in love, and as silly as all single gentlemen must be in that sentimental situation. i have been accepted these three weeks; but when the event will take place, i don't exactly know. it depends partly upon lawyers, who are never in a hurry. one can be sure of nothing; but, at present, there appears no other interruption to this intention, which seems as mutual as possible, and now no secret, though i did not tell first,--and all our relatives are congratulating away to right and left in the most fatiguing manner. "you perhaps know the lady. she is niece to lady melbourne, and cousin to lady cowper and others of your acquaintance, and has no fault, except being a great deal too good for me, and that _i_ must pardon, if nobody else should. it might have been _two_ years ago, and, if it had, would have saved me a world of trouble. she has employed the interval in refusing about half a dozen of my particular friends, (as she did me once, by the way,) and has taken me at last, for which i am very much obliged to her. i wish it was well over, for i do hate bustle, and there is no marrying without some;--and then, i must not marry in a black coat, they tell me, and i can't bear a blue one. "pray forgive me for scribbling all this nonsense. you know i must be serious all the rest of my life, and this is a parting piece of buffoonery, which i write with tears in my eyes, expecting to be agitated. believe me most seriously and sincerely your obliged servant, byron. "p.s. my best rems. to lord * * on his return." * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "october . . "notwithstanding the contradictory paragraph in the morning chronicle, which must have been sent by * *, or perhaps--i know not why i should suspect claughton of such a thing, and yet i partly do, because it might interrupt his renewal of purchase, if so disposed; in short it matters not, but we are all in the road to matrimony--lawyers settling, relations congratulating, my intended as kind as heart could wish, and every one, whose opinion i value, very glad of it. all her relatives, and all mine too, seem equally pleased. "perry was very sorry, and has _re_-contradicted, as you will perceive by this day's paper. it was, to be sure, a devil of an insertion, since the first paragraph came from sir ralph's own county journal, and this in the teeth of it would appear to him and his as _my_ denial. but i have written to do away that, enclosing perry's letter, which was very polite and kind. "nobody hates bustle so much as i do; but there seems a fatality over every scene of my drama, always a row of some sort or other. no matter--fortune is my best friend; and as i acknowledge my obligations to her, i hope she will treat me better than she treated the athenian, who took some merit to _himself_ on some occasion, but (after that) took no more towns. in fact, _she_, that exquisite goddess, has hitherto carried me through every thing, and will i hope, now; since i own it will be all _her_ doing. "well, now, for thee. your article on * * is perfection itself. you must not leave off reviewing. by jove, i believe you can do any thing. there is wit, and taste, and learning, and good humour (though not a whit less severe for that), in every line of that critique. "next to _your_ being an e. reviewer, _my_ being of the same kidney, and jeffrey's being such a friend to both, are amongst the events which i conceive were not calculated upon in mr.--what's his name?'s--'essay on probabilities.' "but, tom, i say--oons! scott menaces the 'lord of the isles." do you mean to compete? or lay by, till this wave has broke upon the _shelves_? (of booksellers, not rocks--a _broken_ metaphor, by the way.) you _ought_ to be afraid of nobody; but your modesty is really as provoking and unnecessary as a * *'s. i am very merry, and have just been writing some elegiac stanzas on the death of sir p. parker. he was my first cousin, but never met since boyhood. our relations desired me, and i have scribbled and given it to perry, who will chronicle it to-morrow. i am as sorry for him as one could be for one i never saw since i was a child; but should not have wept melodiously, except 'at the request of friends.' "i hope to get out of town and be married, but i shall take newstead in my way; and you must meet me at nottingham and accompany me to mine abbey. i will tell you the day when i know it. "ever," &c. "p.s. by the way my wife elect is perfection, and i hear of nothing but her merits and her wonders, and that she is 'very pretty.' her expectations, i am told, are great; but _what_, i have not asked. i have not seen her these ten months." * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "october . . "an' there were any thing in marriage that would make a difference between my friends and me, particularly in your case, i would 'none on't.' my agent sets off for durham next week, and i shall follow him, taking newstead and you in my way. i certainly did not address miss milbanke with these views, but it is likely she may prove a considerable _parti_. all her father can give, or leave her, he will; and from her childless uncle, lord wentworth, whose barony, it is supposed, will devolve on ly. milbanke (her sister), she has expectations. but these will depend upon his own disposition, which seems very partial towards her. she is an only child, and sir r.'s estates, though dipped by electioneering, are considerable. part of them are settled on her; but whether _that_ will be _dowered_ now, i do not know,--though, from what has been intimated to me, it probably will. the lawyers are to settle this among them, and i am getting my property into matrimonial array, and myself ready for the journey to seaham, which i must make in a week or ten days. "i certainly did not dream that she was attached to me, which it seems she has been for some time. i also thought her of a very cold disposition, in which i was also mistaken--it is a long story, and i won't trouble you with it. as to her virtues, &c. &c. you will hear enough of them (for she is a kind of _pattern_ in the north), without my running into a display on the subject. it is well that _one_ of us is of such fame, since there is sad deficit in the _morale_ of that article upon my part,--all owing to my 'bitch of a star,' as captain tranchemont says of his planet. "don't think you have not said enough of me in your article on t * *; what more could or need be said? "your long-delayed and expected work--i suppose you will take fright at 'the lord of the isles' and scott now. you must do as you like,--i have said my say. you ought to fear comparison with none, and any one would stare, who heard you were so tremulous,--though, after all, i believe it is the surest sign of talent. good morning. i hope we shall meet soon, but i will write again, and perhaps you will meet me at nottingham. pray say so. "p.s. if this union is productive, you shall name the first fruits." * * * * * letter . to mr. henry drury. "october . . "my dear drury, "many thanks for your hitherto unacknowledged 'anecdotes.' now for one of mine--i am going to be married, and have been engaged this month. it is a long story, and, therefore, i won't tell it,--an old and (though i did not know it till lately) a _mutual_ attachment. the very sad life i have led since i was your pupil must partly account for the offs and _ons_ in this now to be arranged business. we are only waiting for the lawyers and settlements, &c.; and next week, or the week after, i shall go down to seaham in the new character of a regular suitor for a wife of mine own. "i hope hodgson is in a fair way on the same voyage--i saw him and his idol at hastings. i wish he would be married at the same time,--i should like to make a party,--like people electrified in a row, by (or rather through) the same chain, holding one another's hands, and all feeling the shock at once. i have not yet apprised him of this. he makes such a serious matter of all these things, and is so 'melancholy and gentlemanlike,' that it is quite overcoming to us choice spirits. "they say one shouldn't be married in a black coat. i won't have a blue one,--that's flat. i hate it. "yours," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. cowell. "october . . "my dear cowell, "many and sincere thanks for your kind letter--the bet, or rather forfeit, was one hundred to hawke, and fifty to hay (nothing to kelly), for a guinea received from each of the two former.[ ] i shall feel much obliged by your setting me right if i am incorrect in this statement in any way, and have reasons for wishing you to recollect as much as possible of what passed, and state it to hodgson. my reason is this: some time ago mr. * * * required a bet of me which i never made, and of course refused to pay, and have heard no more of it; to prevent similar mistakes is my object in wishing you to remember well what passed, and to put hodgson in possession of your memory on the subject. "i hope to see you soon in my way through cambridge. remember me to h., and believe me ever and truly," &c. [footnote : he had agreed to forfeit these sums to the persons mentioned, should he ever marry.] * * * * * soon after the date of this letter, lord byron had to pay a visit to cambridge for the purpose of voting for mr. clarke, who had been started by trinity college as one of the candidates for sir busick harwood's professorship. on this occasion, a circumstance occurred which could not but be gratifying to him. as he was delivering in his vote to the vice-chancellor, in the senate house, the under-graduates in the gallery ventured to testify their admiration of him by a general murmur of applause and stamping of the feet. for this breach of order, the gallery was immediately cleared by order of the vice-chancellor. at the beginning of the month of december, being called up to town by business, i had opportunities, from being a good deal in my noble friend's society, of observing the state of his mind and feelings, under the prospect of the important change he was now about to undergo; and it was with pain i found that those sanguine hopes[ ] with which i had sometimes looked forward to the happy influence of marriage, in winning him over to the brighter and better side of life, were, by a view of all the circumstances of his present destiny, considerably diminished; while, at the same time, not a few doubts and misgivings, which had never before so strongly occurred to me, with regard to his own fitness, under any circumstances, for the matrimonial tie, filled me altogether with a degree of foreboding anxiety as to his fate, which the unfortunate events that followed but too fully justified. the truth is, i fear, that rarely, if ever, have men of the higher order of genius shown themselves fitted for the calm affections and comforts that form the cement of domestic life. "one misfortune (says pope) of extraordinary geniuses is, that their very friends are more apt to admire than love them." to this remark there have, no doubt, been exceptions,--and i should pronounce lord byron, from my own experience, to be one of them,--but it would not be difficult, perhaps, to show, from the very nature and pursuits of genius, that such must generally be the lot of all pre-eminently gifted with it; and that the same qualities which enable them to command admiration are also those that too often incapacitate them from conciliating love. the very habits, indeed, of abstraction and self-study to which the occupations of men of genius lead, are, in themselves, necessarily, of an unsocial and detaching tendency, and require a large portion of indulgence from others not to be set down as unamiable. one of the chief sources, too, of sympathy and society between ordinary mortals being their dependence on each other's intellectual resources, the operation of this social principle must naturally be weakest in those whose own mental stores are most abundant and self-sufficing, and who, rich in such materials for thinking within themselves, are rendered so far independent of any aid from others. it was this solitary luxury (which plato called "banqueting his own thoughts") that led pope, as well as lord byron, to prefer the silence and seclusion of his library to the most agreeable conversation.--and not only too, is the necessity of commerce with other minds less felt by such persons, but, from that fastidiousness which the opulence of their own resources generates, the society of those less gifted than themselves becomes often a restraint and burden, to which not all the charms of friendship, or even love, can reconcile them. "nothing is so tiresome (says the poet of vaucluse, in assigning a reason for not living with some of his dearest friends) as to converse with persons who have not the same information as one's self." but it is the cultivation and exercise of the imaginative faculty that, more than any thing, tends to wean the man of genius from actual life, and, by substituting the sensibilities of the imagination for those of the heart, to render, at last, the medium through which he feels no less unreal than that through which he thinks. those images of ideal good and beauty that surround him in his musings soon accustom him to consider all that is beneath this high standard unworthy of his care; till, at length, the heart becoming chilled as the fancy warms, it too often happens that, in proportion as he has refined and elevated his theory of all the social affections, he has unfitted himself for the practice of them.[ ] hence so frequently it arises that, in persons of this temperament, we see some bright but artificial idol of the brain usurp the place of all real and natural objects of tenderness. the poet dante, a wanderer away from wife and children, passed the whole of a restless and detached life in nursing his immortal dream of beatrice; while petrarch, who would not suffer his only daughter to reside beneath his roof, expended thirty-two years of poetry and passion on an idealised love. it is, indeed, in the very nature and essence of genius to be for ever occupied intensely with self, as the great centre and source of its strength. like the sister rachel, in dante, sitting all day before her mirror, "mai non si smaga del suo ammiraglio, e siede tutto giorno." to this power of self-concentration, by which alone all the other powers of genius are made available, there is, of course, no such disturbing and fatal enemy as those sympathies and affections that draw the mind out actively towards others[ ]; and, accordingly, it will be found that, among those who have felt within themselves a call to immortality, the greater number have, by a sort of instinct, kept aloof from such ties, and, instead of the softer duties and rewards of being amiable, reserved themselves for the high, hazardous chances of being great. in looking back through the lives of the most illustrious poets,--the class of intellect in which the characteristic features of genius are, perhaps, most strongly marked,--we shall find that, with scarcely one exception, from homer down to lord byron, they have been, in their several degrees, restless and solitary spirits, with minds wrapped up, like silk-worms, in their own tasks, either strangers, or rebels to domestic ties, and bearing about with them a deposit for posterity in their souls, to the jealous watching and enriching of which almost all other thoughts and considerations have been sacrificed. "to follow poetry as one ought (says the authority[ ] i have already quoted), one must forget father and mother and cleave to it alone." in these few words is pointed out the sole path that leads genius to greatness. on such terms alone are the high places of fame to be won;--nothing less than the sacrifice of the entire man can achieve them. however delightful, therefore, may be the spectacle of a man of genius tamed and domesticated in society, taking docilely upon him the yoke of the social ties, and enlightening without disturbing the sphere in which he moves, we must nevertheless, in the midst of our admiration, bear in mind that it is not thus smoothly or amiably immortality has been ever struggled for, or won. the poet thus circumstanced may be popular, may be loved; for the happiness of himself and those linked with him he is in the right road,--but not for greatness. the marks by which fame has always separated her great martyrs from the rest of mankind are not upon him, and the crown cannot be his. he may dazzle, may captivate the circle, and even the times in which he lives, but he is not for hereafter. to the general description here given of that high class of human intelligences to which he belonged, the character of lord byron was, in many respects, a signal exception. born with strong affections and ardent passions, the world had, from first to last, too firm a hold on his sympathies to let imagination altogether usurp the place of reality, either in his feelings, or in the objects of them. his life, indeed, was one continued struggle between that instinct of genius, which was for ever drawing him back into the lonely laboratory of self, and those impulses of passion, ambition, and vanity, which again hurried him off into the crowd, and entangled him in its interests; and though it may be granted that he would have been more purely and abstractedly the _poet_, had he been less thoroughly, in all his pursuits and propensities, the _man_, yet from this very mixture and alloy has it arisen that his pages bear so deeply the stamp of real life, and that in the works of no poet, with the exception of shakspeare, can every various mood of the mind--whether solemn or gay, whether inclined to the ludicrous or the sublime, whether seeking to divert itself with the follies of society or panting after the grandeur of solitary nature--find so readily a strain of sentiment in accordance with its every passing tone. but while the naturally warm cast of his affections and temperament gave thus a substance and truth to his social feelings which those of too many of his fellow votaries of genius have wanted, it was not to be expected that an imagination of such range and power should have been so early developed and unrestrainedly indulged without producing, at last, some of those effects upon the heart which have invariably been found attendant on such a predominance of this faculty. it must have been observed, indeed, that the period when his natural affections flourished most healthily was before he had yet arrived at the full consciousness of his genius,--before imagination had yet accustomed him to those glowing pictures, after gazing upon which all else appeared cold and colourless. from the moment of this initiation into the wonders of his own mind, a distaste for the realities of life began to grow upon him. not even that intense craving after affection, which nature had implanted in him, could keep his ardour still alive in a pursuit whose results fell so short of his "imaginings;" and though, from time to time, the combined warmth of his fancy and temperament was able to call up a feeling which to his eyes wore the semblance of love, it may be questioned whether his heart had ever much share in such passions, or whether, after his first launch into the boundless sea of imagination, he could ever have been brought back and fixed by any lasting attachment. actual objects there were, in but too great number, who, as long as the illusion continued, kindled up his thoughts and were the themes of his song. but they were, after all, little more than mere dreams of the hour;--the qualities with which he invested them were almost all ideal, nor could have stood the test of a month's, or even week's, cohabitation. it was but the reflection of his own bright conceptions that he saw in each new object; and while persuading himself that they furnished the models of his heroines, he was, on the contrary, but fancying that he beheld his heroines in them. there needs no stronger proof of the predominance of imagination in these attachments than his own serious avowal, in the journal already given, that often, when in the company of the woman he most loved, he found himself secretly wishing for the solitude of his own study. it was _there_, indeed,--in the silence and abstraction of that study,--that the chief scene of his mistress's empire and glory lay. it was there that, unchecked by reality, and without any fear of the disenchantments of truth, he could view her through the medium of his own fervid fancy, enamour himself of an idol of his own creating, and out of a brief delirium of a few days or weeks, send forth a dream of beauty and passion through all ages. while such appears to have been the imaginative character of his loves, (of all, except the one that lived unquenched through all,) his friendships, though, of course, far less subject to the influence of fancy, could not fail to exhibit also some features characteristic of the peculiar mind in which they sprung. it was a usual saying of his own, and will be found repeated in some of his letters, that he had "no genius for friendship," and that whatever capacity he might once have possessed for that sentiment had vanished with his youth. if in saying thus he shaped his notions of friendship according to the romantic standard of his boyhood, the fact must be admitted: but as far as the assertion was meant to imply that he had become incapable of a warm, manly, and lasting friendship, such a charge against himself was unjust, and i am not the only living testimony of its injustice. to a certain degree, however, even in his friendships, the effects of a too vivid imagination, in disqualifying the mind for the cold contact of reality, were visible. we are told that petrarch (who, in this respect, as in most others, may be regarded as a genuine representative of the poetic character,) abstained purposely from a too frequent intercourse with his nearest friends, lest, from the sensitiveness he was so aware of in himself, there should occur any thing that might chill his regard for them [ ]; and though lord byron was of a nature too full of social and kindly impulses ever to think of such a precaution, it is a fact confirmatory, at least, of the principle on which his brother poet, petrarch, acted, that the friends, whether of his youth or manhood, of whom he had seen least, through life, were those of whom he always thought and spoke with the most warmth and fondness. being brought less often to the touchstone of familiar intercourse, they stood naturally a better chance of being adopted as the favourites of his imagination, and of sharing, in consequence, a portion of that bright colouring reserved for all that gave it interest and pleasure. next to the dead, therefore, whose hold upon his fancy had been placed beyond all risk of severance, those friends whom he but saw occasionally, and by such favourable glimpses as only renewed the first kindly impression they had made, were the surest to live unchangingly, and without shadow, in his memory. to this same cause, there is little doubt, his love for his sister owed much of its devotedness and fervour. in a mind sensitive and versatile as his, long habits of family intercourse might have estranged, or at least dulled, his natural affection for her;--but their separation, during youth, left this feeling fresh and untried.[ ] his very inexperience in such ties made the smile of a sister no less a novelty than a charm to him; and before the first gloss of this newly awakened sentiment had time to wear off, they were again separated, and for ever. if the portrait which i have here attempted of the general character of those gifted with high genius be allowed to bear, in any of its features, a resemblance to the originals, it can no longer, i think, be matter of question whether a class so set apart from the track of ordinary life, so removed, by their very elevation, out of the influences of our common atmosphere, are at all likely to furnish tractable subjects for that most trying of all social experiments, matrimony. in reviewing the great names of philosophy and science, we shall find that all who have most distinguished themselves in those walks have, at least, virtually admitted their own unfitness for the marriage tie by remaining in celibacy;--newton, gassendi, galileo, descartes, bayle, locke, leibnitz, boyle, hume, and a long list of other illustrious sages, having all led single lives.[ ] the poetic race, it is true, from the greater susceptibility of their imaginations, have more frequently fallen into the ever ready snare. but the fate of the poets in matrimony has but justified the caution of the philosophers. while the latter have given warning to genius by keeping free of the yoke, the others have still more effectually done so by their misery under it;--the annals of this sensitive race having, at all times, abounded with proofs, that genius ranks but low among the elements of social happiness,--that, in general, the brighter the gift, the more disturbing its influence, and that in married life particularly, its effects have been too often like that of the "wormwood star," whose light filled the waters on which it fell with bitterness. besides the causes already enumerated as leading naturally to such a result, from the peculiarities by which, in most instances, these great labourers in the field of thought are characterised, there is also much, no doubt, to be attributed to an unluckiness in the choice of helpmates,--dictated, as that choice frequently must be, by an imagination accustomed to deceive itself. but from whatever causes it may have arisen, the coincidence is no less striking than saddening, that, on the list of married poets who have been unhappy in their homes, there should already be found four such illustrious names as dante, milton[ ], shakspeare[ ], and dryden; and that we should now have to add, as a partner in their destiny, a name worthy of being placed beside the greatest of them,--lord byron. i have already mentioned my having been called up to town in the december of this year. the opportunities i had of seeing lord byron during my stay were frequent; and, among them, not the least memorable or agreeable were those evenings we passed together at the house of his banker, mr. douglas kinnaird, where music,--followed by its accustomed sequel of supper, brandy and water, and not a little laughter,--kept us together, usually, till rather a late hour. besides those songs of mine which he has himself somewhere recorded as his favourites, there was also one to a portuguese air, "the song of war shall echo through our mountains," which seemed especially to please him;--the national character of the music, and the recurrence of the words "sunny mountains," bringing back freshly to his memory the impressions of all he had seen in portugal. i have, indeed, known few persons more alive to the charms of simple music; and not unfrequently have seen the tears in his eyes while listening to the irish melodies. among those that thus affected him was one beginning "when first i met thee warm and young," the words of which, besides the obvious feeling which they express, were intended also to admit of a political application. he, however, discarded the latter sense wholly from his mind, and gave himself up to the more natural sentiment of the song with evident emotion. on one or two of these evenings, his favourite actor, mr. kean, was of the party; and on another occasion, we had at dinner his early instructor in pugilism, mr. jackson, in conversing with whom, all his boyish tastes seemed to revive;--and it was not a little amusing to observe how perfectly familiar with the annals of "the ring[ ]," and with all the most recondite phraseology of "the fancy," was the sublime poet of childe harold. the following note is the only one, of those i received from him at this time, worth transcribing:-- "december . . "my dearest tom, "i will send the pattern to-morrow, and since you don't go to our friend ('of the _keeping_ part of the town') this evening, i shall e'en sulk at home over a solitary potation. my self-opinion rises much by your eulogy of my social qualities. as my friend scrope is pleased to say, i believe i am very well for a 'holiday drinker.' where the devil are you? with woolridge[ ], i conjecture--for which you deserve another abscess. hoping that the american war will last for many years, and that all the prizes may be registered at bermoothes, believe me, &c. "p.s. i have just been composing an epistle to the archbishop for an especial licence. oons! it looks serious. murray is impatient to see you, and would call, if you will give him audience. your new coat!--i wonder you like the colour, and don't go about, like dives, in purple." [footnote : i had frequently, both in earnest and in jest, expressed these hopes to him; and, in one of my letters, after touching upon some matters relative to my own little domestic circle, i added, "this will all be unintelligible to you; though i sometimes cannot help thinking it within the range of possibility, that even _you_, volcano as you are, may, one day, cool down into something of the same _habitable_ state. indeed, when one thinks of lava having been converted into buttons for isaac hawkins browne, there is no saying what such fiery things may be brought to at last."] [footnote : of the lamentable contrast between sentiments and conduct, which this transfer of the seat of sensibility from the heart to the fancy produces, the annals of literary men afford unluckily too many examples. alfieri, though he could write a sonnet full of tenderness to his mother, never saw her (says mr. w. rose) but once after their early separation, though he frequently passed within a few miles of her residence. the poet young, with all his parade of domestic sorrows, was, it appears, a neglectful husband and harsh father; and sterne (to use the words employed by lord byron) preferred "whining over a dead ass to relieving a living mother."] [footnote : it is the opinion of diderot, in his treatise on acting, that not only in the art of which he treats, but in all those which are called imitative, the possession of real sensibility is a bar to eminence;--sensibility being, according to his view, "le caractere de la bonté de l'ame et de la médiocrité du génie."] [footnote : pope.] [footnote : see foscolo's essay on petrarch. on the same principle, orrery says, in speaking of swift, "i am persuaded that his distance from his english friends proved a strong incitement to their mutual affection."] [footnote : that he was himself fully aware of this appears from a passage in one of his letters already given:--"my sister is in town, which is a great comfort; for, never having been much together, we are naturally more attached to each other."] [footnote : wife and children, bacon tells us in one of his essays, are "impediments to great enterprises;" and adds, "certainly, the best works, and of greatest merit for the public, have proceeded from the unmarried or childless men." see, with reference to this subject, chapter xviii. of mr. d'israeli's work on "the literary character."] [footnote : milton's first wife, it is well known, ran away from him, within a month after their marriage, disgusted, says phillips, "with his spare diet and hard study;" and it is difficult to conceive a more melancholy picture of domestic life than is disclosed in his nuncupative will, one of the witnesses to which deposes to having heard the great poet himself complain, that his children "were careless of him, being blind, and made nothing of deserting him."] [footnote : by whatever austerity of temper or habits the poets dante and milton may have drawn upon themselves such a fate, it might be expected that, at least, the "gentle shakspeare" would have stood exempt from the common calamity of his brethren. but, among the very few facts of his life that have been transmitted to us, there is none more clearly proved than the unhappiness of his marriage. the dates of the birth of his children, compared with that of his removal from stratford,--the total omission of his wife's name in the first draft of his will, and the bitter sarcasm of the bequest by which he remembers her afterwards,--all prove beyond a doubt both his separation from the lady early in life, and his unfriendly feeling towards her at the close of it. in endeavouring to argue against the conclusion naturally to be deduced from this will, boswell, with a strange ignorance of human nature, remarks:--"if he had taken offence at any part of his wife's conduct, i cannot believe that he would have taken this petty mode of expressing it."] [footnote : in a small book which i have in my possession, containing a sort of chronological history of the ring, i find the name of lord byron, more than once, recorded among the "backers."] [footnote : dr. woolriche, an old and valued friend of mine, to whose skill, on the occasion here alluded to, i was indebted for my life.] * * * * * letter. . to mr. murray. "december , . "a thousand thanks for gibbon: all the additions are very great improvements. "at last i must be _most_ peremptory with you about the _print_ from phillips's picture: it is pronounced on all hands the most stupid and disagreeable possible: so do, pray, have a new engraving, and let me see it first; there really must be no more from the same plate. i don't much care, myself; but every one i honour torments me to death about it, and abuses it to a degree beyond repeating. now, don't answer with excuses; but, for my sake, have it destroyed: i never shall have peace till it is. i write in the greatest haste. "p.s. i have written this most illegibly; but it is to beg you to destroy the print, and have another 'by particular desire.' it must be d----d bad, to be sure, since every body says so but the original; and he don't know what to say. but do _do_ it: that is, burn the plate, and employ a new _etcher_ from the other picture. this is stupid and sulky." * * * * * on his arrival in town, he had, upon enquiring into the state of his affairs, found them in so utterly embarrassed a condition as to fill him with some alarm, and even to suggest to his mind the prudence of deferring his marriage. the die was, however, cast, and he had now no alternative but to proceed. accordingly, at the end of december, accompanied by his friend mr. hobhouse, he set out for seaham, the seat of sir ralph milbanke, the lady's father, in the county of durham, and on the d of january, , was married. "i saw him stand before an altar with a gentle bride; her face was fair, but was not that which made the starlight of his boyhood;--as he stood even at the altar, o'er his brow there came the self-same aspect, and the quivering shock that in the antique oratory shook his bosom in its solitude; and then-- as in that hour--a moment o'er his face, the tablet of unutterable thoughts was traced,--and then it faded as it came, and he stood calm and quiet, and he spoke the fitting vows, but heard not his own words, and all things reel'd around him; he could see not that which was, nor that which should have been-- but the old mansion, and the accustom'd hall, and the remember'd chambers, and the place, the day, the hour, the sunshine, and the shade, all things pertaining to that place and hour, and her, who was his destiny, came back, and thrust themselves between him and the light:-- what business had they there at such a time?"[ ] this touching picture agrees so closely in many of its circumstances, with his own prose account of the wedding in his memoranda, that i feel justified in introducing it, historically, here. in that memoir, he described himself as waking, on the morning of his marriage, with the most melancholy reflections, on seeing his wedding-suit spread out before him. in the same mood, he wandered about the grounds alone, till he was summoned for the ceremony, and joined, for the first time on that day, his bride and her family. he knelt down, he repeated the words after the clergyman; but a mist was before his eyes,--his thoughts were elsewhere; and he was but awakened by the congratulations of the bystanders, to find that he was--married. the same morning, the wedded pair left seaham for halnaby, another seat of sir ralph milbanke, in the same county. when about to depart, lord byron said to the bride, "miss milbanke, are you ready?"--a mistake which the lady's confidential attendant pronounced to be a "bad omen." it is right to add, that i quote these slight details from memory, and am alone answerable for any inaccuracy there may be found in them. [footnote : the dream.] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "kirkby, january . . "the marriage took place on the d instant: so pray make haste and congratulate away. "thanks for the edinburgh review and the abolition of the print. let the next be from the _other_ of phillips--i mean (_not_ the albanian, but) the original one in the exhibition; the last was from the copy. i should wish my sister and lady byron to decide upon the next, as they found fault with the last. _i_ have no opinion of my own upon the subject. "mr. kinnaird will, i dare say, have the goodness to furnish copies of the melodies[ ], if you state my wish upon the subject. you may have them, if you think them worth inserting. the volumes in their collected state must be inscribed to mr. hobhouse, but i have not yet mustered the expressions of my inscription; but will supply them in time. with many thanks for your good wishes, which have all been realised, i remain, very truly, yours, "byron." [footnote : the hebrew melodies which he had employed himself in writing, during his recent stay in london.] * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "halnaby, darlington, january , . "i was married this day week. the parson has pronounced it--perry has announced it--and the morning post, also, under the head of 'lord byron's marriage'--as if it were a fabrication, or the puff-direct of a new stay-maker. "now for thine affairs. i have redde thee upon the fathers, and it is excellent well. positively, you must not leave off reviewing. you shine in it--you kill in it; and this article has been taken for sydney smith's (as i heard in town), which proves not only your proficiency in parsonology, but that you have all the airs of a veteran critic at your first onset. so, prithee, go on and prosper. "scott's 'lord of the isles' is out--'the mail-coach copy' i have, by special licence, of murray. "now is _your_ time;--you will come upon them newly and freshly. it is impossible to read what you have lately done (verse or prose) without seeing that you have trained on tenfold. * * has floundered; * * has foundered. _i_ have tried the rascals (i.e. the public) with my harrys and larrys, pilgrims and pirates. nobody but s * * * *y has done any thing worth a slice of bookseller's pudding; and _he_ has not luck enough to be found out in doing a good thing. now, tom, is thy time--'oh joyful day!--i would not take a knighthood for thy fortune. let me hear from you soon, and believe me ever, &c. "p.s. lady byron is vastly well. how are mrs. moore and joe atkinson's 'graces?' we must present our women to one another." * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "january . . "egad! i don't think he is 'down;' and my prophecy--like most auguries, sacred and profane--is not annulled, but inverted. "to your question about the 'dog'[ ]--umph!--my 'mother,' i won't say any thing against--that is, about her: but how long a 'mistress' or friend may recollect paramours or competitors (lust and thirst being the two great and only bonds between the amatory or the amicable) i can't say,--or, rather, you know, as well as i could tell you. but as for canine recollections, as far as i could judge by a cur of mine own, (always bating boatswain, the dearest and, alas! the maddest of dogs,) i had one (half a _wolf_ by the she side) that doted on me at ten years old, and very nearly ate me at twenty. when i thought he was going to enact argus, he bit away the backside of my breeches, and never would consent to any kind of recognition, in despite of all kinds of bones which i offered him. so, let southey blush and homer too, as far as i can decide upon quadruped memories. "i humbly take it, the mother knows the son that pays her jointure--a mistress her mate, till he * * and refuses salary--a friend his fellow, till he loses cash and character--and a dog his master, till he changes him. "so, you want to know about milady and me? but let me not, as roderick random says, 'profane the chaste mysteries of hymen'[ ]--damn the word, i had nearly spelt it with a small _h_. i like bell as well as you do (or did, you villain!) bessy--and that is (or was) saying a great deal. "address your next to seaham, stockton-on-tees, where we are going on saturday (a bore, by the way,) to see father-in-law, sir jacob, and my lady's lady-mother. write--and write more at length--both to the public and yours ever most affectionately, "b." [footnote : i had just been reading mr. southey's fine poem of "roderick;" and with reference to an incident in it, had put the following question to lord byron:--"i should like to know from you, who are one of the philocynic sect, whether it is probable, that any dog (out of a melodrame) could recognise a master, whom neither his own mother or mistress was able to find out. i don't care about ulysses's dog, &c.--all i want is to know from _you_ (who are renowned as 'friend of the dog, companion of the bear') whether such a thing is probable."] [footnote : the letter h. is blotted in the ms.] * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "seaham, stockton-on-tees, february . . "i have heard from london that you have left chatsworth and all the women full of 'entusymusy'[ ] about you, personally and poetically; and, in particular, that 'when first i met thee' has been quite overwhelming in its effect. i told you it was one of the best things you ever wrote, though that dog power wanted you to omit part of it. they are all regretting your absence at chatsworth, according to my informant--'all the ladies quite,' &c. &c. &c. stap my vitals! "well, now you have got home again--which i dare say is as agreeable as a 'draught of cool small beer to the scorched palate of a waking sot'--now you have got home again, i say, probably i shall hear from you. since i wrote last, i have been transferred to my father-in-law's, with my lady and my lady's maid, &c. &c. &c. and the treacle-moon is over, and i am awake, and find myself married. my spouse and i agree to--and in--admiration. swift says 'no _wise_ man ever married;' but, for a fool, i think it the most ambrosial of all possible future states. i still think one ought to marry upon _lease_; but am very sure i should renew mine at the expiration, though next term were for ninety and nine years. "i wish you would respond, for i am here 'oblitusque meorum obliviscendus et illis.' pray tell me what is going on in the way of intriguery, and how the w----s and rogues of the upper beggar's opera go on--or rather go off--in or after marriage; or who are going to break any particular commandment. upon this dreary coast, we have nothing but county meetings and shipwrecks; and i have this day dined upon fish, which probably dined upon the crews of several colliers lost in the late gales. but i saw the sea once more in all the glories of surf and foam,--almost equal to the bay of biscay, and the interesting white squalls and short seas of archipelago memory. "my papa, sir ralpho, hath recently made a speech at a durham tax-meeting; and not only at durham, but here, several times since, after dinner. he is now, i believe, speaking it to himself (i left him in the middle) over various decanters, which can neither interrupt him nor fall asleep,--as might possibly have been the case with some of his audience. ever thine, b. "i must go to tea--damn tea. i wish it was kinnaird's brandy, and with you to lecture me about it." [footnote : it was thus that, according to his account, a certain celebrated singer and actor used frequently to pronounce the word "enthusiasm."] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "seaham, stockton-upon-tees, february . . "you will oblige me very much by making an occasional enquiry at albany, at my chambers, whether my books, &c. are kept in tolerable order, and how far my old woman[ ] continues in health and industry as keeper of my old den. your parcels have been duly received and perused; but i had hoped to receive 'guy mannering' before this time. i won't intrude further for the present on your avocations, professional or pleasurable, but am, as usual, "very truly," &c. [footnote : mrs. mule.] * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "february . . "i enclose you half a letter from * *, which will explain itself--at least the latter part--the former refers to private business of mine own. if jeffrey will take such an article, and you will undertake the revision, or, indeed, any portion of the article itself, (for unless _you do_, by phoebus, i will have nothing to do with it,) we can cook up, between us three, as pretty a dish of sour-crout as ever tipped over the tongue of a bookmaker. "you can, at any rate, try jeffrey's inclination. your late proposal from him made me hint this to * *, who is a much better proser and scholar than i am, and a very superior man indeed. excuse haste--answer this. ever yours most, "b. "p.s. all is well at home. i wrote to you yesterday." * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "february . . "my dear tom, "jeffrey has been so very kind about me and my damnable works, that i would not be indirect or equivocal with him, even for a friend. so, it may be as well to tell him that it is not mine; but that if i did not firmly and truly believe it to be much better than i could offer, i would never have troubled him or you about it. you can judge between you how far it is admissible, and reject it, if not of the right sort. for my own part, i have no interest in the article one way or the other, further than to oblige * *; and should the composition be a good one, it can hurt neither party,--nor, indeed, any one, saving and excepting mr. * * * *. "curse catch me if i know what h * * means or meaned about the demonstrative pronoun[ ], but i admire your fear of being inoculated with the same. have you never found out that you have a particular style of your own, which is as distinct from all other people, as hafiz of shiraz from hafiz of the morning post? "so you allowed b * * and such like to hum and haw you, or, rather, lady j * * out of her compliment, and _me_ out of mine.[ ] sun-burn me, but this was pitiful-hearted. however, i will tell her all about it when i see her. "bell desires me to say all kinds of civilities, and assure you of her recognition and high consideration. i will tell you of our movements south, which may be in about three weeks from this present writing. by the way, don't engage yourself in any travelling expedition, as i have a plan of travel into italy, which we will discuss. and then, think of the poesy wherewithal we should overflow, from venice to vesuvius, to say nothing of greece, through all which--god willing--we might perambulate in one twelve months. if i take my wife, you can take yours; and if i leave mine, you may do the same. 'mind you stand by me in either case, brother bruin.' "and believe me inveterately yours, "b" [footnote : some remark which he told me had been made with respect to the frequent use of the demonstrative pronoun both by himself and by sir w. scott.] [footnote : verses to lady j * * (containing an allusion to lord byron), which i had written, while at chatsworth, but consigned afterwards to the flames.] * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "february . . "yesterday i sent off the packet and letter to edinburgh. it consisted of forty-one pages, so that i have not added a line; but in my letter, i mentioned what passed between you and me in autumn, as my inducement for presuming to trouble him either with my own or * *'s lucubrations. i am any thing but sure that it will do; but i have told j. that if there is any decent raw material in it, he may cut it into what shape he pleases, and warp it to his liking. "so you _won't_ go abroad, then, with _me_,--but alone. i fully purpose starting much about the time you mention, and alone, too. "i hope j. won't think me very impudent in sending * * only: there was not room for a syllable. i have avowed * * as the author, and said that you thought or said, when i met you last, that he (j.) would not be angry at the coalition, (though, alas! we have not coalesced,) and so, if i have got into a scrape, i must get out of it--heaven knows how. "your anacreon[ ] is come, and with it i sealed (its first impression) the packet and epistle to our patron. "curse the melodies and the tribes, to boot,[ ] braham is to assist--or hath assisted--but will do no more good than a second physician. i merely interfered to oblige a whim of k.'s, and all i have got by it was 'a speech' and a receipt for stewed oysters. "'not meet'--pray don't say so. we must meet somewhere or somehow. newstead is out of the question, being nearly sold again, or, if not, it is uninhabitable for my spouse. pray write again. i will soon. "p.s. pray when do you come out? ever, or never? i hope i have made no blunder; but i certainly think you said to me, (after w * * th, whom i first pondered upon, was given up,) that * * and i might attempt * * * *. his length alone prevented me from trying my part, though i should have been less severe upon the reviewée. "your seal is the best and prettiest of my set, and i thank you very much therefor. i have just been--or rather, ought to be--very much shocked by the death of the duke of dorset. we were at school together, and there i was passionately attached to him. since, we have never met--but once, i think, since --and it would be a paltry affectation to pretend that i had any feeling for him worth the name. but there was a time in my life when this event would have broken my heart; and all i can say for it now is that--it is not worth breaking. "adieu--it is all a farce." [footnote : a seal, with the head of anacreon, which i had given him.] [footnote : i had taken the liberty of laughing a little at the manner in which some of his hebrew melodies had been set to music.] * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "march . . "my dear thom, "jeffrey has sent me the most friendly of all possible letters, and has accepted * *'s article. he says he has long liked not only, &c. &c. but my 'character.' this must be _your_ doing, you dog--ar'nt you ashamed of yourself, knowing me so well? this is what one gets for having you for a father confessor. "i feel merry enough to send you a sad song.[ ] you once asked me for some words which you would set. now you may set or not, as you like,--but there they are, in a legible hand[ ], and not in mine, but of my own scribbling; so you may say of them what you please. why don't you write to me? i shall make you 'a speech'[ ] if you don't respond quickly. "i am in such a state of sameness and stagnation, and so totally occupied in consuming the fruits--and sauntering--and playing dull games at cards--and yawning--and trying to read old annual registers and the daily papers--and gathering shells on the shore--and watching the growth of stunted gooseberry bushes in the garden--that i have neither time nor sense to say more than yours ever, b. "p.s. i open my letter again to put a question to you. what would lady c----k, or any other fashionable pidcock, give to collect you and jeffrey and me to _one_ party? i have been answering his letter, which suggested this dainty query. i can't help laughing at the thoughts of your face and mine; and our anxiety to keep the aristarch in good humour during the _early_ part of a compotation, till we got drunk enough to make him 'a speech.' i think the critic would have much the best of us--of one, at least--for i don't think diffidence (i mean social) is a disease of yours." [footnote : the verses enclosed were those melancholy ones, now printed in his works, "there's not a joy the world can give like those it takes away."] [footnote : the ms. was in the handwriting of lady byron.] [footnote : these allusions to "a speech" are connected with a little incident, not worth mentioning, which had amused us both when i was in town. he was rather fond (and had been always so, as may be seen in his early letters,) of thus harping on some conventional phrase or joke.] * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "march . . "an event--the death of poor dorset--and the recollection of what i once felt, and ought to have felt now, but could not--set me pondering, and finally into the train of thought which you have in your hands. i am very glad you like them, for i flatter myself they will pass as an imitation of your style. if i could imitate it well, i should have no great ambition of originality--i wish i could make you exclaim with dennis, 'that's my thunder, by g----d!' i wrote them with a view to your setting them, and as a present to power, if he would accept the words, and _you_ did not think yourself degraded, for once in a way, by marrying them to music. "sun-burn n * *!--why do you always twit me with his vile ebrew nasalities? have i not told you it was all k.'s doing, and my own exquisite facility of temper? but thou wilt be a wag, thomas; and see what you get for it. now for my revenge. "depend--and perpend--upon it that your opinion of * *'s poem will travel through one or other of the quintuple correspondents, till it reaches the ear, and the liver of the author.[ ] your adventure, however, is truly laughable--but how could you be such a potatoe? you 'a brother' (of the quill) too, 'near the throne,' to confide to a man's _own publisher_ (who has 'bought,' or rather sold, 'golden opinions' about him) such a damnatory parenthesis! 'between you and me,' quotha--it reminds me of a passage in the heir at law--'tête-a-tête with lady duberly, i suppose.'--'no--tête-a-tête with _five hundred people_;' and your confidential communication will doubtless be in circulation to that amount, in a short time, with several additions, and in several letters, all signed l.h.r.o.b., &c. &c. &c. "we leave this place to-morrow, and shall stop on our way to town (in the interval of taking a house there) at col. leigh's, near newmarket, where any epistle of yours will find its welcome way. "i have been very comfortable here,--listening to that d----d monologue, which elderly gentlemen call conversation, and in which my pious father-in-law repeats himself every evening--save one, when he played upon the fiddle. however, they have been very kind and hospitable, and i like them and the place vastly, and i hope they will live many happy months. bell is in health, and unvaried good-humour and behaviour. but we are all in the agonies of packing and parting; and i suppose by this time to-morrow i shall be stuck in the chariot with my chin upon a band-box. i have prepared, however, another carriage for the abigail, and all the trumpery which our wives drag along with them. "ever thine, most affectionately, "b." [footnote : he here alludes to a circumstance which i had communicated to him in a preceding letter. in writing to one of the numerous partners of a well-known publishing establishment (with which i have since been lucky enough to form a more intimate connection), i had said confidentially (as i thought), in reference to a poem that had just appeared,--"between you and me, i do not much admire mr. * *'s poem." the letter being chiefly upon business, was answered through the regular business channel, and, to my dismay, concluded with the following words:--"_we_ are very sorry that you do not approve of mr. * *'s new poem, and are your obedient, &c. &c. l.h.r.o., &c. &c."] * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "march . . "i meaned to write to you before on the subject of your loss[ ]; but the recollection of the uselessness and worthlessness of any observations on such events prevented me. i shall only now add, that i rejoice to see you bear it so well, and that i trust time will enable mrs. m. to sustain it better. every thing should be done to divert and occupy her with other thoughts and cares, and i am sure that all that can be done will. "now to your letter. napoleon--but the papers will have told you all. i quite think with you upon the subject, and for my _real_ thoughts this time last year, i would refer you to the last pages of the journal i gave you. i can forgive the rogue for utterly falsifying every line of mine ode--which i take to be the last and uttermost stretch of human magnanimity. do you remember the story of a certain abbé, who wrote a treatise on the swedish constitution, and proved it indissoluble and eternal? just as he had corrected the last sheet, news came that gustavus iii. had destroyed this immortal government. 'sir,' quoth the abbé, 'the king of sweden may overthrow the _constitution_, but not _my book_!!' i think _of_ the abbé, but not _with_ him. "making every allowance for talent and most consummate daring, there is, after all, a good deal in luck or destiny. he might have been stopped by our frigates--or wrecked in the gulf of lyons, which is particularly tempestuous--or--a thousand things. but he is certainly fortune's favourite, and once fairly set out on his party of pleasure, taking towns at his liking and crowns at his leisure, from elba to lyons and paris he goes, making _balls for_ the ladies, and _bows_ to his foes. you must have seen the account of his driving into the middle of the royal army, and the immediate effect of his pretty speeches. and now if he don't drub the allies, there is 'no purchase in money.' if he can take france by himself, the devil's in 't if he don't repulse the invaders, when backed by those celebrated sworders--those boys of the blade, the imperial guard, and the old and new army. it is impossible not to be dazzled and overwhelmed by his character and career. nothing ever so disappointed me as his abdication, and nothing could have reconciled me to him but some such revival as his recent exploit; though no one could anticipate such a complete and brilliant renovation. "to your question, i can only answer that there have been some symptoms which look a little gestatory. it is a subject upon which i am not particularly anxious, except that i think it would please her uncle, lord wentworth, and her father and mother. the former (lord w.) is now in town, and in very indifferent health. you, perhaps, know that his property, amounting to seven or eight thousand a year, will eventually devolve upon bell. but the old gentleman has been so very kind to her and me, that i hardly know how to wish him in heaven, if he can be comfortable on earth. her father is still in the country. "we mean to metropolise to-morrow, and you will address your next to piccadilly. we have got the duchess of devon's house there, she being in france. "i don't care what power says to secure the property of the song, so that it is _not_ complimentary to me, nor any thing about 'condescending' or '_noble_ author'--both 'vile phrases,' as polonius says. "pray, let me hear from you, and when you mean to be in town. your continental scheme is impracticable for the present. i have to thank you for a longer letter than usual, which i hope will induce you to tax my gratitude still further in the same way. "you never told me about 'longman' and 'next winter,' and i am _not_ a 'mile-stone.'"[ ] [footnote : the death of his infant god-daughter, olivia byron moore.] [footnote : i had accused him of having entirely forgot that, in a preceding letter, i had informed him of my intention to publish with the messrs. longman in the ensuing winter, and added that, in giving him this information, i found i had been--to use an elegant irish metaphor--"whistling jigs to a mile-stone."] * * * * * letter . to mr. coleridge. "piccadilly, march . . "dear sir, "it will give me great pleasure to comply with your request, though i hope there is still taste enough left amongst us to render it almost unnecessary, sordid and interested as, it must be admitted, many of 'the trade' are, where circumstances give them an advantage. i trust you do not permit yourself to be depressed by the temporary partiality of what is called 'the public' for the favourites of the moment; all experience is against the permanency of such impressions. you must have lived to see many of these pass away, and will survive many more--i mean personally, for _poetically_, i would not insult you by a comparison. "if i may be permitted, i would suggest that there never was such an opening for tragedy. in kean, there is an actor worthy of expressing the thoughts of the characters which you have every power of embodying; and i cannot but regret that the part of ordonio was disposed of before his appearance at drury lane. we have had nothing to be mentioned in the same breath with 'remorse' for very many years; and i should think that the reception of that play was sufficient to encourage the highest hopes of author and audience. it is to be hoped that you are proceeding in a career which could not but be successful. with my best respects to mr. bowles, i have the honour to be "your obliged and very obedient servant, "byron. "p.s. you mention my 'satire,' lampoon, or whatever you or others please to call it. i can only say, that it was written when i was very young and very angry, and has been a thorn in my side ever since; more particularly as almost all the persons animadverted upon became subsequently my acquaintances, and some of them my friends, which is 'heaping fire upon an enemy's head,' and forgiving me too readily to permit me to forgive myself. the part applied to you is pert, and petulant, and shallow enough; but, although i have long done every thing in my power to suppress the circulation of the whole thing, i shall always regret the wantonness or generality of many of its attempted attacks." * * * * * it was in the course of this spring that lord byron and sir walter scott became, for the first time, personally acquainted with each other. mr. murray, having been previously on a visit to the latter gentleman, had been intrusted by him with a superb turkish dagger as a present to lord byron; and the noble poet, on their meeting this year in london,--the only time when these two great men had ever an opportunity of enjoying each other's society,--presented to sir walter, in return, a vase containing some human bones that had been dug up from under a part of the old walls of athens. the reader, however, will be much better pleased to have these particulars in the words of sir walter scott himself, who, with that good-nature which renders him no less amiable than he is admirable, has found time, in the midst of all his marvellous labours for the world, to favour me with the following interesting communication:[ ]-- "my first acquaintance with byron began in a manner rather doubtful. i was so far from having any thing to do with the offensive criticism in the edinburgh, that i remember remonstrating against it with our friend, the editor, because i thought the 'hours of idleness' treated with undue severity. they were written, like all juvenile poetry, rather from the recollection of what had pleased the author in others than what had been suggested by his own imagination; but, nevertheless, i thought they contained some passages of noble promise. i was so much impressed with this, that i had thoughts of writing to the author; but some exaggerated reports concerning his peculiarities, and a natural unwillingness to intrude an opinion which was uncalled for, induced me to relinquish the idea. "when byron wrote his famous satire, i had my share of flagellation among my betters. my crime was having written a poem (marmion, i think) for a thousand pounds; which was no otherwise true than that i sold the copy-right for that sum. now, not to mention that an author can hardly be censured for accepting such a sum as the booksellers are willing to give him, especially as the gentlemen of the trade made no complaints of their bargain, i thought the interference with my private affairs was rather beyond the limits of literary satire. on the other hand, lord byron paid me, in several passages, so much more praise than i deserved, that i must have been more irritable than i have ever felt upon such subjects, not to sit down contented, and think no more about the matter. "i was very much struck, with all the rest of the world, at the vigour and force of imagination displayed in the first cantos of childe harold, and the other splendid productions which lord byron flung from him to the public with a promptitude that savoured of profusion. my own popularity, as a poet, was then on the wane, and i was unaffectedly pleased to see an author of so much power and energy taking the field. mr. john murray happened to be in scotland that season, and as i mentioned to him the pleasure i should have in making lord byron's acquaintance, he had the kindness to mention my wish to his lordship, which led to some correspondence. "it was in the spring of that, chancing to be in london, i had the advantage of a personal introduction to lord byron. report had prepared me to meet a man of peculiar habits and a quick temper, and i had some doubts whether we were likely to suit each other in society. i was most agreeably disappointed in this respect. i found lord byron in the highest degree courteous, and even kind. we met, for an hour or two almost daily, in mr. murray's drawing-room, and found a great deal to say to each other. we also met frequently in parties and evening society, so that for about two months i had the advantage of a considerable intimacy with this distinguished individual. our sentiments agreed a good deal, except upon the subjects of religion and politics, upon neither of which i was inclined to believe that lord byron entertained very fixed opinions. i remember saying to him, that i really thought, that if he lived a few years he would alter his sentiments. he answered, rather sharply, 'i suppose you are one of those who prophesy i will turn methodist.' i replied, 'no--i don't expect your conversion to be of such an ordinary kind. i would rather look to see you retreat upon the catholic faith, and distinguish yourself by the austerity of your penances. the species of religion to which you must, or may, one day attach yourself must exercise a strong power on the imagination.' he smiled gravely, and seemed to allow i might be right. "on politics, he used sometimes to express a high strain of what is now called liberalism; but it appeared to me that the pleasure it afforded him as a vehicle of displaying his wit and satire against individuals in office was at the bottom of this habit of thinking, rather than any real conviction of the political principles on which he talked. he was certainly proud of his rank and ancient family, and, in that respect, as much an aristocrat as was consistent with good sense and good breeding. some disgusts, how adopted i know not, seemed to me to have given this peculiar and, as it appeared to me, contradictory cast of mind: but, at heart, i would have termed byron a patrician on principle. "lord byron's reading did not seem to me to have been very extensive either in poetry or history. having the advantage of him in that respect, and possessing a good competent share of such reading as is little read, i was sometimes able to put under his eye objects which had for him the interest of novelty. i remember particularly repeating to him the fine poem of hardyknute, an imitation of the old scottish ballad, with which he was so much affected, that some one who was in the same apartment asked me what i could possibly have been telling byron by which he was so much agitated. i saw byron, for the last time, in , after i returned from france. he dined, or lunched, with me at long's in bond street. i never saw him so full of gaiety and good-humour, to which the presence of mr. mathews, the comedian, added not a little. poor terry was also present. after one of the gayest parties i ever was present at, my fellow-traveller, mr. scott, of gala, and i set off for scotland, and i never saw lord byron again. several letters passed between us--one perhaps every half year. like the old heroes in homer, we exchanged gifts:--i gave byron a beautiful dagger mounted with gold, which had been the property of the redoubted elfi bey. but i was to play the part of diomed, in the iliad, for byron sent me, some time after, a large sepulchral vase of silver. it was full of dead men's bones, and had inscriptions on two sides of the base. one ran thus:--'the bones contained in this urn were found in certain ancient sepulchres within the land walls of athens, in the month of february, .' the other face bears the lines of juvenal: "expende--quot libras in duce summo invenies. --mors sola fatetur quantula hominum corpuscula." juv. x. to these i have added a third inscription, in these words--'the gift of lord byron to walter scott.'[ ] there was a letter with this vase more valuable to me than the gift itself, from the kindness with which the donor expressed himself towards me. i left it naturally in the urn with the bones,--but it is now missing. as the theft was not of a nature to be practised by a mere domestic, i am compelled to suspect the inhospitality of some individual of higher station,--most gratuitously exercised certainly, since, after what i have here said, no one will probably choose to boast of possessing this literary curiosity. "we had a good deal of laughing, i remember, on what the public might be supposed to think, or say, concerning the gloomy and ominous nature of our mutual gifts. "i think i can add little more to my recollections of byron. he was often melancholy,--almost gloomy. when i observed him in this humour, i used either to wait till it went off of its own accord, or till some natural and easy mode occurred of leading him into conversation, when the shadows almost always left his countenance, like the mist rising from a landscape. in conversation he was very animated. "i met with him very frequently in society; our mutual acquaintances doing me the honour to think that he liked to meet with me. some very agreeable parties i can recollect,--particularly one at sir george beaumont's, where the amiable landlord had assembled some persons distinguished for talent. of these i need only mention the late sir humphry davy, whose talents for literature were as remarkable as his empire over science. mr. richard sharpe and mr. rogers were also present. "i think i also remarked in byron's temper starts of suspicion, when he seemed to pause and consider whether there had not been a secret, and perhaps offensive, meaning in something casually said to him. in this case, i also judged it best to let his mind, like a troubled spring, work itself clear, which it did in a minute or two. i was considerably older, you will recollect, than my noble friend, and had no reason to fear his misconstruing my sentiments towards him, nor had i ever the slightest reason to doubt that they were kindly returned on his part. if i had occasion to be mortified by the display of genius which threw into the shade such pretensions as i was then supposed to possess, i might console myself that, in my own case, the materials of mental happiness had been mingled in a greater proportion. "i rummage my brains in vain for what often rushes into my head unbidden,--little traits and sayings which recall his looks, manner, tone, and gestures; and i have always continued to think that a crisis of life was arrived in which a new career of fame was opened to him, and that had he been permitted to start upon it, he would have obliterated the memory of such parts of his life as friends would wish to forget." [footnote : a few passages at the beginning of these recollections have been omitted, as containing particulars relative to lord byron's mother, which have already been mentioned in the early part of this work. among these, however, there is one anecdote, the repetition of which will be easily pardoned, on account of the infinitely greater interest as well as authenticity imparted to its details by coming from such an eye-witness as sir walter scott:--"i remember," he says, "having seen lord byron's mother before she was married, and a certain coincidence rendered the circumstance rather remarkable. it was during mrs. siddons's first or second visit to edinburgh, when the music of that wonderful actress's voice, looks, manner, and person, produced the strongest effect which could possibly be exerted by a human being upon her fellow-creatures. nothing of the kind that i ever witnessed approached it by a hundred degrees. the high state of excitation was aided by the difficulties of obtaining entrance and the exhausting length of time that the audience were contented to wait until the piece commenced. when the curtain fell, a large proportion of the ladies were generally in hysterics. "i remember miss gordon of ghight, in particular, harrowing the house by the desperate and wild way in which she shrieked out mrs. siddons's exclamation, in the character of isabella, 'oh my byron! oh my byron!' a well-known medical gentleman, the benevolent dr. alexander wood, tendered his assistance; but the thick-pressed audience could not for a long time make way for the doctor to approach his patient, or the patient the physician. the remarkable circumstance was, that the lady had not then seen captain byron, who, like sir toby, made her conclude with 'oh!' as she had begun with it."] [footnote : mr. murray had, at the time of giving the vase, suggested to lord byron, that it would increase the value of the gift to add some such inscription; but the feeling of the noble poet on this subject will be understood from the following answer which he returned:-- "april . . "thanks for the books. i have great objection to your proposition about inscribing the vase,--which is, that it would appear _ostentatious_ on my part; and of course i must send it as it is, without any alteration. "yours," &c. ] * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "april . . "lord wentworth died last week. the bulk of his property (from seven to eight thousand per ann.) is entailed on lady milbanke and lady byron. the first is gone to take possession in leicestershire, and attend the funeral, &c. this day. "i have mentioned the facts of the settlement of lord w.'s property, because the newspapers, with their usual accuracy, have been making all kinds of blunders in their statement. his will is just as expected--the principal part settled on lady milbanke (now noel) and bell, and a separate estate left for sale to pay debts (which are not great) and legacies to his natural son and daughter. mrs. * *'s tragedy was last night damned. they may bring it on again, and probably will; but damned it was,--not a word of the last act audible. i went (_malgré_ that i ought to have stayed at home in sackcloth for unc., but i could not resist the _first_ night of any thing) to a private and quiet nook of my private box, and witnessed the whole process. the first three acts, with transient gushes of applause, oozed patiently but heavily on. i must say it was badly acted, particularly by * *, who was groaned upon in the third act,--something about 'horror--such a horror' was the cause. well, the fourth act became as muddy and turbid as need be; but the fifth--what garrick used to call (like a fool) the _concoction_ of a play--the fifth act stuck fast at the king's prayer. you know he says, 'he never went to bed without saying them, and did not like to omit them now.' but he was no sooner upon his knees, than the audience got upon their legs--the damnable pit--and roared, and groaned, and hissed, and whistled. well, that was choked a little; but the ruffian-scene--the penitent peasantry--and killing the bishop and princes--oh, it was all over. the curtain fell upon unheard actors, and the announcement attempted by kean for monday was equally ineffectual. mrs. bartley was so frightened, that, though the people were tolerably quiet, the epilogue was quite inaudible to half the house. in short,--you know all. i clapped till my hands were skinless, and so did sir james mackintosh, who was with me in the box. all the world were in the house, from the jerseys, greys, &c. &c. downwards. but it would not do. it is, after all, not an _acting_ play; good language, but no power. * * * women (saving joanna baillie) cannot write tragedy: they have not seen enough nor felt enough of life for it. i think semiramis or catherine ii. might have written (could they have been unqueened) a rare play. "it is, however, a good warning not to risk or write tragedies. i never had much bent that way; but if i had, this would have cured me. "ever, carissime thom., "thine, b." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "may . . "you must have thought it very odd, not to say ungrateful, that i made no mention of the drawings[ ], &c. when i had the pleasure of seeing you this morning. the fact is, that till this moment i had not seen them, nor heard of their arrival: they were carried up into the library, where i have not been till just now, and no intimation given to me of their coming. the present is so very magnificent, that--in short, i leave lady byron to thank you for it herself, and merely send this to apologise for a piece of apparent and unintentional neglect on my own part. yours," &c. [footnote : mr. murray had presented lady byron with twelve drawings, by stothard, from lord byron's poems.] * * * * * letter . to mr. moore.[ ] " . piccadilly terrace, june . . "i have nothing to offer in behalf of my late silence, except the most inveterate and ineffable laziness; but i am too supine to invent a lie, or i _certainly_ should, being ashamed of the truth. k * *, i hope, has appeased your magnanimous indignation at his blunders. i wished and wish you were in the committee, with all my heart.[ ] it seems so hopeless a business, that the company of a friend would be quite consoling,--but more of this when we meet. in the mean time, you are entreated to prevail upon mrs. esterre to engage herself. i believe she has been written to, but your influence, in person or proxy, would probably go further than our proposals. what they are, i know not; all _my_ new function consists in listening to the despair of cavendish bradshaw, the hopes of kinnaird, the wishes of lord essex, the complaints of whitbread, and the calculations of peter moore,--all of which, and whom, seem totally at variance. c. bradshaw wants to light the theatre with _gas_, which may, perhaps (if the vulgar be believed), poison half the audience, and all the _dramatis personæ_. essex has endeavoured to persuade k * * not to get drunk, the consequence of which is, that he has never been sober since. kinnaird, with equal success, would have convinced raymond, that he, the said raymond, had too much salary. whitbread wants us to assess the pit another sixpence,--a d----d insidious proposition,--which will end in an o.p. combustion. to crown all, r * *, the auctioneer, has the impudence to be displeased, because he has no dividend. the villain is a proprietor of shares, and a long lunged orator in the meetings. i hear he has prophesied our incapacity,--'a foregone conclusion,' whereof i hope to give him signal proofs before we are done. "will you give us an opera? no, i'll be sworn; but i wish you would. "to go on with the poetical world, walter scott has gone back to scotland. murray, the bookseller, has been cruelly cudgelled of misbegotten knaves, 'in kendal green,' at newington butts, in his way home from a purlieu dinner,--and robbed--would you believe it?--of three or four bonds of forty pound a piece, and a seal-ring of his grandfather's, worth a million! this is his version,--but others opine that d'israeli, with whom he dined, knocked him down with his last publication, 'the quarrels of authors,' in a dispute about copyright. be that as it may, the newspapers have teemed with his 'injuria formæ,' and he has been embrocated, and invisible to all but the apothecary ever since. "lady b. is better than three months advanced in her progress towards maternity, and, we hope, likely to go well through with it. we have been very little out this season, as i wish to keep her quiet in her present situation. her father and mother have changed their names to noel, in compliance with lord wentworth's will, and in complaisance to the property bequeathed by him. "i hear that you have been gloriously received by the irish,--and so you ought. but don't let them kill you with claret and kindness at the national dinner in your honour, which, i hear and hope, is in contemplation. if you will tell me the day, i'll get drunk myself on this side of the water, and waft you an applauding hiccup over the channel. "of politics, we have nothing but the yell for war; and c * * h is preparing his head for the pike, on which we shall see it carried before he has done. the loan has made every body sulky. i hear often from paris, but in direct contradiction to the home statements of our hirelings. of domestic doings, there has been nothing since lady d * *. not a divorce stirring,--but a good many in embryo, in the shape of marriages. "i enclose you an epistle received this morning from i know not whom; but i think it will amuse you. the writer must be a rare fellow.[ ] "p.s. a gentleman named d'alton (not your dalton) has sent me a national poem called 'dermid.' the same cause which prevented my writing to you operated against my wish to write to him an epistle of thanks. if you see him, will you make all kinds of fine speeches for me, and tell him that i am the laziest and most ungrateful of mortals? "a word more;--don't let sir john stevenson (as an evidence on trials for copy-right, &c.) talk about the price of your next poem, or they will come upon you for the _property tax_ for it. i am serious, and have just heard a long story of the rascally tax-men making scott pay for his. so, take care. three hundred is a devil of a deduction out of three thousand." [footnote : this and the following letter were addressed to me in ireland, whither i had gone about the middle of the preceding month.] [footnote : he had lately become one of the members of the sub-committee, (consisting, besides himself, of the persons mentioned in this letter,) who had taken upon themselves the management of drury lane theatre; and it had been his wish, on the first construction of the committee, that i should be one of his colleagues. to some mistake in the mode of conveying this proposal to me, he alludes in the preceding sentence.] [footnote : the following is the enclosure here referred to:-- "darlington, june . . "my lord, "i have lately purchased a set of your works, and am quite vexed that you have not cancelled the ode to buonaparte. it certainly was prematurely written, without thought or reflection. providence has now brought him to reign over millions again, while the same providence keeps as it were in a garrison another potentate, who, in the language of mr. burke, 'he hurled from his throne.' see if you cannot make amends for your folly, and consider that, in almost every respect, human nature is the same, in every clime and in every period, and don't act the part of a _foolish boy_.--let not englishmen talk of the stretch of tyrants, while the torrents of blood shed in the east indies cry aloud to heaven for retaliation. learn, good sir, not to cast the first stone. i remain your lordship's servant, "j. r * *." ] * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "july . . "'grata superveniet,' &c. &c. i had written to you again, but burnt the letter, because i began to think you seriously hurt at my indolence, and did not know how the buffoonery it contained might be taken. in the mean time, i have yours, and all is well. "i had given over all hopes of yours. by-the-by, my 'grata superveniet' should be in the present tense; for i perceive it looks now as if it applied to this present scrawl reaching you, whereas it is to the receipt of thy kilkenny epistle that i have tacked that venerable sentiment. "poor whitbread died yesterday morning,--a sudden and severe loss. his health had been wavering, but so fatal an attack was not apprehended. he dropped down, and i believe never spoke afterwards. i perceive perry attributes his death to drury lane,--a consolatory encouragement to the new committee. i have no doubt that * *, who is of a plethoric habit, will be bled immediately; and as i have, since my marriage, lost much of my paleness, and--'horresco referens' (for i hate even _moderate_ fat)--that happy slenderness, to which, when i first knew you, i had attained, i by no means sit easy under this dispensation of the morning chronicle. every one must regret the loss of whitbread; he was surely a great and very good man. "paris is taken for the second time. i presume it, for the future, will have an anniversary capture. in the late battles, like all the world, i have lost a connection,--poor frederick howard, the best of his race. i had little intercourse, of late years, with his family, but i never saw or heard but good of him. hobhouse's brother is killed. in short, the havoc has not left a family out of its tender mercies. "every hope of a republic is over, and we must go on under the old system. but i am sick at heart of politics and slaughters; and the luck which providence is pleased to lavish on lord castlereagh is only a proof of the little value the gods set upon prosperity, when they permit such * * * s as he and that drunken corporal, old blucher, to bully their betters. from this, however, wellington should be excepted. he is a man,--and the scipio of our hannibal. however, he may thank the russian frosts, which destroyed the _real élite_ of the french army, for the successes of waterloo. "la! moore--how you blasphemes about 'parnassus' and 'moses!' i am ashamed for you. won't you do any thing for the drama? we beseech an opera. kinnaird's blunder was partly mine. i wanted you of all things in the committee, and so did he. but we are now glad you were wiser; for it is, i doubt, a bitter business. "when shall we see you in england? sir ralph noel (_late_ milbanke--he don't promise to be _late_ noel in a hurry), finding that one man can't inhabit two houses, has given his place in the north to me for a habitation; and there lady b. threatens to be brought to bed in november. sir r. and my lady mother are to quarter at kirby--lord wentworth's that was. perhaps you and mrs. moore will pay us a visit at seaham in the course of the autumn. if so, you and i (_without_ our _wives_) will take a lark to edinburgh and embrace jeffrey. it is not much above one hundred miles from us. but all this, and other high matters, we will discuss at meeting, which i hope will be on your return. we don't leave town till august. "ever," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. sotheby. "sept. . . piccadilly terrace. "dear sir, "'ivan' is accepted, and will be put in progress on kean's arrival. "the theatrical gentlemen have a confident hope of its success. i know not that any alterations for the stage will be necessary; if any, they will be trifling, and you shall be duly apprised. i would suggest that you should not attend any except the latter rehearsals--the managers have requested me to state this to you. you can see them, viz. dibdin and rae, whenever you please, and i will do any thing you wish to be done on your suggestion, in the mean time. "mrs. mardyn is not yet out, and nothing can be determined till she has made her appearance--i mean as to her capacity for the part you mention, which i take it for granted is not in ivan--as i think ivan may be performed very well without her. but of that hereafter. ever yours, very truly, "byron. "p.s. you will be glad to hear that the season has begun uncommonly well--great and constant houses--the performers in much harmony with the committee and one another, and as much good-humour as can be preserved in such complicated and extensive interests as the drury lane proprietary." * * * * * to mr. sotheby. "september . . "dear sir, "i think it would be advisable for you to see the acting managers when convenient, as there must be points on which you will want to confer; the objection i stated was merely on the part of the performers, and is _general_ and not _particular_ to this instance. i thought it as well to mention it at once--and some of the rehearsals you will doubtless see, notwithstanding. "rae, i rather think, has his eye on naritzin for himself. he is a more popular performer than bartley, and certainly the cast will be stronger with him in it; besides, he is one of the managers, and will feel doubly interested if he can act in both capacities. mrs. bartley will be petrowna;--as to the empress, i know not what to say or think. the truth is, we are not amply furnished with tragic women; but make the best of those we have,--you can take your choice of them. we have all great hopes of the success--on which, setting aside other considerations, we are particularly anxious, as being the first tragedy to be brought out since the old committee. "by the way--i have a charge against you. as the great mr. dennis roared out on a similar occasion--'by g----d, _that_ is _my_ thunder!' so do i exclaim, '_this_ is _my_ lightning!' i allude to a speech of ivan's, in the scene with petrowna and the empress, where the thought and almost expression are similar to conrad's in the d canto of 'the corsair.' i, however, do not say this to accuse you, but to exempt myself from suspicion[ ], as there is a priority of six months' publication, on my part, between the appearance of that composition and of your tragedies. "george lambe meant to have written to you. if you don't like to confer with the managers at present, i will attend to your wishes--so state them. yours very truly, byron." [footnote : notwithstanding this precaution of the poet, the coincidence in question was, but a few years after, triumphantly cited in support of the sweeping charge of plagiarism brought against him by some scribblers. the following are mr. sotheby's lines:-- "and i have leapt in transport from my flinty couch, to welcome the thunder as it burst upon my roof, and beckon'd to the lightning, as it flash'd and sparkled on these fetters." i have since been informed by mr. sotheby that, though not published, these lines had been written long before the appearance of lord byron's poem.] * * * * * letter . to mr. taylor. " . terrace, piccadilly, september . . "dear sir, "i am sorry you should feel uneasy at what has by no means troubled me.[ ] if your editor, his correspondents, and readers, are amused, i have no objection to be the theme of all the ballads he can find room for,--provided his lucubrations are confined to _me_ only. "it is a long time since things of this kind have ceased to 'fright me from my propriety;' nor do i know any similar attack which would induce me to turn again,--unless it involved those connected with me, whose qualities, i hope, are such as to exempt them in the eyes of those who bear no good-will to myself. in such a case, supposing it to occur--to _reverse_ the saying of dr. johnson,--'what the law could not do for me, i would do for myself,' be the consequences what they might. "i return you, with many thanks, colman and the letters. the poems, i hope, you intended me to keep;--at least, i shall do so, till i hear the contrary. very truly yours." [footnote : mr. taylor having inserted in the sun newspaper (of which he was then chief proprietor) a sonnet to lord byron, in return for a present which his lordship had sent him of a handsomely bound copy of all his works, there appeared in the same journal, on the following day (from the pen of some person who had acquired a control over the paper), a parody upon this sonnet, containing some disrespectful allusion to lady byron; and it is to this circumstance, which mr. taylor had written to explain, that the above letter, so creditable to the feelings of the noble husband, refers.] * * * * * to mr. murray. "sept. . . "will you publish the drury lane 'magpie?' or, what is more, will you give fifty, or even forty, pounds for the copyright of the said? i have undertaken to ask you this question on behalf of the translator, and wish you would. we can't get so much for him by ten pounds from any body else, and i, knowing your magnificence, would be glad of an answer. ever," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "september . . "that's right and splendid, and becoming a publisher of high degree. mr. concanen (the translator) will be delighted, and pay his washerwoman; and, in reward for your bountiful behaviour in this instance, i won't ask you to publish any more for drury lane, or any lane whatever, again. you will have no tragedy or any thing else from me, i assure you, and may think yourself lucky in having got rid of me, for good and all, without more damage. but i'll tell you what we will do for you,--act sotheby's ivan, which will succeed; and then your present and next impression of the dramas of that dramatic gentleman will be expedited to your heart's content; and if there is any thing very good, you shall have the refusal; but you sha'n't have any more requests. "sotheby has got a thought, and almost the words, from the third canto of the corsair, which, you know, was published six months before his tragedy. it is from the storm in conrad's cell. i have written to mr. sotheby to claim it; and, as dennis roared out of the pit, 'by g----d, _that's my_ thunder!' so do i, and will i, exclaim, 'by g----d that's _my lightning_!' that electrical fluid being, in fact, the subject of the said passage. "you will have a print of fanny kelly, in the maid, to prefix, which is honestly worth twice the money you have given for the ms. pray what did you do with the note i gave you about mungo park? "ever," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. " . terrace, piccadilly, october . . "you are, it seems, in england again, as i am to hear from every body but yourself; and i suppose you punctilious, because i did not answer your last irish letter. when did you leave the 'swate country?' never mind, i forgive you;--a strong proof of--i know not what--to give the lie to-- 'he never pardons who hath done the wrong.' "you have written to * *. you have also written to perry, who intimates hope of an opera from you. coleridge has promised a tragedy. now, if you keep perry's word, and coleridge keeps his own, drury lane will be set up; and, sooth to say, it is in grievous want of such a lift. we began at speed, and are blown already. when i say 'we,' i mean kinnaird, who is the 'all in all sufficient,' and can count, which none of the rest of the committee can. "it is really very good fun, as far as the daily and nightly stir of these strutters and fretters go; and, if the concern could be brought to pay a shilling in the pound, would do much credit to the management. mr. ---- has an accepted tragedy * * * * *, whose first scene is in his sleep (i don't mean the author's). it was forwarded to us as a prodigious favourite of kean's; but the said kean, upon interrogation, denies his eulogy, and protests against his part. how it will end, i know not. "i say so much about the theatre, because there is nothing else alive in london at this season. all the world are out of it, except us, who remain to lie in,--in december, or perhaps earlier. lady b. is very ponderous and prosperous, apparently, and i wish it well over. "there is a play before me from a personage who signs himself 'hibernicus.' the hero is malachi, the irishman and king; and the villain and usurper, turgesius, the dane. the conclusion is fine. turgesius is chained by the leg (_vide_ stage direction) to a pillar on the stage; and king malachi makes him a speech, not unlike lord castlereagh's about the balance of power and the lawfulness of legitimacy, which puts turgesius into a frenzy--as castlereagh's would, if his audience was chained by the leg. he draws a dagger and rushes at the orator; but, finding himself at the end of his tether, he sticks it into his own carcass, and dies, saying, he has fulfilled a prophecy. "now, this is _serious downright matter of fact_, and the gravest part of a tragedy which is not intended for burlesque. i tell it you for the honour of ireland. the writer hopes it will be represented:--but what is hope? nothing but the paint on the face of existence; the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of. i am not sure that i have not said this last superfine reflection before. but never mind;--it will do for the tragedy of turgesius, to which i can append it. "well, but how dost thou do? thou bard not of a thousand but three thousand! i wish your friend, sir john piano-forte, had kept that to himself, and not made it public at the trial of the song-seller in dublin. i tell you why: it is a liberal thing for longman to do, and honourable for you to obtain; but it will set all the 'hungry and dinnerless, lank-jawed judges' upon the fortunate author. but they be d----d!--the 'jeffrey and the moore together are confident against the world in ink!' by the way, if poor c * * e--who is a man of wonderful talent, and in distress[ ], and about to publish two vols. of poesy and biography, and who has been worse used by the critics than ever we were--will you, if he comes out, promise me to review him favourably in the e.r.? praise him i think you must, but you will also praise him _well_,--of all things the most difficult. it will be the making of him. "this must be a secret between you and me, as jeffrey might not like such a project;--nor, indeed, might c. himself like it. but i do think he only wants a pioneer and a sparkle or two to explode most gloriously. ever yours most affectionately, b. "p.s. this is a sad scribbler's letter; but the next shall be 'more of this world.'" [footnote : it is but justice both to "him that gave and him that took" to mention that the noble poet, at this time, with a delicacy which enhanced the kindness, advanced to the eminent person here spoken of, on the credit of some work he was about to produce, one hundred pounds.] * * * * * as, after this letter, there occur but few allusions to his connection with the drury lane management, i shall here avail myself of the opportunity to give some extracts from his "detached thoughts," containing recollections of his short acquaintance with the interior of the theatre. "when i belonged to the drury lane committee, and was one of the sub-committee of management, the number of _plays_ upon the shelves were about _five_ hundred. conceiving that amongst these there must be _some_ of merit, in person and by proxy i caused an investigation. i do not think that of those which i saw there was one which could be conscientiously tolerated. there never were such things as most of them! mathurin was very kindly recommended to me by walter scott, to whom i had recourse, firstly, in the hope that he would do something for us himself; and, secondly, in my despair, that he would point out to us any young (or old) writer of promise. mathurin sent his bertram and a letter _without_ his address, so that at first i could give him no answer. when i at last hit upon his residence, i sent him a favourable answer and something more substantial. his play succeeded; but i was at that time absent from england. "i tried coleridge too; but he had nothing feasible in hand at the time. mr. sotheby obligingly offered _all_ his tragedies, and i pledged myself, and notwithstanding many squabbles with my committed brethren, did get 'ivan' accepted, read, and the parts distributed. but, lo! in the very heart of the matter, upon some _tepid_ness on the part of kean, or warmth on that of the author, sotheby withdrew his play. sir j.b. burgess did also present four tragedies and a farce, and i moved green-room and sub-committee, but they would not. "then the scenes i had to go through!--the authors, and the authoresses, and the milliners, and the wild irishmen,--the people from brighton, from blackwall; from chatham, from cheltenham, from dublin, from dundee,--who came in upon me! to all of whom it was proper to give a civil answer, and a hearing, and a reading. mrs. * * * *'s father, an irish dancing-master of sixty years, calling upon me to request to play archer, dressed in silk stockings on a frosty morning to show his legs (which were certainly good and irish for his age, and had been still better,)--miss emma somebody, with a play entitled 'the bandit of bohemia,' or some such title or production,--mr. o'higgins, then resident at richmond, with an irish tragedy, in which the unities could not fail to be observed, for the protagonist was chained by the leg to a pillar during the chief part of the performance. he was a wild man, of a salvage appearance, and the difficulty of _not_ laughing at him was only to be got over by reflecting upon the probable consequences of such cachinnation. "as i am really a civil and polite person, and _do_ hate giving pain when it can be avoided, i sent them up to douglas kinnaird,--who is a man of business, and sufficiently ready with a negative,--and left them to settle with him; and as the beginning of next year i went abroad, i have since been little aware of the progress of the theatres. "players are said to be an impracticable people. they are so; but i managed to steer clear of any disputes with them, and excepting one debate[ ] with the elder byrne about miss smith's _pas de_--(something--i forget the technicals,)--i do not remember any litigation of my own. i used to protect miss smith, because she was like lady jane harley in the face, and likenesses go a great way with me. indeed, in general, i left such things to my more bustling colleagues, who used to reprove me seriously for not being able to take such things in hand without buffooning with the histrions, or throwing things into confusion by treating light matters with levity. "then the committee!--then the sub-committee!--we were but few, but never agreed. there was peter moore who contradicted kinnaird, and kinnaird who contradicted every body: then our two managers, rae and dibdin; and our secretary, ward! and yet we were all very zealous and in earnest to do good and so forth. * * * * furnished us with prologues to our revived old english plays; but was not pleased with me for complimenting him as 'the upton' of our theatre (mr. upton is or was the poet who writes the songs for astley's), and almost gave up prologuing in consequence. "in the pantomime of - there was a representation of the masquerade of given by 'us youth' of watier's club to wellington and co. douglas kinnaird and one or two others, with myself, put on masks, and went on the stage with the [greek: hoi polloi], to see the effect of a theatre from the stage:--it is very grand. douglas danced among the figuranti too, and they were puzzled to find out who we were, as being more than their number. it was odd enough that douglas kinnaird and i should have been both at the _real_ masquerade, and afterwards in the mimic one of the same, on the stage of drury lane theatre." [footnote : a correspondent of one of the monthly miscellanies gives the following account of this incident:-- "during lord byron's administration, a ballet was invented by the elder byrne, in which miss smith (since mrs. oscar byrne) had a _pas seul_. this the lady wished to remove to a later period in the ballet. the ballet-master refused, and the lady swore she would not dance it at all. the music incidental to the dance began to play, and the lady walked off the stage. both parties flounced into the green-room to lay the case before lord byron, who happened to be the only person in that apartment. the noble committee-man made an award in favour of miss smith, and both complainants rushed angrily out of the room at the instant of my entering it. 'if you had come a minute sooner,' said lord byron, 'you would have heard a curious matter decided on by me: a question of dancing!--by me,' added he, looking down at the lame limb, 'whom nature from my birth has prohibited from taking a single step.' his countenance fell after he had uttered this, as if he had said too much; and for a moment there was an embarrassing silence on both sides."] * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "terrace, piccadilly, october . . "i have not been able to ascertain precisely the time of duration of the stock market; but i believe it is a good time for selling out, and i hope so. first, because i shall see you; and, next, because i shall receive certain monies on behalf of lady b., the which will materially conduce to my comfort,--i wanting (as the duns say) 'to make up a sum.' "yesterday, i dined out with a large-ish party, where were sheridan and colman, harry harris of c. g, and his brother, sir gilbert heathcote, ds. kinnaird, and others, of note and notoriety. like other parties of the kind, it was first silent, then talky, then argumentative, then disputatious, then unintelligible, then altogethery, then inarticulate, and then drunk. when we had reached the last step of this glorious ladder, it was difficult to get down again without stumbling; and to crown all, kinnaird and i had to conduct sheridan down a d----d corkscrew staircase, which had certainly been constructed before the discovery of fermented liquors, and to which no legs, however crooked, could possibly accommodate themselves. we deposited him safe at home, where his man, evidently used to the business, waited to receive him in the hall. "both he and colman were, as usual, very good; but i carried away much wine, and the wine had previously carried away my memory; so that all was hiccup and happiness for the last hour or so, and i am not impregnated with any of the conversation. perhaps you heard of a late answer of sheridan to the watchman who found him bereft of that 'divine particle of air,' called reason, * * *. he, the watchman, who found sherry in the street, fuddled and bewildered, and almost insensible. 'who are _you_, sir? '--no answer. 'what's your name?'--a hiccup. 'what's your name?'--answer, in a slow, deliberate and impassive tone--'wilberforce!!!' is not that sherry all over?--and, to my mind, excellent. poor fellow, _his_ very dregs are better than the 'first sprightly runnings' of others. "my paper is full, and i have a grievous headach. "p.s. lady b. is in full progress. next month will bring to light (with the aid of 'juno lucina, _fer opem_,' or rather _opes_, for the last are most wanted,) the tenth wonder of the world--gil blas being the eighth, and he (my son's father) the ninth." * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "november . . "had you not bewildered my head with the 'stocks,' your letter would have been answered directly. hadn't i to go to the city? and hadn't i to remember what to ask when i got there? and hadn't i forgotten it? "i should be undoubtedly delighted to see you; but i don't like to urge against your reasons my own inclinations. come you must soon, for stay you _won't_. i know you of old;--you have been too much leavened with london to keep long out of it. "lewis is going to jamaica to suck his sugar canes. he sails in two days; i enclose you his farewell note. i saw him last night at d.l.t. for the last time previous to his voyage. poor fellow! he is really a good man--an excellent man--he left me his walking-stick and a pot of preserved ginger. i shall never eat the last without tears in my eyes, it is so _hot_. we have had a devil of a row among our ballerinas. miss smith has been wronged about a hornpipe. the committee have interfered; but byrne, the d----d ballet master, won't budge a step, _i_ am furious, so is george lamb. kinnaird is very glad, because--he don't know why; and i am very sorry, for the same reason. to-day i dine with kd.--we are to have sheridan and colman again; and to-morrow, once more, at sir gilbert heathcote's. "leigh hunt has written a _real good_ and _very original poem_, which i think will be a great hit. you can have no notion how very well it is written, nor should i, had i not redde it. as to us, tom--eh, when art thou out? if you think the verses worth it, i would rather they were embalmed in the irish melodies, than scattered abroad in a separate song--much rather. but when are thy great things out? i mean the po of pos--thy shah nameh. it is very kind in jeffrey to like the hebrew melodies. some of the fellows here preferred sternhold and hopkins, and said so;--'the fiend receive their souls therefor!' "i must go and dress for dinner. poor, dear murat, what an end! you know, i suppose, that his white plume used to be a rallying point in battle, like henry iv.'s. he refused a confessor and a bandage; so would neither suffer his soul or body to be bandaged. you shall have more to-morrow or next day. "ever," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "november . . "when you have been enabled to form an opinion on mr. coleridge's ms.[ ] you will oblige me by returning it, as, in fact, i have no authority to let it out of my hands. i think most highly of it, and feel anxious that you should be the publisher; but if you are not, i do not despair of finding those who will. "i have written to mr. leigh hunt, stating your willingness to treat with him, which, when i saw you, i understood you to be. terms and time, i leave to his pleasure and your discernment; but this i will say, that i think it the _safest_ thing you ever engaged in. i speak to you as a man of business; were i to talk to you as a reader or a critic, i should say it was a very wonderful and beautiful performance, with just enough of fault to make its beauties more remarked and remarkable. "and now to the last--my own, which i feel ashamed of after the others:--publish or not as you like, i don't care _one damn_. if _you_ don't, no one else shall, and i never thought or dreamed of it, except as one in the collection. if it is worth being in the fourth volume, put it there and nowhere else; and if not, put it in the fire. yours, n." [footnote : a tragedy entitled, i think, zopolia.] * * * * * those embarrassments which, from a review of his affairs previous to the marriage, he had clearly foreseen would, before long, overtake him, were not slow in realising his worst omens. the increased expenses induced by his new mode of life, with but very little increase of means to meet them,--the long arrears of early pecuniary obligations, as well as the claims which had been, gradually, since then, accumulating, all pressed upon him now with collected force, and reduced him to some of the worst humiliations of poverty. he had been even driven, by the necessity of encountering such demands, to the trying expedient of parting with his books,--which circumstance coming to mr. murray's ears, that gentleman instantly forwarded to him _l._, with an assurance that another sum of the same amount should be at his service in a few weeks, and that if such assistance should not be sufficient, mr. murray was most ready to dispose of the copyrights of all his past works for his use. this very liberal offer lord byron acknowledged in the following letter:-- letter . to mr. murray. "november . . "i return you your bills not accepted, but certainly not _unhonoured_. your present offer is a favour which i would accept from you, if i accepted such from any man. had such been my intention, i can assure you i would have asked you fairly, and as freely as you would give; and i cannot say more of my confidence or your conduct. "the circumstances which induce me to part with my books, though sufficiently, are not _immediately_, pressing. i have made up my mind to them, and there's an end. "had i been disposed to trespass on your kindness in this way, it would have been before now; but i am not sorry to have an opportunity of declining it, as it sets my opinion of you, and indeed of human nature, in a different light from that in which i have been accustomed to consider it. "believe me very truly," &c. * * * * * to mr. murray. "december . . "i send some lines, written some time ago, and intended as an opening to 'the siege of corinth.' i had forgotten them, and am not sure that they had not better be left out now:--on that, you and your synod can determine. yours," &c. * * * * * the following are the lines alluded to in this note. they are written in the loosest form of that rambling style of metre which his admiration of mr. coleridge's "christabel" led him, at this time, to adopt; and he judged rightly, perhaps, in omitting them as the opening of his poem. they are, however, too full of spirit and character to be lost. though breathing the thick atmosphere of piccadilly when he wrote them, it is plain that his fancy was far away, among the sunny hills and vales of greece; and their contrast with the tame life he was leading at the moment, but gave to his recollections a fresher spring and force. "in the year since jesus died for men, eighteen hundred years and ten, we were a gallant company, riding o'er land, and sailing o'er sea. oh! but we went merrily! we forded the river, and clomb the high hill, never our steeds for a day stood still; whether we lay in the cave or the shed, our sleep fell soft on the hardest bed; whether we couch'd in our rough capote, on the rougher plank of our gliding boat, or stretch'd on the beach, or our saddles spread as a pillow beneath the resting head, fresh we woke upon the morrow: all our thoughts and words had scope, we had health, and we had hope, toil and travel, but no sorrow. we were of all tongues and creeds;-- some were those who counted beads, some of mosque, and some of church, and some, or i mis-say, of neither; yet through the wide world might ye search nor find a mother crew nor blither. "but some are dead, and some are gone, and some are scatter'd and alone, and some are rebels on the hills[ ] that look along epirus' valleys where freedom still at moments rallies, and pays in blood oppression's ills: and some are in a far countree, and some all restlessly at home; but never more, oh! never, we shall meet to revel and to roam. but those hardy days flew cheerily; and when they now fall drearily, my thoughts, like swallows, skim the main and bear my spirit back again over the earth, and through the air, a wild bird, and a wanderer. 'tis this that ever wakes my strain, and oft, too oft, implores again the few who may endure my lay, to follow me so far away. "stranger--wilt thou follow now, and sit with me on acro-corinth's brow?" [footnote : "the last tidings recently heard of dervish (one of the arnaouts who followed me) state him to be in revolt upon the mountains, at the head of some of the bands common in that country in times of trouble."] * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "january . . "i hope mrs. m. is quite re-established. the little girl was born on the th of december last; her name is augusta _ada_ (the second a very antique family name,--i believe not used since the reign of king john). she was, and is, very flourishing and fat, and reckoned very large for her days--squalls and sucks incessantly. are you answered? her mother is doing very well, and up again. "i have now been married a year on the second of this month--heigh-ho! i have seen nobody lately much worth noting, except s * * and another general of the gauls, once or twice at dinners out of doors. s * * is a fine, foreign, villanous-looking, intelligent, and very agreeable man; his compatriot is more of the _petit-maître_, and younger, but i should think not at all of the same intellectual calibre with the corsican--which s * *, you know, is, and a cousin of napoleon's. "are you never to be expected in town again? to be sure, there is no one here of the fillers of hot-rooms, called the fashionable world. my approaching papa-ship detained us for advice, &c. &c. though i would as soon be here as any where else on this side of the straits of gibraltar. "i would gladly--or, rather, sorrowfully--comply with your request of a dirge for the poor girl you mention.[ ] but how can i write on one i have never seen or known? besides, you will do it much better yourself. i could not write upon any thing, without some personal experience and foundation; far less on a theme so peculiar. now, you have both in this case; and, if you had neither, you have more imagination, and would never fail. "this is but a dull scrawl, and i am but a dull fellow. just at present, i am absorbed in contradictory contemplations, though with but one object in view--which will probably end in nothing, as most things we wish do. but never mind,--as somebody says, 'for the blue sky bends over all.' i only could be glad, if it bent over me where it is a little bluer; like the 'skyish top of blue olympus,' which, by the way, looked very white when i last saw it. "ever," &c. [footnote : i had mentioned to him, as a subject worthy of his best powers of pathos, a melancholy event which had just occurred in my neighbourhood, and to which i have myself made allusion in one of the sacred melodies--"weep not for her."] * * * * * on reading over the foregoing letter, i was much struck by the tone of melancholy that pervaded it; and well knowing it to be the habit of the writer's mind to seek relief, when under the pressure of any disquiet or disgust, in that sense of freedom which told him that there were homes for him elsewhere, i could perceive, i thought, in his recollections of the "blue olympus," some return of the restless and roving spirit, which unhappiness or impatience always called up in his mind. i had, indeed, at the time when he sent me those melancholy verses, "there's not a joy this world can give," &c. felt some vague apprehensions as to the mood into which his spirits then seemed to be sinking, and, in acknowledging the receipt of the verses, thus tried to banter him out of it:--"but why thus on your stool of melancholy again, master stephen?--this will never do--it plays the deuce with all the matter-of-fact duties of life, and you must bid adieu to it. youth is the only time when one can be melancholy with impunity. as life itself grows sad and serious we have nothing for it but--to be as much as possible the contrary." my absence from london during the whole of this year had deprived me of all opportunities of judging for myself how far the appearances of his domestic state gave promise of happiness; nor had any rumours reached me which at all inclined me to suspect that the course of his married life hitherto exhibited less smoothness than such unions,--on the surface, at least,--generally wear. the strong and affectionate terms in which, soon after the marriage, he had, in some of the letters i have given, declared his own happiness--a declaration which his known frankness left me no room to question--had, in no small degree, tended to still those apprehensions which my first view of the lot he had chosen for himself awakened. i could not, however, but observe that these indications of a contented heart soon ceased. his mention of the partner of his home became more rare and formal, and there was observable, i thought, through some of his letters a feeling of unquiet and weariness that brought back all those gloomy anticipations with which i had, from the first, regarded his fate. this last letter of his, in particular, struck me as full of sad omen, and, in the course of my answer, i thus noticed to him the impression it had made on me:--"and so you are a whole year married!-- 'it was last year i vow'd to thee that fond impossibility.' do you know, my dear b., there was a something in your last letter--a sort of unquiet mystery, as well as a want of your usual elasticity of spirits--which has hung upon my mind unpleasantly ever since. i long to be near you, that i might know how you really look and feel; for these letters tell nothing, and one word, _a quattr'occhi_, is worth whole reams of correspondence. but only _do_ tell me you are happier than that letter has led me to fear, and i shall be satisfied." * * * * * it was in a few weeks after this latter communication between us that lady byron adopted the resolution of parting from him. she had left london about the middle of january, on a visit to her father's house, in leicestershire, and lord byron was, in a short time after, to follow her. they had parted in the utmost kindness,--she wrote him a letter, full of playfulness and affection, on the road, and, immediately on her arrival at kirkby mallory, her father wrote to acquaint lord byron that she would return to him no more. at the time when he had to stand this unexpected shock, his pecuniary embarrassments, which had been fast gathering around him during the whole of the last year (there having been no less than eight or nine executions in his house within that period), had arrived at their utmost; and at a moment when, to use his own strong expressions, he was "standing alone on his hearth, with his household gods shivered around him," he was also doomed to receive the startling intelligence that the wife who had just parted with him in kindness, had parted with him--for ever. about this time the following note was written:-- to mr. rogers. "february . . "do not mistake me--i really returned your book for the reason assigned, and no other. it is too good for so careless a fellow. i have parted with all my own books, and positively won't deprive you of so valuable 'a drop of that immortal man.' "i shall be very glad to see you, if you like to call, though i am at present contending with 'the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,' some of which have struck at me from a quarter whence i did not indeed expect them--but, no matter, 'there is a world elsewhere,' and i will cut my way through this as i can. "if you write to moore, will you tell him that i shall answer his letter the moment i can muster time and spirits? ever yours, "bn." * * * * * the rumours of the separation did not reach me till more than a week afterwards, when i immediately wrote to him thus:--"i am most anxious to hear from you, though i doubt whether i ought to mention the subject on which i am so anxious. if, however, what i heard last night, in a letter from town, be true, you will know immediately what i allude to, and just communicate as much or as little upon the subject as you think proper;--only _something_ i should like to know, as soon as possible, from yourself, in order to set my mind at rest with respect to the truth or falsehood of the report." the following is his answer:-- letter . to mr. moore. "february . . "i have not answered your letter for a time; and, at present, the reply to part of it might extend to such a length, that i shall delay it till it can be made in person, and then i will shorten it as much as i can. "in the mean time, i am at war 'with all the world and his wife;' or rather, 'all the world and _my_ wife' are at war with me, and have not yet crushed me,--whatever they _may_ do. i don't know that in the course of a hair-breadth existence i was ever, at home or abroad, in a situation so completely uprooting of present pleasure, or rational hope for the future, as this same. i say this, because i think so, and feel it. but i shall not sink under it the more for that mode of considering the question--i have made up my mind. "by the way, however, you must not believe all you hear on the subject; and don't attempt to defend me. if you succeeded in that, it would be a mortal, or an immortal, offence--who can bear refutation? i have but a very short answer for those whom it concerns; and all the activity of myself and some vigorous friends have not yet fixed on any tangible ground or personage, on which or with whom i can discuss matters, in a summary way, with a fair pretext;--though i nearly had _nailed one_ yesterday, but he evaded by--what was judged by others--a satisfactory explanation. i speak of _circulators_--against whom i have no enmity, though i must act according to the common code of usage, when i hit upon those of the serious order. "now for other matters--poesy, for instance. leigh hunt's poem is a devilish good one--quaint, here and there, but with the substratum of originality, and with poetry about it, that will stand the test. i do not say this because he has inscribed it to me, which i am sorry for, as i should otherwise have begged you to review it in the edinburgh.[ ] it is really deserving of much praise, and a favourable critique in the e.r. would but do it justice, and set it up before the public eye where it ought to be. "how are you? and where? i have not the most distant idea what i am going to do myself, or with myself--or where--or what. i had, a few weeks ago, some things to say that would have made you laugh; but they tell me now that i must not laugh, and so i have been very serious--and am. "i have not been very well--with a _liver_ complaint--but am much better within the last fortnight, though still under iatrical advice. i have latterly seen a little of * * * * "i must go and dress to dine. my little girl is in the country, and, they tell me, is a very fine child, and now nearly three months old. lady noel (my mother-in-law, or, rather, _at_ law) is at present overlooking it. her daughter (miss milbanke that was) is, i believe, in london with her father. a mrs. c. (now a kind of housekeeper and spy of lady n.'s) who, in her better days, was a washerwoman, is supposed to be--by the learned--very much the occult cause of our late domestic discrepancies. "in all this business, i am the sorriest for sir ralph. he and i are equally punished, though _magis pares quam similes_ in our affliction. yet it is hard for both to suffer for the fault of one, and so it is--i shall be separated from my wife; he will retain his. "ever," &c. [footnote : my reply to this part of his letter was, i find, as follows:--"with respect to hunt's poem, though it is, i own, full of beauties, and though i like himself sincerely, i really could not undertake to praise it _seriously_. there is so much of the _quizzible_ in all he writes, that i never can put on the proper pathetic face in reading him."] * * * * * in my reply to this letter, written a few days after, there is a passage which (though containing an opinion it might have been more prudent, perhaps, to conceal,) i feel myself called upon to extract on account of the singularly generous avowal,--honourable alike to both the parties in this unhappy affair,--which it was the means of drawing from lord byron. the following are my words:--"i am much in the same state as yourself with respect to the subject of your letter, my mind being so full of things which i don't know how to write about, that _i_ too must defer the greater part of them till we meet in may, when i shall put you fairly on your trial for all crimes and misdemeanors. in the mean time, you will not be at a loss for judges, nor executioners either, if they could have their will. the world, in their generous ardour to take what they call the weaker side, soon contrive to make it most formidably the strongest. most sincerely do i grieve at what has happened. it has upset all my wishes and theories as to the influence of marriage on your life; for, instead of bringing you, as i expected, into something like a regular orbit, it has only cast you off again into infinite space, and left you, i fear, in a far worse state than it found you. as to defending you, the only person with whom i have yet attempted this task is myself; and, considering the little i know upon the subject, (or rather, perhaps, _owing_ to this cause,) i have hitherto done it with very tolerable success. after all, your _choice_ was the misfortune. i never liked,--but i'm here wandering into the [greek: aporrêta], and so must change the subject for a far pleasanter one, your last new poems, which," &c. &c. the return of post brought me the following answer, which, while it raises our admiration of the generous candour of the writer, but adds to the sadness and strangeness of the whole transaction. * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "march . . "i rejoice in your promotion as chairman and charitable steward, &c. &c. these be dignities which await only the virtuous. but then, recollect you are _six_ and _thirty_, (i speak this enviously--not of your age, but the 'honour--love--obedience--troops of friends,' which accompany it,) and i have eight years good to run before i arrive at such hoary perfection; by which time,--if i _am_ at all[ ],--it will probably be in a state of grace or progressing merits. "i must set you right in one point, however. the fault was _not_--no, nor even the misfortune--in my 'choice' (unless in _choosing at all_)--for i do not believe--and i must say it, in the very dregs of all this bitter business--that there ever was a better, or even a brighter, a kinder, or a more amiable and agreeable being than lady b. i never had, nor can have, any reproach to make her, while with me. where there is blame, it belongs to myself, and, if i cannot redeem, i must bear it. "her nearest relatives are a * * * *--my circumstances have been and are in a state of great confusion--my health has been a _good_ deal disordered, and my mind ill at ease for a considerable period. such are the causes (i do not name them as excuses) which have frequently driven me into excess, and disqualified my temper for comfort. something also may be attributed to the strange and desultory habits which, becoming my own master at an early age, and scrambling about, over and through the world, may have induced. i still, however, think that, if i had had a fair chance, by being placed in even a tolerable situation, i might have gone on fairly. but that seems hopeless,--and there is nothing more to be said. at present--except my health, which is better (it is odd, but agitation or contest of any kind gives a rebound to my spirits and sets me up for the time)--i have to battle with all kinds of unpleasantnesses, including private and pecuniary difficulties, &c. &c. "i believe i may have said this before to you, but i risk repeating it. it is nothing to bear the _privations_ of adversity, or, more properly, ill fortune; but my pride recoils from its _indignities_. however, i have no quarrel with that same pride, which will, i think, buckler me through every thing. if my heart could have been broken, it would have been so years ago, and by events more afflicting than these. "i agree with you (to turn from this topic to our shop) that i have written too much. the last things were, however, published very reluctantly by me, and for reasons i will explain when we meet. i know not why i have dwelt so much on the same scenes, except that i find them fading, or _confusing_ (if such a word may be) in my memory, in the midst of present turbulence and pressure, and i felt anxious to stamp before the die was worn out. i now break it. with those countries, and events connected with them, all my really poetical feelings begin and end. were i to try, i could make nothing of any other subject, and that i have apparently exhausted. 'wo to him,' says voltaire, 'who says all he could say on any subject.' there are some on which, perhaps, i could have said still more: but i leave them all, and too soon. "do you remember the lines i sent you early last year, which you still have? i don't wish (like mr. fitzgerald, in the morning post) to claim the character of 'vates' in all its translations, but were they not a little prophetic? i mean those beginning, 'there's not a joy the world can,' &c. &c., on which i rather pique myself as being the truest, though the most melancholy, i ever wrote. "what a scrawl have i sent you! you say nothing of yourself, except that you are a lancasterian churchwarden, and an encourager of mendicants. when are you out? and how is your family? my child is very well and flourishing, i hear; but i must see also. i feel no disposition to resign it to the contagion of its grandmother's society, though i am unwilling to take it from the mother. it is weaned, however, and something about it must be decided. ever," &c. [footnote : this sad doubt,--"if i _am_ at all,"--becomes no less singular than sad when we recollect that six and thirty was actually the age when he ceased to "be," and at a moment, too, when (as even the least friendly to him allow) he was in that state of "progressing merits" which he here jestingly anticipates.] * * * * * having already gone so far in laying open to my readers some of the sentiments which i entertained, respecting lord byron's marriage, at a time when, little foreseeing that i should ever become his biographer, i was, of course, uninfluenced by the peculiar bias supposed to belong to that task, it may still further, perhaps, be permitted me to extract from my reply to the foregoing letter some sentences of explanation which its contents seemed to me to require. "i had certainly no right to say any thing about the unluckiness of your choice, though i rejoice now that i did, as it has drawn from you a tribute which, however unaccountable and mysterious it renders the whole affair, is highly honourable to both parties. what i meant in hinting a doubt with respect to the object of your selection did not imply the least impeachment of that perfect amiableness which the world, i find, by common consent, allows to her. i only feared that she might have been too perfect--too _precisely_ excellent--too matter-of-fact a paragon for you to coalesce with comfortably; and that a person whose perfection hung in more easy folds about her, whose brightness was softened down by some of 'those fair defects which best conciliate love,' would, by appealing more dependently to your protection, have stood a much better chance with your good nature. all these suppositions, however, i have been led into by my intense anxiety to acquit you of any thing like a capricious abandonment of such a woman[ ]; and, totally in the dark as i am with respect to all but the fact of your separation, you cannot conceive the solicitude, the fearful solicitude, with which i look forward to a history of the transaction from your own lips when we meet,--a history in which i am sure of, at least, _one_ virtue--manly candour." [footnote : it will be perceived from this that i was as yet unacquainted with the true circumstances of the transaction.] * * * * * with respect to the causes that may be supposed to have led to this separation, it seems needless, with the characters of both parties before our eyes, to go in quest of any very remote or mysterious reasons to account for it. i have already, in some observations on the general character of men of genius, endeavoured to point out those peculiarities, both in disposition and habitudes, by which, in the far greater number of instances, they have been found unfitted for domestic happiness. of these defects, (which are, as it were, the shadow that genius casts, and too generally, it is to be feared, in proportion to its stature,) lord byron could not, of course, fail to have inherited his share, in common with all the painfully-gifted class to which he belonged. how thoroughly, with respect to one attribute of this temperament which he possessed,--one, that "sicklies o'er" the face of happiness itself,--he was understood by the person most interested in observing him, will appear from the following anecdote, as related by himself.[ ] "people have wondered at the melancholy which runs through my writings. others have wondered at my personal gaiety. but i recollect once, after an hour in which i had been sincerely and particularly gay and rather brilliant, in company, my wife replying to me when i said (upon her remarking my high spirits), 'and yet, bell, i have been called and miscalled melancholy--you must have seen how falsely, frequently?'--'no, byron,' she answered, 'it is not so: at heart you are the most melancholy of mankind; and often when apparently gayest.'" to these faults and sources of faults inherent, in his own sensitive nature, he added also many of those which a long indulgence of self-will generates,--the least compatible, of all others, (if not softened down, as they were in him, by good nature,) with that system of mutual concession and sacrifice by which the balance of domestic peace is maintained. when we look back, indeed, to the unbridled career, of which this marriage was meant to be the goal,--to the rapid and restless course in which his life had run along, like a burning train, through a series of wanderings, adventures, successes, and passions, the fever of all which was still upon him, when, with the same headlong recklessness, he rushed into this marriage,--it can but little surprise us that, in the space of one short year, he should not have been able to recover all at once from his bewilderment, or to settle down into that tame level of conduct which the close observers of his every action required. as well might it be expected that a steed like his own mazeppa's, "wild as the wild deer and untaught, with spur and bridle undefiled-- 'twas but a day he had been caught," should stand still, when reined, without chafing or champing the bit. even had the new condition of life into which he passed been one of prosperity and smoothness, some time, as well as tolerance, must still have been allowed for the subsiding of so excited a spirit into rest. but, on the contrary, his marriage (from the reputation, no doubt, of the lady, as an heiress,) was, at once, a signal for all the arrears and claims of a long-accumulating state of embarrassment to explode upon him;--his door was almost daily beset by duns, and his house nine times during that year in possession of bailiffs[ ]; while, in addition to these anxieties and--what he felt still more--indignities of poverty, he had also the pain of fancying, whether rightly or wrongly, that the eyes of enemies and spies were upon him, even under his own roof, and that his every hasty word and look were interpreted in the most perverting light. as, from the state of their means, his lady and he saw but little society, his only relief from the thoughts which a life of such embarrassment brought with it was in those avocations which his duty, as a member of the drury lane committee, imposed upon him. and here,--in this most unlucky connection with the theatre,--one of the fatalities of his short year of trial, as husband, lay. from the reputation which he had previously acquired for gallantries, and the sort of reckless and boyish levity to which--often in very "bitterness of soul"--he gave way, it was not difficult to bring suspicion upon some of those acquaintances which his frequent intercourse with the green-room induced him to form, or even (as, in one instance, was the case,) to connect with his name injuriously that of a person to whom he had scarcely ever addressed a single word. notwithstanding, however, this ill-starred concurrence of circumstances, which might have palliated any excesses either of temper or conduct into which they drove him, it was, after all, i am persuaded, to no such serious causes that the unfortunate alienation, which so soon ended in disunion, is to be traced. "in all the marriages i have ever seen," says steele, "most of which have been unhappy ones, the great cause of evil has proceeded from slight occasions;" and to this remark, i think, the marriage under our consideration would not be found, upon enquiry, to be an exception. lord byron himself, indeed, when at cephalonia, a short time before his death, seems to have expressed, in a few words, the whole pith of the mystery. an english gentleman with whom he was conversing on the subject of lady byron, having ventured to enumerate to him the various causes he had heard alleged for the separation, the noble poet, who had seemed much amused with their absurdity and falsehood, said, after listening to them all,--"the causes, my dear sir, were too simple to be easily found out." in truth, the circumstances, so unexampled, that attended their separation,--the last words of the parting wife to the husband being those of the most playful affection, while the language of the deserted husband towards the wife was in a strain, as the world knows, of tenderest eulogy,--are in themselves a sufficient proof that, at the time of their parting, there could have been no very deep sense of injury on either side. it was not till afterwards that, in both bosoms, the repulsive force came into operation,--when, to the party which had taken the first decisive step in the strife, it became naturally a point of pride to persevere in it with dignity, and this unbendingness provoked, as naturally, in the haughty spirit of the other, a strong feeling of resentment which overflowed, at last, in acrimony and scorn. if there be any truth, however, in the principle, that they "never pardon who have done the wrong," lord byron, who was, to the last, disposed to reconciliation, proved so far, at least, his conscience to have been unhaunted by any very disturbing consciousness of aggression. but though it would have been difficult, perhaps, for the victims of this strife, themselves, to have pointed out any single, or definite, cause for their disunion,--beyond that general incompatibility which is the canker of all such marriages,--the public, which seldom allows itself to be at a fault on these occasions, was, as usual, ready with an ample supply of reasons for the breach,--all tending to blacken the already darkly painted character of the poet, and representing him, in short, as a finished monster of cruelty and depravity. the reputation of the object of his choice for every possible virtue, (a reputation which had been, i doubt not, one of his own chief incentives to the marriage, from the vanity, reprobate as he knew he was deemed, of being able to win such a paragon,) was now turned against him by his assailants, not only in the way of contrast with his own character, but as if the excellences of the wife were proof positive of every enormity they chose to charge upon the husband. meanwhile, the unmoved silence of the lady herself, (from motives, it is but fair to suppose, of generosity and delicacy,) under the repeated demands made for a specification of her charges against him, left to malice and imagination the fullest range for their combined industry. it was accordingly stated, and almost universally believed, that the noble lord's second proposal to miss milbanke had been but with a view to revenge himself for the slight inflicted by her refusal of the first, and that he himself had confessed so much to her on their way from church. at the time when, as the reader has seen from his own honey-moon letters, he was, with all the good will in the world, imagining himself into happiness, and even boasting, in the pride of his fancy, that if marriage were to be upon _lease_, he would gladly renew his own for a term of ninety-nine years,--at this very time, according to these veracious chroniclers, he was employed in darkly following up the aforesaid scheme of revenge, and tormenting his lady by all sorts of unmanly cruelties,--such as firing off pistols, to frighten her as she lay in bed[ ], and other such freaks. to the falsehoods concerning his green-room intimacies, and particularly with respect to one beautiful actress, with whom, in reality, he had hardly ever exchanged a single word, i have already adverted; and the extreme confidence with which this tale was circulated and believed affords no unfair specimen of the sort of evidence with which the public, in all such fits of moral wrath, is satisfied. it is, at the same time, very far from my intention to allege that, in the course of the noble poet's intercourse with the theatre, he was not sometimes led into a line of acquaintance and converse, unbefitting, if not dangerous to, the steadiness of married life. but the imputations against him on this head were (as far as affected his conjugal character) not the less unfounded,--as the sole case in which he afforded any thing like _real_ grounds for such an accusation did not take place till _after_ the period of the separation. not content with such ordinary and tangible charges, the tongue of rumour was emboldened to proceed still further; and, presuming upon the mysterious silence maintained by one of the parties, ventured to throw out dark hints and vague insinuations, of which the fancy of every hearer was left to fill up the outline as he pleased. in consequence of all this exaggeration, such an outcry was now raised against lord byron as, in no case of private life, perhaps, was ever before witnessed; nor had the whole amount of fame which he had gathered, in the course of the last four years, much exceeded in proportion the reproach and obloquy that were now, within the space of a few weeks, showered upon him. in addition to the many who, no doubt, conscientiously believed and reprobated what they had but too much right, whether viewing him as poet or man of fashion, to consider credible excesses, there were also actively on the alert that large class of persons who seem to hold violence against the vices of others to be equivalent to virtue in themselves, together with all those natural haters of success who, having long sickened under the splendour of the _poet_, were now enabled, in the guise of champions for innocence, to wreak their spite on the _man_. in every various form of paragraph, pamphlet, and caricature, both his character and person were held up to odium[ ];--hardly a voice was raised, or at least listened to, in his behalf; and though a few faithful friends remained unshaken by his side, the utter hopelessness of stemming the torrent was felt as well by them as by himself, and, after an effort or two to gain a fair hearing, they submitted in silence. among the few attempts made by himself towards confuting his calumniators was an appeal (such as the following short letter contains) to some of those persons with whom he had been in the habit of living familiarly. [footnote : ms.--"detached thoughts."] [footnote : an anecdote connected with one of these occasions is thus related in the journal just referred to:-- "when the bailiff (for i have seen most kinds of life) came upon me in to seize my chattels, (being a peer of parliament, my person was beyond him,) being curious (as is my habit), i first asked him "what extents elsewhere he had for government?" upon which he showed me one upon _one house only_ for _seventy thousand pounds_! next i asked him if he had nothing for sheridan? "oh--sheridan!" said he; "ay, i have this" (pulling out a pocket-book, &c.); "but, my lord, i have been in sheridan's house a twelvemonth at a time--a civil gentleman--knows how to deal with _us_," &c. &c. &c. our own business was then discussed, which was none of the easiest for me at that time. but the man was civil, and (what i valued more) communicative. i had met many of his brethren, years before, in affairs of my friends, (commoners, that is,) but this was the first (or second) on my own account.--a civil man; fee'd accordingly; probably he anticipated as much."] [footnote : for this story, however, there was so far a foundation that the practice to which he had accustomed himself from boyhood, of having loaded pistols always near him at night, was considered so strange a propensity as to be included in that list of symptoms (sixteen, i believe, in number,) which were submitted to medical opinion, in proof of his insanity. another symptom was the emotion, almost to hysterics, which he had exhibited on seeing kean act sir giles overreach. but the most plausible of all the grounds, as he himself used to allow, on which these articles of impeachment against his sanity were drawn up, was an act of violence committed by him on a favourite old watch that had been his companion from boyhood, and had gone with him to greece. in a fit of vexation and rage, brought on by some of those humiliating embarrassments to which he was now almost daily a prey, he furiously dashed this watch upon the hearth, and ground it to pieces among the ashes with the poker.] [footnote : of the abuse lavished upon him, the following extract from a poem, published at this time, will give some idea:-- "from native england, that endured too long the ceaseless burden of his impious song; his mad career of crimes and follies run, and grey in vice, when life was scarce begun; he goes, in foreign lands prepared to find a life more suited to his guilty mind; where other climes new pleasures may supply for that pall'd taste, and that unhallow'd eye;-- wisely he seeks some yet untrodden shore, for those who know him less may prize him more." in a rhyming pamphlet, too, entitled "a poetical epistle from delia, addressed to lord byron," the writer thus charitably expresses herself:-- "hopeless of peace below, and, shuddering thought! far from that heav'n, denied, if never sought, thy light a beacon--a reproach thy name-- thy memory "damn'd to everlasting fame," shunn'd by the wise, admired by fools alone-- the good shall mourn thee--and the muse disown." ] * * * * * letter . to mr. rogers. "march . . "you are one of the few persons with whom i have lived in what is called intimacy, and have heard me at times conversing on the untoward topic of my recent family disquietudes. will you have the goodness to say to me at once, whether you ever heard me speak of her with disrespect, with unkindness, or defending myself at _her_ expense by any serious imputation of any description against _her_? did you never hear me say 'that when there was a right or a wrong, she had the _right_?'--the reason i put these questions to you or others of my friends is, because i am said, by her and hers, to have resorted to such means of exculpation. "ever very truly yours, "b." * * * * * in those memoirs (or, more properly, memoranda,) of the noble poet, which it was thought expedient, for various reasons, to sacrifice, he gave a detailed account of all the circumstances connected with his marriage, from the first proposal to the lady till his own departure, after the breach, from england. in truth, though the title of "memoirs," which he himself sometimes gave to that manuscript, conveys the idea of a complete and regular piece of biography, it was to this particular portion of his life that the work was principally devoted; while the anecdotes, having reference to other parts of his career, not only occupied a very disproportionate space in its pages, but were most of them such as are found repeated in the various journals and other mss. he left behind. the chief charm, indeed, of that narrative, was the melancholy playfulness--melancholy, from the wounded feeling so visible through its pleasantry--with which events unimportant and persons uninteresting, in almost every respect but their connection with such a man's destiny, were detailed and described in it. frank, as usual, throughout, in his avowal of his own errors, and generously just towards her who was his fellow-sufferer in the strife, the impression his recital left on the minds of all who perused it was, to say the least, favourable to him;--though, upon the whole, leading to a persuasion, which i have already intimated to be my own, that, neither in kind nor degree, did the causes of disunion between the parties much differ from those that loosen the links of most such marriages. with respect to the details themselves, though all important in his own eyes at the time, as being connected with the subject that superseded most others in his thoughts, the interest they would possess for others, now that their first zest as a subject of scandal is gone by, and the greater number of the persons to whom they relate forgotten, would be too slight to justify me in entering upon them more particularly, or running the risk of any offence that might be inflicted by their disclosure. as far as the character of the illustrious subject of these pages is concerned, i feel that time and justice are doing far more in its favour than could be effected by any such gossiping details. during the lifetime of a man of genius, the world is but too much inclined to judge of him rather by what he wants than by what he possesses, and even where conscious, as in the present case, that his defects are among the sources of his greatness, to require of him unreasonably the one without the other. if pope had not been splenetic and irritable, we should have wanted his satires; and an impetuous temperament, and passions untamed, were indispensable to the conformation of a poet like byron. it is by posterity only that full justice is rendered to those who have paid such hard penalties to reach it. the dross that had once hung about the ore drops away, and the infirmities, and even miseries, of genius are forgotten in its greatness. who now asks whether dante was right or wrong in his matrimonial differences? or by how many of those whose fancies dwell fondly on his beatrice is even the name of his gemma donati remembered? already, short as has been the interval since lord byron's death, the charitable influence of time in softening, if not rescinding, the harsh judgments of the world against genius is visible. the utter unreasonableness of trying such a character by ordinary standards, or of expecting to find the materials of order and happiness in a bosom constantly heaving forth from its depths such "lava floods," is--now that big spirit has passed from among us--felt and acknowledged. in reviewing the circumstances of his marriage, a more even scale of justice is held; and while every tribute of sympathy and commiseration is accorded to her, who, unluckily for her own peace, became involved in such a destiny,--who, with virtues and attainments that would have made the home of a more ordinary man happy, undertook, in evil hour, to "turn and wind a fiery pegasus," and but failed where it may be doubted whether even the fittest for such a task would have succeeded,--full allowance is, at the same time, made for the great martyr of genius himself, whom so many other causes, beside that restless fire within him, concurred to unsettle in mind and (as he himself feelingly expresses it) "disqualify for comfort;"--whose doom it was to be either thus or less great, and whom to have tamed might have been to extinguish; there never, perhaps, having existed an individual to whom, whether as author or man, the following line was more applicable:-- "si non errâsset, fecerat ille minus."[ ] while these events were going on,--events, of which his memory and heart bore painfully the traces through the remainder of his short life,--some occurrences took place, connected with his literary history, to which it is a relief to divert the attention of the reader from the distressing subject that has now so long detained us. the letter that follows was in answer to one received from mr. murray, in which that gentleman had enclosed him a draft for a thousand guineas for the copyright of his two poems, the siege of corinth and parisina:-- * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "january . . "your offer is _liberal_ in the extreme, (you see i use the word _to_ you and _of_ you, though i would not consent to your using it of yourself to mr. * * * *,) and much more than the two poems can possibly be worth; but i cannot accept it, nor will not. you are most welcome to them as additions to the collected volumes, without any demand or expectation on my part whatever. but i cannot consent to their separate publication. i do not like to risk any fame (whether merited or not), which i have been favoured with, upon compositions which i do not feel to be at all equal to my own notions of what they should be, (and as i flatter myself some _have been_, here and there,) though they may do very well as things without pretension, to add to the publication with the lighter pieces. "i am very glad that the handwriting was a favourable omen of the _morale_ of the piece: but you must not trust to that, for my copyist would write out any thing i desired in all the ignorance of innocence--i hope, however, in this instance, with no great peril to either. "p.s. i have enclosed your draft _torn_, for fear of accidents by the way--i wish you would not throw temptation in mine. it is not from a disdain of the universal idol, nor from a present superfluity of his treasures, i can assure you, that i refuse to worship him; but what is right is right, and must not yield to circumstances." [footnote : had he not _erred_, he had far less achieved.] * * * * * notwithstanding the ruinous state of his pecuniary affairs, the resolution which the poet had formed not to avail himself of the profits of his works still continued to be held sacred by him; and the sum thus offered for the copyright of the siege of corinth and parisina was, as we see, refused and left untouched in the publisher's hands. it happened that, at this time, a well-known and eminent writer on political science had been, by some misfortune, reduced to pecuniary embarrassment; and the circumstance having become known to mr. rogers and sir james mackintosh, it occurred to them that a part of the sum thus unappropriated by lord byron could not be better bestowed than in relieving the necessities of this gentleman. the suggestion was no sooner conveyed to the noble poet than he proceeded to act upon it; and the following letter to mr. rogers refers to his intentions:-- letter . to mr. rogers. "february . . "i wrote to you hastily this morning by murray, to say that i was glad to do as mackintosh and you suggested about mr. * *. it occurs to me now, that as i have never seen mr. * * but once, and consequently have no claim to his acquaintance, that you or sir j. had better arrange it with him in such a manner as may be least offensive to his feelings, and so as not to have the appearance of officiousness nor obtrusion on my part. i hope you will be able to do this, as i should be very sorry to do any thing by him that may be deemed indelicate. the sum murray offered and offers was and is one thousand and fifty pounds:--this i refused before, because i thought it more than the two things were worth to murray, and from other objections, which are of no consequence. i have, however, closed with m., in consequence of sir j.'s and your suggestion, and propose the sum of six hundred pounds to be transferred to mr. * * in such a manner as may seem best to your friend,--the remainder i think of for other purposes. "as murray has offered the money down for the copyrights, it may be done directly. i am ready to sign and seal immediately, and perhaps it had better not be delayed. i shall feel very glad if it can be of any use to * *; only don't let him be plagued, nor think himself obliged and all that, which makes people hate one another, &c. yours, very truly, "b." * * * * * in his mention here of other "purposes," he refers to an intention which he had of dividing the residue of the sum between two other gentlemen of literary celebrity, equally in want of such aid, mr. maturin and mr. * *. the whole design, however, though entered into with the utmost sincerity on the part of the noble poet, ultimately failed. mr. murray, who was well acquainted with the straits to which lord byron himself had been reduced, and foresaw that a time might come when even money thus gained would be welcome to him, on learning the uses to which the sum was to be applied, demurred in advancing it,--alleging that, though bound not only by his word but his will to pay the amount to lord byron, he did not conceive himself called upon to part with it to others. how earnestly the noble poet himself, though with executions, at the time, impending over his head, endeavoured to urge the point, will appear from the following letter:-- letter . to mr. murray. "february . . "when the sum offered by you, and even _pressed_ by you, was declined, it was with reference to a separate publication, as you know and i know. that it was large, i admitted and admit; and _that_ made part of my consideration in refusing it, till i knew better what you were likely to make of it. with regard to what is past, or is to pass, about mr. m * *, the case is in no respect different from the transfer of former copyrights to mr. dallas. had i taken you at your word, that is, taken your money, i might have used it as i pleased; and it could be in no respect different to you whether i paid it to a w----, or a hospital, or assisted a man of talent in distress. the truth of the matter seems this: you offered more than the poems are worth. i _said_ so, and i _think_ so; but you know, or at least ought to know, your own business best; and when you recollect what passed between you and me upon pecuniary subjects before this occurred, you will acquit me of any wish to take advantage of your imprudence. "the things in question shall not be published at all, and there is an end of the matter. "yours," &c. * * * * * the letter that follows will give some idea of those embarrassments in his own affairs, under the pressure of which he could be thus considerate of the wants of others. letter . to mr. murray. "march . . "i sent to you to-day for this reason--the books you purchased are again seized, and, as matters stand, had much better be sold at once by public auction.[ ] i wish to see you to return your bill for them, which, thank god, is neither due nor paid. _that_ part, as far as _you_ are concerned, being settled, (which it can be, and shall be, when i see you to-morrow,) i have no further delicacy about the matter. this is about the tenth execution in as many months; so i am pretty well hardened; but it is fit i should pay the forfeit of my forefathers' extravagance and my own; and whatever my faults may be, i suppose they will be pretty well expiated in time--or eternity. ever, &c. "p.s. i need hardly say that i knew nothing till this _day_ of the new _seizure_. i had released them from former ones, and thought, when you took them, that they were yours. "you shall have your bill again to-morrow." [footnote : the sale of these books took place the following month, and they were described in the catalogue as the property of "a nobleman about to leave england on a tour." from a note to mr. murray, it would appear that he had been first announced as going to the morea. "i hope that the catalogue of the books, &c., has not been published without my seeing it. i must reserve several, and many ought not to be printed. the advertisement is a very bad one. i am not going to the morea; and if i was, you might as well advertise a man in russia _as going to yorkshire_.--ever," &c. together with the books was sold an article of furniture, which is now in the possession of mr. murray, namely, "a large screen covered with portraits of actors, pugilists, representations of boxing-matches," &c.] * * * * * during the month of january and part of february, his poems of the siege of corinth and parisina were in the hands of the printers, and about the end of the latter month made their appearance. the following letters are the only ones i find connected with their publication. letter . to mr. murray. "february . . "i sent for 'marmion,' which i return, because it occurred to me, there might be a resemblance between part of 'parisina' and a similar scene in canto d of 'marmion.' i fear there is, though i never thought of it before, and could hardly wish to imitate that which is inimitable. i wish you would ask mr. gifford whether i ought to say any thing upon it;--i had completed the story on the passage from gibbon, which indeed leads to a like scene naturally, without a thought of the kind: but it comes upon me not very comfortably. "there are a few words and phrases i want to alter in the ms., and should like to do it before you print, and will return it in an hour. "yours ever." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "february . . "to return to our business--your epistles are vastly agreeable. with regard to the observations on carelessness, &c. i think, with all humility, that the gentle reader has considered a rather uncommon, and designedly irregular, versification for haste and negligence. the measure is not that of any of the other poems, which (i believe) were allowed to be tolerably correct, according to byshe and the fingers--or ears--by which bards write, and readers reckon. great part of 'the siege' is in (i think) what the learned call anapests, (though i am not sure, being heinously forgetful of my metres and my 'gradus',) and many of the lines intentionally longer or shorter than its rhyming companion; and rhyme also occurring at greater or less intervals of caprice or convenience. "i mean not to say that this is right or good, but merely that i could have been smoother, had it appeared to me of advantage; and that i was not otherwise without being aware of the deviation, though i now feel sorry for it, as i would undoubtedly rather please than not. my wish has been to try at something different from my former efforts; as i endeavoured to make them differ from each other. the versification of 'the corsair' is not that of 'lara;' nor 'the giaour' that of 'the bride;' childe harold is again varied from these; and i strove to vary the last somewhat from _all_ of the others. "excuse all this d----d nonsense and egotism. the fact is, that i am rather trying to think on the subject of this note, than really thinking on it.--i did not know you had called: you are always admitted and welcome when you choose. "yours, &c. &c. "p.s. you need not be in any apprehension or grief on my account: were i to be beaten down by the world and its inheritors, i should have succumbed to many things, years ago. you must not mistake my _not_ bullying for dejection; nor imagine that because i feel, i am to faint:--but enough for the present. "i am sorry for sotheby's row. what the devil is it about? i thought it all settled; and if i can do any thing about him or ivan still, i am ready and willing. i do not think it proper for me just now to be much behind the scenes, but i will see the committee and move upon it, if sotheby likes. "if you see mr. sotheby, will you tell him that i wrote to mr. coleridge, on getting mr. sotheby's note, and have, i hope, done what mr. s. wished on that subject?" * * * * * it was about the middle of april that his two celebrated copies of verses, "fare thee well," and "a sketch," made their appearance in the newspapers:--and while the latter poem was generally and, it must be owned, justly condemned, as a sort of literary assault on an obscure female, whose situation ought to have placed her as much _beneath_ his satire as the undignified mode of his attack certainly raised her _above_ it, with regard to the other poem, opinions were a good deal more divided. to many it appeared a strain of true conjugal tenderness, a kind of appeal, which no woman with a heart could resist: while by others, on the contrary, it was considered to be a mere showy effusion of sentiment, as difficult for real feeling to have produced as it was easy for fancy and art, and altogether unworthy of the deep interests involved in the subject. to this latter opinion, i confess my own to have, at first, strongly inclined; and suspicious as i could not help regarding the sentiment that could, at such a moment, indulge in such verses, the taste that prompted or sanctioned their publication appeared to me even still more questionable. on reading, however, his own account of all the circumstances in the memoranda, i found that on both points i had, in common with a large portion of the public, done him injustice. he there described, and in a manner whose sincerity there was no doubting, the swell of tender recollections under the influence of which, as he sat one night musing in his study, these stanzas were produced,--the tears, as he said, falling fast over the paper as he wrote them. neither, from that account, did it appear to have been from any wish or intention of his own, but through the injudicious zeal of a friend whom he had suffered to take a copy, that the verses met the public eye. the appearance of these poems gave additional violence to the angry and inquisitorial feeling now abroad against him; and the title under which both pieces were immediately announced by various publishers, as "poems by lord byron on his domestic circumstances," carried with it a sufficient exposure of the utter unfitness of such themes for rhyme. it is, indeed, only in those emotions and passions, of which imagination forms a predominant ingredient,--such as love, in its first dreams, before reality has come to embody or dispel them, or sorrow, in its wane, when beginning to pass away from the heart into the fancy,--that poetry ought ever to be employed as an interpreter of feeling. for the expression of all those immediate affections and disquietudes that have their root in the actual realities of life, the art of the poet, from the very circumstance of its being an art, as well as from the coloured form in which it is accustomed to transmit impressions, cannot be otherwise than a medium as false as it is feeble. to so very low an ebb had the industry of his assailants now succeeded in reducing his private character, that it required no small degree of courage, even among that class who are supposed to be the most tolerant of domestic irregularities, to invite him into their society. one distinguished lady of fashion, however, ventured so far as, on the eve of his departure from england, to make a party for him expressly; and nothing short, perhaps, of that high station in society which a life as blameless as it is brilliant has secured to her, could have placed beyond all reach of misrepresentation, at that moment, such a compliment to one marked with the world's censure so deeply. at this assembly of lady j * *'s he made his last appearance, publicly, in england; and the amusing account given of some of the company in his memoranda,--of the various and characteristic ways in which the temperature of their manner towards him was affected by the cloud under which he now appeared,--was one of the passages of that memoir it would have been most desirable, perhaps, to have preserved; though, from being a gallery of sketches, all personal and many satirical, but a small portion of it, if any, could have been presented to the public till a time when the originals had long left the scene, and any interest they might once have excited was gone with themselves. besides the noble hostess herself, whose kindness to him, on this occasion, he never forgot, there was also one other person (then miss m * *, now lady k * *,) whose frank and fearless cordiality to him on that evening he most gratefully commemorated,--adding, in acknowledgment of a still more generous service, "she is a high-minded woman, and showed me more friendship than i deserved from her. i heard also of her having defended me in a large company, which _at that time_ required more courage and firmness than most women possess." * * * * * as we are now approaching so near the close of his london life, i shall here throw together the few remaining recollections of that period with which the gleanings of his memorandum-book, so often referred to, furnish me. "i liked the dandies; they were always very civil to _me_, though in general they disliked literary people, and persecuted and mystified madame de staël, lewis, * * * *, and the like, damnably. they persuaded madame de staël that a * * had a hundred thousand a year, &c. &c., till she praised him to his _face_ for his _beauty_! and made a set at him for * *, and a hundred fooleries besides. the truth is, that, though i gave up the business early, i had a tinge of dandyism[ ] in my minority, and probably retained enough of it to conciliate the great ones at five-and-twenty. i had gamed, and drank, and taken my degrees in most dissipations, and having no pedantry, and not being overbearing, we ran quietly together. i knew them all more or less, and they made me a member of watier's (a superb club at that time), being, i take it, the only literary man (except _two others_, both men of the world, moore and spenser,) in it. our masquerade[ ] was a grand one; so was the dandy-ball too, at the argyle, but _that_ (the latter) was given by the four chiefs, b., m., a., and p., if i err not. "i was a member of the alfred, too, being elected while in greece. it was pleasant; a little too sober and literary, and bored with * * and sir francis d'ivernois; but one met peel, and ward, and valentia, and many other pleasant or known people; and it was, upon the whole, a decent resource in a rainy day, in a dearth of parties, or parliament, or in an empty season. "i belonged, or belong, to the following clubs or societies:--to the alfred; to the cocoa tree; to watier's; to the union; to racket's (at brighton); to the pugilistic; to the owls, or "fly-by-night;" to the _cambridge_ whig club; to the harrow club, cambridge; and to one or two private clubs; to the hampden (political) club; and to the italian carbonari, &c. &c., 'though last, _not least_.' i got into all these, and never stood for any other--at least to my own knowledge. i declined being proposed to several others, though pressed to stand candidate." * * * * "when i met h * * l * *, the gaoler, at lord holland's, before he sailed for st. helena, the discourse turned upon the battle of waterloo. i asked him whether the dispositions of napoleon were those of a great general? he answered, disparagingly, 'that they were very simple.' i had always thought that a degree of simplicity was an ingredient of greatness." * * * * "i was much struck with the simplicity of grattan's manners in private life; they were odd, but they were natural. curran used to take him off, bowing to the very ground, and 'thanking god that he had no peculiarities of gesture or appearance,' in a way irresistibly ludicrous; and * * used to call him a 'sentimental harlequin.'" * * * * "curran! curran's the man who struck me most[ ]. such imagination! there never was any thing like it that ever i saw or heard of. his _published_ life--his published speeches, give you _no_ idea of the man--none at all. he was a _machine_ of imagination, as some one said that piron was an epigrammatic machine. "i did not see a great deal of curran--only in ; but i met him at home (for he used to call on me), and in society, at mackintosh's, holland house, &c. &c. and he was wonderful even to me, who had seen many remarkable men of the time." * * * * "* * * (commonly called _long_ * * *, a very clever man, but odd) complained of our friend scrope b. davies, in riding, that he had a _stitch_ in his side. 'i don't wonder at it,' said scrope, 'for you ride _like a tailor_.' whoever had seen * * * on horseback, with his very tall figure on a small nag, would not deny the justice of the repartee." * * * * "when b * * was obliged (by that affair of poor m * *, who thence acquired the name of 'dick the dandy-killer'--it was about money, and debt, and all that) to retire to france, he knew no french, and having obtained a grammar for the purpose of study, our friend scrope davies was asked what progress brummell had made in french; he responded, 'that brummell had been stopped, like buonaparte in russia, by the elements.' "i have put this pun into beppo, which is 'a fair exchange and no robbery; for scrope made his fortune at several dinners (as he owned himself) by repeating occasionally, as his own, some of the buffooneries with which i had encountered him in the morning." * * * * "* * * is a good man, rhymes well (if not wisely), but is a bore. he seizes you by the button. one night of a rout, at mrs. hope's, he had fastened upon me, notwithstanding my symptoms of manifest distress, (for i was in love, and had just nicked a minute when neither mothers, nor husbands, nor rivals, nor gossips, were near my then idol, who was beautiful as the statues of the gallery where we stood at the time,)--* * *, i say, had seized upon me by the button and the heart-strings, and spared neither. w. spencer, who likes fun, and don't dislike mischief, saw my case, and coming up to us both, took me by the hand, and pathetically bade me farewell; 'for,' said he, 'i see it is all over with you.' * * * then went away. _sic me servavit apollo._" * * * * "i remember seeing blucher in the london assemblies, and never saw any thing of his age less venerable. with the voice and manners of a recruiting sergeant, he pretended to the honours of a hero,--just as if a stone could be worshipped because a man had stumbled over it." [footnote : petrarch was, it appears, also in his youth, a dandy. "recollect," he says, in a letter to his brother, "the time, when we wore white habits, on which the least spot, or a plait ill placed, would have been a subject of grief; when our shoes were so tight we suffered martyrdom," &c.] [footnote : to this masquerade he went in the habit of a caloyer, or eastern monk,--a dress particularly well calculated to set off the beauty of his fine countenance, which was accordingly, that night, the subject of general admiration.] [footnote : in his memoranda there were equally enthusiastic praises of curran. "the riches," said he, "of his irish imagination were exhaustless. i have heard that man speak more poetry than i have ever seen written,--though i saw him seldom and but occasionally. i saw him presented to madame de staël at mackintosh's;--it was the grand confluence between the rhone and the saone, and they were both so d----d ugly, that i could not help wondering how the best intellects of france and ireland could have taken up respectively such residences." in another part, however, he was somewhat more fair to madame de staël's personal appearance:--"her figure was not bad; her legs tolerable; her arms good. altogether, i can conceive her having been a desirable woman, allowing a little imagination for her soul, and so forth. she would have made a great man."] * * * * * we now approach the close of this eventful period of his history. in a note to mr. rogers, written a short time before his departure for ostend[ ], he says,--"my sister is now with me, and leaves town to-morrow: we shall not meet again for some time, at all events--if ever; and, under these circumstances, i trust to stand excused to you and mr. sheridan for being unable to wait upon him this evening." this was his last interview with his sister,--almost the only person from whom he now parted with regret; it being, as he said, doubtful _which_ had given him most pain, the enemies who attacked or the friends who condoled with him. those beautiful and most tender verses, "though the day of my destiny's over," were now his parting tribute to her[ ] who, through all this bitter trial, had been his sole consolation; and, though known to most readers, so expressive are they of his wounded feelings at this crisis, that there are few, i think, who will object to seeing some stanzas of them here. "though the rock of my last hope is shiver'd, and its fragments are sunk in the wave, though i feel that my soul is deliver'd to pain--it shall not be its slave. there is many a pang to pursue me: they may crush, but they shall not contemn-- they may torture, but shall not subdue me-- 'tis of _thee_ that i think--not of them. "though human, thou didst not deceive me, though woman, thou didst not forsake, though lov'd, thou forborest to grieve me, though slander'd, thou never couldst shake, though trusted, thou didst not disclaim me, though parted, it was not to fly, though watchful, 'twas not to defame me, nor mute, that the world might belie. "from the wreck of the past, which hath perish'd, thus much i at least may recall, it hath taught me that what i most cherish'd deserved to be dearest of all: in the desert a fountain is springing, in the wide waste there still is a tree, and a bird in the solitude singing, which speaks to my spirit of _thee_. on a scrap of paper, in his handwriting, dated april . , i find the following list of his attendants, with an annexed outline of his projected tour:--"_servants_, ---- berger, a swiss, william fletcher, and robert rushton.--john william polidori, m.d.--switzerland, flanders, italy, and (perhaps) france." the two english servants, it will be observed, were the same "yeoman" and "page" who had set out with him on his youthful travels in ; and now,--for the second and last time taking leave of his country,--on the th of april he sailed for ostend. the circumstances under which lord byron now took leave of england were such as, in the case of any ordinary person, could not be considered otherwise than disastrous and humiliating. he had, in the course of one short year, gone through every variety of domestic misery;--had seen his hearth eight or nine times profaned by the visitations of the law, and been only saved from a prison by the privileges of his rank. he had alienated, as far as they had ever been his, the affections of his wife; and now, rejected by her, and condemned by the world, was betaking himself to an exile which had not even the dignity of appearing voluntary, as the excommunicating voice of society seemed to leave him no other resource. had he been of that class of unfeeling and self-satisfied natures from whose hard surface the reproaches of others fall pointless, he might have found in insensibility a sure refuge against reproach; but, on the contrary, the same sensitiveness that kept him so awake to the applauses of mankind, rendered him, in a still more intense degree, alive to their censure. even the strange, perverse pleasure which he felt in painting himself unamiably to the world did not prevent him from being both startled and pained when the world took him at his word; and, like a child in a mask before a looking-glass, the dark semblance which he had, half in sport, put on, when reflected back upon him from the mirror of public opinion, shocked even himself. thus surrounded by vexations, and thus deeply feeling them, it is not too much to say, that any other spirit but his own would have sunk under the struggle, and lost, perhaps irrecoverably, that level of self-esteem which alone affords a stand against the shocks of fortune. but in him,--furnished as was his mind with reserves of strength, waiting to be called out,--the very intensity of the pressure brought relief by the proportionate re-action which it produced. had his transgressions and frailties been visited with no more than their due portion of punishment, there can be little doubt that a very different result would have ensued. not only would such an excitement have been insufficient to waken up the new energies still dormant in him, but that consciousness of his own errors, which was for ever livelily present in his mind, would, under such circumstances, have been left, undisturbed by any unjust provocation, to work its usual softening and, perhaps, humbling influences on his spirit. but,--luckily, as it proved, for the further triumphs of his genius,--no such moderation was exercised. the storm of invective raised around him, so utterly out of proportion with his offences, and the base calumnies that were every where heaped upon his name, left to his wounded pride no other resource than in the same summoning up of strength, the same instinct of resistance to injustice, which had first forced out the energies of his youthful genius, and was now destined to give a still bolder and loftier range to its powers. it was, indeed, not without truth, said of him by goethe, that he was inspired by the genius of pain; for, from the first to the last of his agitated career, every fresh recruitment of his faculties was imbibed from that bitter source. his chief incentive, when a boy, to distinction was, as we have seen, that mark of deformity on his person, by an acute sense of which he was first stung into the ambition of being great.[ ] as, with an evident reference to his own fate, he himself describes the feeling,-- "deformity is daring. it is its essence to o'ertake mankind by heart and soul, and make itself the equal,-- ay, the superior of the rest. there is a spur in its halt movements, to become all that the others cannot, in such things as still are free to both, to compensate for stepdame nature's avarice at first."[ ] then came the disappointment of his youthful passion,--the lassitude and remorse of premature excess,--the lone friendlessness of his entrance into life, and the ruthless assault upon his first literary efforts,--all links in that chain of trials, errors, and sufferings, by which his great mind was gradually and painfully drawn out;--all bearing their respective shares in accomplishing that destiny which seems to have decreed that the triumphal march of his genius should be over the waste and ruins of his heart. he appeared, indeed, himself to have had an instinctive consciousness that it was out of such ordeals his strength and glory were to arise, as his whole life was passed in courting agitation and difficulties; and whenever the scenes around him were too tame to furnish such excitement, he flew to fancy or memory for "thorns" whereon to "lean his breast." but the greatest of his trials, as well as triumphs, was yet to come. the last stage of this painful, though glorious, course, in which fresh power was, at every step, wrung from out his soul, was that at which we are now arrived, his marriage and its results,--without which, dear as was the price paid by him in peace and character, his career would have been incomplete, and the world still left in ignorance of the full compass of his genius. it is, indeed, worthy of remark, that it was not till his domestic circumstances began to darken around him that his fancy, which had long been idle, again rose upon the wing,--both the siege of corinth and parisina having been produced but a short time before the separation. how conscious he was, too, that the turmoil which followed was the true element of his restless spirit, may be collected from several passages of his letters at that period, in one of which he even mentions that his health had become all the better for the conflict:--"it is odd," he says, "but agitation or contest of any kind gives a rebound to my spirits, and sets me up for the time." this buoyancy it was,--this irrepressible spring of mind,--that now enabled him to bear up not only against the assaults of others, but, what was still more difficult, against his own thoughts and feelings. the muster of all his mental resources to which, in self-defence, he had been driven, but opened to him the yet undreamed extent and capacity of his powers, and inspired him with a proud confidence that he should yet shine down these calumnious mists, convert censure to wonder, and compel even those who could not approve to admire. the route which he now took, through flanders and by the rhine, is best traced in his own matchless verses, which leave a portion of their glory on all that they touch, and lend to scenes, already clothed with immortality by nature and by history, the no less durable associations of undying song. on his leaving brussels, an incident occurred which would be hardly worth relating, were it not for the proof it affords of the malicious assiduity with which every thing to his disadvantage was now caught up and circulated in england. mr. pryce gordon, a gentleman, who appears to have seen a good deal of him during his short stay at brussels, thus relates the anecdote:-- "lord byron travelled in a huge coach, copied from the celebrated one of napoleon, taken at genappe, with additions. besides a _lit de repos_, it contained a library, a plate-chest, and every apparatus for dining in it. it was not, however, found sufficiently capacious for his baggage and suite; and he purchased a calèche at brussels for his servants. it broke down going to waterloo, and i advised him to return it, as it seemed to be a crazy machine; but as he had made a deposit of forty napoleons (certainly double its value), the honest fleming would not consent to restore the cash, or take back his packing case, except under a forfeiture of thirty napoleons. as his lordship was to set out the following day, he begged me to make the best arrangement i could in the affair. he had no sooner taken his departure, than the worthy _sellier_ inserted a paragraph in 'the brussels oracle,' stating 'that the noble _milor anglais_ had absconded with his calèche, value francs!'" in the courier of may ., the brussels account of this transaction is thus copied:-- "the following is an extract from the dutch mail, dated brussels, may th,:--in the journal de belgique, of this date, is a petition from a coachmaker at brussels to the president of the tribunal de premier instance, stating that he has sold to lord byron a carriage, &c. for francs, of which he has received francs, but that his lordship, who is going away the same day, refuses to pay him the remaining francs; he begs permission to seize the carriage, &c. this being granted, he put it into the hands of a proper officer, who went to signify the above to lord byron, and was informed by the landlord of the hotel that his lordship was gone without having given him any thing to pay the debt, on which the officer seized a chaise belonging to his lordship as security for the amount." it was not till the beginning of the following month that a contradiction of this falsehood, stating the real circumstances of the case, as above related, was communicated to the morning chronicle, in a letter from brussels, signed "pryce l. gordon." another anecdote, of far more interest, has been furnished from the same respectable source. it appears that the two first stanzas of the verses relating to waterloo, "stop, for thy tread is on an empire's dust[ ]," were written at brussels, after a visit to that memorable field, and transcribed by lord byron, next morning, in an album belonging to the lady of the gentleman who communicates the anecdote. "a few weeks after he had written them (says the relater), the well-known artist, r.r. reinagle, a friend of mine, arrived in brussels, when i invited him to dine with me and showed him the lines, requesting him to embellish them with an appropriate vignette to the following passage:-- "'here his last flight the haughty eagle flew, then tore, with bloody beak, the fatal plain; pierced with the shafts of banded nations through, ambition's life, and labours, all were vain-- he wears the shatter'd links of the world's broken chain.' mr. reinagle sketched with a pencil a spirited chained eagle, grasping the earth with his talons. "i had occasion to write to his lordship, and mentioned having got this clever artist to draw a vignette to his beautiful lines, and the liberty he had taken by altering the action of the eagle. in reply to this, he wrote to me,--'reinagle is a better poet and a better ornithologist than i am; eagles, and all birds of prey, attack with their talons, and not with their beaks, and i have altered the line thus:-- "'then tore, with bloody talon, the rent plain.' this is, i think, a better line, besides its poetical justice.' i need hardly add, when i communicated this flattering compliment to the painter, that he was highly gratified." from brussels the noble traveller pursued his course along the rhine,--a line of road which he has strewed over with all the riches of poesy; and, arriving at geneva, took up his abode at the well-known hotel, sécheron. after a stay of a few weeks at this place, he removed to a villa, in the neighbourhood, called diodati, very beautifully situated on the high banks of the lake, where he established his residence for the remainder of the summer. i shall now give the few letters in my possession written by him at this time, and then subjoin to them such anecdotes as i have been able to collect relative to the same period. [footnote : dated april .] [footnote : it will be seen, from a subsequent letter, that the first stanza of that most cordial of farewells, "my boat is on the shore," was also written at this time.] [footnote : in one of his letters to mr. hunt, he declares it to be his own opinion that "an addiction to poetry is very generally the result of 'an uneasy mind in an uneasy body;' disease or deformity," he adds, "have been the attendants of many of our best. collins mad--chatterton, _i_ think, mad--cowper mad--pope crooked--milton blind," &c. &c.] [footnote : the deformed transformed.] [footnote : childe harold, canto iii. stanza .] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "ouchy, near lausanne, june . . "i am thus far (kept by stress of weather) on my way back to diodati (near geneva) from a voyage in my boat round the lake; and i enclose you a sprig of _gibbons acacia_ and some rose-leaves from his garden, which, with part of his house, i have just seen. you will find honourable mention, in his life, made of this 'acacia,' when he walked out on the night of concluding his history. the garden and _summer-house_, where he composed, are neglected, and the last utterly decayed; but they still show it as his 'cabinet,' and seem perfectly aware of his memory. "my route, through flanders, and by the rhine, to switzerland, was all i expected, and more. "i have traversed all rousseau's ground with the heloise before me, and am struck to a degree that i cannot express with the force and accuracy of his descriptions and the beauty of their reality. meillerie, clarens, and vevay, and the château de chillon, are places of which i shall say little, because all i could say must fall short of the impressions they stamp. "three days ago, we were most nearly wrecked in a squall off meillerie, and driven to shore. i ran no risk, being so near the rocks, and a good swimmer; but our party were wet, and incommoded a good deal. the wind was strong enough to blow down some trees, as we found at landing: however, all is righted and right, and we are thus far on our return. "dr. polidori is not here, but at diodati, left behind in hospital with a sprained ankle, which he acquired in tumbling from a wall--he can't jump. "i shall be glad to hear you are well, and have received for me certain helms and swords, sent from waterloo, which i rode over with pain and pleasure. "i have finished a third canto of childe harold (consisting of one hundred and seventeen stanzas), longer than either of the two former, and in some parts, it may be, better; but of course on that i cannot determine. i shall send it by the first safe-looking opportunity. ever," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "diodati, near geneva, july . . "i wrote to you a few weeks ago, and dr. polidori received your letter; but the packet has not made its appearance, nor the epistle, of which you gave notice therein. i enclose you an advertisement[ ], which was copied by dr. polidori, and which appears to be about the most impudent imposition that ever issued from grub street. i need hardly say that i know nothing of all this trash, nor whence it may spring,--'odes to st. helena,'--'farewells to england,' &c. &c.--and if it can be disavowed, or is worth disavowing, you have full authority to do so. i never wrote, nor conceived, a line on any thing of the kind, any more than of two other things with which i was saddled--something about 'gaul,' and another about 'mrs. la valette;' and as to the 'lily of france,' i should as soon think of celebrating a turnip. 'on the morning of my daughter's birth,' i had other things to think of than verses; and should never have dreamed of such an invention, till mr. johnston and his pamphlet's advertisement broke in upon me with a new light on the crafts and subtleties of the demon of printing,--or rather publishing. "i did hope that some succeeding lie would have superseded the thousand and one which were accumulated during last winter. i can forgive whatever may be said of or against me, but not what they make me say or sing for myself. it is enough to answer for what i have written; but it were too much for job himself to bear what one has not. i suspect that when the arab patriarch wished that his 'enemy had written a book,' he did not anticipate his own name on the title-page. i feel quite as much bored with this foolery as it deserves, and more than i should be if i had not a headach. "of glenarvon, madame de staël told me (ten days ago, at copet) marvellous and grievous things; but i have seen nothing of it but the motto, which promises amiably 'for us and for our tragedy.' if such be the posy, what should the ring be? 'a name to all succeeding[ ],' &c. the generous moment selected for the publication is probably its kindest accompaniment, and--truth to say--the time _was_ well chosen. i have not even a guess at the contents, except from the very vague accounts i have heard. "i ought to be ashamed of the egotism of this letter. it is not my fault altogether, and i shall be but too happy to drop the subject when others will allow me. "i am in tolerable plight, and in my last letter told you what i had done in the way of all rhyme. i trust that you prosper, and that your authors are in good condition. i should suppose your stud has received some increase by what i hear. bertram must be a good horse; does he run next meeting? i hope you will beat the row. yours alway," &c. [footnote : the following was the advertisement enclosed:-- "neatly printed and hot-pressed, s. d. "lord byron's farewell to england, with three other poems--ode to st. helena, to my daughter on her birthday, and to the lily of france. "printed by j. johnston, cheapside, .; oxford, . "the above beautiful poems will be read with the most lively interest, as it is probable they will be the last of the author's that will appear in england." ] [footnote : the motto is-- he left a name to all succeeding times, link'd with one virtue and a thousand crimes." ] * * * * * letter . to mr. rogers. "diodati, near geneva, july . . "do you recollect a book, mathieson's letters, which you lent me, which i have still, and yet hope to return to your library? well, i have encountered at copet and elsewhere gray's correspondent, that same bonstetten, to whom i lent the translation of his correspondent's epistles, for a few days; but all he could remember of gray amounts to little, except that he was the most 'melancholy and gentlemanlike' of all possible poets. bonstetten himself is a fine and very lively old man, and much esteemed by his compatriots; he is also a _littérateur_ of good repute, and all his friends have a mania of addressing to him volumes of letters--mathieson, muller the historian, &c.&c. he is a good deal at copet, where i have met him a few times. all there are well, except rocca, who, i am sorry to say, looks in a very bad state of health. schlegel is in high force, and madame as brilliant as ever. "i came here by the netherlands and the rhine route, and basle, berne, moral, and lausanne. i have circumnavigated the lake, and go to chamouni with the first fair weather; but really we have had lately such stupid mists, fogs, and perpetual density, that one would think castlereagh had the foreign affairs of the kingdom of heaven also on his hands. i need say nothing to you of these parts, you having traversed them already. i do not think of italy before september. i have read glenarvon, and have also seen ben. constant's adolphe, and his preface, denying the real people. it is a work which leaves an unpleasant impression, but very consistent with the consequences of not being in love, which is, perhaps, as disagreeable as any thing, except being so. i doubt, however, whether all such _liens_ (as he calls them) terminate so wretchedly as his hero and heroine's. "there is a third canto (a longer than either of the former) of childe harold finished, and some smaller things,--among them a story on the château de chillon; i only wait a good opportunity to transmit them to the grand murray, who, i hope, flourishes. where is moore? why is he not out? my love to him, and my perfect consideration and remembrances to all, particularly to lord and lady holland, and to your duchess of somerset. "ever, &c. "p.s. i send you a _fac-simile_, a note of bonstetten's, thinking you might like to see the hand of gray's correspondent." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "diodati, sept. . . "i am very much flattered by mr. gifford's good opinion of the mss., and shall be still more so if it answers your expectations and justifies his kindness. i liked it myself, but that must go for nothing. the feelings with which most of it was written need not be envied me. with regard to the price, _i_ fixed _none_, but left it to mr. kinnaird, mr. shelley, and yourself, to arrange. of course, they would do their best; and as to yourself, i knew you would make no difficulties. but i agree with mr. kinnaird perfectly, that the concluding _five hundred_ should be only _conditional_; and for my own sake, i wish it to be added, only in case of your selling a certain number, _that number_ to be fixed by _yourself_. i hope this is fair. in every thing of this kind there must be risk; and till that be past, in one way or the other, i would not willingly add to it, particularly in times like the present. and pray always recollect that nothing could mortify me more--no failure on my own part--than having made you lose by any purchase from me. "the monody[ ] was written by request of mr. kinnaird for the theatre. i did as well as i could; but where i have not my choice i pretend to answer for nothing. mr. hobhouse and myself are just returned from a journey of lakes and mountains. we have been to the grindelwald, and the jungfrau, and stood on the summit of the wengen alp; and seen torrents of nine hundred feet in fall, and glaciers of all dimensions: we have heard shepherds' pipes, and avalanches, and looked on the clouds foaming up from the valleys below us, like the spray of the ocean of hell. chamouni, and that which it inherits, we saw a month ago: but though mont blanc is higher, it is not equal in wildness to the jungfrau, the eighers, the shreckhorn, and the rose glaciers. "we set off for italy next week. the road is within this month infested with bandits, but we must take our chance and such precautions as are requisite. "ever, &c. "p.s. my best remembrances to mr. gifford. pray say all that can be said from me to him. "i am sorry that mr. maturin did not like phillips's picture. i thought it was reckoned a good one. if he had made the speech on the original, perhaps he would have been more readily forgiven by the proprietor and the painter of the portrait * * *." [footnote : a monody on the death of sheridan, which was spoken at drury lane theatre.] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "diodati, sept. . . "i answered your obliging letters yesterday: to-day the monody arrived with its _title_-page, which is, i presume, a separate publication. 'the request of a friend:'-- 'obliged by hunger and request of friends.' i will request you to expunge that same, unless you please to add, 'by a person of quality,' or 'of wit and honour about town.' merely say, 'written to be spoken at drury lane.' to-morrow i dine at copet. saturday i strike tents for italy. this evening, on the lake in my boat with mr. hobhouse, the pole which sustains the mainsail slipped in tacking, and struck me so violently on one of my legs (the _worst_, luckily) as to make me do a foolish thing, viz. to _faint_--a downright swoon; the thing must have jarred some nerve or other, for the bone is not injured, and hardly painful (it is six hours since), and cost mr. hobhouse some apprehension and much sprinkling of water to recover me. the sensation was a very odd one: i never had but two such before, once from a cut on the head from a stone, several years ago, and once (long ago also) in falling into a great wreath of snow;--a sort of grey giddiness first, then nothingness, and a total loss of memory on beginning to recover. the last part is not disagreeable, if one did not find it again. "you want the original mss. mr. davies has the first fair copy in my own hand, and i have the rough composition here, and will send or save it for you, since you wish it. "with regard to your new literary project, if any thing falls in the way which will, to the best of my judgment, suit you, i will send you what i can. at present i must lay by a little, having pretty well exhausted myself in what i have sent you. italy or dalmatia and another summer may, or may not, set me off again. i have no plans, and am nearly as indifferent what may come as where i go. i shall take felicia heman's restoration, &c. with me; it is a good poem--very. "pray repeat my best thanks and remembrances to mr. gifford for all his trouble and good nature towards me. "do not fancy me laid up, from the beginning of this scrawl. i tell you the accident for want of better to say; but it is over, and i am only wondering what the deuce was the matter with me. "i have lately been over all the bernese alps and their lakes. i think many of the scenes (some of which were not those usually frequented by the english) finer than chamouni, which i visited some time before. i have been to clarens again, and crossed the mountains behind it: of this tour i kept a short journal for my sister, which i sent yesterday in three letters. it is not all for perusal; but if you like to hear about the romantic part, she will, i dare say, show you what touches upon the rocks, &c. "christabel--i won't have any one sneer at christabel: it is a fine wild poem. "madame de staël wishes to see the antiquary, and i am going to take it to her to-morrow. she has made copet as agreeable as society and talent can make any place on earth. yours ever, "n." * * * * * from the journal mentioned in the foregoing letter, i am enabled to give the following extracts:-- extracts from a journal. "september . . "yesterday, september th, i set out with mr. hobhouse on an excursion of some days to the mountains. "september . "rose at five; left diodati about seven, in one of the country carriages (a char-à-banc), our servants on horseback. weather very fine; the lake calm and clear; mont blanc and the aiguille of argentières both very distinct; the borders of the lake beautiful. reached lausanne before sunset; stopped and slept at ----. went to bed at nine: slept till five o'clock. "september . "called by my courier; got up. hobhouse walked on before. a mile from lausanne, the road overflowed by the lake; got on horseback and rode till within a mile of vevay. the colt young, but went very well. overtook hobhouse, and resumed the carriage, which is an open one. stopped at vevay two hours (the second time i had visited it); walked to the church; view from the churchyard superb; within it general ludlow (the regicide's) monument--black marble--long inscription--latin, but simple; he was an exile two-and-thirty-years--one of king charles's judges. near him broughton (who read king charles's sentence to charles stuart) is buried, with a queer and rather canting, but still a republican, inscription. ludlow's house shown; it retains still its inscription--'omne solum forti patria.' walked down to the lake side; servants, carriage, saddle-horses--all set off and left us _plantés là_, by some mistake, and we walked on after them towards clarens: hobhouse ran on before, and overtook them at last. arrived the second time (first time was by water) at clarens. went to chillon through scenery worthy of i know not whom; went over the castle of chillon again. on our return met an english party in a carriage; a lady in it fast asleep--fast asleep in the most anti-narcotic spot in the world--excellent! i remember, at chamouni, in the very eyes of mont blanc, hearing another woman, english also, exclaim to her party, 'did you ever see any thing more _rural_?'--as if it was highgate, or hampstead, or brompton, or hayes,--'rural!' quotha.--rocks, pines, torrents, glaciers, clouds, and summits of eternal snow far above them--and 'rural!' "after a slight and short dinner we visited the chateau de clarens; an english woman has rented it recently (it was not let when i saw it first); the roses are gone with their summer; the family out, but the servants desired us to walk over the interior of the mansion. saw on the table of the saloon blair's sermons and somebody else's (i forget who's) sermons, and a set of noisy children. saw all worth seeing, and then descended to the 'bosquet de julie,' &c. &c.; our guide full of rousseau, whom he is eternally confounding with st. preux, and mixing the man and the book. went again as far as chillon to revisit the little torrent from the hill behind it. sunset reflected in the lake. have to get up at five to-morrow to cross the mountains on horseback; carriage to be sent round; lodged at my old cottage--hospitable and comfortable; tired with a longish ride on the colt, and the subsequent jolting of the char-à-banc, and my scramble in the hot sun. "mem. the corporal who showed the wonders of chillon was as drunk as blucher, and (to my mind) as great a man; he was deaf also, and thinking every one else so, roared out the legends of the castle so fearfully that h. got out of humour. however, we saw things from the gallows to the dungeons (the _potence_ and the _cachots_), and returned to clarens with more freedom than belonged to the fifteenth century. "september . "rose at five. crossed the mountains to montbovon on horseback, and on mules, and, by dint of scrambling, on foot also; the whole route beautiful as a dream, and now to me almost as indistinct. i am so tired;--for though healthy, i have not the strength i possessed but a few years ago. at montbovon we breakfasted; afterwards, on a steep ascent dismounted; tumbled down; cut a finger open; the baggage also got loose and fell down a ravine, till stopped by a large tree; recovered baggage; horse tired and drooping; mounted mule. at the approach of the summit of dent jument[ ] dismounted again with hobhouse and all the party. arrived at a lake in the very bosom of the mountains; left our quadrupeds with a shepherd, and ascended farther; came to some snow in patches, upon which my forehead's perspiration fell like rain, making the same dints as in a sieve; the chill of the wind and the snow turned me giddy, but i scrambled on and upwards. hobhouse went to the highest pinnacle; i did not, but paused within a few yards (at an opening of the cliff). in coming down, the guide tumbled three times; i fell a laughing, and tumbled too--the descent luckily soft, though steep and slippery: hobhouse also fell, but nobody hurt. the whole of the mountains superb. a shepherd on a very steep and high cliff playing upon his _pipe_; very different from _arcadia_, where i saw the pastors with a long musket instead of a crook, and pistols in their girdles. our swiss shepherd's pipe was sweet, and his tune agreeable. i saw a cow strayed; am told that they often break their necks on and over the crags. descended to montbovon; pretty scraggy village, with a wild river and a wooden bridge. hobhouse went to fish--caught one. our carriage not come; our horses, mules, &c. knocked up; ourselves fatigued; but so much the better--i shall sleep. "the view from the highest points of to-day's journey comprised on one side the greatest part of lake leman; on the other, the valleys and mountain of the canton of fribourg, and an immense plain, with the lakes of neuchâtel and morat, and all which the borders of the lake of geneva inherit; we had both sides of the jura before us in one point of view, with alps in plenty. in passing a ravine, the guide recommended strenuously a quickening of pace, as the stones fall with great rapidity and occasional damage; the advice is excellent, but, like most good advice, impracticable, the road being so rough that neither mules, nor mankind, nor horses, can make any violent progress. passed without fractures or menace thereof. "the music of the cow's bells (for their wealth, like the patriarchs', is cattle) in the pastures, which reach to a height far above any mountains in britain, and the shepherds shouting to us from crag to crag, and playing on their reeds where the steeps appeared almost inaccessible, with the surrounding scenery, realised all that i have ever heard or imagined of a pastoral existence:--much more so than greece or asia minor, for there we are a little too much of the sabre and musket order, and if there is a crook in one hand, you are sure to see a gun in the other:--but this was pure and unmixed--solitary, savage, and patriarchal. as we went, they played the 'rans des vaches' and other airs, by way of farewell. i have lately repeopled my mind with nature. [footnote : dent de jaman.] "september . up at six; off at eight. the whole of this day's journey at an average of between from to feet above the level of the sea. this valley, the longest, narrowest, and considered the finest of the alps, little traversed by travellers. saw the bridge of la roche. the bed of the river very low and deep, between immense rocks, and rapid as anger;--a man and mule said to have tumbled over without damage. the people looked free, and happy, and _rich_ (which last implies neither of the former); the cows superb; a bull nearly leapt into the char-à-banc--'agreeable companion in a post-chaise;' goats and sheep very thriving. a mountain with enormous glaciers to the right--the klitzgerberg; further on, the hockthorn--nice names--so soft!--_stockhorn_, i believe, very lofty and scraggy, patched with snow only; no glaciers on it, but some good epaulettes of clouds. "passed the boundaries, out of vaud and into berne canton; french exchanged for bad german; the district famous for cheese, liberty, property, and no taxes. hobhouse went to fish--caught none. strolled to the river; saw boy and kid; kid followed him like a dog; kid could not get over a fence, and bleated piteously; tried myself to help kid, but nearly overset both self and kid into the river. arrived here about six in the evening. nine o'clock--going to bed; not tired to day, but hope to sleep, nevertheless. "september . "off early. the valley of simmenthal as before. entrance to the plain of thoun very narrow; high rocks, wooded to the top; river; new mountains, with fine glaciers. lake of thoun; extensive plain with a girdle of alps. walked down to the chateau de schadau; view along the lake; crossed the river in a boat rowed by women. thoun a very pretty town. the whole day's journey alpine and proud. "september . "left thoun in a boat, which carried us the length of the lake in three hours. the lake small; but the banks fine. rocks down to the water's edge. landed at newhause; passed interlachen; entered upon a range of scenes beyond all description or previous conception. passed a rock; inscription--two brothers--one murdered the other; just the place for it. after a variety of windings came to an enormous rock. arrived at the foot of the mountain (the jungfrau, that is, the maiden); glaciers; torrents; one of these torrents _nine hundred feet_ in height of visible descent. lodged at the curate's. set out to see the valley; heard an avalanche fall, like thunder; glaciers enormous; storm came on, thunder, lightning, hail; all in perfection, and beautiful. i was on horseback; guide wanted to carry my cane; i was going to give it him, when i recollected that it was a sword-stick, and i thought the lightning might be attracted towards him; kept it myself; a good deal encumbered with it, as it was too heavy for a whip, and the horse was stupid, and stood with every other peal. got in, not very wet, the cloak being stanch. hobhouse wet through; hobhouse took refuge in cottage; sent man, umbrella, and cloak (from the curate's when i arrived) after him. swiss curate's house very good indeed--much better than most english vicarages. it is immediately opposite the torrent i spoke of. the torrent is in shape curving over the rock, like the _tail_ of a white horse streaming in the wind, such as it might be conceived would be that of the 'pale horse' on which death is mounted in the apocalypse.[ ] it is neither mist nor water, but a something between both; its immense height (nine hundred feet) gives it a wave or curve, a spreading here or condensation there, wonderful and indescribable. i think, upon the whole, that this day has been better than any of this present excursion. [footnote : it is interesting to observe the use to which he afterwards converted these hasty memorandums in his sublime drama of manfred. "it is not noon--the sunbow's rays still arch the torrent with the many hues of heaven, and roll the sheeted silver's waving column o'er the crag's headlong perpendicular, and fling its lines of foaming light along, _and to and fro, like the pale coursers tail, the giant steed, to be bestrode by death as told in the apocalypse._" ] "september . "before ascending the mountain, went to the torrent (seven in the morning) again; the sun upon it, forming a _rainbow_ of the lower part of all colours, but principally purple and gold; the bow moving as you move; i never saw any thing like this; it is only in the sunshine. ascended the wengen mountain; at noon reached a valley on the summit; left the horses, took off my coat, and went to the summit, seven thousand feet (english feet) above the level of the _sea_, and about five thousand above the valley we left in the morning. on one side, our view comprised the jungfrau, with all her glaciers; then the dent d'argent, shining like truth; then the little giant (the kleine eigher); and the great giant (the grosse eigher), and last, not least, the wetterhorn. the height of jungfrau is , feet above the sea, , above the valley; she is the highest of this range. heard the avalanches falling every five minutes nearly. from whence we stood, on the wengen alp, we had all these in view on one side; on the other, the clouds rose from the opposite valley, curling up perpendicular precipices like the foam of the ocean of hell, during a spring tide--it was white, and sulphury, and immeasurably deep in appearance.[ ] the side we ascended was (of course) not of so precipitous a nature; but on arriving at the summit, we looked down upon the other side upon a boiling sea of cloud, dashing against the crags on which we stood (these crags on one side quite perpendicular). stayed a quarter of an hour; begun to descend; quite clear from cloud on that side of the mountain. in passing the masses of snow, i made a snowball and pelted hobhouse with it. "got down to our horses again; ate something; remounted; heard the avalanches still; came to a morass; hobhouse dismounted to get over well; i tried to pass my horse over; the horse sunk up to the chin, and of course he and i were in the mud together; bemired, but not hurt; laughed, and rode on. arrived at the grindelwald; dined; mounted again, and rode to the higher glacier--like _a frozen hurricane_.[ ] starlight, beautiful, but a devil of a path! never mind, got safe in; a little lightning; but the whole of the day as fine in point of weather as the day on which paradise was made. passed _whole woods of withered pines, all withered_; trunks stripped and barkless, branches lifeless; done by a single winter[ ],--their appearance reminded me of me and my family. [footnote : "ye _avalanches_, whom a breath draws down in mountainous o'erwhelming, come and crush me! _i hear ye momently above, beneath, crash with a frequent conflict._ * * * the mists boil up around the glaciers; _clouds rise curling_ fast beneath me, white and sulphury, _like foam from the roused ocean of deep hell!_" manfred. ] [footnote : "o'er the savage sea, the glassy ocean of the mountain ice, we skim its rugged breakers, which put on the aspect of a tumbling _tempest_'s foam, _frozen in a moment._" manfred. ] [footnote : "like these _blasted pines, wrecks of a single winter, barkless, branchless._" ibid. ] "september . "set off at seven; up at five. passed the black glacier, the mountain wetterhorn on the right; crossed the scheideck mountain; came to the _rose_ glacier, said to be the largest and finest in switzerland, _i_ think the bossons glacier at chamouni as fine; hobhouse does not. came to the reichenbach waterfall, two hundred feet high; halted to rest the horses. arrived in the valley of overland; rain came on; drenched a little; only four hours' rain, however, in eight days. came to the lake of brientz, then to the town of brientz; changed. in the evening, four swiss peasant girls of oberhasli came and sang the airs of their country; two of the voices beautiful--the tunes also: so wild and original, and at the same time of great sweetness. the singing is over; but below stairs i hear the notes of a fiddle, which bode no good to my night's rest; i shall go down and see the dancing. "september . "the whole town of brientz were apparently gathered together in the rooms below; pretty music and excellent waltzing; none but peasants; the dancing much better than in england; the english can't waltz, never could, never will. one man with his pipe in his mouth, but danced as well as the others; some other dances in pairs and in fours, and very good. i went to bed, but the revelry continued below late and early. brientz but a village. rose early. embarked on the lake of brientz, rowed by the women in a long boat; presently we put to shore, and another woman jumped in. it seems it is the custom here for the boats to be _manned_ by _women_: for of five men and three women in our bark, all the women took an oar, and but one man. "got to interlachen in three hours; pretty lake; not so large as that of thoun. dined at interlachen. girl gave me some flowers, and made me a speech in german, of which i know nothing; i do not know whether the speech was pretty, but as the woman was, i hope so. re-embarked on the lake of thoun; fell asleep part of the way; sent our horses round; found people on the shore, blowing up a rock with gunpowder; they blew it up near our boat, only telling us a minute before;--mere stupidity, but they might have broken our noddles. got to thoun in the evening; the weather has been tolerable the whole day. but as the wild part of our tour is finished, it don't matter to us; in all the desirable part, we have been most lucky in warmth and clearness of atmosphere. "september . "being out of the mountains, my journal must be as flat as my journey. from thoun to berne, good road, hedges, villages, industry, property, and all sorts of tokens of insipid civilisation. from berne to fribourg; different canton; catholics; passed a field of battle; swiss beat the french in one of the late wars against the french republic. bought a dog. the greater part of this tour has been on horseback, on foot, and on mule. "september . "saw the tree planted in honour of the battle of morat; three hundred and forty years old; a good deal decayed. left fribourg, but first saw the cathedral; high tower. overtook the baggage of the nuns of la trappe, who are removing to normandy; afterwards a coach, with a quantity of nuns in it. proceeded along the banks of the lake of neuchâtel; very pleasing and soft, but not so mountainous--at least, the jura, not appearing so, after the bernese alps. reached yverdun in the dusk; a long line of large trees on the border of the lake; fine and sombre; the auberge nearly full--a german princess and suite; got rooms. "september . "passed through a fine and flourishing country, but not mountainous. in the evening reached aubonne (the entrance and bridge something like that of durham), which commands by far the fairest view of the lake of geneva; twilight; the moon on the lake; a grove on the height, and of very noble trees. here tavernier (the eastern traveller) bought (or built) the château, because the site resembled and equalled that of _erivan_, a frontier city of persia; here he finished his voyages, and i this little excursion,--for i am within a few hours of diodati, and have little more to see, and no more to say." with the following melancholy passage this journal concludes:-- "in the weather for this tour (of days), i have been very fortunate--fortunate in a companion (mr. h.)--fortunate in our prospects, and exempt from even the little petty accidents and delays which often render journeys in a less wild country disappointing. i was disposed to be pleased. i am a lover of nature and an admirer of beauty. i can bear fatigue and welcome privation, and have seen some of the noblest views in the world. but in all this--the recollection of bitterness, and more especially of recent and more home desolation, which must accompany me through life, have preyed upon me here; and neither the music of the shepherd, the crashing of the avalanche, nor the torrent, the mountain, the glacier, the forest, nor the cloud, have for one moment lightened the weight upon my heart, nor enabled me to lose my own wretched identity in the majesty, and the power, and the glory, around, above, and beneath me." * * * * * among the inmates at sécheron, on his arrival at geneva, lord byron had found mr. and mrs. shelley, and a female relative of the latter, who had about a fortnight before taken up their residence at this hotel. it was the first time that lord byron and mr. shelley ever met; though, long before, when the latter was quite a youth,--being the younger of the two by four or five years,--he had sent to the noble poet a copy of his queen mab, accompanied by a letter, in which, after detailing at full length all the accusations he had heard brought against his character, he added, that, should these charges not have been true, it would make him happy to be honoured with his acquaintance. the book alone, it appears, reached its destination,--the letter having miscarried,--and lord byron was known to have expressed warm admiration of the opening lines of the poem. there was, therefore, on their present meeting at geneva, no want of disposition towards acquaintance on either side, and an intimacy almost immediately sprung up between them. among the tastes common to both, that for boating was not the least strong; and in this beautiful region they had more than ordinary temptations to indulge in it. every evening, during their residence under the same roof at sécheron, they embarked, accompanied by the ladies and polidori, on the lake; and to the feelings and fancies inspired by these excursions, which were not unfrequently prolonged into the hours of moonlight, we are indebted for some of those enchanting stanzas[ ] in which the poet has given way to his passionate love of nature so fervidly. "there breathes a living fragrance from the shore of flowers yet fresh with childhood; on the ear drips the light drop of the suspended oar. * * * * * at intervals, some bird from out the brakes starts into voice a moment, then is still. there seems a floating whisper on the hill, but that is fancy,--for the starlight dews all silently their tears of love instil, weeping themselves away." a person who was of these parties has thus described to me one of their evenings:--"when the _bise_ or north-east wind blows, the waters of the lake are driven towards the town, and with the stream of the rhone, which sets strongly in the same direction, combine to make a very rapid current towards the harbour. carelessly, one evening, we had yielded to its course, till we found ourselves almost driven on the piles; and it required all our rowers' strength to master the tide. the waves were high and inspiriting--we were all animated by our contest with the elements. 'i will sing you an albanian song,' cried lord byron; 'now, be sentimental and give me all your attention.' it was a strange, wild howl that he gave forth; but such as, he declared, was an exact imitation of the savage albanian mode,--laughing, the while, at our disappointment, who had expected a wild eastern melody." sometimes the party landed, for a walk upon the shore, and, on such occasions, lord byron would loiter behind the rest, lazily trailing his sword-stick along, and moulding, as he went, his thronging thoughts into shape. often too, when in the boat, he would lean abstractedly over the side, and surrender himself up, in silence, to the same absorbing task. the conversation of mr. shelley, from the extent of his poetic reading, and the strange, mystic speculations into which his system of philosophy led him, was of a nature strongly to arrest and interest the attention of lord byron, and to turn him away from worldly associations and topics into more abstract and untrodden ways of thought. as far as contrast, indeed, is an enlivening ingredient of such intercourse, it would be difficult to find two persons more formed to whet each other's faculties by discussion, as on few points of common interest between them did their opinions agree; and that this difference had its root deep in the conformation of their respective minds needs but a glance through the rich, glittering labyrinth of mr. shelley's pages to assure us. in lord byron, the real was never forgotten in the fanciful. however imagination had placed her whole realm at his disposal, he was no less a man of this world than a ruler of hers; and, accordingly, through the airiest and most subtile creations of his brain still the life-blood of truth and reality circulates. with shelley it was far otherwise;--his fancy (and he had sufficient for a whole generation of poets) was the medium through which he saw all things, his facts as well as his theories; and not only the greater part of his poetry, but the political and philosophical speculations in which he indulged, were all distilled through the same over-refining and unrealising alembic. having started as a teacher and reformer of the world, at an age when he could know nothing of the world but from fancy, the persecution he met with on the threshold of this boyish enterprise but confirmed him in his first paradoxical views of human ills and their remedies; and, instead of waiting to take lessons of authority and experience, he, with a courage, admirable had it been but wisely directed, made war upon both. from this sort of self-willed start in the world, an impulse was at once given to his opinions and powers directly contrary, it would seem, to their natural bias, and from which his life was too short to allow him time to recover. with a mind, by nature, fervidly pious, he yet refused to acknowledge a supreme providence, and substituted some airy abstraction of "universal love" in its place. an aristocrat by birth and, as i understand, also in appearance and manners, he was yet a leveller in politics, and to such an utopian extent as to be, seriously, the advocate of a community of property. with a delicacy and even romance of sentiment, which lends such grace to some of his lesser poems, he could notwithstanding contemplate a change in the relations of the sexes, which would have led to results fully as gross as his arguments for it were fastidious and refined; and though benevolent and generous to an extent that seemed to exclude all idea of selfishness, he yet scrupled not, in the pride of system, to disturb wantonly the faith of his fellowmen, and, without substituting any equivalent good in its place, to rob the wretched of a hope, which, even if false, would be worth all this world's best truths. upon no point were the opposite tendencies of the two friends,--to long-established opinions and matter of fact on one side, and to all that was most innovating and visionary on the other,--more observable than in their notions on philosophical subjects; lord byron being, with the great bulk of mankind, a believer in the existence of matter and evil, while shelley so far refined upon the theory of berkeley as not only to resolve the whole of creation into spirit, but to add also to this immaterial system some pervading principle, some abstract non-entity of love and beauty, of which--as a substitute, at least, for deity--the philosophic bishop had never dreamed. on such subjects, and on poetry, their conversation generally turned; and, as might be expected, from lord byron's facility in receiving new impressions, the opinions of his companion were not altogether without some influence on his mind. here and there, among those fine bursts of passion and description that abound in the third canto of childe harold, may be discovered traces of that mysticism of meaning,--that sublimity, losing itself in its own vagueness,--which so much characterised the writings of his extraordinary friend; and in one of the notes we find shelley's favourite pantheism of love thus glanced at:--"but this is not all: the feeling with which all around clarens and the opposite rocks of meillerie is invested, is of a still higher and more comprehensive order than the mere sympathy with individual passion; it is a sense of the existence of love in its most extended and sublime capacity, and of our own participation of its good and of its glory: it is the great principle of the universe, which is there more condensed, but not less manifested; and of which, though knowing ourselves a part, we lose our individuality, and mingle in the beauty of the whole." another proof of the ductility with which he fell into his new friend's tastes and predilections, appears in the tinge, if not something deeper, of the manner and cast of thinking of mr. wordsworth, which is traceable through so many of his most beautiful stanzas. being naturally, from his love of the abstract and imaginative, an admirer of the great poet of the lakes, mr. shelley omitted no opportunity of bringing the beauties of his favourite writer under the notice of lord byron; and it is not surprising that, once persuaded into a fair perusal, the mind of the noble poet should--in spite of some personal and political prejudices which unluckily survived this short access of admiration--not only feel the influence but, in some degree, even reflect the hues of one of the very few real and original poets that this age (fertile as it is in rhymers _quales ego et cluvienus_) has had the glory of producing. when polidori was of their party, (which, till he found attractions elsewhere, was generally the case,) their more elevated subjects of conversation were almost always put to flight by the strange sallies of this eccentric young man, whose vanity made him a constant butt for lord byron's sarcasm and merriment. the son of a highly respectable italian gentleman, who was in early life, i understand, the secretary of alfieri, polidori seems to have possessed both talents and dispositions which, had he lived, might have rendered him a useful member of his profession and of society. at the time, however, of which we are speaking, his ambition of distinction far outwent both his powers and opportunities of attaining it. his mind, accordingly, between ardour and weakness, was kept in a constant hectic of vanity, and he seems to have alternately provoked and amused his noble employer, leaving him seldom any escape from anger but in laughter. among other pretensions, he had set his heart upon shining as an author, and one evening at mr. shelley's, producing a tragedy of his own writing, insisted that they should undergo the operation of hearing it. to lighten the infliction, lord byron took upon himself the task of reader; and the whole scene, from the description i have heard of it, must have been not a little trying to gravity. in spite of the jealous watch kept upon every countenance by the author, it was impossible to withstand the smile lurking in the eye of the reader, whose only resource against the outbreak of his own laughter lay in lauding, from time to time, most vehemently, the sublimity of the verses;--particularly some that began "'tis thus the goîter'd idiot of the alps,'--and then adding, at the close of every such eulogy, "i assure you when i was in the drury lane committee, much worse things were offered to us." after passing a fortnight under the same roof with lord byron at sécheron, mr. and mrs. shelley removed to a small house on the mont-blanc side of the lake, within about ten minutes' walk of the villa which their noble friend had taken, upon the high banks, called belle rive, that rose immediately behind them. during the fortnight that lord byron outstaid them at sécheron, though the weather had changed and was become windy and cloudy, he every evening crossed the lake, with polidori, to visit them; and "as he returned again (says my informant) over the darkened waters, the wind, from far across, bore us his voice singing your tyrolese song of liberty, which i then first heard, and which is to me inextricably linked with his remembrance." in the mean time, polidori had become jealous of the growing intimacy of his noble patron with shelley; and the plan which he now understood them to have formed of making a tour of the lake without him completed his mortification. in the soreness of his feelings on this subject he indulged in some intemperate remonstrances, which lord byron indignantly resented; and the usual bounds of courtesy being passed on both sides, the dismissal of polidori appeared, even to himself, inevitable. with this prospect, which he considered nothing less than ruin, before his eyes, the poor young man was, it seems, on the point of committing that fatal act which, two or three years afterwards, he actually did perpetrate. retiring to his own room, he had already drawn forth the poison from his medicine chest, and was pausing to consider whether he should write a letter before he took it, when lord byron (without, however, the least suspicion of his intention) tapped at the door and entered, with his hand held forth in sign of reconciliation. the sudden revulsion was too much for poor polidori, who burst into tears; and, in relating all the circumstances of the occurrence afterwards, he declared that nothing could exceed the gentle kindness of lord byron in soothing his mind and restoring him to composure. soon after this the noble poet removed to diodati. he had, on his first coming to geneva, with the good-natured view of introducing polidori into company, gone to several genevese parties; but, this task performed, he retired altogether from society till late in the summer, when, as we have seen, he visited copet. his means were at this time very limited; and though he lived by no means parsimoniously, all unnecessary expenses were avoided in his establishment. the young physician had been, at first, a source of much expense to him, being in the habit of hiring a carriage, at a louis a day (lord byron not then keeping horses), to take him to his evening parties; and it was some time before his noble patron had the courage to put this luxury down. the liberty, indeed, which this young person allowed himself was, on one occasion, the means of bringing an imputation upon the poet's hospitality and good breeding, which, like every thing else, true or false, tending to cast a shade upon his character, was for some time circulated with the most industrious zeal. without any authority from the noble owner of the mansion, he took upon himself to invite some genevese gentlemen (m. pictet, and, i believe, m. bonstetten) to dine at diodati; and the punishment which lord byron thought it right to inflict upon him for such freedom was, "as he had invited the guests, to leave him also to entertain them." this step, though merely a consequence of the physician's indiscretion, it was not difficult, of course, to convert into a serious charge of caprice and rudeness against the host himself. by such repeated instances of thoughtlessness (to use no harsher term), it is not wonderful that lord byron should at last be driven into a feeling of distaste towards his medical companion, of whom he one day remarked, that "he was exactly the kind of person to whom, if he fell overboard, one would hold out a straw, to know if the adage be true that drowning men catch at straws." a few more anecdotes of this young man, while in the service of lord byron, may, as throwing light upon the character of the latter, be not inappropriately introduced. while the whole party were, one day, out boating, polidori, by some accident, in rowing, struck lord byron violently on the knee-pan with his oar; and the latter, without speaking, turned his face away to hide the pain. after a moment he said, "be so kind, polidori, another time, to take more care, for you hurt me very much."--"i am glad of it," answered the other; "i am glad to see you can suffer pain." in a calm suppressed tone, lord byron replied, "let me advise you, polidori, when you, another time, hurt any one, not to express your satisfaction. people don't like to be told that those who give them pain are glad of it; and they cannot always command their anger. it was with some difficulty that i refrained from throwing you into the water; and, but for mrs. shelley's presence, i should probably have done some such rash thing." this was said without ill temper, and the cloud soon passed away. another time, when the lady just mentioned was, after a shower of rain, walking up the hill to diodati, lord byron, who saw her from his balcony where he was standing with polidori, said to the latter, "now, you who wish to be gallant ought to jump down this small height, and offer your arm." polidori chose the easiest part of the declivity, and leaped;--but the ground being wet, his foot slipped, and he sprained his ankle.[ ] lord byron instantly helped to carry him in and procure cold water for the foot; and, after he was laid on the sofa, perceiving that he was uneasy, went up stairs himself (an exertion which his lameness made painful and disagreeable) to fetch a pillow for him. "well, i did not believe you had so much feeling," was polidori's gracious remark, which, it may be supposed, not a little clouded the noble poet's brow. a dialogue which lord byron himself used to mention as having taken place between them during their journey on the rhine, is amusingly characteristic of both the persons concerned. "after all," said the physician, "what is there you can do that i cannot?"--"why, since you force me to say," answered the other, "i think there are three things i can do which you cannot." polidori defied him to name them. "i can," said lord byron, "swim across that river--i can snuff out that candle with a pistol-shot at the distance of twenty paces--and i have written a poem[ ] of which , copies were sold in one day." the jealous pique of the doctor against shelley was constantly breaking out; and on the occasion of some victory which the latter had gained over him in a sailing-match, he took it into his head that his antagonist had treated him with contempt; and went so far, in consequence, notwithstanding shelley's known sentiments against duelling, as to proffer him a sort of challenge, at which shelley, as might be expected, only laughed. lord byron, however, fearing that the vivacious physician might still further take advantage of this peculiarity of his friend, said to him, "recollect, that though shelley has some scruples about duelling, _i_ have none; and shall be, at all times, ready to take his place." at diodati, his life was passed in the same regular round of habits and occupations into which, when left to himself, he always naturally fell; a late breakfast, then a visit to the shelleys' cottage and an excursion on the lake;--at five, dinner[ ] (when he usually preferred being alone), and then, if the weather permitted, an excursion again. he and shelley had joined in purchasing a boat, for which they gave twenty-five _louis_,--a small sailing vessel, fitted to stand the usual squalls of the climate, and, at that time, the only keeled boat on the lake. when the weather did not allow of their excursions after dinner,--an occurrence not unfrequent during this very wet summer,--the inmates of the cottage passed their evenings at diodati, and, when the rain rendered it inconvenient for them to return home, remained there to sleep. "we often," says one, who was not the least ornamental of the party, "sat up in conversation till the morning light. there was never any lack of subjects, and, grave or gay, we were always interested." during a week of rain at this time, having amused themselves with reading german ghost-stories, they agreed, at last, to write something in imitation of them. "you and i," said lord byron to mrs. shelley, "will publish ours together." he then began his tale of the vampire; and, having the whole arranged in his head, repeated to them a sketch of the story[ ] one evening,--but, from the narrative being in prose, made but little progress in filling up his outline. the most memorable result, indeed, of their story-telling compact, was mrs. shelley's wild and powerful romance of frankenstein,--one of those original conceptions that take hold of the public mind at once, and for ever. towards the latter end of june, as we have seen in one of the preceding letters, lord byron, accompanied by his friend shelley, made a tour in his boat round the lake, and visited, "with the heloise before him," all those scenes around meillerie and clarens, which have become consecrated for ever by ideal passion, and by that power which genius alone possesses, of giving such life to its dreams as to make them seem realities. in the squall off meillerie, which he mentions, their danger was considerable[ ]. in the expectation, every moment, of being obliged to swim for his life, lord byron had already thrown off his coat, and, as shelley was no swimmer, insisted upon endeavouring, by some means, to save him. this offer, however, shelley positively refused; and seating himself quietly upon a locker, and grasping the rings at each end firmly in his hands, declared his determination to go down in that position, without a struggle.[ ] subjoined to that interesting little work, the "six weeks' tour," there is a letter by shelley himself, giving an account of this excursion round the lake, and written with all the enthusiasm such scenes should inspire. in describing a beautiful child they saw at the village of nerni, he says, "my companion gave him a piece of money, which he took without speaking, with a sweet smile of easy thankfulness, and then with an unembarrassed air turned to his play." there were, indeed, few things lord byron more delighted in than to watch beautiful children at play;--"many a lovely swiss child (says a person who saw him daily at this time) received crowns from him as the reward of their grace and sweetness." speaking of their lodgings at nerni, which were gloomy and dirty, mr. shelley says, "on returning to our inn, we found that the servant had arranged our rooms, and deprived them of the greater portion of their former disconsolate appearance. they reminded my companion of greece:--it was five years, he said, since he had slept in such beds." luckily for shelley's full enjoyment of these scenes, he had never before happened to read the heloise; and though his companion had long been familiar with that romance, the sight of the region itself, the "birth-place of deep love," every spot of which seemed instinct with the passion of the story, gave to the whole a fresh and actual existence in his mind. both were under the spell of the genius of the place,--both full of emotion; and as they walked silently through the vineyards that were once the "bosquet de julie," lord byron suddenly exclaimed, "thank god, polidori is not here." that the glowing stanzas suggested to him by this scene were written upon the spot itself appears almost certain, from the letter addressed to mr. murray on his way back to diodati, in which he announces the third canto as complete, and consisting of stanzas. at ouchy, near lausanne,--the place from which that letter is dated--he and his friend were detained two days, in a small inn, by the weather: and it was there, in that short interval, that he wrote his "prisoner of chillon," adding one more deathless association to the already immortalised localities of the lake. on his return from this excursion to diodati, an occasion was afforded for the gratification of his jesting propensities by the avowal of the young physician that--he had fallen in love. on the evening of this tender confession they both appeared at shelley's cottage--lord byron, in the highest and most boyish spirits, rubbing his hands as he walked about the room, and in that utter incapacity of retention which was one of his foibles, making jesting allusions to the secret he had just heard. the brow of the doctor darkened as this pleasantry went on, and, at last, he angrily accused lord byron of hardness of heart. "i never," said he, "met with a person so unfeeling." this sally, though the poet had evidently brought it upon himself, annoyed him most deeply. "call _me_ cold-hearted--_me_ insensible!" he exclaimed, with manifest emotion--"as well might you say that glass is not brittle, which has been cast down a precipice, and lies dashed to pieces at the foot!" in the month of july he paid a visit to copet, and was received by the distinguished hostess with a cordiality the more sensibly felt by him as, from his personal unpopularity at this time, he had hardly ventured to count upon it.[ ] in her usual frank style, she took him to task upon his matrimonial conduct--but in a way that won upon his mind, and disposed him to yield to her suggestions. he must endeavour, she told him, to bring about a reconciliation with his wife, and must submit to contend no longer with the opinion of the world. in vain did he quote her own motto to delphine, "un homme peut braver, une femme doit se succomber aux opinions du monde;"--her reply was, that all this might be very well to say, but that, in real life, the duty and necessity of yielding belonged also to the man. her eloquence, in short, so far succeeded, that he was prevailed upon to write a letter to a friend in england, declaring himself still willing to be reconciled to lady byron,--a concession not a little startling to those who had so often, lately, heard him declare that, "having done all in his power to persuade lady byron to return, and with this view put off as long as he could signing the deed of separation, that step being once taken, they were now divided for ever." of the particulars of this brief negotiation that ensued upon madame de staël's suggestion, i have no very accurate remembrance; but there can be little doubt that its failure, after the violence he had done his own pride in the overture, was what first infused any mixture of resentment or bitterness into the feelings hitherto entertained by him throughout these painful differences. he had, indeed, since his arrival in geneva, invariably spoken of his lady with kindness and regret, imputing the course she had taken, in leaving him, not to herself but others, and assigning whatever little share of blame he would allow her to bear in the transaction to the simple and, doubtless, true cause--her not at all understanding him. "i have no doubt," he would sometimes say, "that she really did believe me to be mad." another resolution connected with his matrimonial affairs, in which he often, at this time, professed his fixed intention to persevere, was that of never allowing himself to touch any part of his wife's fortune. such a sacrifice, there is no doubt, would have been, in his situation, delicate and manly; but though the natural bent of his disposition led him to _make_ the resolution, he wanted,--what few, perhaps, could have attained,--the fortitude to _keep_ it. the effects of the late struggle on his mind, in stirring up all its resources and energies, was visible in the great activity of his genius during the whole of this period, and the rich variety, both in character and colouring, of the works with which it teemed. besides the third canto of childe harold and the prisoner of chillon, he produced also his two poems, "darkness" and "the dream," the latter of which cost him many a tear in writing,--being, indeed, the most mournful, as well as picturesque, "story of a wandering life" that ever came from the pen and heart of man. those verses, too, entitled "the incantation," which he introduced afterwards, without any connection with the subject, into manfred, were also (at least, the less bitter portion of them) the production of this period; and as they were written soon after the last fruitless attempt at reconciliation, it is needless to say who was in his thoughts while he penned some of the opening stanzas. "though thy slumber must be deep, yet thy spirit shall not sleep; there are shades which will not vanish, there are thoughts thou canst not banish; by a power to thee unknown, thou canst never be alone; thou art wrapt as with a shroud, thou art gather'd in a cloud; and for ever shalt thou dwell in the spirit of this spell. "though thou see'st me not pass by, thou shalt feel me with thine eye, as a thing that, though unseen, must be near thee, and hath been; and when, in that secret dread, thou hast turn'd around thy head, thou shalt marvel i am not as thy shadow on the spot, and the power which thou dost feel shall be what thou must conceal." besides the unfinished "vampire," he began also, at this time, another romance in prose, founded upon the story of the marriage of belphegor, and intended to shadow out his own matrimonial fate. the wife of this satanic personage he described much in the same spirit that pervades his delineation of donna inez in the first canto of don juan. while engaged, however, in writing this story, he heard from england that lady byron was ill, and, his heart softening at the intelligence, he threw the manuscript into the fire. so constantly were the good and evil principles of his nature conflicting for mastery over him.[ ] the two following poems, so different from each other in their character,--the first prying with an awful scepticism into the darkness of another world, and the second breathing all that is most natural and tender in the affections of this,--were also written at this time, and have never before been published. [footnote : childe harold, canto iii.] [footnote : to this lameness of polidori, one of the preceding letters of lord byron alludes.] [footnote : the corsair.] [footnote : his system of diet here was regulated by an abstinence almost incredible. a thin slice of bread, with tea, at breakfast--a light, vegetable dinner, with a bottle or two of seltzer water, tinged with vin de grave, and in the evening, a cup of green tea, without milk or sugar, formed the whole of his sustenance. the pangs of hunger he appeased by privately chewing tobacco and smoking cigars.] [footnote : from his remembrance of this sketch, polidori afterwards vamped up his strange novel of the vampire, which, under the supposition of its being lord byron's, was received with such enthusiasm in france. it would, indeed, not a little deduct from our value of foreign fame, if what some french writers have asserted be true, that the appearance of this extravagant novel among our neighbours first attracted their attention to the genius of byron.] [footnote : "the wind (says lord byron's fellow-voyager) gradually increased in violence until it blew tremendously; and, as it came from the remotest extremity of the lake, produced waves of a frightful height, and covered the whole surface with a chaos of foam. one of our boatmen, who was a dreadfully stupid fellow, persisted in holding the sail at a time when the boat was on the point of being driven under water by the hurricane. on discovering this error, he let it entirely go, and the boat for a moment refused to obey the helm; in addition, the rudder was so broken as to render the management of it very difficult; one wave fell in, and then another."] [footnote : "i felt, in this near prospect of death (says mr. shelley), a mixture of sensations, among which terror entered, though but subordinately. my feelings would have been less painful had i been alone; but i knew that my companion would have attempted to save me, and i was overcome with humiliation, when i thought that his life might have been risked to preserve mine. when we arrived at st. gingoux, the inhabitants, who stood on the shore, unaccustomed to see a vessel as frail as ours, and fearing to venture at all on such a sea, exchanged looks of wonder and congratulation with our boatmen, who, as well as ourselves, were well pleased to set foot on shore."] [footnote : in the account of this visit to copet in his memoranda, he spoke in high terms of the daughter of his hostess, the present duchess de broglie, and, in noticing how much she appeared to be attached to her husband, remarked that "nothing was more pleasing than to see the developement of the domestic affections in a very young woman." of madame de staël, in that memoir, he spoke thus:--"madame de staël was a good woman at heart and the cleverest at bottom, but spoilt by a wish to be--she knew not what. in her own house she was amiable; in any other person's, you wished her gone, and in her own again."] [footnote : upon the same occasion, indeed, he wrote some verses in a spirit not quite so generous, of which a few of the opening lines is all i shall give:-- "and thou wert sad--yet i was not with thee! and thou wert sick--and yet i was not near. methought that joy and health alone could be where i was _not_, and pain and sorrow here. and is it thus?--it is as i foretold, and shall be more so:--" &c. &c. ] * * * * * "extract from an unpublished poem. "could i remount the river of my years to the first fountain of our smiles and tears, i would not trace again the stream of hours between their outworn banks of wither'd flowers, but bid it flow as now--until it glides into the number of the nameless tides. * * * what is this death?--a quiet of the heart? the whole of that of which we are a part? for life is but a vision--what i see of all which lives alone is life to me, and being so--the absent are the dead, who haunt us from tranquillity, and spread a dreary shroud around us, and invest with sad remembrances our hours of rest. "the absent are the dead--for they are cold, and ne'er can be what once we did behold; and they are changed, and cheerless,--or if yet the unforgotten do not all forget, since thus divided--equal must it be if the deep barrier be of earth, or sea; it may be both--but one day end it must in the dark union of insensate dust. "the under-earth inhabitants--are they but mingled millions decomposed to clay? the ashes of a thousand ages spread wherever man has trodden or shall tread? or do they in their silent cities dwell each in his incommunicative cell? or have they their own language? and a sense of breathless being?--darken'd and intense as midnight in her solitude?--oh earth! where are the past?--and wherefore had they birth? the dead are thy inheritors--and we but bubbles on thy surface; and the key of thy profundity is in the grave, the ebon portal of thy peopled cave, where i would walk in spirit, and behold our elements resolved to things untold, and fathom hidden wonders, and explore the essence of great bosoms now no more." * * * * * * * "to augusta. "my sister! my sweet sister! if a name dearer and purer were, it should be thine. mountains and seas divide us, but i claim no tears, but tenderness to answer mine: go where i will, to me thou art the same-- a loved regret which i would not resign. there yet are two things in my destiny,-- a world to roam through, and a home with thee. "the first were nothing--had i still the last, it were the haven of my happiness; but other claims and other ties thou hast, and mine is not the wish to make them less. a strange doom is thy father's son's, and past recalling, as it lies beyond redress; reversed for him our grandsire's[ ] fate of yore,-- he had no rest at sea, nor i on shore. "if my inheritance of storms hath been in other elements, and on the rocks of perils, overlook'd or unforeseen, i have sustain'd my share of worldly shocks, the fault was mine; nor do i seek to screen my errors with defensive paradox; i have been cunning in mine overthrow, the careful pilot of my proper woe, "mine were my faults, and mine be their reward. my whole life was a contest, since the day that gave me being, gave me that which marr'd the gift,--a fate, or will that walk'd astray; and i at times have found the struggle hard, and thought of shaking off my bonds of clay: but now i fain would for a time survive, if but to see what next can well arrive. "kingdoms and empires in my little day i have outlived, and yet i am not old; and when i look on this, the petty spray of my own years of trouble, which have roll'd like a wild bay of breakers, melts away: something--i know not what--does still uphold a spirit of slight patience; not in vain, even for its own sake, do we purchase pain. "perhaps the workings of defiance stir within me,--or perhaps a cold despair, brought on when ills habitually recur,-- perhaps a kinder clime, or purer air, (for even to this may change of soul refer, and with light armour we may learn to bear,) have taught me a strange quiet, which was not the chief companion of a calmer lot. "i feel almost at times as i have felt in happy childhood; trees, and flowers, and brooks, which do remember me of where i dwelt ere my young mind was sacrificed to books, come as of yore upon me, and can melt my heart with recognition of their looks; and even at moments i could think i see some living thing to love--but none like thee. "here are the alpine landscapes which create a fund for contemplation;--to admire is a brief feeling of a trivial date; but something worthier do such scenes inspire: here to be lonely is not desolate, for much i view which i could most desire, and, above all, a lake i can behold lovelier, not dearer, than our own of old. "oh that thou wert but with me!--but i grow the fool of my own wishes, and forget the solitude which i have vaunted so has lost its praise in this but one regret; there may be others which i less may show;-- i am not of the plaintive mood, and yet i feel an ebb in my philosophy, and the tide rising in my alter'd eye. "i did remind thee of our own dear lake[ ], by the old hall which may be mine no more. leman's is fair; but think not i forsake the sweet remembrance of a dearer shore: sad havoc time must with my memory make ere _that_ or _thou_ can fade these eyes before; though, like all things which i have loved, they are resign'd for ever, or divided far. "the world is all before me; i but ask of nature that with which she will comply-- it is but in her summer's sun to bask, to mingle with the quiet of her sky, to see her gentle face without a mask, and never gaze on it with apathy. she was my early friend, and now shall be my sister--till i look again on thee. "i can reduce all feelings but this one; and that i would not;--for at length i see such scenes as those wherein my life begun. the earliest--even the only paths for me-- had i but sooner learnt the crowd to shun, i had been better than i now can be; the passions which have torn me would have slept; _i_ had not suffer'd, and _thou_ hadst not wept. "with false ambition what had i to do? little with love, and least of all with fame; and yet they came unsought, and with me grew, and made me all which they can make--a name. yet this was not the end i did pursue; surely i once beheld a nobler aim. but all is over--i am one the more to baffled millions which have gone before. "and for the future, this world's future may from me demand but little of my care; i have outlived myself by many a day; having survived so many things that were; my years have been no slumber, but the prey of ceaseless vigils; for i had the share of life which might have fill'd a century, before its fourth in time had pass'd me by. "and for the remnant which may be to come i am content; and for the past i feel not thankless,--for within the crowded sum of struggles, happiness at times would steal, and for the present, i would not benumb my feelings farther.--nor shall i conceal that with all this i still can look around and worship nature with a thought profound. "for thee, my own sweet sister, in thy heart i know myself secure, as thou in mine: we were and are--i am, even as thou art-- beings who ne'er each other can resign; it is the same, together or apart, from life's commencement to its slow decline we are entwined--let death come slow or fast, the tie which bound the first endures the last!" [footnote : "admiral byron was remarkable for never making a voyage without a tempest. he was known to the sailors by the facetious name of 'foul-weather jack.' "but, though it were tempest-tost, still his bark could not be lost. he returned safely from the wreck of the wager (in anson's voyage), and subsequently circumnavigated the world, many years after, as commander of a similar expedition."] [footnote : the lake of newstead abbey.] * * * * * in the month of august, mr. m.g. lewis arrived to pass some time with him; and he was soon after visited by mr. richard sharpe, of whom he makes such honourable mention in the journal already given, and with whom, as i have heard this gentleman say, it now gave him evident pleasure to converse about their common friends in england. among those who appeared to have left the strongest impressions of interest and admiration on his mind was (as easily will be believed by all who know this distinguished person) sir james mackintosh. soon after the arrival of his friends, mr. hobhouse and mr. s. davies, he set out, as we have seen, with the former on a tour through the bernese alps,--after accomplishing which journey, about the beginning of october he took his departure, accompanied by the same gentleman, for italy. the first letter of the following series was, it will be seen, written a few days before he left diodati. letter . to mr. murray. "diodati, oct. . . "save me a copy of 'buck's richard iii.' republished by longman; but do not send out more books, i have too many. "the 'monody' is in too many paragraphs, which makes it unintelligible to me; if any one else understands it in the present form, they are wiser; however, as it cannot be rectified till my return, and has been already published, even publish it on in the collection--it will fill up the place of the omitted epistle. "strike out 'by request of a friend,' which is sad trash, and must have been done to make it ridiculous. "be careful in the printing the stanzas beginning, "'though the day of my destiny,' &c. which i think well of as a composition. "'the antiquary' is not the best of the three, but much above all the last twenty years, saving its elder brothers. holcroft's memoirs are valuable as showing strength of endurance in the man, which is worth more than all the talent in the world. "and so you have been publishing 'margaret of anjou' and an assyrian tale, and refusing w.w.'s waterloo, and the 'hue and cry.' i know not which most to admire, your rejections or acceptances. i believe that _prose_ is, after all, the most reputable, for certes, if one could foresee--but i won't go on--that is with this sentence; but poetry is, i fear, incurable. god help me! if i proceed in this scribbling, i shall have frittered away my mind before i am thirty, but it is at times a real relief to me. for the present--good evening." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "martigny, october . . "thus far on my way to italy. we have just passed the 'fisse-vache' (one of the first torrents in switzerland) in time to view the iris which the sun flings along it before noon. "i have written to you twice lately. mr. davies, i hear, is arrived. he brings the original ms. which you wished to see. recollect that the printing is to be from that which mr. shelley brought; and recollect, also, that the concluding stanzas of childe harold (those to my _daughter_) which i had not made up my mind whether to publish or not when they were _first_ written (as you will see marked on the margin of the first copy), i had (and have) fully determined to publish with the rest of the canto, as in the copy which you received by mr. shelley, before i sent it to england. "our weather is very fine, which is more than the summer has been.--at milan i shall expect to hear from you. address either to milan, _poste restante_, or by way of geneva, to the care of monsr. hentsch, banquier. i write these few lines in case my other letter should not reach you: i trust one of them will. "p.s. my best respects and regards to mr. gifford. will you tell him it may perhaps be as well to put a short note to that part relating to _clarens_, merely to say, that of course the description does not refer to that particular spot so much as to the command of scenery round it? i do not know that this is necessary, and leave it to mr. g.'s choice, as my editor,--if he will allow me to call him so at this distance." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "milan, october . . "i hear that mr. davies has arrived in england,--but that of some letters, &c., committed to his care by mr. h., only _half_ have been delivered. this intelligence naturally makes me feel a little anxious for mine, and amongst them for the ms., which i wished to have compared with the one sent by me through the hands of mr. shelley. i trust that _it_ has arrived safely,--and indeed not less so, that some little crystals, &c., from mont blanc, for my daughter and my nieces, have reached their address. pray have the goodness to ascertain from mr. davies that no accident (by custom-house or loss) has befallen them, and satisfy me on this point at your earliest convenience. "if i recollect rightly, you told me that mr. gifford had kindly undertaken to correct the press (at my request) during my absence--at least i hope so. it will add to my many obligations to that gentleman. "i wrote to you, on my way here, a short note, dated martigny. mr. hobhouse and myself arrived here a few days ago, by the simplon and lago maggiore route. of course we visited the borromean islands, which are fine, but too artificial. the simplon is magnificent in its nature and its art,--both god and man have done wonders,--to say nothing of the devil who must certainly have had a hand (or a hoof) in some of the rocks and ravines through and over which the works are carried. "milan is striking--the cathedral superb. the city altogether reminds me of seville, but a little inferior. we had heard divers bruits, and took precautions on the road, near the frontier, against some 'many worthy fellows (i.e. felons) that were out,' and had ransacked some preceding travellers, a few weeks ago, near sesto,--or _c_esto, i forget which,--of cash and raiment, besides putting them in bodily fear, and lodging about twenty slugs in the retreating part of a courier belonging to mr. hope. but we were not molested, and i do not think in any danger, except of making mistakes in the way of cocking and priming whenever we saw an old house, or an ill-looking thicket, and now and then suspecting the 'true men,' who have very much the appearance of the thieves of other countries. what the thieves may look like, i know not, nor desire to know, for it seems they come upon you in bodies of thirty ('in buckram and kendal green') at a time, so that voyagers have no great chance. it is something like poor dear turkey in that respect, but not so good, for there you can have as great a body of rogues to match the regular banditti; but here the gens d'armes are said to be no great things, and as for one's own people, one can't carry them about like robinson crusoe with a gun on each shoulder. "i have been to the ambrosian library--it is a fine collection--full of mss. edited and unedited. i enclose you a list of the former recently published: these are matters for your literati. for me, in my simple way, i have been most delighted with a correspondence of letters, all original and amatory, between _lucretia borgia_ and _cardinal bembo_, preserved there. i have pored over them and a lock of her hair, the prettiest and fairest imaginable--i never saw fairer--and shall go repeatedly to read the epistles over and over; and if i can obtain some of the hair by fair means, i shall try. i have already persuaded the librarian to promise me copies of the letters, and i hope he will not disappoint me. they are short, but very simple, sweet, and to the purpose; there are some copies of verses in spanish also by her; the tress of her hair is long, and, as i said before, beautiful. the brera gallery of paintings has some fine pictures, but nothing of a collection. of painting i know nothing; but i like a guercino--a picture of abraham putting away hagar and ishmael--which seems to me natural and goodly. the flemish school, such as i saw it in flanders, i utterly detested, despised, and abhorred; it might be painting, but it was not nature; the italian is pleasing, and their _ideal_ very noble. "the italians i have encountered here are very intelligent and agreeable. in a few days i am to meet monti. by the way, i have just heard an anecdote of beccaria, who published such admirable things against the punishment of death. as soon as his book was out, his servant (having read it, i presume) stole his watch; and his master, while correcting the press of a second edition, did all he could to have him hanged by way of advertisement. "i forgot to mention the triumphal arch begun by napoleon, as a gate to this city. it is unfinished, but the part completed worthy of another age and the same country. the society here is very oddly carried on,--at the theatre, and the theatre only,--which answers to our opera. people meet there as at a rout, but in very small circles. from milan i shall go to venice. if you write, write to geneva, as before--the letter will be forwarded. "yours ever." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "milan, november . . "i have recently written to you rather frequently but without any late answer. mr. hobhouse and myself set out for venice in a few days; but you had better still address to me at mr. hentsch's, banquier, geneva; he will forward your letters. "i do not know whether i mentioned to you some time ago, that i had parted with the dr. polidori a few weeks previous to my leaving diodati. i know no great harm of him; but he had an alacrity of getting into scrapes, and was too young and heedless; and having enough to attend to in my own concerns, and without time to become his tutor, i thought it much better to give him his congé. he arrived at milan some weeks before mr. hobhouse and myself. about a week ago, in consequence of a quarrel at the theatre with an austrian officer, in which he was exceedingly in the wrong, he has contrived to get sent out of the territory, and is gone to florence. i was not present, the pit having been the scene of altercation; but on being sent for from the cavalier breme's box, where i was quietly staring at the ballet, i found the man of medicine begirt with grenadiers, arrested by the guard, conveyed into the guard-room, where there was much swearing in several languages. they were going to keep him there for the night; but on my giving my name, and answering for his apparition next morning, he was permitted egress. next day he had an order from the government to be gone in twenty-four hours, and accordingly gone he is, some days ago. we did what we could for him, but to no purpose; and indeed he brought it upon himself, as far as i could learn, for i was not present at the squabble itself. i believe this is the real state of his case; and i tell it you because i believe things sometimes reach you in england in a false or exaggerated form. we found milan very polite and hospitable[ ], and have the same hopes of verona and venice. i have filled my paper. "ever yours," &c. [footnote : with milan, however, or its society, the noble traveller was far from being pleased, and in his memoranda, i recollect, he described his stay there to be "like a ship under quarantine." among other persons whom he met in the society of that place was m. beyle, the ingenious author of "l'histoire de la peinture en italie," who thus describes the impression their first interview left upon him:-- "ce fut pendant l'automne de , que je le rencontrai au théâtre de la _scala_, à milan, dans la loge de m. louis de brême. je fus frappé des yeux de lord byron au moment où il écoutait un sestetto d'un opéra de mayer intitulé elena. je n'ai vu de ma vie, rien de plus beau ni de plus expressif. encore aujourd'hui, si je viens à penser à l'expression qu'un grand peintre devrait donner an génie, cette tête sublime reparaît tout-à-coup devant moi. j'eus un instant d'enthousiasme, et oubliant la juste répugnance que tout homme un peu fier doit avoir à se faire présenter à un pair d'angleterre, je priai m. de brême de m'introduire à lord byron, je me trouvai le lendemain à dîner chez m. de brême, avec lui, et le celèbre monti, l'immortel auteur de la _basvigliana_. on parla poésie, on en vint à demander quels étaient les douze plus beaux vers faits depuis un siècle, en français, en italien, en anglais. les italiens présens s'accordèrent à designer les douze premiers vers de la _mascheroniana_ de monti, comme ce que l'on avait fait de plus beau dans leur langue, depuis cent ans. _monti_ voulut bien nous les réciter. je regardai lord byron, il fut ravi. la nuance de hauteur, ou plutôt l'air d'un homme _qui se trouve avoir à repousser une importunité_, qui déparait un peu sa belle figure, disparut tout-à-coup pour faire à l'expression du bonheur. le premier chant de la _mascheroniana_, que monti récita presque en entier, vaincu par les acclamations des auditeurs, causa la plus vive sensation à l'auteur de childe harold. je n'oublierai jamais l'expression divine de ses traits; c'était l'air serein de la puissance et du génie, et suivant moi, lord byron n'avait, en ce moment, aucune affectation à se reprocher."] * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "verona, november . . "my dear moore, "your letter, written before my departure from england, and addressed to me in london, only reached me recently. since that period, i have been over a portion of that part of europe which i had not already seen. about a month since, i crossed the alps from switzerland to milan, which i left a few days ago, and am thus far on my way to venice, where i shall probably winter. yesterday i was on the shores of the benacus, with his _fluctibus et fremitu_. catullus's sirmium has still its name and site, and is remembered for his sake: but the very heavy autumnal rains and mists prevented our quitting our route, (that is, hobhouse and myself, who are at present voyaging together,) as it was better not to see it at all than to a great disadvantage. "i found on the benacus the same tradition of a city, still visible in calm weather below the waters, which you have preserved of lough neagh, 'when the clear, cold eve's declining.' i do not know that it is authorised by records; but they tell you such a story, and say that the city was swallowed up by an earthquake. we moved to-day over the frontier to verona, by a road suspected of thieves,--'the wise _convey_ it call,'--but without molestation. i shall remain here a day or two to gape at the usual marvels,--amphitheatre, paintings, and all that time-tax of travel,--though catullus, claudian, and shakspeare have done more for verona than it ever did for itself. they still pretend to show, i believe, the 'tomb of all the capulets'--we shall see. "among many things at milan, one pleased me particularly, viz. the correspondence (in the prettiest love-letters in the world) of lucretia borgia with cardinal bembo, (who, _you say_, made a very good cardinal,) and a lock of her hair, and some spanish verses of hers,--the lock very fair and beautiful. i took one single hair of it as a relic, and wished sorely to get a copy of one or two of the letters; but it is prohibited: _that_ i don't mind; but it was impracticable; and so i only got some of them by heart. they are kept in the ambrosian library, which i often visited to look them over--to the scandal of the librarian, who wanted to enlighten me with sundry valuable mss., classical, philosophical, and pious. but i stick to the pope's daughter, and wish myself a cardinal. "i have seen the finest parts of switzerland, the rhine, the rhone, and the swiss and italian lakes; for the beauties of which, i refer you to the guidebook. the north of italy is tolerably free from the english; but the south swarms with them, i am told. madame de staël i saw frequently at copet, which she renders remarkably pleasant. she has been particularly kind to me. i was for some months her neighbour, in a country house called diodati, which i had on the lake of geneva. my plans are very uncertain; but it is probable that you will see me in england in the spring. i have some business there. if you write to me, will you address to the care of mons. hentsch, banquier, geneva, who receives and forwards my letters. remember me to rogers, who wrote to me lately, with a short account of your poem, which, i trust, is near the light. he speaks of it most highly. "my health is very endurable, except that i am subject to casual giddiness and faintness, which is so like a fine lady, that i am rather ashamed of the disorder. when i sailed, i had a physician with me, whom, after some months of patience, i found it expedient to part with, before i left geneva some time. on arriving at milan, i found this gentleman in very good society, where he prospered for some weeks: but, at length, at the theatre he quarrelled with an austrian officer, and was sent out by the government in twenty-four hours. i was not present at his squabble; but, on hearing that he was put under arrest, i went and got him out of his confinement, but could not prevent his being sent off, which, indeed, he partly deserved, being quite in the wrong, and having begun a row for row's sake. i had preceded the austrian government some weeks myself, in giving him his congé from geneva. he is not a bad fellow, but very young and hot-headed, and more likely to incur diseases than to cure them. hobhouse and myself found it useless to intercede for him. this happened some time before we left milan. he is gone to florence. "at milan i saw, and was visited by, monti, the most celebrated of the living italian poets. he seems near sixty; in face he is like the late cooke the actor. his frequent changes in politics have made him very unpopular as a man. i saw many more of their literati; but none whose names are well known in england, except acerbi. i lived much with the italians, particularly with the marquis of breme's family, who are very able and intelligent men, especially the abate. there was a famous improvvisatore who held forth while i was there. his fluency astonished me; but, although i understand italian, and speak it (with more readiness than accuracy), i could only carry off a few very common-place mythological images, and one line about artemisia, and another about algiers, with sixty words of an entire tragedy about etocles and polynices. some of the italians liked him--others called his performance 'seccatura' (a devilish good word, by the way)--and all milan was in controversy about him. "the state of morals in these parts is in some sort lax. a mother and son were pointed out at the theatre, as being pronounced by the milanese world to be of the theban dynasty--but this was all. the narrator (one of the first men in milan) seemed to be not sufficiently scandalised by the taste or the tie. all society in milan is carried on at the opera: they have private boxes, where they play at cards, or talk, or any thing else; but (except at the cassino) there are no open houses, or balls, &c. &c. "the peasant girls have all very fine dark eyes, and many of them are beautiful. there are also two dead bodies in fine preservation--one saint carlo boromeo, at milan; the other not a saint, but a chief, named visconti, at monza--both of which appeared very agreeable. in one of the boromean isles (the isola bella), there is a large laurel--the largest known--on which buonaparte, staying there just before the battle of marengo, carved with his knife the word 'battaglia.' i saw the letters, now half worn out and partly erased. "excuse this tedious letter. to be tiresome is the privilege of old age and absence: i avail myself of the latter, and the former i have anticipated. if i do not speak to you of my own affairs, it is not from want of confidence, but to spare you and myself. my day is over--what then?--i have had it. to be sure, i have shortened it; and if i had done as much by this letter, it would have been as well. but you will forgive that, if not the other faults of "yours ever and most affectionately, "b. "p.s. november . . "i have been over verona. the amphitheatre is wonderful--beats even greece. of the truth of juliet's story they seem tenacious to a degree, insisting on the fact--giving a date ( ), and showing a tomb. it is a plain, open, and partly decayed sarcophagus, with withered leaves in it, in a wild and desolate conventual garden, once a cemetery, now ruined to the very graves. the situation struck me as very appropriate to the legend, being blighted as their love. i have brought away a few pieces of the granite, to give to my daughter and my nieces. of the other marvels of this city, paintings, antiquities, &c., excepting the tombs of the scaliger princes, i have no pretensions to judge. the gothic monuments of the scaligers pleased me, but 'a poor virtuoso am i,' and ever yours." * * * * * it must have been observed, in my account of lord byron's life previous to his marriage, that, without leaving altogether unnoticed (what, indeed, was too notorious to be so evaded) certain affairs of gallantry in which he had the reputation of being engaged, i have thought it right, besides refraining from such details in my narrative, to suppress also whatever passages in his journals and letters might be supposed to bear too personally or particularly on the same delicate topics. incomplete as the strange history of his mind and heart must, in one of its most interesting chapters, be left by these omissions, still a deference to that peculiar sense of decorum in this country, which marks the mention of such frailties as hardly a less crime than the commission of them, and, still more, the regard due to the feelings of the living, who ought not rashly to be made to suffer for the errors of the dead, have combined to render this sacrifice, however much it may be regretted, necessary. we have now, however, shifted the scene to a region where less caution is requisite;--where, from the different standard applied to female morals in these respects, if the wrong itself be not lessened by this diminution of the consciousness of it, less scruple may be, at least, felt towards persons so circumstanced, and whatever delicacy we may think right to exercise in speaking of their frailties must be with reference rather to our views and usages than theirs. availing myself, with this latter qualification, of the greater latitude thus allowed me, i shall venture so far to depart from the plan hitherto pursued, as to give, with but little suppression, the noble poet's letters relative to his italian adventures. to throw a veil altogether over these irregularities of his private life would be to afford--were it even practicable--but a partial portraiture of his character; while, on the other hand, to rob him of the advantage of being himself the historian of his errors (where no injury to others can flow from the disclosure) would be to deprive him of whatever softening light can be thrown round such transgressions by the vivacity and fancy, the passionate love of beauty, and the strong yearning after affection which will be found to have, more or less, mingled with even the least refined of his attachments. neither is any great danger to be apprehended from the sanction or seduction of such an example; as they who would dare to plead the authority of lord byron for their errors must first be able to trace them to the same palliating sources,--to that sensibility, whose very excesses showed its strength and depth,--that stretch of imagination, to the very verge, perhaps, of what reason can bear without giving way,--that whole combination, in short, of grand but disturbing powers, which alone could be allowed to extenuate such moral derangement, but which, even in him thus dangerously gifted, were insufficient to excuse it. having premised these few observations, i shall now proceed, with less interruption, to lay his correspondence, during this and the two succeeding years, before the reader:-- letter . to mr. moore. "venice, november . . "i wrote to you from verona the other day in my progress hither, which letter i hope you will receive. some three years ago, or it may be more, i recollect your telling me that you had received a letter from our friend sam, dated 'on board his gondola.' _my_ gondola is, at this present, waiting for me on the canal; but i prefer writing to you in the house, it being autumn--and rather an english autumn than otherwise. it is my intention to remain at venice during the winter, probably, as it has always been (next to the east) the greenest island of my imagination. it has not disappointed me; though its evident decay would, perhaps, have that effect upon others. but i have been familiar with ruins too long to dislike desolation. besides, i have fallen in love, which, next to falling into the canal, (which would be of no use, as i can swim,) is the best or the worst thing i could do. i have got some extremely good apartments in the house of a 'merchant of venice,' who is a good deal occupied with business, and has a wife in her twenty-second year. marianna (that is her name) is in her appearance altogether like an antelope. she has the large, black, oriental eyes, with that peculiar expression in them which is seen rarely among _europeans_--even the italians--and which many of the turkish women give themselves by tinging the eyelid,--an art not known out of that country, i believe. this expression she has _naturally_,--and something more than this. in short, i cannot describe the effect of this kind of eye,--at least upon me. her features are regular, and rather aquiline--mouth small--skin clear and soft, with a kind of hectic colour--forehead remarkably good: her hair is of the dark gloss, curl, and colour of lady j * *'s: her figure is light and pretty, and she is a famous songstress--scientifically so; her natural voice (in conversation, i mean) is very sweet; and the naïveté of the venetian dialect is always pleasing in the mouth of a woman. "november . "you will perceive that my description, which was proceeding with the minuteness of a passport, has been interrupted for several days. "december . "since my former dates, i do not know that i have much to add on the subject, and, luckily, nothing to take away; for i am more pleased than ever with my venetian, and begin to feel very serious on that point--so much so, that i shall be silent. "by way of divertisement, i am studying daily, at an armenian monastery, the armenian language. i found that my mind wanted something craggy to break upon; and this--as the most difficult thing i could discover here for an amusement--i have chosen, to torture me into attention. it is a rich language, however, and would amply repay any one the trouble of learning it. i try, and shall go on;--but i answer for nothing, least of all for my intentions or my success. there are some very curious mss. in the monastery, as well as books; translations also from greek originals, now lost, and from persian and syriac, &c.; besides works of their own people. four years ago the french instituted an armenian professorship. twenty pupils presented themselves on monday morning, full of noble ardour, ingenuous youth, and impregnable industry. they persevered, with a courage worthy of the nation and of universal conquest, till thursday; when _fifteen_ of the _twenty_ succumbed to the six-and-twentieth letter of the alphabet. it is, to be sure, a waterloo of an alphabet--that must be said for them. but it is so like these fellows, to do by it as they did by their sovereigns--abandon both; to parody the old rhymes, 'take a thing and give a thing'--'take a king and give a king.' they are the worst of animals, except their conquerors. "i hear that h----n is your neighbour, having a living in derbyshire. you will find him an excellent-hearted fellow, as well as one of the cleverest; a little, perhaps, too much japanned by preferment in the church and the tuition of youth, as well as inoculated with the disease of domestic felicity, besides being over-run with fine feelings about woman and _constancy_ (that small change of love, which people exact so rigidly, receive in such counterfeit coin, and repay in baser metal); but, otherwise, a very worthy man, who has lately got a pretty wife, and (i suppose) a child by this time. pray remember me to him, and say that i know not which to envy most his neighbourhood--him, or you. "of venice i shall say little. you must have seen many descriptions; and they are most of them like. it is a poetical place; and classical, to us, from shakspeare and otway. i have not yet sinned against it in verse, nor do i know that i shall do so, having been tuneless since i crossed the alps, and feeling, as yet, no renewal of the 'estro.' by the way, i suppose you have seen 'glenarvon.' madame de staël lent it me to read from copet last autumn. it seems to me that if the authoress had written the _truth_, and nothing but the truth--the whole truth--the _romance_ would not only have been more romantic, but more entertaining. as for the likeness, the picture can't be good--i did not sit long enough. when you have leisure, let me hear from and of you, believing me ever and truly yours most affectionately, b. "p.s. oh! _your poem_--is it out? i hope longman has paid his thousands: but don't you do as h * * t * *'s father did, who, having made money by a quarto tour, became a vinegar merchant; when, lo! his vinegar turned sweet (and be d----d to it) and ruined him. my last letter to you (from verona) was enclosed to murray--have you got it? direct to me _here, poste restante_. there are no english here at present. there were several in switzerland--some women; but, except lady dalrymple hamilton, most of them as ugly as virtue--at least, those that i saw." * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "venice, december . . "i have taken a fit of writing to you, which portends postage--once from verona--once from venice, and again from venice--_thrice_ that is. for this you may thank yourself, for i heard that you complained of my silence--so, here goes for garrulity. "i trust that you received my other twain of letters. my 'way of life' (or 'may of life,' which is it, according to the commentators?)--my 'way of life' is fallen into great regularity. in the mornings i go over in my gondola to babble armenian with the friars of the convent of st. lazarus, and to help one of them in correcting the english of an english and armenian grammar which he is publishing. in the evenings i do one of many nothings--either at the theatres, or some of the conversaziones, which are like our routs, or rather worse, for the women sit in a semicircle by the lady of the mansion, and the men stand about the room. to be sure, there is one improvement upon ours--instead of lemonade with their ices, they hand about stiff _rum-punch--punch_, by my palate; and this they think _english_. i would not disabuse them of so agreeable an error,--'no, not for venice.' "last night i was at the count governor's, which, of course, comprises the best society, and is very much like other gregarious meetings in every country,--as in ours,--except that, instead of the bishop of winchester, you have the patriarch of venice, and a motley crew of austrians, germans, noble venetians, foreigners, and, if you see a quiz, you may be sure he is a consul. oh, by the way, i forgot, when i wrote from verona, to tell you that at milan i met with a countryman of yours--a colonel * * * *, a very excellent, good-natured fellow, who knows and shows all about milan, and is, as it were, a native there. he is particularly civil to strangers, and this is his history,--at least, an episode of it. "six-and-twenty years ago, col. * * * *, then an ensign, being in italy, fell in love with the marchesa * * * *, and she with him. the lady must be, at least, twenty years his senior. the war broke out; he returned to england, to serve--not his country, for that's ireland--but england, which is a different thing; and _she_--heaven knows what she did. in the year , the first annunciation of the definitive treaty of peace (and tyranny) was developed to the astonished milanese by the arrival of col. * * * *, who, flinging himself full length at the feet of mad. * * * *, murmured forth, in half-forgotten irish italian, eternal vows of indelible constancy. the lady screamed, and exclaimed, 'who are you?' the colonel cried, 'what! don't you know me? i am so and so,' &c. &c. &c.; till, at length, the marchesa, mounting from reminiscence to reminiscence, through the lovers of the intermediate twenty-five years, arrived at last at the recollection of her _povero_ sub-lieutenant. she then said, 'was there ever such virtue?' (that was her very word) and, being now a widow, gave him apartments in her palace, reinstated him in all the rights of wrong, and held him up to the admiring world as a miracle of incontinent fidelity, and the unshaken abdiel of absence. "methinks this is as pretty a moral tale as any of marmontel's. here is another. the same lady, several years ago, made an escapade with a swede, count fersen (the same whom the stockholm mob quartered and lapidated not very long since), and they arrived at an osteria on the road to rome or thereabouts. it was a summer evening, and, while they were at supper, they were suddenly regaled by a symphony of fiddles in an adjacent apartment, so prettily played, that, wishing to hear them more distinctly, the count rose, and going into the musical society, said, 'gentlemen, i am sure that, as a company of gallant cavaliers, you will be delighted to show your skill to a lady, who feels anxious,' &c. &c. the men of harmony were all acquiescence--every instrument was tuned and toned, and, striking up one of their most ambrosial airs, the whole band followed the count to the lady's apartment. at their head was the first fiddler, who, bowing and fiddling at the same moment, headed his troop and advanced up the room. death and discord!--it was the marquis himself, who was on a serenading party in the country, while his spouse had run away from town. the rest may be imagined--but, first of all, the lady tried to persuade him that she was there on purpose to meet him, and had chosen this method for an harmonic surprise. so much for this gossip, which amused me when i heard it, and i send it to you, in the hope it may have the like effect. now we'll return to venice. "the day after to-morrow (to-morrow being christmas-day) the carnival begins. i dine with the countess albrizzi and a party, and go to the opera. on that day the phenix, (not the insurance office, but) the theatre of that name, opens: i have got me a box there for the season, for two reasons, one of which is, that the music is remarkably good. the contessa albrizzi, of whom i have made mention, is the de staël of venice, not young, but a very learned, unaffected, good-natured woman, very polite to strangers, and, i believe, not at all dissolute, as most of the women are. she has written very well on the works of canova, and also a volume of characters, besides other printed matter. she is of corfu, but married a dead venetian--that is, dead since he married. "my flame (my 'donna' whom i spoke of in my former epistle, my marianna) is still my marianna, and i, her--what she pleases. she is by far the prettiest woman i have seen here, and the most loveable i have met with any where--as well as one of the most singular. i believe i told you the rise and progress of our _liaison_ in my former letter. lest that should not have reached you, i will merely repeat, that she is a venetian, two-and-twenty years old, married to a merchant well to do in the world, and that she has great black oriental eyes, and all the qualities which her eyes promise. whether being in love with her has steeled me or not, i do not know; but i have not seen many other women who seem pretty. the nobility, in particular, are a sad-looking race--the gentry rather better. and now, what art _thou_ doing? "what are you doing now, oh thomas moore? what are you doing now, oh thomas moore? sighing or suing now, rhyming or wooing now, billing or cooing now, which, thomas moore? are you not near the luddites? by the lord! if there's a row, but i'll be among ye! how go on the weavers--the breakers of frames--the lutherans of politics--the reformers? "as the liberty lads o'er the sea bought their freedom, and cheaply, with blood, so we, boys, we will _die_ fighting, or _live_ free, and down with all kings but king ludd! "when the web that we weave is complete, and the shuttle exchanged for the sword, we will fling the winding-sheet o'er the despot at our feet, and dye it deep in the gore he has pour'd. "though black as his heart its hue, since his veins are corrupted to mud, yet this is the dew which the tree shall renew of liberty, planted by ludd! "there's an amiable _chanson_ for you--all impromptu. i have written it principally to shock your neighbour * * * *, who is all clergy and loyalty--mirth and innocence--milk and water. "but the carnival's coming, oh thomas moore, the carnival's coming, oh thomas moore, masking and humming, fifing and drumming, guitarring and strumming, oh thomas moore. the other night i saw a new play,--and the author. the subject was the sacrifice of isaac. the play succeeded, and they called for the author--according to continental custom--and he presented himself, a noble venetian, mali, or malapiero, by name. mala was his name, and _pessima_ his production,--at least, i thought so, and i ought to know, having read more or less of five hundred drury lane offerings, during my coadjutorship with the sub-and-super committee. "when does your poem of poems come out? i hear that the e.r. has cut up coleridge's christabel, and declared against me for praising it. i praised it, firstly, because i thought well of it; secondly, because coleridge was in great distress, and, after doing what little i could for him in essentials, i thought that the public avowal of my good opinion might help him further, at least with the booksellers. i am very sorry that j * * has attacked him, because, poor fellow, it will hurt him in mind and pocket. as for me, he's welcome--i shall never think less of j * * for any thing he may say against me or mine in future. "i suppose murray has sent you, or will send (for i do not know whether they are out or no) the poem, or poesies, of mine, of last summer. by the mass! they are sublime--'ganion coheriza'--gainsay who dares! pray, let me hear from you, and of you, and, at least, let me know that you have received these three letters. direct, right _here, poste restante_. "ever and ever, &c. "p.s. i heard the other day of a pretty trick of a bookseller, who has published some d----d nonsense, swearing the bastards to me, and saying he gave me five hundred guineas for them. he lies--never wrote such stuff, never saw the poems, nor the publisher of them, in my life, nor had any communication, directly or indirectly, with the fellow. pray say as much for me, if need be. i have written to murray, to make him contradict the impostor." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, november . . "it is some months since i have heard from or of you--i think, not since i left diodati. from milan i wrote once or twice; but have been here some little time, and intend to pass the winter without removing. i was much pleased with the lago di garda, and with verona, particularly the amphitheatre, and a sarcophagus in a convent garden, which they show as juliet's: they insist on the _truth_ of her history. since my arrival at venice, the lady of the austrian governor told me that between verona and vicenza there are still ruins of the castle of the _montecchi_, and a chapel once appertaining to the capulets. romeo seems to have been of vicenza by the tradition; but i was a good deal surprised to find so firm a faith in bandello's novel, which seems really to have been founded on a fact. "venice pleases me as much as i expected, and i expected much. it is one of those places which i know before i see them, and has always haunted me the most after the east. i like the gloomy gaiety of their gondolas, and the silence of their canals. i do not even dislike the evident decay of the city, though i regret the singularity of its vanished costume; however, there is much left still; the carnival, too, is coming. "st. mark's, and indeed venice, is most alive at night. the theatres are not open till _nine_, and the society is proportionably late. all this is to my taste, but most of your countrymen miss and regret the rattle of hackney coaches, without which they can't sleep. "i have got remarkably good apartments in a private house; i see something of the inhabitants (having had a good many letters to some of them); i have got my gondola; i read a little, and luckily could speak italian (more fluently than correctly) long ago, i am studying, out of curiosity, the _venetian_ dialect, which is very naïve, and soft, and peculiar, though not at all classical; i go out frequently, and am in very good contentment. "the helen of canova (a bust which is in the house of madame the countess d'albrizzi, whom i know) is, without exception, to my mind, the most perfectly beautiful of human conceptions, and far beyond my ideas of human execution. "in this beloved marble view, above the works and thoughts of man, what nature _could_, but _would not_, do, and beauty and canova _can_! beyond imagination's power, beyond the bard's defeated art, with immortality her dower, behold the _helen_ of the _heart_! "talking of the 'heart' reminds me that i have fallen in love--fathomless love; but lest you should make some splendid mistake, and envy me the possession of some of those princesses or countesses with whose affections your english voyagers are apt to invest themselves, i beg leave to tell you that my goddess is only the wife of a 'merchant of venice;' but then she is pretty as an antelope, is but two-and-twenty years old, has the large, black, oriental eyes, with the italian countenance, and dark glossy hair, of the curl and colour of lady j * *'s. then she has the voice of a lute, and the song of a seraph (though not quite so sacred), besides a long postscript of graces, virtues, and accomplishments, enough to furnish out a new chapter for solomon's song. but her great merit is finding out mine--there is nothing so amiable as discernment. "the general race of women appear to be handsome; but in italy, as on almost all the continent, the highest orders are by no means a well-looking generation, and indeed reckoned by their countrymen very much otherwise. some are exceptions, but most of them as ugly as virtue herself. "if you write, address to me here, _poste restante_, as i shall probably stay the winter over. i never see a newspaper, and know nothing of england, except in a letter now and then from my sister. of the ms. sent you, i know nothing, except that you have received it, and are to publish it, &c. &c.: but when, where, and how, you leave me to guess; but it don't much matter. "i suppose you have a world of works passing through your process for next year? when does moore's poem appear? i sent a letter for him, addressed to your care, the other day." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, december , . "i have written to you so frequently of late, that you will think me a bore; as i think you a very impolite person, for not answering my letters from switzerland, milan, verona, and venice. there are some things i wanted, and want, to know, viz. whether mr. davies, of inaccurate memory, had or had not delivered the ms. as delivered to him; because, if he has not, you will find that he will bountifully bestow transcriptions on all the curious of his acquaintance, in which case you may probably find your publication anticipated by the 'cambridge' or other chronicles. in the next place,--i forget what was next; but in the third place, i want to hear whether you have yet published, or when you mean to do so, or why you have not done so, because in your last (sept. th,--you may be ashamed of the date), you talked of this being done immediately. "from england i hear nothing, and know nothing of any thing or any body. i have but one correspondent (except mr. kinnaird on business now and then), and her a female; so that i know no more of your island, or city, than the italian version of the french papers chooses to tell me, or the advertisements of mr. colburn tagged to the end of your quarterly review for the year _ago_. i wrote to you at some length last week, and have little to add, except that i have begun, and am proceeding in, a study of the armenian language, which i acquire, as well as i can, at the armenian convent, where i go every day to take lessons of a learned friar, and have gained some singular and not useless information with regard to the literature and customs of that oriental people. they have an establishment here--a church and convent of ninety monks, very learned and accomplished men, some of them. they have also a press, and make great efforts for the enlightening of their nation. i find the language (which is _twin_, the _literal_ and the _vulgar_) difficult, but not invincible (at least i hope not). i shall go on. i found it necessary to twist my mind round some severer study, and this, as being the hardest i could devise here, will be a file for the serpent. "i mean to remain here till the spring, so address to me _directly_ to _venice, poste restante_.--mr. hobhouse, for the present, is gone to rome, with his brother, brother's wife, and sister, who overtook him here: he returns in two months. i should have gone too, but i fell in love, and must stay that over. i should think _that_ and the armenian alphabet will last the winter. the lady has, luckily for me, been less obdurate than the language, or, between the two, i should have lost my remains of sanity. by the way, she is not an armenian but a venetian, as i believe i told you in my last. as for italian, i am fluent enough, even in its venetian modification, which is something like the somersetshire version of english; and as for the more classical dialects, i had not forgot my former practice much during my voyaging. "yours, ever and truly, "b. "p.s. remember me to mr. gifford." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, dec. . . "in a letter from england, i am informed that a man named johnson has taken upon himself to publish some poems called a 'pilgrimage to jerusalem, a tempest, and an address to my daughter,' &c., and to attribute them to me, adding that he had paid five hundred guineas for them. the answer to this is short: _i never wrote such poems, never received the sum he mentions, nor any other in the same quarter, nor_ (as far as moral or mortal certainty can be sure) _ever had, directly or indirectly, the slightest communication with johnson in my life_; not being aware that the person existed till this intelligence gave me to understand that there were such people. nothing surprises me, or this perhaps _would_, and most things amuse me, or this probably would _not_. with regard to myself, the man has merely _lied_; that's natural; his betters have set him the example. but with regard to you, his assertion may perhaps injure you in your publications; and i desire that it may receive the most public and unqualified contradiction. i do not know that there is any punishment for a thing of this kind, and if there were, i should not feel disposed to pursue this ingenious mountebank farther than was necessary for his confutation; but thus far it may be necessary to proceed. "you will make what use you please of this letter; and mr. kinnaird, who has power to act for me in my absence, will, i am sure, readily join you in any steps which it may be proper to take with regard to the absurd falsehood of this poor creature. as you will have recently received several letters from me on my way to venice, as well as two written since my arrival, i will not at present trouble you further. "ever, &c. "p.s. pray let me hear that you have received this letter. address to venice, _poste restante_. "to prevent the recurrence of similar fabrications, you may state, that i consider myself responsible for no publication from the year up to the present date which is not from your press. i speak of course from that period, because, previously, cawthorn and ridge had both printed compositions of mine. 'a pilgrimage to jerusalem!' how the devil should i write about _jerusalem_, never having yet been there? as for 'a tempest,' it was _not_ a _tempest_ when i left england, but a very fresh breeze: and as to an 'address to little ada,' (who, by the way, is a year old to-morrow,) i never wrote a line about her, except in 'farewell' and the third canto of childe harold." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, dec. . . "as the demon of silence seems to have possessed you, i am determined to have my revenge in postage; this is my sixth or seventh letter since summer and switzerland. my last was an injunction to contradict and consign to confusion that cheapside impostor, who (i heard by a letter from your island) had thought proper to append my name to his spurious poesy, of which i know nothing, nor of his pretended purchase or copyright. i hope you have, at least, received _that_ letter. "as the news of venice must be very interesting to you, i will regale you with it. "yesterday being the feast of st. stephen, every mouth was put in motion. there was nothing but fiddling and playing on the virginals, and all kinds of conceits and divertissements, on every canal of this aquatic city. i dined with the countess albrizzi and a paduan and venetian party, and afterwards went to the opera, at the fenice theatre (which opens for the carnival on that day),--the finest, by the way, i have ever seen: it beats our theatres hollow in beauty and scenery, and those of milan and brescia bow before it. the opera and its sirens were much like other operas and women, but the subject of the said opera was something edifying; it turned--the plot and conduct thereof--upon a fact narrated by livy of a hundred and fifty married ladies having poisoned a hundred and fifty husbands in good old times. the bachelors of rome believed this extraordinary mortality to be merely the common effect of matrimony or a pestilence; but the surviving benedicts, being all seized with the cholic, examined into the matter, and found that 'their possets had been drugged;' the consequence of which was, much scandal and several suits at law. this is really and truly the subject of the musical piece at the fenice; and you can't conceive what pretty things are sung and recitativoed about the _horrenda strage_. the conclusion was a lady's head about to be chopped off by a lictor, but (i am sorry to say) he left it on, and she got up and sung a trio with the two consuls, the senate in the back-ground being chorus. the ballet was distinguished by nothing remarkable, except that the principal she-dancer went into convulsions because she was not applauded on her first appearance; and the manager came forward to ask if there was 'ever a physician in the theatre.' there was a greek one in my box, whom i wished very much to volunteer his services, being sure that in this case these would have been the last convulsions which would have troubled the ballarina; but he would not. the crowd was enormous, and in coming out, having a lady under my arm, i was obliged, in making way, almost to 'beat a venetian and traduce the state,' being compelled to regale a person with an english punch in the guts, which sent him as far back as the squeeze and the passage would admit. he did not ask for another, but, with great signs of disapprobation and dismay, appealed to his compatriots, who laughed at him. "i am going on with my armenian studies in a morning, and assisting and stimulating in the english portion of an english and armenian grammar, now publishing at the convent of st. lazarus. "the superior of the friars is a bishop, and a fine old fellow, with the beard of a meteor. father paschal is also a learned and pious soul. he was two years in england. "i am still dreadfully in love with the adriatic lady whom i spake of in a former letter, (and _not_ in _this_--i add, for fear of mistakes, for the only one mentioned in the first part of this epistle is elderly and bookish, two things which i have ceased to admire,) and love in this part of the world is no sinecure. this is also the season when every body make up their intrigues for the ensuing year, and cut for partners for the next deal. "and now, if you don't write, i don't know what i won't say or do, nor what i will. send me some news--good news. yours very truly, &c. &c. &c. "b. "p.s. remember me to mr. gifford, with all duty. "i hear that the edinburgh review has cut up coleridge's christabel, and me for praising it, which omen, i think, bodes no great good to your forthcome or coming canto and castle (of chillon). my run of luck within the last year seems to have taken a turn every way; but never mind, i will bring myself through in the end--if not, i can be but where i began. in the mean time, i am not displeased to be where i am--i mean, at venice. my adriatic nymph is this moment here, and i must therefore repose from this letter." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, jan. . . "your letter has arrived. pray, in publishing the third canto, have you _omitted_ any passages? i hope _not_; and indeed wrote to you on my way over the alps to prevent such an incident. say in your next whether or not the _whole_ of the canto (as sent to you) has been published. i wrote to you again the other day, (_twice_, i think,) and shall be glad to hear of the reception of those letters. "to-day is the d of january. on this day _three_ years ago the corsair's publication is dated, i think, in my letter to moore. on this day _two_ years i married, ('whom the lord loveth he chasteneth,'--i sha'n't forget the day in a hurry,) and it is odd enough that i this day received a letter from you announcing the publication of childe harold, &c. &c. on the day of the date of 'the corsair;' and i also received one from my sister, written on the th of december, my daughter's birth-day (and relative chiefly to my daughter), and arriving on the day of the date of my marriage, this present d of january, the month of my birth,--and various other astrologous matters, which i have no time to enumerate. "by the way, you might as well write to hentsch, my geneva banker, and enquire whether the _two packets_ consigned to his care were or were not delivered to mr. st. aubyn, or if they are still in his keeping. one contains papers, letters, and all the original ms. of your third canto, as first conceived; and the other, some bones from the field of morat. many thanks for your news, and the good spirits in which your letter is written. "venice and i agree very well; but i do not know that i have any thing new to say, except of the last new opera, which i sent in my late letter. the carnival is commencing, and there is a good deal of fun here and there--besides business; for all the world are making up their intrigues for the season, changing, or going on upon a renewed lease. i am very well off with marianna, who is not at all a person to tire me; firstly, because i do not tire of a woman _personally_, but because they are generally bores in their disposition; and, secondly, because she is amiable, and has a tact which is not always the portion of the fair creation; and, thirdly, she is very pretty; and, fourthly--but there is no occasion for further specification. so far we have gone on very well; as to the future, i never anticipate--_carpe diem_--the past at least is one's own, which is one reason for making sure of the present. so much for my proper _liaison_. "the general state of morals here is much the same as in the doges' time; a woman is virtuous (according to the code) who limits herself to her husband and one lover; those who have two, three, or more, are a little _wild_; but it is only those who are indiscriminately diffuse, and form a low connection, such as the princess of wales with her courier, (who, by the way, is made a knight of malta,) who are considered as overstepping the modesty of marriage. in venice, the nobility have a trick of marrying with dancers and singers; and, truth to say, the women of their own order are by no means handsome; but the general race, the women of the second and other orders, the wives of the merchants, and proprietors, and untitled gentry, are mostly _bel' sangue_, and it is with these that the more amatory connections are usually formed. there are also instances of stupendous constancy. i know a woman of fifty who never had but one lover, who dying early, she became devout, renouncing all but her husband. she piques herself, as may be presumed, upon this miraculous fidelity, talking of it occasionally with a species of misplaced morality, which is rather amusing. there is no convincing a woman here that she is in the smallest degree deviating from the rule of right or the fitness of things in having an _amoroso_. the great sin seems to lie in concealing it, or having more than one, that is, unless such an extension of the prerogative is understood and approved of by the prior claimant. "in another sheet, i send you some sheets of a grammar, english and armenian, for the use of the armenians, of which i promoted, and indeed induced, the publication. (it cost me but a thousand francs--french livres.) i still pursue my lessons in the language without any rapid progress, but advancing a little daily. padre paschal, with some little help from me, as translator of his italian into english, is also proceeding in a ms. grammar for the _english_ acquisition of armenian, which will be printed also, when finished. "we want to know if there are any armenian types and letter-press in england, at oxford, cambridge, or elsewhere? you know, i suppose, that, many years ago, the two whistons published in england an original text of a history of armenia, with their own latin translation? do those types still exist? and where? pray enquire among your learned acquaintance. "when this grammar (i mean the one now printing) is done, will you have any objection to take forty or fifty copies, which will not cost in all above five or ten guineas, and try the curiosity of the learned with a sale of them? say yes or no, as you like. i can assure you that they have some very curious books and mss., chiefly translations from greek originals now lost. they are, besides, a much respected and learned community, and the study of their language was taken up with great ardour by some literary frenchmen in buonaparte's time. "i have not done a stitch of poetry since i left switzerland, and have not, at present, the _estro_ upon me. the truth is, that you are _afraid_ of having a _fourth_ canto _before_ september, and of another copyright, but i have at present no thoughts of resuming that poem, nor of beginning any other. if i write, i think of trying prose, but i dread introducing living people, or applications which might be made to living people. perhaps one day or other i may attempt some work of fancy in prose, descriptive of italian manners and of human passions; but at present i am preoccupied. as for poesy, mine is the _dream_ of the sleeping passions; when they are awake, i cannot speak their language, only in their somnambulism, and just now they are not dormant. "if mr. gifford wants _carte blanche_ as to the siege of corinth, he has it, and may do as he likes with it. "i sent you a letter contradictory of the cheapside man (who invented the story you speak of) the other day. my best respects to mr. gifford, and such of my friends as you may see at your house. i wish you all prosperity and new year's gratulation, and am "yours," &c. * * * * * to the armenian grammar, mentioned in the foregoing letter, the following interesting fragment, found among his papers, seems to have been intended as a preface:-- "the english reader will probably be surprised to find my name associated with a work of the present description, and inclined to give me more credit for my attainments as a linguist than they deserve. "as i would not willingly be guilty of a deception, i will state, as shortly as i can, my own share in the compilation, with the motives which led to it. on my arrival at venice, in the year , i found my mind in a state which required study, and study of a nature which should leave little scope for the imagination, and furnish some difficulty in the pursuit. "at this period i was much struck--in common, i believe, with every other traveller--with the society of the convent of st. lazarus, which appears to unite all the advantages of the monastic institution, without any of its vices. "the neatness, the comfort, the gentleness, the unaffected devotion, the accomplishments, and the virtues of the brethren of the order, are well fitted to strike the man of the world with the conviction that 'there is another and a better' even in this life. "these men are the priesthood of an oppressed and a noble nation, which has partaken of the proscription and bondage of the jews and of the greeks, without the sullenness of the former or the servility of the latter. this people has attained riches without usury, and all the honours that can be awarded to slavery without intrigue. but they have long occupied, nevertheless, a part of 'the house of bondage,' who has lately multiplied her many mansions. it would be difficult, perhaps, to find the annals of a nation less stained with crimes than those of the armenians, whose virtues have been those of peace, and their vices those of compulsion. but whatever may have been their destiny--and it has been bitter--whatever it may be in future, their country must ever be one of the most interesting on the globe; and perhaps their language only requires to be more studied to become more attractive. if the scriptures are rightly understood, it was in armenia that paradise was placed--armenia, which has paid as dearly as the descendants of adam for that fleeting participation of its soil in the happiness of him who was created from its dust. it was in armenia that the flood first abated, and the dove alighted. but with the disappearance of paradise itself may be dated almost the unhappiness of the country; for though long a powerful kingdom, it was scarcely ever an independent one, and the satraps of persia and the pachas of turkey have alike desolated the region where god created man in his own image." * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "venice, january . . "your letter of the th is before me. the remedy for your plethora is simple--abstinence. i was obliged to have recourse to the like some years ago, i mean in point of _diet_, and, with the exception of some convivial weeks and days, (it might be months, now and then,) have kept to pythagoras ever since. for all this, let me hear that you are better. you must not _indulge_ in 'filthy beer,' nor in porter, nor eat _suppers_--the last are the devil to those who swallow dinner. "i am truly sorry to hear of your father's misfortune--cruel at any time, but doubly cruel in advanced life. however, you will, at least, have the satisfaction of doing your part by him, and depend upon it, it will not be in vain. fortune, to be sure, is a female, but not such a b * * as the rest (always excepting your wife and my sister from such sweeping terms); for she generally has some justice in the long run. i have no spite against her, though between her and nemesis i have had some sore gauntlets to run--but then i have done my best to deserve no better. but to _you_, she is a good deal in arrear, and she will come round--mind if she don't: you have the vigour of life, of independence, of talent, spirit, and character all with you. what you can do for yourself, you have done and will do; and surely there are some others in the world who would not be sorry to be of use, if you would allow them to be useful, or at least attempt it. "i think of being in england in the spring. if there is a row, by the sceptre of king ludd, but i'll be one; and if there is none, and only a continuance of 'this meek, piping time of peace,' i will take a cottage a hundred yards to the south of your abode, and become your neighbour; and we will compose such canticles, and hold such dialogues, as shall be the terror of the _times_ (including the newspaper of that name), and the wonder, and honour, and praise of the morning chronicle and posterity. "i rejoice to hear of your forthcoming in february--though i tremble for the 'magnificence' which you attribute to the new childe harold. i am glad you like it; it is a fine indistinct piece of poetical desolation, and my favourite. i was half mad during the time of its composition, between metaphysics, mountains, lakes, love unextinguishable, thoughts unutterable, and the night-mare of my own delinquencies. i should, many a good day, have blown my brains out, but for the recollection that it would have given pleasure to my mother-in-law; and, even _then_, if i could have been certain to haunt her--but i won't dwell upon these trifling family matters. "venice is in the _estro_ of her carnival, and i have been up these last two nights at the ridotto and the opera, and all that kind of thing. now for an adventure. a few days ago a gondolier brought me a billet without a subscription, intimating a wish on the part of the writer to meet me either in gondola, or at the island of san lazaro, or at a third rendezvous, indicated in the note. 'i know the country's disposition well'--in venice 'they do let heaven see those tricks they dare not show,' &c. &c.; so, for all response, i said that neither of the three places suited me; but that i would either be at home at ten at night alone, or be at the ridotto at midnight, where the writer might meet me masked. at ten o'clock i was at home and alone (marianna was gone with her husband to a conversazione), when the door of my apartment opened, and in walked a well-looking and (for an italian) _bionda_ girl of about nineteen, who informed me that she was married to the brother of my _amorosa_, and wished to have some conversation with me. i made a decent reply, and we had some talk in italian and romaic (her mother being a greek of corfu), when lo! in a very few minutes in marches, to my very great astonishment, marianna s * *, _in propriâ personâ_, and after making a most polite courtesy to her sister-in-law and to me, without a single word seizes her said sister-in-law by the hair, and bestows upon her some sixteen slaps, which would have made your ear ache only to hear their echo. i need not describe the screaming which ensued. the luckless visiter took flight. i seized marianna, who, after several vain efforts to get away in pursuit of the enemy, fairly went into fits in my arms; and, in spite of reasoning, eau de cologne, vinegar, half a pint of water, and god knows what other waters beside, continued so till past midnight. "after damning my servants for letting people in without apprizing me, i found that marianna in the morning had seen her sister-in-law's gondolier on the stairs, and, suspecting that his apparition boded her no good, had either returned of her own accord, or been followed by her maids or some other spy of her people to the conversazione, from whence she returned to perpetrate this piece of pugilism. i had seen fits before, and also some small scenery of the same genus in and out of our island: but this was not all. after about an hour, in comes--who? why, signor s * *, her lord and husband, and finds me with his wife fainting upon a sofa, and all the apparatus of confusion, dishevelled hair, hats, handkerchiefs, salts, smelling bottles--and the lady as pale as ashes, without sense or motion. his first question was, 'what is all this?' the lady could not reply--so i did. i told him the explanation was the easiest thing in the world; but in the mean time it would be as well to recover his wife--at least, her senses. this came about in due time of suspiration and respiration. "you need not be alarmed--jealousy is not the order of the day in venice, and daggers are out of fashion, while duels, on love matters, are unknown--at least, with the husbands. but, for all this, it was an awkward affair; and though he must have known that i made love to marianna, yet i believe he was not, till that evening, aware of the extent to which it had gone. it is very well known that almost all the married women have a lover; but it is usual to keep up the forms, as in other nations. i did not, therefore, know what the devil to say. i could not out with the truth, out of regard to her, and i did not choose to lie for my sake;--besides, the thing told itself. i thought the best way would be to let her explain it as she chose (a woman being never at a loss--the devil always sticks by them)--only determining to protect and carry her off, in case of any ferocity on the part of the signor. i saw that he was quite calm. she went to bed, and next day--how they settled it, i know not, but settle it they did. well--then i had to explain to marianna about this never-to-be-sufficiently-confounded sister-in-law; which i did by swearing innocence, eternal constancy, &c. &c. but the sister-in-law, very much discomposed with being treated in such wise, has (not having her own shame before her eyes) told the affair to half venice, and the servants (who were summoned by the fight and the fainting) to the other half. but, here, nobody minds such trifles, except to be amused by them. i don't know whether you will be so, but i have scrawled a long letter out of these follies. "believe me ever," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, january . . "i have been requested by the countess albrizzi here to present her with 'the works;' and wish you therefore to send me a copy, that i may comply with her requisition. you may include the last published, of which i have seen and know nothing, but from your letter of the th of december. "mrs. leigh tells me that most of her friends prefer the two first cantos. i do not know whether this be the general opinion or not (it is _not hers_); but it is natural it should be so. i, however, think differently, which is natural also; but who is right, or who is wrong, is of very little consequence. "dr. polidori, as i hear from him by letter from pisa, is about to return to england, to go to the brazils on a medical speculation with the danish consul. as you are in the favour of the powers that be, could you not get him some letters of recommendation from some of your government friends to some of the portuguese settlers? he understands his profession well, and has no want of general talents; his faults are the faults of a pardonable vanity and youth. his remaining with me was out of the question: i have enough to do to manage my own scrapes; and as precepts without example are not the most gracious homilies, i thought it better to give him his congé: but i know no great harm of him, and some good. he is clever and accomplished; knows his profession, by all accounts, well; and is honourable in his dealings, and not at all malevolent. i think, with luck, he will turn out a useful member of society (from which he will lop the diseased members) and the college of physicians. if you can be of any use to him, or know any one who can, pray be so, as he has his fortune to make. he has kept a _medical journal_ under the eye of _vacca_ (the first surgeon on the continent) at pisa: vacca has corrected it, and it must contain some valuable hints or information on the practice of this country. if you can aid him in publishing this also, by your influence with your brethren, do; i do not ask you to publish it yourself, because that sort of request is too personal and embarrassing. he has also a tragedy, of which, having seen nothing, i say nothing: but the very circumstance of his having made these efforts (if they are only efforts), at one-and-twenty, is in his favour, and proves him to have good dispositions for his own improvement. so if, in the way of commendation or recommendation, you can aid his objects with your government friends, i wish you would, i should think some of your admiralty board might be likely to have it in their power." * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, february . . "i have received your two letters, but not the parcel you mention. as the waterloo spoils are arrived, i will make you a present of them, if you choose to accept of them; pray do. "i do not exactly understand from your letter what has been omitted, or what not, in the publication; but i shall see probably some day or other. i could not attribute any but a _good_ motive to mr. gifford or yourself in such omission; but as our politics are so very opposite, we should probably differ as to the passages. however, if it is only a _note_ or notes, or a line or so, it cannot signify. you say 'a _poem_;' _what_ poem? you can tell me in your next. "of mr. hobhouse's quarrel with the quarterly review, i know very little except * * 's article itself, which was certainly harsh enough; but i quite agree that it would have been better not to answer--particularly after mr. _w.w._, who never more will trouble you, trouble you. i have been uneasy, because mr. h. told me that his letter or preface was to be addressed to me. now, he and i are friends of many years; i have many obligations to him, and he none to me, which have not been cancelled and more than repaid; but mr. gifford and i are friends also, and he has moreover been literally so, through thick and thin, in despite of difference of years, morals, habits, and even _politics_; and therefore i feel in a very awkward situation between the two, mr. gifford and my friend hobhouse, and can only wish that they had no difference, or that such as they have were accommodated. the answer i have not seen, for--it is odd enough for people so intimate--but mr. hobhouse and i are very sparing of our literary confidences. for example, the other day he wished to have a ms. of the third canto to read over to his brother, &c., which was refused;--and i have never seen his journals, nor he mine--(i only kept the short one of the mountains for my sister)--nor do i think that hardly ever he or i saw any of the other's productions previous to their publication. "the article in the edinburgh review on coleridge i have not seen; but whether i am attacked in it or not, or in any other of the same journal, i shall never think ill of mr. jeffrey on that account, nor forget that his conduct towards me has been certainly most handsome during the last four or more years. "i forgot to mention to you that a kind of poem in dialogue[ ] (in blank verse) or drama, from which 'the incantation' is an extract, begun last summer in switzerland, is finished; it is in three acts; but of a very wild, metaphysical, and inexplicable kind. almost all the persons--but two or three--are spirits of the earth and air, or the waters; the scene is in the alps; the hero a kind of magician, who is tormented by a species of remorse, the cause of which is left half unexplained. he wanders about invoking these spirits, which appear to him, and are of no use; he at last goes to the very abode of the evil principle, _in propriâ personâ_, to evocate a ghost, which appears, and gives him an ambiguous and disagreeable answer; and in the third act he is found by his attendants dying in a tower where he had studied his art. you may perceive by this outline that i have no great opinion of this piece of fantasy; but i have at least rendered it _quite impossible_ for the stage, for which my intercourse with drury lane has given me the greatest contempt. "i have not even copied it off, and feel too lazy at present to attempt the whole; but when i have, i will send it you, and you may either throw it into the fire or not." [footnote : manfred.] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, february . . "i wrote to you the other day in answer to your letter; at present i would trouble you with a commission, if you would be kind enough to undertake it. "you, perhaps, know mr. love, the jeweller, of old bond street? in , when in the intention of returning to turkey, i purchased of him, and paid (_argent comptant_) for about a dozen snuff-boxes, of more or less value, as presents for some of my mussulman acquaintance. these i have now with me. the other day, having occasion to make an alteration in the lid of one (to place a portrait in it), it has turned out to be _silver-gilt_ instead of _gold_, for which last it was sold and paid for. this was discovered by the workman in trying it, before taking off the hinges and working upon the lid. i have of course recalled and preserved the box _in statu quo_. what i wish you to do is, to see the said mr. love, and inform him of this circumstance, adding, from me, that i will take care he shall not have done this with impunity. "if there is no remedy in law, there is at least the equitable one of making known his _guilt_,--that is, his silver-_gilt_, and be d----d to him. "i shall carefully preserve all the purchases i made of him on that occasion for my return, as the plague in turkey is a barrier to travelling there at present, or rather the endless quarantine which would be the consequence before one could land in coming back. pray state the matter to him with due ferocity. "i sent you the other day some extracts from a kind of drama which i had begun in switzerland and finished here; you will tell me if they are received. they were only in a letter. i have not yet had energy to copy it out, or i would send you the whole in different covers. "the carnival closed this day last week. "mr. hobhouse is still at rome, i believe. i am at present a little unwell;--sitting up too late and some subsidiary dissipations have lowered my blood a good deal; but i have at present the quiet and temperance of lent before me. "believe me, &c. "p.s. remember me to mr. gifford--i have not received your parcel or parcels.--look into 'moore's (dr. moore's) view of italy' for me; in one of the volumes you will find an account of the _doge valiere_ (it ought to be falieri) and his conspiracy, or the motives of it. get it transcribed for me, and send it in a letter to me soon. i want it, and cannot find so good an account of that business here; though the veiled patriot, and the place where he was crowned, and afterwards decapitated, still exist and are shown. i have searched all their histories; but the policy of the old aristocracy made their writers silent on his motives, which were a private grievance against one of the patricians. "i mean to write a tragedy on the subject, which appears to me very dramatic; an old man, jealous, and conspiring against the state of which he was the actually reigning chief. the last circumstance makes it the most remarkable and only fact of the kind in all history of all nations." * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "venice, february . . "you will, perhaps, complain as much of the frequency of my letters now, as you were wont to do of their rarity. i think this is the fourth within as many moons. i feel anxious to hear from you, even more than usual, because your last indicated that you were unwell. at present, i am on the invalid regimen myself. the carnival--that is, the latter part of it, and sitting up late o'nights, had knocked me up a little. but it is over,--and it is now lent, with all its abstinence and sacred music. "the mumming closed with a masked ball at the fenice, where i went, as also to most of the ridottos, &c. &c.; and, though i did not dissipate much upon the whole, yet i find 'the sword wearing out the scabbard,' though i have but just turned the corner of twenty-nine. "so, we'll go no more a roving so late into the night, though the heart be still as loving, and the moon be still as bright. for the sword out-wears its sheath, and the soul wears out the breast, and the heart must pause to breathe, and love itself have rest. though the night was made for loving, and the day returns too soon, yet we'll go no more a roving by the light of the moon. i have lately had some news of litter_atoor_, as i heard the editor of the monthly pronounce it once upon a time. i hear that w.w. has been publishing and responding to the attacks of the quarterly, in the learned perry's chronicle. i read his poesies last autumn, and, amongst them, found an epitaph on his bull-dog, and another on _myself_. but i beg leave to assure him (like the astrologer partridge) that i am not only alive now, but was alive also at the time he wrote it. hobhouse has (i hear, also) expectorated a letter against the quarterly, addressed to me. i feel awkwardly situated between him and gifford, both being my friends. "and this is your month of going to press--by the body of diana! (a venetian oath,) i feel as anxious--but not fearful for you--as if it were myself coming out in a work of humour, which would, you know, be the antipodes of all my previous publications. i don't think you have any thing to dread but your own reputation. you must keep up to that. as you never showed me a line of your work, i do not even know your measure; but you must send me a copy by murray forthwith, and then you shall hear what i think. i dare say you are in a pucker. of all authors, you are the only really _modest_ one i ever met with,--which would sound oddly enough to those who recollect your morals when you were young--that is, when you were _extremely_ young--don't mean to stigmatise you either with years or morality. "i believe i told you that the e.r. had attacked me, in an article on coleridge (i have not seen it)--'_et tu_, jeffrey?'--'there is nothing but roguery in villanous man.' but i absolve him of all attacks, present and future; for i think he had already pushed his clemency in my behoof to the utmost, and i shall always think well of him. i only wonder he did not begin before, as my domestic destruction was a fine opening for all the world, of which all who could did well to avail themselves. "if i live ten years longer, you will see, however, that it is not over with me--i don't mean in literature, for that is nothing; and it may seem odd enough to say, i do not think it my vocation. but you will see that i shall do something or other--the times and fortune permitting--that, 'like the cosmogony, or creation of the world, will puzzle the philosophers of all ages.' but i doubt whether my constitution will hold out. i have, at intervals, ex_or_cised it most devilishly. "i have not yet fixed a time of return, but i think of the spring. i shall have been away a year in april next. you never mention rogers, nor hodgson, your clerical neighbour, who has lately got a living near you. has he also got a child yet?--his desideratum, when i saw him last. "pray let me hear from you, at your time and leisure, believing me ever and truly and affectionately," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, march . . "in acknowledging the arrival of the article from the 'quarterly[ ],' which i received two days ago, i cannot express myself better than in the words of my sister augusta, who (speaking of it) says, that it is written in a spirit 'of the most feeling and kind nature.' it is, however, something more; it seems to me (as far as the subject of it may be permitted to judge) to be _very well_ written as a composition, and i think will do the journal no discredit, because even those who condemn its partiality must praise its generosity. the temptations to take another and a less favourable view of the question have been so great and numerous, that, what with public opinion, politics, &c. he must be a gallant as well as a good man, who has ventured in that place, and at this time, to write such an article even anonymously. such things are, however, their own reward; and i even flatter myself that the writer, whoever he may be (and i have no guess), will not regret that the perusal of this has given me as much gratification as any composition of that nature could give, and more than any other has given,--and i have had a good many in my time of one kind or the other. it is not the mere praise, but there is a _tact_ and a _delicacy_ throughout, not only with regard to me, but to _others_, which, as it had not been observed _elsewhere_, i had till now doubted whether it could be observed _any where_. "perhaps some day or other you will know or tell me the writer's name. be assured, had the article been a harsh one, i should not have asked it. "i have lately written to you frequently, with _extracts_, &c., which i hope you have received, or will receive, with or before this letter.--ever since the conclusion of the carnival i have been unwell, (do not mention this, on any account, to mrs. leigh; for if i grow worse, she will know it too soon, and if i get better, there is no occasion that she should know it at all,) and have hardly stirred out of the house. however, i don't want a physician, and if i did, very luckily those of italy are the worst in the world, so that i should still have a chance. they have, i believe, one famous surgeon, vacca, who lives at pisa, who might be useful in case of dissection:--but he is some hundred miles off. my malady is a sort of lowish fever, originating from what my 'pastor and master,' jackson, would call 'taking too much out of one's self.' however, i am better within this day or two. "i missed seeing the new patriarch's procession to st. mark's the other day (owing to my indisposition), with six hundred and fifty priests in his rear--a 'goodly army.' the admirable government of vienna, in its edict from thence, authorising his installation, prescribed, as part of the pageant, 'a _coach_ and four horses.' to show how very, very '_german_ to the matter' this was, you have only to suppose our parliament commanding the archbishop of canterbury to proceed from hyde park corner to st. paul's cathedral in the lord mayor's barge, or the margate hoy. there is but st. mark's place in all venice broad enough for a carriage to move, and it is paved with large smooth flag-stones, so that the chariot and horses of elijah himself would be puzzled to manoeuvre upon it. those of pharaoh might do better; for the canals--and particularly the grand canal--are sufficiently capacious and extensive for his whole host. of course, no coach could be attempted; but the venetians, who are very naïve as well as arch, were much amused with the ordinance. "the armenian grammar is published; but my armenian studies are suspended for the present till my head aches a little less. i sent you the other day, in two covers, the first act of 'manfred,' a drama as mad as nat. lee's bedlam tragedy, which was in acts and some odd scenes:--mine is but in three acts. "i find i have begun this letter at the wrong end: never mind; i must end it, then, at the right. "yours ever very truly and obligedly," &c. [footnote : an article in no. . of this review, written, as lord byron afterwards discovered, by sir walter scott, and well meriting, by the kind and generous spirit that breathes through it, the warm and lasting gratitude it awakened in the noble poet.] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, march . . "in remitting the third act of the sort of dramatic poem of which you will by this time have received the two first (at least i hope so), which were sent within the last three weeks, i have little to observe, except that you must not publish it (if it ever is published) without giving me previous notice. i have really and truly no notion whether it is good or bad; and as this was not the case with the principal of my former publications, i am, therefore, inclined to rank it very humbly. you will submit it to mr. gifford, and to whomsoever you please besides. with regard to the question of copyright (if it ever comes to publication), i do not know whether you would think _three hundred_ guineas an over-estimate; if you do, you may diminish it: i do not think it worth more; so you may see i make some difference between it and the others. "i have received your two reviews (but not the 'tales of my landlord'); the quarterly i acknowledged particularly to you, on its arrival, ten days ago. what you tell me of perry petrifies me; it is a rank imposition. in or about february or march, , i was given to understand that mr. croker was not only a coadjutor in the attacks of the courier in , but the author of some lines tolerably ferocious, then recently published in a morning paper. upon this i wrote a reprisal. the whole of the lines i have forgotten, and even the purport of them i scarcely remember; for on _your_ assuring me that he was not, &c. &c., i put them into the _fire before your face_, and there _never was_ but that _one rough_ copy. mr. davies, the only person who ever heard them read, wanted a copy, which i refused. if, however, by some _impossibility_, which i cannot divine, the ghost of these rhymes should walk into the world, i never will deny what i have really written, but hold myself personally responsible for satisfaction, though i reserve to myself the right of disavowing all or any _fabrications_. to the previous facts you are a witness, and best know how far my recapitulation is correct; and i request that you will inform mr. perry from me, that i wonder he should permit such an abuse of my name in his paper; i say an _abuse_, because my absence, at least, demands some respect, and my presence and positive sanction could alone justify him in such a proceeding, even were the lines mine; and if false, there are no words for him. i repeat to you that the original was burnt before you on your _assurance_, and there _never_ was a _copy_, nor even a verbal repetition,--very much to the discomfort of some zealous whigs, who bored me for them (having heard it bruited by mr. davies that there were such matters) to no purpose; for, having written them solely with the notion that mr. croker was the aggressor, and for _my own_ and not party reprisals, i would not lend me to the zeal of any sect when i was made aware that he was not the writer of the offensive passages. _you know_, if there was such a thing, i would not deny it. i mentioned it openly at the time to you, and you will remember why and where i destroyed it; and no power nor wheedling on earth should have made, or could make, me (if i recollected them) give a copy after that, unless i was well assured that mr. croker was really the author of that which you assured me he was not. "i intend for england this spring, where i have some affairs to adjust; but the post hurries me. for this month past i have been unwell, but am getting better, and thinking of moving homewards towards may, without going to rome, as the unhealthy season comes on soon, and i can return when i have settled the business i go upon, which need not be long. i should have thought the assyrian tale very succeedable. "i saw, in mr. w.w.'s poetry, that he had written my epitaph; i would rather have written his. "the thing i have sent you, you will see at a glimpse, could never be attempted or thought of for the stage; i much doubt it for publication even. it is too much in my old style; but i composed it actually with a _horror_ of the stage, and with a view to render the thought of it impracticable, knowing the zeal of my friends that i should try that for which i have an invincible repugnance, viz. a representation. "i certainly am a devil of a mannerist, and must leave off; but what could i do? without exertion of some kind, i should have sunk under my imagination and reality. my best respects to mr. gifford, to walter scott, and to all friends. "yours ever." * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "venice, march . . "i wrote again to you lately, but i hope you won't be sorry to have another epistle. i have been unwell this last month, with a kind of slow and low fever, which fixes upon me at night, and goes off in the morning; but, however, i am now better. in spring it is probable we may meet; at least i intend for england, where i have business, and hope to meet you in _your_ restored health and additional laurels. "murray has sent me the quarterly and the edinburgh. when i tell you that walter scott is the author of the article in the former, you will agree with me that such an article is still more honourable to him than to myself. i am perfectly pleased with jeffrey's also, which i wish you to tell him, with my remembrances--not that i suppose it is of any consequence to him, or ever could have been, whether i am pleased or not, but simply in my private relation to him, as his well-wisher, and it may be one day as his acquaintance. i wish you would also add, what you know, that i was not, and, indeed, am not even now, the misanthropical and gloomy gentleman he takes me for, but a facetious companion, well to do with those with whom i am intimate, and as loquacious and laughing as if i were a much cleverer fellow. "i suppose now i shall never be able to shake off my sables in public imagination, more particularly since my moral * * clove down my fame. however, nor that, nor more than that, has yet extinguished my spirit, which always rises with the rebound. "at venice we are in lent, and i have not lately moved out of doors, my feverishness requiring quiet, and--by way of being more quiet--here is the signora marianna just come in and seated at my elbow. "have you seen * * *'s book of poesy? and, if you have seen it, are you not delighted with it? and have you--i really cannot go on: there is a pair of great black eyes looking over my shoulder, like the angel leaning over st. matthew's, in the old frontispieces to the evangelists,--so that i must turn and answer them instead of you. "ever," &c. * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "venice, march . . "i have at last learned, in default of your own writing (or _not_ writing--which should it be? for i am not very clear as to the application of the word _default_) from murray, two particulars of (or belonging to) you; one, that you are removing to hornsey, which is, i presume, to be nearer london; and the other, that your poem is announced by the name of lalla rookh. i am glad of it,--first, that we are to have it at last, and next, i like a tough title myself--witness the giaour and childe harold, which choked half the blues at starting. besides, it is the tail of alcibiades's dog,--not that i suppose you want either dog or tail. talking of tail, i wish you had not called it a '_persian tale_'[ ] say a 'poem' or 'romance,' but not 'tale.' i am very sorry that i called some of my own things 'tales,' because i think that they are something better. besides, we have had arabian, and hindoo, and turkish, and assyrian tales. but, after all, this is frivolous in me; you won't, however, mind my nonsense. "really and truly, i want you to make a great hit, if only out of self-love, because we happen to be old cronies; and i have no doubt you will--i am sure you _can_. but you are, i'll be sworn, in a devil of a pucker; and _i_ am not at your elbow, and rogers _is_. i envy him; which is not fair, because he does not envy any body. mind you send to me--that is, make murray send--the moment you are forth. "i have been very ill with a slow fever, which at last took to flying, and became as quick as need be.[ ] but, at length, after a week of half-delirium, burning skin, thirst, hot headach, horrible pulsation, and no sleep, by the blessing of barley water, and refusing to see any physician, i recovered. it is an epidemic of the place, which is annual, and visits strangers. here follow some versicles, which i made one sleepless night. "i read the 'christabel;' very well: i read the 'missionary;' pretty--very: i tried at 'ilderim;' ahem; i read a sheet of 'marg'ret of _anjou_;' _can you_? i turn'd a page of * *'s 'waterloo;' pooh! pooh! i look'd at wordsworth's milk-white 'rylstone doe:' hillo! &c. &c. &c. "i have not the least idea where i am going, nor what i am to do. i wished to have gone to rome; but at present it is pestilent with english,--a parcel of staring boobies, who go about gaping and wishing to be at once cheap and magnificent. a man is a fool who travels now in france or italy, till this tribe of wretches is swept home again. in two or three years the first rush will be over, and the continent will be roomy and agreeable. "i stayed at venice chiefly because it is not one of their 'dens of thieves;' and here they but pause and pass. in switzerland it was really noxious. luckily, i was early, and had got the prettiest place on all the lake before they were quickened into motion with the rest of the reptiles. but they crossed me every where. i met a family of children and old women half-way up the wengen alp (by the jungfrau) upon mules, some of them too old and others too young to be the least aware of what they saw. "by the way, i think the jungfrau, and all that region of alps, which i traversed in september--going to the very top of the wengen, which is not the highest (the jungfrau itself is inaccessible) but the best point of view--much finer than mont-blanc and chamouni, or the simplon i kept a journal of the whole for my sister augusta, part of which she copied and let murray see. "i wrote a sort of mad drama, for the sake of introducing the alpine scenery in description: and this i sent lately to murray. almost all the _dram. pers._ are spirits, ghosts, or magicians, and the scene is in the alps and the other world, so you may suppose what a bedlam tragedy it must be: make him show it you. i sent him all three acts piece-meal, by the post, and suppose they have arrived. "i have now written to you at least six letters, or lettered, and all i have received in return is a note about the length you used to write from bury street to st. james's street, when we used to dine with rogers, and talk laxly, and go to parties, and hear poor sheridan now and then. do you remember one night he was so tipsy that i was forced to put his cocked hat on for him,--for he could not,--and i let him down at brookes's, much as he must since have been let down into his grave. heigh ho! i wish i was drunk--but i have nothing but this d----d barley-water before me. "i am still in love,--which is a dreadful drawback in quitting a place, and i can't stay at venice much longer. what i shall do on this point i don't know. the girl means to go with me, but i do not like this for her own sake. i have had so many conflicts in my own mind on this subject, that i am not at all sure they did not help me to the fever i mentioned above. i am certainly very much attached to her, and i have cause to be so, if you knew all. but she has a child; and though, like all the 'children of the sun,' she consults nothing but passion, it is necessary i should think for both; and it is only the virtuous, like * * * *, who can afford to give up husband and child, and live happy ever after. "the italian ethics are the most singular ever met with. the perversion, not only of action, but of reasoning, is singular in the women. it is not that they do not consider the thing itself as wrong, and very wrong, but _love_ (the _sentiment_ of love) is not merely an excuse for it, but makes it an _actual virtue_, provided it is disinterested, and not a _caprice_, and is confined to one object. they have awful notions of constancy; for i have seen some ancient figures of eighty pointed out as amorosi of forty, fifty, and sixty years' standing. i can't say i have ever seen a husband and wife so coupled. "ever, &c. "p.s. marianna, to whom i have just translated what i have written on our subject to you, says--'if you loved me thoroughly, you would not make so many fine reflections, which are only good _forbirsi i scarpi_,'--that is, 'to clean shoes withal,'--a venetian proverb of appreciation, which is applicable to reasoning of all kinds." [footnote : he had been misinformed on this point,--the work in question having been, from the first, entitled an "oriental romance." a much worse mistake (because wilful, and with no very charitable design) was that of certain persons, who would have it that the poem was meant to be epic!--even mr. d'israeli has, for the sake of a theory, given in to this very gratuitous assumption:--"the anacreontic poet," he says, "remains only anacreontic in his epic."] [footnote : in a note to mr. murray, subjoined to some corrections for manfred, he says, "since i wrote to you last, the _slow_ fever i wot of thought proper to mend its pace, and became similar to one which i caught some years ago in the marshes of elis, in the morea."] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, march . . "your letter and enclosure are safe; but 'english gentlemen' are very rare--at least in venice. i doubt whether there are at present any, save, the consul and vice-consul, with neither of whom i have the slightest acquaintance. the moment i can pounce upon a witness, i will send the deed properly signed: but must he necessarily be genteel? venice is not a place where the english are gregarious; their pigeon-houses are florence, naples, rome, &c.; and to tell you the truth, this was one reason why i stayed here till the season of the purgation of rome from these people, which is infected with them at this time, should arrive. besides, i abhor the nation and the nation me; it is impossible for me to describe my _own_ sensation on that point, but it may suffice to say, that, if i met with any of the race in the beautiful parts of switzerland, the most distant glimpse or aspect of them poisoned the whole scene, and i do not choose to have the pantheon, and st. peter's, and the capitol, spoiled for me too. this feeling may be probably owing to recent events; but it does not exist the less, and while it exists, i shall conceal it as little as any other. "i have been seriously ill with a fever, but it is gone. i believe or suppose it was the indigenous fever of the place, which comes every year at this time, and of which the physicians change the name annually, to despatch the people sooner. it is a kind of typhus, and kills occasionally. it was pretty smart, but nothing particular, and has left me some debility and a great appetite. there are a good many ill at present, i suppose, of the same. "i feel sorry for horner, if there was any thing in the world to make him like it; and still more sorry for his friends, as there was much to make them regret him. i had not heard of his death till by your letter. "some weeks ago i wrote to you my acknowledgments of walter scott's article. now i know it to be his, it cannot add to my good opinion of him, but it adds to that of myself. _he_, and gifford, and moore, are the only _regulars_ i ever knew who had nothing of the _garrison_ about their manner: no nonsense, nor affectations, look you! as for the rest whom i have known, there was always more or less of the author about them--the pen peeping from behind the ear, and the thumbs a little inky, or so. "'lalla rookh'--you must recollect that, in the way of title, the '_giaour_' has never been pronounced to this day; and both it and childe harold sounded very facetious to the blue-bottles of wit and humour about town, till they were taught and startled into a proper deportment; and therefore lalla rookh, which is very orthodox and oriental, is as good a title as need be, if not better. i could wish rather that he had not called it '_a persian tale_;' firstly, because we have had turkish tales, and hindoo tales, and assyrian tales, already; and _tale_ is a word of which it repents me to have nicknamed poesy. 'fable' would be better; and, secondly, 'persian tale' reminds one of the lines of pope on ambrose phillips; though no one can say, to be sure, that this tale has been 'turned for half-a-crown;' still it is as well to avoid such clashings. 'persian story'--why not?--or romance? i feel as anxious for moore as i could do for myself, for the soul of me, and i would not have him succeed otherwise than splendidly, which i trust he will do. "with regard to the 'witch drama,' i sent all the three acts by post, week after week, within this last month. i repeat that i have not an idea if it is good or bad. if bad, it must, on no account, be risked in publication; if good, it is at your service i value it at _three hundred_ guineas, or less, if you like it. perhaps, if published, the best way will be to add it to your winter volume, and not publish separately. the price will show you i don't pique myself upon it; so speak out. you may put it in the fire, if you like, and gifford don't like. "the armenian grammar is published--that is, _one_; the other is still in ms. my illness has prevented me from moving this month past, and i have done nothing more with the armenian. "of italian or rather lombard manners, i could tell you little or nothing: i went two or three times to the governor's conversazione, (and if you go once, you are free to go always,) at which, as i only saw very plain women, a formal circle, in short a _worst sort_ of rout, i did not go again. i went to academie and to madame albrizzi's, where i saw pretty much the same thing, with the addition of some literati, who are the same _blue_[ ], by ----, all the world over. i fell in love the first week with madame * *, and i have continued so ever since, because she is very pretty and pleasing, and talks venetian, which amuses me, and is naïve. "very truly, &c. "p.s. pray send the red tooth-powder by a _safe hand_, and speedily.[ ] "to hook the reader, you, john murray, have publish'd 'anjou's margaret,' which won't be sold off in a hurry (at least, it has not been as yet); and then, still further to bewilder 'em, without remorse you set up 'ilderim;' so mind you don't get into debt, because as how, if you should fail, these books would be but baddish bail. and mind you do _not_ let escape these rhymes to morning post or perry, which would be _very_ treacherous--_very_, and get me into such a scrape! for, firstly, i should have to sally, all in my little boat, against a _gally_; and, should i chance to slay the assyrian wight, have next to combat with the female knight. "you may show these matters to moore and the select, but not to the _profane_; and tell moore, that i wonder he don't write to one now and then." [footnote : whenever a word or passage occurs (as in this instance) which lord byron would have pronounced emphatically in speaking, it appears, in his handwriting, as if written with something of the same vehemence.] [footnote : here follow the same rhymes ("i read the christabel," &c.) which have already been given in one of his letters to myself.] * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "venice, march . . "you will begin to think my epistolary offerings (to whatever altar you please to devote them) rather prodigal. but until you answer, i shall not abate, because you deserve no better. i know you are well, because i hear of your voyaging to london and the environs, which i rejoice to learn, because your note alarmed me by the purgation and phlebotomy therein prognosticated. i also hear of your being in the press; all which, methinks, might have furnished you with subject-matter for a middle-sized letter, considering that i am in foreign parts, and that the last month's advertisements and obituary would be absolute news to me from your tramontane country. "i told you, in my last, i have had a smart fever. there is an epidemic in the place; but i suspect, from the symptoms, that mine was a fever of my own, and had nothing in common with the low, vulgar typhus, which is at this moment decimating venice, and which has half unpeopled milan, if the accounts be true. this malady has sorely discomfited my serving men, who want sadly to be gone away, and get me to remove. but, besides my natural perversity, i was seasoned in turkey, by the continual whispers of the plague, against apprehensions of contagion. besides which, apprehension would not prevent it; and then i am still in love, and 'forty thousand' fevers should not make me stir before my minute, while under the influence of that paramount delirium. seriously speaking, there is a malady rife in the city--a dangerous one, they say. however, mine did not appear so, though it was not pleasant. "this is passion-week--and twilight--and all the world are at vespers. they have an eternal churching, as in all catholic countries, but are not so bigoted as they seem to be in spain. "i don't know whether to be glad or sorry that you are leaving mayfield. had i ever been at newstead during your stay there, (except during the winter of - , when the roads were impracticable,) we should have been within hail, and i should like to have made a giro of the peak with you. i know that country well, having been all over it when a boy. was you ever in dovedale? i can assure you there are things in derbyshire as noble as greece or switzerland. but you had always a lingering after london, and i don't wonder at it. i liked it as well as any body, myself, now and then. "will you remember me to rogers? whom i presume to be flourishing, and whom i regard as our poetical papa. you are his lawful son, and i the illegitimate. has he begun yet upon sheridan? if you see our republican friend, leigh hunt, pray present my remembrances. i saw about nine months ago that he was in a row (like my friend hobhouse) with the quarterly reviewers. for my part, i never could understand these quarrels of authors with critics and with one another. 'for god's sake, gentlemen, what do they mean?' "what think you of your countryman, maturin? i take some credit to myself for having done my best to bring out bertram; but i must say my colleagues were quite as ready and willing. walter scott, however, was the _first_ who mentioned him, which he did to me, with great commendation, in ; and it is to this casualty, and two or three other accidents, that this very clever fellow owed his first and well-merited public success. what a chance is fame! "did i tell you that i have translated two epistles?--a correspondence between st. paul and the corinthians, not to be found in our version, but the armenian--but which seems to me very orthodox, and i have done it into scriptural prose english.[ ] "ever," &c. [footnote : the only plausible claim of these epistles to authenticity arises from the circumstance of st. paul having (according to the opinion of mosheim and others) written an epistle to the corinthians, before that which we now call his first. they are, however, universally given up as spurious. though frequently referred to as existing in the armenian, by primate usher, johan. gregorius, and other learned men, they were for the first time, i believe, translated from that language by the two whistons, who subjoined the correspondence, with a greek and latin version, to their edition of the armenian history of moses of chorene, published in . the translation by lord byron is, as far as i can learn, the first that has ever been attempted in english; and as, proceeding from _his_ pen, it must possess, of course, additional interest, the reader will not be displeased to find it in the appendix. annexed to the copy in my possession are the following words in his own handwriting:--"done into english by me, january, february, , at the convent of san lazaro, with the aid and exposition of the armenian text by the father paschal aucher, armenian friar.--byron. i had also (he adds) the latin text, but it is in many places very corrupt, and with great omissions."] * * * * * letter . to mr. murray. "venice, april . . "i sent you the whole of the drama at _three several_ times, act by act, in separate covers. i hope that you have, or will receive, some or the whole of it. "so love has a conscience. by diana! i shall make him take back the box, though it were pandora's. the discovery of its intrinsic silver occurred on sending it to have the lid adapted to admit marianna's portrait. of course i had the box remitted _in statu quo_, and had the picture set in another, which suits it (the picture) very well. the defaulting box is not touched, hardly, and was not in the man's hands above an hour. "i am aware of what you say of otway; and am a very great admirer of his,--all except of that maudlin b--h of chaste lewdness and blubbering curiosity, belvidera, whom i utterly despise, abhor, and detest. but the story of marino faliero is different, and, i think, so much finer, that i wish otway had taken it instead: the head conspiring against the body for refusal of redress for a real injury,--jealousy--treason, with the more fixed and inveterate passions (mixed with policy) of an old or elderly man--the devil himself could not have a finer subject, and he is your only tragic dramatist. "there is still, in the doge's palace, the black veil painted over faliero's picture, and the staircase whereon he was first crowned doge, and subsequently decapitated. this was the thing that most struck my imagination in venice--more than the rialto, which i visited for the sake of shylock; and more, too, than schiller's '_armenian_,' a novel which took a great hold of me when a boy. it is also called the 'ghost seer,' and i never walked down st. mark's by moonlight without thinking of it, and 'at nine o'clock he died!'--but i hate things _all fiction_; and therefore the _merchant_ and _othello_ have no great associations to me: but _pierre_ has. there should always be some foundation of fact for the most airy fabric, and pure invention is but the talent of a liar. "maturin's tragedy.--by your account of him last year to me, he seemed a bit of a coxcomb, personally. poor fellow! to be sure, he had had a long seasoning of adversity, which is not so hard to bear as t'other thing. i hope that this won't throw him back into the 'slough of despond.' "you talk of 'marriage;'--ever since my own funeral, the word makes me giddy, and throws me into a cold sweat. pray, don't repeat it. "you should close with madame de staël. this will be her best work, and permanently historical; it is on her father, the revolution, and buonaparte, &c. bunstetten told me in switzerland it was _very_ _great_. i have not seen it myself, but the author often. she was very kind to me at copet. "there have been two articles in the venice papers, one a review of glenarvon * * * *, and the other a review of childe harold, in which it proclaims me the most rebellious and contumacious admirer of buonaparte now surviving in europe. both these articles are translations from the literary gazette of german jena. "tell me that walter scott is better. i would not have him ill for the world. i suppose it was by sympathy that i had my fever at the same time. "i joy in the success of your quarterly, but i must still stick by the edinburgh; jeffrey has done so by me, i must say, through every thing, and this is more than i deserved from him. i have more than once acknowledged to you by letter the 'article' (and articles); say that you have received the said letters, as i do not otherwise know what letters arrive. both reviews came, but nothing more. m.'s play and the extract not yet come. "write to say whether my magician has arrived, with all his scenes, spells, &c. yours ever, &c. "it is useless to send to the _foreign office_: nothing arrives to me by that conveyance. i suppose some zealous clerk thinks it a tory duty to prevent it." * * * * * letter . to mr. rogers. "venice, april . . "it is a considerable time since i wrote to you last, and i hardly know why i should trouble you now, except that i think you will not be sorry to hear from me now and then. you and i were never correspondents, but always something better, which is, very good friends. "i saw your friend sharp in switzerland, or rather in the german _territory_ (which is and is not switzerland), and he gave hobhouse and me a very good route for the bernese alps; however we took another from a german, and went by clarens, the dent de jamen to montbovon, and through simmenthal to thoun, and so on to lauterbrounn; except that from thence to the grindelwald, instead of round about, we went right over the wengen alps' very summit, and being close under the jungfrau, saw it, its glaciers, and heard the avalanches in all their glory, having famous weather there_for_. we of course went from the grindelwald over the sheidech to brientz and its lake; past the reichenbach and all that mountain road, which reminded me of albania and Ætolia and greece, except that the people here were more civilised and rascally. i do not think so very much of chamouni (except the source of the arveron, to which we went up to the teeth of the ice, so as to look into and touch the cavity, against the warning of the guides, only one of whom would go with us so close,) as of the jungfrau, and the pissevache, and simplon, which are quite out of all mortal competition. "i was at milan about a moon, and saw monti and some other living curiosities, and thence on to verona, where i did not forget your story of the assassination during your sojourn there, and brought away with me some fragments of juliet's tomb, and a lively recollection of the amphitheatre. the countess goetz (the governor's wife here) told me that there is still a ruined castle of the montecchi between verona and vicenza. i have been at venice since november, but shall proceed to rome shortly. for my deeds here, are they not written in my letters to the unreplying thomas moore? to him i refer you: he has received them all, and not answered one. "will you remember me to lord and lady holland? i have to thank the former for a book which. i have not yet received, but expect to reperuse with great pleasure on my return, viz. the d edition of lope de vega. i have heard of moore's forthcoming poem: he cannot wish himself more success than i wish and augur for him. i have also heard great things of 'tales of my landlord,' but i have not yet received them; by all accounts they beat even waverley, &c., and are by the same author. maturin's second tragedy has, it seems, failed, for which i should think any body would be sorry. my health was very victorious till within the last month, when i had a fever. there is a typhus in these parts, but i don't think it was that. however, i got well without a physician or drugs. "i forgot to tell you that, last autumn, i furnished lewis with 'bread and salt' for some days at diodati, in reward for which (besides his conversation) he translated 'goethe's faust' to me by word of mouth, and i set him by the ears with madame de staël about the slave trade. i am indebted for many and kind courtesies to our lady of copet, and i now love her as much as i always did her works, of which i was and am a great admirer. when are you to begin with sheridan? what are you doing, and how do you do? ever very truly," &c. end of the third volume. london: spottiswoodes and shaw, new street square life of lord byron: with his letters and journals. by thomas moore, esq. in six volumes.--vol. vi. new edition. . contents of vol. vi. letters and journals of lord byron, with notices of his life, from february, , to his death in april, appendix miscellaneous pieces in prose. review of wordsworth's poems. review of gell's geography of ithaca, and itinerary of greece. parliamentary speeches. , fragment. letter to john murray, esq., on the rev. w.l. bowles's strictures on the life and writings of pope. observations upon "observations" of the rev. w.l. bowles on the poetical character of pope; in a second letter to john murray, esq. notices of the life of lord byron. * * * * * letter . to mr. moore. "genoa, february . . "my dear tom, "i must again refer you to those two letters addressed to you at passy before i read your speech in galignani, &c., and which you do not seem to have received.[ ] [footnote : i was never lucky enough to recover these two letters, though frequent enquiries were made about them at the french post-office.] "of hunt i see little--once a month or so, and then on his own business, generally. you may easily suppose that i know too little of hampstead and his satellites to have much communion or community with him. my whole present relation to him arose from shelley's unexpected wreck. you would not have had me leave him in the street with his family, would you? and as to the other plan you mention, you forget how it would _humiliate_ him--that his writings should be supposed to be dead weight![ ] think a moment--he is perhaps the vainest man on earth, at least his own friends say so pretty loudly; and if he were in other circumstances, i might be tempted to take him down a peg; but not now,--it would be cruel. it is a cursed business; but neither the motive nor the means rest upon my conscience, and it happens that he and his brother _have_ been so far benefited by the publication in a pecuniary point of view. his brother is a steady, bold fellow, such as _prynne_, for example, and full of moral, and, i hear, physical courage. [footnote : the passage in one of my letters to which he here refers shall be given presently.] "and _you_ are _really_ recanting, or softening to the clergy! it will do little good for you--it is _you_, not the poem, they are at. they will say they frightened you--forbid it, ireland! "yours ever, "n.b." lord byron had now, for some time, as may be collected from his letters, begun to fancy that his reputation in england was on the wane. the same thirst after fame, with the same sensitiveness to every passing change of popular favour, which led tasso at last to look upon himself as the most despised of writers[ ], had more than once disposed lord byron, in the midst of all his triumphs, if not to doubt their reality, at least to distrust their continuance; and sometimes even, with that painful skill which sensibility supplies, to extract out of the brightest tributes of success some omen of future failure, or symptom of decline. new successes, however, still came to dissipate these bodings of diffidence; nor was it till after his unlucky coalition with mr. hunt in the liberal, that any grounds for such a suspicion of his having declined in public favour showed themselves. [footnote : in one of his letters this poet says:--"non posso negare che io mi doglio oltramisura di esser stato tanto disprezzato dal mondo quanto non e altro scrittore di questo secolo." in another letter, however, after complaining of being "perseguitato da molti più che non era convenevole," he adds, with a proud prescience of his future fame, "laondé stimo di poter mene ragionevolmente richiamare alla posterità."] the chief inducements, on the part of lord byron, to this unworthy alliance were, in the first place, a wish to second the kind views of his friend shelley in inviting mr. hunt to join him in italy; and, in the next, a desire to avail himself of the aid of one so experienced, as an editor, in the favourite project he had now so long contemplated, of a periodical work, in which all the various offspring of his genius might be received fast as they sprung to light. with such opinions, however, as he had long entertained of mr. hunt's character and talents[ ], the facility with which he now admitted him--_not_ certainly to any degree of confidence or intimacy, but to a declared fellowship of fame and interest in the eyes of the world, is, i own, an inconsistency not easily to be accounted for, and argued, at all events, a strong confidence in the antidotal power of his own name to resist the ridicule of such an association. [footnote : see letter . p. .] as long as shelley lived, the regard which lord byron entertained for him extended its influence also over his relations with his friend; the suavity and good-breeding of shelley interposing a sort of softening medium in the way of those unpleasant collisions which afterwards took place, and which, from what is known of both parties, may be easily conceived to have been alike trying to the patience of the patron and the vanity of the dependent. that even, however, during the lifetime of their common friend, there had occurred some of those humiliating misunderstandings which money engenders,--humiliating on both sides, as if from the very nature of the dross that gives rise to them,--will appear from the following letter of shelley's which i find among the papers in my hands. to lord byron. "february . . "my dear lord byron. "i enclose you a letter from hunt, which annoys me on more than one account. you will observe the postscript, and you know me well enough to feel how painful a task is set me in commenting upon it. hunt had urged me more than once to ask you to lend him this money. my answer consisted in sending him all i could spare, which i have now literally done. your kindness in fitting up a part of your own house for his accommodation i sensibly felt, and willingly accepted from you on his part, but, believe me, without the slightest intention of imposing, or, if i could help it, allowing to be imposed, any heavier task on your purse. as it has come to this in spite of my exertions, i will not conceal from you the low ebb of my own money affairs in the present moment,--that is, my absolute incapacity of assisting hunt farther. "i do not think poor hunt's promise to pay in a given time is worth very much; but mine is less subject to uncertainty, and i should be happy to be responsible for any engagement he may have proposed to you. i am so much annoyed by this subject that i hardly know what to write, and much less what to say; and i have need of all your indulgence in judging both my feelings and expressions. "i shall see you by and by. believe me "yours most faithfully and sincerely, "p.b. shelley." of the book in which mr. hunt has thought it decent to revenge upon the dead the pain of those obligations he had, in his hour of need, accepted from the living, i am luckily saved from the distaste of speaking at any length, by the utter and most deserved oblivion into which his volume has fallen. never, indeed, was the right feeling of the world upon such subjects more creditably displayed than in the reception given universally to that ungenerous book;--even those the least disposed to think approvingly of lord byron having shrunk back from such a corroboration of their own opinion as could be afforded by one who did not blush to derive his authority, as an accuser, from those facilities of observation which he had enjoyed by having been sheltered and fed under the very roof of the man whom he maligned. with respect to the hostile feeling manifested in mr. hunt's work towards myself, the sole revenge i shall take is, to lay before my readers the passage in one of my letters which provoked it; and which may claim, at least, the merit of not being a covert attack, as throughout the whole of my remonstrances to lord byron on the subject of his new literary allies, not a line did i ever write respecting either mr. shelley or mr. hunt which i was not fully prepared, from long knowledge of my correspondent, to find that he had instantly, and as a matter of course, communicated to them. that this want of retention was a fault in my noble friend, i am not inclined to deny; but, being undisguised, it was easily guarded against, and, when guarded against, harmless. besides, such is the penalty generally to be paid for frankness of character; and they who could have flattered themselves that one so open about his own affairs as lord byron would be much more discreet where the confidences of others were concerned, would have had their own imprudence, not his, to blame for any injury that their dependence upon his secrecy had brought on them. the following is the passage, which lord byron, as i take for granted, showed to mr. hunt, and to which one of his letters to myself (february .) refers:-- "i am most anxious to know that you mean to emerge out of the liberal. it grieves me to urge any thing so much against hunt's interest; but i should not hesitate to use the same language to himself, were i near him. i would, if i were you, serve him in every possible way but this--i would give him (if he would accept of it) the profits of the same works, published separately--but i would _not_ mix myself up in this way with others. i would _not_ become a partner in this sort of miscellaneous '_pot au feu_,' where the bad flavour of one ingredient is sure to taint all the rest. i would be, if i were _you_, alone, single-handed, and, as such, invincible." while on the subject of mr. hunt, i shall avail myself of the opportunity it affords me of introducing some portions of a letter addressed to a friend of that gentleman by lord byron, in consequence of an appeal made to the feelings of the latter on the score of his professed "friendship" for mr. hunt. the avowals he here makes are, i own, startling, and must be taken with more than the usual allowance, not only for the particular mood of temper or spirits in which the letter was written, but for the influence also of such slight casual piques and resentments as might have been, just then, in their darkening transit through his mind,--indisposing him, for the moment, to those among his friends whom, in a sunnier mood, he would have proclaimed as his most chosen and dearest. letter . to mrs. ----. "i presume that you, at least, know enough of me to be sure that i could have no intention to insult hunt's poverty. on the contrary, i honour him for it; for i know what it is, having been as much embarrassed as ever he was, without perceiving aught in it to diminish an honourable man's self-respect. if you mean to say that, had he been a wealthy man, i would have joined in this journal, i answer in the negative. * * * i engaged in the journal from good-will towards him, added to respect for his character, literary and personal; and no less for his political courage, as well as regret for his present circumstances: i did this in the hope that he might, with the same aid from literary friends of literary contributions (which is requisite for all journals of a mixed nature), render himself independent. "i have always treated him, in our personal intercourse, with such scrupulous delicacy, that i have forborne intruding advice which i thought might be disagreeable, lest he should impute it to what is called 'taking advantage of a man's situation.' "as to friendship, it is a propensity in which my genius is very limited. i do not know the _male_ human being, except lord clare, the friend of my infancy, for whom i feel any thing that deserves the name. all my others are men-of-the-world friendships. i did not even feel it for shelley, however much i admired and esteemed him, so that you see not even vanity could bribe me into it, for, of all men, shelley thought highest of my talents,--and, perhaps, of my disposition. "i will do my duty by my intimates, upon the principle of doing as you would be done by. i have done so, i trust, in most instances. i may be pleased with their conversation--rejoice in their success--be glad to do them service, or to receive their counsel and assistance in return. but as for friends and friendship, i have (as i already said) named the only remaining male for whom i feel any thing of the kind, excepting, perhaps, thomas moore. i have had, and may have still, a thousand friends, as they are called, in _life_, who are like one's partners in the waltz of this world--not much remembered when the ball is over, though very pleasant for the time. habit, business, and companionship in pleasure or in pain, are links of a similar kind, and the same faith in politics is another." * * * letter . to lady ----. "genoa, march . . "mr. hill is here: i dined with him on saturday before last; and on leaving his house at s. p. d'arena, my carriage broke down. i walked home, about three miles,--no very great feat of pedestrianism; but either the coming out of hot rooms into a bleak wind chilled me, or the walking up-hill to albaro heated me, or something or other set me wrong, and next day i had an inflammatory attack in the face, to which i have been subject this winter for the first time, and i suffered a good deal of pain, but no peril. my health is now much as usual. mr. hill is, i believe, occupied with his diplomacy. i shall give him your message when i see him again. "my name, i see in the papers, has been dragged into the unhappy portsmouth business, of which all that i know is very succinct. mr. h---- is my solicitor. i found him so when i was ten years old--at my uncle's death--and he was continued in the management of my legal business. he asked me, by a civil epistle, as an old acquaintance of his family, to be present at the marriage of miss h----. i went very reluctantly, one misty morning (for i had been up at two balls all night), to witness the ceremony, which i could not very well refuse without affronting a man who had never offended me. i saw nothing particular in the marriage. of course i could not know the preliminaries, except from what he said, not having been present at the wooing, nor after it, for i walked home, and they went into the country as soon as they had promised and vowed. out of this simple fact i hear the debats de paris has quoted miss h. as 'autrefois trés liée avec le célebre,' &c. &c. i am obliged to him for the celebrity, but beg leave to decline the liaison, which is quite untrue; my liaison was with the father, in the unsentimental shape of long lawyers' bills, through the medium of which i have had to pay him ten or twelve thousand pounds within these few years. she was not pretty, and i suspect that the indefatigable mr. a---- was (like all her people) more attracted by her title than her charms. i regret very much that i was present at the prologue to the happy state of horse-whipping and black jobs, &c. &c.; but i could not foresee that a man was to turn out mad, who had gone about the world for fifty years, as competent to vote, and walk at large; nor did he seem to me more insane than any other person going to be married. "i have no objection to be acquainted with the marquis palavicini, if he wishes it. lately i have gone little into society, english or foreign, for i had seen all that was worth seeing in the former before i left england, and at the time of life when i was more disposed to like it; and of the latter i had a sufficiency in the first few years of my residence in switzerland, chiefly at madame de staël's, where i went sometimes, till i grew tired of _conversazioni_ and carnivals, with their appendages; and the bore is, that if you go once, you are expected to be there daily, or rather nightly. i went the round of the most noted soirées at venice or elsewhere (where i remained not any time) to the benzona, and the albrizzi, and the michelli, &c. &c. and to the cardinals and the various potentates of the legation in romagna, (that is, ravenna,) and only receded for the sake of quiet when i came into tuscany. besides, if i go into society, i generally get, in the long run, into some scrape of some kind or other, which don't occur in my solitude. however, i am pretty well settled now, by time and temper, which is so far lucky, as it prevents restlessness; but, as i said before, as an acquaintance of yours, i will be ready and willing to know your friends. he may be a sort of connection for aught i know; for a palavicini, of _bologna_, i believe, married a distant relative of mine half a century ago. i happen to know the fact, as he and his spouse had an annuity of five hundred pounds on my uncle's property, which ceased at his demise; though i recollect hearing they attempted, naturally enough, to make it survive him. if i can do any thing for you here or elsewhere, pray order, and be obeyed." letter . to mr. moore. "genoa, april . . "i have just seen some friends of yours, who paid me a visit yesterday, which, in honour of them and of you, i returned to-day;--as i reserve my bear-skin and teeth, and paws and claws, for our enemies. "i have also seen henry f----, lord h----'s son, whom i had not looked upon since i left him a pretty, mild boy, without a neckcloth, in a jacket, and in delicate health, seven long years agone, at the period of mine eclipse--the third, i believe, as i have generally one every two or three years. i think that he has the softest and most amiable expression of countenance i ever saw, and manners correspondent. if to those he can add hereditary talents, he will keep the name of f---- in all its freshness for half a century more, i hope. i speak from a transient glimpse--but i love still to yield to such impressions; for i have ever found that those i liked longest and best, i took to at first sight; and i always liked that boy--perhaps, in part, from some resemblance in the less fortunate part of our destinies--i mean, to avoid mistakes, his lameness. but there is this difference, that _he_ appears a halting angel, who has tripped against a star; whilst i am _le diable boiteux_,--a soubriquet, which i marvel that, amongst their various _nominis umbræ_, the orthodox have not hit upon. "your other allies, whom i have found very agreeable personages, are milor b---- and _épouse_, travelling with a very handsome companion, in the shape of a 'french count' (to use farquhar's phrase in the beaux stratagem), who has all the air of a _cupidon déchainé_, and is one of the few specimens i have seen of our ideal of a frenchman _before_ the revolution--an old friend with a new face, upon whose like i never thought that we should look again. miladi seems highly literary,--to which, and your honour's acquaintance with the family, i attribute the pleasure of having seen them. she is also very pretty, even in a morning,--a species of beauty on which the sun of italy does not shine so frequently as the chandelier. certainly, english-women wear better than their continental neighbours of the same sex. m---- seems very good-natured, but is much tamed, since i recollect him in all the glory of gems and snuff-boxes, and uniforms, and theatricals, and speeches in our house--'i mean, of peers,'--(i must refer you to pope--who you don't read and won't appreciate--for that quotation, which you must allow to be poetical,) and sitting to stroeling, the painter, (do you remember our visit, with leckie, to the german?) to be depicted as one of the heroes of agincourt, 'with his long sword, saddle, bridle, whack fal de, &c. &c.' "i have been unwell--caught a cold and inflammation, which menaced a conflagration, after dining with our ambassador, monsieur hill,--not owing to the dinner, but my carriage broke down in the way home, and i had to walk some miles, up hill partly, after hot rooms, in a very bleak, windy evening, and over-hotted, or over-colded myself. i have not been so robustious as formerly, ever since the last summer, when i fell ill after a long swim in the mediterranean, and have never been quite right up to this present writing. i am thin,--perhaps thinner than you saw me, when i was nearly transparent, in ,--and am obliged to be moderate of my mouth; which, nevertheless, won't prevent me (the gods willing) from dining with your friends the day after to-morrow. "they give me a very good account of you, and of your nearly 'emprisoned angels.' but why did you change your title?--you will regret this some day. the bigots are not to be conciliated; and, if they were--are they worth it? i suspect that i am a more orthodox christian than you are; and, whenever i see a real christian, either in practice or in theory, (for i never yet found the man who could produce either, when put to the proof,) i am his disciple. but, till then, i cannot truckle to tithe-mongers,--nor can i imagine what has made _you_ circumcise your seraphs. "i have been far more persecuted than you, as you may judge by my present decadence,--for i take it that i am as low in popularity and book-selling as any writer can be. at least, so my friends assure me--blessings on their benevolence! this they attribute to hunt; but they are wrong--it must be, partly at least, owing to myself; be it so. as to hunt, i prefer _not_ having turned him to starve in the streets to any personal honour which might have accrued from such genuine philanthropy. i really act upon principle in this matter, for we have nothing much in common; and i cannot describe to you the despairing sensation of trying to do something for a man who seems incapable or unwilling to do any thing further for himself,--at least, to the purpose. it is like pulling a man out of a river who directly throws himself in again. for the last three or four years shelley assisted, and had once actually extricated him. i have since his demise,--and even before,--done what i could: but it is not in my power to make this permanent. i want hunt to return to england, for which i would furnish him with the means in comfort; and his situation _there_, on the whole, is bettered, by the payment of a portion of his debts, &c.; and he would be on the spot to continue his journal, or journals, with his brother, who seems a sensible, plain, sturdy, and enduring person." * * the new intimacy of which he here announces the commencement, and which it was gratifying to me, as the common friend of all, to find that he had formed, was a source of much pleasure to him during the stay of his noble acquaintances at genoa. so long, indeed, had he persuaded himself that his countrymen abroad all regarded him in no other light than as an outlaw or a show, that every new instance he met of friendly reception from them was as much a surprise as pleasure to him; and it was evident that to his mind the revival of english associations and habitudes always brought with it a sense of refreshment, like that of inhaling his native air. with the view of inducing these friends to prolong their stay at genoa, he suggested their taking a pretty villa called "il paradiso," in the neighbourhood of his own, and accompanied them to look at it. upon that occasion it was that, on the lady expressing some intentions of residing there, he produced the following impromptu, which--but for the purpose of showing that he was not so "chary of his fame" as to fear failing in such trifles--i should have thought hardly worth transcribing. "beneath ----'s eyes the reclaim'd paradise should be free as the former from evil; but, if the new eve for an apple should grieve, what mortal would not play the devil?"[ ] [footnote : the genoese wits had already applied this threadbare jest to himself. taking it into their heads that this villa (which was also, i believe, a casa saluzzo) had been the one fixed on for his own residence, they said "il diavolo é ancora entrato in paradise."] another copy of verses addressed by him to the same lady, whose beauty and talent might well have claimed a warmer tribute from such a pen, is yet too interesting, as descriptive of the premature feeling of age now stealing upon him, to be omitted in these pages. "to the countess of b----. . "you have ask'd for a verse:--the request in a rhymer 'twere strange to deny, but my hippocrene was but my breast, and my feelings (its fountain) are dry. . "were i now as i was, i had sung what lawrence has painted so well; but the strain would expire on my tongue, and the theme is too soft for my shell. . "i am ashes where once i was fire, and the bard in my bosom is dead; what i loved i _now_ merely admire, and my heart is as grey as my head. . "my life is not dated by years-- there are _moments_ which act as a plough, and there is not a furrow appears but is deep in my soul as my brow. . "let the young and the brilliant aspire to sing what i gaze on in vain; for sorrow has torn from my lyre the string which was worthy the strain. "b." the following letters written during the stay of this party at genoa will be found,--some of them at least,--not a little curious. letter . to the earl of b----. "april . . "my dear lord, "how is your gout? or rather, how are you? i return the count ----'s journal, which is a very extraordinary production[ ], and of a most melancholy truth in all that regards high life in england. i know, or knew personally, most of the personages and societies which he describes; and after reading his remarks, have the sensation fresh upon me as if i had seen them yesterday. i would however plead in behalf of some few exceptions, which i will mention by and by. the most singular thing is, _how_ he should have penetrated _not_ the _fact_, but the _mystery_ of the english ennui, at two-and-twenty. i was about the same age when i made the same discovery, in almost precisely the same circles,--(for there is scarcely a person mentioned whom i did not see nightly or daily, and was acquainted more or less intimately with most of them,)--but i never could have described it so well. _il faut étre français_, to effect this. [footnote : in another letter to lord b---- he says of this gentleman, "he seems to have all the qualities requisite to have figured in his brother-in-law's ancestor's memoirs."] "but he ought also to have been in the country during the hunting season, with 'a select party of distinguished guests,' as the papers term it. he ought to have seen the gentlemen after dinner (on the hunting days), and the soiree ensuing thereupon,--and the women looking as if they had hunted, or rather been hunted; and i could have wished that he had been at a dinner in town, which i recollect at lord c----'s--small, but select, and composed of the most amusing people. the dessert was hardly on the table, when, out of twelve, i counted _five asleep_; of that five, there were _tierney_, lord ----, and lord ---- --i forget the other two, but they were either wits or orators--perhaps poets. "my residence in the east and in italy has made me somewhat indulgent of the siesta;--but then they set regularly about it in warm countries, and perform it in solitude (or at most in a tête-à-tête with a proper companion), and retire quietly to their rooms to get out of the sun's way for an hour or two. "altogether, your friend's journal is a very formidable production. alas! our dearly beloved countrymen have only discovered that they are tired, and not that they are tiresome; and i suspect that the communication of the latter unpleasant verity will not be better received than truths usually are. i have read the whole with great attention and instruction. i am too good a patriot to say _pleasure_--at least i won't say so, whatever i may think. i showed it (i hope no breach of confidence) to a young italian lady of rank, _très instruite_ also; and who passes, or passed, for being one of the three most celebrated belles in the district of italy, where her family and connections resided in less troublesome times as to politics, (which is not genoa, by the way,) and she was delighted with it, and says that she has derived a better notion of english society from it than from all madame de staël's metaphysical disputations on the same subject, in her work on the revolution. i beg that you will thank the young philosopher, and make my compliments to lady b. and her sister. "believe me your very obliged and faithful "n. b. "p.s. there is a rumour in letters of some disturbance or complot in the french pyrenean army--generals suspected or dismissed, and ministers of war travelling to see what's the matter. 'marry (as david says), this hath an angry favour.' "tell count ---- that some of the names are not quite intelligible, especially of the clubs; he speaks of _watts_--perhaps he is right, but in my time _watiers_ was the dandy club, of which (though no dandy) i was a member, at the time too of its greatest glory, when brummell and mildmay, alvanley and pierrepoint, gave the dandy balls; and we (the club, that is,) got up the famous masquerade at burlington house and garden, for wellington. he does not speak of the _alfred_, which was the most _recherché_ and most tiresome of any, as i know by being a member of that too." letter . to the earl of b----. "april . . "it _would_ be worse than idle, knowing, as i do, the utter worthlessness of words on such occasions, in me to attempt to express what i ought to feel, and do feel for the loss you have sustained[ ]; and i must thus dismiss the subject, for i dare not trust myself further with it _for your_ sake, or for my own. i shall _endeavour_ to see you as soon as it may not appear intrusive. pray excuse the levity of my yesterday's scrawl--i little thought under what circumstances it would find you. [footnote : the death of lord b----'s son, which had been long expected, but of which the account had just then arrived.] "i have received a very handsome and flattering note from count ----. he must excuse my apparent rudeness and real ignorance in replying to it in english, through the medium of your kind interpretation. i would not on any account deprive him of a production, of which i really think more than i have even _said_, though you are good enough not to be dissatisfied even with that; but whenever it is completed, it would give me the greatest pleasure to have a _copy_--but _how_ to keep it secret? literary secrets are like others. by changing the names, or at least omitting several, and altering the circumstances indicative of the writer's real station or situation, the author would render it a most amusing publication. his countrymen have not been treated, either in a literary or personal point of view, with such deference in english recent works, as to lay him under any very great national obligation of forbearance; and really the remarks are so true and piquante, that i cannot bring myself to wish their suppression; though, as dangle says, 'he is _my_ friend,' many of these personages 'were _my friends_, but much such friends as dangle and his allies. "i return you dr. parr's letter--i have met him at payne knight's and elsewhere, and he did me the honour once to be a patron of mine, although a great friend of the other branch of the house of atreus, and the greek teacher (i believe) of my _moral_ clytemnestra--i say _moral_, because it is true, and is so useful to the virtuous, that it enables them to do any thing without the aid of an Ægisthus. "i beg my compliments to lady b., miss p., and to your _alfred_. i think, since his majesty of the same name, there has not been such a learned surveyor of our saxon society. "ever yours most truly, n. b." "april . . "p.s. i salute miledi, mademoiselle mama, and the illustrious chevalier count ----; who, i hope, will continue his history of 'his own times.' there are some strange coincidences between a part of his remarks and a certain work of mine, now in ms. in england, (i do not mean the hermetically sealed memoirs, but a continuation of certain cantos of a certain poem,) especially in _what_ a _man_ may do in london with impunity while he is 'à la mode;' which i think it well to state, that he may not suspect me of taking advantage of his confidence. the observations are very general." letter . to the earl of b----. "april . . "i am truly sorry that i cannot accompany you in your ride this morning, owing to a violent pain in my face, arising from a wart to which i by medical advice applied a caustic. whether i put too much, i do not know, but the consequence is, that not only i have been put to some pain, but the peccant part and its immediate environ are as black as if the printer's devil had marked me for an author. as i do not wish to frighten your horses, or their riders, i shall postpone waiting upon you until six o'clock, when i hope to have subsided into a more christian-like resemblance to my fellow-creatures. my infliction has partially extended even to my fingers; for on trying to get the black from off my upper lip at least, i have only transfused a portion thereof to my right hand, and neither lemon-juice nor eau de cologne, nor any other eau, have been able as yet to redeem it also from a more inky appearance than is either proper or pleasant. but 'out, damn'd spot'--you may have perceived something of the kind yesterday, for on my return, i saw that during my visit it had increased, was increasing, and ought to be diminished; and i could not help laughing at the figure i must have cut before you. at any rate, i shall be with you at six, with the advantage of twilight. ever most truly, &c. "eleven o'clock. "p.s. i wrote the above at three this morning. i regret to say that the whole of the skin of about an _inch_ square above my upper lip has come off, so that i cannot even shave or masticate, and i am equally unfit to appear at your table, and to partake of its hospitality. will you therefore pardon me, and not mistake this rueful excuse for a '_make-believe_,' as you will soon recognise whenever i have the pleasure of meeting you again, and i will call the moment i am, in the nursery phrase, 'fit to be seen.' tell lady b. with my compliments, that i am rummaging my papers for a ms. worthy of her acceptation. i have just seen the younger count gamba, and as i cannot prevail on his infinite modesty to take the field without me, i must take this piece of diffidence on myself also, and beg your indulgence for both." letter . to the count ----. "april . . "my dear count ---- (if you will permit me to address you so familiarly), you should be content with writing in your own language, like grammont, and succeeding in london as nobody has succeeded since the days of charles the second and the records of antonio hamilton, without deviating into our barbarous language,--which you understand and write, however, much better than it deserves. "my 'approbation,' as you are pleased to term it, was very sincere, but perhaps not very impartial; for, though i love my country, i do not love my countrymen--at least, such as they now are. and, besides the seduction of talent and wit in your work, i fear that to me there was the attraction of vengeance. i have _seen_ and _felt_ much of what you have described so well. i have known the persons, and the re-unions so described,--(many of them, that is to say,) and the portraits are so like that i cannot but admire the painter no less than his performance. "but i am sorry for you; for if you are so well acquainted with life at your age, what will become of you when the illusion is still more dissipated? but never mind--_en avant!_--live while you can; and that you may have the full enjoyment of the many advantages of youth, talent, and figure, which you possess, is the wish of an--englishman,--i suppose, but it is no treason; for my mother was scotch, and my name and my family are both norman; and as for myself, i am of no country. as for my 'works,' which you are pleased to mention, let them go to the devil, from whence (if you believe many persons) they came. "i have the honour to be your obliged," &c. &c. during this period a circumstance occurred which shows, most favourably for the better tendencies of his nature, how much allayed and softened down his once angry feeling, upon the subject of his matrimonial differences, had now grown. it has been seen that his daughter ada,--more especially since his late loss of the only tie of blood which he could have a hope of attaching to himself,--had become the fond and constant object of his thoughts; and it was but natural, in a heart kindly as his was, that, dwelling thus with tenderness upon the child, he should find himself insensibly subdued into a gentler tone of feeling towards the mother. a gentleman, whose sister was known to be the confidential friend of lady byron, happening at this time to be at genoa, and in the habit of visiting at the house of the poet's new intimates, lord byron took one day an opportunity, in conversing with lady ----, to say, that she would render him an essential kindness if, through the mediation of this gentleman and his sister, she could procure for him from lady byron, what he had long been most anxious to possess, a copy of her picture. it having been represented to him, in the course of the same, or a similar conversation, that lady byron was said by her friends to be in a state of constant alarm lest he should come to england to claim his daughter, or, in some other way, interfere with her, he professed his readiness to give every assurance that might have the effect of calming such apprehensions; and the following letter, in reference to both these subjects, was soon after sent by him. letter . to the countess of b----. "may . . "dear lady ----, "my request would be for a copy of the miniature of lady b. which i have seen in possession of the late lady noel, as i have no picture, or indeed memorial of any kind of lady b., as all her letters were in her own possession before i left england, and we have had no correspondence since--at least on her part. my message, with regard to the infant, is simply to this effect--that in the event of any accident occurring to the mother, and my remaining the survivor, it would be my wish to have her plans carried into effect, both with regard to the education of the child, and the person or persons under whose care lady b. might be desirous that she should be placed. it is not my intention to interfere with her in any way on the subject during her life; and i presume that it would be some consolation to her to know,(if she is in ill health, as i am given to understand,) that in _no_ case would any thing be done, as far as i am concerned, but in strict conformity with lady b.'s own wishes and intentions--left in what manner she thought proper. "believe me, dear lady b., your obliged," &c. this negotiation, of which i know not the results, nor whether, indeed, it ever ended in any, led naturally and frequently to conversations on the subject of his marriage,--a topic he was himself always the first to turn to,--and the account which he then gave, as well of the circumstances of the separation, as of his own entire unconsciousness of the immediate causes that provoked it, was, i find, exactly such as, upon every occasion when the subject presented itself, he, with an air of sincerity in which it was impossible not to confide, promulgated. "of what really led to the separation (said he, in the course of one of these conversations,) i declare to you that, even at this moment, i am wholly ignorant; as lady byron would never assign her motives, and has refused to answer my letters. i have written to her repeatedly, and am still in the habit of doing so. some of these letters i have sent, and others i did not, simply because i despaired of their doing any good. you may, however, see some of them if you like;--they may serve to throw some light upon my feelings." in a day or two after, accordingly, one of these withheld letters was sent by him, enclosed in the following, to lady ----. letter . to the countess of ----. "albaro, may . . my dear lady ----, i send you the letter which i had forgotten, and the book[ ], which i ought to have remembered. it contains (the book, i mean,) some melancholy truths; though i believe that it is too triste a work ever to have been popular. the first time i ever read it (not the edition i send you,--for i got it since,) was at the desire of madame de staël, who was supposed by the good-natured world to be the heroine;--which she was not, however, and was furious at the supposition. this occurred in switzerland, in the summer of , and the last season in which i ever saw that celebrated person. [footnote : adolphe, by m. benjamin constant.] "i have a request to make to my friend alfred (since he has not disdained the title), viz. that he would condescend to add a _cap_ to the gentleman in the jacket,--it would complete his costume,--and smooth his brow, which is somewhat too inveterate a likeness of the original, god help me!" "i did well to avoid the water-party,--_why_, is a mystery, which is not less to be wondered at than all my other mysteries. tell milor that i am deep in his ms., and will do him justice by a diligent perusal." "the letter which i enclose i was prevented from sending by my despair of its doing any good. i was perfectly sincere when i wrote it, and am so still. but it is difficult for me to withstand the thousand provocations on that subject, which both friends and foes have for seven years been throwing in the way of a man whose feelings were once quick, and whose temper was never patient. but 'returning were as tedious as go o'er.' i feel this as much as ever macbeth did; and it is a dreary sensation, which at least avenges the real or imaginary wrongs of one of the two unfortunate persons whom it concerns." "but i am going to be gloomy;--so 'to bed, to bed.' good night,--or rather morning. one of the reasons why i wish to avoid society is, that i can never sleep after it, and the pleasanter it has been the less i rest." "ever most truly," &c. &c. i shall now produce the enclosure contained in the above; and there are few, i should think, of my readers who will not agree with me in pronouncing, that if the author of the following letter had not _right_ on his side, he had at least most of those good feelings which are found in general to accompany it. letter . to lady byron. (to the care of the hon. mrs. leigh, london.) pisa, november . . i have to acknowledge the receipt of 'ada's hair,'which is very soft and pretty, and nearly as dark already as mine was at twelve years old, if i may judge from what i recollect of some in augusta's possession, taken at that age. but it don't curl,--perhaps from its being let grow. "i also thank you for the inscription of the date and name, and i will tell you why;--i believe that they are the only two or three words of your handwriting in my possession. for your letters i returned, and except the two words, or rather the one word, 'household,' written twice in an old account book, i have no other. i burnt your last note, for two reasons:--firstly, it was written in a style not very agreeable; and, secondly, i wished to take your word without documents, which are the worldly resources of suspicious people. i suppose that this note will reach you somewhere about ada's birthday--the th of december, i believe. she will then be six, so that in about twelve more i shall have some chance of meeting her;--perhaps sooner, if i am obliged to go to england by business or otherwise. recollect, however, one thing, either in distance or nearness;--every day which keeps us asunder should, after so long a period, rather soften our mutual feelings, which must always have one rallying-point as long as our child exists, which i presume we both hope will be long after either of her parents. the time which has elapsed since the separation has been considerably more than the whole brief period of our union, and the not much longer one of our prior acquaintance. we both made a bitter mistake; but now it is over, and irrevocably so. for, at thirty-three on my part, and a few years less on yours, though it is no very extended period of life, still it is one when the habits and thought are generally so formed as to admit of no modification; and as we could not agree when younger, we should with difficulty do so now. i say all this, because i own to you, that, notwithstanding every thing, i considered our re-union as not impossible for more than a year after the separation;--but then i gave up the hope entirely and for ever. but this very impossibility of re-union seems to me at least a reason why, on all the few points of discussion which can arise between us, we should preserve the courtesies of life, and as much of its kindness as people who are never to meet may preserve perhaps more easily than nearer connections. for my own part, i am violent, but not malignant; for only fresh provocations can awaken my resentments. to you, who are colder and more concentrated, i would just hint, that you may sometimes mistake the depth of a cold anger for dignity, and a worse feeling for duty. i assure you that i bear you _now_ (whatever i may have done) no resentment whatever. remember, that _if you have injured me_ in aught, this forgiveness is something; and that, if i have _injured you_, it is something more still, if it be true, as the moralists say, that the most offending are the least forgiving. "whether the offence has been solely on my side, or reciprocal, or on yours chiefly, i have ceased to reflect upon any but two things,--viz. that you are the mother of my child, and that we shall never meet again. i think if you also consider the two corresponding points with reference to myself, it will be better for all three. "yours ever, "noel byron." it has been my plan, as must have been observed, wherever my materials have furnished me with the means, to leave the subject of my memoir to relate his own story; and this object, during the two or three years of his life just elapsed, i have been enabled by the rich resources in my hands, with but few interruptions, to attain. having now, however, reached that point of his career from which a new start was about to be taken by his excursive spirit, and a course, glorious as it was brief and fatal, entered upon,--a moment of pause may be permitted while we look back through the last few years, and for a while dwell upon the spectacle, at once grand and painful, which his life during that most unbridled period of his powers exhibited. in a state of unceasing excitement, both of heart and brain,--for ever warring with the world's will, yet living but in the world's breath,--with a genius taking upon itself all shapes, from jove down to scapin, and a disposition veering with equal facility to all points of the moral compass,--not even the ancient fancy of the existence of two souls within one bosom would seem at all adequately to account for the varieties, both of power and character, which the course of his conduct and writings during these few feverish years displayed. without going back so far as the fourth canto of childe harold, which one of his bitterest and ablest assailants has pronounced to be, "in point of execution, the sublimest poetical achievement of mortal pen," we have, in a similar strain of strength and splendour, the prophecy of dante, cain, the mystery of heaven and earth, sardanapalus,--all produced during this wonderful period of his genius. to these also are to be added four other dramatic pieces, which, though the least successful of his compositions, have yet, as poems, few equals in our literature; while, in a more especial degree, they illustrate the versatility of taste and power so remarkable in him, as being founded, and to this very circumstance, perhaps, owing their failure, on a severe classic model, the most uncongenial to his own habits and temperament, and the most remote from that bold, unshackled license which it had been the great mission of his genius, throughout the whole realms of mind, to assert. in contrast to all these high-toned strains, and struck off during the same fertile period, we find his don juan--in itself an epitome of all the marvellous contrarieties of his character--the vision of judgment, the translation from pulci, the pamphlets on pope, on the british review, on blackwood,--together with a swarm of other light, humorous trifles, all flashing forth carelessly from the same mind that was, almost at the same moment, personating, with a port worthy of such a presence, the mighty spirit of dante, or following the dark footsteps of scepticism over the ruins of past worlds, with cain. all this time, too, while occupied with these ideal creations, the demands upon his active sympathies, in real life, were such as almost any mind but his own would have found sufficient to engross its every thought and feeling. an amour, not of that light, transient kind which "goes without a burden," but, on the contrary, deep-rooted enough to endure to the close of his days, employed as restlessly with its first hopes and fears a portion of this period as with the entanglements to which it led, political and domestic, it embarrassed the remainder. scarcely, indeed, had this disturbing passion begun to calm, when a new source of excitement presented itself in that conspiracy into which he flung himself so fearlessly, and which ended, as we have seen, but in multiplying the objects of his sympathy and protection, and driving him to a new change of home and scene. when we consider all these distractions that beset him, taking into account also the frequent derangement of his health, and the time and temper he must have thrown away on the minute drudgery of watching over every item of his household expenditure, the mind is lost in almost incredulous astonishment at the wonders he was able to achieve under such circumstances--at the variety and prodigality of power with which, in the midst of such interruptions and hinderances, his "bright soul broke out on every side," and not only held on its course, unclogged, through all these difficulties, but even extracted out of the very struggles and annoyances it encountered new nerve for its strength, and new fuel for its fire. while thus at this period, more remarkably than at any other during his life, the unparalleled versatility of his genius was unfolding itself, those quick, cameleon-like changes of which his character, too, was capable were, during the same time, most vividly, and in strongest contrast, drawn out. to the world, and more especially to england,--the scene at once of his glories and his wrongs,--he presented himself in no other aspect than that of a stern, haughty misanthrope, self-banished from the fellowship of men, and, most of all, from that of englishmen. the more genial and beautiful inspirations of his muse were, in this point of view, looked upon but as lucid intervals between the paroxysms of an inherent malignancy of nature; and even the laughing effusions of his wit and humour got credit for no other aim than that which swift boasted of, as the end of all his own labours, "to vex the world rather than divert it." how totally all this differed from the byron of the social hour, they who lived in familiar intercourse with him may be safely left to tell. the sort of ferine reputation which he had acquired for himself abroad prevented numbers, of course, of his countrymen, whom he would have most cordially welcomed, from seeking his acquaintance. but, as it was, no english gentleman ever approached him, with the common forms of introduction, that did not come away at once surprised and charmed by the kind courtesy and facility of his manners, the unpretending play of his conversation, and, on a nearer intercourse, the frank, youthful spirits, to the flow of which he gave way with such a zest, as even to deceive some of those who best knew him into the impression, that gaiety was after all the true bent of his disposition. to these contrasts which he presented, as viewed publicly and privately, is to be added also the fact, that, while braving the world's ban so boldly, and asserting man's right to think for himself with a freedom and even daringness unequalled, the original shyness of his nature never ceased to hang about him; and while at a distance he was regarded as a sort of autocrat in intellect, revelling in all the confidence of his own great powers, a somewhat nearer observation enabled a common acquaintance at venice[ ] to detect, under all this, traces of that self-distrust and bashfulness which had marked him as a boy, and which never entirely forsook him through the whole of his career. [footnote : the countess albrizzi--see her sketch of his character.] still more singular, however, than this contradiction between the public and private man,--a contradiction not unfrequent, and, in some cases, more apparent than real, as depending upon the relative position of the observer,--were those contrarieties and changes not less startling, which his character so often exhibited, as compared with itself. he who, at one moment, was seen intrenched in the most absolute self-will, would, at the very next, be found all that was docile and amenable. to-day, storming the world in its strong-holds, as a misanthrope and satirist--to-morrow, learning, with implicit obedience, to fold a shawl, as a cavaliere--the same man who had so obstinately refused to surrender, either to friendly remonstrance or public outcry, a single line of don juan, at the mere request of a gentle donna agreed to cease it altogether; nor would venture to resume this task (though the chief darling of his muse) till, with some difficulty, he had obtained leave from the same ascendant quarter. who, indeed, is there that, without some previous clue to his transformations, could have been at all prepared to recognise the coarse libertine of venice in that romantic and passionate lover who, but a few months after, stood weeping before the fountain in the garden at bologna? or, who could have expected to find in the close calculator of sequins and baiocchi, that generous champion of liberty whose whole fortune, whose very life itself were considered by him but as trifling sacrifices for the advancement, but by a day, of her cause? and here naturally our attention is drawn to the consideration of another feature of his character, connected more intimately with the bright epoch of his life now before us. notwithstanding his strongly marked prejudices in favour of rank and high birth, we have seen with what ardour,--not only in fancy and theory, bet practically, as in the case of the italian carbonari,--he embarked his sympathies unreservedly on the current of every popular movement towards freedom. though of the sincerity of this zeal for liberty the seal set upon it so solemnly by his death leaves us no room to doubt, a question may fairly arise whether that general love of excitement, let it flow from whatever source it might, by which, more or less, every pursuit of his whole life was actuated, was not predominant among the impulses that governed him in this; and, again, whether it is not probable that, like alfieri and other aristocratic lovers of freedom, he would not ultimately have shrunk from the result of his own equalising doctrines; and, though zealous enough in lowering those _above_ his own level, rather recoil from the task of raising up those who were _below_ it. with regard to the first point, it may be conceded, without deducting much from his sincere zeal in the cause, that the gratification of his thirst of fame, and, above all, perhaps, that supply of excitement so necessary to him, to whet, as it were, the edge of his self-wearing spirit, were not the least of the attractions and incitements which a struggle under the banners of freedom presented to him. it is also but too certain that, destined as he was to endless disenchantment, from that singular and painful union which existed in his nature of the creative imagination that calls up illusions, and the cool, searching sagacity that, at once, detects their hollowness, he could not long have gone on, even in a path so welcome to him, without finding the hopes with which his fancy had strewed it withering away beneath him at every step. in politics, as in every other pursuit, his ambition was to be among the first; nor would it have been from the want of a due appreciation of all that is noblest and most disinterested in patriotism, that he would ever have stooped his flight to any less worthy aim. the following passage in one of his journals will be remembered by the reader:--"to be the first man _(not_ the dictator), not the sylla, but the washington, or aristides, the leader in talent and truth, is to be next to the divinity." with such high and pure notions of political eminence, he could not be otherwise than fastidious as to the means of attaining it; nor can it be doubted that with the sort of vulgar and sometimes sullied instruments which all popular leaders must stoop to employ, his love of truth, his sense of honour, his impatience of injustice, would have led him constantly into such collisions as must have ended in repulsion and disgust; while the companionship of those beneath him, a tax all demagogues must pay, would, as soon as it had ceased to amuse his fancy for the new and the ridiculous, have shocked his taste and mortified his pride. the distaste with which, as appears from more than one of his letters, he was disposed to view the personal, if not the political, attributes of what is commonly called the radical party in england, shows how unsuited he was naturally to mix in that kind of popular fellowship which, even to those far less aristocratic in their notions and feelings, must be sufficiently trying. but, even granting that all these consequences might safely be predicted as almost certain to result from his engaging in such a career, it by no means the more necessarily follows that, _once_ engaged, he would not have persevered in it consistently and devotedly to the last; nor that, even if reduced to say, with cicero, "nil boni præter causam," he could not have so far abstracted the principle of the cause from its unworthy supporters as, at the same time, to uphold the one and despise the others. looking back, indeed, from the advanced point where we are now arrived through the whole of his past career, we cannot fail to observe, pervading all its apparent changes and inconsistencies, an adherence to the original bias of his nature, a general consistency in the main, however shifting and contradictory the details, which had the effect of preserving, from first to last, all his views and principles, upon the great subjects that interested him through life, essentially unchanged.[ ] [footnote : colonel stanhope, who saw clearly this leading character of byron's mind, has thus justly described it:--"lord byron's was a versatile and still a stubborn mind; it wavered, but always returned to certain fixed principles."] at the worst, therefore, though allowing that, from disappointment or disgust, he might have been led to withdraw all personal participation in such a cause, in no case would he have shown himself a recreant to its principles; and though too proud to have ever descended, like egalité, into the ranks of the people, he would have been far too consistent to pass, like alfieri, into those of their enemies. after the failure of those hopes with which he had so sanguinely looked forward to the issue of the late struggle between italy and her rulers, it may be well conceived what a relief it was to him to turn his eyes to greece, where a spirit was now rising such as he had himself imaged forth in dreams of song, but hardly could have even dreamed that he should live to see it realised. his early travels in that country had left a lasting impression on his mind; and whenever, as i have before remarked, his fancy for a roving life returned, it was to the regions about the "blue olympus" he always fondly looked back. since his adoption of italy as a home, this propensity had in a great degree subsided. in addition to the sedatory effects of his new domestic r, there had, at this time, grown upon him a degree of inertness, or indisposition to change of residence, which, in the instance of his departure from ravenna, was with some difficulty surmounted. the unsettled state of life he was from thenceforward thrown into, by the precarious fortunes of those with whom he had connected himself, conspired with one or two other causes to revive within him all his former love of change and adventure; nor is it wonderful that to greece, as offering _both_ in their most exciting form, he should turn eagerly his eyes, and at once kindle with a desire not only to witness, but perhaps share in, the present triumphs of liberty on those very fields where he had already gathered for immortality such memorials of her day long past. among the causes that concurred with this sentiment to determine him to the enterprise he now meditated, not the least powerful, undoubtedly, was the supposition in his own mind that the high tide of his poetical popularity had been for some time on the ebb. the utter failure of the liberal,--in which, splendid as were some of his own contributions to it, there were yet others from his pen hardly to be distinguished from the surrounding dross,--confirmed him fully in the notion that he had at last wearied out his welcome with the world; and, as the voice of fame had become almost as necessary to him as the air he breathed, it was with a proud consciousness of the yet untouched reserves of power within him he now saw that, if arrived at the end of _one_ path of fame, there were yet others for him to strike into, still more glorious. that some such vent for the resources of his mind had long been contemplated by him appears from a letter of his to myself, in which it will be recollected he says,--"if i live ten years longer, you will see that it is not over with me. i don't mean in literature, for that is nothing; and--it may seem odd enough to say--i do not think it was my vocation. but you will see that i shall do something,--the times and fortune permitting,--that 'like the cosmogony of the world will puzzle the philosophers of all ages.'" he then adds this but too true and sad prognostic:--"but i doubt whether my constitution will hold out." his zeal in the cause of italy, whose past history and literature seemed to call aloud for redress of her present vassalage and wrongs, would have, no doubt, led him to the same chivalrous self-devotion in her service, as he displayed afterwards in that of greece. the disappointing issue, however, of that brief struggle is but too well known; and this sudden wreck of a cause so promising pained him the more deeply from his knowledge of some of the brave and true hearts embarked in it. the disgust, indeed, which that abortive effort left behind, coupled with the opinion he had early formed of the "hereditary bonds-men" of greece, had kept him for some time in a state of considerable doubt and misgiving as to their chances of ever working out their own enfranchisement; nor was it till the spring of this year, when, rather by the continuance of the struggle than by its actual success, some confidence had begun to be inspired in the trust-worthiness of the cause, that he had nearly made up his mind to devote himself to its aid. the only difficulty that still remained to retard or embarrass this resolution was the necessity it imposed of a temporary separation from madame guiccioli, who was herself, as might be expected, anxious to participate his perils, but whom it was impossible he could think of exposing to the chances of a life, even for men, so rude. at the beginning of the month of april he received a visit from mr. blaquiere, who was then proceeding on a special mission to greece, for the purpose of procuring for the committee lately formed in london correct information as to the state and prospects of that country. it was among the instructions of this gentleman that he should touch at genoa and communicate with lord byron; and the following note will show how cordially the noble poet was disposed to enter into all the objects of the committee. letter . to mr. blaquiere. "albaro, april . . "dear sir, "i shall be delighted to see you and your greek friend, and the sooner the better. i have been expecting you for some time,--you will find me at home. i cannot express to you how much i feel interested in the cause, and nothing but the hopes i entertained of witnessing the liberation of italy itself prevented me long ago from returning to do what little i could, as an individual, in that land which it is an honour even to have visited. "ever yours truly, noel byron." soon after this interview with their agent, a more direct communication on the subject was opened between his lordship and the committee itself. letter . to mr. bowring. "genoa, may . "sir, "i have great pleasure in acknowledging your letter, and the honour which the committee have done me:--i shall endeavour to deserve their confidence by every means in my power. my first wish is to go up into the levant in person, where i might be enabled to advance, if not the cause, at least the means of obtaining information which the committee might be desirous of acting upon; and my former residence in the country, my familiarity with the italian language, (which is there universally spoken, or at least to the same extent as french in the more polished parts of the continent,) and my _not_ total ignorance of the romaic, would afford me some advantages of experience. to this project the only objection is of a domestic nature, and i shall try to get over it;--if i fail in this, i must do what i can where i am; but it will be always a source of regret to me, to think that i might perhaps have done more for the cause on the spot. "our last information of captain blaquiere is from ancona, where he embarked with a fair wind for corfu, on the th ult.; he is now probably at his destination. my last letter _from_ him personally was dated rome; he had been refused a passport through the neapolitan territory, and returned to strike up through romagna for ancona:--little time, however, appears to have been lost by the delay. "the principal material wanted by the greeks appears to be, first, a park of field artillery--light, and fit for mountain-service; secondly, gunpowder; thirdly, hospital or medical stores. the readiest mode of transmission is, i hear, by idra, addressed to mr. negri, the minister. i meant to send up a certain quantity of the two latter--no great deal--but enough for an individual to show his good wishes for the greek success,--but am pausing, because, in case i should go myself, i can take them with me. i do not want to limit my own contribution to this merely, but more especially, if i can get to greece myself, i should devote whatever resources i can muster of my own, to advancing the great object. i am in correspondence with signor nicolas karrellas (well known to mr. hobhouse), who is now at pisa; but his latest advice merely stated, that the greeks are at present employed in organising their _internal_ government, and the details of its administration: this would seem to indicate _security_, but the war is however far from being terminated. "the turks are an obstinate race, as all former wars have proved them, and will return to the charge for years to come, even if beaten, as it is to be hoped they will be. but in no case can the labours of the committee be said to be in vain; for in the event even of the greeks being subdued, and dispersed, the funds which could be employed in succouring and gathering together the remnant, so as to alleviate in part their distresses, and enable them to find or make a country (as so many emigrants of other nations have been compelled to do), would 'bless both those who gave and those who took,' as the bounty both of justice and of mercy. "with regard to the formation of a brigade, (which mr. hobhouse hints at in his short letter of this day's receipt, enclosing the one to which i have the honour to reply,) i would presume to suggest--but merely as an opinion, resulting rather from the melancholy experience of the brigades embarked in the columbian service than from any experiment yet fairly tried in greece,--that the attention of the committee had better perhaps be directed to the employment of _officers_ of experience than the enrolment of _raw british_ soldiers, which latter are apt to be unruly, and not very serviceable, in irregular warfare, by the side of foreigners. a small body of good officers, especially artillery; an engineer, with quantity (such as the committee might deem requisite) of stores of the nature which captain blaquiere indicated as most wanted, would, i should conceive, be a highly useful accession. officers, also, who had previously served in the mediterranean would be preferable, as some knowledge of italian is nearly indispensable. "it would also be as well that they should be aware, that they are not going 'to rough it on a beef-steak and bottle of port,'--but that greece--never, of late years, very plentifully stocked for a _mess_--is at present the country of all kinds of _privations_. this remark may seem superfluous; but i have been led to it, by observing that many _foreign_ officers, italian, french, and even germans (but_fewer_ of the _latter_), have returned in disgust, imagining either that they were going up to make a party of pleasure, or to enjoy full pay, speedy promotion, and a very moderate degree of duty. they complain, too, of having been ill received by the government or inhabitants; but numbers of these complainants were mere adventurers, attracted by a hope of command and plunder, and disappointed of both. those greeks i have seen strenuously deny the charge of inhospitality, and declare that they shared their pittance to the last crum with their foreign volunteers. "i need not suggest to the committee the very great advantage which must accrue to great britain from the success of the greeks, and their probable commercial relations with england in consequence; because i feel persuaded that the first object of the committee is their emancipation, without any interested views. but the consideration might weigh with the english people in general, in their present passion for every kind of speculation,--they need not cross the american seas, for one much better worth their while, and nearer home. the resources even for an emigrant population, in the greek islands alone, are rarely to be paralleled; and the cheapness of every kind of, not _only necessary_, but _luxury_, (that is to say, _luxury_ of _nature_,) fruits, wine, oil, &c. in a state of peace, are far beyond those of the cape, and van dieman's land, and the other places of refuge, which the english people are searching for over the waters. "i beg that the committee will command me in any and every way. if i am favoured with any instructions, i shall endeavour to obey them to the letter, whether conformable to my own private opinion or not. i beg leave to add, personally, my respect for the gentleman whom i have the honour of addressing, "and am, sir, your obliged, &c. "p.s. the best refutation of gell will be the active exertions of the committee;--i am too warm a controversialist; and i suspect that if mr. hobhouse have taken him in hand, there will be little occasion for me to 'encumber him with help.' if i go up into the country, i will endeavour to transmit as accurate and impartial an account as circumstances will permit. "i shall write to mr. karrellas. i expect intelligence from captain blaquiere, who has promised me some early intimation from the seat of the provisional government. i gave him a letter of introduction to lord sydney osborne, at corfu; but as lord s. is in the government service, of course his reception could only be a _cautious_ one." letter . to mr. bowring. "genoa, may . . "sir, "i received yesterday the letter of the committee, dated the th of march. what has occasioned the delay, i know not. it was forwarded by mr. galignani, from paris, who stated that he had only had it in his charge four days, and that it was delivered to him by a mr. grattan. i need hardly say that i gladly accede to the proposition of the committee, and hold myself highly honoured by being deemed worthy to be a member. i have also to return my thanks, particularly to yourself, for the accompanying letter, which is extremely flattering. "since i last wrote to you, through the medium of mr. hobhouse, i have received and forwarded a letter from captain blaquiere to me, from corfu, which will show how he gets on. yesterday i fell in with two young germans, survivors of general normann's band. they arrived at genoa in the most deplorable state--without food--without a soul--without shoes. the austrians had sent them out of their territory on their landing at trieste; and they had been forced to come down to florence, and had travelled from leghorn here, with four tuscan _livres_ (about three francs) in their pockets. i have given them twenty genoese scudi (about a hundred and thirty-three livres, french money,) and new shoes, which will enable them to get to switzerland, where they say that they have friends. all that they could raise in genoa, besides, was thirty _sous_. they do not complain of the greeks, but say that they have suffered more since their landing in italy. "i tried their veracity, st, by their passports and papers; dly, by topography, cross-questioning them about arta, argos, athens, missolonghi, corinth, c.; and, dly, in _romaic_, of which i found one of them, at least, knew more than i do. one of them (they are both of good families) is a fine handsome young fellow of three-and-twenty--a wirtembergher, and has a look of _sandt_ about him--the other a bavarian, older and flat-faced, and less ideal, but a great, sturdy, soldier-like personage. the wirtembergher was in the action at arta, where the philhellenists were cut to pieces after killing six hundred turks, they themselves being only a hundred and fifty in number, opposed to about six or seven thousand; only eight escaped, and of them about three only survived; so that general normann 'posted his ragamuffins where they were well peppered--not three of the hundred and fifty left alive--and they are for the town's end for life.' "these two left greece by the direction of the greeks. when churschid pacha over-run the morea, the greeks seem to have behaved well, in wishing to save their allies, when they thought that the game was up with themselves. this was in september last ( ): they wandered from island to island, and got from milo to smyrna, where the french consul gave them a passport, and a charitable captain a passage to ancona, whence they got to trieste, and were turned back by the austrians. they complain only of the minister (who has always been an indifferent character); say that the greeks fight very well in their own way, but were at _first_ afraid to _fire_ their own cannon--but mended with practice. "adolphe (the younger) commanded at navarino for a short time; the other, a more material person, 'the bold bavarian in a luckless hour,' seems chiefly to lament a fast of three days at argos, and the loss of twenty-five paras a day of pay in arrear, and some baggage at tripolitza; but takes his wounds, and marches, and battles in very good part. both are very simple, full of naïveté, and quite unpretending: they say the foreigners quarrelled among themselves, particularly the french with the germans, which produced duels. "the greeks accept muskets, but throw away _bayonets_, and will _not_ be disciplined. when these lads saw two piedmontese regiments yesterday, they said, 'ah! if we had but _these_ two, we should have cleared the morea:' in that case the piedmontese must have behaved better than they did against the austrians. they seem to lay great stress upon a few regular troops--say that the greeks have arms and powder in plenty, but want victuals, hospital stores, and lint and linen, &c. and money, very much. altogether, it would be difficult to show more practical philosophy than this remnant of our 'puir hill folk' have done; they do not seem the least cast down, and their way of presenting themselves was as simple and natural as could be. they said, a dane here had told them that an englishman, friendly to the greek cause, was here, and that, as they were reduced to beg their way home, they thought they might as well begin with me. i write in haste to snatch the post. "believe me, and truly, "your obliged, &c. "p.s. i have, since i wrote this, seen them again. count p. gamba asked them to breakfast. one of them means to publish his journal of the campaign. the bavarian wonders a little that the greeks are not quite the same with them of the time of themistocles, (they were not then very tractable, by the by,) and at the difficulty of disciplining them; but he is a 'bon homme' and a tactician, and a little like dugald dalgetty, who would insist upon the erection of 'a sconce on the hill of drumsnab,' or whatever it was;--the other seems to wonder at nothing." letter . to lady ----. "may . . "my voyage to greece will depend upon the greek committee (in england) partly, and partly on the instructions which some persons now in greece on a private mission may be pleased to send me. i am a member, lately elected, of the said committee; and my object in going up would be to do any little good in my power;--but as there are some _pros_ and _cons_ on the subject, with regard to how far the intervention of strangers may be advisable, i know no more than i tell you; but we shall probably hear something soon from england and greece, which may be more decisive. "with regard to the late person (lord londonderry), whom you hear that i have attacked, i can only say that a bad minister's memory is as much an object of investigation as his conduct while alive,--for his measures do not die with him like a private individual's notions. he is a matter of _history_; and, wherever i find a tyrant or a villain, _i will mark him._ i attacked him no more than i had been wont to do. as to the liberal,--it was a publication set up for the advantage of a persecuted author and a very worthy man. but it was foolish in me to engage in it; and so it has turned out--for i have hurt myself without doing much good to those for whose benefit it was intended. "do _not defend_ me--it will never do--you will only make _yourself_ enemies. "mine are neither to be diminished nor softened, but they may be overthrown; and there are events which may occur, less improbable than those which have happened in our time, that may reverse the present state of things--_nous verrons_. "i send you this gossip that you may laugh at it, which is all it is good for, if it is even good for so much. i shall be delighted to see you again; but it will be melancholy, should it be only for a moment. "ever yours, n. b." it being now decided that lord byron should proceed forthwith to greece, all the necessary preparations for his departure were hastened. one of his first steps was to write to mr. trelawney, who was then at rome, to request that he would accompany him. "you must have heard," he says, "that i am going to greece--why do you not come to me? i can do nothing without you, and am exceedingly anxious to see you. pray, come, for i am at last determined to go to greece:--it is the only place i was ever contented in. i am serious; and did not write before, as i might have given you a journey for nothing. they all say i can be of use to greece; i do not know how--nor do they; but, at all events, let us go." a physician, acquainted with surgery, being considered a necessary part of his suite, he requested of his own medical attendant at genoa, dr. alexander, to provide him with such a person; and, on the recommendation of this gentleman, dr. bruno, a young man who had just left the university with considerable reputation, was engaged. among other preparations for his expedition, he ordered three splendid helmets to be made,--with his never forgotten crest engraved upon them,--for himself and the two friends who were to accompany him. in this little circumstance, which in england (where the ridiculous is so much better understood than the heroic) excited some sneers at the time, we have one of the many instances that occur amusingly through his life, to confirm the quaint but, as applied to him, true observation, that "the child is father to the man;"--the characteristics of these two periods of life being in him so anomalously transposed, that while the passions and ripened views of the man developed themselves in his boyhood, so the easily pleased fancies and vanities of the boy were for ever breaking out among the most serious moments of his manhood. the same schoolboy whom we found, at the beginning of the first volume, boasting of his intention to raise, at some future time, a troop of horse in black armour, to be called byron's blacks, was now seen trying on with delight his fine crested helmet, and anticipating the deeds of glory he was to achieve under its plumes. at the end of may a letter arrived from mr. blaquiere communicating to him very favourable intelligence, and requesting that he would as much as possible hasten his departure, as he was now anxiously looked for, and would be of the greatest service. however encouraging this summons, and though lord byron, thus called upon from all sides, had now determined to give freely the aid which all deemed so essential, it is plain from his letters that, in the cool, sagacious view which he himself took of the whole subject, so far from agreeing with these enthusiasts in their high estimate of his personal services, he had not yet even been able to perceive any definite way in which those services could, with any prospect of permanent utility, be applied. for an insight into the true state of his mind at this crisis, the following observations of one who watched him with eyes quickened by anxiety will be found, perhaps, to afford the clearest and most certain clue. "at this time," says the contessa guiccioli, "lord byron again turned his thoughts to greece; and, excited on every side by a thousand combining circumstances, found himself, almost before he had time to form a decision, or well know what he was doing, obliged to set out for that country. but, notwithstanding his affection for those regions,--notwithstanding the consciousness of his own moral energies, which made him say always that 'a man ought to do something more for society than write verses,'--notwithstanding the attraction which the object of this voyage must necessarily have for his noble mind, and that, moreover, he was resolved to return to italy within a few months,--notwithstanding all this, every person who was near him at the time can bear witness to the struggle which his mind underwent (however much he endeavoured to hide it), as the period fixed for his departure approached."[ ] [footnote : "fu allora che lord byron rivolse i suoi pensieri alla grecia; e stimolato poi da ogni parte per mille combinazioni egli si trovo quasi senza averlo deciso, e senza saperlo, obbligato di partire per la grecia. ma, non ostante il suo affetto per quelle contrade,--non ostante il sentimento delle sue forze morali che gli faceva dire sempre 'che un uomo e obbligato a fare per la societa qualche cosa di piu che dei versi,--non ostante le attrative che doveva avere pel nobile suo animo l'oggetto di que viaggio,--e non ostante che egli fosse determinato di ritornare in italia fra non molti mesi,--pure in quale combattimento si trovasse il suo cuore mentre si avvanzava l'epoca della sua parenza (sebbene cercasse occultarlo) ognuno che lo ha avvicinato allora puù dirlo."] in addition to the vagueness which this want of any defined object so unsatisfactorily threw round the enterprise before him, he had also a sort of ominous presentiment--natural, perhaps, to one of his temperament under such circumstances--that he was but fulfilling his own doom in this expedition, and should die in greece. on the evening before the departure of his friends, lord and lady b----, from genoa, he called upon them for the purpose of taking leave, and sat conversing for some time. he was evidently in low spirits, and after expressing his regret that they should leave genoa before his own time of sailing, proceeded to speak of his intended voyage in a tone full of despondence. "here," said he, "we are all now together--but when, and where, shall we meet again? i have a sort of boding that we see each other for the last time; as something tells me i shall never again return from greece." having continued a little longer in this melancholy strain, he leaned his head upon the arm of the sofa on which they were seated, and, bursting into tears, wept for some minutes with uncontrollable feeling. though he had been talking only with lady b----, all who were present in the room observed, and were affected by his emotion, while he himself, apparently ashamed of his weakness, endeavoured to turn off attention from it by some ironical remark, spoken with a sort of hysterical laugh, upon the effects of "nervousness." he had, previous to this conversation, presented to each of the party some little farewell gift--a book to one, a print from his bust by bartolini to another, and to lady b---- a copy of his armenian grammar, which had some manuscript remarks of his own on the leaves. in now parting with her, having begged, as a memorial, some trifle which she had worn, the lady gave him one of her rings; in return for which he took a pin from his breast, containing a small cameo of napoleon, which he said had long been his companion, and presented it to her ladyship. the next day lady b---- received from him the following note. to the countess of b----. "albaro, june . . "my dear lady b----, 'i am _superstitious_, and have recollected that memorials with a _point_ are of less fortunate augury; i will, therefore, request you to accept, instead of the _pin_, the enclosed chain, which is of so slight a value that you need not hesitate. as you wished for something _worn_, i can only say, that it has been worn oftener and longer than the other. it is of venetian manufacture; and the only peculiarity about it is, that it could only be obtained at or from venice. at genoa they have none of the same kind. i also enclose a ring, which i would wish _alfred_ to keep; it is too large to _wear_; but is formed of _lava_, and so far adapted to the fire of his years and character. you will perhaps have the goodness to acknowledge the receipt of this note, and send back the pin (for good luck's sake), which i shall value much more for having been a night in your custody. "ever and faithfully your obliged, &c. "p.s. i hope your _nerves_ are well to-day, and will continue to flourish." in the mean time the preparations for his romantic expedition were in progress. with the aid of his banker and very sincere friend, mr. barry, of genoa, he was enabled to raise the large sums of money necessary for his supply;-- , crowns in specie, and , crowns in bills of exchange, being the amount of what he took with him, and a portion of this having been raised upon his furniture and books, on which mr. barry, as i understand, advanced a sum far beyond their worth. an english brig, the hercules, had been freighted to convey himself and his suite, which consisted, at this time, of count gamba, mr. trelawney, dr. bruno, and eight domestics. there were also aboard five horses, sufficient arms and ammunition for the use of his own party, two one-pounders belonging to his schooner, the bolivar, which he had left at genoa, and medicine enough for the supply of a thousand men for a year. the following letter to the secretary of the greek committee announces his approaching departure. letter . to mr. bowring. "july . . "we sail on the th for greece.--i have had a letter from mr, blaquiere, too long for present transcription, but very satisfactory. the greek government expects me without delay. "in conformity to the desires of mr. b. and other correspondents in greece, i have to suggest, with all deference to the committee, that a remittance of even '_ten thousand pounds only_' (mr. b.'s expression) would be of the greatest service to the greek government at present. i have also to recommend strongly the attempt of a loan, for which there will be offered a sufficient security by deputies now on their way to england. in the mean time, i hope that the committee will be enabled to do something effectual. "for my own part, i mean to carry up, in cash or credits, above eight, and nearly nine thousand pounds sterling, which i am enabled to do by funds i have in italy, and credits in england. of this sum i must necessarily reserve a portion for the subsistence of myself and suite; the rest i am willing to apply in the manner which seems most likely to be useful to the cause--having of course some guarantee or assurance, that it will not be misapplied to any individual speculation. "if i remain in greece, which will mainly depend upon the presumed probable utility of my presence there, and of the opinion of the greeks themselves as to its propriety--in short, if i am welcome to them, i shall continue, during my residence at least, to apply such portions of my income, present and future, as may forward the object--that is to say, what i can spare for that purpose. privations i can, or at least could once bear--abstinence i am accustomed to--and as to fatigue, i was once a tolerable traveller. what i may be now, i cannot tell--but i will try. "i await the commands of the committee--address to genoa--the letters will be forwarded me, wherever i may be, by my bankers, messrs. webb and barry. it would have given me pleasure to have had some more _defined_ instructions before i went, but these, of course, rest at the option of the committee. i have the honour to be, "yours obediently, &c. "p.s. great anxiety is expressed for a printing press and types, &c. i have not the time to provide them, but recommend this to the notice of the committee. i presume the types must, partly at least, be _greek_: they wish to publish papers, and perhaps a journal, probably in romaic, with italian translations." all was now ready; and on the th of july himself and his whole party slept on board the hercules. about sunrise the next morning they succeeded in clearing the port; but there was little wind, and they remained in sight of genoa the whole day. the night was a bright moonlight, but the wind had become stormy and adverse, and they were, for a short time, in serious danger. lord byron, who remained on deck during the storm, was employed anxiously, with the aid of such of his suite as were not disabled by sea-sickness from helping him in preventing further mischief to the horses, which, having been badly secured, had broken loose and injured each other. after making head against the wind for three or four hours, the captain was at last obliged to steer back to genoa, and re-entered the port at six in the morning. on landing again, after this unpromising commencement of his voyage, lord byron (says count gamba) "appeared thoughtful, and remarked that he considered a bad beginning a favourable omen." it has been already, i believe, mentioned that, among the superstitions in which he chose to indulge, the supposed unluckiness of friday, as a day for the commencement of any work, was one by which he, almost always, allowed himself to be influenced. soon after his arrival at pisa, a lady of his acquaintance happening to meet him on the road from her house as she was herself returning thither, and supposing that he had been to make her a visit, requested that he would go back with her. "i have not been to your house," he answered; "for, just before i got to the door, i remembered that it was friday; and, not liking to make my first visit on a friday, i turned back." it is even related of him that he once sent away a genoese tailor who brought him home a new coat on the same ominous day. with all this, strange to say, he set sail for greece on a friday:--and though, by those who have any leaning to this superstitious fancy, the result maybe thought but too sadly confirmatory of the omen, it is plain that either the influence of the superstition over his own mind was slight, or, in the excitement of self-devotion under which he now acted, was forgotten, in truth, notwithstanding his encouraging speech to count gamba, the forewarning he now felt of his approaching doom seems to have been far too deep and serious to need the aid of any such accessory. having expressed a wish, on relanding, to visit his own palace, which he had left to the care of mr. barry during his absence, and from which madame guiccioli had early that morning departed, he now proceeded thither, accompanied by count gamba alone. "his conversation," says this gentleman, "was somewhat melancholy on our way to albaro: he spoke much of his past life, and of the uncertainty of the future. 'where,' said he, 'shall we be in a year?'--it looked (adds his friend) like a melancholy foreboding; for, on the same day, of the same month, in the next year, he was carried to the tomb of his ancestors." it took nearly the whole of the day to repair the damages of their vessel; and the greater part of this interval was passed by lord byron, in company with mr. barry, at some gardens near the city. here his conversation, as this gentleman informs me, took the same gloomy turn. that he had not fixed to go to england, in preference, seemed one of his deep regrets; and so hopeless were the views he expressed of the whole enterprise before him, that, as it appeared to mr. barry, nothing but a devoted sense of duty and honour could have determined him to persist in it. in the evening of that day they set sail;--and now, fairly launched in the cause, and disengaged, as it were, from his former state of existence, the natural power of his spirit to shake off pressure, whether from within or without, began instantly to display itself. according to the report of one of his fellow-voyagers, though so clouded while on shore, no sooner did he find himself, once more, bounding over the waters, than all the light and life of his better nature shone forth. in the breeze that now bore him towards his beloved greece, the voice of his youth seemed again to speak. before the titles of hero, of benefactor, to which he now aspired, that of poet, however pre-eminent, faded into nothing. his love of freedom, his generosity, his thirst for the new and adventurous,--all were re-awakened; and even the bodings that still lingered at the bottom of his heart but made the course before him more precious from his consciousness of its brevity, and from the high and self-ennobling resolution he had now taken to turn what yet remained of it gloriously to account. "parte, e porta un desio d'eterna ed alma gloria che a nobil cuor e sferza e sprone; a magnanime imprese intenta ha l'alma, ed _insolite cose oprar_ dispone. gir fra i nemici--_ivi o cipresso o palma_ acquistar." after a passage of five days, they reached leghorn, at which place it was thought necessary to touch, for the purpose of taking on board a supply of gunpowder, and other english goods, not to be had elsewhere. it would have been the wish of lord byron, in the new path he had now marked out for himself, to disconnect from his name, if possible, all those poetical associations, which, by throwing a character of romance over the step he was now taking, might have a tendency, as he feared, to impair its practical utility; and it is, perhaps, hardly saying too much for his sincere zeal in the cause to assert, that he would willingly at this moment have sacrificed his whole fame, as poet, for even the prospect of an equivalent renown, as philanthropist and liberator. how vain, however, was the thought that he could thus supersede his own glory, or cause the fame of the lyre to be forgotten in that of the sword, was made manifest to him by a mark of homage which reached him, while at leghorn, from the hands of one of the only two men of the age who could contend with him in the universality of his literary fame. already, as has been seen, an exchange of courtesies, founded upon mutual admiration, had taken place between lord byron and the great poet of germany, goethe. of this intercourse between two such men,--the former as brief a light in the world's eyes, as the latter has been long and steadily luminous,--an account has been by the venerable survivor put on record, which, as a fit preliminary to the letter i am about to give, i shall here insert in as faithful a translation as it has been in my power to procure. "goethe and byron. "the german poet, who, down to the latest period of his long life, had been always anxious to acknowledge the merits of his literary predecessors and contemporaries, because he has always considered this to be the surest means of cultivating his own powers, could not but have his attention attracted to the great talent of the noble lord almost from his earliest appearance, and uninterruptedly watched the progress of his mind throughout the great works which he unceasingly produced. it was immediately perceived by him that the public appreciation of his poetical merits kept pace with the rapid succession of his writings. the joyful sympathy of others would have been perfect, had not the poet, by a life marked by self-dissatisfaction, and the indulgence of strong passions, disturbed the enjoyment which his infinite genius produced. but his german admirer was not led astray by this, or prevented from following with close attention both his works and his life in all their eccentricity. these astonished him the more, as he found in the experience of past ages no element for the calculation of so eccentric an orbit. "these endeavours of the german did not remain unknown to the englishman, of which his poems contain unambiguous proofs; and he also availed himself of the means afforded by various travellers, to forward some friendly salutation to his unknown admirer. at length a manuscript dedication of _sardanapaius_, in the most complimentary terms, was forwarded to him, with an obliging enquiry whether it might be prefixed to the tragedy. the german, who, at his advanced age, was conscious of his own powers and of their effects, could only gratefully and modestly consider this dedication as the expression of an inexhaustible intellect, deeply feeling and creating its own object. he was by no means dissatisfied when, after a long delay, sardanapaius appeared without the dedication; and was made happy by the possession of a fac-simile of it, engraved on stone, which he considered a precious memorial. the noble lord, however, did not abandon his purpose of proclaiming to the world his valued kindness towards his german contemporary and brother poet, a precious evidence of which was placed in front of the tragedy of werner. it will be readily believed, when so unhoped for an honour was conferred upon the german poet,--one seldom experienced in life, and that too from one himself so highly distinguished,--he was by no means reluctant to express the high esteem and sympathising sentiment with which his unsurpassed contemporary had inspired him. the task was difficult, and was found the more so, the more it was contemplated;--for what can be said of one whose unfathomable qualities are not to be reached by words? but when a young gentleman, mr. sterling, of pleasing person and excellent character, in the spring of , on a journey from genoa to weimar, delivered a few lines under the hand of the great man as an introduction, and when the report was soon after spread that the noble peer was about to direct his great mind and various power to deeds of sublime daring beyond the ocean, there appeared to be no time left for further delay, and the following lines were hastily written[ ]:-- [footnote : i insert the verses in the original language, as an english version gives but a very imperfect notion of their meaning.] "ein freundlich wort kommt eines nach dem andern von süden her und bringt uns frohe stunden; es ruft uns auf zum edelsten zu wandern, nich ist der geist, doch ist der fuss gebunden. "wie soil ich dem, den ich so lang begleitet, nun etwas traulich's in die ferne sagen? ihm der sich selbst im innersten bestreitet, stark angewohnt das tiefste weh zu tragen. "wohl sey ihm doch, wenn er sich selbst empfindet! er wage selbst sich hoch beglückt zu nennen, wenn musenkraft die schmerzen überwindet, und wie ich ihn erkannt mög' er sich kennen. "the verses reached genoa, but the excellent friend to whom they were addressed was already gone, and to a distance, as it appeared, inaccessible. driven back, however, by storms, he landed at leghorn, where these cordial lines reached him just as he was about to embark, on the th of july, . he had barely time to answer by a well-filled page, which the possessor has preserved among his most precious papers, as the worthiest evidence of the connection that had been formed. affecting and delightful as was such a document, and justifying the most lively hopes, it has acquired now the greatest, though most painful value, from the untimely death of the lofty writer, which adds a peculiar edge to the grief felt generally throughout the whole moral and poetical world at his loss: for we were warranted in hoping, that when his great deeds should have been achieved, we might personally have greeted in him the pre-eminent intellect, the happily acquired friend, and the most humane of conquerors. at present we can only console ourselves with the conviction that his country will at last recover from that violence of invective and reproach which has been so long raised against him, and will learn to understand that the dross and lees of the age and the individual, out of which even the best have to elevate themselves, are but perishable and transient, while the wonderful glory to which he in the present and through all future ages has elevated his country, will be as boundless in its splendour as it is incalculable in its consequences. nor can there be any doubt that the nation, which can boast of so many great names, will class him among the first of those through whom she has acquired such glory." the following is lord byron's answer to the communication above mentioned from goethe:-- letter . to goethe. "leghorn, july . . "illustrious sir, "i cannot thank you as you ought to be thanked for the lines which my young friend, mr. sterling, sent me of yours; and it would but ill become me to pretend to exchange verses with him who, for fifty years, has been the undisputed sovereign of european literature. you must therefore accept my most sincere acknowledgments in prose--and in hasty prose too; for i am at present on my voyage to greece once more, and surrounded by hurry and bustle, which hardly allow a moment even to gratitude and admiration to express themselves. "i sailed from genoa some days ago, was driven back by a gale of wind, and have since sailed again and arrived here, 'leghorn,' this morning, to receive on board some greek passengers for their struggling country. "here also i found your lines and mr. sterling's letter; and i could not have had a more favourable omen, a more agreeable surprise, than a word of goethe, written by his own hand. "i am returning to greece, to see if i can be of any little use there: if ever i come back, i will pay a visit to weimar, to offer the sincere homage of one of the many millions of your admirers. i have the honour to be, ever and most, "your obliged, "noel byron." from leghorn, where his lordship was joined by mr. hamilton browne, he set sail on the th of july, and, after about ten days of most favourable weather, cast anchor at argostoli, the chief port of cephalonia. it had been thought expedient that lord byron should, with the view of informing himself correctly respecting greece, direct his course, in the first instance, to one of the ionian islands, from whence, as from a post of observation, he might be able to ascertain the exact position of affairs before he landed on the continent. for this purpose it had been recommended that either zante or cephalonia should be selected; and his choice was chiefly determined towards the latter island by his knowledge of the talents and liberal feelings of the resident, colonel napier. aware, however, that, in the yet doubtful aspect of the foreign policy of england, his arrival thus on an expedition so declaredly in aid of insurrection might have the effect of embarrassing the existing authorities, he resolved to adopt such a line of conduct as would be the least calculated either to compromise or offend them. it was with this view he now thought it prudent not to land at argostoli, but to await on board his vessel such information from the government of greece as should enable him to decide upon his further movements. the arrival of a person so celebrated at argostoli excited naturally a lively sensation, as well among the greeks as the english of that place; and the first approaches towards intercourse between the latter and their noble visiter were followed instantly, on both sides, by that sort of agreeable surprise which, from the false notions they had preconceived of each other, was to be expected. his countrymen, who, from the exaggerated stories they had so often heard of his misanthropy and especial horror of the english, expected their courtesies to be received with a haughty, if not insulting coldness, found, on the contrary, in all his demeanour a degree of open and cheerful affability which, calculated, as it was, to charm under any circumstances, was to them, expecting so much the reverse, peculiarly fascinating;--while he, on his side, even still more sensitively prepared, by a long course of brooding over his own fancies, for a cold and reluctant reception from his countrymen, found himself greeted at once with a welcome so cordial and respectful as not only surprised and flattered, but, it was evident, sensibly touched him. among other hospitalities accepted by him was a dinner with the officers of the garrison, at which, on his health being drunk, he is reported to have said, in returning thanks, that "he was doubtful whether he could express his sense of the obligation as he ought, having been so long in the practice of speaking a foreign language that it was with some difficulty he could convey the whole force of what he felt in his own." having despatched messengers to corfu and missolonghi in quest of information, he resolved, while waiting their return, to employ his time in a journey to ithaca, which island is separated from that of cephalonia but by a narrow strait. on his way to vathi, the chief city of the island, to which place he had been invited, and his journey hospitably facilitated, by the resident, captain knox, he paid a visit to the mountain-cave in which, according to tradition, ulysses deposited the presents of the phæacians. "lord byron (says count gamba) ascended to the grotto, but the steepness and height prevented him from reaching the remains of the castle. i myself experienced considerable difficulty in gaining it. lord byron sat reading in the grotto, but fell asleep. i awoke him on my return, and he said that i had interrupted dreams more pleasant than ever he had before in his life." though unchanged, since he first visited these regions, in his preference of the wild charms of nature to all the classic associations of art and history, he yet joined with much interest in any pilgrimage to those places which tradition had sanctified. at the fountain of arethusa, one of the spots of this kind which he visited, a repast had been prepared for himself and his party by the resident; and at the school of homer,--as some remains beyond chioni are called,--he met with an old refugee bishop, whom he had known thirteen years before in livadia, and with whom he now conversed of those times, with a rapidity and freshness of recollection with which the memory of the old bishop could but ill keep pace. neither did the traditional baths of penelope escape his research; and "however sceptical (says a lady, who, soon after, followed his footsteps,) he might have been as to these supposed localities, he never offended the natives by any objection to the reality of their fancies. on the contrary, his politeness and kindness won the respect and admiration of all those greek gentlemen who saw him; and to me they spoke of him with enthusiasm." those benevolent views by which, even more, perhaps, than by any ambition of renown, he proved himself to be actuated in his present course, had, during his short stay at ithaca, opportunities of disclosing themselves. on learning that a number of poor families had fled thither from scio, patras, and other parts of greece, he not only presented to the commandant three thousand piastres for their relief, but by his generosity to one family in particular, which had once been in a state of affluence at patras, enabled them to repair their circumstances and again live in comfort. "the eldest girl (says the lady whom i have already quoted) became afterwards the mistress of the school formed at ithaca; and neither she, her sister, nor mother, could ever speak of lord byron without the deepest feeling of gratitude, and of regret for his too premature death." after occupying in this excursion about eight days, he had again established himself on board the hercules, when one of the messengers whom he had despatched returned, bringing a letter to him from the brave marco botzari, whom he had left among the mountains of agrafa, preparing for that attack in which he so gloriously fell. the following are the terms in which this heroic chief wrote to lord byron:-- "your letter, and that of the venerable ignazio, have filled me with joy. your excellency is exactly the person of whom we stand in need. let nothing prevent you from coming into this part of greece. the enemy threatens us in great number; but, by the help of god and your excellency, they shall meet a suitable resistance. i shall have something to do to-night against a corps of six or seven thousand albanians, encamped close to this place. the day after to-morrow i will set out with a few chosen companions, to meet your excellency. do not delay. i thank you for the good opinion you have of my fellow-citizens, which god grant you will not find ill-founded; and i thank you still more for the care you have so kindly taken of them. "believe me," &c. in the expectation that lord byron would proceed forthwith to missolonghi, it had been the intention of botzari, as the above letter announces, to leave the army, and hasten, with a few of his brother warriors, to receive their noble ally on his landing in a manner worthy of the generous mission on which he came. the above letter, however, preceded but by a few hours his death. that very night he penetrated, with but a handful of followers, into the midst of the enemy's camp, whose force was eight thousand strong, and after leading his heroic band over heaps of dead, fell, at last, close to the tent of the pasha himself. the mention made in this brave suliote's letter of lord byron's care of his fellow-citizens refers to a popular act done recently by the noble poet at cephalonia, in taking into his pay, as a body-guard, forty of this now homeless tribe. on finding, however, that for want of employment they were becoming restless and turbulent, he despatched them off soon after, armed and provisioned, to join in the defence of missolonghi, which was at that time besieged on one side by a considerable force, and blockaded on the other by a turkish squadron. already had he, with a view to the succour of this place, made a generous offer to the government, which he thus states himself in one of his letters:--"i offered to advance a thousand dollars a month for the succour of missolonghi, and the suliotes under botzari (since killed); but the government have answered me, that they wish to confer with me previously, which is in fact saying they wish me to expend my money in some other direction. i will take care that it is for the public cause, otherwise i will not advance a para. the opposition say they want to cajole me, and the party in power say the others wish to seduce me, so between the two i have a difficult part to play; however, i will have nothing to do with the factions unless to reconcile them if possible." in these last few sentences is described briefly the position in which lord byron was now placed, and in which the coolness, foresight, and self-possession he displayed sufficiently refute the notion that even the highest powers of imagination, whatever effect they may sometimes produce on the moral temperament, are at all incompatible with the sound practical good sense, the steadily balanced views, which the business of active life requires. the great difficulty, to an observer of the state of greece at this crisis, was to be able clearly to distinguish between what was real and what was merely apparent in those tests by which the probability of her future success or failure was to be judged. with a government little more than nominal, having neither authority nor resources, its executive and legislative branches being openly at variance, and the supplies that ought to fill its exchequer being intercepted by the military chiefs, who, as they were, in most places, collectors of the revenue, were able to rob by authority;--with that curse of all popular enterprises, a multiplicity of leaders, each selfishly pursuing his own objects, and ready to make the sword the umpire of their claims;--with a fleet furnished by private adventure, and therefore precarious; and an army belonging rather to its chiefs than to the government, and, accordingly, trusting more to plunder than to pay;--with all these principles of mischief, and, as it would seem, ruin at the very heart of the struggle, it had yet persevered, which was in itself victory, through three trying campaigns; and at this moment presented, in the midst of all its apparent weakness and distraction, some elements of success which both accounted for what had hitherto been effected, and gave a hope, with more favouring circumstances, of something nobler yet to come. besides the never-failing encouragement which the incapacity of their enemies afforded them, the greeks derived also from the geographical conformation of their country those same advantages with which nature had blessed their great ancestors, and which had contributed mainly perhaps to the formation, as well as maintenance, of their high national character. islanders and mountaineers, they were, by their very position, heirs to the blessings of freedom and commerce; nor had the spirit of either, through all their long slavery and sufferings, ever wholly died away. they had also, luckily, in a political as well as religious point of view, preserved that sacred line of distinction between themselves and their conquerors which a fond fidelity to an ancient church could alone have maintained for them;--keeping thus holily in reserve, against the hour of struggle, that most stirring of all the excitements to which freedom can appeal when she points to her flame rising out of the censer of religion. in addition to these, and all the other moral advantages included in them, for which the greeks were indebted to their own nature and position, is to be taken also into account the aid and sympathy they had every right to expect from others, as soon as their exertions in their own cause should justify the confidence that it would be something more than the mere chivalry of generosity to assist them.[ ] [footnote : for a clear and concise sketch of the state of greece at this crisis, executed with all that command of the subject which a long residence in the country alone could give, see colonel leake's "historical outline of the greek revolution."] such seem to have been the chief features of hope which the state of greece, at this moment, presented. but though giving promise, perhaps, of a lengthened continuance of the struggle, they, in that very promise, postponed indefinitely the period of its success; and checked and counteracted as were these auspicious appearances by the manifold and inherent evils above enumerated,--by a consideration, too, of the resources and obstinacy of the still powerful turk, and of the little favour with which it was at all probable that the courts of europe would ever regard the attempt of any people, under any circumstances, to be their own emancipators,--none, assuredly, but a most sanguine spirit could indulge in the dream that greece would be able to work out her own liberation, or that aught, indeed, but a fortuitous concurrence of political circumstances could ever accomplish it. like many other such contests between right and might, it was a cause destined, all felt, to be successful, but at its own ripe hour;--a cause which individuals might keep alive, but which events, wholly independent of them, alone could accomplish, and which, after the hearts, and hopes, and lives of all its bravest defenders had been wasted upon it, would at last to other hands, and even to other means than those contemplated by its first champions, owe its completion. that lord byron, on a nearer view of the state of greece, saw it much in the light i have here regarded it in, his letters leave no room to doubt. neither was the impression he had early received of the greeks themselves at all improved by the present renewal of his acquaintance with them. though making full allowance for the causes that had produced their degeneracy, he still saw that they were grossly degenerate, and must be dealt with and counted upon accordingly. "i am of st. paul's opinion," said he, "that there is no difference between jews and greeks,--the character of both being equally vile." with such means and materials, the work of regeneration, he knew, must be slow; and the hopelessness he therefore felt as to the chances of ever connecting his name with any essential or permanent benefit to greece, gives to the sacrifice he now made of himself a far more touching interest than had the consciousness of dying for some great object been at once his incitement and reward. he but looked upon himself,--to use a favourite illustration of his own,--as one of the many waves that must break and die upon the shore, before the tide they help to advance can reach its full mark. "what signifies self," was his generous thought, "if a single spark of that which would be worthy of the past can be bequeathed unquenchedly to the future?"[ ] such was the devoted feeling with which he embarked in the cause of italy; and these words, which, had they remained _only_ words, the unjust world would have pronounced but an idle boast, have now received from his whole course in greece a practical comment, which gives them all the right of truth to be engraved solemnly on his tomb. [footnote : _diary of_ .--the same distrustful and, as it turned out, just view of the chances of success were taken by him also on that occasion:--"i shall not," he says, "fall back;--though i don't think them in force or heart sufficient to make much of it."] though with so little hope of being able to serve signally the cause, the task of at least lightening, by his interposition, some of the manifold mischiefs that pressed upon it, might yet, he thought, be within his reach. to convince the government and the chiefs of the paralysing effect of their dissensions;--to inculcate that spirit of union among themselves which alone could give strength against their enemies;--to endeavour to humanise the feelings of the belligerents on both sides, so as to take from the war that character of barbarism which deterred the more civilised friends of freedom through europe from joining in it;--such were, in addition to the now essential aid of his money, the great objects which he proposed to effect by his interference; and to these he accordingly, with all the candour, clear-sightedness, and courage which so pre-eminently distinguished his great mind, applied himself. aware that, to judge deliberately of the state of parties, he must keep out of their vortex, and warned, by the very impatience and rivalry with which the different chiefs courted his presence, of the risk he should run by connecting himself with any, he resolved to remain, for some time longer, in his station at cephalonia, and there avail himself of the facilities afforded by the position for collecting information as to the real state of affairs, and ascertaining in what quarter his own presence and money would be most available. during the six weeks that had elapsed since his arrival at cephalonia, he had been living in the most comfortless manner, pent up with pigs and poultry, on board the vessel which brought him. having now come, however, to the determination of prolonging his stay, he decided also upon fixing his abode on shore; and, for the sake of privacy, retired to a small village, called metaxata, about seven miles from argostoli, where he continued to reside during the remainder of his stay on the island. before this change of residence, he had despatched mr. hamilton browne and mr. trelawney with a letter to the existing government of greece, explanatory of his own views and those of the committee whom he represented; and it was not till a month after his removal to metaxata that intelligence from these gentlemen reached him. the picture they gave of the state of the country was, in most respects, confirmatory of what has already been described as his own view of it;--incapacity and selfishness at the head of affairs, disorganisation throughout the whole body politic, but still, with all this, the heart of the nation sound, and bent on resistance. nor could he have failed to be struck with the close family resemblance to the ancient race of the country which this picture exhibited;--that great people, in the very midst of their own endless dissensions, having been ever ready to face round in concert against the foe. his lordship's agents had been received with all due welcome by the government, who were most desirous that he should set out for the morea without delay; and pressing letters to the same purport, both from the legislative and executive bodies, accompanied those which reached him from messrs. browne and trelawney. he was, however, determined not to move till his own selected time, having seen reason, the farther insight he obtained into their intrigues, to congratulate himself but the more on his prudence in not plunging into the maze without being first furnished with those guards against deception which the information he was now acquiring supplied him. to give an idea, as briefly as possible, of the sort of conflicting calls that were from various scenes of action, reaching him in his retirement, it may be sufficient to mention that, while by metaxa, the present governor of missolonghi, he was entreated earnestly to hasten to the relief of that place, which the turks were now blockading both by land and by sea, the head of the military chiefs, colocotroni, was no less earnestly urging that he should present himself at the approaching congress of salamis, where, under the dictation of these rude warriors, the affairs of the country were to be settled,--while at the same time, from another quarter, the great opponent of these chieftains, mavrocordato, was, with more urgency, as well as more ability than any, endeavouring to impress upon him his own views, and imploring his presence at hydra, whither he himself had just been forced to retire. the mere knowledge, indeed, that a noble englishman had arrived in those regions, so unprepossessed by any party as to inspire a hope of his alliance in all, and with money, by common rumour, as abundant as the imaginations of the needy chose to make it, was, in itself, fully sufficient, without any of the more elevated claims of his name, to attract towards him all thoughts. "it is easier to conceive," says count gamba, "than to relate the various means employed to engage him in one faction or the other: letters, messengers, intrigues, and recriminations,--nay, each faction had its agents exerting every art to degrade its opponent." he then adds a circumstance strongly illustrative of a peculiar feature in the noble poet's character:--"he occupied himself in discovering the truth, hidden as it was under these intrigues, and _amused himself in confronting the agents of the different factions_." during all these occupations he went on pursuing his usual simple and uniform course of life,--rising, however, for the despatch of business, at an early hour, which showed how capable he was of conquering even long habit when necessary. though so much occupied, too, he was, at all hours, accessible to visitors; and the facility with which he allowed even the dullest people to break in upon him was exemplified, i am told, strongly in the case of one of the officers of the garrison, who, without being able to understand any thing of the poet but his good-nature, used to say, whenever he found his time hang heavily on his hands,--"i think i shall ride out and have a little talk with lord byron." the person, however, whose visits appeared to give him most pleasure, as well from the interest he took in the subject on which they chiefly conversed, as from the opportunities, sometimes, of pleasantry which the peculiarities of his visiter afforded him, was a medical gentleman named kennedy, who, from a strong sense of the value of religion to himself, had taken up the benevolent task of communicating his own light to others. the first origin of their intercourse was an undertaking, on the part of this gentleman, to convert to a firm belief in christianity some rather sceptical friends of his, then at argostoli. happening to hear of the meeting appointed for this purpose, lord byron begged that he might be allowed to attend, saying to the person through whom he conveyed his request, "you know i am reckoned a black sheep,--yet, after all, not so black as the world believes me." he had promised to convince dr. kennedy that, "though wanting, perhaps, in faith, he at least had patience:" but the process of so many hours of lecture,--no less than twelve, without interruption, being stipulated for,--was a trial beyond his strength; and, very early in the operation, as the doctor informs us, he began to show evident signs of a wish to exchange the part of hearer for that of speaker. notwithstanding this, however, there was in all his deportment, both as listener and talker, such a degree of courtesy, candour, and sincere readiness to be taught, as excited interest, if not hope, for his future welfare in the good doctor; and though he never after attended the more numerous meetings, his conferences, on the same subject, with dr. kennedy alone, were not infrequent during the remainder of his stay at cephalonia. these curious conversations are now published; and to the value which they possess as a simple and popular exposition of the chief evidences of christianity, is added the charm that must ever dwell round the character of one of the interlocutors, and the almost fearful interest attached to every word that, on such a subject, he utters. in the course of the first conversation, it will be seen that lord byron expressly disclaimed being one of those infidels "who deny the scriptures, and wish to remain in unbelief." on the contrary, he professed himself "desirous to believe; as he experienced no happiness in having his religious opinions so unfixed." he was unable, however, he added, "to understand the scriptures. those who conscientiously believed them he could always respect, and was always disposed to trust in them more than in others; but he had met with so many whose conduct differed from the principles which they professed, and who seemed to profess those principles either because they were paid to do so, or from some other motive which an intimate acquaintance with their character would enable one to detect, that altogether he had seen few, if any, whom he could rely upon as truly and conscientiously believing the scriptures." we may take for granted that these conversations,--more especially the first, from the number of persons present who would report the proceedings,--excited considerable interest among the society of argostoli. it was said that lord byron had displayed such a profound knowledge of the scriptures as astonished, and even puzzled, the polemic doctor; while in all the eminent writers on theological subjects he had shown himself far better versed than his more pretending opponent. all this dr. kennedy strongly denies; and the truth seems to be, that on neither side were there much stores of theological learning. the confession of the lecturer himself, that he had not read the works of stillingfleet or barrow, shows that, in his researches after orthodoxy, he had not allowed himself any very extensive range; while the alleged familiarity of lord byron with the same authorities must be taken with a similar abatement of credence and wonder to that which his own account of his youthful studies, already given, requires;--a rapid eye and retentive memory having enabled him, on this as on most other subjects, to catch, as it were, the salient points on the surface of knowledge, and the recollections he thus gathered being, perhaps, the livelier from his not having encumbered himself with more. to any regular train of reasoning, even on this his most favourite topic, it was not possible to lead him. he would start objections to the arguments of others, and detect their fallacies; but of any consecutive ratiocination on his own side he seemed, if not incapable, impatient. in this, indeed, as in many other peculiarities belonging to him,--his caprices, fits of weeping, sudden affections and dislikes,--may be observed striking traces of a feminine cast of character;--it being observable that the discursive faculty is rarely exercised by women; but that nevertheless, by the mere instinct of truth (as was the case with lord byron), they are often enabled at once to light upon the very conclusion to which man, through all the forms of reasoning, is, in the mean time, puzzling, and, perhaps, losing his way:-- "and strikes each point with native force of mind, while puzzled logic blunders far behind." of the scriptures, it is certain that lord byron was a frequent and almost daily reader,--the small pocket bible which, on his leaving england, had been given him by his sister, being always near him. how much, in addition to his natural solicitude on the subject of religion, the taste of the poet influenced him in this line of study, may be seen in his frequently expressed admiration of "the ghost-scene," as he called it, in samuel, and his comparison of this supernatural appearance with the mephistopheles of goethe. in the same manner, his imagination appears to have been much struck by the notion of his lecturer, that the circumstance mentioned in job of the almighty summoning satan into his presence was to be interpreted, not, as he thought, allegorically and poetically, but literally. more than once we find him expressing to dr. kennedy "how much this belief of the real appearance of satan to hear and obey the commands of god added to his views of the grandeur and majesty of the creator." on the whole, the interest of these conversations, as far as regards lord byron, arises not so much from any new or certain lights they supply us with on the subject of his religious opinions, as from the evidence they afford of his amiable facility of intercourse, the total absence of bigotry or prejudice from even his most favourite notions, and--what may be accounted, perhaps, the next step in conversion to belief itself--his disposition to believe. as far, indeed, as a frank submission to the charge of being wrong may be supposed to imply an advance on the road to being right, few persons, it must be acknowledged, under a process of proselytism, ever showed more of this desired symptom of change than lord byron. "i own," says a witness to one of these conversations[ ], "i felt astonished to hear lord byron submit to lectures on his life, his vanity, and the uselessness of his talents, which made me stare." [footnote : mr. finlay.] as most persons will be tempted to refer to the work itself, there are but one or two other opinions of his lordship recorded in it which i shall think necessary to notice here. a frequent question of his to dr. kennedy was,--"what, then, you think me in a very bad way?"--the usual answer to which being in the affirmative, he, on one occasion, replied,--"i am now, however, in a fairer way. i already believe in predestination, which i know you believe, and in the depravity of the human heart in general, and of my own in particular:--thus you see there are two points in which we agree. i shall get at the others by and by; but you cannot expect me to become a perfect christian at once." on the subject of dr. southwood's amiable and, it is to be hoped for the sake of christianity and the human race, _orthodox_ work on "the divine government," he thus spoke:--"i cannot decide the point; but to my present apprehension it would be a most desirable thing could it be proved, that ultimately all created beings were to be happy. this would appear to be most consistent with god, whose power is omnipotent, and whose chief attribute is love. i cannot yield to your doctrine of the eternal duration of punishment. this author's opinion is more humane, and i think he supports it very strongly from scripture." i shall now insert, with such explanatory remarks as they may seem to require, some of the letters, official as well as private, which his lordship wrote while at cephalonia; and from which the reader may collect, in a manner far more interesting than through the medium of any narrative, a knowledge both of the events now passing in greece, and of the views and feelings with which they were regarded by lord byron. to madame guiccioli he wrote frequently, but briefly, and, for the first time, in english; adding always a few lines in her brother pietro's letters to her. the following are extracts. "october . "pietro has told you all the gossip of the island,--our earthquakes, our politics, and present abode in a pretty village. as his opinions and mine on the greeks are nearly similar, i need say little on that subject. i was a fool to come here; but, being here, i must see what is to be done." "october ----. "we are still in cephalonia, waiting for news of a more accurate description; for all is contradiction and division in the reports of the state of the greeks. i shall fulfil the object of my mission from the committee, and then return into italy; for it does not seem likely that, as an individual, i can be of use to them;--at least no other foreigner has yet appeared to be so, nor does it seem likely that any will be at present. "pray be as cheerful and tranquil as you can; and be assured that there is nothing here that can excite any thing but a wish to be with you again,--though we are very kindly treated by the english here of all descriptions. of the greeks, i can't say much good hitherto, and i do not like to speak ill of them, though they do of one another." "october . "you may be sure that the moment i can join you again, will be as welcome to me as at any period of our recollection. there is nothing very attractive here to divide my attention; but i must attend to the greek cause, both from honour and inclination. messrs. b. and t. are both in the morea, where they have been very well received, and both of them write in good spirits and hopes. i am anxious to hear how the spanish cause will be arranged, as i think it may have an influence on the greek contest. i wish that both were fairly and favourably settled, that i might return to italy, and talk over with you _our_, or rather pietro's adventures, some of which are rather amusing, as also some of the incidents of our voyages and travels. but i reserve them, in the hope that we may laugh over them together at no very distant period." letter . to mr. bowring. " bre . . "this letter will be presented to you by mr. hamilton browne, who precedes or accompanies the greek deputies. he is both capable and desirous of rendering any service to the cause, and information to the committee. he has already been of considerable advantage to both, of my own knowledge. lord archibald hamilton, to whom he is related, will add a weightier recommendation than mine. "corinth is taken, and a turkish squadron said to be beaten in the archipelago. the public progress of the greeks is considerable, but their internal dissensions still continue. on arriving at the seat of government, i shall endeavour to mitigate or extinguish them--though neither is an easy task. i have remained here till now, partly in expectation of the squadron in relief of missolonghi, partly of mr. parry's detachment, and partly to receive from malta or zante the sum of four thousand pounds sterling, which i have advanced for the payment of the expected squadron. the bills are negotiating, and will be cashed in a short time, as they would have been immediately in any other mart; but the miserable ionian merchants have little money, and no great credit, and are besides _politically shy_ on this occasion; for although i had letters of messrs. webb (one of the strongest houses of the mediterranean), and also of messrs. ransom, there is no business to be done on _fair_ terms except through english merchants. these, however, have proved both able and willing,--and upright as usual.[ ] [footnote : the english merchants whom he thus so justly describes, are messrs. barff and hancock, of zante, whose conduct, not only in the instance of lord byron, but throughout the whole greek struggle, has been uniformly most zealous and disinterested.] "colonel stanhope has arrived, and will proceed immediately; he shall have my co-operation in all his endeavours: but, from every thing that i can learn, the formation of a brigade at present will be extremely difficult, to say the least of it. with regard to the reception of foreigners,--at least of foreign officers,--i refer you to a passage in prince mavrocordato's recent letter, a copy of which is enclosed in my packet sent to the deputies. it is my intention to proceed by sea to napoli di romania as soon as i have arranged this business for the greeks themselves--i mean the advance of two hundred thousand piastres for their fleet. "my time here has not been entirely lost,--as you will perceive by some former documents that any advantage from my _then_ proceeding to the morea was doubtful. we have at last moved the deputies, and i have made a strong remonstrance on their divisions to mavrocordato, which, i understand, was forwarded by the legislative to the prince. with a loan they _may_ do much, which is all that _i_, for particular reasons, can say on the subject. "i regret to hear from colonel stanhope that the committee have exhausted their funds. is it supposed that a brigade can be formed without them? or that three thousand pounds would be sufficient? it is true that money will go farther in greece than in most countries; but the regular force must be rendered a _national concern_, and paid from a national fund; and neither individuals nor committees, at least with the usual means of such as now exist, will find the experiment practicable. "i beg once more to recommend my friend, mr. hamilton browne, to whom i have also personal obligations, for his exertions in the common cause, and have the honour to be "yours very truly." his remonstrance to prince mavrocordato, here mentioned, was accompanied by another, addressed to the existing government; and colonel stanhope, who was about to proceed to napoli and argos, was made the bearer of both. the wise and noble spirit that pervades these two papers must, of itself, without any further comment, be appreciated by all readers.[ ] [footnote : the originals of both are in italian.] letter . to the general government of greece. "cephalonia, november . . "the affair of the loan, the expectations so long and vainly indulged of the arrival of the greek fleet, and the danger to which missolonghi is still exposed, have detained me here, and will still detain me till some of them are removed. but when the money shall be advanced for the fleet, i will start for the morea; not knowing, however, of what use my presence can be in the present state of things. we have heard some rumours of new dissensions, nay, of the existence of a civil war. with all my heart i pray that these reports may be false or exaggerated, for i can imagine no calamity more serious than this; and i must frankly confess, that unless union and order are established, all hopes of a loan will be vain; and all the assistance which the greeks could expect from abroad--an assistance neither trifling nor worthless--will be suspended or destroyed; and, what is worse, the great powers of europe, of whom no one was an enemy to greece, but seemed to favour her establishment of an independent power, will be persuaded that the greeks are unable to govern themselves, and will, perhaps, themselves undertake to settle your disorders in such a way as to blast the brightest hopes of yourselves and of your friends. "allow me to add, once for all,--i desire the well-being of greece, and nothing else; i will do all i can to secure it; but i cannot consent, i never will consent, that the english public, or english individuals, should be deceived as to the real state of greek affairs. the rest, gentlemen, depends on you. you have fought gloriously;--act honourably towards your fellow-citizens and the world, and it will then no more be said, as has been repeated for two thousand years with the roman historians, that philopoemen was the last of the grecians. let not calumny itself (and it is difficult, i own, to guard against it in so arduous a struggle,) compare the patriot greek, when resting from his labours, to the turkish pacha, whom his victories have exterminated. "i pray you to accept these my sentiments as a sincere proof of my attachment to your real interests, and to believe that i am and always shall be "yours," &c. letter . to prince mavrocordato. "cephalonia, dec. . . "prince, "the present will be put into your hands by colonel stanhope, son of major-general the earl of harrington, &c. &c. he has arrived from london in fifty days, after having visited all the committees of germany. he is charged by our committee to act in concert with me for the liberation of greece. i conceive that his name and his mission will be a sufficient recommendation, without the necessity of any other from a foreigner, although one who, in common with all europe, respects and admires the courage, the talents, and, above all, the probity of prince mavrocordato. "i am very uneasy at hearing that the dissensions of greece still continue, and at a moment when she might triumph over every thing in general, as she has already triumphed in part. greece is, at present, placed between three measures: either to reconquer her liberty, to become a dependence of the sovereigns of europe, or to return to a turkish province. she has the choice only of these three alternatives. civil war is but a road which leads to the two latter. if she is desirous of the fate of walachia and the crimea, she may obtain it to-morrow; if of that of italy, the day after; but if she wishes to become truly greece, free and independent, she must resolve to-day, or she will never again have the opportunity. "i am, with all respect, "your highness's obedient servant, "n. b. "p.s. your highness will already have known that i have sought to fulfil the wishes of the greek government, as much as it lay in my power to do so: but i should wish that the fleet so long and so vainly expected were arrived, or, at least, that it were on the way; and especially that your highness should approach these parts, either on board the fleet, with a public mission, or in some other manner." letter . to mr. bowring. " bre . . "i confirm the above[ ]: it is certainly my opinion that mr. millingen is entitled to the same salary with mr. tindall, and his service is likely to be harder. [footnote : he here alludes to a letter, forwarded with his own, from mr. millingen, who was about to join, in his medical capacity, the suliotes, near fatras, and requested of the committee an increase of pay. this gentleman, having mentioned in his letter "that the retreat of the turks from before missolonghi had rendered unnecessary the appearance of the greek fleet," lord byron, in a note on this passage, says, "by the special providence of the deity, the mussulmans were seized with a panic, and fled; but no thanks to the fleet, which ought to have been here months ago, and has no excuse to the contrary, lately--at least since i had the money ready to pay." on another passage, in which mr. millingen complains that his hope of any remuneration from the greeks has "turned out perfectly chimerical," lord byron remarks, in a note, "and _will_ do so, till they obtain a loan. they have not a rap, nor credit (in the islands) to raise one. a medical man may succeed better than others; but all these penniless officers had better have stayed at home. much money may not be required, but some must."] "i have written to you (as to mr. hobhouse _for_ your perusal) by various opportunities, mostly private; also by the deputies, and by mr. hamilton browne. "the public success of the greeks has been considerable,--corinth taken, missolonghi nearly safe, and some ships in the archipelago taken from the turks; but there is not only dissension in the morea, but _civil war_, by the latest accounts[ ]; to what extent we do not yet know, but hope trifling. [footnote : the legislative and executive bodies having been for some time at variance, the latter had at length resorted to violence, and some skirmishes had already taken place between the factions.] "for six weeks i have been expecting the fleet, _which has not arrived_, though i have, at the request of the greek government, advanced--that is, prepared, and have in hand two hundred thousand piastres (deducting the commission and bankers' charges) of my own monies to forward their projects. the suliotes (now in acarnania) are very anxious that i should take them under my directions, and go over and put things to rights in the morea, which, without a force, seems impracticable; and, really, though very reluctant (as my letters will have shown you) to take such a measure, there seems hardly any milder remedy. however, i will not do any thing rashly, and have only continued here so long in the hope of seeing things reconciled, and have done all in my power thereto. had _i gone sooner, they would have forced me into one party or other_, and i doubt as much now; but we will do our best. "yours," &c. letter . to mr. bowring. "october . . "colonel napier will present to you this letter. of his military character it were superfluous to speak: of his personal, i can say, from my own knowledge, as well as from all public rumour or private report, that it is as excellent as his military: in short, a better or a braver man is not easily to be found. _he_ is our man to lead a regular force, or to organise a national one for the greeks. ask the army--ask any one. he is besides a personal friend of both prince mavrocordato, colonel stanhope, and myself, and in such concord with all three that we should all pull together--an indispensable, as well as a rare point, especially in greece at present. "to enable a regular force to be properly organised, it will be requisite for the loan-holders to set apart at least , _l_. sterling for that particular purpose--perhaps more; but by so doing they will guarantee their own monies, 'and make assurance doubly sure.' they can appoint commissioners to see that part property expended--and i recommend a similar precaution for the whole. "i hope that the deputies have arrived, as well as some of my various despatches (chiefly addressed to mr. hobhouse) for the committee. colonel napier will tell you the recent special interposition of the gods, in behalf of the greeks--who seem to have no enemies in heaven or on earth to be dreaded but their own tendency to discord amongst themselves. but these, too, it is to be hoped, will be mitigated, and then we can take the field on the offensive, instead of being reduced to the _petite guerre_ of defending the same fortresses year after year, and taking a few ships, and starving out a castle, and making more fuss about them than alexander in his cups, or buonaparte in a bulletin. our friends have done something in the way of the _spartans_--(though not one tenth of what is told)--but have not yet inherited _their_ style. "believe me yours," &c. letter to mr. bowring. "october . . "since i wrote to you on the th instant, the long-desired squadron has arrived in the waters of missolonghi and intercepted two turkish corvettes--ditto transports--destroying or taking all four--except some of the crews escaped on shore in ithaca--and an unarmed vessel, with passengers, chased into a port on the opposite side of cephalonia. the greeks had fourteen sail, the turks _four_--but the odds don't matter--the victory will make a very good _puff_, and be of some advantage besides. i expect momentarily advices from prince mavrocordato, who is on board, and has (i understand) despatches from the legislative for me; in consequence of which, after paying the squadron, (for which i have prepared, and am preparing,) i shall probably join him at sea or on shore. "i add the above communication to my letter by col. napier, who will inform the committee of every thing in detail much better than i can do. "the mathematical, medical, and musical preparations of the committee have arrived, and in good condition, abating some damage from wet, and some ditto from a portion of the letter-press being spilt in landing--(i ought not to have omitted the press--but forgot it a moment--excuse the same)--they are excellent of their kind, but till we have an engineer and a trumpeter (we have chirurgeons already) mere 'pearls to swine,' as the greeks are quite ignorant of mathematics, and have a bad ear for _our_ music. the maps, &c. i will put into use for them, and take care that _all_ (with proper caution) are turned to the intended uses of the committee--but i refer you to colonel napier, who will tell you, that much of your really valuable supplies should be removed till proper persons arrive to adapt them to actual service. "believe me, my dear sir, to be, &c. "p.s. _private_--i have written to our friend douglas kinnaird on my own matters, desiring him to send me out all the' further credits i can command,--and i have a year's income, and the sale of a manor besides, he tells me, before me,--for till the greeks get _their_ loan, it is probable that i shall have to stand partly paymaster--as far as i am 'good upon _change_,' that is to say. i pray you to repeat as much to _him_, and say that i must in the interim draw on messrs. ransom most formidably. to say the truth, i do not grudge it now the fellows have begun to fight _again_--and still more welcome shall they be if they will go on. but they have had, or are to have, some four thousand pounds (besides some private extraordinaries for widows, orphans, refugees, and rascals of all descriptions,) of mine at one 'swoop;' and it is to be expected the next will be at least as much more. and how can i refuse it if they _will_ fight?--and especially if i should happen ever to be in their company? i therefore request and require that you should apprise my trusty and trust-worthy trustee and banker, and crown and sheet-anchor, douglas kinnaird the honourable, that he prepare all monies of mine, including the purchase money of rochdale manor and mine income for the year ensuing, a.d. , to answer, or anticipate, any orders or drafts of mine for the good cause, in good and lawful money of great britain, &c. &c. may you live a thousand years i which is nine hundred and ninety-nine longer than the spanish cortes' constitution." letter . to the hon. mr. douglas kinnaird. "cephalonia, december . . "i shall be as saving of my purse and person as you recommend; but you know that it is as well to be in readiness with one or both, in the event of either being required. "i presume that some agreement has been concluded with mr. murray about 'werner.' although the copyright should only be worth two or three hundred pounds, i will tell you what can be done with them. for three hundred pounds i can maintain in greece, at more than the _fullest pay_ of the provisional government, rations included, one hundred armed men for _three months_. you may judge of this when i tell you, that the four thousand pounds advanced by me to the greeks is likely to set a fleet and an army in motion for some months. "a greek vessel has arrived from the squadron to convey me to missolonghi, where mavrocordato now is, and has assumed the command, so that i expect to embark immediately. still address, however, to cephalonia, through messrs. welch and barry of genoa, as usual; and get together all the means and credit of mine you can, to face the war establishment, for it is 'in for a penny, in for a pound,' and i must do all that i can for the ancients. "i have been labouring to reconcile these parties, and there is _now_ some hope of succeeding. their public affairs go on well. the turks have retreated from acarnania without a battle, after a few fruitless attempts on anatoliko. corinth is taken, and the greeks have gained a battle in the archipelago. the squadron here, too, has taken a turkish corvette with some money and a cargo. in short, if they can obtain a loan, i am of opinion that matters will assume and preserve a steady and favourable aspect for their independence. "in the mean time i stand paymaster, and what not; and lucky it is that, from the nature of the warfare and of the country, the resources even of an individual can be of a partial and temporary service. "colonel stanhope is at missolonghi. probably we shall attempt patras next. the suliotes, who are friends of mine, seem anxious to have me with them, and so is mavrocordato. if i can but succeed in reconciling the two parties (and i have left no stone unturned), it will be something; and if not, we roust go over to the morea with the western greeks--who are the bravest, and at present the strongest, having beaten back the turks--and try the effect of a little _physical_ advice, should they persist in rejecting _moral_ persuasion. "once more recommending to you the reinforcement of my strong box and credit from all lawful sources and resources of mine to their practicable extent--for, after all, it is better playing at nations than gaming at almack's or newmarket--and requesting you to write to me as often as you can, "i remain ever," &c. the squadron, so long looked for, having made its appearance at last in the waters of missolonghi, and mavrocordato, the only leader of the cause worthy the name of statesman, having been appointed, with full powers, to organise western greece, the fit moment for lord byron's presence on the scene of action seemed to have arrived. the anxiety, indeed, with which he was expected at missolonghi was intense, and can be best judged from the impatient language of the letters written to hasten him. "i need not tell you, my lord," says mavrocordato, "how much i long for your arrival, to what a pitch your presence is desired by every body, or what a prosperous direction it will give to all our affairs. your counsels will be listened to like oracles." colonel stanhope, with the same urgency, writes from missolonghi,--"the greek ship sent for your lordship has returned; your arrival was anticipated, and the disappointment has been great indeed. the prince is in a state of anxiety, the admiral looks gloomy, and the sailors grumble aloud." he adds at the end, "i walked along the streets this evening, and the people asked me after lord byron !!!" in a letter to the london committee of the same date, colonel stanhope says, "all are looking forward to lord byron's arrival, as they would to the coming of the messiah." of this anxiety, no inconsiderable part is doubtless to be attributed to their great impatience for the possession of the loan which he had promised them, and on which they wholly depended for the payment of the fleet--"prince mavrocordato and the admiral (says the same gentleman) are in a state of extreme perplexity: they, it seems, relied on your loan for the payment of the fleet; that loan not having been received, the sailors will depart immediately. this will be a fatal event indeed, as it will place missolonghi in a state of blockade; and will prevent the greek troops from acting against the fortresses of nepacto and patras." in the mean time lord byron was preparing busily for his departure, the postponement of which latterly had been, in a great measure, owing to that repugnance to any new change of place which had lately so much grown upon him, and which neither love, as we have seen, nor ambition, could entirely conquer. there had been also considerable pains taken by some of his friends at argostoli to prevent his fixing upon a place of residence so unhealthy as missolonghi; and mr. muir, a very able medical officer, on whose talents he had much dependence, endeavoured most earnestly to dissuade him from such an imprudent step. his mind, however, was made up,--the proximity of that port, in some degree, tempting him,--and having hired, for himself and suite, a light, fast-sailing vessel, called the mistico, with a boat for part of his baggage, and a larger vessel for the remainder, the horses, &c. he was, on the th of december, ready to sail. the wind, however, being contrary, he was detained two days longer, and in this interval the following letters were written. letter . to mr. bowring. " bre . . "little need be added to the enclosed, which arrived this day, except that i embark to-morrow for missolonghi. the intended operations are detailed in the annexed documents. i have only to request that the committee will use every exertion to forward our views by all its influence and credit. "i have also to request you _personally_ from myself to urge my friend and trustee, douglas kinnaird (from whom i have not heard these four months nearly), to forward to me all the resources of my _own_ we can muster for the ensuing year; since it is no time to ménager _purse_, or, perhaps, _person_. i have advanced, and am advancing, all that i have in hand, but i shall require all that can be got together;--and (if douglas has completed the sale of rochdale, _that _ and my year's income for next year ought to form a good round sum,)--as you may perceive that there will be little cash of their own amongst the greeks (unless they get the loan), it is the more necessary that those of their friends who have any should risk it. "the supplies of the committee are, some, useful, and all excellent in their kind, but occasionally hardly _practical_ enough, in the present state of greece; for instance, the mathematical instruments are thrown away--none of the greeks know a problem from a poker--we must conquer first, and plan afterwards. the use of the trumpets, too, may be doubted, unless constantinople were jericho, for the helenists have no ears for bugles, and you must send us somebody to listen to them. "we will do our best--and i pray you to stir your english hearts at home to more _general_ exertion; for my part, i will stick by the cause while a plank remains which can be _honourably_ clung to. if i quit it, it will be by the greeks' conduct, and not the holy allies or holier mussulmans--but let us hope better things. "ever yours, n. b. "p.s. i am happy to say that colonel leicester stanhope and myself are acting in perfect harmony together--he is likely to be of great service both to the cause and to the committee, and is publicly as well as personally a very valuable acquisition to our party on every account. he came up (as they all do who have not been in the country before) with some high-flown notions of the sixth form at harrow or eton, &c.; but col. napier and i set him to rights on those points, which is absolutely necessary to prevent disgust, or perhaps return; but now we can set our shoulders _soberly_ to the _wheel_, without quarrelling with the mud which may clog it occasionally. "i can assure you that col. napier and myself are as decided for the cause as any german student of them all; but like men who have seen the country and human life, there and elsewhere, we must be permitted to view it in its truth, with its defects as well as beauties,--more especially as success will remove the former _gradually_. n. b. "p.s. as much of this letter as you please is for the committee, the rest may be 'entre nous.'" letter . to mr. moore. "cephalonia, december . . "i received a letter from you some time ago. i have been too much employed latterly to write as i could wish, and even now must write in haste. "i embark for missolonghi to join mavrocordato in four-and-twenty hours. the state of parties (but it were a long story) has kept me here till _now_; but now that mavrocordato (their washington, or their kosciusko) is employed again, i can act with a _safe conscience._ i carry money to pay the squadron, &c., and i have influence with the suliotes, _supposed _ sufficient to keep them in harmony with some of the dissentients;--for there are plenty of differences, but trifling. "it is imagined that we shall attempt either patras or the castles on the straits; and it seems, by most accounts, that the greeks, at any rate, the suliotes, who are in affinity with me of 'bread and salt,'--expect that i should march with them, and--be it even so! if any thing in the way of fever, fatigue, famine, or otherwise, should cut short the middle age of a brother warbler,--like garcilasso de la vega, kleist, korner, joukoffsky[ ] (a russian nightingale--see bowring's anthology), or thersander, or,--or somebody else--but never mind--i pray you to remember me in your 'smiles and wine.' [footnote : one of the most celebrated of the living poets of russia, who fought at borodino, and has commemorated that battle in a poem of much celebrity among his countrymen.] "i have hopes that the cause will triumph; but whether it does or no, still 'honour must be minded as strictly as milk diet,' i trust to observe both, "ever," &c. it is hardly necessary to direct the attention of the reader to the sad, and but too true anticipation expressed in this letter--the last but one i was ever to receive from my friend. before we accompany him to the closing scene of all his toils, i shall here, as briefly as possible, give a selection from the many characteristic anecdotes told of him, while at cephalonia, where (to use the words of colonel stanhope, in a letter from thence to the greek committee,) he was "beloved by cephalonians, by english, and by greeks;" and where, approached as he was familiarly by persons of all classes and countries, not an action, not a word is recorded of him that does not bear honourable testimony to the benevolence and soundness of his views, his ever ready but discriminating generosity, and the clear insight, at once minute and comprehensive, which he had acquired into the character and wants of the people and the cause he came to serve. "of all those who came to help the greeks," says colonel napier, (a person himself the most qualified to judge, as well from long local knowledge, as from the acute, straightforward cast of his own mind,) "i never knew one, except lord byron and mr. gordon, that seemed to have justly estimated their character. all came expecting to find the peloponnesus filled with plutarch's men, and all returned thinking the inhabitants of newgate more moral. lord byron judged them fairly: he knew that half-civilised men are full of vices, and that great allowance must be made for emancipated slaves. he, therefore, proceeded, bridle in hand, not thinking them good, but hoping to make them better."[ ] [footnote : a similar tribute was paid to him by count delladecima, a gentleman of some literary acquirements, of whom he saw a good deal at cephalonia, and to whom he was attracted by that sympathy which never failed to incline him towards those who laboured, like himself, under any personal defects. "of all the men," said this gentleman, "whom i have had an opportunity of conversing with, on the means of establishing the independence of greece, and regenerating the character of the natives, lord byron appears to entertain the most enlightened and correct views."] in speaking of the foolish charge of avarice brought against lord byron by some who resented thus his not suffering them to impose on his generosity, colonel napier says, "i never knew a single instance of it while he was here. i saw only a judicious generosity in all that he did. he would not allow himself to be _robbed_, but he gave profusely where he thought he was doing good. it was, indeed, because he would not allow himself to be _fleeced_, that he was called stingy by those who are always bent upon giving money from any purses but their own. lord byron had no idea of this; and would turn sharply and unexpectedly on those who thought their game sure. he gave a vast deal of money to the greeks in various ways." among the objects of his bounty in this way were many poor refugee greeks from the continent and the isles. he not only relieved their present distresses, but allotted a certain sum monthly to the most destitute. "a list of these poor pensioners," says dr. kennedy, "was given me by the nephew of professor bambas." one of the instances mentioned of his humanity while at cephalonia will show how prompt he was at the call of that feeling, and how unworthy, sometimes, were the objects of it. a party of workmen employed upon one of those fine roads projected by colonel napier having imprudently excavated a high bank, the earth fell in, and overwhelmed nearly a dozen persons; the news of which accident instantly reaching metaxata, lord byron despatched his physician bruno to the spot, and followed with count gamba, as soon as their horses could be saddled. they found a crowd of women and children wailing round the ruins; while the workmen, who had just dug out three or four of their maimed companions, stood resting themselves unconcernedly, as if nothing more was required of them; and to lord byron's enquiry whether there were not still some other persons below the earth, answered coolly that "they did not know, but believed that there were." enraged at this brutal indifference, he sprang from his horse, and seizing a spade himself, began to dig with all his strength; but it was not till after being threatened with the horsewhip that any of the peasants could be brought to follow his example. "i was not present at this scene myself," says colonel napier, in the notices with which he has favoured me, "but was told that lord byron's attention seemed quite absorbed in the study of the faces and gesticulations of those whose friends were missing. the sorrow of the greeks is, in appearance, very frantic, and they shriek and howl, as in ireland. it was in alluding to the above incident that the noble poet is stated to have said that he had come out to the islands prejudiced against sir t. maitland's government of the greeks: "but," he added, "i have now changed my opinion. they are such barbarians, that if i had the government of them, i would pave these very roads with them." while residing at metaxata, he received an account of the illness of his daughter ada, which "made him anxious and melancholy (says count gamba) for several days." her indisposition he understood to have been caused by a determination of blood to the head; and on his remarking to dr. kennedy, as curious, that it was a complaint to which he himself was subject, the physician replied, that he should have been inclined to infer so, not only from his habits of intense and irregular study, but from the present state of his eyes,--the right eye appearing to be inflamed. i have mentioned this latter circumstance as perhaps justifying the inference that there was in lord byron's state of health at this moment a predisposition to the complaint of which he afterwards died. to dr. kennedy he spoke frequently of his wife and daughter, expressing the strongest affection for the latter, and respect towards the former, and while declaring as usual his perfect ignorance of the causes of the separation, professing himself fully disposed to welcome any prospect of reconcilement. the anxiety with which, at all periods of his life, but particularly at the present, he sought to repel the notion that, except when under the actual inspiration of writing, he was at all influenced by poetical associations, very frequently displayed itself. "you must have been highly gratified (said a gentleman to him) by the classical remains and recollections which you met with in your visit to ithaca."--"you quite mistake me," answered lord byron--"i have no poetical humbug about me; i am too old for that. ideas of that sort are confined to rhyme." for the two days during which he was delayed by contrary winds, he took up his abode at the house of mr. hancock, his banker, and passed the greater part of the time in company with the english authorities of the island. at length the wind becoming fair, he prepared to embark. "i called upon him to take leave," says dr. kennedy, "and found him alone, reading quentin durward. he was, as usual, in good spirits." in a few hours after the party set sail,--lord byron himself on board the mistico, and count gamba, with the horses and heavy baggage, in the larger vessel, or bombarda. after touching at zante, for the purpose of some pecuniary arrangements with mr. barff, and taking on board a considerable sum of money in specie, they, on the evening of the th, proceeded towards missolonghi. their last accounts from that place having represented the turkish fleet as still in the gulf of lepanto, there appeared not the slightest grounds for apprehending any interruption in their passage. besides, knowing that the greek squadron was now at anchorage near the entrance of the gulf, they had little doubt of soon falling in with some friendly vessel, either in search, or waiting for them. "we sailed together," says count gamba, in a highly picturesque and affecting passage, "till after ten at night; the wind favourable--a clear sky, the air fresh but not sharp. our sailors sang alternately patriotic songs, monotonous indeed, but to persons in our situation extremely touching, and we took part in them. we were all, but lord byron particularly, in excellent spirits. the mistico sailed the fastest. when the waves divided us, and our voices could no longer reach each other, we made signals by firing pistols and carabines--'to-morrow we meet at missolonghi--to-morrow.' thus, full of confidence and spirits, we sailed along. at twelve we were out of sight of each other." in waiting for the other vessel, having more than once shortened sail for that purpose, the party on board the mistico were upon the point of being surprised into an encounter which might, in a moment, have changed the future fortunes of lord byron. two or three hours before daybreak, while steering towards missolonghi, they found themselves close under the stern of a large vessel, which they at first took to be greek, but which, when within pistol shot, they discovered to be a turkish frigate. by good fortune, they were themselves, as it appears, mistaken for a greek brulot by the turks, who therefore feared to fire, but with loud shouts frequently hailed them, while those on board lord byron's vessel maintained the most profound silence; and even the dogs (as i have heard his lordship's valet mention), though they had never ceased to bark during the whole of the night, did not utter, while within reach of the turkish frigate, a sound;--a no less lucky than a curious accident, as, from the information the turks had received of all the particulars of his lordship's departure from zante, the harking of the dogs, at that moment, would have been almost certain to betray him. under the favour of these circumstances, and the darkness, they were enabled to bear away without further molestation, and took shelter among the scrofes, a cluster of rocks but a few hours' sail from missolonghi. from this place the following letter, remarkable, considering his situation at the moment, for the light, careless tone that pervades it, was despatched to colonel stanhope. letter . to the honourable colonel stanhope. "scrofer (or some such name), on board a cephaloniote mistico, dec. . . "my dear stanhope, "we are just arrived here, that is, part of my people and i, with some things, &c., and which it may be as well not to specify in a letter (which has a risk of being intercepted, perhaps);--but gamba, and my horses, negro, steward, and the press, and all the committee things, also some eight thousand dollars of mine, (but never mind, we have more left, do you understand?) are taken by the turkish frigates, and my party and myself, in another boat, have had a narrow escape last night, (being close under their stern and hailed, but we would not answer, and bore away,) as well as this morning. here we are, with the sun and clearing weather, within a pretty little port enough; but whether our turkish friends may not send in their boats and take us out (for we have no arms except two carbines and some pistols, and, i suspect, not more than four fighting people on board,) is another question, especially if we remain long here, since we are blocked out of missolonghi by the direct entrance. "you had better send my friend george drake (draco), and a body of suliotes, to escort us by land or by the canals, with all convenient speed. gamba and our bombard are taken into patras, i suppose; and we must take a turn at the turks to get them out: but where the devil is the fleet gone?--the greek, i mean; leaving us to get in without the least intimation to take heed that the moslems were out again. "make my respects to mavrocordato, and say that i am here at his disposal. i am uneasy at being here: not so much on my own account as on that of a greek boy with me, for you know what his fate would be; and i would sooner cut him in pieces, and myself too, than have him taken out by those barbarians. we are all very well. n. b. "the bombard was twelve miles out when taken; at least, so it appeared to us (if taken she actually be, for it is not certain); and we had to escape from another vessel that stood right between us and the port." finding that his position among the rocks of the scrofes would be untenable in the event of an attack by armed boats, he thought it right to venture out again, and making all sail, got safe to dragomestri, a small sea-port town on the coast of acarnania; from whence the annexed letters to two of the most valued of his cephalonian friends were written. letter . to mr. muir. "dragomestri, january . . "my dear muir, "i wish you many returns of the season, and happiness therewithal. gamba and the bombard (there is a strong reason to believe) are carried into patras by a turkish frigate, which we saw chase them at dawn on the st: we had been close under the stern in the night, believing her a greek till within pistol shot, and only escaped by a miracle of all the saints (our captain says), and truly i am of his opinion, for we should never have got away of ourselves. they were signalising their consort with lights, and had illuminated the ship between decks, and were shouting like a mob;--but then why did they not fire? perhaps they took us for a greek brulot, and were afraid of kindling us--they had no colours flying even at dawn nor after. "at daybreak my boat was on the coast, but the wind unfavourable for _the port_;--a large vessel with the wind in her favour standing between us and the gulf, and another in chase of the bombard about twelve miles off, or so. soon after they stood (_i.e._ the bombard and frigate) apparently towards patras, and a zantiote boat making signals to us from the shore to get away. away we went before the wind, and ran into a creek called scrofes, i believe, where i landed luke[ ] and another (as luke's life was in most danger), with some money for themselves, and a letter for stanhope, and sent them up the country to missolonghi, where they would be in safety, as the place where we were could be assailed by armed boats in a moment, and gamba had all our arms except two carbines, a fowling-piece, and some pistols. [footnote : a greek youth whom he had brought with him, in his suite, from cephalonia.] "in less than an hour the vessel in chase neared us, and we dashed out again, and showing our stern (our boat sails very well), got in before night to dragomestri, where we now are. but where is the greek fleet? i don't know--do you? i told our master of the boat that i was inclined to think the two large vessels (there were none else in sight) greeks. but he answered, 'they are too large--why don't they show their colours?' and his account was confirmed, be it true or false, by several boats which we met or passed, as we could not at any rate have got in with that wind without beating about for a long time; and as there was much property, and some lives to risk (the boy's especially) without any means of defence, it was necessary to let our boatmen have their own way. "i despatched yesterday another messenger to missolonghi for an escort, but we have yet no answer. we are here (those of my boat) for the fifth day without taking our clothes off, and sleeping on deck in all weathers, but are all very well, and in good spirits. it is to be supposed that the government will send, for their own sakes, an escort, as i have , dollars on board, the greater part for their service. i had (besides personal property to the amount of about more) dollars in specie of my own, without reckoning the committee's stores, so that the turks will have a good thing of it, if the prize be good. "i regret the detention of gamba, &c., but the rest we can make up again; so tell hancock to set my bills into cash as soon as possible, and corgialegno to prepare the remainder of my credit with messrs. webb to be turned into monies. i shall remain here, unless something extraordinary occurs, till mavrocordato sends, and then go on, and act according to circumstances. my respects to the two colonels, and remembrances to all friends. tell '_ultima anahse_'[ ] that his friend raidi did not make his appearance with the brig, though i think that he might as well have spoken with us _in_ or _off_ zante, to give us a gentle hint of what we had to expect. [footnote : count delladecima, to whom he gives this name in consequence of a habit which that gentleman had of using the phrase "in ultima analise" frequently in conversation.] "yours, ever affectionately, n. b. "p.s. excuse my scrawl on account of the pen and the frosty morning at daybreak. i write in haste, a boat starting for kalamo. i do not know whether the detention of the bombard (if she be detained, for i cannot swear to it, and i can only judge from appearances, and what all these fellows say,) be an affair of the government, and neutrality, and &c.--but _she was stopped at least_ twelve miles distant from any port, and had all her papers regular from _zante _ for _kalamo_ and _we also_. i did not land at zante, being anxious to lose as little time as possible, but sir f. s. came off to invite me, &c. and every body was as kind as could be, even in cephalonia." letter . to mr. c. hancock. "dragomestri, january . . "dear sir 'ancock[ ],' [footnote : this letter is, more properly, a postscript to one which dr. bruno had, by his orders, written to mr. hancock, with some particulars of their voyage; and the doctor having begun his letter, "pregiat'mo. sig'r. ancock," lord byron thus parodies his mode of address.] "remember me to dr. muir and every body else. i have still the , dollars with me, the rest were on board the bombarda. here we are--the bombarda taken, or at least missing, with all the committee stores, my friend gamba, the horses, negro, bull-dog, steward, and domestics, with all our implements of peace and war, also dollars; but whether she will be lawful prize or no, is for the decision of the governor of the seven islands. i have written to dr. muir, by way of kalamo, with all particulars. we are in good condition; and what with wind and weather, and being hunted or so, little sleeping on deck, &c. are in tolerable seasoning for the country and circumstances. but i foresee that we shall have occasion for all the cash i can muster at zante and elsewhere. mr. barff gave us and odd dollars; so there is still a balance in my favour. we are not quite certain that the vessels were turkish which chased; but there is strong presumption that they were, and no news to the contrary. at zante, every body, from the resident downwards, were as kind as could be, especially your worthy and courteous partner. "tell our friends to keep up their spirits, and we may yet do well. i disembarked the boy and another greek, who were in most terrible alarm--the boy, at least, from the morea--on shore near anatoliko, i believe, which put them in safety; and, as for me and mine, we must stick by our goods. "i hope that gamba's detention will only be temporary. as for the effects and monies, if we have them,--well; if otherwise, patience. i wish you a happy new year, and all our friends the same. "yours," &c. during these adventures of lord byron, count gamba, having been brought to by the turkish frigate, had been carried, with his valuable charge, into patras, where the commander of the turkish fleet was stationed. here, after an interview with the pacha, by whom he was treated, during his detention, most courteously, he had the good fortune to procure the release of his vessel and freight; and, on the th of january, reached missolonghi. to his surprise, however, he found that lord byron had not yet arrived; for,--as if everything connected with this short voyage were doomed to deepen whatever ill bodings there were already in his mind,--on his lordship's departure from dragomestri, a violent gale of wind had come on; his vessel was twice driven on the rocks in the passage of the scrofes, and, from the force of the wind, and the captain's ignorance of those shoals, the danger was by all on board considered to be most serious. "on the second time of striking," says count gamba, "the sailors, losing all hope of saving the vessel, began to think of their own safety. but lord byron persuaded them to remain; and by his firmness, and no small share of nautical skill, got them out of danger, and thus saved the vessel and several lives, with , dollars, the greater part in specie." the wind still blowing right against their course to missolonghi, they again anchored between two of the numerous islets by which this part of the coast is lined; and here lord byron, as well for refreshment as ablution, found himself tempted into an indulgence which, it is not improbable, may have had some share in producing the fatal illness that followed. having put off in a boat to a small rock at some distance, he sent back a messenger for the nankeen trowsers which he usually wore in bathing; and, though the sea was rough and the night cold, it being then the d of january, swam back to the vessel. "i am fully persuaded," says his valet, in relating this imprudent freak, "that it injured my lord's health. he certainly was not taken ill at the time, but in the course of two or three days his lordship complained of a pain in all his bones, which continued, more or less, to the time of his death." setting sail again next morning with the hope of reaching missolonghi before sunset, they were still baffled by adverse winds, and, arriving late at night in the port, did not land till the morning of the th. the solicitude, in the mean time, of all at missolonghi, knowing that the turkish fleet was out, and lord byron on his way, may without difficulty be conceived, and is most livelily depicted in a letter written during the suspense of that moment, by an eye-witness. "the turkish fleet," says colonel stanhope, "has ventured out, and is, at this moment, blockading the port. beyond these again are seen the greek ships, and among the rest the one that was sent for lord byron. whether he is on board or not is a question. you will allow that this is an eventful day." towards the end of the letter, he adds, "lord byron's servants have just arrived; he himself will be here to-morrow. if he had not come, we had need have prayed for fair weather; for both fleet and army are hungry and inactive. parry has not appeared. should he also arrive to-morrow, all missolonghi will go mad with pleasure." the reception their noble visiter experienced on his arrival was such as, from the ardent eagerness with which he had been looked for, might be expected. the whole population of the place crowded to the shore to welcome him: the ships anchored off the fortress fired a salute as he passed; and all the troops and dignitaries of the place, civil and military, with the prince mavrocordato at their head, met him on his landing, and accompanied him, amidst the mingled din of shouts, wild music, and discharges of artillery, to the house that had been prepared for him. "i cannot easily describe," says count gamba, "the emotions which such a scene excited. i could scarcely refrain from tears." after eight days of fatigue such as lord byron had endured, some short interval of rest might fairly have been desired by him. but the scene on which he had now entered was one that precluded all thoughts of repose. he on whom the eyes and hopes of all others were centred, could but little dream of indulging any care for himself. there were, at this particular moment, too, collected within the precincts of that town as great an abundance of the materials of unquiet and misrule as had been ever brought together in so small a space. in every quarter; both public and private, disorganisation and dissatisfaction presented themselves. of the fourteen brigs of war which had come to the succour of missolonghi, and which had for some time actually protected it against a turkish fleet double its number, nine had already, hopeless of pay, returned to hydra, while the sailors of the remaining five, from the same cause of complaint, had just quitted their ships, and were murmuring idly on shore. the inhabitants, seeing themselves thus deserted or preyed upon by their defenders, with a scarcity of provisions threatening them, and the turkish fleet before their eyes, were no less ready to break forth into riot and revolt; while, at the same moment, to complete the confusion, a general assembly was on the point of being held in the town, for the purpose of organising the forces of western greece, and to this meeting all the wild mountain chiefs of the province, ripe, of course, for dissension, were now flocking with their followers. mavrocordato himself, the president of the intended congress, had brought in his train no less than armed men, who were at this moment in the town. ill provided, too, with either pay or food by the government, this large military mob were but little less discontented and destitute than the sailors; and in short, in every direction, the entire population seems to have presented such a fermenting mass of insubordination and discord as was far more likely to produce warfare among themselves than with the enemy. such was the state of affairs when lord byron arrived at missolonghi;--such the evils he had now to encounter, with the formidable consciousness that to him, and him alone, all looked for the removal of them. of his proceedings during the first weeks after his arrival, the following letters to mr. hancock (which by the great kindness of that gentleman i am enabled to give) will, assisted by a few explanatory notes, supply a sufficiently ample account. letter . to mr. charles hancock. "missolonghi, january . . "dear sir, "many thanks for yours of the fifth; ditto to muir for his. you will have heard that gamba and my vessel got out of the hands of the turks safe and intact; nobody knows well how or why, for there's a mystery in the story somewhat melodramatic. captain valsamachi has, i take it, spun a long yarn by this time in argostoli. i attribute their release entirely to saint dionisio, of zante, and the madonna of the rock, near cephalonia. "the adventures of my separate luck were also not finished at dragomestri; we were conveyed out by some greek gun-boats, and found the leonidas brig-of-war at sea to look after us. but blowing weather coming on, we were driven on the rocks _twice_ in the passage of the scrofes, and the dollars had another narrow escape. two thirds of the crew got ashore over the bowsprit: the rocks were rugged enough, but water very deep close in shore, so that she was, after much swearing and some exertion, got off again, and away we went with a third of our crew, leaving the rest on a desolate island, where they might have been now, had not one of the gun-boats taken them off, for we were in no condition to take them off again. "tell muir that dr. bruno did not show much fight on the occasion; for besides stripping to his flannel waistcoat, and running about like a rat in an emergency, when i was talking to a greek boy (the brother of the greek girls in argostoli), and telling him of the fact that there was no danger for the passengers, whatever there might be for the vessel, and assuring him that i could save both him and myself without difficulty[ ] (though he can't swim), as the water, though deep, was not very rough,--the wind _not_ blowing _right_ on shore (it was a blunder of the greeks who missed stays),--the doctor exclaimed, 'save _him_, indeed! by g--d! save _me_ rather--i'll be first if i can'--a piece of egotism which he pronounced with such emphatic simplicity as to set all who had leisure to hear him laughing[ ], and in a minute after the vessel drove off again after striking twice. she sprung a small leak, but nothing further happened, except that the captain was very nervous afterwards. [footnote : he meant to have taken the boy on his shoulders and swum with him to shore. this feat would have been but a repetition of one of his early sports at harrow; where it was a frequent practice of his thus to mount one of the smaller boys on his shoulders, and, much to the alarm of the urchin, dive with him into the water.] [footnote : in the doctor's own account this scene is described, as might be expected, somewhat differently:--"ma nel di lui passaggio marittimo una fregata turca insegui la di lui nave, obligandola di ricoverarsi dentro le _scrofes_, dove per l'impeto dei venti fù gettata sopra i scogli: tutti i marinari dell' equipaggio saltarono a terra per salvare la loro vita: milord solo col di lui medico dottr. bruno rimasero sulla nave che ognuno vedeva colare a fondo: ma dopo qualche tempo non essendosi visto che ciò avveniva, le persone fuggite a terra respinsero la nave nell' acque: ma il tempestoso mare la ribastò una seconda volta contro i scogli, ed allora si aveva per certo che la nave coll' illustre personaggio, una grande quantità di denari, e molti preziosi effetti per i greci anderebbero a fondo. tuttavia lord byron non si perturbò per nulla; anzi disse al di lui medico che voleva gettarsi al nuoto onde raggiungere la spiaggia: 'non abbandonate la nave finchè abbiamo forze per direggerla: allorchè saremo coperti dall' acque, allora gettatevi pure, che io vi salvo.'"] "to be brief, we had bad weather almost always, though not contrary; slept on deck in the wet generally for seven or eight nights, but never was in better health (i speak personally)--so much so that i actually bathed for a quarter of an hour on the evening of the th instant in the sea, (to kill the fleas, and other &c.) and was all the better for it. "we were received at missolonghi with all kinds of kindness and honours; and the sight of the fleet saluting, &c. and the crowds and different costumes, was really picturesque. we think of undertaking an expedition soon, and i expect to be ordered with the suliotes to join the army. "all well at present. we found gamba already arrived, and every thing in good condition. remember me to all friends. "yours ever, n. b. "p.s. you will, i hope, use every exertion to realise the _assets_. for besides what i have already advanced, i have undertaken to maintain the suliotes for a year, (and will accompany them either as a chief, or whichever is most agreeable to the government,) besides sundries. i do not understand brown's '_letters of credit_.' i neither gave nor ordered a letter of credit that i know of; and though of course, if you have done it, i will be responsible, i was not aware of any thing, except that i would have backed his bills, which you said was unnecessary. as to _orders_--i ordered nothing but some _red cloth_ and _oil cloths_, both of which i am ready to receive; but if gamba has exceeded my commission, _the other things must be sent back, for i cannot permit any thing of the kind, nor will_. the servants' journey will of course be paid for, though _that_ is exorbitant. as for brown's letter, i do not know any thing more than i have said, and i really cannot defray the charges of half greece and the frank adventurers besides. mr. barff must send us some dollars soon, for the expenses fall on me for the present. "january . . "p.s. will you tell saint (jew) geronimo corgialegno that i mean to draw for the balance of my credit with messrs. webb and co. i shall draw for two thousand dollars (that being about the amount, more or less); but, to facilitate the business, i shall make the draft payable also at messrs. ransom and co., pall-mall east, london. i believe i already showed you my letters, (but if not, i have them to show,) by which, besides the credits now realising, you will have perceived that i am not limited to any particular amount of credit with my bankers. the honourable douglas, my friend and trustee, is a principal partner in that house, and having the direction of my affairs, is aware to what extent my present resources may go, and the letters in question were from him. i can merely say, that within the _current_ year, , besides the money already advanced to the greek government, and the credits now in your hands and your partner's (mr. barff), which are all from the income of , i have anticipated nothing from that of the present year hitherto. i shall or ought to have at my disposition upwards of one hundred thousand dollars, (including my income, and the purchase-monies of a manor lately sold,) and perhaps more, without infringing on my income for , and not including the remaining balance of . yours ever, n. b." letter . to mr. charles hancock. "missolonghi, january , . "i have answered, at some length, your obliging letter, and trust that you have received my reply by means of mr. tindal. i will also thank you to remind mr. tindal that i would thank him to furnish you, on my account, with _an order of the committee_ for one hundred dollars, which i advanced to him on their account through signor corgialegno's agency at zante on his arrival in october, as it is but fair that the said committee should pay their own expenses. an order will be sufficient, as the money might be inconvenient for mr. t. at present to disburse. "i have also advanced to mr. blackett the sum of fifty dollars,-which i will thank mr. stevens to pay to you, on my account, from monies of mr. blackett now in his hands. i have mr. b.'s acknowledgment in writing. "as the wants of the state here are still pressing, and there seems very little specie stirring except mine, i will stand paymaster; and must again request you and mr. barff to forward by a _safe _ channel (if possible) all the dollars you can collect upon the bills now negotiating. i have also written to corgialegno for two thousand dollars, being about the balance of my separate letter from messrs. webb and co., making the bills also payable at ransom's in london. "things are going on better, if not well; there is some order, and considerable preparation. i expect to accompany the troops on an expedition shortly, which makes me particularly anxious for the remaining remittance, as 'money is the sinew of war,' and of peace, too, as far as i can see, for i am sure there would be no peace here without it. however, a little does go a good way, which is a comfort. the government of the morea and of candia have written to me for a further advance from my own peculium of or , dollars, to which i demur for the present, (having undertaken to pay the suliotes as a free gift and other things already, besides the loan which i have already advanced,) till i receive letters from england, which i have reason to expect. "when the expected credits arrive, i hope that you will bear a hand, otherwise i must have recourse to malta, which will be losing time and taking trouble; but i do not wish you to do more than is perfectly agreeable to mr. barffand to yourself. i am very well, and have no reason to be dissatisfied with my personal treatment, or with the posture of public affairs--others must speak for themselves. yours ever and truly, &c. "p.s. respects to colonels wright and duffie, and the officers civil and military; also to my friends muir and stevens particularly, and to delladecima." letter . to mr. charles hancock. "missolonghi, january . . "since i wrote on the th, i have received a letter from mr. stevens, enclosing an account from corfu, which is so exaggerated in price and quantity, that i am at a loss whether most to admire gamba's folly, or the merchant's knavery. all that _i_ requested gamba to order was red cloth enough to make a _jacket_, and some oil-skin for trowsers, &c.--the latter has not been sent--the whole could not have amounted to fifty dollars. the account is six hundred and forty-five!!! i will guarantee mr. stevens against any loss, of course, but i am not disposed to take the articles (which i never ordered), nor to pay the amount. i will take one hundred dollars' worth; the rest may be sent back, and i will make the merchant an allowance of so much per-cent.; or, if that is not to be done, you must sell the whole by auction at what price the things may fetch; for i would rather incur the dead loss of _part_, than be encumbered with a quantity of things, to me at present superfluous or useless. why, i could have maintained three hundred men for a month for the sum in western greece. "when the dogs, and the dollars, and the negro; and the horses, fell into the hands of the turks, i acquiesced with patience, as you may have perceived, because it was the work of the elements of war, or of providence: but this is a piece of mere human knavery or folly, or both, and i neither can nor will submit to it.[ ] i have occasion for every dollar i can muster to keep the greeks together, and i do not grudge any expense for the cause; but to throw away as much as would equip, or at least maintain, a corps of excellent ragamuffins with arms in their hands, to furnish gamba and the doctor with blank bills (see list), broad cloth, hessian boots, and horsewhips (the _latter_ i own that they have richly earned), is rather beyond my endurance, though a pacific person, as all the world knows, or at least my acquaintances. i pray you to try to help me out of this damnable commercial speculation of gamba's, for it is one of those pieces of impudence or folly which i don't forgive him in a hurry. i will of course see stevens free of expense out of the transaction;--by the way, the greek of a corfiote has thought proper to draw a bill, and get it discounted at dollars: if i had been there, it should have been _protested_ also. [footnote : we have here as striking an instance as could be adduced of that peculiar feature of his character which shallow or malicious observers have misrepresented as avarice, but which in reality was the result of a strong sense of justice and fairness, and an indignant impatience of being stultified or over-reached. colonel stanhope, in referring to the circumstance mentioned above, has put lord byron's angry feeling respecting it in the true light. "he was constantly attacking count gamba, sometimes, indeed, playfully, but more often with the bitterest satire, for having purchased for the use of his family, while in greece, _ _ dollars' worth of cloth. this he used to mention as an instance of the count's imprudence and extravagance. lord byron told me one day, with a tone of great gravity, that this dollars would have been most serviceable in promoting the siege of lepanto; and that he never would, to the last moment of his existence, forgive gamba, for having squandered away his money in the purchase of cloth. no one will suppose that lord byron could be serious in such a denunciation: he entertained, in reality, the highest opinion of conant gamba, who, both on account of his talents and devotedness to his friend, merited his lordship's esteem. as to lord byron's generosity, it is before the world; he promised to devote his large income to the cause of greece, and he honestly acted up to his pledge."] "mr. blackett is here ill, and will soon set out for cephalonia. he came to me for some pills, and i gave him some reserved for particular friends, and which i never knew any body recover from under several months; but he is no better, and, what is odd, no worse; and as the doctors have had no better success with him than i, he goes to argostoli, sick of the greeks and of a constipation. "i must reiterate my request for _specie_, and that speedily, otherwise public affairs will be at a standstill here. i have undertaken to pay the suliotes for a year, to advance in march dollars, besides, to the government for a balance due to the troops, and some other smaller matters for the germans, and the press, &c. &c. &c.; so what with these, and the expenses of my suite, which, though not extravagant, is expensive, with gamba's d--d nonsense, i shall have occasion for all the monies i can muster; and i have credits wherewithal to face the undertakings, if realised, and expect to have more soon. "believe me ever and truly yours," &c. on the morning of the d of january, his birthday,--the last my poor friend was ever fated to see,--he came from his bedroom into the apartment where colonel stanhope and some others were assembled, and said with a smile, "you were complaining the other day that i never write any poetry now. this is my birthday, and i have just finished something which, i think, is better than what i usually write." he then produced to them those beautiful stanzas, which, though already known to most readers, are far too affectingly associated with this closing scene of his life to be omitted among its details. taking into consideration, indeed, every thing connected with these verses,--the last tender aspirations of a loving spirit which they breathe, the self-devotion to a noble cause which they so nobly express, and that consciousness of a near grave glimmering sadly through the whole,--there is perhaps no production within the range of mere human composition round which the circumstances and feelings under which it was written cast so touching an interest. "january d. "on this day i complete my thirty-sixth year. . "'tis time this heart should be unmoved, since others it hath ceased to move; yet though i cannot be beloved, still let me love! . "my days are in the yellow leaf; the flowers and fruits of love are gone; the worm, the canker, and the grief are mine alone! . "the fire that on my bosom preys is lone as some volcanic isle; no torch is kindled at its blaze-- a funeral pile! . "the hope, the fear, the jealous care, the exalted portion of the pain and power of love, i cannot share, but wear the chain. . "but 'tis not _thus_--and 'tis not _here_-- such thoughts should shake my soul, nor _now_, where glory decks the hero's bier, or binds his brow. . "the sword, the banner, and the field, glory and greece, around roe see! the spartan, borne upon his shield, was not more free. . "awake! (not greece--she _is_ awake!) awake, my spirit! think through _whom_ thy life-blood tracks its parent lake, and then strike home! . "tread those reviving passions down, unworthy manhood!--unto thee indifferent should the smile or frown of beauty be. . "if thou regret'st thy youth, _why live_? the land of honourable death is here:--up to the field, and give away thy breath! . "seek out--less often sought than found-- a soldier's grave, for thee the best; then look around, and choose thy ground,-- and take thy rest." "we perceived," says count gamba, "from these lines, as well as from his daily conversations, that his ambition and his hope were irrevocably fixed upon the glorious objects of his expedition to greece, and that he had made up his mind to 'return victorious, or return no more.' indeed, he often said to me, 'others may do as they please--they may go--but i stay here, _that is certain_.' the same determination was expressed in his letters to his friends; and this resolution was not unaccompanied with the very natural presentiment--that he should never leave greece alive. he one day asked his faithful servant, tita, whether he thought of returning to italy? 'yes,' said tita: 'if your lordship goes, i go.' lord byron smiled, and said, 'no, tita, i shall never go back from greece--either the turks, or the greeks, or the climate, will prevent that.'" letter . to mr. charles hancock. "missolonghi, february . . "dr. muir's letter and yours of the d reached me some days ago. tell muir that i am glad of his promotion for his sake, and of his remaining near us for all our sakes; though i cannot but regret dr. kennedy's departure, which accounts for the previous earthquakes and the present english weather in this climate. with all respect to my medical pastor, i have to announce to him, that amongst other fire-brands, our firemaster parry (just landed) has disembarked an elect blacksmith, intrusted with three hundred and twenty-two greek testaments. i have given him all facilities in my power for his works spiritual and temporal; and if he can settle matters as easily with the greek archbishop and hierarchy, i trust that neither the heretic nor the supposed sceptic will be accused of intolerance. "by the way, i met with the said archbishop at anatolico (where i went by invitation of the primates a few days ago, and was received with a heavier cannonade than the turks, probably,) for the second time (i had known him here before); and he and p. mavrocordato, and the chiefs and primates and i, all dined together, and i thought the metropolitan the merriest of the party, and a very good christian for all that. but gamba (we got wet through on our way back) has been ill with a fever and cholic; and luke has been out of sorts too, and so have some others of the people, and i have been very well,--except that i caught cold yesterday, with swearing too much in the rain at the greeks, who would not bear a hand in landing the committee stores, and nearly spoiled our combustibles; but i turned out in person, and made such a row as set them in motion, blaspheming at them from the government downwards, till they actually did _some_ part of what they ought to have done several days before, and this is esteemed, as it deserves to be, a wonder. "tell muir that, notwithstanding his remonstrances, which i receive thankfully, it is perhaps best that i should advance with the troops; for if we do not do something soon, we shall only have a third year of defensive operations and another siege, and all that. we hear that the turks are coming down in force, and sooner than usual; and as these fellows do mind me a little, it is the opinion that i should go,--firstly, because they will sooner listen to a foreigner than one of their own people, out of native jealousies; secondly, because the turks will sooner treat or capitulate (if such occasion should happen) with a frank than a greek; and, thirdly, because nobody else seems disposed to take the responsibility--mavrocordato being very busy here, the foreign military men too young or not of authority enough to be obeyed by the natives, and the chiefs (as aforesaid) inclined to obey any one except, or rather than, one of their own body. as for me, i am willing to do what i am bidden, and to follow my instructions. i neither seek nor shun that nor any thing else they may wish me to attempt: as for personal safety, besides that it ought not to be a consideration, i take it that a man is on the whole as safe in one place as another; and, after all, he had better end with a bullet than bark in his body. if we are not taken off with the sword, we are like to march off with an ague in this mud basket; and to conclude with a very bad pun, to the ear rather than to the eye, better _martially_ than _marsh-ally:_--the situation of missolonghi is not unknown to you. the dykes of holland when broken down are the deserts of arabia for dryness, in comparison. "and now for the sinews of war. i thank you and mr. barff for your ready answers, which, next to ready money, is a pleasant thing. besides the assets and balance, and the relics of the corgialegno correspondence with leghorn and genoa, (i sold the dog flour, tell him, but not at _his_ price,) i shall request and require, from the beginning of march ensuing, about five thousand dollars every two months, _i.e._, about twenty-five thousand within the current year, at regular intervals, independent of the sums now negotiating. i can show you documents to prove that these are considerably _within_ my supplies for the year in more ways than one; but i do not like to tell the greeks exactly what i _could_ or would advance on an emergency, because otherwise, they will double and triple their demands, (a disposition that they have already sufficiently shown): and though i am willing to do all i can _when_ necessary, yet i do not see why they should not help a little; for they are not quite so bare as they pretend to be by some accounts. "february . . "i have been interrupted by the arrival of parry and afterwards by the return of hesketh, who has not brought an answer to my epistles, which rather surprises me. you will write soon, i suppose. parry seems a fine rough subject, but will hardly be ready for the field these three weeks; he and i will (i think) be able to draw together,--at least, _i_ will not interfere with or contradict him in his own department. he complains grievously of the mercantile and _enthusymusy_ part of the committee, but greatly praises gordon and hume. gordon _would_ have given three or four thousand pounds and come out _himself_, but kennedy or somebody else disgusted him, and thus they have spoiled part of their subscription and cramped their operations. parry says b---- is a humbug, to which i say nothing. he sorely laments the printing and civilising expenses, and wishes that there was not a sunday-school in the world, or _any_ school _here_ at present, save and except always an academy for artilleryship. "he complained also of the cold, a little to my surprise; firstly, because, there being no chimneys, i have used myself to do without other warmth than the animal heat and one's cloak, in these parts; and, secondly, because i should as soon have expected to hear a volcano sneeze, as a firemaster (who is to burn a whole fleet) exclaim against the atmosphere. i fully expected that his very approach would have scorched up the town like the burning-glasses of archimedes. "well, it seems that i am to be commander-in-chief, and the post is by no means a sinecure, for we are not what major sturgeon calls 'a set of the most amicable officers.' whether we shall have 'a boxing bout between captain sheers and the colonel,' i cannot tell; but, between suliote chiefs, german barons, english volunteers, and adventurers of all nations, we are likely to form as goodly an allied army as ever quarrelled beneath the same banner. "february . . "interrupted again by business yesterday, and it is time to conclude my letter. i drew some time since on mr. barff for a thousand dollars, to complete some money wanted by the government. the said government got cash on that bill _here_, and at a profit; but the very same fellow who gave it to them, after proposing to give me money for other bills on barff to the amount of thirteen hundred dollars, either could not, or thought better of it. i had written to barff advising him, but had afterwards to write to tell him of the fellow's having not come up to time. you must really send me the balance soon. i have the artillerists and my suliotes to pay, and heaven knows what besides; and as every thing depends upon punctuality, all our operations will be at a standstill unless you use despatch. i shall send to mr. barff or to you further bills on england for three thousand pounds, to be negotiated as speedily as you can. i have already stated here and formerly the sums i can command at home within the year,--without including my credits, or the bills already negotiated or negotiating, as corgialegno's balance of mr. webb's letter,--and my letters from my friends (received by mr. parry's vessel) confirm what i have already stated. how much i may require in the course of the year i can't tell, but i will take care that it shall not exceed the means to supply it. yours ever, n.b. "p.s. i have had, by desire of a mr. _jerostati_, to draw on demetrius delladecima (is it our friend in ultima analise?) to pay the committee expenses. i really do not understand what the committee mean by some of their freedoms. parry and i get on very well _hitherto_: how long this may last, heaven knows, but i hope it will, for a good deal for the greek service depends upon it; but he has already had some" _miffs_ with col. s. and i do all i can to keep the peace amongst them. however, parry is a fine fellow, extremely active, and of strong, sound, practical talents, by all accounts. enclosed are bills for three thousand pounds, drawn in the mode directed (_i.e._ parcelled out in smaller bills). a good opportunity occurring for cephalonia to send letters on, i avail myself of it. remember me to stevens and to all friends. also my compliments and every thing kind to the colonels and officers. "february . . "p.s. d or d. i have reason to expect a person from england directed with papers (on business) for me to sign, somewhere in the islands, by and by: if such should arrive, would you forward him to me by a safe conveyance, as the papers regard a transaction with regard to the adjustment of a lawsuit, and a sum of several thousand pounds, which i, or my bankers and trustees for me, may have to receive (in england) in consequence. the time of the probable arrival i cannot state, but the date of my letters is the d nov. and i suppose that he ought to arrive soon." how strong were the hopes which even those who watched him most observingly conceived from the whole tenor of his conduct since his arrival at missolonghi, will appear from the following words of colonel stanhope, in one of his letters to the greek committee:-- "lord byron possesses all the means of playing a great part in the glorious revolution of greece. he has talent; he professes liberal principles; he has money, and is inspired with fervent and chivalrous feelings. he has commenced his career by two good measures: st, by recommending union, and declaring himself of no party; and, dly, by taking five hundred suliotes into pay, and acting as their chief. these acts cannot fail to render his lordship universally popular, and proportionally powerful. thus advantageously circumstanced, his lordship will have an opportunity of realising all his professions." that the inspirer, however, of these hopes was himself far from participating in them is a fact manifest from all he said and wrote on the subject, and but adds painfully to the interest which his position at this moment excites. too well, indeed, did he both understand and feel the difficulties into which he was plunged to deceive himself into any such sanguine delusions. in one only of the objects to which he had looked forward with any hope,--that of endeavouring to humanise, by his example, the system of warfare on both sides,--had he yet been able to gratify himself. not many days after his arrival an opportunity, as we have seen, had been afforded him of rescuing an unfortunate turk out of the hands of some greek sailors; and, towards the end of the month, having learned that there were a few turkish prisoners in confinement at missolonghi, he requested of the government to place them at his disposal, that he might send them to yussuff pacha. in performing this act of humane policy, he transmitted with the rescued captives the following letter:-- letter . to his highness yussuff pacha. "missolonghi, january . . "highness! "a vessel, in which a friend and some domestics of mine were embarked, was detained a few days ago, and released by order of your highness. i have now to thank you; not for liberating the vessel, which, as carrying a neutral flag, and being under british protection, no one had a right to detain; but for having treated my friends with so much kindness while they were in your hands. "in the hope, therefore, that it may not be altogether displeasing to your highness, i have requested the governor of this place to release four turkish prisoners, and he has humanely consented to do so. i lose no time, therefore, in sending them back, in order to make as early a return as i could for your courtesy on the late occasion. these prisoners are liberated without any conditions: but should the circumstance find a place in your recollection, i venture to beg, that your highness will treat such greeks as may henceforth fall into your hands with humanity; more especially since the horrors of war are sufficiently great in themselves, without being aggravated by wanton cruelties on either side. noel byron." another favourite and, as it appeared for some time, practicable object, on which he had most ardently set his heart, was the intended attack upon lepanto--a fortified town[ ] which, from its command of the navigation of the gulf of corinth, is a position of the first importance. "lord byron," says colonel stanhope, in a letter dated january ., "burns with military ardour and chivalry, and will accompany the expedition to lepanto." the delay of parry, the engineer, who had been for some months anxiously expected with the supplies necessary for the formation of a brigade of artillery, had hitherto paralysed the preparations for this important enterprise; though, in the mean time, whatever little could be effected, without his aid, had been put in progress both by the appointment of a brigade of suliotes to act under lord byron, and by the formation, at the joint expense of his lordship and colonel stanhope, of a small corps of artillery. [footnote : the ancient naupactus, called epacto by the modern greeks, and lepauto by the italians.] it was towards the latter end of january, as we have seen, that lord byron received his regular commission from the government, as commander of the expedition. in conferring upon him full powers, both civil and military, they appointed, at the same time, a military council to accompany him, composed of the most experienced chieftains of the army, with nota bozzari, the uncle of the famous warrior, at their head. it had been expected that, among the stores sent with parry, there would be a supply of congreve rockets,--an instrument of warfare of which such wonders had been related to the greeks as filled their imaginations with the most absurd ideas of its powers. their disappointment, therefore, on finding that the engineer had come unprovided with these missiles was excessive. another hope, too,--that of being enabled to complete an artillery corps by the accession of those germans who had been sent for into the morea,--was found almost equally fallacious; that body of men having, from the death or retirement of those who originally composed it, nearly dwindled away; and the few officers that now came to serve being, from their fantastic notions of rank and etiquette, far more troublesome than useful. in addition to these discouraging circumstances, the five speziot ships of war which had for some time formed the sole protection of missolonghi were now returned to their home, and had left their places to be filled by the enemy's squadron. perplexing as were all these difficulties in the way of the expedition, a still more formidable embarrassment presented itself in the turbulent and almost mutinous disposition of those suliote troops on whom he mainly depended for success in his undertaking. presuming as well upon his wealth and generosity as upon their own military importance, these unruly warriors had never ceased to rise in the extravagance of their demands upon him;--the wholly destitute and homeless state of their families at this moment affording but too well founded a pretext both for their exaction and discontent. nor were their leaders much more amenable to management than themselves. "there were," says count gamba, "six heads of families among them, all of whom had equal pretensions both by their birth and their exploits; and none of whom would obey any one of his comrades." a serious riot to which, about the middle of january, these suliotes had given rise, and in which some lives were lost, had been a source of much irritation and anxiety to lord byron, as well from the ill-blood it was likely to engender between his troops and the citizens, as from the little dependence it gave him encouragement to place upon materials so unmanageable. notwithstanding all this, however, neither his eagerness nor his efforts for the accomplishment of this sole personal object of his ambition ever relaxed a single instant. to whatever little glory was to be won by the attack upon lepanto, he looked forward as his only reward for all the sacrifices he was making. in his conversations with count gamba on the subject, "though he joked a good deal," says this gentleman, "about his post of 'archistrategos,' or commander in chief, it was plain that the romance and the peril of the undertaking were great allurements to him." when we combine, indeed, his determination to stand, at all hazards, by the cause, with the very faint hopes his sagacious mind would let him indulge as to his power of serving it, i have little doubt that the "soldier's grave" which, in his own beautiful verses, he marked out for himself, was no idle dream of poetry; but that, on the contrary, his "wish was father to the thought," and that to an honourable death, in some such achievement as that of storming lepanto, he looked forward, not only as the sole means of redeeming worthily the great pledge he had now given, but as the most signal and lasting service that a name like his,--echoed, as it would then be, among the watch-words of liberty, from age to age,--could bequeath to her cause. in the midst of these cares he was much gratified by the receipt of a letter from an old friend of his, andrea londo, whom he had made acquaintance with in his early travels in , and who was at that period a rich proprietor, under the turks, in the morca.[ ] this patriotic greek was one of the foremost to raise the standard of the cross; and at the present moment stood distinguished among the supporters of the legislative body and of the new national government. the following is a translation of lord byron's answer to his letter. [footnote : this brave moriote, when lord byron first knew him, was particularly boyish in his aspect and manners, but still cherished, under this exterior, a mature spirit of patriotism which occasionally broke forth; and the noble poet used to relate that, one day, while they were playing at draughts together, on the name of riga being pronounced, londo leaped from the table, and clapping violently his hands, began singing the famous song of that ill-fated patriot:-- "sons of the greeks, arise! the glorious hour's gone forth."] letter . to londo. "dear friend, "the sight of your handwriting gave me the greatest pleasure. greece has ever been for me, as it must be for all men of any feeling or education, the promised land of valour, of the arts, and of liberty; nor did the time i passed in my youth in travelling among her ruins at all chill my affection for the birthplace of heroes. in addition to this, i am bound to yourself by ties of friendship and gratitude for the hospitality which i experienced from you during my stay in that country, of which you are now become one of the first defenders and ornaments. to see myself serving, by your side and under your eyes, in the cause of greece, will be to me one of the happiest events of my life. in the mean time, with the hope of our again meeting, "i am, as ever," &c. among the less serious embarrassments of his position at this period, may be mentioned the struggle maintained against him by his colleague, colonel stanhope,--with a degree of conscientious perseverance which, even while thwarted by it, he could not but respect, on the subject of a free press, which it was one of the favourite objects of his fellow-agent to bring instantly into operation in all parts of greece. on this important point their opinions differed considerably; and the following report, by colonel stanhope, of one of their many conversations on the subject, may be taken as a fair and concise statement of their respective views:--"lord byron said that he was an ardent friend of publicity and the press: but that he feared it was not applicable to this society in its present combustible state. i answered that i thought it applicable to all countries, and essential here, in order to put an end to the state of anarchy which at present prevailed. lord b. feared libels and licentiousness. i said that the object of a free press was to check public licentiousness, and to expose libellers to odium. lord b. had mentioned his conversation with mavrocordato[ ] to show that the prince was not hostile to the press. i declared that i knew him to be an enemy to the press, although he dared not openly to avow it. his lordship then said that he had not made up his mind about the liberty of the press in greece, but that he thought the experiment worth trying." [footnote : lord byron had, it seems, acknowledged, on the preceding evening, his having remarked to prince blavrocordato that "if he were in his situation, he would have placed the press under a censor;" to which the prince had replied, "no; the liberty of the press is guaranteed by the constitution."] that between two men, both eager in the service of one common cause, there should arise a difference of opinion as to the _means_ of serving it is but a natural result of the varieties of human judgment, and detracts nothing from the zeal or sincerity of either. but by those who do not suffer themselves to be carried away by a theory, it will be conceded, i think, that the scruples professed by lord byron, with respect to the expedience or safety of introducing what is called a free press into a country so little advanced in civilisation as greece, were founded on just views of human nature and practical good sense. to endeavour to force upon a state of society, so unprepared for them, such full grown institutions; to think of engrafting, at once, on an ignorant people the fruits of long knowledge and cultivation,--of importing among them, ready made, those advantages and blessings which no nation ever attained but by its own working out, nor ever was fitted to enjoy but by having first struggled for them; to harbour even a dream of the success of such an experiment, implies a sanguineness almost incredible, and such as, though, in the present instance, indulged by the political economist and soldier, was, as we have seen, beyond the poet. the enthusiastic and, in many respects, well founded confidence with which colonel stanhope appealed to the authority of mr. bentham on most of the points at issue between himself and lord byron, was, from that natural antipathy which seems to exist between political economists and poets, but little sympathised in by the latter;--such appeals being always met by him with those sallies of ridicule, which he found the best-humoured vent for his impatience under argument, and to which, notwithstanding the venerable name and services of mr. bentham himself, the quackery of much that is promulgated by his followers presented, it must be owned, ample scope. romantic, indeed, as was lord byron's sacrifice of himself to the cause of greece, there was in the views he took of the means of serving her not a tinge of the unsubstantial or speculative. the grand practical task of freeing her from her tyrants was his first and main object. he knew that slavery was the great bar to knowledge, and must be broken through before her light could come; that the work of the sword must therefore precede that of the pen, and camps be the first schools of freedom. with such sound and manly views of the true exigencies of the crisis, it is not wonderful that he should view with impatience, and something, perhaps, of contempt, all that premature apparatus of printing-presses, pedagogues, &c. with which the philhellenes of the london committee were, in their rage for "utilitarianism," encumbering him. nor were some of the correspondents of this body much more solid in their speculations than themselves; one intelligent gentleman having suggested, as a means of conferring signal advantages on the cause, an alteration of the greek alphabet. though feeling, as strongly, perhaps, as lord byron, the importance of the great object of their mission,--that of rousing and, what was far more difficult, combining against the common foe the energies of the country,--colonel stanhope was also one of those who thought that the lights of their great master, bentham, and the operations of a press unrestrictedly free, were no less essential instruments towards the advancement of the struggle; and in this opinion, as we have seen, the poet and man of literature differed from the soldier. but it was such a difference as, between men of frank and fair minds, may arise without either reproach to themselves, or danger to their cause,--a strife of opinion which; though maintained with heat, may be remembered without bitterness, and which, in the present instance, neither prevented byron, at the close of one of their warmest altercations, from exclaiming generously to his opponent, "give me that honest right hand," nor withheld the other from pouring forth, at the grave of his colleague, a strain of eulogy[ ] not the less cordial for being discriminatingly shaded with censure, nor less honourable to the illustrious dead for being the tribute of one who had once manfully differed with him. [footnote : sketch of lord byron.--see colonel stanhope's "greece in , ," &c.] towards the middle of february, the indefatigable activity of mr. parry having brought the artillery brigade into such a state of forwardness as to be almost ready for service, an inspection of the suliote corps took place, preparatory to the expedition; and after much of the usual deception and unmanageableness on their part, every obstacle appeared to be at length surmounted. it was agreed that they should receive a month's pay in advance;--count gamba, with of their corps, as a vanguard, was to march next day and take up a position under lepanto, and lord byron with the main body and the artillery was speedily to follow. new difficulties, however, were soon started by these untractable mercenaries; and under the instigation, as was discovered afterwards, of the great rival of mavrocordato, colocotroni, who had sent emissaries into missolonghi for the purpose of seducing them, they now put forward their exactions in a new shape, by requiring of the government to appoint, out of their number, two generals, two colonels, two captains, and inferior officers in the same proportion:--"in short," says count gamba, "that, out of three or four hundred actual suliotes, there should be about one hundred and fifty above the rank of common soldiers." the audacious dishonesty of this demand,--beyond what he could have expected even from greeks,--roused all lord byron's rage, and he at once signified to the whole body, through count gamba, that all negotiation between them and himself was at an end; that he could no longer have any confidence in persons so little true to their engagements; and that though the relief which he had afforded to their families should still be continued, all his agreements with them, as a body, must be thenceforward void. it was on the th of february that this rupture with the suliotes took place; and though, on the following day, in consequence of the full submission of their chiefs, they were again received into his lordship's service on his own terms, the whole affair, combined with the various other difficulties that now beset him, agitated his mind considerably. he saw with pain that he should but place in peril both the cause of greece and his own character, by at all relying, in such an enterprise, upon troops whom any intriguer could thus seduce from their duty; and that, till some more regular force could be organised, the expedition against lepanto must be suspended. while these vexatious events were occurring, the interruption of his accustomed exercise by the rains but increased the irritability that such delays were calculated to excite; and the whole together, no doubt, concurred with whatever predisposing tendencies were already in his constitution, to bring on that convulsive fit,--the forerunner of his death,--which, on the evening of the th of february, seized him. he was sitting, at about eight o'clock, with only mr. parry and mr. hesketh, in the apartment of colonel stanhope,--talking jestingly upon one of his favourite topics, the differences between himself and this latter gentleman, and saying that "he believed, after all, the author's brigade would be ready before the soldier's printing-press." there was an unusual flush in his face, and from the rapid changes of his countenance it was manifest that he was suffering under some nervous agitation. he then complained of being thirsty, and, calling for some cider, drank of it; upon which, a still greater change being observable over his features, he rose from his seat, but was unable to walk, and, after staggering forward a step or two, fell into mr. parry's arms. in another minute, his teeth were closed, his speech and senses gone, and he was in strong convulsions. so violent, indeed, were his struggles, that it required all the strength both of mr. parry and his servant tita to hold him during the fit. his face, too, was much distorted; and, as he told count gamba afterwards, "so intense were his sufferings during the convulsion, that, had it lasted but a minute longer, he believed he must have died." the fit was, however, as short as it was violent; in a few minutes his speech and senses returned; his features, though still pale and haggard, resumed their natural shape, and no effect remained from the attack but excessive weakness. "as soon as he could speak," says count gamba, "he showed himself perfectly free from all alarm; but he very coolly asked whether his attack was likely to prove fatal. 'let me know,' he said; 'do not think i am afraid to die--i am not.'" this painful event had not occurred more than half an hour, when a report was brought that the suliotes were up in arms, and about to attack the seraglio, for the purpose of seizing the magazines. instantly lord byron's friends ran to the arsenal; the artillery-men were ordered under arms; the sentinels doubled, and the cannon loaded and pointed on the approaches to the gates. though the alarm proved to be false, the very likelihood of such an attack shows sufficiently how precarious was the state of missolonghi at this moment, and in what a scene of peril, confusion, and uncomfort, the now nearly numbered days of england's poet were to close. on the following morning he was found to be better, but still pale and weak, and complained much of a sensation of weight in his head. the doctors, therefore, thought it right to apply leeches to his temples; but found it difficult, on their removal, to stop the blood, which continued to flow so copiously, that from exhaustion he fainted. it must have been on this day that the scene thus described by colonel stanhope occurred:-- "soon after his dreadful paroxysm, when, faint with over-bleeding, he was lying on his sick bed, with his whole nervous system completely shaken, the mutinous suliotes, covered with dirt and splendid attires, broke into his apartment, brandishing their costly arms, and loudly demanding their wild rights. lord byron, electrified by this unexpected act, seemed to recover from his sickness; and the more the suliotes raged, the more his calm courage triumphed. the scene was truly sublime." another eye-witness, count gamba, bears similar testimony to the presence of mind with which he fronted this and all other such dangers. "it is impossible," says this gentleman, "to do justice to the coolness and magnanimity which he displayed upon every trying occasion. upon trifling occasions he was certainly irritable; but the aspect of danger calmed him in an instant, and restored to him the free exercise of all the powers of his noble nature. a more undaunted man in the hour of peril never breathed." the letters written by him during the few following weeks form, as usual, the best record of his proceedings, and, besides the sad interest they possess as being among the latest from his hand, are also precious, as affording proof that neither illness nor disappointment, neither a worn-out frame nor even a hopeless spirit, could lead him for a moment to think of abandoning the great cause he had espoused; while to the last, too, he preserved unbroken the cheerful spring of his mind, his manly endurance of all ills that affected but himself, and his ever-wakeful consideration for the wants of others. letter . to mr. barff. "february . "i am a good deal better, though of course weakly; the leeches took too much blood from my temples the day after, and there was some difficulty in stopping it, but i have since been up daily, and out in boats of on horseback. to-day i have taken a warm bath, and live as temperately as can well be, without any liquid but water, and without animal food. "besides the four turks sent to patras, i have obtained the release of four-and-twenty women and children, and sent them at my own expense to prevesa, that the english consul-general may consign them to their relations. i did this by their own desire. matters here are a little embroiled with the suliotes and foreigners, &c., but i still hope better things, and will stand by the cause as long as my health and circumstances will permit me to be supposed useful.[ ] [footnote : in a letter to the same gentleman, dated january ., he had already said, "i hope that things here will go on well some time or other. i will stick by the cause as long as a cause exists--first or second."] "i am obliged to support the government here for the present." the prisoners mentioned in this letter as having been released by him and sent to prevesa, had been held in captivity at missolonghi since the beginning of the revolution. the following was the letter which he forwarded with them to the english consul at prevesa. letter . to mr. mayer. "sir, "coming to greece, one of my principal objects was to alleviate as much as possible the miseries incident to a warfare so cruel as the present. when the dictates of humanity are in question, i know no difference between turks and greeks. it is enough that those who want assistance are men, in order to claim the pity and protection of the meanest pretender to humane feelings. i have found here twenty-four turks, including women and children, who have long pined in distress, far from the means of support and the consolations of their home. the government has consigned them to me; i transmit them to prevesa, whither they desire to be sent. i hope you will not object to take care that they may be restored to a place of safety, and that the governor of your town may accept of my present. the best recompense i can hope for would be to find that i had inspired the ottoman commanders with the same sentiments towards those unhappy greeks who may hereafter fall into their hands. "i beg you to believe me," &c. letter . to the honourable douglas kinnaird. "missolonghi, february . . "i have received yours of the d of november. it is essential that the money should be paid, as i have drawn for it all, and more too, to help the greeks. parry is here, and he and i agree very well; and all is going on hopefully for the present, considering circumstances. "we shall have work this year, for the turks are coming down in force; and, as for me, i must stand by the cause. i shall shortly march (according to orders) against lepanto, with two thousand men. i have been here some time, after some narrow escapes from the turks, and also from being ship-wrecked. we were twice upon the rocks; but this you will have heard, truly or falsely, through other channels, and i do not wish to bore you with a long story. "so far i have succeeded in supporting the government of western greece, which would otherwise have been dissolved. if you have received the eleven thousand and odd pounds, these, with what i have in hand, and my income for the current year, to say nothing of contingencies, will, or might, enable me to keep the 'sinews of war' properly strung. if the deputies be honest fellows, and obtain the loan, they will repay the ,'. as agreed upon; and even then i shall save little, or indeed less than little, since i am maintaining nearly the whole machine--in this place, at least--at my own cost. but let the greeks only succeed, and i don't care for myself. "i have been very seriously unwell, but am getting better, and can ride about again; so pray quiet our friends on that score. "it is not true that i ever _did, will, would, could, _ or _should_ write a satire against gifford, or a hair of his head. i always considered him as my literary father, and myself as his 'prodigal son;' and if i have allowed his 'fatted calf' to grow to an ox before, he kills it on my return, it is only because i prefer beef to veal. yours," &c letter . to mr. barff. "february . "my health seems improving, especially from riding and the warm bath. six englishmen will be soon in quarantine at zante; they are artificers[ ], and have had enough of greece in fourteen days. if you could recommend them to a passage home, i would thank you; they are good men enough, but do not quite understand the little discrepancies in these countries, and are not used to see shooting and slashing in a domestic quiet way, or (as it forms here) a part of housekeeping. [footnote : the workmen who came out with parry; and who, alarmed by the scene of confusion and danger they found at missolonghi, had resolved to return home.] "if they should want any thing during their quarantine, you can advance them not more than a dollar a day (amongst them) for that period, to purchase them some little extras as comforts (as they are quite out of their element). i cannot afford them more at present." the following letter to mr. murray,--which it is most gratifying to have to produce, as the last completing link of a long friendship and correspondence which had been but for a short time, and through the fault only of others, interrupted,--contains such a summary of the chief events now passing round lord byron, as, with the assistance of a few notes, will render any more detailed narrative unnecessary. letter . to mr. murray. "missolonghi, february . . "i have heard from mr. douglas kinnaird that you state 'a report of a satire on mr. gifford having arrived from italy, _said_ to be written by _me_! but that _you_ do not believe it.' i dare say you do not, nor anybody else, i should think. whoever asserts that i am the author or abettor of any thing of the kind on gifford lies in his throat. if any such composition exists it is none of mine. _you_ know as well as any body upon _whom_ i have or have not written; and _you_ also know whether they do or did not deserve that same. and so much for such matters. "you will perhaps be anxious to hear some news from this part of greece (which is the most liable to invasion); but you will hear enough through public and private channels. i will, however, give you the events of a week, mingling my own private peculiar with the public; for we are here a little jumbled together at present. "on sunday (the th, i believe,) i had a strong and sudden convulsive attack, which left me speechless, though not motionless--for some strong men could not hold me; but whether it was epilepsy, catalepsy, cachexy, or apoplexy, or what other _exy _ or _epsy_, the doctors have not decided; or whether it was spasmodic or nervous, &c.; but it was very unpleasant, and nearly carried me off, and all that. on monday, they put leeches to my temples, no difficult matter, but the blood could not be stopped till eleven at night (they had gone too near the temporal artery for my temporal safety), and neither styptic nor caustic would cauterise the orifice till after a hundred attempts. "on tuesday, a turkish brig of war ran on shore. on wednesday, great preparations being made to attack her, though protected by her consorts[ ], the turks burned her and retired to patras. on thursday a quarrel ensued between the suliotes and the frank guard at the arsenal: a swedish officer[ ] was killed, and a suliote severely wounded, and a general fight expected, and with some difficulty prevented. on friday, the officer was buried; and captain parry's english artificers mutinied, under pretence that their lives are in danger, and are for quitting the country:--they may.[ ] [footnote : "early in the morning we prepared for our attack on the brig. lord byron, notwithstanding his weakness, and an inflammation that threatened his eyes, was most anxious to be of our party; but the physicians would not suffer him to go."--count gamba's _narrative_. his lordship had promised a reward for every turk taken alive in the proposed attack on this vessel.] [footnote : captain sasse, an officer esteemed as one of the best and bravest of the foreigners in the greek service. "this," says colonel stanhope, in a letter, february th, to the committee, "is a serious affair. the suliotes have no country, no home for their families; arrears of pay are owing to them; the people of missolonghi hate and pay them exorbitantly. lord byron, who was to have led them to lepanto, is much shaken by his fit, and will probably be obliged to retire from greece. in short, all our hopes in this quarter are damped for the present. i am not a little fearful, too, that these wild warriors will not forget the blood that has been spilt. i this morning told prince mavrocordato and lord byron that they must come to some resolution about compelling the suliotes to quit the place."] [footnote : this was a fresh, and, as may be conceived, serious disappointment to lord byron. "the departure of these men," says count gamba, "made us fear that our laboratory would come to nothing; for, if we tried to supply the place of the artificers with native greeks, we should make but little progress.] "on saturday we had the smartest shock of an earthquake which i remember, (and i have felt thirty, slight or smart, at different periods; they are common in the mediterranean,) and the whole army discharged their arms, upon the same principle that savages beat drums, or howl, during an eclipse of the moon:--it was a rare scene altogether--if you had but seen the english johnnies, who had never been out of a cockney workshop before!--or will again, if they can help it--and on sunday, we heard that the vizier is come down to larissa, with one hundred and odd thousand men. "in coming here, i had two escapes, one from the turks, _(one_ of my vessels was taken, but afterwards released,) and the other from shipwreck. we drove twice on the rocks near the scrophes (islands near the coast). "i have obtained from the greeks the release of eight-and-twenty turkish prisoners, men, women, and children, and sent them to patras and prevesa at my own charges. one little girl of nine years old, who prefers remaining with me, i shall (if i live) send, with her mother, probably, to italy, or to england. her name is hato, or hatagee. she is a very pretty, lively child. all her brothers were killed by the greeks, and she herself and her mother merely spared by special favour and owing to her extreme youth, she being then but five or six years old. "my health is now better, and i ride about again. my office here is no sinecure, so many parties and difficulties of every kind; but i will do what i can. prince mavrocordato is an excellent person, and does all in his power, but his situation is perplexing in the extreme. still we have great hopes of the success of the contest. you will hear, however, more of public news from plenty of quarters; for i have little time to write. "believe me yours, &c. &c. n. bn." the fierce lawlessness of the suliotes had now risen to such a height that it became necessary, for the safety of the european population, to get rid of them altogether; and, by some sacrifices on the part of lord byron, this object was at length effected. the advance of a month's pay by him, and the discharge of their arrears by the government, (the latter, too, with money lent for that purpose by the same universal paymaster,) at length induced these rude warriors to depart from the town, and with them vanished all hopes of the expedition against lepanto. letter . to mr. moore. "missolonghi, western greece, march . . "my dear moore, "your reproach is unfounded--i have received two letters from you, and answered both previous to leaving cephalonia. i have not been 'quiet' in an ionian island, but much occupied with business,--as the greek deputies (if arrived) can tell you. neither have i continued 'don juan,' nor any other poem. you go, as usual, i presume, by some newspaper report or other.[ ] [footnote : proceeding, as he here rightly supposes, upon newspaper authority, i had in my letter made some allusion to his imputed occupations, which, in his present sensitiveness on the subject of authorship, did not at all please him. to this circumstance count gamba alludes in a passage of his narrative; where, after mentioning a remark of byron's, that "poetry should only occupy the idle, and that in more serious affairs it would be ridiculous," he adds-- "----, at this time writing to him, said, that he had heard that 'instead of pursuing heroic and warlike adventures, he was residing in a delightful villa, continuing don juan.' this offended him for the moment, and he was sorry that such a mistaken judgment had been formed of him." it is amusing to observe that, while thus anxious, and from a highly noble motive, to throw his authorship into the shade while engaged in so much more serious pursuits, it was yet an author's mode of revenge that always occurred to him, when under the influence of any of these passing resentments. thus, when a little angry with colonel stanhope one day, he exclaimed, "i will libel you in your own chronicle;" and in this brief burst of humour i was myself the means of provoking in him, i have been told, on the authority of count gamba, that he swore to "write a satire" upon me. though the above letter shows how momentary was any little spleen he may have felt, there not unfrequently, i own, comes over me a short pang of regret to think that a feeling of displeasure, however slight, should have been among the latest i awakened in him.] "when the proper moment to be of some use arrived, i came here; and am told that my arrival (with some other circumstances) _has_ been of, at least, temporary advantage to the cause. i had a narrow escape from the turks, and another from shipwreck on my passage. on the th (or th) of february i had an attack of apoplexy, or epilepsy,--the physicians have not exactly decided which, but the alternative is agreeable. my constitution, therefore, remains between the two opinions, like mahomet's sarcophagus between the magnets. all that i can say is, that they nearly bled me to death, by placing the leeches too near the temporal artery, so that the blood could with difficulty be stopped, even with caustic, i am supposed to be getting better, slowly, however. but my homilies will, i presume, for the future, be like the archbishop of grenada's--in this case, 'i order you a hundred ducats from my treasurer, and wish you a little more taste.' "for public matters i refer you to colonel stanhope's and capt. parry's reports,--and to all other reports whatsoever. there is plenty to do--war without, and tumult within--they 'kill a man a week,' like bob acres in the country. parry's artificers have gone away in alarm, on account of a dispute in which some of the natives and foreigners were engaged, and a swede was killed, and a suliote wounded. in the middle of their fright there was a strong shock of an earthquake; so, between that and the sword, they boomed off in a hurry, in despite of all dissuasions to the contrary. a turkish brig run ashore, &c. &c. &c.[ ] [footnote : what i have omitted here is but a repetition of the various particulars, respecting all that had happened since his arrival, which have already been given in the letters to his other correspondents.] "you, i presume, are either publishing or meditating that same. let me hear from and of you, and believe me, in all events, "ever and affectionately yours, "n. b. "p.s. tell mr. murray that i wrote to him the other day, and hope that he has received, or will receive, the letter." letter . to dr. kennedy. "missolonghi, march . . "my dear doctor, "i have to thank you for your two very kind letters, both received at the same time, and one long after its date. i am not unaware of the precarious state of my health, nor am, nor have been, deceived on that subject. but it is proper that i should remain in greece; and it were better to die doing something than nothing. my presence here has been supposed so far useful as to have prevented confusion from becoming worse confounded, at least for the present. should i become, or be deemed useless or superfluous, i am ready to retire; but in the interim i am not to consider personal consequences; the rest is in the hands of providence,--as indeed are all things. i shall, however, observe your instructions, and indeed did so, as far as regards abstinence, for some time past. "besides the tracts, &c. which you have sent for distribution, one of the english artificers (hight brownbill, a tinman,) left to my charge a number of greek testaments, which i will endeavour to distribute properly. the greeks complain that the translation is not correct, nor in _good_ romaic: bambas can decide on that point. i am trying to reconcile the clergy to the distribution, which (without due regard to their hierarchy) they might contrive to impede or neutralise in the effect, from their power over their people. mr. brownbill has gone to the islands, having some apprehension for his life, (not from the priests, however,) and apparently preferring rather to be a saint than a martyr, although his apprehensions of becoming the latter were probably unfounded. all the english artificers accompanied him, thinking themselves in danger on account of some troubles here, which have apparently subsided. "i have been interrupted by a visit from prince mavrocordato and others since i began this letter, and must close it hastily, for the boat is announced as ready to sail. your future convert, hato, or hatagée, appears to me lively, and intelligent, and promising, and possesses an interesting countenance. with regard to her disposition, i can say little, but millingen, who has the mother (who is a middle-aged woman of good character) in his house as a domestic (although their family was in good worldly circumstances previous to the revolution), speaks well of both, and he is to be relied on. as far as i know, i have only seen the child a few times with her mother, and what i have seen is favourable, or i should not take so much interest in her behalf. if she turns out well, my idea would be to send her to my daughter in england (if not to respectable persons in italy), and so to provide for her as to enable her to live with reputation either singly or in marriage, if she arrive at maturity. i will make proper arrangements about her expenses through messrs. barff and hancock, and the rest i leave to your discretion and to mrs. k.'s, with a great sense of obligation for your kindness in undertaking her temporary superintendence. "of public matters here, i have little to add to what you will already have heard. we are going on as well as we can, and with the hope and the endeavour to do better. believe me, "ever and truly," &c. letter . to mr. barff. "march . . "if sisseni[ ] is sincere, he will be treated with, and well treated; if he is not, the sin and the shame may lie at his own door. one great object is to heal those internal dissensions for the future, without exacting too rigorous an account of the past. prince mavrocordato is of the same opinion, and whoever is disposed to act fairly will be fairly dealt with. i _have_ heard a _good deal_ of sisseni, but not a _deal_ of _good_: however, i never judge from report, particularly in a revolution. _personally_, i am rather obliged to him, for he has been very hospitable to all friends of mine who have passed through his district. you may therefore assure him that any overture for the advantage of greece and its internal pacification will be readily and sincerely met _here_. i hardly think that he would have ventured a deceitful proposition to me through _you_, because he must be sure that in such a case it would eventually be exposed. at any rate, the healing of these dissensions is so important a point, that something must be risked to obtain it." [footnote : this sisseni, who was the _capitano_ of the rich district about gastouni, and had for some time held out against the general government, was now, as appears by the above letter, making overtures, through mr. barff, of adhesion. as a proof of his sincerity, it was required by lord byron that he should surrender into the hands of the government the fortress of chiarenza.] letter . to mr. barff. "march . "enclosed is an answer to mr. parruca's letter, and i hope that you will assure him from me, that i have done and am doing all i can to re-unite the greeks with the greeks. "i am extremely obliged by your offer of your country house (as for all other kindness) in case that my health should require my removal; but i cannot quit greece while there is a chance of my being of any (even supposed) utility:--there is a stake worth millions such as i am, and while i can stand at all, i must stand by the cause. when i say this, i am at the same time aware of the difficulties and dissensions and defects of the greeks themselves; but allowance must be made for them by all reasonable people. "my chief, indeed _nine tenths_ of my expenses here are solely in advances to or on behalf of the greeks[ ], and objects connected with their independence." [footnote : "at this time (february th)," says mr. parry, who kept the accounts of his lordship's disbursements, "the expenses of lord byron in the cause of the greeks did not amount to less than two thousand dollars per week in rations alone." in another place this writer says, "the greeks seemed to think he was a mine from which they could extract gold at their pleasure. one person represented that a supply of , dollars would save the island of candia from falling into the hands of the pacha of egypt; and there not being that sum in hand, lord byron gave him authority to raise it if he could in the islands, and he would guarantee its repayment. i believe this person did not succeed."] the letter of parruca, to which the foregoing alludes, contained a pressing invitation to lord byron to present himself in the peloponnesus, where, it was added, his influence would be sure to bring about the union of all parties. so general, indeed, was the confidence placed in their noble ally, that, by every chief of every faction, he seems to have been regarded as the only rallying point round which there was the slightest chance of their now split and jarring interests being united. a far more flattering, as well as more authorised, invitation soon after reached him, through an express envoy, from the chieftain, colocotroni, recommending a national council, where his lordship, it was proposed, should act as mediator, and pledging this chief himself and his followers to abide by the result. to this application an answer was returned similar to that which he sent to parruca, and which was in terms as follows:-- letter . to sr. parruca. "march . . "sir, "i have the honour of answering your letter. my first wish has always been to bring the greeks to agree amongst themselves. i came here by the invitation of the greek government, and i do not think that i ought to abandon roumelia for the peloponnesus until that government shall desire it; and the more so, as this part is exposed in a greater degree to the enemy. nevertheless, if my presence can really be of any assistance in uniting two or more parties, i am ready to go any where, either as a mediator, or, if necessary, as a hostage. in these affairs i have neither private views, nor private dislike of any individual, but the sincere wish of deserving the name of the friend of your country, and of her patriots. i have the honour," &c. letter . to mr. charles hancock. "missolonghi, march . . "sir, "i sent by mr. j.m. hodges a bill drawn on signer c. jerostatti for three hundred and eighty-six pounds, on account of the hon. the greek committee, for carrying on the service at this place. but count delladecima sent no more than two hundred dollars until he should receive instructions from c. jerostatti. therefore i am obliged to advance that sum to prevent a positive stop being put to the laboratory service at this place, &c. &c. "i beg you will mention this business to count delladecima, who has the draft and every account, and that mr. barff, in conjunction with yourself, will endeavour to arrange this money account, and, when received, forward the same to missolonghi. "i am, sir, yours very truly. "so far is written by captain parry; but i see that i must continue the letter myself. i understand little or nothing of the business, saving and except that, like most of the present affairs here, it will be at a stand-still if monies be not advanced, and there are few here so disposed; so that i must take the chance, as usual. "you will see what can be done with delladecima and jerostatti, and remit the sum, that we may have some quiet; for the committee have somehow embroiled their matters, or chosen greek correspondents more grecian than ever the greeks are wont to be. "yours ever, nl. bn. "p.s. a thousand thanks to muir for his cauliflower, the finest i ever saw or tasted, and, i believe, the largest that ever grew out of paradise, or scotland. i have written to quiet dr. kennedy about the newspaper (with which i have nothing to do as a writer, please to recollect and say). i told the fools of conductors that their motto would play the devil; but, like all mountebanks, they persisted. gamba, who is any thing but _lucky_, had something to do with it; and, as usual, the moment he had, matters went wrong. [ ] it will be better, perhaps, in time. but i write in haste, and have only time to say, before the boat sails, that i am ever "yours, n. bn. [footnote : he had a notion that count gamba was destined to be unfortunate,--that he was one of those ill-starred persons with whom every thing goes wrong. in speaking of this newspaper to parry, he said, "i have subscribed to it to get rid of importunity, and, it may be, keep gamba out of mischief. at any rate, he can mar nothing that is of less importance."] "p.s. mr. findlay is here, and has received his money." letter . to dr. kennedy. "missolonghi, march . . "dear sir, "you could not disapprove of the motto to the telegraph more than i did, and do; but this is the land of liberty, where most people do as they please, and few as they ought. "i have not written, nor am inclined to write, for that or for any other paper, but have suggested to them, over and over, a change of the motto and style. however, i do not think that it will turn out either an irreligious or a levelling publication, and they promise due respect to both churches and things, _i.e._ the editors do. "if bambas would write for the greek chronicle, he might have his own price for articles. "there is a slight demur about hato's voyage, her mother wishing to go with her, which is quite natural, and i have not the heart to refuse it; for even mahomet made a law, that in the division of captives, the child should never be separated from the mother. but this may make a difference in the arrangement, although the poor woman (who has lost half her family in the war) is, as i said, of good character, and of mature age, so as to render her respectability not liable to suspicion. she has heard, it seems, from prevesa, that her husband is no longer there. i have consigned your bibles to dr. meyer; and i hope that the said doctor may justify your confidence; nevertheless, i shall keep an eye upon him. you may depend upon my giving the society as fair play as mr. wilberforce himself would; and any other commission for the good of greece will meet with the same attention on my part. "i am trying, with some hope of eventual success, to re-unite the greeks, especially as the turks are expected in force, and that shortly. we must meet them as we may, and fight it out as we can. "i rejoice to hear that your school prospers, and i assure you that your good wishes are reciprocal. the weather is so much finer, that i get a good deal of moderate exercise in boats and on horseback, and am willing to hope that my health is not worse than when you kindly wrote to me. dr. bruno can tell you that i adhere to your regimen, and more, for i do not eat any meat, even fish. "believe me ever, &c. "p.s. the mechanics (six in number) were all pretty much of the same mind. brownbill was but _one_. perhaps they are less to blame than is imagined, since colonel stanhope is said to have told them, '_that he could not positively say their lives were safe.' _ i should like to know _where_ our life _is_ safe, either here or any where else? with regard to a place of safety, at least such hermetically sealed safety as these persons appeared to desiderate, it is not to be found in greece, at any rate; but missolonghi was supposed to be the place where they would be useful, and their risk was no greater than that of others." letter . to colonel stanhope. "missolonghi, march . . "my dear stanhope, "prince mavrocordato and myself will go to salona to meet ulysses, and you may be very sure that p.m. will accept any proposition for the advantage of greece. parry is to answer for himself on his own articles[ ]: if i were to interfere with him, it would only stop the whole progress of his exertion; and he is really doing all that can be done without more aid from the government. [footnote : colonel stanhope had, at the instance of the chief odysseus, written to request that some stores from the laboratory at missolonghi might be sent to athens. neither prince mavrocordato, however, nor lord byron considered it prudent, at this time, to weaken their means for defending missolonghi, and accordingly sent back by the messenger but a few barrels of powder.] "what can be spared will be sent; but i refer you to captain humphries's report, and to count gamba's letter for details upon all subjects. "in the hope of seeing you soon, and deferring much that will be to be said till then, "believe me ever, &c. "p.s. your two letters (to me) are sent to mr. barff, as you desire. pray remember me particularly to trelawney, whom i shall be very much pleased to see again." letter . to mr. barff. "march . "as count mercati is under some apprehensions of a _direct_ answer to _him_ personally on greek affairs, i reply (as you authorised me) to you, who will have the goodness to communicate to him the enclosed. it is the joint answer of prince mavrocordato and of myself, to signor georgio sisseni's propositions. you may also add, both to him and to parruca, that i am perfectly sincere in desiring the most amicable termination of their internal dissensions, and that i believe p. mavrocordato to be so also; otherwise i would not act with him, or any other, whether native or foreigner. "if lord guilford is at zante, or, if he is not, if signor tricupi is there, you would oblige me by presenting my respects to one or both, and by telling them, that from the very first i foretold to col. stanhope and to p. mavrocordato that a greek newspaper (or indeed any other) in _the present state_ of greece might and probably _would_ tend to much mischief and misconstruction, unless under some restrictions, nor have i ever had any thing to do with either, as a writer or otherwise, except as a pecuniary contributor to their support in the outset, which i could not refuse to the earnest request of the projectors. col. stanhope and myself had considerable differences of opinion on this subject, and (what will appear laughable enough) to such a degree, that he charged me with _despotic_ principles, and i _him_ with ultra radicalism. "dr. ----, the editor, with his unrestrained freedom of the press, and who has the freedom to exercise an unlimited discretion,--not allowing any article but his own and those like them to appear,--and in declaiming against restrictions, cuts, carves, and restricts (as they tell me) at his own will and pleasure. he is the author of an article against monarchy, of which he may have the advantage and fame--but they (the editors) will get themselves into a scrape, if they do not take care. "of all petty tyrants, he is one of the pettiest, as are most demagogues, that ever i knew. he is a swiss by birth, and a greek by assumption, having married a wife and changed his religion. "i shall be very glad, and am extremely anxious for some favourable result to the recent pacific overtures of the contending parties in the peloponnese." letter . to mr. barff. "march . "if the greek deputies (as seems probable) have obtained the loan, the sums i have advanced may perhaps be repaid; but it would make no great difference, as i should still spend that in the cause, and more to boot--though i should hope to better purpose than paying off arrears of fleets that sail away, and suliotes that won't march, which, they say, what has hitherto been advanced has been employed in. but that was not my affair, but of those who had the disposal of affairs, and i could not decently say to them, 'you shall do so and so, because, &c. &c. &c.' "in a few days p. mavrocordato and myself, with a considerable escort, intend to proceed to salona at the request of ulysses and the chiefs of eastern greece, and take measures offensive and defensive for the ensuing campaign. mavrocordato is _almost _ recalled by the _new_ government to the morea, (to take the lead, i rather think,) and they have written to propose to me to go either to the morea with him, or to take the general direction of affairs in this quarter--with general londo, and any other i may choose, to form a council. a. londo is my old friend and acquaintance since we were lads in greece together. it would be difficult to give a positive answer till the salona meeting is over[ ]; but i am willing to serve them in any capacity they please, either commanding or commanded--it is much the same to me, as long as i can be of any presumed use to them. [footnote : to this offer of the government to appoint him governor-general of greece, (that is, of the enfranchised part of the continent, with the exception of the morea and the islands,) his answer was, that "he was first going to salona, and that afterwards he would be at their commands; that he could have no difficulty in accepting any office, provided he could persuade himself that any good would result from it."] "excuse haste; it is late, and i have been several hours on horseback in a country so miry after the rains, that every hundred yards brings you to a ditch, of whose depth, width, colour, and contents, both my horses and their riders have brought away many tokens." letter . to me. barff. "march . "since your intelligence with regard to the greek loan, p. mavrocordato has shown to me an extract from some correspondence of his, by which it would appear that three commissioners are to be named to see that the amount is placed in proper hands for the service of the country, and that my name is amongst the number. of this, however, we have as yet only the report. "this commission is apparently named by the committee or the contracting parties in england. i am of opinion that such a commission will be necessary, but the office will be both delicate and difficult. the weather, which has lately been equinoctial, has flooded the country, and will probably retard our proceeding to salona for some days, till the road becomes more practicable. "you were already apprised that p. mavrocordato and myself had been invited to a conference by ulysses and the chiefs of eastern greece. i hear (and am indeed consulted on the subject) that in case the remittance of the first advance of the loan should not arrive immediately, the greek general government mean to try to raise some thousand dollars in the islands in the interim, to be repaid from the earliest instalments on their arrival. what prospect of success they may have, or on what conditions, you can tell better than me: i suppose, if the loan be confirmed, something might be done by them, but subject of course to the usual terms. you can let them and me know your opinion. there is an imperious necessity for some national fund, and that speedily, otherwise what is to be done? the auxiliary corps of about two hundred men, paid by me, are, i believe, the sole regularly and properly furnished with the money, due to them weekly, and the officers monthly. it is true that the greek government give their rations; but we have had three mutinies, owing to the badness of the bread, which neither native nor stranger could masticate (nor dogs either), and there is still great difficulty in obtaining them even provisions of any kind. "there is a dissension among the germans about the conduct of the agents of _their_ committee, and an examination amongst themselves instituted. what the result may be cannot be anticipated, except that it will end in _a row_, of course, as usual. "the english are all very amicable as far as i know; we get on too with the greeks very tolerably, always making allowance for circumstances; and we have no quarrels with the foreigners." during the month of march there occurred but little, besides what is mentioned in these letters, that requires to be dwelt upon at any length, or in detail. after the failure of his design against lepanto, the two great objects of his daily thoughts were, the repairs of the fortifications of missolonghi [ ], and the formation of a brigade;--the one, with a view to such defensive measures as were alone likely to be called for during the present campaign; and the other in preparation for those more active enterprises, which he still fondly flattered himself he should undertake in the next. "he looked forward (says mr. parry) for the recovery of his health and spirits, to the return of the fine weather, and the commencement of the campaign, when he proposed to take the field at the head of his own brigade, and the troops which the government of greece were to place under his orders." [footnote : the generous zeal with which he applied himself to this important object will be understood from the following statement:--"on reporting to lord byron what i thought might be done, he ordered me to draw up a plan for putting the fortifications in thorough repair, and to accompany it with an estimate of the expense. it was agreed that i should make the estimate only one third of what i thought would be the actual expense; and if that third could be procured from the magistrates, lord byron undertook secretly to pay the remainder."] with that thanklessness which too often waits on disinterested actions, it has been sometimes tauntingly remarked, and in quarters from whence a more generous judgment might be expected [ ], that, after all, lord byron effected but little for greece:--as if much _could_ be effected by a single individual, and in so short a time, for a cause which, fought as it has been almost incessantly through the six years since his death, has required nothing less than the intervention of all the great powers of europe to give it a chance of success, and, even so, has not yet succeeded. that byron himself was under no delusion as to the importance of his own solitary aid,--that he knew, in a struggle like this, there must be the same prodigality of means towards one great end as is observable in the still grander operations of nature, where individuals are as nothing in the tide of events,--that such was his, at once, philosophic and melancholy view of his own sacrifices, i have, i trust, clearly shown. but that, during this short period of action, he did not do well and wisely all that man could achieve in the time, and under the circumstances, is an assertion which the noble facts here recorded fully and triumphantly disprove. he knew that, placed as he was, his measures, to be wise, must be prospective, and from the nature of the seeds thus sown by him, the benefits that were to be expected must be judged. to reconcile the rude chiefs to the government and to each other;--to infuse a spirit of humanity, by his example, into their warfare;--to prepare the way for the employment of the expected loan, in a manner most calculated to call forth the resources of the country;--to put the fortifications of missolonghi in such a state of repair as might, and eventually _did_, render it proof against the besieger;--to prevent those infractions of neutrality, so tempting to the greeks, which brought their government in collision with the ionian authorities[ ], and to restrain all such license of the press as might indispose the courts of europe to their cause:--such were the important objects which he had proposed to himself to accomplish, and towards which, in this brief interval, and in the midst of such dissensions and hinderances, he had already made considerable and most promising progress. but it would be unjust to close even here the bright catalogue of his services. it is, after all, _not_ with the span of mortal life that the good achieved by a name immortal ends. the charm acts into the future,--it is an auxiliary through all time; and the inspiring example of byron, as a martyr of liberty, is for ever freshly embalmed in his glory as a poet. from the period of his attack in february he had been, from time to time, indisposed; and, more than once, had complained of vertigos, which made him feel, he said, as if intoxicated. he was also frequently affected with nervous sensations, with shiverings and tremors, which, though apparently the effects of excessive debility, he himself attributed to fulness of habit. proceeding upon this notion, he had, ever since his arrival in greece, abstained almost wholly from animal food, and ate of little else but dry toast, vegetables, and cheese. with the same fear of becoming fat, which had in his young days haunted him, he almost every morning measured himself round the wrist and waist, and whenever he found these parts, as he thought, enlarged, took a strong dose of medicine. [footnote : articles in the times newspaper, foreign quarterly review, &c.] [footnote : in a letter which he addressed to lord sidney osborne, enclosing one, on the subject of these infractions, from prince mavrocordato to sir t. maitland, lord byron says,--"you must all be persuaded how difficult it is, under existing circumstances, for the greeks to keep up discipline, however they may be all disposed to do so, i am doing all i can to convince them of the necessity of the strictest observance of the regulations of the islands, and, i trust, with some effect"] exertions had, as we have seen, been made by his friends at cephalonia, to induce him, without delay, to return to that island, and take measures, while there was yet time, for the re-establishment of his health. "but these entreaties (says count gamba) produced just the contrary effect; for in proportion as byron thought his position more perilous, he the more resolved upon remaining where he was." in the midst of all this, too, the natural flow of his spirits in society seldom deserted him; and whenever a trick upon any of his attendants, or associates, suggested itself, he was as ready to play the mischief-loving boy as ever. his engineer, parry, having been much alarmed by the earthquake they had experienced, and still continuing in constant apprehension of its return, lord byron contrived, as they were all sitting together one evening, to have some barrels full of cannon-balls trundled through the room above them; and laughed heartily, as he would have done when a harrow boy, at the ludicrous effect which this deception produced on the poor frightened engineer. every day, however, brought new trials both to his health and temper. the constant rains had rendered the swamps of missolonghi almost impassable;--an alarm of plague, which, about the middle of march, was circulated, made it prudent, for some time, to keep within doors; and he was thus, week after week, deprived of his accustomed air and exercise. the only recreation he had recourse to was that of playing with his favourite dog, lion; and, in the evening, going through the exercise of drilling with his officers, or practising at single-stick. at the same time, the demands upon his exertions, personal and pecuniary, poured in from all sides, while the embarrassments of his public position every day increased. the chief obstacle in the way of his plan for the reconciliation of all parties had been the rivalry so long existing between mavrocordato and the eastern chiefs; and this difficulty was now not a little heightened by the part taken by colonel stanhope and mr. trelawney, who, having allied themselves with odysseus, the most powerful of these chieftains, were endeavouring actively to detach lord byron from mavrocordato, and enlist him in their own views. this schism was,--to say the least of it,--ill-timed and unfortunate. for, as prince mavrocordato and lord byron were now acting in complete harmony with the government, a co-operation of all the other english agents on the same side would have had the effect of assuring a preponderance to this party (which was that of the civil and commercial interests all through greece), that might, by strengthening the hands of the ruling power, have afforded some hope of vigour and consistency in its movements. by this division, however, the english lost their casting weight; and not only marred whatever little chance they might have had of extinguishing the dissensions of the greeks, but exhibited, most unseasonably, an example of dissension among themselves. the visit to salona, in which, though distrustful of the intended military congress, mavrocordato had consented to accompany lord byron, was, as the foregoing letters have mentioned, delayed by the floods,--the river fidari having become so swollen as not to be fordable. in the mean time, dangers, both from within and without, threatened missolonghi. the turkish fleet had again come forth from the gulf, while, in concert, it was apprehended, with this resumption of the blockade, insurrectionary movements, instigated, as was afterwards known, by the malcontents of the morea, manifested themselves formidably both in the town and its neighbourhood. the first cause for alarm was the landing, in canoes, from anatolico, of a party of armed men, the followers of cariascachi of that place, who came to demand retribution from the people of missolonghi for some injury that, in a late affray, had been inflicted on one of their clan. it was also rumoured that suliotes were marching upon the town; and the following morning, news came that a party of these wild warriors had actually seized upon basiladi, a fortress that commands the port of missolonghi, while some of the soldiers of cariascachi had, in the course of the night, arrested two of the primates, and carried them to anatolico. the tumult and indignation that this intelligence produced was universal. all the shops were shut, and the bazaars deserted. "lord byron," says count gamba, "ordered his troops to continue under arms; but to preserve the strictest neutrality, without mixing in any quarrel, either by actions or words." during this crisis, the weather had become sufficiently favourable to admit of his paying the visit to salona, which he had purposed. but, as his departure at such a juncture might have the appearance of abandoning missolonghi, he resolved to wait the danger out. at this time the following letters were written. letter . to mr. barff. "april . "there is a quarrel, not yet settled, between the citizens and some of cariascachi's people, which has already produced some blows. i keep my people quite neutral; but have ordered them to be on their guard. "some days ago we had an italian private soldier drummed out for thieving. the german officers wanted to flog him; but i flatly refused to permit the use of the stick or whip, and delivered him over to the police.[ ] since then a prussian officer rioted in his lodgings; and i put him under arrest, according to the order. this, it appears, did not please his german confederation: but i stuck by my text; and have given them plainly to understand, that those who do not choose to be amenable to the laws of the country and service, may retire; but that in all that i have to do, i will see them obeyed by foreigner or native. [footnote : "lord byron declared that, as far as he was concerned, no barbarous usages, however adopted even by some civilised people, should be introduced into greece; especially as such a mode of punishment would disgust rather than reform. we hit upon an expedient which favoured our military discipline: but it required not only all lord byron's eloquence, but his authority, to prevail upon our germans to accede to it. the culprit had his uniform stripped off his back, in presence of his comrades, and was afterwards marched through the town with a label on his back, describing, both in greek and italian, the nature of his offence; after which he was given up to the regular police. this example of severity, tempered by a humane spirit, produced the best effect upon our soldiers, as well as upon the citizens of the town. but it was very near causing a most disagreeable circumstance; for, in the course of the evening, some very high words passed on the subject between three englishmen, two of them officers of our brigade, in consequence of which cards were exchanged, and two duels were to have been fought the next morning. lord byron did not hear of this till late at night: but he immediately ordered me to arrest both parties, which i according did; and, after some difficulty, prevailed on them to shake hands."--count gamba's _narrative_.] "i wish something was heard of the arrival of part of the loan, for there is a plentiful dearth of every thing at present." letter . to mr. barff. "april . "since i wrote, we have had some tumult here with the citizens and cariascachi's people, and all are under arms, our boys and all. they nearly fired on me and fifty of my lads[ ], by mistake, as we were taking our usual excursion into the country. to-day matters are settled or subsiding; but, about an hour ago, the father-in-law of the landlord of the house where i am lodged (one of the primates the said landlord is) was arrested for high treason. [footnote : a corps of fifty suliotes which he had, almost ever since his arrival at missolonghi, kept about him as a body-guard. a large outer room of his house was appropriated to these troops; and their carbines were suspended along the walls. "in this room (says mr. parry), and among these rude soldiers, lord byron was accustomed to walk a great deal, particularly in wet weather, accompanied by his favourite dog, lion." when he rode out, these fifty suliotes attended him on foot; and though they carried their carbines, "they were always," says the same authority, "able to keep up with the horses at full speed. the captain, and a certain number, preceded his lordship, who rode accompanied on one side by count gamba, and on the other by the greek interpreter. behind him, also on horseback, came two of his servants,--generally his black groom, and tita,--both dressed like the chasseurs usually seen behind the carriages of ambassadors, and another division of his guard closed the cavalcade."--parry's _last days of lord byron_.] "they are in conclave still with mavrocordato; and we have a number of new faces from the hills, come to assist, they say. gun-boats and batteries all ready, &c. "the row has had one good effect--it has put them on the alert. what is to become of the father-in-law, i do not know: nor what he has done, exactly[ ]: but "''tis a very fine thing to be father-in-law to a very magnificent three-tail'd bashaw,' as the man in bluebeard says and sings. i wrote to you upon matters at length, some days ago; the letter, or letters, you will receive with this. we are desirous to hear more of the loan; and it is some time since i have had any letters (at least of an interesting description) from england, excepting one of th february, from bowring (of no great importance). my latest dates are of bre, or of the th bre, four months exactly. i hope you get on well in the islands: here most of us are, or have been, more or less indisposed, natives as well as foreigners." [footnote : this man had, it seems, on his way from ioannina, passed by anatolico, and held several conferences with cariascachi. he had long been suspected of being a spy; and the letters found upon him confirmed the suspicion.] letter . to mr. barff. "april . "the greeks here of the government have been boring me for more money.[ ] as i have the brigade to maintain, and the campaign is apparently now to open, and as i have already spent , dollars in three months upon them in one way or another, and more especially as their public loan has succeeded, so that they ought not to draw from individuals at that rate, i have given them a refusal, and--as they would not take _that,--another_ refusal in terms of considerable sincerity. [footnote : in consequence of the mutinous proceedings of cariascachi's people, most of the neighbouring chieftains hastened to the assistance of the government, and had already with this view marched to anatolico near men. but, however opportune the arrival of such a force, they were a cause of fresh embarrassment, as there was a total want of provisions for their daily maintenance. it was in this emergency that the governor, primates, and chieftains had recourse, as here stated, to their usual source of supply.] "they wish now to try in the islands for a few thousand dollars on the ensuing loan. if you can serve them, perhaps you will, (in the way of information, at any rate,) and i will see that you have fair play; but still i do not _advise_ you, except to act as you please. almost every thing depends upon the arrival, and the speedy arrival, of a portion of the loan to keep peace among themselves. if they can but have sense to do this, i think that they will be a match and better for any force that can be brought against them for the present. we are all doing as well as we can." it will be perceived from these letters, that besides the great and general interests of the cause, which were in themselves sufficient to absorb all his thoughts, he was also met on every side, in the details of his duty, by every possible variety of obstruction and distraction that rapacity, turbulence, and treachery could throw in his way. such vexations, too, as would have been trying to the most robust health, here fell upon a frame already marked out for death; nor can we help feeling, while we contemplate this last scene of his life, that, much as there is in it to admire, to wonder at, and glory in, there is also much that awakens sad and most distressful thoughts. in a situation more than any other calling for sympathy and care, we see him cast among strangers and mercenaries, without either nurse or friend;--the self-collectedness of woman being, as we shall find, wanting for the former office, and the youth and inexperience of count gamba unfitting him wholly for the other. the very firmness with which a position so lone and disheartening was sustained, serves, by interesting us more deeply in the man, to increase our sympathy, till we almost forget admiration in pity, and half regret that he should have been great at such a cost. the only circumstances that had for some time occurred to give him pleasure were, as regarded public affairs, the news of the successful progress of the loan, and, in his personal relations, some favourable intelligence which he had received, after a long interruption of communication, respecting his sister and daughter. the former, he learned, had been seriously indisposed at the very time of his own fit, but had now entirely recovered. while delighted at this news, he could not help, at the same time, remarking, with his usual tendency to such superstitious feelings, how strange and striking was the coincidence. to those who have, from his childhood, traced him through these pages, it must be manifest, i think, that lord byron was not formed to be long-lived. whether from any hereditary defect in his organisation,--as he himself, from the circumstance of both his parents having died young, concluded,--or from those violent means he so early took to counteract the natural tendency of his habit, and reduce himself to thinness, he was, almost every year, as we have seen, subject to attacks of indisposition, by more than one of which his life was seriously endangered. the capricious course which he at all times pursued respecting diet,--his long fastings, his expedients for the allayment of hunger, his occasional excesses in the most unwholesome food, and, during the latter part of his residence in italy, his indulgence in the use of spirituous beverages,--all this could not be otherwise than hurtful and undermining to his health; while his constant recourse to medicine,--daily, as it appears, and in large quantities,--both evinced and, no doubt, increased the derangement of his digestion. when to all this we add the wasteful wear of spirits and strength from the slow corrosion of sensibility, the warfare of the passions, and the workings of a mind that allowed itself no sabbath, it is not to be wondered at that the vital principle in him should so soon have burnt out, or that, at the age of thirty-three, he should have had--as he himself drearily expresses it--"an old feel." to feed the flame, the all-absorbing flame, of his genius, the whole powers of his nature, physical as well as moral, were sacrificed;--to present that grand and costly conflagration to the world's eyes, in which, "glittering, like a palace set on fire, his glory, while it shone, but ruin'd him!"[ ] [footnote : beaumont and fletcher.] it was on the very day when, as i have mentioned, the intelligence of his sister's recovery reached him, that, having been for the last three or four days prevented from taking exercise by the rains, he resolved, though the weather still looked threatening, to venture out on horseback. three miles from missolonghi count gamba and himself were overtaken by a heavy shower, and returned to the town walls wet through and in a state of violent perspiration. it had been their usual practice to dismount at the walls and return to their house in a boat, but, on this day, count gamba, representing to lord byron how dangerous it would be, warm as he then was, to sit exposed so long to the rain in a boat, entreated of him to go back the whole way on horseback. to this however, lord byron would not consent; but said, laughingly, "i should make a pretty soldier indeed, if i were to care for such a trifle." they accordingly dismounted and got into the boat as usual. about two hours after his return home he was seized with a shuddering, and complained of fever and rheumatic pains. "at eight that evening," says count gamba, "i entered his room. he was lying on a sofa restless and melancholy. he said to me, 'i suffer a great deal of pain. i do not care for death, but these agonies i cannot bear.'" the following day he rose at his accustomed hour,--transacted business, and was even able to take his ride in the olive woods, accompanied, as usual, by his long train of suliotes. he complained, however, of perpetual shudderings, and had no appetite. on his return home he remarked to fletcher that his saddle, he thought, had not been perfectly dried since yesterday's wetting, and that he felt himself the worse for it. this was the last time he ever crossed the threshold alive. in the evening mr. finlay and mr. millingen called upon him. "he was at first (says the latter gentleman) gayer than usual; but on a sudden became pensive." on the evening of the th his fever, which was pronounced to be rheumatic, increased; and on the th he kept his bed all day, complaining that he could not sleep, and taking no nourishment whatever. the two following days, though the fever had apparently diminished, he became still more weak, and suffered much from pains in the head. it was not till the th that his physician, dr. bruno, finding the sudorifics which he had hitherto employed to be unavailing, began to urge upon his patient the necessity of being bled. of this, however, lord byron would not hear. he had evidently but little reliance on his medical attendant; and from the specimens this young man has since given of his intellect to the world, it is, indeed, lamentable,--supposing skill to have been, at this moment, of any avail,--that a life so precious should have been intrusted to such ordinary hands. "it was on this day, i think," says count gamba, "that, as i was sitting near him, on his sofa, he said to me, 'i was afraid i was losing my memory, and, in order to try, i attempted to repeat some latin verses with the english translation, which i have not endeavoured to recollect since i was at school. i remembered them all except the last word of one of the hexameters.'" to the faithful fletcher, the idea of his master's life being in danger seems to have occurred some days before it struck either count gamba or the physician. so little, according to his friend's narrative, had such a suspicion crossed lord byron's own mind, that he even expressed himself "rather glad of his fever, as it might cure him of his tendency to epilepsy." to fletcher, however, it appears, he had professed, more than once, strong doubts as to the nature of his complaint being so slight as the physician seemed to suppose it, and on his servant renewing his entreaties that he would send for dr. thomas to zante, made no further opposition; though still, out of consideration for those gentlemen, he referred him on the subject to dr. bruno and mr. millingen. whatever might have been the advantage or satisfaction of this step, it was now rendered wholly impossible by the weather,--such a hurricane blowing into the port that not a ship could get out. the rain, too, descended in torrents, and between the floods on the land-side and the sirocco from the sea, missolonghi was, for the moment, a pestilential prison. it was at this juncture that mr. millingen was, for the first time, according to his own account, invited to attend lord byron in his medical capacity,--his visit on the th being so little, as he states, professional, that he did not even, on that occasion, feel his lordship's pulse. the great object for which he was now called in, and rather, it would seem, by fletcher than dr. bruno, was for the purpose of joining his representations and remonstrances to theirs, and prevailing upon the patient to suffer himself to be bled,--an operation now become absolutely necessary from the increase of the fever, and which dr. bruno had, for the last two days, urged in vain. holding gentleness to be, with a disposition like that of byron, the most effectual means of success, mr. millingen tried, as he himself tells us, all that reasoning and persuasion could suggest towards attaining his object. but his efforts were fruitless:--lord byron, who had now become morbidly irritable, replied angrily, but still with all his accustomed acuteness and spirit, to the physician's observations. of all his prejudices, he declared, the strongest was that against bleeding. his mother had obtained from him a promise never to consent to being bled; and whatever argument might be produced, his aversion, he said, was stronger than reason. "besides, is it not," he asked, "asserted by dr. reid, in his essays, that less slaughter is effected by the lance than the lancet:--that minute instrument of mighty mischief!" on mr. millingen observing that this remark related to the treatment of nervous, but not of inflammatory complaints, he rejoined, in an angry tone, "who is nervous, if i am not? and do not those other words of his, too, apply to my case, where he says that drawing blood from a nervous patient is like loosening the chords of a musical instrument, whose tones already fail for want of sufficient tension? even before this illness, you yourself know how weak and irritable i had become;--and bleeding, by increasing this state, will inevitably kill me. do with me whatever else you like, but bleed me you shall not. i have had several inflammatory fevers in my life, and at an age when more robust and plethoric: yet i got through them without bleeding. this time, also, will i take my chance."[ ] [footnote : it was during the same, or some similar conversation, that dr. bruno also reports him to have said, "if my hour is come, i shall die, whether i lose my blood or keep it."] after much reasoning and repeated entreaties, mr. millingen at length succeeded in obtaining from him a promise, that should he feel his fever increase at night, he would allow dr. bruno to bleed him. during this day he had transacted business and received several letters; particularly one that much pleased him from the turkish governor, to whom he had sent the rescued prisoners, and who, in this communication, thanked him for his humane interference, and requested a repetition of it. in the evening he conversed a good deal with parry, who remained some hours by his bedside. "he sat up in his bed (says this officer), and was then calm and collected. he talked with me on a variety of subjects connected with himself and his family; he spoke of his intentions as to greece, his plans for the campaign, and what he should ultimately do for that country. he spoke to me about my own adventures. he spoke of death also with great composure; and though he did not believe his end was so very near, there was something about him so serious and so firm, so resigned and composed, so different from any thing i had ever before seen in him, that my mind misgave me, and at times foreboded his speedy dissolution." on revisiting his patient early next morning, mr. millingen learned from him, that having passed, as he thought, on the whole, a better night, he had not considered it necessary to ask dr. bruno to bleed him. what followed, i shall, in justice to mr. millingen, give in his own words.[ ] "i thought it my duty now to put aside all consideration of his feelings, and to declare solemnly to him, how deeply i lamented to see him trifle thus with his life, and show so little resolution. his pertinacious refusal had already, i said, caused most precious time to be lost;--but few hours of hope now remained, and, unless he submitted immediately to be bled, we could not answer for the consequences. it was true, he cared not for life; but who could assure him that, unless he changed his resolution, the uncontrolled disease might not operate such disorganisation in his system as utterly and for ever to deprive him of reason?--i had now hit at last on the sensible chord; and, partly annoyed by our importunities, partly persuaded, he cast at us both the fiercest glance of vexation, and throwing out his arm, said, in the angriest tone, 'there,--you are, i see, a d--d set of butchers,--take away as much blood as you like, but have done with it.' [footnote : ms.--this gentleman is, i understand, about to publish the narrative from which the above extract is taken.] "we seized the moment (adds mr. millingen), and drew about twenty ounces. on coagulating, the blood presented a strong buffy coat; yet the relief obtained did not correspond to the hopes we had formed, and during the night the fever became stronger than it had been hitherto. the restlessness and agitation increased, and the patient spoke several times in an incoherent manner." on the following morning, the th, the bleeding was repeated; for, although the rheumatic symptoms had been completely removed, the appearances of inflammation on the brain were now hourly increasing. count gamba, who had not for the last two days seen him, being confined to his own apartment by a sprained ankle, now contrived to reach his room. "his countenance," says this gentleman, "at once awakened in me the most dreadful suspicions. he was very calm; he talked to me in the kindest manner about my accident, but in a hollow, sepulchral tone. 'take care of your foot,' said he; 'i know by experience how painful it must be.' i could not stay near his bed: a flood of tears rushed into my eyes, and i was obliged to withdraw." neither count gamba, indeed, nor fletcher, appear to have been sufficiently masters of themselves to do much else than weep during the remainder of this afflicting scene. in addition to the bleeding, which was repeated twice on the th, it was thought right also to apply blisters to the soles of his feet. "when on the point of putting them on," says mr. millingen, "lord byron asked me whether it would answer the purpose to apply both on the same leg. guessing immediately the motive that led him to ask this question, i told him that i would place them above the knees. 'do so,' he replied." it is painful to dwell on such details,--but we are now approaching the close. in addition to most of those sad varieties of wretchedness which surround alike the grandest and humblest deathbeds, there was also in the scene now passing around the dying byron such a degree of confusion and uncomfort as renders it doubly dreary to contemplate. there having been no person invested, since his illness, with authority over the household, neither order nor quiet was maintained in his apartment. most of the comforts necessary in such an illness were wanting; and those around him, either unprepared for the danger, were, like bruno, when it came, bewildered by it; or, like the kind-hearted fletcher and count gamba, were by their feelings rendered no less helpless. "in all the attendants," says parry, "there was the officiousness of zeal; but, owing to their ignorance of each other's language, their zeal only added to the confusion. this circumstance, and the want of common necessaries, made lord byron's apartment such a picture of distress and even anguish during the two or three last days of his life, as i never before beheld, and wish never again to witness." the th being easter day,--a holiday which the greeks celebrate by firing off muskets and artillery,--it was apprehended that this noise might be injurious to lord byron; and, as a means of attracting away the crowd from the neighbourhood, the artillery brigade were marched out by parry, to exercise their guns at some distance from the town; while, at the same time, the town-guard patrolled the streets, and informing the people of the danger of their benefactor, entreated them to preserve all possible quiet. about three o'clock in the afternoon, lord byron rose and went into the adjoining room. he was able to walk across the chamber, leaning on his servant tita; and, when seated, asked for a book, which the servant brought him. after reading, however, for a few minutes, he found himself faint; and, again taking tita's arm, tottered into the next room, and returned to bed. at this time the physicians, becoming still more alarmed, expressed a wish for a consultation; and proposed calling in, without delay, dr. freiber, the medical assistant of mr. millingen, and luca vaya, a greek, the physician of mavrocordato. on hea[r]ing this, lord byron at first refused to see them; but being informed that mavrocordato advised it, he said,--"very well, let them come; but let them look at me and say nothing." this they promised, and were admitted; but when one of them, on feeling his pulse, showed a wish to speak--"recollect," he said, "your promise, and go away." it was after this consultation of the physicians[ ], that, as it appeared to count gamba, lord byron was, for the first time, aware of his approaching end. mr. millingen, fletcher, and tita had been standing round his bed; but the two first, unable to restrain their tears, left the room. tita also wept; but, as byron held his hand, could not retire. he, however, turned away his face; while byron, looking at him steadily, said, half smiling, "oh questa è una bella scena!" he then seemed to reflect a moment, and exclaimed, "call parry." almost immediately afterwards, a fit of delirium ensued; and he began to talk wildly, as if he were mounting a breach in an assault,--calling out, half in english, half in italian, "forwards--forwards--courage--follow my example," &c. &c. [footnote : for mr. millingen's account of this consultation, see appendix.] on coming again to himself, he asked fletcher, who had then returned into the room, "whether he had sent for dr. thomas, as he desired?" and the servant answering in the affirmative, he replied, "you have done right, for i should like to know what is the matter with me." he had, a short time before, with that kind consideration for those about him which was one of the great sources of their lasting attachment to him, said to fletcher, "i am afraid you and tita will be ill with sitting up night and day." it was now evident that he knew he was dying; and between his anxiety to make his servant understand his last wishes, and the rapid failure of his powers of utterance, a most painful scene ensued. on fletcher asking whether he should bring pen and paper to take down his words--"oh no," he replied--"there is no time--it is now nearly over. go to my sister--tell her--go to lady byron--you will see her, and say ----" here his voice faltered, and became gradually indistinct; notwithstanding which he continued still to mutter to himself, for nearly twenty minutes, with much earnestness of manner, but in such a tone that only a few words could be distinguished. these, too, were only names,--"augusta,"--"ada,"--"hobhouse,"--"kinnaird." he then said, "now, i have told you all." "my lord," replied fletcher, "i have not understood a word your lordship has been saying."--"not understand me?" exclaimed lord byron, with a look of the utmost distress, "what a pity!--then it is too late; all is over."--"i hope not," answered fletcher; "but the lord's will be done!"--"yes, not mine," said byron. he then tried to utter a few words, of which none were intelligible, except "my sister--my child." the decision adopted at the consultation had been, contrary to the opinion of mr. millingen and dr. freiber, to administer to the patient a strong antispasmodic potion, which, while it produced sleep, but hastened perhaps death. in order to persuade him into taking this draught, mr. parry was sent for[ ], and, without any difficulty, induced him to swallow a few mouthfuls. "when he took my hand," says parry, "i found his hands were deadly cold. with the assistance of tita i endeavoured gently to create a little warmth in them; and also loosened the bandage which was tied round his head. till this was done he seemed in great pain, clenched his hands at times, gnashed his teeth, and uttered the italian exclamation of 'ah christi!' he bore the loosening of the band passively, and, after it was loosened, shed tears; then taking my hand again, uttered a faint good night, and sunk into a slumber." [footnote : from this circumstance, as well as from the terms in which he is mentioned by lord byron, it is plain that this person had, by his blunt, practical good sense, acquired far more influence over his lordship's mind than was possessed by any of the other persons about him.] in about half an hour he again awoke, when a second dose of the strong infusion was administered to him. "from those about him," says count gamba, who was not able to bear this scene himself, "i collected that, either at this time, or in his former interval of reason, he could be understood to say--'poor greece!--poor town!--my poor servants!' also, 'why was i not aware of this sooner?' and 'my hour is come!--i do not care for death--but why did i not go home before i came here?' at another time he said, 'there are things which make the world dear to me _io lascio qualche cosa di caro nel mondo_: for the rest, i am content to die.' he spoke also of greece, saying, 'i have given her my time, my means, my health--and now i give her my life!--what could i do more?'"[ ] [footnote : it is but right to remind the reader, that for the sayings here attributed to lord byron, however natural and probable they may appear, there is not exactly the same authority of credible witnesses by which all the other details i have given of his last hours are supported.] it was about six o'clock on the evening of this day when he said, "now i shall go to sleep;" and then turning round fell into that slumber from which he never awoke. for the next twenty-four hours he lay incapable of either sense or motion,--with the exception of, now and then, slight symptoms of suffocation, during which his servant raised his head,--and at a quarter past six o'clock on the following day, the th, he was seen to open his eyes and immediately shut them again. the physicians felt his pulse--he was no more! to attempt to describe how the intelligence of this sad event struck upon all hearts would be as difficult as it is superfluous. he, whom the whole world was to mourn, had on the tears of greece peculiar claim,--for it was at her feet he now laid down the harvest of such a life of fame. to the people of missolonghi, who first felt the shock that was soon to spread through all europe, the event seemed almost incredible. it was but the other day that he had come among them, radiant with renown,--inspiring faith, by his very name, in those miracles of success that were about to spring forth at the touch of his ever-powerful genius. all this had now vanished like a short dream:--nor can we wonder that the poor greeks, to whom his coming had been such a glory, and who, on the last evening of his life, thronged the streets, enquiring as to his state, should regard the thunder-storm which, at the moment he died, broke over the town, as a signal of his doom, and, in their superstitious grief, cry to each other, "the great man is gone!"[ ] [footnote : parry's "last days of lord byron," p. .] prince mavrocordato, who of all best knew and felt the extent of his country's loss, and who had to mourn doubly the friend of greece and of himself, on the evening of the th issued this melancholy proclamation:-- "provisional government of western greece. "art. . "the present day of festivity and rejoicing has become one of sorrow and of mourning. the lord noel byron departed this life at six o'clock in the afternoon, after an illness of ten days; his death being caused by an inflammatory fever. such was the effect of his lordship's illness on the public mind, that all classes had forgotten their usual recreations of easter, even before the afflicting event was apprehended. "the loss of this illustrious individual is undoubtedly to be deplored by all greece; but it must be more especially a subject of lamentation at missolonghi, where his generosity has been so conspicuously displayed, and of which he had even become a citizen, with the further determination of participating in all the dangers of the war. "every body is acquainted with the beneficent acts of his lordship, and none can cease to hail his name as that of a real benefactor. "until, therefore, the final determination of the national government be known, and by virtue of the powers with which it has been pleased to invest me, i hereby decree,-- " st, to-morrow morning, at daylight, thirty seven minute guns will be fired from the grand battery, being the number which corresponds with the age of the illustrious deceased. " d, all the public offices, even the tribunals, are to remain closed for three successive days. " d, all the shops, except those in which provisions or medicines are sold, will also be shut; and it is strictly enjoined that every species of public amusement, and other demonstrations of festivity at easter, shall be suspended. " th, a general mourning will be observed for twenty-one days. " th, prayers and a funeral service are to be offered up in all the churches. (signed) "a. mavrocordato. "george praidis, secretary. "given at missolonghi, this th day of april, ." similar honours were paid to his memory at many other places through greece. at salona, where the congress had assembled, his soul was prayed for in the church; after which the whole garrison and the citizens went out into the plain, where another religious ceremony took place, under the shade of the olive trees. this being concluded, the troops fired; and an oration, full of the warmest praise and gratitude, was pronounced by the high priest. when such was the veneration shown towards him by strangers, what must have been the feelings of his near associates and attendants? let one speak for all:--"he died (says count gamba) in a strange land, and amongst strangers; but more loved, more sincerely wept he never could have been, wherever he had breathed his last. such was the attachment, mingled with a sort of reverence and enthusiasm, with which he inspired those around him, that there was not one of us who would not, for his sake, have willingly encountered any danger in the world." colonel stanhope, whom the sad intelligence reached at salona, thus writes to the committee:--"a courier has just arrived from the chief scalza. alas! all our fears are realised. the soul of byron has taken its last flight. england has lost her brightest genius, greece her noblest friend. to console them for the loss, he has left behind the emanations of his splendid mind. if byron had faults, he had redeeming virtues too--he sacrificed his comfort, fortune, health, and life, to the cause of an oppressed nation. honoured be his memory!" mr. trelawney, who was on his way to missolonghi at the time, describes as follows the manner in which he first heard of his friend's death:--"with all my anxiety i could not get here before the third day. it was the second, after having crossed the first great torrent, that i met some soldiers from missolonghi. i had let them all pass me, ere i had resolution enough to enquire the news from missolonghi. i then rode back, and demanded of a straggler the news. i heard nothing more than--lord byron is dead,--and i proceeded on in gloomy silence." the writer adds, after detailing the particulars of the poet's illness and death, "your pardon, stanhope, that i have thus turned aside from the great cause in which i am embarked. but this is no private grief. the world has lost its greatest man; i my best friend." among his servants the same feeling of sincere grief prevailed:--"i have in my possession (says mr. hoppner, in the notices with which he has favoured me,) a letter written by his gondolier tita, who had accompanied him from venice, giving an account to his parents of his master's decease. of this event the poor fellow speaks in the most affecting manner, telling them that in lord byron he had lost a father rather than a master; and expatiating upon the indulgence with which he had always treated his domestics, and the care he expressed for their comfort and welfare." his valet fletcher, too, in a letter to mr. murray, announcing the event, says, "please to excuse all defects, for i scarcely know what i either say or do; for, after twenty years' service with my lord, he was more to me than a father, and i am too much distressed to give now a correct account of every particular." in speaking of the effect produced on the friends of greece by this event, mr. trelawney says,--"i think byron's name was the great means of getting the loan. a mr. marshall, with _l_. per annum, was as far as corfu, and turned back on hearing of lord byron's death. thousands of people were flocking here: some had arrived as far as corfu, and hearing of his death, confessed they came out to devote their fortunes not to the greeks, or from interest in the cause, but to the noble poet; and the 'pilgrim of eternity[ ]' having departed, they turned back."[ ] [footnote : the title given by shelley to lord byron in his elegy on the death of keats. "the pilgrim of eternity, whose fame over his living head like heaven is bent, an early but enduring monument, came veiling all the lightnings of his song in sorrow."] [footnote : parry, too, mentions an instance to the same effect:--"while i was on the quarantine-house at zante, a gentleman called on me, and made numerous enquiries as to lord byron. he said he was only one of fourteen english gentlemen, then at ancona, who had sent him on to obtain intelligence, and only waited his return to come and join lord byron. they were to form a mounted guard for him, and meant to devote their personal services and their incomes to the greek cause. on hearing of lord byron's death, however, they turned back."] the funeral ceremony, which, on account of the rains, had been postponed for a day, took place in the church of st. nicholas, at missolonghi, on the d of april, and is thus feelingly described by an eye-witness:-- "in the midst of his own brigade, of the troops of the government, and of the whole population, on the shoulders of the officers of his corps, relieved occasionally by other greeks, the most precious portion of his honoured remains were carried to the church, where lie the bodies of marco bozzari and of general normann. there we laid them down: the coffin was a rude, ill-constructed chest of wood; a black mantle served for a pall; and over it we placed a helmet and a sword, and a crown of laurel. but no funeral pomp could have left the impression, nor spoken the feelings, of this simple ceremony. the wretchedness and desolation of the place itself; the wild and half-civilised warriors around us; their deep-felt, unaffected grief; the fond recollections; the disappointed hopes; the anxieties and sad presentiments which might be read on every countenance;--all contributed to form a scene more moving, more truly affecting, than perhaps was ever before witnessed round the grave of a great man. "when the funeral service was over, we left the bier in the middle of the church, where it remained until the evening of the next day, and was guarded by a detachment of his own brigade. the church was crowded without cessation by those who came to honour and to regret the benefactor of greece. in the evening of the d, the bier was privately carried back by his officers to his own house. the coffin was not closed till the th of the month. immediately after his death, his countenance had an air of calmness, mingled with a severity, that seemed gradually to soften; for when i took a last look of him, the expression, at least to my eyes, was truly sublime." we have seen how decidedly, while in italy, lord byron expressed his repugnance to the idea of his remains resting upon english ground; and the injunctions he so frequently gave to mr. hoppner on this point show his wishes to have been,--at least, during that period,--sincere. with one so changing, however, in his impulses, it was not too much to take for granted that the far more cordial feeling entertained by him towards his countrymen at cephalonia would have been followed by a correspondent change in this antipathy to england as a last resting-place. it is, at all events, fortunate that by no such spleen of the moment has his native country been deprived of her natural right to enshrine within her own bosom one of the noblest of her dead, and to atone for any wrong she may have inflicted upon him, while living, by making his tomb a place of pilgrimage for her sons through all ages. by colonel stanhope and others it was suggested that, as a tribute to the land he celebrated and died for, his remains should be deposited at athens, in the temple of theseus; and the chief odysseus despatched an express to missolonghi to enforce this wish. on the part of the town, too, in which he breathed his last, a similar request had been made by the citizens; and it was thought advisable so far to accede to their desires as to leave with them, for interment, one of the vessels, in which his remains, after embalmment, were enclosed. the first step taken, before any decision as to its ultimate disposal, was to have the body conveyed to zante; and every facility having been afforded by the resident, sir frederick stoven, in providing and sending transports to missolonghi for that purpose, on the morning of the d of may the remains were embarked, under a mournful salute from the guns of the fortress:--"how different," says count gamba, "from that which had welcomed the arrival of byron only four months ago!" at zante, the determination was taken to send the body to england; and the brig florida, which had just arrived there with the first instalment of the loan, was engaged for the purpose. mr. blaquiere, under whose care this first portion of the loan had come, was also the bearer of a commission for the due management of its disposal in greece, in which lord byron was named as the principal commissioner. the same ship, however, that brought this honourable mark of confidence was to return with him a corpse. to colonel stanhope, who was then at zante, on his way homeward, was intrusted the charge of his illustrious colleague's remains; and on the th of may he embarked with them on board the florida for england. in the letter which, on his arrival in the downs, june th, this gentleman addressed to lord byron's executors, there is the following passage:--"with respect to the funeral ceremony, i am of opinion that his lordship's family should be immediately consulted, and that sanction should be obtained for the public burial of his body either in the great abbey or cathedral of london." it has been asserted, and i fear too truly, that on some intimation of the wish suggested in this last sentence being conveyed to one of those reverend persons who have the honours of the abbey at their disposal, such an answer was returned as left but little doubt that a refusal would be the result of any more regular application.[ ] [footnote : a former dean of westminster went so far, we know, in his scruples as to exclude an epitaph from the abbey, because it contained the name of milton:--"a name, in his opinion," says johnson, "too detestable to be read on the wall of a building dedicated to devotion."--_life of_ milton.] there is an anecdote told of the poet hafiz, in sir william jones's life, which, in reporting this instance of illiberality, recurs naturally to the memory. after the death of the great persian bard, some of the religious among his countrymen protested strongly against allowing to him the right of sepulture, alleging, as their objection, the licentiousness of his poetry. after much controversy, it was agreed to leave the decision of the question to a mode of divination, not uncommon among the persians, which consisted in opening the poet's book at random and taking the first verses that occurred. they happened to be these:-- "oh turn not coldly from the poet's bier, nor check the sacred drops by pity given; for though in sin his body slumbereth here, his soul, absolved, already wings to heaven." these lines, says the legend, were looked upon as a divine decree; the religionists no longer enforced their objections, and the remains of the bard were left to take their quiet sleep by that "sweet bower of mosellay" which he had so often celebrated in his verses. were our byron's right of sepulture to be decided in the same manner, how few are there of his pages, thus taken at hazard, that would not, by some genial touch of sympathy with virtue, some glowing tribute to the bright works of god, or some gush of natural devotion more affecting than any homily, give him a title to admission into the purest temple of which christian charity ever held the guardianship. let the decision, however, of these reverend authorities have been, finally, what it might, it was the wish, as is understood, of lord byron's dearest relative to have his remains laid in the family vault at hucknall, near newstead. on being landed from the florida, the body had, under the direction of his lordship's executors, mr. hobhouse and mr. hanson, been removed to the house of sir edward knatchbull in great george street, westminster, where it lay in state during friday and saturday, the th and th of july, and on the following monday the funeral procession took place. leaving westminster at eleven o'clock in the morning, attended by most of his lordship's personal friends and by the carriages of several persons of rank, it proceeded through various streets of the metropolis towards the north road. at pancras church, the ceremonial of the procession being at an end, the carriages returned; and the hearse continued its way, by slow stages, to nottingham. it was on friday the th of july that, in the small village church of hucknall, the last duties were paid to the remains of byron, by depositing them, close to those of his mother, in the family vault. exactly on the same day of the same month in the preceding year, he had said, it will be recollected, despondingly, to count gamba, "where shall we be in another year?" the gentleman to whom this foreboding speech was addressed paid a visit, some months after the interment, to hucknall, and was much struck, as i have heard, on approaching the village, by the strong likeness it seemed to him to bear to his lost friend's melancholy deathplace, missolonghi. on a tablet of white marble in the chancel of the church of hucknall is the following inscription:-- in the vault beneath, where many of his ancestors and his mother are buried, lie the remains of george gordon noel byron, lord byron, of rochdale, in the county of lancaster, the author of "childe harold's pilgrimage." he was born in london on the d of january, . he died at missolonghi, in western greece, on the th of april, , engaged in the glorious attempt to restore that country to her ancient freedom and renown. * * * * * his sister, the honourable augusta maria leigh, placed this tablet to his memory. from among the tributes that have been offered, in prose and verse, and in almost every language of europe, to his memory, i shall select two which appear to me worthy of peculiar notice, as being, one of them,--so far as my limited scholarship will allow me to judge,--a simple and happy imitation of those laudatory inscriptions with which the greece of other times honoured the tombs of her heroes; and the other as being the production of a pen, once engaged controversially against byron, but not the less ready, as these affecting verses prove, to offer the homage of a manly sorrow and admiration at his grave. [greek: eis ton en tê helladi têleutêsanta poiêtên * * * * * ou to zên tanaon biou euklees oud' enarithmein arxaiax progonôn eunxneôn aretas ton d' eudaimonias moir' amphepei, hosper apantôn aien aristeuôn gignetai athanatos.-- eudeis oun su, teknon, xaritôn ear? ouk eti thallei akmaios meleôn hêdupnoôn stephanos?-- alla teon, tripophête, moron penphousin aphênê, mousai, patris, arês, ellas, eleupheria.[ ]] [footnote : by john williams, esq.--the following translation of this inscription will not be unacceptable to my readers:-- "not length of life--not an illustrious birth, rich with the noblest blood of all the earth;-- nought can avail, save deeds of high emprize, our mortal being to immortalise. "sweet child of song, thou deepest!--ne'er again shall swell the notes of thy melodious strain: yet, with thy country wailing o'er thy urn, pallas, the muse, mars, greece, and freedom mourn." h.h. joy.] "childe harold's last pilgrimage. "by the rev. w.l. bowles. "so ends childe harold his last pilgrimage!-- upon the shores of greece he stood, and cried 'liberty!' and those shores, from age to age renown'd, and sparta's woods and rocks replied 'liberty!' but a spectre, at his side, stood mocking;--and its dart, uplifting high, smote him;--he sank to earth in life's fair pride: sparta! thy rocks then heard another cry, and old ilissus sigh'd--'die, generous exile, die!' "i will not ask sad pity to deplore his wayward errors, who thus early died; still less, childe harold, now thou art no more, will i say aught of genius misapplied; of the past shadows of thy spleen or pride:-- but i will bid th' arcadian cypress wave, pluck the green laurel from peneus' side, and pray thy spirit may such quiet have, that not one thought unkind be murmur'd o'er thy grave. "so harold ends, in greece, his pilgrimage!-- there fitly ending,--in that land renown'd, whose mighty genius lives in glory's page,-- he, on the muses' consecrated ground, sinking to rest, while his young brows are bound with their unfading wreath!--to bands of mirth, no more in tempe let the pipe resound! harold, i follow to thy place of birth the slow hearse--and thy last sad pilgrimage on earth. "slow moves the plumed hearse, the mourning train,-- i mark the sad procession with a sigh, silently passing to that village fane, where, harold, thy forefathers mouldering lie;-- there sleeps that mother, who with tearful eye, pondering the fortunes of thy early road, hung o'er the slumbers of thine infancy; her son, released from mortal labour's load, now comes to rest, with her, in the same still abode. "bursting death's silence--could that mother speak-- (speak when the earth was heap'd upon his head)-- in thrilling, but with hollow accent weak, she thus might give the welcome of the dead:-- 'here rest, my son, with me;--the dream is fled;-- the motley mask and the great stir is o'er: welcome to me, and to this silent bed, where deep forgetfulness succeeds the roar of life, and fretting passions waste the heart no more.'" by his lordship's will, a copy of which will be found in the appendix, he bequeathed to his executors in trust for the benefit of his sister, mrs. leigh, the monies arising from the sale of all his real estates at rochdale and elsewhere, together with such part of his other property as was not settled upon lady byron and his daughter ada, to be by mrs. leigh enjoyed, free from her husband's control, during her life, and, after her decease, to be inherited by her children. we have now followed to its close a life which, brief as was its span, may be said, perhaps, to have comprised within itself a greater variety of those excitements and interest which spring out of the deep workings of passion and of intellect than any that the pen of biography has ever before commemorated. as there still remain among the papers of my friend some curious gleanings which, though in the abundance of our materials i have not hitherto found a place for them, are too valuable towards the illustration of his character to be lost, i shall here, in selecting them for the reader, avail myself of the opportunity of trespassing, for the last time, on his patience with a few general remarks. it must have been observed, throughout these pages, and by some, perhaps, with disappointment, that into the character of lord byron, as a poet, there has been little, if any, critical examination; but that, content with expressing generally the delight which, in common with all, i derive from his poetry, i have left the task of analysing the sources from which this delight springs to others.[ ] in thus evading, if it must be so considered, one of my duties as a biographer, i have been influenced no less by a sense of my own inaptitude for the office of critic than by recollecting with what assiduity, throughout the whole of the poet's career, every new rising of his genius was watched from the great observatories of criticism, and the ever changing varieties of its course and splendour tracked out and recorded with a degree of skill and minuteness which has left but little for succeeding observers to discover. it is, moreover, into the character and conduct of lord byron, as a man, not distinct from, but forming, on the contrary, the best illustration of his character, as a writer, that it has been the more immediate purpose of these volumes to enquire; and if, in the course of them, any satisfactory clue has been afforded to those anomalies, moral and intellectual, which his life exhibited,--still more, should it have been the effect of my humble labours to clear away some of those mists that hung round my friend, and show him, in most respects, as worthy of love as he was, in all, of admiration, then will the chief and sole aim of this work have been accomplished. [footnote : it may be making too light of criticism to say with gray that "even a bad verse is as good a thing or better than the best observation that ever was made upon it;" but there are surely few tasks that appear more thankless and superfluous than that of following, as criticism sometimes does, in the rear of victorious genius (like the commentators on a field of blenheim or of waterloo), and either labouring to point out to us _why_ it has triumphed, or still more unprofitably contending that it _ought_ to have failed. the well-known passage of la bruyère, which even voltaire's adulatory application of it to some work of the king of prussia has not spoiled for use, puts, perhaps, in its true point of view the very subordinate rank which criticism must be content to occupy in the train of successful genius:--"quand une lecture vous élève l'esprit et qu'elle vous inspire des sentimens nobles, ne cherehez pas une autre règle pour juger de l'ouvrage; il est bon et fait de main de l'ouvrier: la critique, après ça, peut s'exercer sur les petites choses, relever quelques expressions, corriger des phrases, parler de syntaxe," &c. &c.] having devoted to this object so large a portion of my own share of these pages, and, yet more fairly, enabled the world to form a judgment for itself, by placing the man, in his own person, and without disguise, before all eyes, there would seem to remain now but an easy duty in summing up the various points of his character, and, out of the features, already separately described, combining one complete portrait. the task, however, is by no means so easy as it may appear. there are few characters in which a near acquaintance does not enable us to discover some one leading principle or passion consistent enough in its operations to be taken confidently into account in any estimate of the disposition in which they are found. like those points in the human face, or figure, to which all its other proportions are referable, there is in most minds some one governing influence, from which chiefly,--though, of course, biassed on some occasions by others,--all its various impulses and tendencies will be found to radiate. in lord byron, however, this sort of pivot of character was almost wholly wanting. governed as he was at different moments by totally different passions, and impelled sometimes, as during his short access of parsimony in italy, by springs of action never before developed in his nature, in him this simple mode of tracing character to its sources must be often wholly at fault; and if, as is not impossible, in trying to solve the strange variances of his mind, i should myself be found to have fallen into contradictions and inconsistencies, the extreme difficulty of analysing, without dazzle or bewilderment, such an unexampled complication of qualities must be admitted as my excuse. so various, indeed, and contradictory, were his attributes, both moral and intellectual, that he may be pronounced to have been not one, but many: nor would it be any great exaggeration of the truth to say, that out of the mere partition of the properties of his single mind a plurality of characters, all different and all vigorous, might have been furnished. it was this multiform aspect exhibited by him that led the world, during his short wondrous career, to compare him with that medley host of personages, almost all differing from each other, which he thus playfully enumerates in one of his journals:-- "i have been thinking over, the other day, on the various comparisons, good or evil, which i have seen published of myself in different journals, english and foreign. this was suggested to me by accidentally turning over a foreign one lately,--for i have made it a rule latterly never to _search_ for any thing of the kind, but not to avoid the perusal, if presented by chance. "to begin, then: i have seen myself compared, personally or poetically, in english, french, _german_ (_as_ interpreted to me), italian, and portuguese, within these nine years, to rousseau, goethe, young, aretine, timon of athens, dante, petrarch, 'an alabaster vase, lighted up within,' satan, shakspeare, buonaparte, tiberius, Æschylus, sophocles, euripides, harlequin, the clown, sternhold and hopkins, to the phantasmagoria, to henry the eighth, to chenier, to mirabeau, to young r. dallas (the schoolboy), to michael angelo, to raphael, to a petit-maître, to diogenes, to childe harold, to lara, to the count in beppo, to milton, to pope, to dryden, to burns, to savage, to chatterton, to 'oft have i heard of thee, my lord biron,' in shakspeare, to churchill the poet, to kean the actor, to alfieri, &c. &c. &c. "the likeness to alfieri was asserted very seriously by an italian who had known him in his younger days. it of course related merely to our apparent personal dispositions. he did not assert it to _me_ (for we were not then good friends), but in society. "the object of so many contradictory comparisons must probably be like something different from them all; but what _that_ is, is more than _i_ know, or any body else." it would not be uninteresting, were there either space or time for such a task, to take a review of the names of note in the preceding list, and show in how many points, though differing so materially among themselves, it might be found that each presented a striking resemblance to lord byron. we have seen, for instance, that wrongs and sufferings were, through life, the main sources of byron's inspiration. where the hoof of the critic struck, the fountain was first disclosed; and all the tramplings of the world afterwards but forced out the stream stronger and brighter. the same obligations to misfortune, the same debt to the "oppressor's wrong," for having wrung out from bitter thoughts the pure essence of his genius, was due no less deeply by dante!--"quum illam sub amarâ cogitatione excitatam, occulti divinique ingenii vim exacuerit et inflammarit."[ ] [footnote : paulus jovius.--bayle, too, says of him, "il fit entrer plus de feu et plus de force dans ses livres qu'il n'y en eût mis s'il avoit joui d'une condition plus tranquille."] in that contempt for the world's opinion, which led dante to exclaim, "lascia dir le genti," lord byron also bore a strong resemblance to that poet,--though far more, it must be confessed, in profession than reality. for, while scorn for the public voice was on his lips, the keenest sensitiveness to its every breath was in his heart; and, as if every feeling of his nature was to have some painful mixture in it, together with the pride of dante which led him to disdain public opinion, he combined the susceptibility of petrarch which placed him shrinkingly at its mercy. his agreement, in some other features of character, with petrarch, i have already had occasion to remark[ ]; and if it be true, as is often surmised, that byron's want of a due reverence for shakspeare arose from some latent and hardly conscious jealousy of that poet's fame, a similar feeling is known to have existed in petrarch towards dante; and the same reason assigned for it,--that from the living he had nothing to fear, while before the shade of dante he might have reason to feel humbled,--is also not a little applicable[ ] in the case of lord byron. [footnote : some passages in foscolo's essay on petrarch may be applied, with equal truth, to lord byron.--for instance, "it was hardly possible with petrarch to write a sentence without portraying himself"--"petrarch, allured by the idea that his celebrity would magnify into importance all the ordinary occurrences of his life, satisfied the curiosity of the world," &c. &c.--and again, with still more striking applicability,--"in petrarch's letters, as well as in his poems and treatises, we always identify the author with the man, who felt himself irresistibly impelled to develope his own intense feelings. being endowed with almost all the noble, and with some of the paltry passions of our nature, and having never attempted to conceal them, he awakens us to reflection upon ourselves while we contemplate in him a being of our own species, yet different from any other, and whose originality excites even more sympathy than admiration."] [footnote : "ii petrarca poteva credere candidamente ch'ei non pativa d'invidia solamente, perché fra tutti i viventi non v'era chi non s'arretrasse per cedergli il passo alla prima gloria, ch'ei non poteva sentirsi umiliato, fuorchè dall' ombra di dante."] between the dispositions and habits of alfieri and those of the noble poet of england, no less remarkable coincidences might be traced; and the sonnet in which the italian dramatist professes to paint his own character contains, in one comprehensive line, a portrait of the versatile author of don juan,-- "or stimandome achille ed or tersite." by the extract just given from his journal, it will be perceived that, in byron's own opinion, a character which, like his, admitted of so many contradictory comparisons, could not be otherwise than wholly undefinable itself. it will be found, however, on reflection, that this very versatility, which renders it so difficult to fix, "ere it change," the fairy fabric of his character, is, in itself, the true clue through all that fabric's mazes,--is in itself the solution of whatever was most dazzling in his might or startling in his levity, of all that most attracted and repelled, whether in his life or his genius. a variety of powers almost boundless, and a pride no less vast in displaying them,--a susceptibility of new impressions and impulses, even beyond the usual allotment of genius, and an uncontrolled impetuosity, as well from habit as temperament, in yielding to them,--such were the two great and leading sources of all that varied spectacle which his life exhibited; of that succession of victories achieved by his genius, in almost every field of mind that genius ever trod, and of all those sallies of character in every shape and direction that unchecked feeling and dominant self-will could dictate. it must be perceived by all endowed with quick powers of association how constantly, when any particular thought or sentiment presents itself to their minds, its very opposite, at the same moment, springs up there also:--if any thing sublime occurs, its neighbour, the ridiculous, is by its side;--across a bright view of the present or the future, a dark one throws its shadow;--and, even in questions respecting morals and conduct, all the reasonings and consequences that may suggest themselves on the side of one of two opposite courses will, in such minds, be instantly confronted by an array just as cogent on the other. a mind of this structure,--and such, more or less, are all those in which the reasoning is made subservient to the imaginative faculty,--though enabled, by such rapid powers of association, to multiply its resources without end, has need of the constant exercise of a controlling judgment to keep its perceptions pure and undisturbed between the contrasts it thus simultaneously calls up; the obvious danger being that, where matters of taste are concerned, the habit of forming such incongruous juxtapositions--as that, for example, between the burlesque and sublime--should at last vitiate the mind's relish for the nobler and higher quality; and that, on the yet more important subject of morals, a facility in finding reasons for every side of a question may end, if not in the choice of the worst, at least in a sceptical indifference to all. in picturing to oneself so awful an event as a shipwreck, its many horrors and perils are what alone offer themselves to ordinary fancies. but the keen, versatile imagination of byron could detect in it far other details, and, at the same moment with all that is fearful and appalling in such a scene, could bring together all that is most ludicrous and low. that in this painful mixture he was but too true to human nature, the testimony of de retz (himself an eye-witness of such an event) attests:--"vous ne pouvez vous imaginer (says the cardinal) l'horreur d'une grande tempête;--vous en pouvez imaginer aussi pen le ridicule." but, assuredly, a poet less wantoning in the variety of his power, and less proud of displaying it, would have paused ere he mixed up, thus mockingly, the degradation of humanity with its sufferings, and, content to probe us to the core with the miseries of our fellow-men, would have forborne to wring from us, the next moment, a bitter smile at their baseness. to the moral sense so dangerous are the effects of this quality, that it would hardly, perhaps, be generalising too widely to assert that wheresoever great versatility of power exists, there will also be found a tendency to versatility of principle. the poet chatterton, in whose soul the seeds of all that is good and bad in genius so prematurely ripened, said, in the consciousness of this multiple faculty, that he "held that man in contempt who could not write on both sides of a question;" and it was by acting in accordance with this principle himself that he brought one of the few stains upon his name which a life so short afforded time to incur. mirabeau, too, when, in the legal warfare between his father and mother, he helped to draw up for each the pleadings against the other, was influenced less, no doubt, by the pleasure of mischief than by this pride of talent, and lost sight of the unnatural perfidy of the task in the adroitness with which he executed it. the quality which i have here denominated versatility, as applied to _power_, lord byron has himself designated by the french word "mobility," as applied to _feeling_ and _conduct_; and, in one of the cantos of don juan, has described happily some of its lighter features. after telling us that his hero had begun to doubt, from the great predominance of this quality in her, "how much of adeline was _real_," he says,-- "so well she acted, all and every part, by turns,--with that vivacious versatility, which many people take for want of heart. they err--'tis merely what is called mobility, a thing of temperament and not of art, though seeming so, from its supposed facility; and false--though true; for surely they're sincerest, who are strongly acted on by what is nearest." that he was fully aware not only of the abundance of this quality in his own nature, but of the danger in which it placed consistency and singleness of character, did not require the note on this passage, where he calls it "an unhappy attribute," to assure us. the consciousness, indeed, of his own natural tendency to yield thus to every chance impression, and change with every passing impulse, was not only for ever present in his mind, but,--aware as he was of the suspicion of weakness attached by the world to any retractation or abandonment of long professed opinions,--had the effect of keeping him in that general line of consistency, on certain great subjects, which, notwithstanding occasional fluctuations and contradictions as to the details of these very subjects, he continued to preserve throughout life. a passage from one of his manuscripts will show how sagaciously he saw the necessity of guarding himself against his own instability in this respect. "the world visits change of politics or change of religion with a more severe censure than a mere difference of opinion would appear to me to deserve. but there must be some reason for this feeling;--and i think it is that these departures from the earliest instilled ideas of our childhood, and from the line of conduct chosen by us when we first enter into public life, have been seen to have more mischievous results for society, and to prove more weakness of mind than other actions, in themselves, more immoral." the same distrust in his own steadiness, thus keeping alive in him a conscientious self-watchfulness, concurred not a little, i have no doubt, with the innate kindness of his nature, to preserve so constant and unbroken the greater number of his attachments through life;--some of them, as in the instance of his mother, owing evidently more to a sense of duty than to real affection, the consistency with which, so creditably to the strength of his character, they were maintained. but while in these respects, as well as in the sort of task-like perseverance with which the habits and amusements of his youth were held fast by him, he succeeded in conquering the variableness and love of novelty so natural to him, in all else that could engage his mind, in all the excursions, whether of his reason or his fancy, he gave way to this versatile humour without scruple or check,--taking every shape in which genius could manifest its power, and transferring himself to every region of thought where new conquests were to be achieved. it was impossible but that such a range of will and power should be abused. it was impossible that, among the spirits he invoked from all quarters, those of darkness should not appear, at his bidding, with those of light. and here the dangers of an energy so multifold, and thus luxuriating in its own transformations, show themselves. to this one great object of displaying power,--various, splendid, and all-adorning power,--every other consideration and duty were but too likely to be sacrificed. let the advocate but display his eloquence and art, no matter what the cause;--let the stamp of energy be but left behind, no matter with what seal. _could_ it have been expected that from such a career no mischief would ensue, or that among these cross-lights of imagination the moral vision could remain undisturbed? _is_ it to be at all wondered at that in the works of one thus gifted and carried away, we should find,--wholly, too, without any prepense design of corrupting on his side,--a false splendour given to vice to make it look like virtue, and evil too often invested with a grandeur which belongs intrinsically but to good? among the less serious ills flowing from this abuse of his great versatile powers,--more especially as exhibited in his most characteristic work, don juan,--it will be found that even the strength and impressiveness of his poetry is sometimes not a little injured by the capricious and desultory flights into which this pliancy of wing allures him. it must be felt, indeed, by all readers of that work, and particularly by those who, being gifted with but a small portion of such ductility themselves, are unable to keep pace with his changes, that the suddenness with which he passes from one strain of sentiment to another,--from the frolic to the sad, from the cynical to the tender,--begets a distrust in the sincerity of one or both moods of mind which interferes with, if not chills, the sympathy that a more natural transition would inspire. in general such a suspicion would do him injustice; as, among the singular combinations which his mind presented, that of uniting at once versatility and depth of feeling was not the least remarkable. but, on the whole, favourable as was all this quickness and variety of association to the extension of the range and resources of his poetry, it may be questioned whether a more select concentration of his powers would not have afforded a still more grand and precious result. had the minds of milton and tasso been thus thrown open to the incursions of light, ludicrous fancies, who can doubt that those solemn sanctuaries of genius would have been as much injured as profaned by the intrusion?--and it is at least a question whether, if lord byron had not been so actively versatile, so totally under the dominion of "a fancy, like the air, most free, and full of mutability," he would not have been less wonderful, perhaps, but more great. nor was it only in his poetical creations that this love and power of variety showed itself:--one of the most pervading weaknesses of his life may be traced to the same fertile source. the pride of personating every description of character, evil as well as good, influenced but too much, as we have seen, his ambition, and, not a little, his conduct; and as, in poetry, his own experience of the ill effects of passion was made to minister materials to the workings of his imagination, so, in return, his imagination supplied that dark colouring under which he so often disguised his true aspect from the world. to such a perverse length, indeed, did he carry this fancy for self-defamation, that if (as sometimes, in his moments of gloom, he persuaded himself,) there was any tendency to derangement in his mental conformation[ ], on this point alone could it be pronounced to have manifested itself.[ ] in the early part of my acquaintance with him, when he most gave way to this humour,--for it was observable afterwards, when the world joined in his own opinion of himself, he rather shrunk from the echo,--i have known him more than once, as we have sat together after dinner, and he was, at the time, perhaps, a little under the influence of wine, to fall seriously into this sort of dark and self-accusing mood, and throw out hints of his past life with an air of gloom and mystery designed evidently to awaken curiosity and interest. he was, however, too promptly alive to the least approaches of ridicule not to perceive, on these occasions, that the gravity of his hearer was only prevented from being disturbed by an effort of politeness, and he accordingly never again tried this romantic mystification upon me. from what i have known, however, of his experiments upon more impressible listeners, i have little doubt that, to produce effect at the moment, there is hardly any crime so dark or desperate of which, in the excitement of thus acting upon the imaginations of others, he would not have hinted that he had been guilty; and it has sometimes occurred to me that the occult cause of his lady's separation from him, round which herself and her legal adviser have thrown such formidable mystery, may have been nothing more, after all, than some imposture of this kind, some dimly hinted confession of undefined horrors, which, though intended by the relater but to mystify and surprise, the hearer so little understood him as to take in sober seriousness. [footnote : we have seen how often, in his journals and letters, this suspicion of his own mental soundness is intimated. a similar notion, with respect to himself, seems to have taken hold also of the strong mind of johnson, who, like byron, too, was disposed to attribute to an hereditary tinge that melancholy which, as he said, "made him mad all his life, at least not sober." this peculiar feature of johnson's mind has, in the late new edition of boswell's life of him, given rise to some remarks, pregnant with all the editor's well known acuteness, which, as bearing on a point so important in the history of the human intellect, will be found worthy of all attention. in one of the many letters of lord byron to myself, which i have thought right to omit, i find him tracing this supposed disturbance of his own faculties to the marriage of miss chaworth;--"a marriage," he says, "for which she sacrificed the prospects of two very ancient families, and a heart which was hers from ten years old, and a head which has never been quite right since."] [footnote : in his diary of there is a passage (vol. ii. page .) which i had preserved solely for the purpose of illustrating this obliquity of his mind, intending, at the same time, to accompany it with an explanatory note. from some inadvertence, however, the note was omitted; and, thus left to itself, this piece of mystification has, with the french readers of the work, i see, succeeded most perfectly; there being no imaginable variety of murder which the votaries of the new romantic school have not been busily extracting out of the mystery of that passage.] this strange propensity with which the man was, as it were, inoculated by the poet, re-acted back again upon his poetry, so as to produce, in some of his delineations of character, that inconsistency which has not unfrequently been noticed by his critics,--namely, the junction of one or two lofty and shining virtues with "a thousand crimes" altogether incompatible with them; this anomaly being, in fact, accounted for by the two different sorts of ambition that actuated him,--the natural one, of infusing into his personages those high and kindly qualities he felt conscious of within himself, and the artificial one, of investing them with those crimes which he so boyishly wished imputed to him by the world. independently, however, of any such efforts towards blackening his own name, and even after he had learned from bitter experience the rash folly of such a system, there was still, in the openness and over-frankness of his nature, and that indulgence of impulse with which he gave utterance to, if not acted upon, every chance impression of the moment, more than sufficient to bring his character, in all its least favourable lights, before the world. who is there, indeed, that could bear to be judged by even the best of those unnumbered thoughts that course each other, like waves of the sea, through our minds, passing away unuttered, and, for the most part, even unowned by ourselves?--yet to such a test was byron's character throughout his whole life exposed. as well from the precipitance with which he gave way to every impulse as from the passion he had for recording his own impressions, all those heterogeneous thoughts, fantasies, and desires that, in other men's minds, "come like shadows, so depart," were by him fixed and embodied as they presented themselves, and, at once, taking a shape cognizable by public opinion, either in his actions or his words, either in the hasty letter of the moment, or the poem for all time, laid open such a range of vulnerable points before his judges, as no one individual perhaps ever before, of himself, presented. with such abundance and variety of materials for portraiture, it may easily be conceived how two professed delineators of his character, the one over partial and the other malicious, might,--the former, by selecting only the fairer, and the latter only the darker, features,--produce two portraits of lord byron, as much differing from each other as they would both be, on the whole, unlike the original. of the utter powerlessness of retention with which he promulgated his every thought and feeling,--more especially if at all connected with the subject of self,--without allowing even a pause for the almost instinctive consideration whether by such disclosures he might not be conveying a calumnious impression of himself, a stronger instance could hardly be given than is to be found in a conversation held by him with mr. trelawney, as reported by this latter gentleman, when they were on their way together to greece. after some remarks on the state of his own health[ ], mental and bodily, he said, "i don't know how it is, but i am so cowardly at times, that if, this morning, you had come down and horsewhipped me, i should have submitted without opposition. why is this? if one of these fits come over me when we are in greece, what shall i do?"--"i told him (continues mr. trelawney) that it was the excessive debility of his nerves. he said, 'yes, and of my head, too. i was very heroic when i left genoa, but, like acres, i feel my courage oozing out at my palms.'" [footnote : "he often mentioned," says mr. trelawney, "that he thought he should not live many years, and said that he would die in greece." this he told me at cephalonia. he always seemed unmoved on these occasions, perfectly indifferent as to when he died, only saying that he could not bear pain. on our voyage we had been reading with great attention the life and letters of swift, edited by scott, and we almost daily, or rather nightly, talked them over; and he more than once expressed his horror of existing in that state, and expressed some fears that it would be his fate.] it will hardly, by those who know any thing of human nature, be denied that such misgivings and heart-sinkings as are here described may, under a similar depression of spirits, have found their way into the thoughts of some of the gallantest hearts that ever breathed;--but then, untold and unremembered, even by the sufferer himself, they passed off with the passing infirmity that produced them, leaving neither to truth to record them as proofs of want of health, nor to calumny to fasten upon them a suspicion of want of bravery. the assertion of some one that all men are by nature cowardly would seem to be countenanced by the readiness with which most men believe others so. "i have lived," says the prince de ligne, "to hear voltaire called a fool, and the great frederick a coward." the duke of marlborough in his own times, and napoleon in ours, have found persons not only to assert but believe the same charge against them. after such glaring instances of the tendency of some minds to view greatness only through an inverting medium, it need little surprise us that lord byron's conduct in greece should, on the same principle, have engendered a similar insinuation against him; nor should i have at all noticed the weak slander, but for the opportunity which it affords me of endeavouring to point out what appears to me the peculiar nature of the courage by which, on all occasions that called for it, he so strikingly distinguished himself. whatever virtue may be allowed to belong to personal courage, it is, most assuredly, they who are endowed by nature with the liveliest imaginations, and who have therefore most vividly and simultaneously before their eyes all the remote and possible consequences of danger, that are most deserving of whatever praise attends the exercise of that virtue. a bravery of this kind, which springs more out of mind than temperament,--or rather, perhaps, out of the conquest of the former over the latter,--will naturally proportion its exertion to the importance of the occasion; and the same person who is seen to shrink with an almost feminine fear from ignoble and every-day perils, may be found foremost in the very jaws of danger where honour is to be either maintained or won. nor does this remark apply only to the imaginative class, of whom i am chiefly treating. by the same calculating principle, it will be found that most men whose bravery is the result not of temperament but reflection, are regulated in their daring. the wise de wit, though negligent of his life on great occasions, was not ashamed, we are told, of dreading and avoiding whatever endangered it on others. of the apprehensiveness that attends quick imaginations, lord byron had, of course, a considerable share, and in all situations of ordinary peril gave way to it without reserve. i have seldom seen any person, male or female, more timid in a carriage; and, in riding, his preparation against accidents showed the same nervous and imaginative fearfulness. "his bridle," says the late lord b----, who rode frequently with him at genoa, "had, besides cavesson and martingale, various reins; and whenever he came near a place where his horse was likely to shy, he gathered up these said reins and fixed himself as if he was going at a five-barred gate." none surely but the most superficial or most prejudiced observers could ever seriously found upon such indications of nervousness any conclusion against the real courage of him who was subject to them. the poet ariosto, who was, it seems, a victim to the same fair-weather alarms,--who, when on horseback, would alight at the least appearance of danger, and on the water was particularly timorous,--could yet, in the action between the pope's vessels and the duke of ferrara's, fight like a lion; and in the same manner the courage of lord byron, as all his companions in peril testify, was of that noblest kind which rises with the greatness of the occasion, and becomes but the more self-collected and resisting, the more imminent the danger. in proposing to show that the distinctive properties of lord byron's character, as well moral as literary, arose mainly from those two great sources, the unexampled versatility of his powers and feelings, and the facility with which he gave way to the impulses of both, it had been my intention to pursue the subject still further in detail, and to endeavour to trace throughout the various excellences and defects, both of his poetry and his life, the operation of these two dominant attributes of his nature. "no men," says cowper, in speaking of persons of a versatile turn of mind, "are better qualified for companions in such a world as this than men of such temperament. every scene of life has two sides, a dark and a bright one; and the mind that has an equal mixture of melancholy and vivacity is best of all qualified for the contemplation of either." it would not be difficult to show that to this readiness in reflecting all hues, whether of the shadows or the lights of our variegated existence, lord byron owed not only the great range of his influence as a poet, but those powers of fascination which he possessed as a man. this susceptibility, indeed, of immediate impressions, which in him was so active, lent a charm, of all others the most attractive, to his social intercourse, by giving to those who were, at the moment, present, such ascendant influence, that they alone for the time occupied all his thoughts and feelings, and brought whatever was most agreeable in his nature into play.[ ] [footnote : in reference to his power of adapting himself to all sorts of society, and taking upon himself all varieties of character, i find a passage in one of my early letters to him (from ireland) which, though it might be expressed, perhaps, in better taste, is worth citing for its truth:--"though i have not written, i have seldom ceased to think of you; for you are that sort of being whom every thing, high or low, brings into one's mind. whether i am with the wise or the waggish, among poets or among pugilists, over the book or over the bottle, you are sure to connect yourself transcendently with all, and come 'armed for _every_ field' into my memory."] so much did this extreme mobility,--this readiness to be "strongly acted on by what was nearest,"--abound in his disposition, that, even with the casual acquaintances of the hour, his heart was upon his lips[ ], and it depended wholly upon themselves whether they might not become at once the depositories of every secret, if it might be so called, of his whole life. that in this convergence of all the powers of pleasing towards present objects, those absent should be sometimes forgotten, or, what is worse, sacrificed to the reigning desire of the moment, is unluckily one of the alloys attendant upon persons of this temperament, which renders their fidelity, either as lovers or confidants, not a little precarious. but of the charm which such a disposition diffuses through the manner there can be but little doubt,--and least of all among those who have ever felt its influence in lord byron. neither are the instances in which he has been known to make imprudent disclosures of what had been said or written by others of the persons with whom he was conversing to be all set down to this rash overflow of the social hour. in his own frankness of spirit, and hatred of all disguise, this practice, pregnant as it was with inconvenience, and sometimes danger, in a great degree originated. to confront the accused with the accuser was, in such cases, his delight,--not only as a revenge for having been made the medium of what men durst not say openly to each other, but as a gratification of that love of small mischief which he had retained from boyhood, and which the confusion that followed such exposures was always sure to amuse. this habit, too, being, as i have before remarked, well known to his friends, their sense of prudence, if not their fairness, was put fully on its guard, and he himself was spared the pain of hearing what he could not, without inflicting still worse, repeat. [footnote : it is curious to observe how, in all times, and all countries, what is called the poetical temperament has, in the great possessors, and victims, of that gift, produced similar effects. in the following passage, the biographer of tasso has, in painting that poet, described byron also:--"there are some persons of a sensibility so powerful, that whoever happens to be with them is, at that moment, to them the world: their hearts involuntarily open; they are prompted by a strong desire to please; and they thus make confidants of their sentiments people whom they in reality regard with indifference."] a most apt illustration of this point of his character is to be found in an anecdote told of him by parry, who, though himself the victim, had the sense and good temper to perceive the source to which byron's conduct was to be traced. while the turkish fleet was blockading missolonghi, his lordship, one day, attended by parry, proceeded in a small punt, rowed by a boy, to the mouth of the harbour, while in a large boat accompanying them were prince mavrocordato and his attendants. in this situation, an indignant feeling of contempt and impatience at the supineness of their greek friends seized the engineer, and he proceeded to vent this feeling to lord byron in no very measured terms, pronouncing prince mavrocordato to be "an old gentlewoman," and concluding, according to his own statement, with the following words:--"if i were in their place, i should be in a fever at the thought of my own incapacity and ignorance, and should burn with impatience to attempt the destruction of those rascal turks. but the greeks and the turks are opponents worthy, by their imbecility, of each other." "i had scarcely explained myself fully," adds mr. parry, "when his lordship ordered our boat to be placed alongside the other, and actually related our whole conversation to the prince. in doing it, however, he took on himself the task of pacifying both the prince and me, and though i was at first very angry, and the prince, i believe, very much annoyed, he succeeded. mavrocordato afterwards showed no dissatisfaction with me, and i prized lord byron's regard too much, to remain long displeased with a proceeding which was only an unpleasant manner of reproving us both." into these and other such branches from the main course of his character, it might have been a task of some interest to investigate,--certain as we should be that, even in the remotest and narrowest of these windings, some of the brightness and strength of the original current would be perceptible. enough however has been, perhaps, said to set other minds upon supplying what remains:--if the track of analysis here opened be the true one, to follow it in its further bearings will not be difficult. already, indeed, i may be thought by some readers to have occupied too large a portion of these pages, not only in tracing out such "nice dependencies" and gradations of my friend's character, but still more uselessly, as may be conceived, in recording all the various habitudes and whims by which the course of his every-day life was distinguished from that of other people. that the critics of the day should think it due to their own importance to object to trifles is naturally to be expected; but that, in other times, such minute records of a byron will be read with interest, even such critics cannot doubt. to know that catiline walked with an agitated and uncertain gait is, by no mean judge of human nature, deemed important as an indication of character. but far less significant details will satisfy the idolaters of genius. to be told that tasso loved malmsey and thought it favourable to poetic inspiration is a piece of intelligence, even at the end of three centuries, not unwelcome; while a still more amusing proof of the disposition of the world to remember little things of the great is, that the poet petrarch's excessive fondness for turnips is one of the few traditions still preserved of him at arqua. the personal appearance of lord byron has been so frequently described, both by pen and pencil, that were it not the bounden duty of the biographer to attempt some such sketch, the task would seem superfluous. of his face, the beauty may be pronounced to have been of the highest order, as combining at once regularity of features with the most varied and interesting expression. the same facility, indeed, of change observable in the movements of his mind was seen also in the free play of his features, as the passing thoughts within darkened or shone through them. his eyes, though of a light grey, were capable of all extremes of expression, from the most joyous hilarity to the deepest sadness, from the very sunshine of benevolence to the most concentrated scorn or rage. of this latter passion, i had once an opportunity of seeing what fiery interpreters they could be, on my telling him, thoughtlessly enough, that a friend of mine had said to me--"beware of lord byron; he will some day or other do something very wicked."--"was it man or woman said so?" he exclaimed, suddenly turning round upon me with a look of such intense anger as, though it lasted not an instant, could not easily be forgot, and of which no better idea can be given than in the words of one who, speaking of chatterton's eyes, says that "fire rolled at the bottom of them." but it was in the mouth and chin that the great beauty as well as expression of his fine countenance lay. "many pictures have been painted of him," says a fair critic of his features, "with various success; but the excessive beauty of his lips escaped every painter and sculptor. in their ceaseless play they represented every emotion, whether pale with anger, curled in disdain, smiling in triumph, or dimpled with archness and love." it would be injustice to the reader not to borrow from the same pencil a few more touches of portraiture. "this extreme facility of expression was sometimes painful, for i have seen him look absolutely ugly--i have seen him look so hard and cold, that you must hate him, and then, in a moment, brighter than the sun, with such playful softness in his look, such affectionate eagerness kindling in his eyes, and dimpling his lips into something more sweet than a smile, that you forgot the man, the lord byron, in the picture of beauty presented to you, and gazed with intense curiosity--i had almost said--as if to satisfy yourself, that thus looked the god of poetry, the god of the vatican, when he conversed with the sons and daughters of man." his head was remarkably small[ ],--so much so as to be rather out of proportion with his face. the forehead, though a little too narrow, was high, and appeared more so from his having his hair (to preserve it, as he said,) shaved over the temples; while the glossy, dark-brown curls, clustering over his head, gave the finish to its beauty. when to this is added, that his nose, though handsomely, was rather thickly shaped, that his teeth were white and regular, and his complexion colourless, as good an idea perhaps as it is in the power of mere words to convey may be conceived of his features. [footnote : "several of us, one day," says colonel napier, "tried on his hat, and in a party of twelve or fourteen, who were at dinner, _not one_ could put it on, so exceedingly small was his head. my servant, thomas wells, who had the smallest head in the th regiment (so small that he could hardly get a cap to fit him), was the only person who could put on lord byron's hat, and him it fitted exactly."] in height he was, as he himself has informed us, five feet eight inches and a half, and to the length of his limbs he attributed his being such a good swimmer. his hands were very white, and--according to his own notion of the size of hands as indicating birth--aristocratically small. the lameness of his right foot[ ], though an obstacle to grace, but little impeded the activity of his movements; and from this circumstance, as well as from the skill with which the foot was disguised by means of long trowsers, it would be difficult to conceive a defect of this kind less obtruding itself as a deformity; while the diffidence which a constant consciousness of the infirmity gave to his first approach and address made, in him, even lameness a source of interest. [footnote : in speaking of this lameness at the commencement of my work, i forbore, both from my own doubts on the subject and the great variance i found in the recollections of others, from stating in _which_ of his feet this lameness existed. it will, indeed, with difficulty be believed what uncertainty i found upon this point, even among those most intimate with him. mr. hunt, in his book, states it to have been the left foot that was deformed, and this, though contrary to my own impression, and, as it appears also, to the fact, was the opinion i found also of others who had been much in the habit of living with him. on applying to his early friends at southwell and to the shoemaker of that town who worked for him, so little prepared were they to answer with any certainty on the subject, that it was only by recollecting that the lame foot "was the off one in going up the street" they at last came to the conclusion that his right limb was the one affected; and mr. jackson, his preceptor in pugilism, was, in like manner, obliged to call to mind whether his noble pupil was a right or left hand hitter before he could arrive at the same decision.] in looking again into the journal from which it was my intention to give extracts, the following unconnected opinions, or rather reveries, most of them on points connected with his religious opinions, are all that i feel tempted to select. to an assertion in the early part of this work, that "at no time of his life was lord byron a confirmed unbeliever," it has been objected, that many passages of his writings prove the direct contrary. this assumption, however, as well as the interpretation of most of the passages referred to in its support, proceed, as it appears to me, upon the mistake, not uncommon in conversation, of confounding together the meanings of the words unbeliever and sceptic,--the former implying decision of opinion, and the latter only doubt. i have myself, i find, not always kept the significations of the two words distinct, and in one instance have so far fallen into the notion of these objectors as to speak of byron in his youth as "an unbelieving school-boy," when the word "doubting" would have more truly expressed my meaning. with this necessary explanation, i shall here repeat my assertion; or rather--to clothe its substance in a different form--shall say that lord byron was, to the last, a sceptic, which, in itself, implies that he was, at no time, a confirmed unbeliever. * * * * * "if i were to live over again, i do not know what i would change in my life, unless it were _for--not to have lived at all_.[ ] all history and experience, and the rest, teaches us that the good and evil are pretty equally balanced in this existence, and that what is most to be desired is an easy passage out of it. what can it give us but years? and those have little of good but their ending. [footnote : swift "early adopted," says sir walter scott, "the custom of observing his birth-day, as a term, not of joy, but of sorrow, and of reading, when it annually recurred, the striking passage of scripture, in which job laments and execrates the day upon which it was said in his father's house 'that a man-child was born.'"--_life of swift._] * * * * * "of the immortality of the soul it appears to me that there can be little doubt, if we attend for a moment to the action of mind: it is in perpetual activity. i used to doubt of it, but reflection has taught me better. it acts also so very independent of body--in dreams, for instance;--incoherently and _madly_, i grant you, but still it is mind, and much more mind than when we are awake. now that this should not act _separately_, as well as jointly, who can pronounce? the stoics, epictetus and marcus aurelius, call the present state 'a soul which drags a carcass,'--a heavy chain, to be sure, but all chains being material may be shaken off. how far our future life will be _individual_, or, rather, how far it will at all resemble _our present_ existence, is another question; but that the mind is eternal seems as probable as that the body is not so. of course i here venture upon the question without recurring to revelation, which, however, is at least as rational a solution of it as any other. a _material_ resurrection seems strange and even absurd, except for purposes of punishment; and all punishment which is to _revenge_ rather than _correct_ must be _morally wrong_; and _when the world is at an end_, what moral or warning purpose _can_ eternal tortures answer? human passions have probably disfigured the divine doctrines here;--but the whole thing is inscrutable. * * * * * "it is useless to tell me _not_ to _reason_, but to _believe._ you might as well tell a man not to wake, but _sleep._ and then to _bully_ with torments, and all that! i cannot help thinking that the _menace_ of hell makes as many devils as the severe penal codes of inhuman humanity make villains. * * * * * "man is born _passionate_ of body, but with an innate though secret tendency to the love of good in his main-spring of mind. but, god help us all! it is at present a sad jar of atoms. * * * * * "matter is eternal, always changing, but reproduced, and, as far as we can comprehend eternity, eternal; and why not _mind_? why should not the mind act with and upon the universe, as portions of it act upon, and with, the congregated dust called mankind? see how one man acts upon himself and others, or upon multitudes! the same agency, in a higher and purer degree, may act upon the stars, &c. ad infinitum. * * * * * "i have often been inclined to materialism in philosophy, but could never bear its introduction into _christianity_, which appears to me essentially founded upon the _soul_. for this reason priestley's christian materialism always struck me as deadly. believe the resurrection of the _body_, if you will, but _not without_ a _soul_. the deuce is in it, if after having had a soul, (as surely the _mind_, or whatever you call it, _is,_) in this world, we must part with it in the _next_, even for an immortal materiality! i own my partiality for _spirit_. * * * * * "i am always most religious upon a sunshiny day, as if there was some association between an internal approach to greater light and purity and the kindler of this dark lantern of our external existence. * * * * * "the night is also a religious concern, and even more so when i viewed the moon and stars through herschell's telescope, and saw that they were worlds. * * * * * "if, according to some speculations, you could prove the world many thousand years older than the mosaic chronology, or if you could get rid of adam and eve, and the apple, and serpent, still, what is to be put up in their stead? or how is the difficulty removed? things must have had a beginning, and what matters it _when_ or _how_? * * * * * "i sometimes think that _man_ may be the relic of some higher material being wrecked in a former world, and degenerated in the hardship and struggle through chaos into conformity, or something like it,--as we see laplanders, esquimaux, &c. inferior in the present state, as the elements become more inexorable. but even then this higher pre-adamite supposititious creation must have had an origin and a _creator_--for a _creation_ is a more natural imagination than a fortuitous concourse of atoms: all things remount to a fountain, though they may flow to an ocean. * * * * * "plutarch says, in his life of lysander, that aristotle observes 'that in general great geniuses are of a melancholy turn, and instances socrates, plato, and hercules (or heraclitus), as examples, and lysander, though not while young, yet as inclined to it when approaching towards age.' whether i am a genius or not, i have been called such by my friends as well as enemies, and in more countries and languages than one, and also within a no very long period of existence. of my genius, i can say nothing, but of my melancholy, that it is 'increasing, and ought to be diminished.' but how? "i take it that most men are so at bottom, but that it is only remarked in the remarkable. the duchesse de broglio, in reply to a remark of mine on the errors of clever people, said that 'they were not worse than others, only, being more in view, more noted, especially in all that could reduce them to the rest, or raise the rest to them.' in , this was. "in fact (i suppose that) if the follies of fools were all set down like those of the wise, the wise (who seem at present only a better sort of fools) would appear almost intelligent. * * * * * "it is singular how soon we lose the impression of what ceases to be _constantly_ before us: a year impairs; a lustre obliterates. there is little distinct left without an effort of memory. _then_, indeed, the lights are rekindled for a moment; but who can be sure that imagination is not the torch-bearer? let any man try at the end of _ten_ years to bring before him the features, or the mind, or the sayings, or the habits of his best friend, or his _greatest_ man, (i mean his favourite, his buonaparte, his this, that, or t'other,) and he will be surprised at the extreme confusion of his ideas. i speak confidently on this point, having always passed for one who had a good, ay, an excellent memory. i except, indeed, our recollection of womankind; there is no forgetting _them_ (and be d--d to them) any more than any other remarkable era, such as 'the revolution,' or 'the plague,' or 'the invasion,' or 'the comet,' or 'the war' of such and such an epoch,--being the favourite dates of mankind who have so many _blessings_ in their lot that they never make their calendars from them, being too common. for instance, you see 'the great drought,' 'the thames frozen over,' 'the seven years' war broke out,' 'the english, or french, or spanish revolution commenced,' 'the lisbon earthquake,' 'the lima earthquake,' 'the earthquake of calabria,' 'the plague of london,' ditto 'of constantinople,' 'the sweating sickness,' 'the yellow fever of philadelphia,' &c. &c. &c.; but you don't see 'the abundant harvest,' 'the fine summer,' 'the long peace,' 'the wealthy speculation,' 'the wreckless voyage,' recorded so emphatically! by the way, there has been a _thirty years' war_ and a _seventy years' war_; was there ever a _seventy_ or a _thirty years' peace_? or was there even a day's _universal_ peace? except perhaps in china, where they have found out the miserable happiness of a stationary and unwarlike mediocrity. and is all this because nature is niggard or savage? or mankind ungrateful? let philosophers decide. i am none. * * * * * "in general, i do not draw well with literary men; not that i dislike them, but i never know what to say to them after i have praised their last publication. there are several exceptions, to be sure, but then they have either been men of the world, such as scott and moore, &c. or visionaries out of it, such as shelley, &c.: but your literary every-day man and i never went well in company, especially your foreigner, whom i never could abide; except giordani, and--and--and--(i really can't name any other)--i don't remember a man amongst them whom i ever wished to see twice, except perhaps mezzophanti, who is a monster of languages, the briareus of parts of speech, a walking polyglott and more, who ought to have existed at the time of the tower of babel as universal interpreter. he is indeed a marvel--unassuming, also. i tried him in all the tongues of which i knew a single oath, (or adjuration to the gods against post-boys, savages, tartars, boatmen, sailors, pilots, gondoliers, muleteers, camel-drivers, vetturini, post-masters, post-horses, post-houses, post every thing,) and egad! he astounded me--even to my english. * * * * * "'no man would live his life over again,' is an old and true saying which all can resolve for themselves. at the same time, there are probably _moments_ in most men's lives which they would live over the rest of life to _regain_. else why do we live at all? because hope recurs to memory, both false--but--but--but--but--and this _but_ drags on till--what? i do not know; and who does? 'he that died o' wednesday.'" * * * * * in laying before the reader these last extracts from the papers in my possession, it may be expected, perhaps, that i should say something,--in addition to what has been already stated on this subject,--respecting those memoranda, or memoirs, which, in the exercise of the discretionary power given to me by my noble friend, i placed, shortly after his death, at the disposal of his sister and executor, and which they, from a sense of what they thought due to his memory, consigned to the flames. as the circumstances, however, connected with the surrender of that manuscript, besides requiring much more detail than my present limits allow, do not, in any respect, concern the character of lord byron, but affect solely my own, it is not here, at least, that i feel myself called upon to enter into an explanation of them. the world will, of course, continue to think of that step as it pleases; but it is, after all, on a man's _own_ opinion of his actions that his happiness chiefly depends, and i can only say that, were i again placed in the same circumstances, i would--even at ten times the pecuniary sacrifice which my conduct then cost me--again act precisely in the same manner. for the satisfaction of those whose regret at the loss of that manuscript arises from some better motive than the mere disappointment of a prurient curiosity, i shall here add, that on the mysterious cause of the separation, it afforded no light whatever;--that, while some of its details could never have been published at all[ ], and little, if any, of what it contained personal towards others could have appeared till long after the individuals concerned had left the scene, all that materially related to lord byron himself was (as i well knew when i made that sacrifice) to be found repeated in the various journals and memorandum-books, which, though not all to be made use of, were, as the reader has seen from the preceding pages, all preserved. [footnote : this description applies only to the second part of the memoranda; there having been but little unfit for publication in the first part, which was, indeed, read, as is well known, by many of the noble author's friends.] as far as suppression, indeed, is blamable, i have had, in the course of this task, abundantly to answer for it; having, as the reader must have perceived, withheld a large portion of my materials, to which lord byron, no doubt, in his fearlessness of consequences, would have wished to give publicity, but which, it is now more than probable, will never meet the light. there remains little more to add. it has been remarked by lord orford[ ], as "strange, that the writing a man's life should in general make the biographer become enamoured of his subject, whereas one should think that the nicer disquisition one makes into the life of any man, the less reason one should find to love or admire him." on the contrary, may we not rather say that, as knowledge is ever the parent of tolerance, the more insight we gain into the springs and motives of a man's actions, the peculiar circumstances in which he was placed, and the influences and temptations under which he acted, the more allowance we may be inclined to make for his errors, and the more approbation his virtues may extort from us? [footnote : in speaking of lord herbert of cherbury's life of henry viii.] the arduous task of being the biographer of byron is one, at least, on which i have not obtruded myself: the wish of my friend that i should undertake that office having been more than once expressed, at a time when none but a boding imagination like his could have foreseen much chance of the sad honour devolving to me. if in some instances i have consulted rather the spirit than the exact letter of his injunctions, it was with the view solely of doing him more justice than he would have done himself, there being no hands in which his character could have been less safe than his own, nor any greater wrong offered to his memory than the substitution of what he affected to be for what he was. of any partiality, however, beyond what our mutual friendship accounts for and justifies, i am by no means conscious; nor would it be in the power, indeed, of even the most partial friend to allege any thing more convincingly favourable of his character than is contained in the few simple facts with which i shall here conclude,--that, through life, with all his faults, he never lost a friend;--that those about him in his youth, whether as companions, teachers, or servants, remained attached to him to the last;--that the woman, to whom he gave the love of his maturer years, idolises his name; and that, with a single unhappy exception, scarce an instance is to be found of any one, once brought, however briefly, into relations of amity with him, that did not feel towards him a kind regard in life, and retain a fondness for his memory. i have now done with the subject, nor shall be easily tempted to recur to it. any mistakes or misstatements i may be proved to have made shall be corrected;--any new facts which it is in the power of others to produce will speak for themselves. to mere opinions i am not called upon to pay attention--and still less to insinuations or mysteries. i have here told what i myself know and think concerning my friend; and now leave his character, moral as well as literary, to the judgment of the world. appendix. * * * * * two epistles from the armenian version. the epistle of the corinthians to st. paul the apostle.[ ] stephen[ ], and the elders with him, dabnus, eubulus, theophilus, and xinon, to paul, our father and evangelist, and faithful master in jesus christ, health.[ ] two men have come to corinth, simon by name, and cleobus[ ], who vehemently disturb the faith of some with deceitful and corrupt words; of which words thou shouldst inform thyself: for neither have we heard such words from thee, nor from the other apostles: but we know only that what we have heard from thee and from them, that we have kept firmly. but in this chiefly has our lord had compassion, that, whilst thou art yet with us in the flesh, we are again about to hear from thee. therefore do thou write to us, or come thyself amongst us quickly. we believe in the lord, that, as it was revealed to theonas, he hath delivered thee from the hands of the unrighteous.[ ] but these are the sinful words of these impure men, for thus do they say and teach: that it behoves not to admit the prophets.[ ] neither do they affirm the omnipotence of god: neither do they affirm the resurrection of the flesh: neither do they affirm that man was altogether created by god: neither do they affirm that jesus christ was born in the flesh from the virgin mary: neither do they affirm that the world was the work of god, but of some one of the angels. therefore do thou make haste[ ] to come amongst us. that this city of the corinthians may remain without scandal. and that the folly of these men may be made manifest by an open refutation. fare thee well.[ ] the deacons thereptus and tichus[ ] received and conveyed this epistle to the city of the philippians.[ ] when paul received the epistle, although he was then in chains on account of stratonice[ ], the wife of apofolanus[ ], yet, as it were forgetting his bonds, he mourned over these words, and said, weeping: "it were better for me to be dead, and with the lord. for while i am in this body, and hear the wretched words of such false doctrine, behold, grief arises upon grief, and my trouble adds a weight to my chains; when i behold this calamity, and progress of the machinations of satan, who searcheth to do wrong." and thus, with deep affliction, paul composed his reply to the epistle.[ ] [footnote : some mss. have the title thus: _epistle of stephen the elder to paul the apostle, from the corinthians_.] [footnote : in the mss. the marginal verses published by the whistons are wanting.] [footnote : in some mss. we find, _the elders numenus, eubulus, theophilus, and nomeson, to paul their brother, health_!] [footnote : others read, _there came certain men, ... and clobeus, who vehemently shake._] [footnote : some mss. have, _we believe in the lord, that his presence was made manifest; and by this hath the lord delivered as from the hands of the unrighteous._] [footnote : others read, _to read the prophets._] [footnote : some mss. have, _therefore, brother, do thou make haste._] [footnote : others read, _fare thee well in the lord._] [footnote : some mss. have, _the deacons therepus and techus_] [footnote : the whistons have, _to the city of phoenicia_; but in all the mss. we find, _to the city of the philippians._] [footnote : others read, _on account of onotice._] [footnote : the whistons have, _of apollophanus_: but in all the mss. we read, _apofolanus_.] [footnote : in the text of this epistle there are some other variations in the words, but the sense is the same.] epistle of paul to the corinthians, [ ] paul, in bonds for jesus christ, disturbed by so many errors [ ], to his corinthian brethren, health. i nothing marvel that the preachers of evil have made this progress. for because the lord jesus is about to fulfil his coming, verily on this account do certain men pervert and despise his words. but i, verily, from the beginning, have taught you that only which i myself received from the former apostles, who always remained with the lord jesus christ. and i now say unto you, that the lord jesus christ was born of the virgin mary, who was of the seed of david, according to the annunciation of the holy ghost, sent to her by our father from heaven; that jesus might be introduced into the world [ ], and deliver our flesh by his flesh, and that he might raise us up from the dead; as in this also he himself became the example: that it might be made manifest that man was created by the father, he has not remained in perdition unsought [ ]; but he is sought for, that he might be revived by adoption. for god, who is the lord of all, the father of our lord jesus christ, who made heaven and earth, sent, firstly, the prophets to the jews: that he would absolve them from their sins, and bring them to his judgment. because he wished to save, firstly, the house of israel, he bestowed and poured forth his spirit upon the prophets; that they should, for a long time, preach the worship of god, and the nativity of christ. but he who was the prince of evil, when he wished to make himself god, laid his hand upon them, and bound all men in sin,[ ] because the judgment of the world was approaching. but almighty god, when he willed to justify, was unwilling to abandon his creature; but when he saw his affliction, he had compassion upon him: and at the end of a time he sent the holy ghost into the virgin foretold by the prophets. who, believing readily [ ], was made worthy to conceive, and bring forth our lord jesus christ. that from this perishable body, in which the evil spirit was glorified, he should be cast out, and it should be made manifest that he was not god: for jesus christ, in his flesh, had recalled and saved this perishable flesh, and drawn it into eternal life by faith. because in his body he would prepare a pure temple of justice for all ages; in whom we also, when we believe, are saved. therefore know ye that these men are not the children of justice, but the children of wrath; who turn away from themselves the compassion of god; who say that neither the heavens nor the earth were altogether works made by the hand of the father of all things.[ ] but these cursed men[ ] have the doctrine of the serpent. but do ye, by the power of god, withdraw yourselves far from these, and expel from amongst you the doctrine of the wicked. because you are not the children of rebellion [ ]; but the sons of the beloved church. and on this account the time of the resurrection is preached to all men. therefore they who affirm that there is no resurrection of the flesh, they indeed shall not be raised up to eternal life; but to judgment and condemnation shall the unbeliever arise in the flesh: for to that body which denies the resurrection of the body, shall be denied the resurrection: because such are found to refuse the resurrection. but you also, corinthians! have known, from the seeds of wheat, and from other seeds, that one grain falls [ ] dry into the earth, and within it first dies, and afterwards rises again, by the will of the lord, endued with the same body: neither indeed does it arise with the same simple body, but manifold, and filled with blessing. but we produce the example not only from seeds, but from the honourable bodies of men. [ ] ye have also known jonas, the son of amittai.[ ] because he delayed to preach to the ninevites, he was swallowed up in the belly of a fish for three days and three nights: and after three days god heard his supplication, and brought him out of the deep abyss; neither was any part of his body corrupted; neither was his eyebrow bent down.[ ] and how much more for you, oh men of little faith; if you believe in our lord jesus christ, will he raise you up, even as he himself hath arisen. if the bones of elisha the prophet, falling upon the dead, revived the dead, by how much more shall ye, who are supported by the flesh and the blood and the spirit of christ, arise again on that day with a perfect body? elias the prophet, embracing the widow's son, raised him from the dead: by how much more shall jesus christ revive you, on that day, with a perfect body, even as he himself hath arisen? but if ye receive other things vainly [ ], henceforth no one shall cause me to travail; for i bear on my body these fetters [ ], to obtain christ; and i suffer with patience these afflictions to become worthy of the resurrection of the dead. and do each of you, having received the law from the hands of the blessed prophets and the holy gospel [ ], firmly maintain it; to the end that you may be rewarded in the resurrection of the dead, and the possession of the life eternal. but if any of ye, not believing, shall trespass, he shall be judged with the misdoers, and punished with those who have false belief. because such are the generation of vipers, and the children of dragons and basilisks. drive far from amongst ye, and fly from such, with the aid of our lord jesus christ. and the peace and grace of the beloved son be upon you.[ ] amen. _done into english by me, january-february,_ , _at the convent of san lazaro, with the aid and exposition of the armenian text by the father paschal aucher, armenian friar_. byron. venice, april , . _i had also the latin text, but it is in many places very corrupt, and with great omissions_. [footnote : some mss. have, _paul's epistle from prison, for the instruction of the corinthians_.] [footnote : others read, _disturbed by various compunctions_.] [footnote : some mss. have. _that jesus might comfort the world_.] [footnote : others read, _he has not remained indifferent_.] [footnote : some mss have, _laid his hand, and then and all body bound in sin_.] [footnote : others read, _believing with a pure heart_.] [footnote : some mss. have, _of god the father of all things._] [footnote : others read, _they curse themselves in this thing._] [footnote : others read, _children of the disobedient._] [footnote : some mss. have, _that one grain falls not dry into the earth._] [footnote : others read, _but we have not only produced from seeds, but from the honourable body of man._] [footnote : others read, _the son of ematthius_.] [footnote : others add, _nor did a hair of his body fall therefrom_.] [footnote : some mss. have, _ye shall not receive other things in vain_.] [footnote : others finished here thus, _henceforth no one can trouble me further, for i bear in my body the sufferings of christ. the grace of our lord jesus christ be with your spirit, my brethren. amen_.] [footnote : some mss. have, _of the holy evangelist_.] [footnote : others add, _our lord be with ye all. amen_.] remarks on mr. moore's life of lord byron, by lady byron. "i have disregarded various publications in which facts within my own knowledge have been grossly misrepresented; but i am called upon to notice some of the erroneous statements proceeding from one who claims to be considered as lord byron's confidential and authorised friend. domestic details ought not to be intruded on the public attention: if, however, they _are_ so intruded, the persons affected by them have a right to refute injurious charges. mr. moore has promulgated his own impressions of private events in which i was most nearly concerned, as if he possessed a competent knowledge of the subject. having survived lord byron, i feel increased reluctance to advert to any circumstances connected with the period of my marriage; nor is it now my intention to disclose them, further than may be indispensably requisite for the end i have in view. self-vindication is not the motive which actuates me to make this appeal, and the spirit of accusation is unmingled with it; but when the conduct of my parents is brought forward in a disgraceful light, by the passages selected from lord byron's letters, and by the remarks of his biographer, i feel bound to justify their characters from imputations which i _know_ to be false. the passages from lord byron's letters, to which i refer, are the aspersion on my mother's character (vol. iii. p. . last line):--'my child is very well, and flourishing, i hear; but i must see also. i feel no disposition to resign it to the _contagian of its grandmother's society_.' the assertion of her dishonourable conduct in employing a spy (vol. iii. p. . l. , &c.), 'a mrs. c. (now a kind of housekeeper and _spy of lady n_'s), who, in her better days, was a washerwoman, is supposed to be--by the learned--very much the occult cause of our domestic discrepancies.' the seeming exculpation of myself, in the extract (vol. iii. p. .), with the words immediately following it,--'her nearest relatives are a ----;' where the blank clearly implies something too offensive for publication. these passages tend to throw suspicion on my parents, and give reason to ascribe the separation either to their direct agency, or to that of 'officious spies' employed by them.[ ] from the following part of the narrative (vol. iii. p. .) it must also be inferred that an undue influence was exercised by them for the accomplishment of this purpose. 'it was in a few weeks after the latter communication between us (lord byron and mr. moore), that lady byron adopted the determination of parting from him. she had left london at the latter end of january, on a visit to her father's house, in leicestershire, and lord byron was in a short time to follow her. they had parted in the utmost kindness,--she wrote him a letter full of playfulness and affection, on the road; and immediately on her arrival at kirkby mallory, her father wrote to acquaint lord byron that she would return to him no more.' in my observations upon this statement, i shall, as far as possible, avoid touching on any matters relating personally to lord byron and myself. the facts are:--i left london for kirkby mallory, the residence of my father and mother, on the th of january, . lord byron had signified to me in writing (jan. th) his absolute desire that i should leave london on the earliest day that i could conveniently fix. it was not safe for me to undertake the fatigue of a journey sooner than the th. previously to my departure, it had been strongly impressed on my mind, that lord byron was under the influence of insanity. this opinion was derived in a great measure from the communications made to me by his nearest relatives and personal attendant, who had more opportunities than myself of observing him during the latter part of my stay in town. it was even represented to me that he was in danger of destroying himself. _with the concurrence of his family_, i had consulted dr. baillie, as a friend (jan. th), respecting this supposed malady. on acquainting him with the state of the case, and with lord byron's desire that i should leave london, dr. baillie thought that my absence might be advisable as an experiment, _assuming_ the fact of mental derangement; for dr. baillie, not having had access to lord byron, could not pronounce a positive opinion on that point. he enjoined, that in correspondence with lord byron, i should avoid all but light and soothing topics. under these impressions, i left london, determined to follow the advice given by dr. baillie. whatever might have been the nature of lord byron's conduct towards me from the time of my marriage, yet, supposing him to be in a state of mental alienation, it was not for _me_, nor for any person of common humanity, to manifest, at that moment, a sense of injury. on the day of my departure, and again on my arrival at kirkby, jan. th, i wrote to lord byron in a kind and cheerful tone, according to those medical directions. the last letter was circulated, and employed as a pretext for the charge of my having been subsequently _influenced_ to 'desert[ ]' my husband. it has been argued, that i parted from lord byron in perfect harmony; that feelings, incompatible with any deep sense of injury, had dictated the letter which i addressed to him; and that my sentiments must have been changed by persuasion and interference, when i was under the roof of my parents. these assertions and inferences are wholly destitute of foundation. when i arrived at kirkby mallory, my parents were unacquainted with the existence of any causes likely to destroy my prospects of happiness; and when i communicated to them the opinion which had been formed concerning lord byron's state of mind, they were most anxious to promote his restoration by every means in their power. they assured those relations who were with him in london, that 'they would devote their whole care and attention to the alleviation of his malady,' and hoped to make the best arrangements for his comfort, if he could be induced to visit them. with these intentions, my mother wrote on the th to lord byron, inviting him to kirkby mallory. she had always treated him with an affectionate consideration and indulgence, which extended to every little peculiarity of his feelings. never did an irritating word escape her lips in her whole intercourse with him. the accounts given me after i left lord byron by the persons in constant intercourse with him, added to those doubts which had before transiently occurred to my mind, as to the reality of the alleged disease, and the reports of his medical attendant, were far from establishing the existence of any thing like lunacy. under this uncertainty, i deemed it right to communicate to my parents, that if i were to consider lord byron's past conduct as that of a person of sound mind, nothing could induce me to return to him. it therefore appeared expedient, both to them and myself, to consult the ablest advisers. for that object, and also to obtain still further information respecting the appearances which seemed to indicate mental derangement, my mother determined to go to london. she was empowered by me to take legal opinions on a written statement of mine, though i had then reasons for reserving a part of the case from the knowledge even of my father and mother. being convinced by the result of these enquiries, and by the tenor of lord byron's proceedings, that the notion of insanity was an illusion, i no longer hesitated to authorise such measures as were necessary, in order to secure me from being ever again placed in his power. conformably with this resolution, my father wrote to him on the d of february, to propose an amicable separation. lord byron at first rejected this proposal; but when it was distinctly notified to him, that if he persisted in his refusal, recourse must be had to legal measures, he agreed to sign a deed of separation. upon applying to dr. lushington, who was intimately acquainted with all the circumstances, to state in writing what he recollected upon this subject, i received from him the following letter, by which it will be manifest that my mother cannot have been actuated by any hostile or ungenerous motives towards lord byron. [footnote : "the officious spies of his privacy," vol. iii. p. .] [footnote : "the deserted husband," vol. iii. p. .] "'my dear lady byron, "'i can rely upon the accuracy of my memory for the following statement. i was originally consulted by lady noel on your behalf, whilst you were in the country; the circumstances detailed by her were such as justified a separation, but they were not of that aggravated description as to render such a measure indispensable. on lady noel's representation, i deemed a reconciliation with lord byron practicable, and felt most sincerely a wish to aid in effecting it. there was not on lady noel's part any exaggeration of the facts; nor, so far as i could perceive, any determination to prevent a return to lord byron: certainly none was expressed when i spoke of a reconciliation. when you came to town in about a fortnight, or perhaps more, after my first interview with lady noel, i was, for the first time, informed by you of facts utterly unknown, as i have no doubt, to sir ralph and lady noel. on receiving this additional information, my opinion was entirely changed: i considered a reconciliation impossible. i declared my opinion, and added, that if such an idea should be entertained, i could not, either professionally or otherwise, take any part towards effecting it. believe me, very faithfully yours, steph. lushington. "'_great george-street, jan_. . .' "i have only to observe, that if the statements on which my legal advisers (the late sir samuel komilly and dr. lushington) formed their opinions were false, the responsibility and the odium should rest with _me only_. i trust that the facts which i have here briefly recapitulated will absolve my father and mother from all accusations with regard to the part they took in the separation between lord byron and myself. they neither originated, instigated, nor advised, that separation; and they cannot be condemned for having afforded to their daughter the assistance and protection which she claimed. there is no other near relative to vindicate their memory from insult. i am therefore compelled to break the silence which i had hoped always to observe, and to solicit from the readers of lord byron's life an impartial consideration of the testimony extorted from me. "a.i. noel byron. "_hanger hill, feb_. . ." * * * * * letter of mr. turner. _referred to in_ vol. v. p. . "eight months after the publication of my 'tour in the levant,' there appeared in the london magazine, and subsequently in most of the newspapers, a letter from the late lord byron to mr. murray. "i naturally felt anxious at the time to meet a charge of error brought against me in so direct a manner: but i thought, and friends whom i consulted at the time thought with me, that i had better wait for a more favourable opportunity than that afforded by the newspapers of vindicating my opinion, which even so distinguished an authority as the letter of lord byron left unshaken, and which, i will venture to add, remains unshaken still. "i must ever deplore that i resisted my first impulse to reply immediately. the hand of death has snatched lord byron from his kingdom of literature and poetry, and i can only guard myself from the illiberal imputation of attacking the mighty dead, whose living talent i should have trembled to encounter, by scrupulously confining myself to such facts and illustrations as are strictly necessary to save me from the charges of error, misrepresentation, and presumptuousness, of which every writer must wish to prove himself undeserving. "lord byron began by stating, 'the _tide_ was _not_ in our favour,' and added, 'neither i nor any person on board the frigate had any notion of a difference of the current on the asiatic side; i never heard of it till this moment.' his lordship had probably forgotten that strabo distinctly describes the difference in the following words;-- [greek: 'dio kai eupetesteron ek tês sêstou diairousi parallaxamenoi mikron epi ton tês hêrous purgon, kakeithen aphientes ta ploia sumprattontos tou rhou pros tên peraiôsin: tois d' ex abudou peraioumenois parallakteon estin eis tanantia, oktô pou stadious epi purgon tina kat' antikru tês sêstou, epeita diairein plagion, kai mê teleôs echousin enantion ton rhoun.'--] ideoque _facilius a sesto, trajiciunt_ paululum deflexâ navigatione ad herus turrim, atque inde _navigia dimittentes adjuvante etiam fluxu trajectum_. qui ab abydo trajiciunt, in contrarium flectunt partem ad octo stadia ad turrim quandam e regione sesti: hinc _oblique_ trajiciunt, non _prorsus_ contrario fluxu.'[ ] [footnote : "strabo, book xiii. oxford edition."] "here it is clearly asserted, that the current assists the crossing from sestos, and the words [greek: 'aphientes ta ploia']--'_navigia dimittentes_,'--'_letting the vessels go of themselves_,' prove how considerable the assistance of the current was; while the words [greek: 'plagion']--'_oblique_,' and '[greek: teleôs],'--'_prorsus_,' show distinctly that those who crossed from abydos were obliged to do so in an _oblique_ direction, or they would have the current _entirely_ against them. "from this ancient authority, which, i own, appears to me unanswerable, let us turn to the moderns. baron de tott, who, having been for some time resident on the spot, employed as an engineer in the construction of batteries, must be supposed well cognisant of the subject, has expressed himself as follows:-- "'la surabondance des eaux que la mer noire reçoit, et qu'elle ne peut evaporer, versée dans la méditerranée par le bosphore de thrace et la propontide, forme aux dardanelles des courans si violens, que souvent les batimens, toutes voiles dehors, out peine à les vaincre. les pilotes doivent encore observer, lorsque le vent suffit, de diriger leur route de manière à présenter le moins de résistance possible à l'effort des eaux. on sent que cette étude a pour base la direction des courans, qui, _renvoyés d'une points à l'autre,_ forment des obstacles à la navigation, et feroient courir les plus grands risques si l'on negligeoit ces connoissances hydrographiques.'--_mémoires de_ tott, ^{_me_} _partie_. "to the above citations, i will add the opinion of tournefort, who, in his description of the strait, expresses with ridicule his disbelief of the truth of leander's exploit; and to show that the latest travellers agree with the earlier, i will conclude my quotation with a statement of mr. madden, who is just returned from the spot. 'it was from the european side lord byron swam _with_ the current, which runs about four miles an hour. but i believe he would have found it totally impracticable to have crossed from abydos to europe.'--madden's _travels_, vol. i. "there are two other observations in lord byron's letter on which i feel it necessary to remark. "'mr. turner says, "whatever is thrown into the stream on this part of the european bank _must_ arrive at the asiatic shore." this is so far from being the case, that it _must_ arrive in the archipelago, if left to the current, although a strong wind from the asiatic[ ] side might have such an effect occasionally.' [footnote : "this is evidently a mistake of the writer or printer. his lordship must here have meant a strong wind from the european side, as no wind from the asiatic side could have the effect of driving an object to the asiatic shore." i think it right to remark, that it is mr. turner himself who has here originated the inaccuracy of which he accuses others; the words used by lord byron being, _not_, as mr. turner says, "from the asiatic side," but "in the asiatic direction."--t. m.] "here lord byron is right, and i have no hesitation in confessing that i was wrong. but i was wrong only in the letter of my remark, not in the spirit of it. any _thing_ thrown into the stream on the european bank would be swept into the archipelago, because, after arriving so near the asiatic-shore as to be almost, if not quite, within a man's depth, it would be again floated off from the coast by the current that is dashed from the asiatic promontory. but this would not affect a swimmer, who, being so near the land, would of course, if he could not actually walk to it, reach it by a slight effort. "lord byron adds, in his p.s. 'the strait is, however, not extraordinarily wide, even where it broadens above and below the forts.' from this statement i must venture to express my dissent, with diffidence indeed, but with diffidence diminished by the ease with which the fact may be established. the strait is widened so considerably above the forts by the bay of maytos, and the bay opposite to it on the asiatic coast, that the distance to be passed by a swimmer in crossing higher up would be, in my poor judgment, too great for any one to accomplish from asia to europe, having such a current to stem. "i conclude by expressing it as my humble opinion that no one is bound to believe in the possibility of leander's exploit, till the passage has been performed by a swimmer, at least from asia to europe. the sceptic is even entitled to exact, as the condition of his belief, that the strait be crossed, as leander crossed it, both ways within at most fourteen hours. "w. turner." mr. millingen's account of the consultation. _referred to in_ vol. vi. p. . as the account given by mr. millingen of this consultation differs totally from that of dr. bruno, it is fit that the reader should have it in mr. millingen's own words:-- "in the morning ( th) a consultation was proposed, to which dr. lucca vega and dr. freiber, my assistants, were invited. dr. bruno and lucca proposed having recourse to antispasmodics and other remedies employed in the last stage of typhus. freiber and i maintained that they could only hasten the fatal termination, that nothing could be more empirical than flying from one extreme to the other; that if, as we all thought, the complaint was owing to the metastasis of rheumatic inflammation, the existing symptoms only depended on the rapid and extensive progress it had made in an organ previously so weakened and irritable. antiphlogistic means could never prove hurtful in this case; they would become useless only if disorganisation were already operated; but then, since all hopes were gone, what means would not prove superfluous? we recommended the application of numerous leeches to the temples, behind the ears, and along the course of the jugular vein; a large blister between the shoulders, and sinapisms to the feet, as affording, though feeble, yet the last hopes of success. dr. b., being the patient's physician, had the casting vote, and prepared the antispasmodic potion which dr. lucca and he had agreed upon; it was a strong infusion of valerian and ether, &c. after its administration, the convulsive movement, the delirium increased; but, notwithstanding my representations, a second dose was given half an hour after. after articulating confusedly a few broken phrases, the patient sunk shortly after into a comatose sleep, which the next day terminated in death. he expired on the th of april, at six o'clock in the afternoon." the will of lord byron. _extracted from the registry of the prerogative court of canterbury_. this is the last will and testament of me, george gordon, lord byron, baron byron, of rochdale, in the county of lancaster, as follows:--i give and devise all that my manor or lordship of rochdale, in the said county of lancaster, with all its rights, royalties, members, and appurtenances, and all my lands, tenements, hereditaments, and premises situate, lying, and being within the parish, manor, or lordship of rochdale aforesaid, and all other my estates, lands, hereditaments, and premises whatsoever and wheresoever, unto my friends john cam hobhouse, late of trinity college, cambridge, esquire, and john hanson, of chancery-lane, london, esquire, to the use and behoof of them, their heirs and assigns, upon trust that they the said john cam hobhouse and john hanson, and the survivor of them, and the heirs and assigns of such survivor, do and shall, as soon as conveniently may be after my decease, sell and dispose of all my said manor and estates for the most money that can or may be had or gotten for the same, either by private contract or public sale by auction, and either together or in lots, as my said trustees shall think proper; and for the facilitating such sale and sales, i do direct that the receipt and receipts of my said trustees, and the survivor of them, and the heirs and assigns of such survivor, shall be a good and sufficient discharge, and good and sufficient discharges to the purchaser or purchasers of my said estates, or any part or parts thereof, for so much money as in such receipt or receipts shall be expressed or acknowledged to be received; and that such purchaser or purchasers, his, her, or their heirs and assigns, shall not afterwards be in any manner answerable or accountable for such purchase-monies, or be obliged to see to the application thereof: and i do will and direct that my said trustees shall stand possessed of the monies to arise by the sale of my said estates upon such trusts and for such intents and purposes as i have hereinafter directed of and concerning the same: and whereas i have by certain deeds of conveyance made on my marriage with my present wife conveyed all my manor and estate of newstead, in the parishes of newstead and limby, in the county of nottingham, unto trustees, upon trust to sell the same, and apply the sum of sixty thousand pounds, part of the money to arise by such sale; upon the trusts of my marriage settlement: now i do hereby give and bequeath all the remainder of the purchase-money to arise by sale of my said estate at newstead, and all the whole of the said sixty thousand pounds, or such part thereof as shall not become vested and payable under the trusts of my said marriage settlement, unto the said john cam hobhouse and john hanson, their executors, administrators, and assigns, upon such trusts and for such ends, intents, and purposes as hereinafter directed of and concerning the residue of my personal estate. i give and bequeath unto the said john cam hobhouse and john hanson, the sum of one thousand pounds each, i give and bequeath all the rest, residue, and remainder of my personal estate whatsoever and wheresoever unto the said john cam hobhouse and john hanson, their executors, administrators, and assigns, upon trust that they, my said trustees and the survivor of them, and the executors and administrators of such survivor, do and shall stand possessed of all such rest and residue of my said personal estate and the money to arise by sale of my real estates hereinbefore devised to them for sale, and such of the monies to arise by sale of my said estate at newstead as i have power to dispose of, after payment of my debts and legacies hereby given, upon the trusts and for the ends, intents, and purposes hereinafter mentioned and directed of and concerning the same, that is to say, upon trust, that they my said trustees and the survivor of them, and the executors and administrators of such survivor, do and shall lay out and invest the same in the public stocks or funds, or upon government or real security at interest, with power from time to time to change, vary, and transpose such securities, and from time to time during the life of my sister augusta mary leigh, the wife of george leigh, esquire, pay, receive, apply, and dispose of the interest, dividends, and annual produce thereof, when and as the same shall become due and payable, into the proper hands of the said augusta mary leigh, to and for her sole and separate use and benefit, free from the control, debts, or engagements of her present or any future husband, or unto such person or persons as she my said sister shall from time to time, by any writing under her hand, notwithstanding her present or any future coverture, and whether covert or sole, direct or appoint; and from and immediately after the decease of my said sister, then upon trust, that they my said trustees and the survivor of them, his executors or administrators, do and shall assign and transfer all my said personal estate and other the trust property hereinbefore mentioned, or the stocks, funds, or securities wherein or upon which the same shall or may be placed out or invested, unto and among all and every the child and children of my said sister, if more than one, in such parts, shares, and proportions, and to become a vested interest, and to be paid and transferred at such time and times, and in such manner, and with, under, and subject to such provisions, conditions, and restrictions, as my said sister, at any time during her life, whether covert or sole, by any deed or deeds, instrument or instruments, in writing, with or without power of revocation, to be sealed and delivered in the presence of two or more credible witnesses, or by her last will and testament in writing, or any writing of appointment in the nature of a will, shall direct or appoint; and in default of any such appointment, or in case of the death of my said sister in my lifetime, then upon trust that they my said trustees and the survivor of them, his executors, administrators, and assigns, do and shall assign and transfer all the trust, property, and funds unto and among the children of my said sister, if more than one, equally to be divided between them, share and share alike, and if only one such child, then to such only child the share and shares of such of them as shall be a son or sons, to be paid and transferred unto him and them when and as he or they shall respectively attain his or their age or ages of twenty-one years; and the share and shares of such of them as shall be a daughter or daughters, to be paid and transferred unto her or them when and as she or they shall respectively attain her or their age or ages of twenty-one years, or be married, which shall first happen; and in case any of such children shall happen to die, being a son or sons, before he or they shall attain the age of twenty-one years, or being a daughter or daughters, before she or they shall attain the said age of twenty-one, or be married; then it is my will and i do direct that the share and shares of such of the said children as shall so die shall go to the survivor or survivors of such children, with the benefit of further accruer in case of the death of any such surviving children before their shares shall become vested. and i do direct that my said trustees shall pay and apply the interest and dividends of each of the said children's shares in the said trust funds for his, her, or their maintenance and education during their minorities, notwithstanding their shares may not become vested interests, but that such interest and dividends as shall not have been so applied shall accumulate, and follow, and go over with the principal. and i do nominate, constitute, and appoint the said john cam hobhouse and john hanson executors of this my will. and i do will and direct that my said trustees shall not be answerable the one of them for the other of them, or for the acts, deeds, receipts, or defaults of the other of them, but each of them for his own acts, deeds, receipts, and wilful defaults only, and that they my said trustees shall be entitled to retain and deduct out of the monies which shall come to their hands under the trusts aforesaid all such costs, charges, damages, and expenses which they or any of them shall bear, pay, sustain, or be put unto, in the execution and performance of the trusts herein reposed in them. i make the above provision for my sister and her children, in consequence of my dear wife lady byron, and any children i may have, being otherwise amply provided for; and, lastly, i do revoke all former wills by me at any time heretofore made, and do declare this only to be my last will and testament. in witness whereof, i have to this my last will, contained in three sheets of paper, set my hand to the first two sheets thereof, and to this third and last sheet my hand and seal this th day of july, in the year of our lord . byron (l.s.) signed, sealed, published, and declared by the said lord byron, the testator, as and for his last will and testament, in the presence of us, who, at his request, in his presence, and in the presence of each other, have hereto subscribed our names as witnesses. thomas jones mawse, edmund griffin, frederick jervis, clerks to mr. hanson, chancery-lane. codicil.--this is a codicil to the last will and testament of me, the right honourable george gordon, lord byron. i give and bequeath unto allegra biron, an infant of about twenty months old, by me brought up, and now residing at venice, the sum of five thousand pounds, which i direct the executors of my said will to pay to her on her attaining the age of twenty-one years, or on the day of her marriage, on condition that she does not marry with a native of great britain, which shall first happen. and i direct my said executors, as soon as conveniently may be after my decease, to invest the said sum of five thousand pounds upon government or real security, and to pay and apply the annual income thereof in or towards the maintenance and education of the said allegra biron until she attains her said age of twenty-one years, or shall be married as aforesaid; but in case she shall die before attaining the said age and without having been married, then i direct the said sum of five thousand pounds to become part of the residue of my personal estate, and in all other respects i do confirm my said will, and declare this to be a codicil thereto. in witness whereof, i have hereunto set my hand and seal, at venice, this th day of november, in the year of our lord , byron (l.s.) signed, sealed, published, and declared by the said lord byron, as and for a codicil to his will, in the presence of us, who, in his presence, at his request, and in the presence of each other, have subscribed our names as witnesses. newton hanson, william fletcher. proved at london (with a codicil), th of july, , before the worshipful stephen lushington, doctor of laws, and surrogate, by the oaths of john cam hobhouse and john hanson, esquires, the executors, to whom administration was granted, having been first sworn duly to administer. nathaniel gostling, george jenner, charles dyneley, deputy registrars. * * * * * miscellaneous pieces in prose. review of wordsworth's poems, vols. .[ ] [footnote : i have been a reviewer. in , in a magazine called "monthly literary recreations," i reviewed wordsworth's trash of that time. in the monthly review i wrote some articles which were inserted. this was in the latter part of .--byron.] (from "monthly literary recreations," for august, .) the volumes before us are by the author of lyrical ballads, a collection which has not undeservedly met with a considerable share of public applause. the characteristics of mr. w.'s muse are simple and flowing, though occasionally inharmonious verse, strong, and sometimes irresistible appeals to the feelings, with unexceptionable sentiments. though the present work may not equal his former efforts, many of the poems possess a native elegance, natural and unaffected, totally devoid of the tinsel embellishments and abstract hyperboles of several contemporary sonneteers. the last sonnet in the first volume, p. ., is perhaps the best, without any novelty in the sentiments, which we hope are common to every briton at the present crisis; the force and expression is that of a genuine poet, feeling as he writes:-- "another year! another deadly blow! another mighty empire overthrown! and we are left, or shall be left, alone-- the last that dares to struggle with the foe. 'tis well!--from this day forward we shall know that in ourselves our safety must be sought, that by our own right-hands it must be wrought; that we must stand unprop'd, or be laid low. o dastard! whom such foretaste doth not cheer! we shall exult, if they who rule the land be men who hold its many blessings dear, wise, upright, valiant, not a venal band, who are to judge of danger which they fear, and honour which they do not understand." the song at the feast of brougham castle, the seven sisters, the affliction of margaret ---- of ----, possess all the beauties, and few of the defects, of this writer: the following lines from the last are in his first style:-- "ah! little doth the young one dream when full of play and childish cares, what power hath e'en his wildest scream, heard by his mother unawares: he knows it not, he cannot guess: years to a mother bring distress, but do not make her love the less." the pieces least worthy of the author are those entitled "moods of my own mind." we certainly wish these "moods" had been less frequent, or not permitted to occupy a place near works which only make their deformity more obvious; when mr. w. ceases to please, it is by "abandoning" his mind to the most commonplace ideas, at the same time clothing them in language not simple, but puerile. what will any reader or auditor, out of the nursery, say to such namby-pamby as "lines written at the foot of brother's bridge?" "the cock is crowing, the stream is flowing, the small birds twitter, the lake doth glitter. the green field sleeps in the sun; the oldest and youngest, are at work with the strongest; the cattle are grazing, their heads never raising, there are forty feeding like one. like an army defeated, the snow hath retreated, and now doth fare ill, on the top of the bare hill." "the plough-boy is whooping anon, anon," &c. &c. is in the same exquisite measure. this appears to us neither more nor less than an imitation of such minstrelsy as soothed our cries in the cradle, with the shrill ditty of "hey de diddle, the cat and the fiddle: the cow jump'd over the moon, the little dog laugh'd to see such sport, and the dish ran away with the spoon." on the whole, however, with the exception of the above, and other innocent odes of the same cast, we think these volumes display a genius worthy of higher pursuits, and regret that mr. w. confines his muse to such trifling subjects. we trust his motto will be in future, "paulo majora canamus." many, with inferior abilities, have acquired a loftier seat on parnassus, merely by attempting strains in which mr. wordsworth is more qualified to excel.[ ] [footnote : this first attempt of lord byron at reviewing is remarkable only as showing how plausibly he could assume the established tone and phraseology of these minor judgment-seats of criticism. if mr. wordsworth ever chanced to cast his eye over this article, how little could he have expected that under that dull prosaic mask lurked one who, in five short years from thence, would rival even _him_ in poetry!--moore.] review of gell's geography of ithaca, and itinerary of greece. (from the "monthly review" for august, .) that laudable curiosity concerning the remains of classical antiquity, which has of late years increased among our countrymen, is in no traveller or author more conspicuous than in mr. gell. whatever difference of opinion may yet exist with regard to the success of the several disputants in the famous trojan controversy[ ], or, indeed, relating to the present author's merits as an inspector of the troad, it must universally be acknowledged that any work, which more forcibly impresses on our imaginations the scenes of heroic action, and the subjects of immortal song, possesses claims on the attention of every scholar. [footnote : we have it from the best authority that the venerable leader of the anti-homeric sect, jacob bryant, several years before his death, expressed regret for his ungrateful attempt to destroy some of the most pleasing associations of our youthful studies. one of his last wishes was--"_trojaque nunc stares," &c._] of the two works which now demand our report, we conceive the former to be by far the most interesting to the reader, as the latter is indisputably the most serviceable to the traveller. excepting, indeed, the running commentary which it contains on a number of extracts from pausanias and strabo, it is, as the title imports, a mere itinerary of greece, or rather of argolis only, in its present circumstances. this being the case, surely it would have answered every purpose of utility much better by being printed as a pocket road-book of that part of the morea; for a quarto is a very unmanageable travelling companion. the maps[ ] and drawings, we shall be told, would not permit such an arrangement: but as to the drawings, they are not in general to be admired as specimens of the art; and several of them, as we have been assured by eye-witnesses of the scenes which they describe, do not compensate for their mediocrity in point of execution, by any extraordinary fidelity of representation. others, indeed, are more faithful, according to our informants. the true reason, however, for this costly mode of publication is in course to be found in a desire of gratifying the public passion for large margins, and all the luxury of typography; and we have before expressed our dissatisfaction with mr. gell's aristocratical mode of communicating a species of knowledge, which ought to be accessible to a much greater portion of classical students than can at present acquire it by his means:--but, as such expostulations are generally useless, we shall be thankful for what we can obtain, and that in the manner in which mr. gell has chosen to present it. [footnote : or, rather, _map_; for we have only one in the volume, and that is on too small a scale to give more than a general idea of the relative position of places. the excuse about a larger map not folding well is trifling; see, for instance, the author's own map of ithaca.] the former of these volumes, we have observed, is the most attractive in the closet. it comprehends a very full survey of the far-famed island which the hero of the odyssey has immortalized; for we really are inclined to think that the author has established the identity of the modern _theaki_ with the _ithaca_ of homer. at all events, if it be an illusion, it is a very agreeable deception, and is effected by an ingenious interpretation of the passages in homer that are supposed to be descriptive of the scenes which our traveller has visited. we shall extract some of these adaptations of the ancient picture to the modern scene, marking the points of resemblance which appear to be strained and forced, as well as those which are more easy and natural: but we must first insert some preliminary matter from the opening chapter. the following passage conveys a sort of general sketch of the book, which may give our readers a tolerably adequate notion of its contents:-- "the present work may adduce, by a simple and correct survey of the island, coincidences in its geography, in its natural productions, and moral state, before unnoticed. some will be directly pointed out; the fancy or ingenuity of the reader may be employed in tracing others; the mind familiar with the imagery of the odyssey will recognise with satisfaction the scenes themselves; and this volume is offered to the public, not entirely without hopes of vindicating the poem of homer from the scepticism of those critics who imagine that the odyssey is a mere poetical composition, unsupported by history, and unconnected with the localities of any particular situation. "some have asserted that, in the comparison of places now existing with the descriptions of homer, we ought not to expect coincidence in minute details; yet it seems only by these that the kingdom of ulysses, or any other, can be identified, as, if such as idea be admitted, every small and rocky island in the ionian sea, containing a good port, might, with equal plausibility, assume the appellation of ithaca. "the venetian geographers have in a great degree contributed to raise those doubts which have existed on the identity of the modern with the ancient ithaca, by giving, in their charts, the name of val di compare to the island. that name is, however, totally unknown in the country, where the isle is invariably called ithaca by the upper ranks, and theaki by the vulgar. the venetians have equally corrupted the name of almost every place in greece; yet, as the natives of epactos or naupactos never heard of lepanto, those of zacynthos of zante, or the athenians of settines, it would be as unfair to rob ithaca of its name, on such authority, as it would be to assert that no such island existed, because no tolerable representation of its form can be found in the venetian surveys. "the rare medals of the island, of which three are represented in the title-page, might be adduced as a proof that the name of ithaca was not lost during the reigns of the roman emperors. they have the head of ulysses, recognised by the pileum, or pointed cap, while the reverse of one presents the figure of a cock, the emblem of his vigilance, with the legend [greek: ithakon]. a few of these medals are preserved in the cabinets of the curious, and one also, with the cock, found in the island, is in the possession of signor zavo, of bathi. the uppermost coin is in the collection of dr. hunter; the second is copied from newman, and the third is the property of r.p. knight, esq. "several inscriptions, which will be hereafter produced, will tend to the confirmation of the idea that ithaca was inhabited about the time when the romans were masters of greece; yet there is every reason to believe that few, if any, of the present proprietors of the soil are descended from ancestors who had long resided successively in the island. even those who lived, at the time of ulysses, in ithaca, seem to have been on the point of emigrating to argos, and no chief remained, after the second in descent from that hero, worthy of being recorded in history. it appears that the isle has been twice colonised from cephalonia in modern times, and i was informed that a grant had been made by the venetians, entitling each settler in ithaca to as much land as his circumstances would enable him to cultivate." mr. gell then proceeds to invalidate the authority of previous writers on the subject of ithaca. sir george wheeler and m. le chevalier fall under his severe animadversion; and, indeed, according to his account, neither of these gentlemen had visited the island, and the description of the latter is "absolutely too absurd for refutation." in another place, he speaks of m. le c. "disgracing a work of such merit by the introduction of such fabrications;" again, of the inaccuracy of the author's maps; and, lastly, of his inserting an island at the southern entry of the channel between cephalonia and ithaca, which has no existence. this observation very nearly approaches to the use of that monosyllable which gibbon[ ], without expressing it, so adroitly applied to some assertion of his antagonist, mr. davies. in truth, our traveller's words are rather bitter towards his brother tourist: but we must conclude that their justice warrants their severity. [footnote : see his vindication of the th and th chapters of the _decline and fall_, &c.] in the second chapter, the author describes his landing in ithaca, and arrival at the rock korax and the fountain arethusa, as he designates it with sufficient positiveness.--this rock, now known by the name of korax, or koraka petra, he contends to be the same with that which homer mentions as contiguous to the habitation of eumæus, the faithful swine-herd of ulysses.--we shall take the liberty of adding to our extracts from mr. gell some of the passages in homer to which he _refers_ only, conceiving this to be the fairest method of exhibiting the strength or the weakness of his argument. "ulysses," he observes, "came to the extremity of the isle to visit eumusæ, and that extremity was the most southern; for telemachus, coming from pylos, touched at the first south-eastern part of ithaca with the same intention." [greek: kai tote dê r' odusêa kakos pothen êgage daimôn agrou ep' eschatiên, hothi domata naie subôtês; enth' êlthen philos uios odussêos theioio, ek pulou êmathoenios iôn sun nêi melainê; odussei o. autar epên prôtên aktên ithakês aphikêai, nêa men es polin otrunai kai panlas hetairous; autos de prôtisa subôtên eisaphikesthai, k.t.l. odussei o.] these citations, we think, appear to justify the author in his attempt to identify the situation of his rock and fountain with the place of those mentioned by homer. but let us now follow him in the closer description of the scene.--after some account of the subjects in the plate affixed, mr. gell remarks: "it is impossible to visit this sequestered spot without being struck with the recollection of the fount of arethusa and the rock korax, which the poet mentions in the same line, adding, that there the swine eat the _sweet_[ ] acorns, and drank the black water." [footnote : "_sweet_ acorns." does mr. gell translate from the latin? to avoid similar cause of mistake, [greek: menoeikea] should not be rendered _suavem_ but _gratam_, as barnes has given it.] [greek: dêeis ton ge suessi parêmenon; ai de nemontai par korakos petrê, epi te krênê arethousê, esthousai balanon menoeikea, kai melan hudôr pinousai; odussei n.] "having passed some time at the fountain, taken a drawing, and made the necessary observations on the situation of the place, we proceeded to an examination of the precipice, climbing over the terraces above the source, among shady fig-trees, which, however, did not prevent us from feeling the powerful effects of the mid-day sun. after a short but fatiguing ascent, we arrived at the rock, which extends in a vast perpendicular semicircle, beautifully fringed with trees, facing to the southeast. under the crag we found two caves of inconsiderable extent, the entrance of one of which, not difficult of access, is seen in the view of the fount. they are still the resort of sheep and goats, and in one of them are small natural receptacles for the water, covered by a stalagmitic incrustation. "these caves, being at the extremity of the curve formed by the precipice, open toward the south, and present us with another accompaniment of the fount of arethusa, mentioned by the poet, who informs us that the swineherd eumæus left his guests in the house, whilst he, putting on a thick garment, went to sleep near the herd, under the hollow of the rock, which sheltered him from the northern blast. now we know that the herd fed near the fount; for minerva tells ulysses that he is to go first to eumæus, whom he should find with the swine, near the rock korax and the fount of arethusa. as the swine then fed at the fountain, so it is necessary that a cavern should be found in its vicinity; and this seems to coincide, in distance and situation, with that of the poem. near the fount also was the fold or stathmos of eumæus; for the goddess informs ulysses that he should find his faithful servant at or above the fount. "now the hero meets the swineherd close to the fold, which was consequently very near that source. at the top of the rock, and just above the spot where the waterfall shoots down the precipice, is at this day a stagni or pastoral dwelling, which the herdsmen of ithaca still inhabit, on account of the water necessary for their cattle. one of these people walked on the verge of the precipice at the time of our visit to the place, and seemed so anxious to know how we had been conveyed to the spot, that his enquiries reminded us of a question probably not uncommon in the days of homer, who more than once represents the ithacences demanding of strangers what ship had brought them to the island, it being evident they could not come on foot. he told us that there was, on the summit where he stood, a small cistern of water, and a kalybea, or shepherd's hut. there are also vestiges of ancient habitations, and the place is now called amarâthia. "convenience, as well as safety, seems to have pointed out the lofty situation of amarathia as a fit place for the residence of the herdsmen of this part of the island from the earliest ages. a small source of water is a treasure in these climates; and if the inhabitants of ithaca now select a rugged and elevated spot, to secure them from the robbers of the echinades, it is to be recollected that the taphian pirates were not less formidable, even in the days of ulysses, and that a residence in a solitary part of the island, far from the fortress, and close to a celebrated fountain, must at all times have been dangerous, without some such security as the rocks of korax. indeed, there can be no doubt that the house of eumæus was on the top of the precipice; for ulysses, in order to evince the truth of his story to the swineherd, desires to be thrown from the summit if his narration does not prove correct. "near the bottom of the precipice is a curious natural gallery, about seven feet high, which is expressed in the plate. it may be fairly presumed, from the very remarkable coincidence between this place and the homeric account, that this was the scene designated by the poet as the fountain of arethusa, and the residence of eumæus; and, perhaps, it would be impossible to find another spot which bears, at this day, so strong a resemblance to a poetic description composed at a period so very remote. there is no other fountain in this part of the island, nor any rock which bears the slightest resemblance to the korax of homer. "the stathmos of the good eumæus appears to have been little different, either in use or construction, from the stagni and kalybea of the present day. the poet expressly mentions that other herdsmen drove their flocks into the city at sunset,--a custom which still prevails throughout greece during the winter, and that was the season in which ulysses visited eumæus. yet homer accounts for this deviation from the prevailing custom, by observing that he had retired from the city to avoid the suitors of penelope. these trifling occurrences afford a strong presumption that the ithaca of homer was something more than the creature of his own fancy, as some have supposed it; for though the grand outline of a fable may be easily imagined, yet the consistent adaptation of minute incidents to a long and elaborate falsehood is a task of the most arduous and complicated nature." after this long extract, by which we have endeavoured to do justice to mr. gell's argument, we cannot allow room for any farther quotations of such extent; and we must offer a brief and imperfect analysis of the remainder of the work. in the third chapter, the traveller arrives at the capital, and in the fourth, he describes it in an agreeable manner. we select his account of the mode of celebrating a christian festival in the greek church:-- "we were present at the celebration of the feast of the ascension, when the citizens appeared in their gayest dresses, and saluted each other in the streets with demonstrations of pleasure. as we sate at breakfast in the house of zignor zavo, we were suddenly roused by the discharge of a gun, succeeded by a tremendous crash of pottery, which fell on the tiles, steps, and pavements, in every direction. the bells of the numerous churches commenced a most discordant jingle; colours were hoisted on every mast in the port, and a general shout of joy announced some great event. our host informed us that the feast of the ascension was annually commemorated in this manner at bathi, the populace exclaiming [greek: anesê o chrisos, alêthinos o theos,] christ is risen, the true god." in another passage, he continues this account as follows:--"in the evening of the festival, the inhabitants danced before their houses; and at one we saw the figure which is said to have been first used by the youths and virgins of delos, at the happy return of theseus from the expedition of the cretan labyrinth. it has now lost much of that intricacy which was supposed to allude to the windings of the habitation of the minotaur," &c. &c. this is rather too much for even the inflexible gravity of our censorial muscles. when the author talks, with all the _reality_ (if we may use the expression) of a lempriere, on the stories of the fabulous ages, we cannot refrain from indulging a momentary smile; nor can we seriously accompany him in the learned architectural detail by which he endeavours to give us, from the odyssey, the ground-plot of the house of ulysses.--of which he actually offers a plan in drawing! "showing how the description of the house of ulysses in the odyssey may be supposed to correspond with the foundations yet visible on the hill of aito!"--oh, foote! foote! why are you lost to such inviting subjects for your ludicrous pencil!--in his account of this celebrated mansion, mr. gell says, one side of the court seems to have been occupied by the thalamos, or sleeping apartments of the men, &c. &c.; and, in confirmation of this hypothesis, he refers to the th odyssey, line . on examining his reference, we read, [greek: es thalamon t ienai, kai sês epibêmenai eunês.] where ulysses records an invitation which he received from circe to take a part of her bed. how this illustrates the above conjecture, we are at a loss to divine: but we suppose that some numerical error has occurred in the reference, as we have detected a trifling mistake or two of the same nature. mr. g. labours hard to identify the cave of dexia near bathi (the capital of the island), with the grotto of the nymphs described in the th odyssey. we are disposed to grant that he has succeeded: but we cannot here enter into the proofs by which he supports his opinion; and we can only extract one of the concluding sentences of the chapter, which appears to us candid and judicious:-- "whatever opinion may be formed as to the identity of the cave of dexia with the grotto of the nymphs, it is fair to state, that strabo positively asserts that no such cave as that described by homer existed in his time, and that geographer thought it better to assign a physical change, rather than ignorance in homer, to account for a difference which he imagined to exist between the ithaca of his time and that of the poet. but strabo, who was an uncommonly accurate observer with respect to countries surveyed by himself, appears to have been wretchedly misled by his informers on many occasions. "that strabo had never visited this country is evident, not only from his inaccurate account of it, but from his citation of appollodorus and scepsius, whose relations are in direct opposition to each other on the subject of ithaca, as will be demonstrated on a future opportunity." we must, however, observe that "demonstration" is a strong term.--in his description of the leucadian promontory (of which we have a pleasing representation in the plate), the author remarks that it is "celebrated for the _leap_ of sappho, and the _death_ of artemisia." from this variety in the expression, a reader would hardly conceive that both the ladies perished in the same manner: in fact, the sentence is as proper as it would be to talk of the decapitation of russell, and the death of sidney. the view from this promontory includes the island of corfu; and the name suggests to mr. gell the following note, which, though rather irrelevant, is of a curious nature, and we therefore conclude our citations by transcribing it:-- "it has been generally supposed that corfu, or corcyra, was the phæacia of homer; but sir henry englefield thinks the position of that island inconsistent with the voyage of ulysses as described in the odyssey. that gentleman has also observed a number of such remarkable coincidences between the courts of alcinous and solomon, that they may be thought curious and interesting. homer was familiar with the names of tyre, sidon, and egypt; and, as he lived about the time of solomon, it would not have been extraordinary if he had introduced some account of the magnificence of that prince into his poem. as solomon was famous for wisdom, so the name of alcinous signifies strength of knowledge; as the gardens of solomon were celebrated, so are those of alcinous (od. . .); as the kingdom of solomon was distinguished by twelve tribes under twelve princes ( kings, ch. .), so that of alcinous (od. . .) was ruled by an equal number; as the throne of solomon was supported by lions of gold ( kings, ch. .), so that of alcinous was placed on dogs of silver and gold (od, . .); as the fleets of solomon were famous, so were those of alcinous. it is perhaps worthy of remark, that neptune sate on the mountains of the solymi, as he returned from Æthiopia to Ægæ, while he raised the tempest which threw ulysses on the coast of phæacia; and that the solymi of pamphylia are very considerably distant from the route.--the suspicious character, also, which nausicaa attributes to her countryman agrees precisely with that which the greeks and romans gave of the jews." the seventh chapter contains a description of the monastery of kathara, and several adjacent places. the eighth, among other curiosities, fixes on an imaginary site for the farm of laertes: but this is the agony of conjecture indeed!--and the ninth chapter mentions another monastery, and a rock still called the school of homer. some sepulchral inscriptions of a very simple nature are included.--the tenth and last chapter brings us round to the port of schoenus, near bathi; after we have completed, seemingly in a very minute and accurate manner, the tour of the island. we can certainly recommend a perusal of this volume to every lover of classical scene and story. if we may indulge the pleasing belief that homer sang of a real kingdom, and that ulysses governed it, though we discern many feeble links in mr. gell's chain of evidence, we are on the whole induced to fancy that this is the ithaca of the bard and of the monarch. at all events, mr. gell has enabled every future traveller to form a clearer judgment on the question than he could have established without such a "vade-mecum to ithaca," or a "have with you, to the house of ulysses," as the present. with homer in his pocket, and gell on his sumpter-horse or mule, the odyssean tourist may now make a very classical and delightful excursion; and we doubt not that the advantages accruing to the ithacences, from the increased number of travellers who will visit them in consequence of mr. gell's account of their country, will induce them to confer on that gentleman any heraldic honours which they may have to bestow, should he ever look in upon them again.--_baron bathi _ would be a pretty title:-- "_hoc_ ithacus _velit, et magno mercentur atridæ_."--virgil. for ourselves, we confess that all our old grecian feelings would be alive on approaching the fountain of melainudros, where, as the tradition runs, or as the priests relate, homer was restored to sight. we now come to the "grecian patterson," or "cary," which mr. gell has begun to publish; and really he has carried the epic rule of concealing the person of the author to as great a length as either of the above-mentioned heroes of itinerary writ. we hear nothing of his "hair-breadth 'scapes" by sea or land; and we do not even know, for the greater part of his journey through argolis, whether he relates what he has seen or what he has heard. prom other parts of the book, we find the former to be the case: but, though there have been tourists and "strangers" in other countries, who have kindly permitted their readers to learn rather too much of their sweet selves, yet it is possible to carry delicacy, or cautious silence, or whatever it may be called, to the contrary extreme. we think that mr. gell has fallen into this error, so opposite to that of his numerous brethren. it is offensive, indeed, to be told what a man has eaten for dinner, or how pathetic he was on certain occasions; but we like to know that there is a being yet living who describes the scenes to which he introduces us; and that it is not a mere translation from strabo or pausanias which we are reading, or a commentary on those authors. this reflection leads us to the concluding remark in mr. gell's preface (by much the most interesting part of his book) to his itinerary of greece, in which he thus expresses himself:-- "the confusion of the modern with the ancient names of places in this volume is absolutely unavoidable; they are, however, mentioned in such a manner, that the reader will soon be accustomed to the indiscriminate use of them. the necessity of applying the ancient appellations to the different routes, will be evident from the total ignorance of the public on the subject of the modern names, which, having never appeared in print, are only known to the few individuals who have visited the country. "what could appear less intelligible to the reader, or less useful to the traveller, than a route from chione and zaracca to kutchukmadi, from thence to krabata to schoenochorio, and by the mills of peali, while every one is in some degree acquainted with the names of stymphalus, nemea, mycenæ, lyrceia, lerna, and tegea?" although this may be very true inasmuch as it relates to the reader, yet to the traveller we must observe, in opposition to mr. gell, that nothing can be less useful than the designation of his route according to the ancient names. we might as well, and with as much chance of arriving at the place of our destination, talk to a hounslow post-boy about making haste to _augusta_, as apply to our turkish guide in modern greece for a direction to stymphalus, nemea, mycenæ, &c. &c. this is neither more nor less than classical affectation; and it renders mr. gell's book of much more confined use than it would otherwise have been:--but we have some other and more important remarks to make on his general directions to grecian tourists; and we beg leave to assure our readers that they are derived from travellers who have lately visited greece. in the first place, mr. gell is absolutely incautious enough to recommend an interference on the part of english travellers with the minister at the porte, in behalf of the greeks. "the folly of such neglect (page . preface,) in many instances, where the emancipation of a district might often be obtained by the present of a snuff-box or a watch, at constantinople, _and without the smallest danger of exciting the jealousy of such a court as that of turkey,_ will be acknowledged when we are no longer able to rectify the error." we have every reason to believe, on the contrary, that the folly of half a dozen travellers, taking this advice, might bring us into a war. "never interfere with any thing of the kind," is a much sounder and more political suggestion to all english travellers in greece. mr. gell apologises for the introduction of "his panoramic designs," as he calls them, on the score of the great difficulty of giving any tolerable idea of the face of a country in writing, and the ease with which a very accurate knowledge of it may be acquired by maps and panoramic designs. we are informed that this is not the case with many of these designs. the small scale of the single map we have already censured; and we have hinted that some of the drawings are not remarkable for correct resemblance of their originals. the two nearer views of the gate of the lions at mycenæ are indeed good likenesses of their subject, and the first of them is unusually well executed; but the general view of mycenæ is not more than tolerable in any respect; and the prospect of larissa, &c. is barely equal to the former. the view _from_ this last place is also indifferent; and we are positively assured that there are no windows at nauplia which look like a box of dominos,--the idea suggested by mr. gell's plate. we must not, however, be too severe on these picturesque bagatelles, which, probably, were very hasty sketches; and the circumstances of weather, &c. may have occasioned some difference in the appearance of the same objects to different spectators. we shall therefore return to mr. gell's preface; endeavouring to set him right in his directions to travellers, where we think that he is erroneous, and adding what appears to have been omitted. in his first sentence, he makes an assertion which is by no means correct. he says, "_we_ are at present as ignorant of greece, as of the interior of africa." surely not quite so ignorant; or several of our grecian _mungo parks_ have travelled in vain, and some very sumptuous works have been published to no purpose! as we proceed, we find the author observing that "athens is _now_ the most polished city of greece," when we believe it to be the most barbarous, even to a proverb-- [greek: o athêna, protê chora, ti gaidarous trepheis tora[ ]?] [footnote : we write these lines from the _recitation_ of the travellers to whom we have alluded; but we cannot vouch for the correctness of the romaic.] is a couplet of reproach _now_ applied to this once famous city; whose inhabitants seem little worthy of the inspiring call which was addressed to them within these twenty years, by the celebrated riga:-- [greek: deute paides tôn ellênôn--k.t.l.] iannina, the capital of epirus, and the seat of ali pacha's government, _is_ in truth deserving of the honours which mr. gell has improperly bestowed on degraded athens. as to the correctness of the remark concerning the fashion of wearing the hair cropped in _molossia,_ as mr. gell informs us, our authorities cannot depose: but why will he use the classical term of eleuthero-lacones, when that people are so much better known by their modern name of mainotes? "the court of the pacha of tripolizza" is said "to realise the splendid visions of the arabian nights." this is true with regard to the _court_: but surely the traveller ought to have added that the city and palace are most miserable, and form an extraordinary contrast to the splendour of the court.--mr. gell mentions _gold_ mines in greece: he should have specified their situation, as it certainly is not universally known. when, also, he remarks that "the first article of necessity _in greece_ is a firman, or order from the sultan, permitting the traveller to pass unmolested," we are much misinformed if he be right. on the contrary, we believe this to be almost the only part of the turkish dominions in which a firman is not necessary; since the passport of the pacha is absolute within his territory (according to mr. g.'s own admission), and much more effectual than a firman.--"money," he remarks, "is easily procured at salonica, or patrass, where the english have consuls." it is much better procured, we understand, from the turkish governors, who never charge discount. the consuls for the english are not of the most magnanimous order of greeks, and far from being so liberal, generally speaking; although there are, in course, some exceptions, and strune of patrass has been more honourably mentioned.--after having observed that "horses seem the best mode of conveyance in greece," mr. gell proceeds: "some travellers would prefer an english saddle; but a saddle of this sort is always objected to by the owner of the horse, _and not without reason_" &c. this, we learn, is far from being the case; and, indeed, for a very simple reason, an english saddle must seem to be preferable to one of the country, because it is much lighter. when, too, mr. gell calls the _postilion_ "menzilgi," he mistakes him for his betters: _serrugees_ are postilions; _mensilgis_ are postmasters.--our traveller was fortunate in his turks, who are hired to walk by the side of the baggage-horses. they "are certain," he says, "of performing their engagement without grumbling." we apprehend that this is by no means certain:--but mr. gell is perfectly right in preferring a turk to a greek for this purpose; and in his general recommendation to take a janissary on the tour: who, we may add, should be suffered to act as he pleases, since nothing is to be done by gentle means, or even by offers of money, at the places of accommodation. a courier, to be sent on before to the place at which the traveller intends to sleep, is indispensable to comfort: but no tourist should be misled by the author's advice to suffer the greeks to gratify their curiosity, in permitting them to remain for some time about him on his arrival at an inn. they should be removed as soon as possible; for, as to the remark that "no stranger would think of intruding when a room is pre-occupied," our informants were not so well convinced of that fact. though we have made the above exceptions to the accuracy of mr. gell's information, we are most ready to do justice to the general utility of his directions, and can certainly concede the praise which he is desirous of obtaining,--namely, "of having facilitated the researches of future travellers, by affording that local information which it was before impossible to obtain." this book, indeed, is absolutely necessary to any person who wishes to explore the morea advantageously; and we hope that mr. gell will continue his itinerary over that and over every other part of greece. he allows that his volume "is only calculated to become a book of reference, and not of general entertainment:" but we do not see any reason against the compatibility of both objects in a survey of the most celebrated country of the ancient world. to that country, we trust, the attention not only of our travellers, but of our legislators, will hereafter be directed. the greatest caution will, indeed, be required, as we have premised, in touching on so delicate a subject as the amelioration of the possessions of an ally: but the field for the exercise of political sagacity is wide and inviting in this portion of the globe; and mr. gell, and all other writers who interest us, however remotely, in its extraordinary _capabilities_, deserve well of the british empire. we shall conclude by an extract from the author's work: which, even if it fails of exciting that general interest which we hope most earnestly it may attract, towards its important subject, cannot, as he justly observes, "be entirely uninteresting to the scholar;" since it is a work "which gives him a faithful description of the remains of cities, the very existence of which was doubtful, as they perished before the æra of authentic history." the subjoined quotation is a good specimen of the author's minuteness of research as a topographer; and we trust that the credit which must accrue to him from the present performance will ensure the completion of his itinerary:-- "the inaccuracies of the maps of anacharsis are in many respects very glaring. the situation of phlius is marked by strabo as surrounded by the territories of sicyon, argos, cleonæ, and stymphalus. mr. hawkins observed, that phlius, the ruins of which still exist near agios giorgios, lies in a direct line between cleonæ and stymphalus, and another from sicyon to argos; so that strabo was correct in saying that it lay between those four towns; yet we see phlius, in the map of argolis by m. barbie du bocage, placed ten miles to the north of stymphalus, contradicting both history and fact. d'anville is guilty of the same error. "m. du bocage places a town named phlius, and by him phlionte, on the point of land which forms the port of drepano: there are not at present any ruins there. the maps of d'anville are generally more correct than any others where ancient geography is concerned. a mistake occurs on the subject of tiryns, and a place named by him vathia, but of which nothing can be understood. it is possible that vathi, or the profound valley, may be a name sometimes used for the valley of barbitsa, and that the place named by d'anville claustra may be the outlet of that valley called kleisoura, which has a corresponding signification. "the city of tiryns is also placed in two different positions, once by its greek name, and again as tirynthus. the mistake between the islands of sphæria and calaura has been noticed in page . the pontinus, which d'anville represents as a river, and the erasinus are equally ill placed in his map. there was a place called creopolis, somewhere toward cynouria; but its situation is not easily fixed. the ports called bucephalium and piræus seem to have been nothing more than little bays in the country between corinth and epidaurus. the town called athenæ, in cynouria, by pausanias, is called anthena by _thucydides_, book . . "in general, the map of d'anville will be found more accurate than those which have been published since his time; indeed the mistakes of that geographer are in general such as could not be avoided without visiting the country. two errors of d'anville may be mentioned, lest the opportunity of publishing the itinerary of arcadia should never occur. the first is, that the rivers malætas and mylaon, near methydrium, are represented as running toward the south, whereas they flow northwards to the ladon; and the second is, that the aroanius, which falls into the erymanthus at psophis, is represented as flowing from the lake of pheneos; a mistake which arises from the ignorance of the ancients themselves who have written on the subject. the fact is that the ladon receives the waters of the lakes of orchomenos and pheneos: but the aroanius rises at a spot not two hours distant from psophis." in furtherance of our principal object in this critique, we have only to add a wish that some of our grecian tourists, among the fresh articles of information concerning greece which they have lately imported, would turn their minds to the language of the country. so strikingly similar to the ancient greek is the modern romaic as a written language, and so dissimilar in sound, that even a few general rules concerning pronunciation would be of most extensive use. parliamentary speeches. * * * * * debate on the frame-work bill, in the house of lords, february , . the order of the day for the second reading of this bill being read, lord byron rose, and (for the first time) addressed their lordships as follows:-- my lords; the subject now submitted to your lordships for the first time, though new to the house, is by no means new to the country. i believe it had occupied the serious thoughts of all descriptions of persons, long before its introduction to the notice of that legislature, whose interference alone could be of real service. as a person in some degree connected with the suffering county, though a stranger not only to this house in general, but to almost every individual whose attention i presume to solicit, i must claim some portion of your lordships' indulgence, whilst i offer a few observations on a question in which i confess myself deeply interested. to enter into any detail of the riots would be superfluous: the house is already aware that every outrage short of actual bloodshed has been perpetrated, and that the proprietors of the frames obnoxious to the rioters, and all persons supposed to be connected with them, have been liable to insult and violence. during the short time i recently passed in nottinghamshire, not twelve hours elapsed without some fresh act of violence; and on the day i left the county i was informed that forty frames had been broken the preceding evening, as usual, without resistance and without detection. such was then the state of that county, and such i have reason to believe it to be at this moment. but whilst these outrages must be admitted to exist to an alarming extent, it cannot be denied that they have arisen from circumstances of the most unparalleled distress: the perseverance of these miserable men in their proceedings, tends to prove that nothing but absolute want could have driven a large, and once honest and industrious, body of the people, into the commission of excesses so hazardous to themselves, their families, and the community. at the time to which i allude, the town and county were burdened with large detachments of the military; the police was in motion, the magistrates assembled, yet all the movements, civil and military, had led to--nothing. not a single instance had occurred of the apprehension of any real delinquent actually taken in the fact, against whom there existed legal evidence sufficient for conviction. but the police, however useless, were by no means idle: several notorious delinquents had been detected; men, liable to conviction, on the clearest evidence, of the capital crime of poverty; men, who had been nefariously guilty of lawfully begetting several children, whom, thanks to the times! they were unable to maintain. considerable injury has been done to the proprietors of the improved frames. these machines were to them an advantage, inasmuch as they superseded the necessity of employing a number of workmen, who were left in consequence to starve. by the adoption of one species of frame in particular, one man performed the work of many, and the superfluous labourers were thrown out of employment. yet it is to be observed, that the work thus executed was inferior in quality; not marketable at home, and merely hurried over with a view to exportation. it was called, in the cant of the trade, by the name of "spider work." the rejected workmen, in the blindness of their ignorance, instead of rejoicing at these improvements in arts so beneficial to mankind, conceived themselves to be sacrificed to improvements in mechanism. in the foolishness of their hearts they imagined, that the maintenance and well doing of the industrious poor, were objects of greater consequence than the enrichment of a few individuals by any improvement, in the implements of trade, which threw the workmen out of employment, and rendered the labourer unworthy of his hire. and it must be confessed that although the adoption of the enlarged machinery in that state of our commerce which the country once boasted, might have been beneficial to the master without being detrimental to the servant; yet, in the present situation of our manufactures, rotting in warehouses, without a prospect of exportation, with the demand for work and workmen equally diminished, frames of this description tend materially to aggravate the distress and discontent of the disappointed sufferers. but the real cause of these distresses and consequent disturbances lies deeper. when we are told that these men are leagued together not only for the destruction of their own comfort, but of their very means of subsistence, can we forget that it is the bitter policy, the destructive warfare of the last eighteen years, which has destroyed their comfort, your comfort, all men's comfort? that policy, which, originating with "great statesmen now no more," has survived the dead to become a curse on the living, unto the third and fourth generation! these men never destroyed their looms till they were become useless, worse than useless; till they were become actual impediments to their exertions in obtaining their daily bread. can you, then, wonder that in times like these, when bankruptcy, convicted fraud, and imputed felony, are found in a station not far beneath that of your lordships, the lowest, though once most useful portion of the people, should forget their duty in their distresses, and become only less guilty than one of their representatives? but while the exalted offender can find means to baffle the law, new capital punishments must be devised, new snares of death must be spread for the wretched mechanic, who is famished into guilt. these men were willing to dig, but the spade was in other hands: they were not ashamed to beg, but there was none to relieve them: their own means of subsistence were cut off, all other employments pre-occupied; and their excesses, however to be deplored and condemned, can hardly be subject of surprise. it has been stated that the persons in the temporary possession of frames connive at their destruction; if this be proved upon enquiry, it were necessary that such material accessories to the crime should be principles in the punishment. but i did hope, that any measure proposed by his majesty's government, for your lordships' decision, would have had conciliation for its basis; or, if that were hopeless, that some previous enquiry, some deliberation would have been deemed requisite; not that we should have been called at once without examination, and without cause, to pass sentences by wholesale, and sign death-warrants blindfold. but, admitting that these men had no cause of complaint; that the grievances of them and their employers were alike groundless; that they deserved the worst; what inefficiency, what imbecility has been evinced in the method chosen to reduce them! why were the military called out to be made a mockery of, if they were to be called out at all? as far as the difference of seasons would permit, they have merely parodied the summer campaign of major sturgeon; and, indeed, the whole proceedings, civil and military, seemed on the model of those of the mayor and corporation of garratt.--such marchings and counter-marchings! from nottingham to bullwell, from bullwell to banford, from banford to mansfield! and when at length the detachments arrived at their destination, in all "the pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war," they came just in time to witness the mischief which had been done, and ascertain the escape of the perpetrators, to collect the "_spolia opima_" in the fragments of broken frames, and return to their quarters amidst the derision of old women, and the hootings of children. now, though, in a free country, it were to be wished, that our military should never be too formidable, at least to ourselves, i cannot see the policy of placing them in situations where they can only be made ridiculous. as the sword is the worst argument that can be used, so should it be the last. in this instance it has been the first; but providentially as yet only in the scabbard. the present measure will, indeed, pluck it from the sheath; yet had proper meetings been held in the earlier stages of these riots, had the grievances of these men and their masters (for they also had their grievances) been fairly weighed and justly examined, i do think that means might have been devised to restore these workmen to their avocations, and tranquillity to the county. at present the county suffers from the double infliction of an idle military and a starving population. in what state of apathy have we been plunged so long, that now for the first time the house has been officially apprised of these disturbances? all this has been transacting within miles of london, and yet we, "good easy men, have deemed full sure our greatness was a ripening," and have sat down to enjoy our foreign triumphs in the midst of domestic calamity. but all the cities you have taken, all the armies which have retreated before your leaders, are but paltry subjects of self-congratulation, if your land divides against itself, and your dragoons and your executioners must be let loose against your fellow-citizens.--you call these men a mob, desperate, dangerous, and ignorant; and seem to think that the only way to quiet the "_bellua multorum capitum_" is to lop off a few of its superfluous heads. but even a mob may be better reduced to reason by a mixture of conciliation and firmness, than by additional irritation and redoubled penalties. are we aware of our obligations to a mob? it is the mob that labour in your fields and serve in your houses,--that man your navy, and recruit your army,--that have enabled you to defy all the world, and can also defy you when neglect and calamity have driven them to despair! you may call the people a mob; but do not forget, that a mob too often speaks the sentiments of the people. and here i must remark, with what alacrity you are accustomed to fly to the succour of your distressed allies, leaving the distressed of your own country to the care of providence or--the parish. when the portuguese suffered under the retreat of the french, every arm was stretched out, every hand was opened, from the rich man's largess to the widow's mite, all was bestowed, to enable them to rebuild their villages and replenish their granaries. and at this moment, when thousands of misguided but most unfortunate fellow-countrymen are struggling with the extremes of hardships and hunger, as your charity began abroad it should end at home. a much less sum, a tithe of the bounty bestowed on portugal, even if those men (which i cannot admit without enquiry) could not have been restored to their employments, would have rendered unnecessary the tender mercies of the bayonet and the gibbet. but doubtless our friends have too many foreign claims to admit a prospect of domestic relief; though never did such objects demand it. i have traversed the seat of war in the peninsula, i have been in some of the most oppressed provinces of turkey, but never under the most despotic of infidel governments did i behold such squalid wretchedness as i have seen since my return in the very heart of a christian country. and what are your remedies? after months of inaction, and months of action worse than inactivity, at length comes forth the grand specific, the never-failing nostrum of all state physicians, from the days of draco to the present time. after feeling the pulse and shaking the head over the patient, prescribing the usual course of warm water and bleeding, the warm water of your mawkish police, and the lancets of your military, these convulsions must terminate in death, the sure consummation of the prescriptions of all political sangrados. setting aside the palpable injustice and the certain inefficiency of the bill, are there not capital punishments sufficient in your statutes? is there not blood enough upon your penal code, that more must be poured forth to ascend to heaven and testify against you? how will you carry the bill into effect? can you commit a whole county to their own prisons? will you erect a gibbet in every field, and hang up men like scarecrows? or will you proceed (as you must to bring this measure into effect) by decimation? place the county under martial law? depopulate and lay waste all around you? and restore sherwood forest as an acceptable gift to the crown, in its former condition of a royal chase and an asylum for outlaws? are these the remedies for a starving and desperate populace? will the famished wretch who has braved your bayonets be appalled by your gibbets? when death is a relief, and the only relief it appears that you will afford him, will he be dragooned into tranquillity? will that which could not be effected by your grenadiers, be accomplished by your executioners? if you proceed by the forms of law, where is your evidence? those who have refused to impeach their accomplices, when transportation only was the punishment, will hardly be tempted to witness against them when death is the penalty. with all due deference to the noble lords opposite, i think a little investigation, some previous enquiry would induce even them to change their purpose. that most favourite state measure, so marvellously efficacious in many and recent instances, temporising, would not be without its advantages in this. when a proposal is made to emancipate or relieve, you hesitate, you deliberate for years, you temporise and tamper with the minds of men; but a death-bill must be passed off hand, without a thought of the consequences. sure i am, from what i have heard, and from what i have seen, that to pass the hill under all the existing circumstances, without enquiry, without deliberation, would only be to add injustice to irritation, and barbarity to neglect. the framers of such a bill must be content to inherit the honours of that athenian lawgiver whose edicts were said to be written not in ink but in blood. but suppose it past; suppose one of these men, as i have seen them,--meagre with famine, sullen with despair, careless of a life which your lordships are perhaps about to value at something less than the price of a stocking-frame;--suppose this man surrounded by the children for whom he is unable to procure bread at the hazard of his existence, about to be torn for ever from a family which he lately supported in peaceful industry, and which it is not his fault that he can no longer so support;--suppose this man, and there are ten thousand such from whom you may select your victims, dragged into court, to be tried for this new offence, by this new law; still, there are two things wanting to convict and condemn him; and these are, in my opinion,--twelve butchers for a jury, and a jefferies for a judge! debate on the earl of donoughmore's motion for a committee on the roman catholic claims, april . . lord byron rose and said:-- my lords,--the question before the house has been so frequently, fully, and ably discussed, and never perhaps more ably than on this night, that it would be difficult to adduce new arguments for or against it. but with each discussion, difficulties have been removed, objections have been canvassed and refuted, and some of the former opponents of catholic emancipation have at length conceded to the expediency of relieving the petitioners. in conceding thus much, however, a new objection is started; it is not the time, say they, or it is an improper time, or there is time enough yet. in some degree i concur with those who say, it is not the time exactly; that time is passed; better had it been for the country, that the catholics possessed at this moment their proportion of our privileges, that their nobles held their due weight in our councils, than that we should be assembled to discuss their claims. it had indeed been better-- "non tempore tali "cogere concilium cum muros obsidet hostis." the enemy is without, and distress within. it is too late to cavil on doctrinal points, when we must unite in defence of things more important than the mere ceremonies of religion. it is indeed singular, that we are called together to deliberate, not on the god we adore, for in that we are agreed; not about the king we obey, for to him we are loyal; but how far a difference in the ceremonials of worship, how far believing not too little, but too much (the worst that can be imputed to the catholics), how far too much devotion to their god may incapacitate our fellow-subjects from effectually serving their king. much has been said, within and without doors, of church and state, and although those venerable words have been too often prostituted to the most despicable of party purposes, we cannot hear them too often; all, i presume, are the advocates of church and state,--the church of christ, and the state of great britain; but not a state of exclusion and despotism, not an intolerant church, not a church militant, which renders itself liable to the very objection urged against the romish communion, and in a greater degree, for the catholic merely withholds its spiritual benediction (and even that is doubtful), but our church, or rather our churchmen, not only refuse to the catholic their spiritual grace, but all temporal blessings whatsoever. it was an observation of the great lord peterborough, made within these walls, or within the walls where the lords then assembled, that he was for a "parliamentary king and a parliamentary constitution, but not a parliamentary god and a parliamentary religion." the interval of a century has not weakened the force of the remark. it is indeed time that we should leave off these petty cavils on frivolous points, these lilliputian sophistries, whether our "eggs are best broken at the broad or narrow end." the opponents of the catholics may be divided into two classes; those who assert that the catholics have too much already, and those who allege that the lower orders, at least, have nothing more to require. we are told by the former, that the catholics never will be contented: by the latter, that they are already too happy. the last paradox is sufficiently refuted by the present as by all past petitions; it might as well be said, that the negroes did not desire to be emancipated, but this is an unfortunate comparison, for you have already delivered them out of the house of bondage without any petition on their part, but many from their task-masters to a contrary effect; and for myself, when i consider this, i pity the catholic peasantry for not having the good fortune to be born black. but the catholics are contented, or at least ought to be, as we are told; i shall, therefore, proceed to touch on a few of those circumstances which so marvellously contribute to their exceeding contentment. they are not allowed the free exercise of their religion in the regular army; the catholic soldier cannot absent himself from the service of the protestant clergyman, and unless he is quartered in ireland, or in spain, where can he find eligible opportunities of attending his own? the permission of catholic chaplains to the irish militia regiments was conceded as a special favour, and not till after years of remonstrance, although an act, passed in , established it as a right. but are the catholics properly protected in ireland? can the church purchase a rood of land whereon to erect a chapel? no! all the places of worship are built on leases of trust or sufferance from the laity, easily broken, and often betrayed. the moment any irregular wish, any casual caprice of the benevolent landlord meets with opposition, the doors are barred against the congregation. this has happened continually, but in no instance more glaringly, than at the town of newton-barry, in the county of wexford. the catholics enjoying no regular chapel, as a temporary expedient, hired two barns; which, being thrown into one, served for public worship. at this time, there was quartered opposite to the spot an officer whose mind appears to have been deeply imbued with those prejudices which the protestant petitions now on the table prove to have been fortunately eradicated from the more rational portion of the people; and when the catholics were assembled on the sabbath as usual, in peace and good-will towards men, for the worship of their god and yours, they found the chapel door closed, and were told that if they did not immediately retire (and they were told this by a yeoman officer and a magistrate), the riot act should be read, and the assembly dispersed at the point of the bayonet! this was complained of to the middle man of government, the secretary at the castle in , and the answer was (in lieu of redress), that he would cause a letter to be written to the colonel, to prevent, if possible, the recurrence of similar disturbances. upon this fact, no very great stress need be laid; but it tends to prove that while the catholic church has not power to purchase land for its chapels to stand upon, the laws for its protection are of no avail. in the mean time, the catholics are at the mercy of every "pelting petty officer," who may choose to play his "fantastic tricks before high heaven," to insult his god, and injure his fellow-creatures. every school-boy, any foot-boy (such have held commissions in our service), any foot-boy who can exchange his shoulder-knot for an epaulette, may perform all this and more against the catholic by virtue of that very authority delegated to him by his sovereign, for the express purpose of defending his fellow subjects to the last drop of his blood, without discrimination or distinction between catholic and protestant. have the irish catholics the full benefit of trial by jury? they have not; they never can have until they are permitted to share the privilege of serving as sheriffs and under-sheriffs. of this a striking example occurred at the last enniskillen assizes. a yeoman was arraigned for the murder of a catholic named macvournagh: three respectable, uncontradicted witnesses deposed that they saw the prisoner load, take aim, fire at, and kill the said macvournagh. this was properly commented on by the judge: but to the astonishment of the bar, and indignation of the court, the protestant jury acquitted the accused. so glaring was the partiality, that mr. justice osborne felt it his duty to bind over the acquitted, but not absolved assassin, in large recognizances; thus for a time taking away his license to kill catholics. are the very laws passed in their favour observed? they are rendered nugatory in trivial as in serious cases. by a late act, catholic chaplains are permitted in gaols, but in fermanagh county the grand jury lately persisted in presenting a suspended clergyman for the office, thereby evading the statute, notwithstanding the most pressing remonstrances of a most respectable magistrate, named fletcher, to the contrary. such is law, such is justice, for the happy, free, contented catholic! it has been asked, in another place, why do not the rich catholics endow foundations for the education of the priesthood? why do you not permit them to do so? why are all such bequests subject to the interference, the vexatious, arbitrary, peculating interference of the orange commissioners for charitable donations? as to maynooth college, in no instance, except at the time of its foundation, when a noble lord (camden), at the head of the irish administration, did appear to interest himself in its advancement; and during the government of a noble duke (bedford), who, like his ancestors, has ever been the friend of freedom and mankind, and who has not so far adopted the selfish policy of the day as to exclude the catholics from the number of his fellow-creatures; with these exceptions, in no instance has that institution been properly encouraged. there was indeed a time when the catholic clergy were conciliated, while the union was pending, that union which could not be carried without them, while their assistance was requisite in procuring addresses from the catholic counties; then they were cajoled and caressed, feared and flattered, and given to understand that "the union would do every thing;" but the moment it was passed, they were driven back with contempt into their former obscurity. in the conduct pursued towards maynooth college, every thing is done to irritate and perplex--every thing is done to efface the slightest impression of gratitude from the catholic mind; the very hay made upon the lawn, the fat and tallow of the beef and mutton allowed, must be paid for and accounted upon oath. it is true, this economy in miniature cannot sufficiently be commended, particularly at a time when only the insect defaulters of the treasury, your hunts and your chinnerys, when only those "gilded bugs" can escape the microscopic eye of ministers. but when you come forward, session after session, as your paltry pittance is wrung from you with wrangling and reluctance, to boast of your liberality, well might the catholic exclaim, in the words of prior:-- "to john i owe some obligation, but john unluckily thinks fit to publish it to all the nation, so john and i are more than quit." some persons have compared the catholics to the beggar in gil bias: who made them beggars? who are enriched with the spoils of their ancestors? and cannot you relieve the beggar when your fathers have made him such? if you are disposed to relieve him at all, cannot you do it without flinging your farthings in his face? as a contrast, however, to this beggarly benevolence, let us look at the protestant charter schools; to them you have lately granted , _l_.: thus are they supported, and how are they recruited? montesquieu observes on the english constitution, that the model may be found in tacitus, where the historian describes the policy of the germans, and adds, "this beautiful system was taken from the woods;" so in speaking of the charter schools, it may be observed, that this beautiful system was taken from the gipsies. these schools are recruited in the same manner as the janissaries at the time of their enrolment under amurath, and the gipsies of the present day with stolen children, with children decoyed and kidnapped from their catholic connections by their rich and powerful protestant neighbours: this is notorious, and one instance may suffice to show in what manner:--the sister of a mr. carthy (a catholic gentleman of very considerable property) died, leaving two girls, who were immediately marked out as proselytes, and conveyed to the charter school of coolgreny; their uncle, on being apprised of the fact, which took place during his absence, applied for the restitution of his nieces, offering to settle an independence on these his relations; his request was refused, and not till after five years' struggle, and the interference of very high authority, could this catholic gentleman obtain back his nearest of kindred from a charity charter school. in this manner are proselytes obtained, and mingled with the offspring of such protestants as may avail themselves of the institution. and how are they taught? a catechism is put into their hands, consisting of, i believe, forty-five pages, in which are three questions relative to the protestant religion; one of these queries is, "where was the protestant religion before luther?" answer, "in the gospel." the remaining forty-four pages and a half regard the damnable idolatry of papists! allow me to ask our spiritual pastors and masters, is this training up a child in the way which he should go? is this the religion of the gospel before the time of luther? that religion which preaches "peace on earth, and glory to god?" is it bringing up infants to be men or devils? better would it be to send them any where than teach them such doctrines; better send them to those islands in the south seas, where they might more humanely learn to become cannibals; it would be less disgusting that they were brought up to devour the dead, than persecute the living. schools do you call them? call them rather dunghills, where the viper of intolerance deposits her young, that when their teeth are cut and their poison is mature, they may issue forth, filthy and venomous, to sting the catholic. but are these the doctrines of the church of england, or of churchmen? no, the most enlightened churchmen are of a different opinion. what says paley? "i perceive no reason why men of different religious persuasions should not sit upon the same bench, deliberate in the same council, or fight in the same ranks, as well as men of various religious opinions, upon any controverted topic of natural history, philosophy, or ethics." it may be answered, that paley was not strictly orthodox; i know nothing of his orthodoxy, but who will deny that he was an ornament to the church, to human nature, to christianity? i shall not dwell upon the grievance of tithes, so severely felt by the peasantry, but it may be proper to observe, that there is an addition to the burden, a per centage to the gatherer, whose interest it thus becomes to rate them as highly as possible, and we know that in many large livings in ireland the only resident protestants are the tithe proctor and his family. amongst many causes of irritation, too numerous for recapitulation, there is one in the militia not to be passed over,--i mean the existence of orange lodges amongst the privates. can the officers deny this? and if such lodges do exist, do they, can they, tend to promote harmony amongst the men, who are thus individually separated in society, although mingled in the ranks? and is this general system of persecution to be permitted; or is it to be believed that with such a system the catholics can or ought to be contented? if they are, they belie human nature; they are then, indeed, unworthy to be any thing but the slaves you have made them. the facts stated are from most respectable authority, or i should not have dared in this place, or any place, to hazard this avowal. if exaggerated, there are plenty as willing, as i believe them to be unable, to disprove them. should it be objected that i never was in ireland, i beg leave to observe, that it is as easy to know something of ireland without having been there, as it appears with some to have been born, bred, and cherished there, and yet remain ignorant of its best interests. but there are who assert that the catholics have already been too much indulged. see (cry they) what has been done: we have given them one entire college, we allow them food and raiment, the full enjoyment of the elements, and leave to fight for us as long as they have limbs and lives to offer, and yet they are never to be satisfied!--generous and just declaimers! to this, and to this only, amount the whole of your arguments, when stript of their sophistry. those personages remind me of a story of a certain drummer, who, being called upon in the course of duty to administer punishment to a friend tied to the halberts, was requested to flog high, he did--to flog low, he did--to flog in the middle, he did,--high, low, down the middle, and up again, but all in vain; the patient continued his complaints with the most provoking pertinacity, until the drummer, exhausted and angry, flung down his scourge, exclaiming, "the devil burn you, there's no pleasing you, flog where one will!" thus it is, you have flogged the catholic high, low, here, there, and every where, and then you wonder he is not pleased. it is true that time, experience, and that weariness which attends even the exercise of barbarity, have taught you to flog a little more gently; but still you continue to lay on the lash, and will so continue, till perhaps the rod may be wrested from your hands, and applied to the backs of yourselves and your posterity. it was said by somebody in a former debate, (i forget by whom, and am not very anxious to remember,) if the catholics are emancipated, why not the jews? if this sentiment was dictated by compassion for the jews, it might deserve attention, but as a sneer against the catholic, what is it but the language of shylock transferred from his daughter's marriage to catholic emancipation-- "would any of the tribe of barabbas should have it rather than a christian." i presume a catholic is a christian, even in the opinion of him whose taste only can be called in question for his preference of the jews. it is a remark often quoted of dr. johnson, (whom i take to be almost as good authority as the gentle apostle of intolerance, dr. duigenan,) that he who could entertain serious apprehensions of danger to the church in these times, would have "cried fire in the deluge." this is more than a metaphor; for a remnant of these antediluvians appear actually to have come down to us, with fire in their mouths and water in their brains, to disturb and perplex mankind with their whimsical outcries. and as it is an infallible symptom of that distressing malady with which i conceive them to be afflicted (so any doctor will inform your lordships), for the unhappy invalids to perceive a flame perpetually flashing before their eyes, particularly when their eyes are shut (as those of the persons to whom i allude have long been), it is impossible to convince these poor creatures, that the fire against which they are perpetually warning us and themselves is nothing but an _ignis fatuus_ of their own drivelling imaginations. what rhubarb, senna, or "what purgative drug can scour that fancy thence?"--it is impossible, they are given over, theirs is the true "caput insanabile tribus anticyris." these are your true protestants. like bayle, who protested against all sects whatsoever, so do they protest against catholic petitions, protestant petitions, all redress, all that reason, humanity, policy, justice, and common sense, can urge against the delusions of their absurd delirium. these are the persons who reverse the fable of the mountain that brought forth a mouse; they are the mice who conceive themselves in labour with mountains. to return to the catholics; suppose the irish were actually contented under their disabilities; suppose them capable of such a bull as not to desire deliverance, ought we not to wish it for ourselves? have we nothing to gain by their emancipation? what resources have been wasted? what talents have been lost by the selfish system of exclusion? you already know the value of irish aid; at this moment the defence of england is intrusted to the irish militia; at this moment, while the starving people are rising in the fierceness of despair, the irish are faithful to their trust. but till equal energy is imparted throughout by the extension of freedom, you cannot enjoy the full benefit of the strength which you are glad to interpose between you and destruction. ireland has done much, but will do more. at this moment the only triumph obtained through long years of continental disaster has been achieved by an irish general: it is true he is not a catholic; had he been so, we should have been deprived of his exertions: but i presume no one will assert that his religion would have impaired his talents or diminished his patriotism; though, in that case, he must have conquered in the ranks, for he never could have commanded an army. but he is fighting the battles of the catholics abroad; his noble brother has this night advocated their cause, with an eloquence which i shall not depreciate by the humble tribute of my panegyric; whilst a third of his kindred, as unlike as unequal, has been combating against his catholic brethren in dublin, with circular letters, edicts, proclamations, arrests, and dispersions;--all the vexatious implements of petty warfare that could be wielded by the mercenary guerillas of government, clad in the rusty armour of their obsolete statutes. your lordships will, doubtless, divide new honours between the saviour of portugal, and the dispenser of delegates. it is singular, indeed, to observe the difference between our foreign and domestic policy; if catholic spain, faithful portugal, or the no less catholic and faithful king of the one sicily, (of which, by the by, you have lately deprived him,) stand in need of succour, away goes a fleet and an army, an ambassador and a subsidy, sometimes to fight pretty hardly, generally to negotiate very badly, and always to pay very dearly for our popish allies. but let four millions of fellow-subjects pray for relief, who fight and pay and labour in your behalf, they must be treated as aliens; and although their "father's house has many mansions," there is no resting-place for them. allow me to ask, are you not fighting for the emancipation of ferdinand vii., who certainly is a fool, and, consequently, in all probability a bigot? and have you more regard for a foreign sovereign than your own fellow-subjects, who are not fools, for they know your interest better than you know your own; who are not bigots, for they return you good for evil; but who are in worse durance than the prison of a usurper, inasmuch as the fetters of the mind are more galling than those of the body? upon the consequences of your not acceding to the claims of the petitioners, i shall not expatiate; you know them, you will feel them, and your children's children when you are passed away. adieu to that union so called, as "_lucus a non lucendo_," a union from never uniting, which in its first operation gave a death-blow to the independence of ireland, and in its last may be the cause of her eternal separation from this country. if it must be called a union, it is the union of the shark with his prey; the spoiler swallows up his victim, and thus they become one and indivisible. thus has great britain swallowed up the parliament, the constitution, the independence of ireland, and refuses to disgorge even a single privilege, although for the relief of her swollen and distempered body politic. and now, my lords, before i sit down, will his majesty's ministers permit me to say a few words, not on their merits, for that would be superfluous, but on the degree of estimation in which they are held by the people of these realms? the esteem in which they are held has been boasted of in a triumphant tone on a late occasion within these walls, and a comparison instituted between their conduct and that of noble lords on this side of the house. what portion of popularity may have fallen to the share of my noble friends (if such i may presume to call them), i shall not pretend to ascertain; but that of his majesty's ministers it were vain to deny. it is, to be sure, a little like the wind, "no one knows whence it cometh or whither it goeth," but they feel it, they enjoy it, they boast of it. indeed, modest and unostentatious as they are, to what part of the kingdom, even the most remote, can they flee to avoid the triumph which pursues them? if they plunge into the midland counties, there will they be greeted by the manufacturers, with spurned petitions in their hands, and those halters round their necks recently voted in their behalf, imploring blessings on the heads of those who so simply, yet ingeniously, contrived to remove them from their miseries in this to a better world. if they journey on to scotland, from glasgow to johnny groats, every where will they receive similar marks of approbation. if they take a trip from portpatrick to donaghadee, there will they rush at once into the embraces of four catholic millions, to whom their vote of this night is about to endear them for ever. when they return to the metropolis, if they can pass under temple bar without unpleasant sensations at the sight of the greedy niches over that ominous gateway, they cannot escape the acclamations of the livery, and the more tremulous, but not less sincere, applause, the blessings, "not loud but deep," of bankrupt merchants and doubting stock-holders. if they look to the army, what wreaths, not of laurel, but of nightshade, are preparing for the heroes of walcheren. it is true, there are few living deponents left to testify to their merits on that occasion; but a "cloud of witnesses" are gone above from that gallant army which they so generously and piously despatched, to recruit the "noble army of martyrs." what if in the course of this triumphal career (in which they will gather as many pebbles as caligula's army did on a similar triumph, the prototype of their own,) they do not perceive any of those memorials which a grateful people erect in honour of their benefactors; what although not even a sign-post will condescend to depose the saracen's head in favour of the likeness of the conquerors of walcheren, they will not want a picture who can always have a caricature; or regret the omission of a statue who will so often see themselves exalted in effigy. but their popularity is not limited to the narrow bounds of an island; there are other countries where their measures, and above all, their conduct to the catholics, must render them preeminently popular. if they are beloved here, in france they must be adored. there is no measure more repugnant to the designs and feelings of bonaparte than catholic emancipation; no line of conduct more propitious to his projects, than that which has been pursued, is pursuing, and, i fear, will be pursued, towards ireland. what is england without ireland, and what is ireland without the catholics? it is on the basis of your tyranny napoleon hopes to build his own. so grateful must oppression of the catholics be to his mind, that doubtless (as he has lately permitted some renewal of intercourse) the next cartel will convey to this country cargoes of seve-china and blue ribands, (things in great request, and of equal value at this moment,) blue ribands of the legion of honour for dr. duigenan and his ministerial disciples. such is that well-earned popularity, the result of those extraordinary expeditions, so expensive to ourselves, and so useless to our allies; of those singular enquiries, so exculpatory to the accused and so dissatisfactory to the people; of those paradoxical victories, so honourable, as we are told, to the british name, and so destructive to the best interests of the british nation: above all, such is the reward of a conduct pursued by ministers towards the catholics. i have to apologise to the house, who will, i trust, pardon one, not often in the habit of intruding upon their indulgence, for so long attempting to engage their attention. my most decided opinion is, as my vote will be, in favour of the motion. * * * * * debate on major cartwright's petition, june . . lord byron rose and said:-- my lords,--the petition which i now hold for the purpose of presenting to the house, is one which i humbly conceive requires the particular attention of your lordships, inasmuch as, though signed but by a single individual, it contains statements which (if not disproved) demand most serious investigation. the grievance of which the petitioner complains is neither selfish nor imaginary. it is not his own only, for it has been, and is still felt by numbers. no one without these walls, nor indeed within, but may to-morrow be made liable to the same insult and obstruction, in the discharge of an imperious duty for the restoration of the true constitution of these realms, by petitioning for reform in parliament. the petitioner, my lords, is a man whose long life has been spent in one unceasing struggle for the liberty of the subject, against that undue influence which has increased, is increasing, and ought to be diminished; and whatever difference of opinion may exist as to his political tenets, few will be found to question the integrity of his intentions. even now oppressed with years, and not exempt from the infirmities attendant on his age, but still unimpaired in talent, and unshaken in spirit--"_frangas non fleetes_"--he has received many a wound in the combat against corruption; and the new grievance, the fresh insult of which he complains, may inflict another scar, but no dishonour. the petition is signed by john cartwright, and it was in behalf of the people and parliament, in the lawful pursuit of that reform in the representation, which is the best service to be rendered both to parliament and people, that he encountered the wanton outrage which forms the subject-matter of his petition to your lordships. it is couched in firm, yet respectful language--in the language of a man, not regardless of what is due to himself, but at the same time, i trust, equally mindful of the deference to be paid to this house. the petitioner states, amongst other matter of equal, if not greater importance, to all who are british in their feelings, as well as blood and birth, that on the st january, , at huddersfield, himself and six other persons, who, on hearing of his arrival, had waited on him merely as a testimony of respect, were seized by a military and civil force, and kept in close custody for several hours, subjected to gross and abusive insinuation from the commanding officer, relative to the character of the petitioner; that he (the petitioner) was finally carried before a magistrate, and not released till an examination of his papers proved that there was not only no just, but not even statutable charge against him; and that, notwithstanding the promise and order from the presiding magistrates of a copy of the warrant against your petitioner, it was afterwards withheld on divers pretexts, and has never until this hour been granted. the names and condition of the parties will be found in the petition. to the other topics touched upon in the petition, i shall not now advert, from a wish not to encroach upon the time of the house; but i do most sincerely call the attention of your lordships to its general contents--it is in the cause of the parliament and people that the rights of this venerable freeman have been violated, and it is, in my opinion, the highest mark of respect that could be paid to the house, that to your justice, rather than by appeal to any inferior court, he now commits, himself. whatever may be the fate of his remonstrance, it is some satisfaction to me, though mixed with regret for the occasion, that i have this opportunity of publicly stating the obstruction to which the subject is liable, in the prosecution of the most lawful and imperious of his duties, the obtaining by petition reform in parliament. i have shortly stated his complaint; the petitioner has more fully expressed it. your lordships will, i hope, adopt some measure fully to protect and redress him, and not him alone, but the whole body of the people, insulted and aggrieved in his person, by the interposition of an abused civil, and unlawful military force between them and their right of petition to their own representatives. his lordship then presented the petition from major cartwright, which was read, complaining of the circumstances at huddersfield, and of interruptions given to the right of petitioning in several places in the northern parts of the kingdom, and which his lordship moved should be laid on the table. several lords having spoken on the question, lord byron replied, that he had, from motives of duty, presented this petition to their lordships' consideration. the noble earl had contended, that it was not a petition, but a speech; and that, as it contained no prayer, it should not be received. what was the necessity of a prayer? if that word were to be used in its proper sense, their lordships could not expect that any man should pray to others. he had only to say, that the petition, though in some parts expressed strongly perhaps, did not contain any improper mode of address, but was couched in respectful language towards their lordships; he should therefore trust their lordships would allow the petition to be received. a fragment.[ ] [footnote : during a week of rain at diodati, in the summer of , the party having amused themselves with reading german ghost stories, they agreed at last to write something in imitation of them. "you and i," said lord byron to mrs. shelley, "will publish ours together." he then began his tale of the vampire; and, having the whole arranged in his head, repeated to them a sketch of the story one evening;--but, from the narrative being in prose, made but little progress in filling up his outline. the most memorable result, indeed, of their storytelling compact, was mrs. shelley's wild and powerful romance of frankenstein.--moore. "i began it," says lord byron, "in an old account book of miss milbanke's, which i kept because it contains the word 'household,' written by her twice on the inside blank page of the covers; being the only two scraps i have in the world in her writing, except her name to the deed of separation."] _june_ . . in the year --, having for some time determined on a journey through countries not hitherto much frequented by travellers, i set out, accompanied by a friend, whom i shall designate by the name of augustus darvell. he was a few years my elder, and a man of considerable fortune and ancient family; advantages which an extensive capacity prevented him alike from undervaluing or overrating. some peculiar circumstances in his private history had rendered him to me an object of attention, of interest, and even of regard, which neither the reserve of his manners, nor occasional indications of an inquietude at times nearly approaching to alienation of mind, could extinguish. i was yet young in life, which i had begun early; but my intimacy with him was of a recent date: we had been educated at the same schools and university; but his progress through these had preceded mine, and he had been deeply initiated, into what is called the world, while i was yet in my noviciate. while thus engaged, i heard much both of his past and present life; and, although in these accounts there were many and irreconcileable contradictions, i could still gather from the whole that he was a being of no common order, and one who, whatever pains he might take to avoid remark, would still be remarkable. i had cultivated his acquaintance subsequently, and endeavoured to obtain his friendship, but this last appeared to be unattainable; whatever affections he might have possessed, seemed now, some to have been extinguished, and others to be concentred: that his feelings were acute, i had sufficient opportunities of observing; for, although he could control, he could not altogether disguise them: still he had a power of giving to one passion the appearance of another, in such a manner that it was difficult to define the nature of what was working within him; and the expressions of his features would vary so rapidly, though slightly, that it was useless to trace them to their sources. it was evident that he was a prey to some cureless disquiet; but whether it arose from ambition, love, remorse, grief, from one or all of these, or merely from a morbid temperament akin to disease, i could not discover: there were circumstances alleged, which might have justified the application to each of these causes; but, as i have before said, these were so contradictory and contradicted, that none could be fixed upon with accuracy. where there is mystery, it is generally supposed that there must also be evil: i know not how this may be, but in him there certainly was the one, though i could not ascertain the extent of the other--and felt loth, as far as regarded himself, to believe in its existence. my advances were received with sufficient coldness; but i was young, and not easily discouraged, and at length succeeded in obtaining, to a certain degree, that common-place intercourse and moderate confidence of common and every-day concerns, created and cemented by similarity of pursuit and frequency of meeting, which is called intimacy, or friendship, according to the ideas of him who uses those words to express them. darvell had already travelled extensively; and to him i had applied for information with regard to the conduct of my intended journey. it was my secret wish that he might be prevailed on to accompany me; it was also a probable hope, founded upon the shadowy restlessness which i observed in him, and to which the animation which he appeared to feel on such subjects, and his apparent indifference to all by which he was more immediately surrounded, gave fresh strength. this wish i first hinted, and then expressed: his answer, though i had partly expected it, gave me all the pleasure of surprise--he consented; and, after the requisite arrangement, we commenced our voyages. after journeying through various countries of the south of europe, our attention was turned towards the east, according to our original destination; and it was in my progress through those regions that the incident occurred upon which will turn what i may have to relate. the constitution of darvell, which must from his appearance have been in early life more than usually robust, had been for some time gradually giving way, without the intervention of any apparent disease: he had neither cough nor hectic, yet he became daily more enfeebled: his habits were temperate, and he neither declined nor complained of fatigue; yet he was evidently wasting away: he became more and more silent and sleepless, and at length so seriously altered, that my alarm grew proportionate to what i conceived to be his danger. we had determined, on our arrival at smyrna, on an excursion to the ruins of ephesus and sardis, from which i endeavoured to dissuade him in his present state of indisposition--but in vain: there appeared to be an oppression on his mind, and a solemnity in his manner, which ill corresponded with his eagerness to proceed on what i regarded as a mere party of pleasure, little suited to a valetudinarian; but i opposed him no longer--and in a few days we set off together, accompanied only by a serrugee and a single janizary. we had passed halfway towards the remains of ephesus, leaving behind us the more fertile environs of smyrna, and were entering upon that wild and tenantless track through the marshes and defiles which lead to the few huts yet lingering over the broken columns of diana--the roofless walls of expelled christianity, and the still more recent but complete desolation of abandoned mosques--when the sudden and rapid illness of my companion obliged us to halt at a turkish cemetery, the turbaned tombstones of which were the sole indication that human life had ever been a sojourner in this wilderness. the only caravansera we had seen was left some hours behind us, not a vestige of a town or even cottage was within sight or hope, and this "city of the dead" appeared to be the sole refuge for my unfortunate friend, who seemed on the verge of becoming the last of its inhabitants. in this situation, i looked round for a place where he might most conveniently repose:--contrary to the usual aspect of mahometan burial-grounds, the cypresses were in this few in number, and these thinly scattered over its extent: the tombstones were mostly fallen, and worn with age:--upon one of the most considerable of these, and beneath one of the most spreading trees, darvell supported himself, in a half-reclining posture, with great difficulty. he asked for water. i had some doubts of our being able to find any, and prepared to go in search of it with hesitating despondency: but he desired me to remain; and turning to suleiman, our janizary, who stood by us smoking with great tranquillity, he said, "suleiman, verbana su," (_i.e._ bring some water,) and went on describing the spot where it was to be found with great minuteness, at a small well for camels, a few hundred yards to the right: the janizary obeyed. i said to darvell, "how did you know this?"--he replied, "from our situation; you must perceive that this place was once inhabited, and could not have been so without springs: i have also been here before." "you have been here before!--how came you never to mention this to me? and what could you be doing in a place where no one would remain a moment longer than they could help it?" to this question i received no answer. in the mean time suleiman returned with the water, leaving the serrugee and the horses at the fountain. the quenching of his thirst had the appearance of reviving him for a moment; and i conceived hopes of his being able to proceed, or at least to return, and i urged the attempt. he was silent--and appeared to be collecting his spirits for an effort to speak. he began. "this is the end of my journey, and of my life;--i came here to die: but i have a request to make, a command--for such my last words must be.--you will observe it?" "most certainly; but have better hopes." "i have no hopes, nor wishes, but this--conceal my death from every human being." "i hope there will be no occasion; that you will recover, and----" "peace!--it must be so: promise this." "i do." "swear it, by all that"----he here dictated an oath of great solemnity. "there is no occasion for this--i will observe your request; and to doubt me is----" "it cannot be helped,--you must swear." i took the oath: it appeared to relieve him. he removed a seal ring from his finger, on which were some arabic characters, and presented it to me. he proceeded-- "on the ninth day of the month, at noon precisely (what month you please, but this must be the day), you must fling this ring into the salt springs which run into the bay of eleusis: the day after, at the same hour, you must repair to the ruins of the temple of ceres, and wait one hour." "why?" "you will see." "the ninth day of the month, you say?" "the ninth." as i observed that the present was the ninth day of the month; his countenance changed, and he paused. as he sat, evidently becoming more feeble, a stork, with a snake in her beak, perched upon a tombstone near us; and, without devouring her prey, appeared to be steadfastly regarding us. i know not what impelled me to drive it away, but the attempt was useless; she made a few circles in the air, and returned exactly to the same spot. darvell pointed to it, and smiled: he spoke--i know not whether to himself or to me--but the words were only, "'tis well!" "what is well? what do you mean?" "no matter: you must bury me here this evening, and exactly where that bird is now perched. you know the rest of my injunctions." he then proceeded to give me several directions as to the manner in which his death might be best concealed. after these were finished, he exclaimed, "you perceive that bird?" "certainly." "and the serpent writhing in her beak?" "doubtless: there is nothing uncommon in it; it is her natural prey. but it is odd that she does not devour it." he smiled in a ghastly manner, and said, faintly, "it is not yet time!" as he spoke, the stork flew away. my eyes followed it for a moment--it could hardly be longer than ten might be counted. i felt darvell's weight, as it were, increase upon my shoulder, and, turning to look upon his face, perceived that he was dead! i was shocked with the sudden certainty which could not be mistaken--his countenance in a few minutes became nearly black. i should have attributed so rapid a change to poison, had i not been aware that he had no opportunity of receiving it unperceived. the day was declining, the body was rapidly altering, and nothing remained but to fulfil his request. with the aid of suleiman's ataghan and my own sabre, we scooped a shallow grave upon the spot which darvell had indicated: the earth easily gave way, having already received some mahometan tenant. we dug as deeply as the time permitted us, and throwing the dry earth upon all that remained of the singular being so lately departed, we cut a few sods of greener turf from the less withered soil around us, and laid them upon his sepulchre. between astonishment and grief, i was tearless. * * * * * letter to john murray, esq. on the rev. w.l. bowles's strictures on the life and writings of pope. * * * * * "i'll play at _bowls_ with the sun and moon."--old song. "my mither's auld, sir, and she has rather forgotten hersel in speaking to my leddy, that canna weel bide to be contradickit, (as i ken nobody likes it, if they could help themsels.)" tales of my landlord, _old mortality_, vol. ii. p. . * * * * * ravenna, february . . dear sir, in the different pamphlets which you have had the goodness to send me, on the pope and bowles' controversy, i perceive that my name is occasionally introduced by both parties. mr. bowles refers more than once to what he is pleased to consider "a remarkable circumstance," not only in his letter to mr. campbell, but in his reply to the quarterly. the quarterly also and mr. gilchrist have conferred on me the dangerous honour of a quotation; and mr. bowles indirectly makes a kind of appeal to me personally, by saying, "lord byron, _if he remembers_ the circumstance, will _witness_"--_(witness_ in italics, an ominous character for a testimony at present). i shall not avail myself of a "non mi ricordo," even after so long a residence in italy;--i _do_ "remember the circumstance,"--and have no reluctance to relate it (since called upon so to do), as correctly as the distance of time and the impression of intervening events will permit me. in the year , more than three years after the publication of "english bards and scotch reviewers," i had the honour of meeting mr. bowles in the house of our venerable host of "human life," &c. the last argonaut of classic english poetry, and the nestor of our inferior race of living poets. mr. bowles calls this "soon after" the publication; but to me three years appear a considerable segment of the immortality of a modern poem. i recollect nothing of "the rest of the company going into another room,"--nor, though i well remember the topography of our host's elegant and classically furnished mansion, could i swear to the very room where the conversation occurred, though the "taking _down_ the poem" seems to fix it in the library. had it been "taken _up_" it would probably have been in the drawing-room. i presume also that the "remarkable circumstance" took place _after_ dinner; as i conceive that neither mr. bowles's politeness nor appetite would have allowed him to detain "the rest of the company" standing round their chairs in the "other room," while we were discussing "the woods of madeira," instead of circulating its vintage. of mr. bowles's "good humour" i have a full and not ungrateful recollection; as also of his gentlemanly manners and agreeable conversation. i speak of the _whole_, and not of particulars; for whether he did or did not use the precise words printed in the pamphlet, i cannot say, nor could he with accuracy. of "the tone of seriousness" i certainly recollect nothing: on the contrary, i thought mr. bowles rather disposed to treat the subject lightly: for he said (i have no objection to be contradicted if incorrect), that some of his good-natured friends had come to him and exclaimed, "eh! bowles! how came you to make the woods of madeira?" &c. &c. and that he had been at some pains and pulling down of the poem to convince them that he had never made "the woods" do any thing of the kind. he was right, and _i was wrong,_ and have been wrong still up to this acknowledgment; for i ought to have looked twice before i wrote that which involved an inaccuracy capable of giving pain. the fact was, that, although i had certainly before read "the spirit of discovery," i took the quotation from the review. but the mistake was mine, and not the _review's,_ which quoted the passage correctly enough, i believe. i blundered--god knows how--into attributing the tremors of the lovers to "the woods of madeira," by which they were surrounded. and i hereby do fully and freely declare and asseverate, that the woods did _not_ tremble to a kiss, and that the lovers did. i quote from memory-- ------"a kiss stole on the listening silence, &c. &c. they [the lovers] trembled, even as if the power," &c. and if i had been aware that this declaration would have been in the smallest degree satisfactory to mr. bowles, i should not have waited nine years to make it, notwithstanding that "english bards and scotch reviewers" had been suppressed some time previously to my meeting him at mr. rogers's. our worthy host might indeed have told him as much, as it was at his representation that i suppressed it. a new edition of that lampoon was preparing for the press, when mr. rogers represented to me, that "i was _now_ acquainted with many of the persons mentioned in it, and with some on terms of intimacy;" and that he knew "one family in particular to whom its suppression would give pleasure." i did not hesitate one moment, it was cancelled instantly; and it is no fault of mine that it has ever been republished. when i left england, in april, , with no very violent intentions of troubling that country again, and amidst scenes of various kinds to distract my attention,--almost my last act, i believe, was to sign a power of attorney, to yourself, to prevent or suppress any attempts (of which several had been made in ireland) at a republication. it is proper that i should state, that the persons with whom i was subsequently acquainted, whose names had occurred in that publication, were made my acquaintances at their own desire, or through the unsought intervention of others. i never, to the best of my knowledge, sought a personal introduction to any. some of them to this day i know only by correspondence; and with one of those it was begun by myself, in consequence, however, of a polite verbal communication from a third person. i have dwelt for an instant on these circumstances, because it has sometimes been made a subject of bitter reproach to me to have endeavoured to _suppress_ that satire. i never shrunk, as those who know me know, from any personal consequences which could be attached to its publication. of its subsequent suppression, as i possessed the copyright, i was the best judge and the sole master. the circumstances which occasioned the suppression i have now stated; of the motives, each must judge according to his candour or malignity. mr. bowles does me the honour to talk of "noble mind," and "generous magnanimity;" and all this because "the circumstance would have been explained had not the book been suppressed." i see no "nobility of mind" in an act of simple justice; and i hate the word "_magnanimity,"_ because i have sometimes seen it applied to the grossest of impostors by the greatest of fools; but i would have "explained the circumstance," notwithstanding "the suppression of the book," if mr. bowles had expressed any desire that i should. as the "gallant galbraith" says to "baillie jarvie," "well, the devil take the mistake, and all that occasioned it." i have had as great and greater mistakes made about me personally and poetically, once a month for these last ten years, and never cared very much about correcting one or the other, at least after the first eight and forty hours had gone over them. i must now, however, say a word or two about pope, of whom you have my opinion more at large in the unpublished letter _on_ or _to_ (for i forget which) the editor of "blackwood's edinburgh magazine;"--and here i doubt that mr. bowles will not approve of my sentiments. although i regret having published "english bards and scotch reviewers," the part which i regret the least is that which regards mr. bowles with reference to pope. whilst i was writing that publication, in and , mr. hobhouse was desirous that i should express our mutual opinion of pope, and of mr. bowles's edition of his works. as i had completed my outline, and felt lazy, i requested that _he_ would do so. he did it. his fourteen lines on bowles's pope are in the first edition of "english bards and scotch reviewers;" and are quite as severe and much more poetical than my own in the second. on reprinting the work, as i put my name to it, i omitted mr. hobhouse's lines, and replaced them with my own, by which the work gained less than mr. bowles. i have stated this in the preface to the second edition. it is many years since i have read that poem; but the quarterly review, mr. octavius gilchrist, and mr. bowles himself, have been so obliging as to refresh my memory, and that of the public. i am grieved to say, that in reading over those lines, i repent of their having so far fallen short of what i meant to express upon the subject of bowles's edition of pope's works. mr. bowles says, that "lord byron _knows_ he does _not_ deserve this character." i know no such thing. i have met mr. bowles occasionally, in the best society in london; he appeared to me an amiable, well-informed, and extremely able man. i desire nothing better than to dine in company with such a mannered man every day in the week: but of "his character" i know nothing personally; i can only speak to his manners, and these have my warmest approbation. but i never judge from manners, for i once had my pocket picked by the civilest gentleman i ever met with; and one of the mildest persons i ever saw was all pacha. of mr. bowles's "_character_" i will not do him the _injustice_ to judge from the edition of pope, if he prepared it heedlessly; nor the _justice,_ should it be otherwise, because i would neither become a literary executioner nor a personal one. mr. bowles the individual, and mr. bowles the editor, appear the two most opposite things imaginable. "and he himself one--antithesis." i won't say "vile," because it is harsh; nor "mistaken," because it has two syllables too many: but every one must fill up the blank as he pleases. what i saw of mr. bowles increased my surprise and regret that he should ever have lent his talents to such a task. if he had been a fool, there would have been some excuse for him; if he had been a needy or a bad man, his conduct would have been intelligible: but he is the opposite of all these; and thinking and feeling as i do of pope, to me the whole thing is unaccountable. however, i must call things by their right names. i cannot call his edition of pope a "candid" work; and i still think that there is an affectation of that quality not only in those volumes, but in the pamphlets lately published. "why _yet_ he doth _deny_ his prisoners." mr. bowles says, that "he has seen passages in his letters to martha blount which were never published by me, and i _hope never will_ be by others; which are so _gross_ as to imply the _grossest_ licentiousness." is this fair play? it may, or it may not be that such passages exist; and that pope, who was not a monk, although a catholic, may have occasionally sinned in word and deed with woman in his youth: but is this a sufficient ground for such a sweeping denunciation? where is the unmarried englishman of a certain rank of life, who (provided he has not taken orders) has not to reproach himself between the ages of sixteen and thirty with far more licentiousness than has ever yet been traced to pope? pope lived in the public eye from his youth upwards; he had all the dunces of his own time for his enemies, and, i am sorry to say, some, who have not the apology of dulness for detraction, since his death; and yet to what do all their accumulated hints and charges amount?--to an equivocal _liaison_ with martha blount, which might arise as much from his infirmities as from his passions; to a hopeless flirtation with lady mary w. montagu; to a story of cibber's; and to two or three coarse passages in his works. _who_ could come forth clearer from an invidious inquest on a life of fifty-six years? why are we to be officiously reminded of such passages in his letters, provided that they exist. is mr. bowles aware to what such rummaging among "letters" and "stories" might lead? i have myself seen a collection of letters of another eminent, nay, pre-eminent, deceased poet, so abominably gross, and elaborately coarse, that i do not believe that they could be paralleled in our language. what is more strange, is, that some of these are couched as _postscripts_ to his serious and sentimental letters, to which are tacked either a piece of prose, or some verses, of the most hyperbolical indecency. he himself says, that if "obscenity (using a much coarser word) be the sin against the holy ghost, he most certainly cannot be saved." these letters are in existence, and have been seen by many besides myself; but would his _editor_ have been "_candid_" in even alluding to them? nothing would have even provoked _me_, an indifferent spectator, to allude to them, but this further attempt at the depreciation of pope. what should we say to an editor of addison, who cited the following passage from walpole's letters to george montagu? "dr. young has published a new book, &c. mr. addison sent for the young earl of warwick, as he was dying, to show him in what peace a christian could die; unluckily he died of _brandy:_ nothing makes a christian die in peace like being maudlin! but don't say this in gath where you are." suppose the editor introduced it with this preface: "one circumstance is mentioned by horace walpole, which, if true, was indeed _flagitious_. walpole informs montagu that addison sent for the young earl of warwick, when dying, to show him in what peace a christian could die; but unluckily he died drunk," &c. &c. now, although there might occur on the subsequent, or on the same page, a faint show of disbelief, seasoned with the expression of "the _same candour_" (the _same_ exactly as throughout the book), i should say that this editor was either foolish or false to his trust; such a story ought not to have been admitted, except for one brief mark of crushing indignation, unless it were _completely proved._ why the words "_if true_?" that "_if"_ is not a peacemaker. why talk of "cibber's testimony" to his licentiousness? to what does this amount? that pope when very young was _once_ decoyed by some noblemen and the player to a house of carnal recreation. mr. bowles was not always a clergyman; and when he was a very young man, was he never seduced into as much? if i were in the humour for story-telling, and relating little anecdotes, i could tell a much better story of mr. bowles than cibber's, upon much better authority, viz. that of mr. bowles himself. it was not related by _him_ in my presence, but in that of a third person, whom mr. bowles names oftener than once in the course of his replies. this gentleman related it to me as a humorous and witty anecdote; and so it was, whatever its other characteristics might be. but should i, for a youthful frolic, brand mr. bowles with a "libertine sort of love," or with "licentiousness?" is he the less now a pious or a good man, for not having always been a priest? no such thing; i am willing to believe him a good man, almost as good a man as pope, but no better. the truth is, that in these days the grand "_primum mobile"_ of england is _cant;_ cant political, cant poetical, cant religious, cant moral; but always cant, multiplied through all the varieties of life. it is the fashion, and while it lasts will be too powerful for those who can only exist by taking the tone of the time. i say _cant,_ because it is a thing of words, without the smallest influence upon human actions; the english being no wiser, no better, and much poorer, and more divided amongst themselves, as well as far less moral, than they were before the prevalence of this verbal decorum. this hysterical horror of poor pope's not very well ascertained, and never fully proved amours (for even cibber owns that he prevented the somewhat perilous adventure in which pope was embarking) sounds very virtuous in a controversial pamphlet; but all men of the world who know what life is, or at least what it was to them in their youth, must laugh at such a ludicrous foundation of the charge of "a libertine sort of love;" while the more serious will look upon those who bring forward such charges upon an insulated fact as fanatics or hypocrites, perhaps both. the two are sometimes compounded in a happy mixture. mr. octavius gilchrist speaks rather irreverently of a "second tumbler of _hot_ white-wine negus." what does he mean? is there any harm in negus? or is it the worse for being _hot_? or does mr. bowles drink negus? i had a better opinion of him. i hoped that whatever wine he drank was neat; or, at least, that, like the ordinary in jonathan wild, "he preferred _punch,_ the rather as there was nothing against it in scripture." i should be sorry to believe that mr. bowles was fond of negus; it is such a "candid" liquor, so like a wishy-washy compromise between the passion for wine and the propriety of water. but different writers have divers tastes. judge blackstone composed his "commentaries" (he was a poet too in his youth) with a bottle of port before him. addison's conversation was not good for much till he had taken a similar dose. perhaps the prescription of these two great men was not inferior to the very different one of a soi-disant poet of this day, who, after wandering amongst the hills, returns, goes to bed, and dictates his verses, being fed by a by-stander with bread and butter during the operation. i now come to mr. bowles's "invariable principles of poetry." these mr. bowles and some of his correspondents pronounce "unanswerable;" and they are "unanswered," at least by campbell, who seems to have been astounded by the title. the sultan of the time being offered to ally himself to a king of france because "he hated the word league;" which proves that the padishan understood french. mr. campbell has no need of my alliance, nor shall i presume to offer it; but i do hate that word "_invariable_." what is there of _human_, be it poetry, philosophy, wit, wisdom, science, power, glory, mind, matter, life, or death, which is "_invariable_?" of course i put things divine out of the question. of all arrogant baptisms of a book, this title to a pamphlet appears the most complacently conceited. it is mr. campbell's part to answer the contents of this performance, and especially to vindicate his own "ship," which mr. bowles most triumphantly proclaims to have struck to his very first fire. "quoth he, there was a _ship;_ now let me go, thou grey-haired loon, or my staff shall make thee skip." it is no affair of mine, but having once begun, (certainly not by my own wish, but called upon by the frequent recurrence to my name in the pamphlets,) i am like an irishman in a "row," "any body's customer." i shall therefore say a word or two on the "ship." mr. bowles asserts that campbell's "ship of the line" derives all its poetry, not from "_art_," but from "_nature_." "take away the waves, the winds, the sun, &c. &c. _one_ will become a stripe of blue bunting; and the other a piece of coarse canvass on three tall poles." very true; take away the "waves," "the winds," and there will be no ship at all, not only for poetical, but for any other purpose; and take away "the sun," and we must read mr. bowles's pamphlet by candle-light. but the "poetry" of the "ship" does _not_ depend on "the waves," &c.; on the contrary, the "ship of the line" confers its own poetry upon the waters, and heightens _theirs._ i do not deny, that the "waves and winds," and above all "the sun," are highly poetical; we know it to our cost, by the many descriptions of them in verse: but if the waves bore only the foam upon their bosoms, if the winds wafted only the sea-weed to the shore, if the sun shone neither upon pyramids, nor fleets, nor fortresses, would its beams be equally poetical? i think not: the poetry is at least reciprocal. take away "the ship of the line" "swinging round" the "calm water," and the calm water becomes a somewhat monotonous thing to look at, particularly if not transparently _clear_; witness the thousands who pass by without looking on it at all. what was it attracted the thousands to the launch? they might have seen the poetical "calm water" at wapping, or in the "london dock," or in the paddington canal, or in a horse-pond, or in a slop-basin, or in any other vase. they might have heard the poetical winds howling through the chinks of a pigsty, or the garret window; they might have seen the sun shining on a footman's livery, or on a brass warming pan; but could the "calm water," or the "wind," or the "sun," make all, or any of these "poetical?" i think not. mr. bowles admits "the ship" to be poetical, but only from those accessaries: now if they _confer_ poetry so as to make one thing poetical, they would make other things poetical; the more so, as mr. bowles calls a "ship of the line" without them,--that is to say, its "masts and sails and streamers,"--"blue bunting," and "coarse canvass," and "tall poles." so they are; and porcelain is clay, and man is dust, and flesh is grass, and yet the two latter at least are the subjects of much poesy. did mr. bowles ever gaze upon the sea? i presume that he has, at least upon a sea-piece. did any painter ever paint the sea _only_, without the addition of a ship, boat, wreck, or some such adjunct? is the sea itself a more attractive, a more moral, a more poetical object, with or without a vessel, breaking its vast but fatiguing monotony? is a storm more poetical without a ship? or, in the poem of the shipwreck, is it the storm or the ship which most interests? both _much_ undoubtedly; but without the vessel, what should we care for the tempest? it would sink into mere descriptive poetry, which in itself was never esteemed a high order of that art. i look upon myself as entitled to talk of naval matters, at least to poets:--with the exception of walter scott, moore, and southey, perhaps, who have been voyagers, i have _swam_ more miles than all the rest of them together now living ever _sailed_, and have lived for months and months on shipboard; and, during the whole period of my life abroad, have scarcely ever passed a month out of sight of the ocean: besides being brought up from two years till ten on the brink of it. i recollect, when anchored off cape sigeum in , in an english frigate, a violent squall coming on at sunset, so violent as to make us imagine that the ship would part cable, or drive from her anchorage. mr. hobhouse and myself, and some officers, had been up the dardanelles to abydos, and were just returned in time. the aspect of a storm in the archipelago is as poetical as need be, the sea being particularly short, dashing, and dangerous, and the navigation intricate and broken by the isles and currents. cape sigeum, the tumuli of the troad, lemnos, tenedos, all added to the associations of the time. but what seemed the most "_poetical_" of all at the moment, were the numbers (about two hundred) of greek and turkish craft, which were obliged to "cut and run" before the wind, from their unsafe anchorage, some for tenedos, some for other isles, some for the main, and some it might be for eternity. the sight of these little scudding vessels, darting over the foam in the twilight, now appearing and now disappearing between the waves in the cloud of night, with their peculiarly _white_ sails, (the levant sails not being of "_coarse canvass_," but of white cotton,) skimming along as quickly, but less safely than the sea-mews which hovered over them; their evident distress, their reduction to fluttering specks in the distance, their crowded succession, their _littleness_, as contending with the giant element, which made our stout forty-four's _teak_ timbers (she was built in india) creak again; their aspect and their motion, all struck me as something far more "poetical" than the mere broad, brawling, shipless sea, and the sullen winds, could possibly have been without them. the euxine is a noble sea to look upon, and the port of constantinople the most beautiful of harbours, and yet i cannot but think that the twenty sail of the line, some of one hundred and forty guns, rendered it more "poetical" by day in the sun, and by night perhaps still more, for the turks illuminate their vessels of war in a manner the most picturesque, and yet all this is _artificial_. as for the euxine, i stood upon the symplegades--i stood by the broken altar still exposed to the winds upon one of them--i felt all the "_poetry_" of the situation, as i repeated the first lines of medea; but would not that "poetry" have been heightened by the _argo_? it was so even by the appearance of any merchant vessel arriving from odessa. but mr. bowles says, "why bring your ship off the stocks?" for no reason that i know, except that ships are built to be launched. the water, &c. undoubtedly heightens the poetical associations, but it does not _make_ them; and the ship amply repays the obligation: they aid each other; the water is more poetical with the ship--the ship less so without the water. but even a ship laid up in dock, is a grand and a poetical sight. even an old boat, keel upwards, wrecked upon the barren sand, is a "poetical" object, (and wordsworth, who made a poem about a washing tub and a blind boy, may tell you so as well as i,) whilst a long extent of sand and unbroken water, without the boat, would be as like dull prose as any pamphlet lately published. what makes the poetry in the image of the "_marble waste of tadmor_," or grainger's "ode to solitude," so much admired by johnson? is it the "_marble_" or the "_waste,_" the _artificial_ or the _natural_ object? the "waste" is like all other _wastes_; but the "_marble_" of palmyra makes the poetry of the passage as of the place. the beautiful but barren hymettus, the whole coast of attica, her hills and mountains, pentelicus, anchesmus, philopappus, &c. &c. are in themselves poetical, and would be so if the name of athens, of athenians, and her very ruins, were swept from the earth. but am i to be told that the "nature" of attica would be _more_ poetical without the "art" of the acropolis? of the temple of theseus? and of the still all greek and glorious monuments of her exquisitely artificial genius? ask the traveller what strikes him as most poetical, the parthenon, or the rock on which it stands? the columns of cape colonna, or the cape itself? the rocks at the foot of it, or the recollection that falconer's _ship_ was bulged upon them? there are a thousand rocks and capes far more picturesque than those of the acropolis and cape sunium in themselves; what are they to a thousand scenes in the wilder parts of greece, of asia minor, switzerland, or even of cintra in portugal, or to many scenes of italy, and the sierras of spain? but it is the "_art_," the columns, the temples, the wrecked vessel, which give them their antique and their modern poetry, and not the spots themselves. without them, the _spots_ of earth would be unnoticed and unknown; buried, like babylon and nineveh, in indistinct confusion, without poetry, as without existence; but to whatever spot of earth these ruins were transported, if they were _capable_ of transportation, like the obelisk, and the sphinx, and the memnon's head, _there_ they would still exist in the perfection of their beauty, and in the pride of their poetry. i opposed, and will ever oppose, the robbery of ruins from athens, to instruct the english in sculpture; but why did i do so? the _ruins_ are as poetical in piccadilly as they were in the parthenon; but the parthenon and its rock are less so without them. such is the poetry of art. mr. bowles contends again that the pyramids of egypt are poetical, because of "the association with boundless deserts," and that a "pyramid of the same dimensions" would not be sublime in "lincoln's inn fields:" not _so_ poetical certainly; but take away the "pyramids," and what is the "_desert?"_ take away stone-henge from salisbury plain, and it is nothing more than hounslow heath, or any other unenclosed down. it appears to me that st. peter's, the coliseum, the pantheon, the palatine, the apollo, the laocoon, the venus di medicis, the hercules, the dying gladiator, the moses of michael angelo, and all the higher works of canova, (i have already spoken of those of ancient greece, still extant in that country, or transported to england,) are as _poetical_ as mont blanc or mount Ætna, perhaps still more so, as they are direct manifestations of mind, and _presuppose_ poetry in their very conception; and have, moreover, as being such, a something of actual life, which cannot belong to any part of inanimate nature, unless we adopt the system of spinosa, that the world is the deity. there can be nothing more poetical in its aspect than the city of venice: does this depend upon the sea, or the canals?-- "the dirt and sea-weed whence proud venice rose?" is it the canal which runs between the palace and the prison, or the "bridge of sighs," which connects them, that render it poetical? is it the "canal grande," or the rialto which arches it, the churches which tower over it, the palaces which line, and the gondolas which glide over the waters, that render this city more poetical than rome itself? mr. bowles will say, perhaps, that the rialto is but marble, the palaces and churches only stone, and the gondolas a "coarse" black cloth, thrown over some planks of carved wood, with a shining bit of fantastically formed iron at the prow, "_without_" the water. and i tell him that without these, the water would be nothing but a clay-coloured ditch; and whoever says the contrary, deserves to be at the bottom of that, where pope's heroes are embraced by the mud nymphs. there would be nothing to make the canal of venice more poetical than that of paddington, were it not for the artificial adjuncts above mentioned; although it is a perfectly natural canal, formed by the sea, and the innumerable islands which constitute the site of this extraordinary city. the very cloaca of tarquin at rome are as poetical as richmond hill; many will think more so: take away rome, and leave the tibur and the seven hills, in the nature of evander's time. let mr. bowles, or mr. wordsworth, or mr. southey, or any of the other "naturals," make a poem upon them, and then see which is most poetical, their production, or the commonest guide-book, which tells you the road from st. peter's to the coliseum, and informs you what you will see by the way. the ground interests in virgil, because it _will_ be _rome_, and not because it is evander's rural domain. mr. bowles then proceeds to press homer into his service, in answer to a remark of mr. campbell's, that "homer was a great describer of works of art." mr. bowles contends, that all his great power, even in this, depends upon their connection with nature. the "shield of achilles derives its poetical interest from the subjects described on it." and from what does the _spear_ of achilles derive its interest? and the helmet and the mail worn by patroclus, and the celestial armour, and the very brazen greaves of the well-booted greeks? is it solely from the legs, and the back, and the breast, and the human body, which they enclose? in that case, it would have been more poetical to have made them fight naked; and gulley and gregson, as being nearer to a state of nature, are more poetical boxing in a pair of drawers than hector and achilles in radiant armour, and with heroic weapons. instead of the clash of helmets, and the rushing of chariots, and the whizzing of spears, and the glancing of swords, and the cleaving of shields, and the piercing of breast-plates, why not represent the greeks and trojans like two savage tribes, tugging and tearing, and kicking and biting, and gnashing, foaming, grinning, and gouging, in all the poetry of martial nature, unencumbered with gross, prosaic, artificial arms; an equal superfluity to the natural warrior, and his natural poet. is there any thing unpoetical in ulysses striking the horses of rhesus with _his bow_ (having forgotten his thong), or would mr. bowles have had him kick them with his foot, or smack them with his hand, as being more unsophisticated? in gray's elegy, is there an image more striking than his "shapeless sculpture?" of sculpture in general, it may be observed, that it is more poetical than nature itself, inasmuch as it represents and bodies forth that ideal beauty and sublimity which is never to be found in actual nature. this at least is the general opinion. but, always excepting the venus di medicis, i differ from that opinion, at least as far as regards female beauty; for the head of lady charlemont (when i first saw her nine years ago) seemed to possess all that sculpture could require for its ideal. i recollect seeing something of the same kind in the head of an albanian girl, who was actually employed in mending a road in the mountains, and in some greek, and one or two italian, faces. but of _sublimity_, i have never seen any thing in human nature at all to approach the expression of sculpture, either in the apollo, the moses, or other of the sterner works of ancient or modern art. let us examine a little further this "babble of green fields" and of bare nature in general as superior to artificial imagery, for the poetical purposes of the fine arts. in landscape painting, the great artist does not give you a literal copy of a country, but he invents and composes one. nature, in her actual aspect, does not furnish him with such existing scenes as he requires. even where he presents you with some famous city, or celebrated scene from mountain or other nature, it must be taken from some particular point of view, and with such light, and shade, and distance, &c. as serve not only to heighten its beauties, but to shadow its deformities. the poetry of nature alone, _exactly_ as she appears, is not sufficient to bear him out. the very sky of his painting is not the _portrait_ of the sky of nature; it is a composition of different _skies_, observed at different times, and not the whole copied from any _particular_ day. and why? because nature is not lavish of her beauties; they are widely scattered, and occasionally displayed, to be selected with care, and gathered with difficulty. of sculpture i have just spoken. it is the great scope of the sculptor to heighten nature into heroic beauty, _i.e._ in plain english, to surpass his model. when canova forms a statue, he takes a limb from one, a hand from another, a feature from a third, and a shape, it may be, from a fourth, probably at the same time improving upon all, as the greek of old did in embodying his venus. ask a portrait painter to describe his agonies in accommodating the faces with which nature and his sitters have crowded his painting-room to the principles of his art: with the exception of perhaps ten faces in as many millions, there is not one which he can venture to give without shading much and adding more. nature, exactly, simply, barely nature, will make no great artist of any kind, and least of all a poet--the most artificial, perhaps, of all artists in his very essence. with regard to natural imagery, the poets are obliged to take some of their best illustrations from _art_. you say that a "fountain is as clear or clearer than _glass_" to express its beauty:-- "o fons bandusiæ, splendidior vitro!" in the speech of mark antony, the body of cæsar is displayed, but so also is his _mantle_:-- "you all do know this _mantle_," &c. * * * * * "look! in this place ran cassius' _dagger_ through." if the poet had said that cassius had run his _fist_ through the rent of the mantle, it would have had more of mr. bowles's "nature" to help it; but the artificial _dagger_ is more poetical than any natural _hand_ without it. in the sublime of sacred poetry, "who is this that cometh from edom? with _dyed garments_ from bozrah?" would "the comer" be poetical without his "_dyed garments?_" which strike and startle the spectator, and identify the approaching object. the mother of sisera is represented listening for the "_wheels of his chariot_." solomon, in his song, compares the nose of his beloved to "a tower," which to us appears an eastern exaggeration. if he had said, that her stature was like that of a "tower's," it would have been as poetical as if he had compared her to a tree. "the virtuous marcia _towers_ above her sex," is an instance of an artificial image to express a _moral_ superiority. but solomon, it is probable, did not compare his beloved's nose to a "tower" on account of its length, but of its symmetry; and making allowance for eastern hyperbole, and the difficulty of finding a discreet image for a female nose in nature, it is perhaps as good a figure as any other. art is _not_ inferior to nature for poetical purposes. what makes a regiment of soldiers a more noble object of view than the same mass of mob? their arms, their dresses, their banners, and the _art_ and artificial symmetry of their position and movements. a highlander's plaid, a mussulman's turban, and a roman toga, are more poetical than the tattooed or untattooed buttocks of a new sandwich savage, although they were described by william wordsworth himself like the "idiot in his glory." i have seen as many mountains as most men, and more fleets than the generality of landsmen; and, to my mind, a large convoy with a few sail of the line to conduct them is as noble and as poetical a prospect as all that inanimate nature can produce. i prefer the "mast of some great ammiral," with all its tackle, to the scotch fir or the alpine tannen; and think that _more_ poetry _has been_ made out of it. in what does the infinite superiority of "falconer's shipwreck" over all other shipwrecks consist? in his admirable application of the terms of his art; in a poet-sailor's description of the sailor's fate. these _very terms_, by his application, make the strength and reality of his poem. why? because he was a poet, and in the hands of a poet, _art_ will not be found less ornamental than nature. it is precisely in general nature, and in stepping out of his element, that falconer fails; where he digresses to speak of ancient greece, and "such branches of learning." in dyer's grongar hill, upon which his fame rests, the very appearance of nature herself is moralised into an artificial image: "thus is nature's _vesture_ wrought, to instruct our wandering thought; thus she _dresses green and gay_, to disperse our cares away." and here also we have the telescope; the misuse of which, from milton, has rendered mr. bowles so triumphant over mr. campbell:-- "so we mistake the future's face, eyed through hope's deluding _glass_." and here a word en passant to mr. campbell:-- "as yon summits, soft and fair clad in colours of the air, which to those who journey near barren, brown, and rough appear, still we tread the same coarse way-- the present's still a cloudy day." is not this the original of the far-famed-- "'tis distance lends enchantment to the view, and robes the mountain in its azure hue?" to return once more to the sea. let any one look on the long wall of malamocco, which curbs the adriatic, and pronounce between the sea and its master. surely that roman work (i mean _roman_ in conception and performance), which says to the ocean, "thus far shalt thou come, and no further," and is obeyed, is not less sublime and poetical than the angry waves which vainly break beneath it. mr. bowles makes the chief part of a ship's poesy depend upon the "_wind:_" then why is a ship under sail more poetical than a hog in a high wind? the hog is all nature, the ship is all art, "coarse canvass," "blue bunting," and "tall poles;" both are violently acted upon by the wind, tossed here and there, to and fro, and yet nothing but excess of hunger could make me look upon the pig as the more poetical of the two, and then only in the shape of a griskin. will mr. bowles tell us that the poetry of an aqueduct consist in the _water_ which it conveys? let him look on that of justinian, on those of rome, constantinople, lisbon, and elvas, or even at the remains of that in attica. we are asked, "what makes the venerable towers of westminster abbey more poetical, as objects, than the tower for the manufactory of patent shot, surrounded by the same scenery?" i will answer--the _architecture_. turn westminster abbey, or saint paul's into a powder magazine, their poetry, as objects, remains the same; the parthenon was actually converted into one by the turks, during morosini's venetian siege, and part of it destroyed in consequence. cromwell's dragoons stalled their steeds in worcester cathedral; was it less poetical as an object than before? ask a foreigner on his approach to london, what strikes him as the most poetical of the towers before him: he will point out saint paul's and westminster abbey, without, perhaps, knowing the names or associations of either, and pass over the "tower for patent shot,"--not that, for any thing he knows to the contrary, it might not be the mausoleum of a monarch, or a waterloo column, or a trafalgar monument, but because its architecture is obviously inferior. to the question, "whether the description of a game of cards be as poetical, supposing the execution of the artists equal, as a description of a walk in a forest?" it may be answered, that the _materials_ are certainly not equal; but that "the _artist_," who has rendered the "game of cards poetical," is _by far the greater_ of the two. but all this "ordering" of poets is purely arbitrary on the part of mr. bowles. there may or may not be, in fact, different "orders" of poetry, but the poet is always ranked according to his execution, and not according to his branch of the art. tragedy is one of the highest presumed orders. hughes has written a tragedy, and a very successful one; fenton another; and pope none. did any man, however,--will even mr. bowles himself,--rank hughes and fenton as poets above _pope_? was even addison (the author of cato), or rowe (one of the higher order of dramatists as far as success goes), or young, or even otway and southerne, ever raised for a moment to the same rank with pope in the estimation of the reader or the critic, before his death or since? if mr. bowles will contend for classifications of this kind, let him recollect that descriptive poetry has been ranked as among the lowest branches of the art, and description as a mere ornament, but which should never form the "subject" of a poem. the italians, with the most poetical language, and the most fastidious taste in europe, possess now five _great_ poets, they say, dante, petrarch, ariosto, tasso, and, lastly, alfieri[ ]; and whom do they esteem one of the highest of these, and some of them the very highest? petrarch the _sonneteer_: it is true that some of his canzoni are _not less_ esteemed, but _not_ more; who ever dreams of his latin africa? [footnote : of these there is one ranked with the others for his sonnets, and _two_ for compositions which belong to _no class_ at all? where is dante? his poem is not an epic; then what is it? he himself calls it a "divine comedy;" and why? this is more than all his thousand commentators have been able to explain. ariosto's is not an _epic_ poem; and if poets are to be _classed_ according to the _genus_ of their poetry, where is he to be placed? of these five, tasso and alfieri only come within aristotle's arrangement, and mr. bowles's class-book. but the whole position is false. poets are classed by the power of their performance, and not according to its rank in a gradus. in the contrary case, the forgotten epic poets of all countries would rank above petrarch, dante, ariosto, burns, gray, dryden, and the highest names of various countries. mr. bowles's title of "_invariable_ principles of poetry," is, perhaps, the most arrogant ever prefixed to a volume. so far are the principles of poetry from being "_invariable_," that they never were nor ever will be settled. these "principles" mean nothing more than the predilections of a particular age; and every age has its own, and a different from its predecessor. it is now homer, and now virgil; once dryden, and since walter scott; now corneille, and now racine; now crebillon, now voltaire. the homerists and virgilians in france disputed for half a century. not fifty years ago the italians neglected dante--bettinelli reproved monti for reading "that barbarian;" at present they adore him. shakspeare and milton have had their rise, and they will have their decline. already they have more than once fluctuated, as must be the case with all the dramatists and poets of a living language. this does not depend upon their merits, but upon the ordinary vicissitudes of human opinions. schlegel and madame de stael have endeavoured also to reduce poetry to _two_ systems, classical and romantic. the effect is only beginning.] were petrarch to be ranked according to the "order" of his compositions, where would the best of sonnets place him? with dante and the others? no; but, as i have before said, the poet who _executes_ best, is the highest, whatever his department, and will ever be so rated in the world's esteem. had gray written nothing but his elegy, high as he stands, i am not sure that he would not stand higher; it is the corner-stone of his glory: without it, his odes would be insufficient for his fame. the depreciation of pope is partly founded upon a false idea of the dignity of his order of poetry, to which he has partly contributed by the ingenuous boast, "that not in fancy's maze he wandered long, but _stoop'd_ to truth, and moralised his song." he should have written "rose to truth." in my mind, the highest of all poetry is ethical poetry, as the highest of all earthly objects must be moral truth. religion does not make a part of my subject; it is something beyond human powers, and has failed in all human hands except milton's and dante's, and even dante's powers are involved in his delineation of human passions, though in supernatural circumstances. what made socrates the greatest of men? his moral truth--his ethics. what proved jesus christ the son of god hardly less than his miracles? his moral precepts. and if ethics have made a philosopher the first of men, and have not been disdained as an adjunct to his gospel by the deity himself, are we to be told that ethical poetry, or didactic poetry, or by whatever name you term it, whose object is to make men better and wiser, is not the _very first order_ of poetry; and are we to be told this too by one of the priesthood? it requires more mind, more wisdom, more power, than all the "forests" that ever were "walked" for their "description," and all the epics that ever were founded upon fields of battle. the georgics are indisputably, and, i believe, _undisputedly_ even a finer poem than the Æneid. virgil knew this; he did not order _them_ to be burnt. "the proper study of mankind is man." it is the fashion of the day to lay great stress upon what they call "imagination" and "invention," the two commonest of qualities: an irish peasant with a little whiskey in his head will imagine and invent more than would furnish forth a modern poem. if lucretius had not been spoiled by the epicurean system, we should have had a far superior poem to any now in existence. as mere poetry, it is the first of latin poems. what then has ruined it? his ethics. pope has not this defect; his moral is as pure as his poetry is glorious. in speaking of artificial objects, i have omitted to touch upon one which i will now mention. cannon may be presumed to be as highly poetical as art can make her objects. mr. bowles will, perhaps, tell me that this is because they resemble that grand natural article of sound in heaven, and simile upon earth--thunder. i shall be told triumphantly, that milton made sad work with his artillery, when he armed his devils therewithal. he did so; and this artificial object must have had much of the sublime to attract his attention for such a conflict. he _has_ made an absurd use of it; but the absurdity consists not in using _cannon_ against the angels of god, but any _material_ weapon. the thunder of the clouds would have been as ridiculous and vain in the hands of the devils, as the "villanous saltpetre:" the angels were as impervious to the one as to the other. the thunderbolts become sublime in the hands of the almighty not as such, but because _he_ deigns to use them as a means of repelling the rebel spirits; but no one can attribute their defeat to this grand piece of natural electricity: the almighty willed, and they fell; his word would have been enough; and milton is as absurd, (and, in fact, _blasphemous_,) in putting material lightnings into the hands of the godhead, as in giving him hands at all. the artillery of the demons was but the first step of his mistake, the thunder the next, and it is a step lower. it would have been fit for jove, but not for jehovah. the subject altogether was essentially unpoetical; he has made more of it than another could, but it is beyond him and all men. in a portion of his reply, mr. bowles asserts that pope "envied phillips," because he quizzed his pastorals in the guardian, in that most admirable model of irony, his paper on the subject. if there was any thing enviable about phillips, it could hardly be his pastorals. they were despicable, and pope expressed his contempt. if mr. fitzgerald published a volume of sonnets, or a "spirit of discovery," or a "missionary," and mr. bowles wrote in any periodical journal an ironical paper upon them, would this be "envy?" the authors of the "rejected addresses" have ridiculed the sixteen or twenty "first living poets" of the day, but do they "envy" them? "envy" writhes, it don't laugh. the authors of the rejected addresses may despise some, but they can hardly "envy" any of the persons whom they have parodied; and pope could have no more envied phillips than he did welsted, or theobald, or smedley, or any other given hero of the dunciad. he could not have envied him, even had he himself _not_ been the greatest poet of his age. did mr. ings "_envy_" mr. phillips when he asked him, "how came your pyrrhus to drive oxen and say, i am _goaded_ on by love?" this question silenced poor phillips; but it no more proceeded from "envy" than did pope's ridicule. did he envy swift? did he envy bolingbroke? did he envy gay the unparalleled success of his "beggar's opera?" we may be answered that these were his friends--true: but does _friendship_ prevent _envy_? study the first woman you meet with, or the first scribbler, let mr. bowles himself (whom i acquit fully of such an odious quality) study some of his own poetical intimates: the most envious man i ever heard of is a poet, and a high one; besides, it is an _universal_ passion. goldsmith envied not only the puppets for their dancing, and broke his shins in the attempt at rivalry, but was seriously angry because two pretty women received more attention than he did. _this is envy;_ but where does pope show a sign of the passion? in that case dryden envied the hero of his mac flecknoe. mr. bowles compares, when and where he can, pope with cowper--(the same cowper whom in his edition of pope he laughs at for his attachment to an old woman, mrs. unwin; search and you will find it; i remember the passage, though not the page;) in particular he requotes cowper's dutch delineation of a wood, drawn up, like a seedsman's catalogue[ ], with an affected imitation of milton's style, as burlesque as the "splendid shilling." these two writers, for cowper is no poet, come into comparison in one great work, the translation of homer. now, with all the great, and manifest, and manifold, and reproved, and acknowledged, and uncontroverted faults of pope's translation, and all the scholarship, and pains, and time, and trouble, and blank verse of the other, who can ever read cowper? and who will ever lay down pope, unless for the original? pope's was "not homer, it was spondanus;" but cowper's is not homer either, it is not even cowper. as a child i first read pope's homer with a rapture which no subsequent work could ever afford, and children are not the worst judges of their own language. as a boy i read homer in the original, as we have all done, some of us by force, and a few by favour; under which description i come is nothing to the purpose, it is enough that i read him. as a man i have tried to read cowper's version, and i found it impossible. has any human reader ever succeeded? [footnote : i will submit to mr. bowles's own judgment a passage from another poem of cowper's, to be compared with the same writer's sylvan sampler. in the lines to mary,-- "thy _needles_, once a shining store, for my sake restless heretofore, now rust disused, and shine no more, my mary," contain a simple, household, "_indoor_," artificial, and ordinary image; i refer mr. bowles to the stanza, and ask if these three lines about "_needles_" are not worth all the boasted twaddling about trees, so triumphantly re-quoted? and yet, in _fact_, what do they convey? a homely collection of images and ideas, associated with the darning of stockings, and the hemming of shirts, and the mending of breeches; but will any one deny that they are eminently poetical and pathetic as addressed by cowper to his nurse? the trash of trees reminds me of a saying of sheridan's. soon after the "rejected address" scene in , i met sheridan. in the course of dinner, he said, "lord byron, did you know that, amongst the writers of addresses, was whitbread himself?" i answered by an enquiry of what sort of an address he had made. "of that," replied sheridan, "i remember little, except that there was a _phoenix_ in it."--"a phoenix!! well, how did he describe it?"--"_like a poulterer_," answered sheridan: "it was green, and yellow, and red, and blue: he did not let us off for a single feather." and just such as this poulterer's account of a phoenix is cowper's stick-picker's detail of a wood, with all its petty minutiæ of this, that, and the other.] and now that we have heard the catholic repreached with envy, duplicity, licentiousness, avarice--what was the calvinist? he attempted the most atrocious of crimes in the christian code, viz. suicide--and why? because he was to be examined whether he was fit for an office which he seems to wish to have made a sinecure. his connection with mrs. unwin was pure enough, for the old lady was devout, and he was deranged; but why then is the infirm and then elderly pope to be reproved for his connection with martha blount: cowper was the almoner of mrs. throgmorton; but pope's charities were his own, and they were noble and extensive, far beyond his fortune's warrant. pope was the tolerant yet steady adherent of the most bigoted of sects; and cowper the most bigoted and despondent sectary that ever anticipated damnation to himself or others. is this harsh? i know it is, and i do not assert it as my opinion of cowper _personally_, but to _show what might_ be said, with just as great an appearance of truth and candour, as all the odium which has been accumulated upon pope in similar speculations. cowper was a good man, and lived at a fortunate time for his works. [footnote: one more poetical instance of the power of art, and even its _superiority_ over nature, in poetry; and i have done:--the bust of _antinous_! is there any thing in nature like this marble, excepting the venus? can there be more _poetry_ gathered into existence than in that wonderful creation of perfect beauty? but the poetry of this bust is in no respect derived from nature, nor from any association of moral exaltedness; for what is there in common with moral nature, and the male minion of adrian? the very execution is _not natural_, but _super_-natural, or rather _super-artificial,_ for nature has never done so much. away, then, with this cant about nature, and "invariable principles of poetry!" a great artist will make a block of stone as sublime as a mountain, and a good poet can imbue a pack of cards with more poetry than inhabits the forests of america. it is the business and the proof of a poet to give the lie to the proverb, and sometimes to "_make a silken purse out of a sow's ear_;" and to conclude with another homely proverb, "a good workman will not find fault with his tools."] mr. bowles, apparently not relying entirely upon his own arguments, has, in person or by proxy, brought forward the names of southey and moore. mr. southey "agrees entirely with mr. bowles in his _invariable_ principles of poetry." the least that mr. bowles can do in return is to approve the "invariable principles of mr. southey." i should have thought that the word "_invariable_" might have stuck in southey's throat, like macbeth's "amen!" i am sure it did in mine, and i am not the least consistent of the two, at least as a voter. moore _(et tu, brute!_) also approves, and a mr. j. scott. there is a letter also of two lines from a gentleman in asterisks, who, it seems, is a poet of "the highest rank:"--who _can_ this be? not my friend, sir walter, surely. campbell it can't be; rogers it won't be. "you have _hit the nail in_ the head, and * * * * [pope, i presume] _on_ the head also. "i _remain_ yours, affectionately, "(five _asterisks_.)" and in asterisks let him remain. whoever this person may be, he deserves, for such a judgment of midas, that "the nail" which mr. bowles has "hit _in_ the head," should he driven through his own ears; i am sure that they are long enough. the attempt of the poetical populace of the present day to obtain an ostracism against pope is as easily accounted for as the athenian's shell against aristides; they are tired of hearing him always called "the just." they are also fighting for life; for, if he maintains his station, they will reach their own by falling. they have raised a mosque by the side of a grecian temple of the purest architecture; and, more barbarous than the barbarians from whose practice i have borrowed the figure, they are not contented with their own grotesque edifice, unless they destroy the prior, and purely beautiful fabric which preceded, and which shames them and theirs for ever and ever. i shall be told that amongst those i _have_ been (or it may be, still _am_) conspicuous--true, and i am ashamed of it. i _have_ been amongst the builders of this babel, attended by a confusion of tongues, but _never_ amongst the envious destroyers of the classic temple of our predecessor. i have loved and honoured the fame and name of that illustrious and unrivalled man, far more than my own paltry renown, and the trashy jingle of the crowd of "schools" and upstarts, who pretend to rival, or even surpass him. sooner than a single leaf should be torn from his laurel, it were better that all which these men, and that i, as one of their set, have ever written, should "line trunks, clothe spice, or, fluttering in a row, befringe the rails of bedlam, or soho!" there are those who will believe this, and those who will not. you, sir, know how far i am sincere, and whether my opinion, not only in the short work intended for publication, and in private letters which can never be published, has or has not been the same. i look upon this as the declining age of english poetry; no regard for others, no selfish feeling, can prevent me from seeing this, and expressing the truth. there can be no worse sign for the taste of the times than the depreciation of pope. it would be better to receive for proof mr. cobbett's rough but strong attack upon shakspeare and milton, than to allow this smooth and "candid" undermining of the reputation of the most _perfect_ of our poets, and the purest of our moralists. of his power in the _passions_, in description, in the mock heroic, i leave others to descant. i take him on his strong ground as an _ethical_ poet: in the former, none excel; in the mock heroic and the ethical, none equal him; and in my mind, the latter is the highest of all poetry, because it does that in _verse_, which the greatest of men have wished to accomplish in prose. if the essence of poetry must be a _lie_, throw it to the dogs, or banish it from your republic, as plato would have done. he who can reconcile poetry with truth and wisdom, is the only true "_poet_" in its real sense, "the _maker_" "the _creator_,"--why must this mean the "liar," the "feigner," the "tale-teller?" a man may make and create better things than these. i shall not presume to say that pope is as high a poet as shakspeare and milton, though his enemy, warton, places him immediately under them.[ ] i would no more say this than i would assert in the mosque (once saint sophia's), that socrates was a greater man than mahomet. but if i say that he is very near them, it is no more than has been asserted of burns, who is supposed "to rival all but shakspeare's name below." [footnote : if the opinions cited by mr. bowles, of dr. johnson _against_ pope, are to be taken as decisive authority, they will also hold good against gray, milton, swift, thomson, and dryden: in that case what becomes of gray's poetical, and milton's moral character? even of milton's _poetical_ character, or, indeed, of _english_ poetry in general? for johnson strips many a leaf from every laurel. still johnson's is the finest critical work extant, and can never be read without instruction and delight.] i say nothing against this opinion. but of what "_order_," according to the poetical aristocracy, are burns's poems? there are his _opus magnum_, "tam o'shanter," a _tale_; the cotter's saturday night, a descriptive sketch; some others in the same style: the rest are songs. so much for the _rank_ of his _productions_; the _rank_ of _burns_ is the very first of his art. of pope i have expressed my opinion elsewhere, as also of the effect which the present attempts at poetry have had upon our literature. if any great national or natural convulsion could or should overwhelm your country in such sort, as to sweep great britain from the kingdoms of the earth, and leave only that, after all, the most living of human things, a _dead language_, to be studied and read, and imitated by the wise of future and far generations, upon foreign shores; if your literature should become the learning of mankind, divested of party cabals, temporary fashions, and national pride and prejudice; an englishman, anxious that the posterity of strangers should know that there had been such a thing as a british epic and tragedy, might wish for the preservation of shakspeare and milton; but the surviving world would snatch pope from the wreck, and let the rest sink with the people. he is the moral poet of all civilisation; and as such, let us hope that he will one day be the national poet of mankind. he is the only poet that never shocks; the only poet whose _faultlessness_ has been made his reproach. cast your eye over his productions; consider their extent, and contemplate their variety:--pastoral, passion, mock heroic, translation, satire, ethics,--all excellent, and often perfect. if his great charm be his _melody_, how comes it that foreigners adore him even in their diluted translations? but i have made this letter too long. give my compliments to mr. bowles. yours ever, very truly, byron. _to john murray, esq_. _post scriptum_.--long as this letter has grown, i find it necessary to append a postscript; if possible, a short one. mr. bowles denies that he has accused pope of "a sordid money-getting passion;" but, he adds, "if i had ever done so, i should be glad to find any testimony that, might show he was _not_ so." this testimony he may find to his heart's content in spence and elsewhere. first, there is martha blount, who, mr. bowles charitably says, "probably thought he did not save enough for her, as legatee." whatever she _thought_ upon this point, her words are in pope's favour. then there is alderman barber; see spence's anecdotes. there is pope's cold answer to halifax when he proposed a pension; his behaviour to craggs and to addison upon like occasions, and his own two lines-- "and, thanks to homer, since i live and thrive, indebted to no prince or peer alive;" written when princes would have been proud to pension, and peers to promote him, and when the whole army of dunces were in array against him, and would have been but too happy to deprive him of this boast of independence. but there is something a little more serious in mr. bowles's declaration, that he "_would_ have spoken" of his "noble generosity to the outcast richard savage," and other instances of a compassionate and generous heart, "_had they occurred to his recollection when he wrote_." what! is it come to this? does mr. bowles sit down to write a minute and laboured life and edition of a great poet? does he anatomise his character, moral and poetical? does he present us with his faults and with his foibles? does he sneer at his feelings, and doubt of his sincerity? does he unfold his vanity and duplicity? and then omit the good qualities which might, in part, have "covered this multitude of sins?" and then plead that "_they did not occur to his recollection_?" is this the frame of mind and of memory with which the illustrious dead are to be approached? if mr. bowles, who must have had access to all the means of refreshing his memory, did not recollect these facts, he is unfit for his task; but if he _did_ recollect and omit them, i know not what he is fit for, but i know what would be fit for him. is the plea of "not recollecting" such prominent facts to be admitted? mr. bowles has been at a public school, and as i have been publicly educated also, i can sympathise with his predilection. when we were in the third form even, had we pleaded on the monday morning, that we had not brought up the saturday's exercise, because "we had forgotten it," what would have been the reply? and is an excuse, which would not be pardoned to a schoolboy, to pass current in a matter which so nearly concerns the fame of the first poet of his age, if not of his country? if mr. bowles so readily forgets the virtues of others, why complain so grievously that others have a better memory for his own faults? they are but the faults of an author; while the virtues he omitted from his catalogue are essential to the justice due to a man. mr. bowles appears, indeed, to be susceptible beyond the privilege of authorship. there is a plaintive dedication to mr. gifford, in which _he_ is made responsible for all the articles of the quarterly. mr. southey, it seems, "the most able and eloquent writer in that review," approves of mr. bowles's publication. now it seems to me the more impartial, that notwithstanding that "the great writer of the quarterly" entertains opinions opposite to the able article on spence, nevertheless that essay was permitted to appear. is a review to be devoted to the opinions of any _one_ man? must it not vary according to circumstances, and according to the subjects to be criticised? i fear that writers must take the sweets and bitters of the public journals as they occur, and an author of so long a standing as mr. bowles might have become accustomed to such incidents; he might be angry, but not astonished. i have been reviewed in the quarterly almost as often as mr. bowles, and have had as pleasant things said, and some _as unpleasant_, as could well be pronounced. in the review of "the fall of jerusalem" it is stated, that i have devoted "my powers, &c. to the worst parts of manicheism;" which, being interpreted, means that i worship the devil. now, i have neither written a reply, nor complained to gifford. i believe that i observed in a letter to you, that i thought "that the critic might have praised milman without finding it necessary to abuse me;" but did i not add at the same time, or soon after, (à propos, of the note in the book of travels,) that i would not, if it were even in my power, have a single line cancelled on my account in that nor in any other publication? of course, i reserve to myself the privilege of response when necessary. mr. bowles seems in a whimsical state about the author of the article on spence. you know very well that i am not in your confidence, nor in that of the conductor of the journal. the moment i saw that article, i was morally certain that i knew the author "by his style." you will tell me that i do _not know_ him: that is all as it should be; keep the secret, so shall i, though no one has ever intrusted it to me. he is not the person whom mr. bowles denounces. mr. bowles's extreme sensibility reminds me of a circumstance which occurred on board of a frigate in which i was a passenger and guest of the captain's for a considerable time. the surgeon on board, a very gentlemanly young man, and remarkably able in his profession, wore a _wig_. upon this ornament he was extremely tenacious. as naval jests are sometimes a little rough, his brother officers made occasional allusions to this delicate appendage to the doctor's person. one day a young lieutenant, in the course of a facetious discussion, said, "suppose now, doctor, i should take off your _hat_,"--"sir," replied the doctor, "i shall talk no longer with you; you grow _scurrilous_." he would not even admit so near an approach as to the hat which protected it. in like manner, if any body approaches mr. bowles's laurels, even in his outside capacity of an _editor_, "they grow _scurrilous_." you say that you are about to prepare an edition of pope; you cannot do better for your own credit as a publisher, nor for the redemption of pope from mr. bowles, and of the public taste from rapid degeneracy. observations upon "observations" a second letter to john murray, esq. on the rev. w.l. bowles's strictures on the life and writings of pope. * * * * * _now first published_. * * * * * ravenna, march . . dear sir, in the further "observations" of mr. bowles, in rejoinder to the charges brought against his edition of pope, it is to be regretted that he has lost his temper. whatever the language of his antagonists may have been, i fear that his replies have afforded more pleasure to them than to the public. that mr. bowles should not be pleased is natural, whether right or wrong; but a temperate defence would have answered his purpose in the former case--and, in the latter, no defence, however violent, can tend to any thing but his discomfiture. i have read over this third pamphlet, which you have been so obliging as to send me, and shall venture a few observations, in addition to those upon the previous controversy. mr. bowles sets out with repeating his "_confirmed conviction_," that "what he said of the moral part of pope's character was, generally speaking, true; and that the principles of _poetical_ criticism which he has laid down are _invariable_ and _invulnerable_," &c.; and that he is the _more_ persuaded of this by the "_exaggerations_ of his opponents." this is all very well, and highly natural and sincere. nobody ever expected that either mr. bowles, or any other author, would be convinced of human fallibility in their own persons. but it is nothing to the purpose--for it is not what mr. bowles thinks, but what is to be thought of pope, that is the question. it is what he has asserted or insinuated against a name which is the patrimony of posterity, that is to be tried; and mr. bowles, as a party, can be no judge. the more _he_ is persuaded, the better for himself, if it give him any pleasure; but he can only persuade others by the proofs brought out in his defence. after these prefatory remarks of "conviction," &c. mr. bowles proceeds to mr. gilchrist; whom he charges with "slang" and "slander," besides a small subsidiary indictment of "abuse, ignorance, malice," and so forth. mr. gilchrist has, indeed, shown some anger; but it is an honest indignation, which rises up in defence of the illustrious dead. it is a generous rage which interposes between our ashes and their disturbers. there appears also to have been some slight personal provocation. mr. gilchrist, with a chivalrous disdain of the fury of an incensed poet, put his name to a letter avowing the production of a former essay in defence of pope, and consequently of an attack upon mr. bowles. mr. bowles appears to be angry with mr. gilchrist for four reasons:--firstly, because he wrote an article in "the london magazine;" secondly, because he afterwards avowed it; thirdly, because he was the author of a still more extended article in "the quarterly review;" and, fourthly, because he was not the author of the said quarterly article, and had the audacity to disown it--for no earthly reason but because he had not written it. mr. bowles declares, that "he will not enter into a particular examination of the pamphlet," which by a _misnomer_ is called "gilchrist's answer to bowles," when it should have been called "gilchrist's abuse of bowles." on this error in the baptism of mr. gilchrist's pamphlet, it may be observed, that an answer may be abusive and yet no less an answer, though indisputably a temperate one might be the better of the two: but if _abuse_ is to cancel all pretensions to reply, what becomes of mr. bowles's answers to mr. gilchrist? mr. bowles continues:--"but as mr. gilchrist derides my _peculiar sensitiveness to criticism_, before i show how _destitute of truth is this representation_, i will here explicitly declare the only grounds," &c. &c. &c.--mr. bowles's sensibility in denying his "sensitiveness to criticism" proves, perhaps, too much. but if he has been so charged, and truly--what then? there is no moral turpitude in such acuteness of feeling: it has been, and may be, combined with many good and great qualities. is mr. bowles a poet, or is he not? if he be, he must, from his very essence, be sensitive to criticism; and even if he be not, he need not be ashamed of the common repugnance to being attacked. all that is to be wished is, that he had considered how disagreeable a thing it is, before he assailed the greatest moral poet of any age, or in any language. pope himself "sleeps well,"--nothing can touch him further; but those who love the honour of their country, the perfection of her literature, the glory of her language--are not to be expected to permit an atom of his dust to be stirred in his tomb, or a leaf to be stripped from the laurel which grows over it. mr. bowles assigns several reasons why and when "an author is justified in appealing to every _upright_ and _honourable_ mind in the kingdom." if mr. bowles limits the perusal of his defence to the "upright and honourable" only, i greatly fear that it will not be extensively circulated. i should rather hope that some of the downright and dishonest will read and be converted, or convicted. but the whole of his reasoning is here superfluous--"_an author is justified in appealing_," &c. when and why he pleases. let him make out a tolerable case, and few of his readers will quarrel with his motives. mr. bowles "will now plainly set before the literary public all the circumstances which have led to _his name_ and mr. gilchrist's being brought together," &c. courtesy requires, in speaking of others and ourselves, that we should place the name of the former first--and not "_ego_ et rex meus." mr. bowles should have written "mr. gilchrist's name and his." this point he wishes "particularly to address to those _most respectable characters_, who have the direction and management of the periodical critical press." that the press may be, in some instances, conducted by respectable characters is probable enough; but if they are so, there is no occasion to tell them of it; and if they are not, it is a base adulation. in either case, it looks like a kind of flattery, by which those gentry are not very likely to be softened; since it would be difficult to find two passages in fifteen pages more at variance, than mr. bowles's prose at the beginning of this pamphlet, and his verse at the end of it. in page . he speaks of "those most respectable characters who have the direction, &c. of the periodical press," and in page . we find-- "ye _dark inquisitors_, a monk-like band, who o'er some shrinking victim-author stand, a solemn, secret, and _vindictive brand, only_ terrific in your cowl and hood." and so on--to "bloody law" and "red scourges," with other similar phrases, which may not be altogether agreeable to the above-mentioned "most respectable characters." mr. bowles goes on, "i concluded my observations in the last pamphleteer with feelings _not unkind_ towards mr. gilchrist, or" [it should be _nor_] "to the author of the review of spence, be he whom he might."--"i was in hopes, _as i have always been ready to admit any errors_ i might have been led into, or prejudice i might have entertained, that even mr. gilchrist might be disposed to a more _amicable_ mode of discussing what i had advanced in regard to pope's moral character." as major sturgeon observes, "there never was a set of more _amicable_ officers--with the exception of a boxing-bout between captain shears and the colonel." a page and a half--nay only a page before--mr. bowles re-affirms his conviction, that "what he has said of pope's moral character is _(generally speaking) true,_ and that his "poetical principles are _invariable_ and _invulnerable_." he has also published three pamphlets,--ay, four of the same tenour,--and yet, with this declaration and these declamations staring him and his adversaries in the face, he speaks of his "readiness to admit errors or to abandon prejudices!!!" his use of the word "amicable" reminds me of the irish institution (which i have somewhere heard or read of) called the "_friendly_ society," where the president always carried pistols in his pocket, so that when one amicable gentleman knocked down another, the difference might be adjusted on the spot, at the harmonious distance of twelve paces. but mr. bowles "has since read a publication by him (mr. gilchrist) containing such vulgar slander, affecting private life and character," &c. &c.; and mr. gilchrist has also had the advantage of reading a publication by mr. bowles sufficiently imbued with personality; for one of the first and principal topics of reproach is that he is a _grocer_, that he has a "pipe in his mouth, ledger-book, green canisters, dingy shop-boy, half a hogshead of brown treacle," &c. nay, the same delicate raillery is upon the very title-page. when controversy has once commenced upon this footing, as dr. johnson said to dr. percy, "sir, there is an end of politeness--we are to be as rude as we please--sir, you said that i was _short-sighted_." as a man's profession is generally no more in his own power than his person--both having been made out for him--it is hard that he should be reproached with either, and still more that an honest calling should be made a reproach. if there is any thing more honourable to mr. gilchrist than another it is, that being engaged in commerce he has had the taste, and found the leisure, to become so able a proficient in the higher literature of his own and other countries. mr. bowles, who will be proud to own glover, chatterton, burns, and bloomfleld for his peers, should hardly have quarrelled with mr. gilchrist for his critic. mr. gilchrist's station, however, which might conduct him to the highest civic honours, and to boundless wealth, has nothing to require apology; but even if it had, such a reproach was not very gracious on the part of a clergyman, nor graceful on that of a gentleman. the allusion to "_christian_ criticism" is not particularly happy, especially where mr. gilchrist is accused of having "_set the first example of this mode in europe_." what _pagan_ criticism may have been we know but little; the names of zoilus and aristarchus survive, and the works of aristotle, longinus, and quintilian: but of "christian criticism" we have already had some specimens in the works of philelphus, poggius, scaliger, milton, salmasius, the cruscanti (versus tasso), the french academy (against the cid), and the antagonists of voltaire and of pope--to say nothing of some articles in most of the reviews, since their earliest institution in the person of their respectable and still prolific parent, "the monthly." why, then, is mr. gilchrist to be singled out "as having set the first example?" a sole page of milton or salmasius contains more abuse--rank, rancorous, _unleavened_ abuse--than all that can be raked forth from the whole works of many recent critics. there are some, indeed, who still keep up the good old custom; but fewer english than foreign. it is a pity that mr. bowles cannot witness some of the italian controversies, or become the subject of one. he would then look upon mr. gilchrist as a panegyrist. in the long sentence quoted from the article in "the london magazine," there is one coarse image, the justice of whose application i shall not pretend to determine:--"the pruriency with which his nose is laid to the ground" is an expression which, whether founded or not, might have been omitted. but the "anatomical minuteness" appears to me justified even by mr. bowles's own subsequent quotation. to the point:--"_many facts_ tend to prove the peculiar susceptibility of his passions; nor can we implicitly believe that the connexion between him and martha blount was of a nature so pure and innocent as his panegyrist ruffhead would have us believe," &c.--"at _no time_ could she have regarded _pope personally_ with attachment," &c.--"but the most extraordinary circumstance in regard to his connexion with female society, was the strange mixture of _indecent_ and even _profane_ levity which his conduct and language often exhibited. the cause of this particularity may be sought, perhaps, in his consciousness of physical defect, which made him affect a character uncongenial, and a language opposite to the truth."--if this is not "minute moral anatomy," i should be glad to know what is! it is dissection in all its branches. i shall, however, hazard a remark or two upon this quotation. to me it appears of no very great consequence whether martha blount was or was not pope's mistress, though i could have wished him a better. she appears to have been a cold-hearted, interested, ignorant, disagreeable woman, upon whom the tenderness of pope's heart in the desolation of his latter days was cast away, not knowing whither to turn as he drew towards his premature old age, childless and lonely,--like the needle which, approaching within a certain distance of the pole, becomes helpless and useless, and, ceasing to tremble, rusts. she seems to have been so totally unworthy of tenderness, that it is an additional proof of the kindness of pope's heart to have been able to love such a being. but we must love something. i agree with mr. b. that _she_ "could at no time have regarded _pope personally_ with attachment," because she was incapable of attachment; but i deny that pope could not be regarded with personal attachment by a worthier woman. it is not probable, indeed, that a woman would have fallen in love with him as he walked along the mall, or in a box at the opera, nor from a balcony, nor in a ball-room; but in society he seems to have been as amiable as unassuming, and, with the greatest disadvantages of figure, his head and face were remarkably handsome, especially his eyes. he was adored by his friends--friends of the most opposite dispositions, ages, and talents--by the old and wayward wycherley, by the cynical swift, the rough atterbury, the gentle spence, the stern attorney-bishop warburton, the virtuous berkeley, and the "cankered bolingbroke." bolingbroke wept over him like a child; and spence's description of his last moments is at least as edifying as the more ostentatious account of the deathbed of addison. the soldier peterborough and the poet gay, the witty congreve and the laughing rowe, the eccentric cromwell and the steady bathurst, were all his intimates. the man who could conciliate so many men of the most opposite description, not one of whom but was a remarkable or a celebrated character, might well have pretended to all the attachment which a reasonable man would desire of an amiable woman. pope, in fact, wherever he got it, appears to have understood the sex well, bolingbroke, "a judge of the subject," says warton, thought his "epistle on the characters of women" his "masterpiece." and even with respect to the grosser passion, which takes occasionally the name of "_romantic_," accordingly as the degree of sentiment elevates it above the definition of love by buffon, it may be remarked, that it does not always depend upon personal appearance, even in a woman. madame cottin was a plain woman, and might have been virtuous, it may be presumed, without much interruption. virtuous she was, and the consequences of this inveterate virtue were that two different admirers (one an elderly gentleman) killed themselves in despair (see lady morgan's "france"). i would not, however, recommend this rigour to plain women in general, in the hope of securing the glory of two suicides apiece. i believe that there are few men who, in the course of their observations on life, may not have perceived that it is not the greatest female beauty who forms the longest and the strongest passions. but, apropos of pope.--voltaire tells us that the marechal luxembourg (who had precisely pope's figure) was not only somewhat too amatory for a great man, but fortunate in his attachments. la valière, the passion of louis xiv., had an unsightly defect. the princess of eboli, the mistress of philip ii. of spain, and maugiron, the minion of henry iii. of france, had each of them lost an eye; and the famous latin epigram was written upon them, which has, i believe, been either translated or imitated by goldsmith:-- "lumine acon dextro, capta est leonilla sinistro, et potis est forma vincere uterque deos; blande puer, lumen quod habes concede sorrori, sic tu cæcus amor, sic erit illa venus." wilkes, with his ugliness, used to say that "he was but a quarter of an hour behind the handsomest man in england;" and this vaunt of his is said not to have been disproved by circumstances. swift, when neither young, nor handsome, nor rich, nor even amiable, inspired the two most extraordinary passions upon record, vanessa's and stella's. "vanessa, aged scarce a score, sighs for a gown of _forty-four_." he requited them bitterly; for he seems to have broken the heart of the one, and worn out that of the other; and he had his reward, for he died a solitary idiot in the hands of servants. for my own part, i am of the opinion of pausanias. that success in love depends upon fortune. "they particularly renounce celestial venus, into whose temple, &c. &c. &c. i remember, too, to have seen a building in Ægina in which there is a statue of fortune, holding a horn of amalthea; and near her there is a winged love. the meaning of this is, that the success of men in love affairs depends more on the assistance of fortune than the charms of beauty. i am persuaded, too, with pindar (to whose opinion i submit in other particulars), that fortune is one of the fates, and that in a certain respect she is more powerful than her sisters."--see pausanias, achaics, book vii. chap. . p. . taylor's "translation." grimm has a remark of the same kind on the different destinies of the younger crebillon and rousseau. the former writes a licentious novel, and a young english girl of some fortune and family (a miss strafford) runs away, and crosses the sea to marry him; while rousseau, the most tender and passionate of lovers, is obliged to espouse his chambermaid. if i recollect rightly, this remark was also repeated in the edinburgh review of grimm's correspondence, seven or eight years ago. in regard "to the strange mixture of indecent, and sometimes _profane_ levity, which his conduct and language _often_ exhibited," and which so much shocks mr. bowles, i object to the indefinite word "_often_;" and in extenuation of the occasional occurrence of such language it is to be recollected, that it was less the tone of _pope_, than the tone of the _time_. with the exception of the correspondence of pope and his friends, not many private letters of the period have come down to us; but those, such as they are--a few scattered scraps from farquhar and others--are more indecent and coarse than any thing in pope's letters. the comedies of congreve, vanbrugh, farquhar, cibber, &c., which naturally attempted to represent the manners and conversation of private life, are decisive upon this point; as are also some of steele's papers, and even addison's. we all know what the conversation of sir r. walpole, for seventeen years the prime minister of the country, was at his own table, and his excuse for his licentious language, viz. "that every body understood _that_, but few could talk rationally upon less common topics." the refinement of latter days,--which is perhaps the consequence of vice, which wishes to mask and soften itself, as much as of virtuous civilisation,--had not yet made sufficient progress. even johnson, in his "london," has two or three passages which cannot be read aloud, and addison's "drummer" some indelicate allusions. the expression of mr. bowles, "his consciousness of physical defect," is not very clear. it may mean deformity or debility. if it alludes to pope's deformity, it has been attempted to be shown that this was no insuperable objection to his being beloved. if it alludes to debility, as a consequence of pope's peculiar conformation, i believe that it is a physical and known fact that hump-backed persons are of strong and vigorous passions. several years ago, at mr. angelo's fencing rooms, when i was a pupil of him and of mr. jackson, who had the use of his rooms in albany on the alternate days, i recollect a gentleman named b--ll--gh--t, remarkable for his strength, and the fineness of his figure. his skill was not inferior, for he could stand up to the great captain barclay himself, with the muffles on;--a task neither easy nor agreeable to a pugilistic aspirant. as the by-standers were one day admiring his athletic proportions, he remarked to us, that he had five brothers as tall and strong as himself, and that their _father and mother were both crooked, and of very small stature_;--i think he said, neither of them five feet high. it would not be difficult to adduce similar instances; but i abstain, because the subject is hardly refined enough for this immaculate period, this moral millenium of expurgated editions in books, manners, and royal trials of divorce. this laudable delicacy--this crying-out elegance of the day--reminds me of a little circumstance which occurred when i was about eighteen years of age. there was then (and there may be still) a famous french "entremetteuse," who assisted young gentlemen in their youthful pastimes. we had been acquainted for some time, when something occurred in her line of business more than ordinary, and the refusal was offered to me (and doubtless to many others), probably because i was in cash at the moment, having taken up a decent sum from the jews, and not having spent much above half of it. the adventure on the tapis, it seems, required some caution and circumspection. whether my venerable friend doubted my politeness i cannot tell; but she sent me a letter couched in such english as a short residence of sixteen years in england had enabled her to acquire. after several precepts and instructions, the letter closed. but there was a postscript. it contained these words:--"remember, milor, that _delicaci ensure_ everi succés." the _delicacy_ of the day is exactly, in all its circumstances, like that of this respectable foreigner. "it ensures every _succès_," and is not a whit more moral than, and not half so honourable as, the coarser candour of our less polished ancestors. to return to mr. bowles. "if what is here extracted can excite in the mind (i will not say of any 'layman', of any 'christian', but) of any _human being_," &c. &c. is not mr. gilchrist a "human being?" mr. bowles asks "whether in _attributing_ an article," &c. &c, "to the critic, he had _any reason_ for distinguishing him with that courtesy," &c. &c. but mr. bowles was wrong in "attributing the article" to mr. gilchrist at all; and would not have been right in calling him a dunce and a grocer, if he had written it. mr. bowles is here "peremptorily called upon to speak of a circumstance which gives him the greatest pain,--the mention of a letter he received from the editor of 'the london magazine.'" mr. bowles seems to have embroiled himself on all sides; whether by editing, or replying, or attributing, or quoting,--it has been an awkward affair for him. poor scott is now no more. in the exercise of his vocation, he contrived at last to make himself the subject of a coroner's inquest. but he died like a brave man, and he lived an able one. i knew him personally, though slightly. although several years my senior, we had been schoolfellows together at the "grammar-schule" (or, as the aberdonians pronounce it, "_squeel_") of new aberdeen. he did not behave to me quite handsomely in his capacity of editor a few years ago, but he was under no obligation to behave otherwise. the moment was too tempting for many friends and for all enemies. at a time when all my relations (save one) fell from me like leaves from the tree in autumn winds, and my few friends became still fewer,--when the whole periodical press (i mean the daily and weekly, _not_ the _literary_ press) was let loose against me in every shape of reproach, with the two strange exceptions (from their usual opposition) of "the courier" and "the examiner,"--the paper of which scott had the direction was neither the last nor the least vituperative. two years ago i met him at venice, when he was bowed in griefs by the loss of his son, and had known, by experience, the bitterness of domestic privation. he was then earnest with me to return to england; and on my telling him, with a smile, that he was once of a different opinion, he replied to me, 'that he and others had been greatly misled; and that some pains, and rather extraordinary means, had been taken to excite them.' scott is no more, but there are more than one living who were present at this dialogue. he was a man of very considerable talents, and of great acquirements. he had made his way, as a literary character, with high success, and in a few years. poor fellow! i recollect his joy at some appointment which he had obtained, or was to obtain, through sir james mackintosh, and which prevented the further extension (unless by a rapid run to rome) of his travels in italy. i little thought to what it would conduct him. peace be with him!--and may all such other faults as are inevitable to humanity be as readily forgiven him, as the little injury which he had done to one who respected his talents, and regrets his loss. i pass over mr. bowles's page of explanation, upon the correspondence between him and mr. s----. it is of little importance in regard to pope, and contains merely a re-contradiction of a contradiction of mr. gilchrist's. we now come to a point where mr. gilchrist has, certainly, rather exaggerated matters; and, of course, mr. bowles makes the most of it. capital letters, like kean's name, "large upon the bills," are made use of six or seven times to express his sense of the outrage. the charge is, indeed, very boldly made; but, like "ranold of the mist's" practical joke of putting the bread and cheese into a dead man's mouth, is, as dugald dalgetty says, "somewhat too wild and salvage, besides wasting the good victuals." mr. gilchrist charges mr. bowles with "suggesting" that pope "attempted" to commit "a rape" upon lady m. wortley montague. there are two reasons why this could not be true. the first is, that like the chaste letitia's prevention of the intended ravishment by fireblood (in jonathan wild), it might have been impeded by a timely compliance. the second is, that however this might be, pope was probably the less robust of the two; and (if the lines on sappho were really intended for this lady) the asserted consequences of her acquiescence in his wishes would have been a sufficient punishment. the passage which mr. bowles quotes, however, insinuates nothing of the kind: it merely charges her with encouragement, and him with wishing to profit by it,--a slight attempt at seduction, and no more. the phrase is, "a step beyond decorum." any physical violence is so abhorrent to human nature, that it recoils in cold blood from the very idea. but, the seduction of a woman's mind as well as person is not, perhaps, the least heinous sin of the two in morality. dr. johnson commends a gentleman who having seduced a girl who said, "i am afraid we have done wrong," replied, "yes, we _have_ done wrong,"--"for i would not _pervert_ her mind also." othello would not "kill desdemona's _soul_." mr. bowles exculpates himself from mr. gilchrist's charge; but it is by substituting another charge against pope. "a step beyond decorum," has a soft sound, but what does it express? in all these cases, "ce n'est que le premier pas qui coute." has not the scripture something upon "the lusting after a woman" being no less criminal than the crime? "a step beyond decorum," in short, any step beyond the instep, is a step from a precipice to the lady who permits it. for the gentleman who makes it it is also rather hazardous if he does not succeed, and still more so if he does. mr. bowles appeals to the "christian reader!" upon this "_gilchristian_ criticism." is not this play upon such words "a step beyond decorum" in a clergyman? but i admit the temptation of a pun to be irresistible. but "a hasty pamphlet was published, in which some personalities respecting mr. gilchrist were suffered to appear." if mr. bowles will write "hasty pamphlets," why is he so surprised on receiving short answers? the grand grievance to which he perpetually returns is a charge of "_hypochondriacism_," asserted or insinuated in the quarterly. i cannot conceive a man in perfect health being much affected by such a charge, because his complexion and conduct must amply refute it. but were it true, to what does it amount?--to an impeachment of a liver complaint. "i will tell it to the world," exclaimed the learned smelfungus.--"you had better," said i, "tell it to your physician." there is nothing dishonourable in such a disorder, which is more peculiarly the malady of students. it has been the complaint of the good, and the wise, and the witty, and even of the gay. regnard, the author of the last french comedy after molière, was atrabilious; and molière himself, saturnine. dr. johnson, gray, and burns, were all more or less affected by it occasionally. it was the prelude to the more awful malady of collins, cowper, swift, and smart; but it by no means follows that a partial affliction of this disorder is to terminate like theirs. but even were it so,-- "nor best, nor wisest, are exempt from thee; folly--folly's only free." penrose. if this be the criterion of exemption, mr. bowles's last two pamphlets form a better certificate of sanity than a physician's. mendehlson and bayle were at times so overcome with this depression, as to be obliged to recur to seeing "puppet-shows, and counting tiles upon the opposite houses," to divert themselves. dr. johnson at times "would have given a limb to recover his spirits." mr. bowles, who is (strange to say) fond of quoting pope, may perhaps answer,-- "go on, obliging creatures, let me see all which disgrac'd my betters met in me." but the charge, such as it is, neither disgraces them nor him. it is easily disproved if false; and even if proved true, has nothing in it to make a man so very indignant. mr. bowles himself appears to be a little ashamed of his "hasty pamphlet;" for he attempts to excuse it by the "great provocation;" that is to say, by mr. bowles's supposing that mr. gilchrist was the writer of the article in the quarterly, which he was _not_. "but, in extenuation, not only the _great_ provocation should be remembered, but it ought to be said, that orders were sent to the london booksellers, that the most direct personal passages should be _omitted entirely_," &c. this is what the proverb calls "breaking a head and giving a plaster;" but, in this instance, the plaster was not spread in time, and mr. gilchrist does not seem at present disposed to regard mr. bowles's courtesies like the rust of the spear of achilles, which had such "skill in surgery." but "mr. gilchrist has _no right_ to object, as the reader will see." i am a reader, a "gentle reader," and i see nothing of the kind. were i in mr. gilchrist's place, i should object exceedingly to being abused; firstly, for what i _did_ write, and, secondly, for what i did _not_ write; merely because it is mr. bowles's will and pleasure to be as angry with me for having written in the london magazine, as for not having written in the quarterly review. "mr. gilchrist has had ample revenge; for he has, in his answer, said so and so," &c. &c. there is no great revenge in all this; and i presume that nobody either seeks or wishes it. what revenge? mr. bowles calls names, and he is answered. but mr. gilchrist and the quarterly reviewer are not poets, nor pretenders to poetry; therefore they can have no envy nor malice against mr. bowles: they have no acquaintance with mr. bowles, and can have no personal pique; they do not cross his path of life, nor he theirs. there is no political feud between them. what, then, can be the motive of their discussion of his deserts as an editor?--veneration for the genius of pope, love for his memory, and regard for the classic glory of their country. why would mr. bowles edite? had he limited his honest endeavours to poetry, very little would have been said upon the subject, and nothing at all by his present antagonists. mr. bowles calls the pamphlet a "mud-cart," and the writer a "scavenger." afterward he asks, "shall he fling dirt and receive _rose-water_?" this metaphor, by the way, is taken from marmontel's memoirs; who, lamenting to chamfort the shedding of blood during the french revolution, was answered, "do you think that revolutions are to be made with _rose-water_?" for my own part, i presume that "rose-water" would be infinitely more graceful in the hands of mr. bowles than the substance which he has substituted for that delicate liquid. it would also more confound his adversary, supposing him a "scavenger." i remember, (and do you remember, reader, that it was in my earliest youth, "consule planco,")--on the morning of the great battle, (the second)--between gulley and gregson,--_cribb_, who was matched against horton for the second fight, on the same memorable day, awaking me (a lodger at the inn in the next room) by a loud remonstrance to the waiter against the abomination of his towels, which had been laid in _lavender_. cribb was a coal-heaver--and was much more discomfited by this odoriferous effeminacy of fine linen, than by his adversary horton, whom, he "finished in style," though with some reluctance; for i recollect that he said, "he disliked hurting him, he looked so pretty,"--horton being a very fine fresh-coloured young man. to return to "rose-water"--that is, to gentle means of rebuke. does mr. bowles know how to revenge himself upon a hackney-coachman, when he has overcharged his fare? in case he should not, i will tell him. it is of little use to call him "a rascal, a scoundrel, a thief, an impostor, a blackguard, a villain, a raggamuffin, a--what you please;" all that he is used to--it is his mother-tongue, and probably his mother's. but look him steadily and quietly in the face, and say--"upon my word, i think you are the _ugliest fellow_ i ever saw in my life," and he will instantly roll forth the brazen thunders of the charioteer salmoneus as follows:--"_hugly_! what the h--ll are _you_? _you_ a _gentleman_! why ----!" so much easier it is to _provoke_--and therefore to vindicate--(for passion punishes him who _feels_ it more than those whom the passionate would excruciate)--by a few quiet words the aggressor, than by retorting violently. the "coals of fire" of the scripture are _benefits_;--but they are not the less "coals of _fire_." i pass over a page of quotation and reprobation--"sin up to my song"--"oh let my little bark"--"arcades ambo"--"writer in the quarterly review and himself"--"in-door avocations, indeed"--"king of brentford"--"one nosegay"--"perennial nosegay"--"oh juvenes,"--and the like. page . produces "more reasons,"--(the task ought not to have been difficult, for as yet there were none)--"to show why mr. bowles attributed the critique in the quarterly to octavius gilchrist." all these "reasons" consist of _surmises_ of mr. bowles, upon the presumed character of his opponent. "he did not suppose there could exist a man in the kingdom so _impudent_, &c. &c. except octavius gilchrist."--"he did not think there was a man in the kingdom who would _pretend ignorance_, &c. &c. except octavius gilchrist."--"he did not conceive that one man in the kingdom would utter such stupid flippancy, &c. &c. except octavius gilchrist."--"he did not think there was one man in the kingdom who, &c. &c. could so utterly show his ignorance, _combined with conceit_, &c. as octavius gilchrist."--"he did not believe there was a man in the kingdom so perfect in mr. gilchrist's 'old lunes,'" &c. &c.--"he did not think the _mean mind_ of any one in the kingdom," &c. and so on; always beginning with "any one in the kingdom," and ending with "octavius gilchrist," like the word in a catch. i am not "in the kingdom," and have not been much in the kingdom since i was one and twenty, (about five years in the whole, since i was of age,) and have no desire to be in the kingdom again, whilst i breathe, nor to sleep there afterwards; and i regret nothing more than having ever been "in the kingdom" at all. but though no longer a man "in the kingdom," let me hope that when i have ceased to exist, it may be said, as was answered by the master of clanronald's henchman, his day after the battle of sheriff-muir, when he was found watching his chief's body. he was asked, "who that was?" he replied--"it was a man yesterday." and in this capacity, "in or out of the kingdom," i must own that i participate in many of the objections urged by mr. gilchrist. i participate in his love of pope, and in his not understanding, and occasionally finding fault with, the last editor of our last truly great poet. one of the reproaches against mr. gilchrist is, that he is (it is sneeringly said) an f. s. _a_. if it will give mr. bowles any pleasure, i am not an f. s. a. but a fellow of the royal society at his service, in case there should be any thing in that association also which may point a paragraph. "there are some other reasons," but "the author is now _not_ unknown." mr. bowles has so totally exhausted himself upon octavius gilchrist, that he has not a word left for the real quarterer of his edition, although now "deterré." the following page refers to a mysterious charge of "duplicity, in regard to the publication of pope's letters." till this charge is made in proper form, we have nothing to do with it: mr. gilchrist hints it--mr. bowles denies it; there it rests for the present. mr. bowles professes his dislike to "pope's duplicity, _not_ to pope"--a distinction apparently without a difference. however, i believe that i understand him. we have a great dislike to mr. bowles's edition of pope, but _not_ to mr. bowles; nevertheless, he takes up the subject as warmly as if it was personal. with regard to the fact of "pope's duplicity," it remains to be proved--like mr. bowles's benevolence towards his memory. in page . we have a large assertion, that "the 'eloisa' alone is sufficient to convict him of _gross licentiousness_." thus, out it comes at last. mr. bowles _does_ accuse pope of "_gross_ licentiousness," and grounds the charge upon a poem. the _licentiousness_ is a "grand peut-être," according to the turn of the times being. the grossness i deny. on the contrary, i do believe that such a subject never was, nor ever could be, treated by any poet with so much delicacy, mingled with, at the same time, such true and intense passion. is the "atys" of catullus _licentious_? no, nor even gross; and yet catullus is often a coarse writer. the subject is nearly the same, except that atys was the suicide of his manhood, and abelard the victim. the "licentiousness" of the story was _not_ pope's,--it was a fact. all that it had of gross, he has softened;--all that it had of indelicate, he has purified;--all that it had of passionate, he has beautified;--all that it had of holy, he has hallowed. mr. campbell has admirably marked this in a few words (i quote from memory), in drawing the distinction between pope and dryden, and pointing out where dryden was wanting "i fear," says he, "that had the subject of 'eloisa' fallen into his (dryden's) hands, that he would have given us but a _coarse_ draft of her passion." never was the delicacy of pope so much shown as in this poem. with the facts and the letters of "eloisa" he has done what no other mind but that of the best and purest of poets could have accomplished with such materials. ovid, sappho (in the ode called hers)--all that we have of ancient, all that we have of modern poetry, sinks into nothing compared with him in this production. let us hear no more of this trash about "licentiousness." is not "anacreon" taught in our schools?--translated, praised, and edited? are not his odes the amatory praises of a boy? is not sappho's ode on a girl? is not this sublime and (according to longinus) fierce love for one of her own sex? and is not phillips's translation of it in the mouths of all your women? and are the english schools or the english women the more corrupt for all this? when you have thrown the ancients into the fire it will be time to denounce the moderns. "licentiousness!"--there is more real mischief and sapping licentiousness in a single french prose novel, in a moravian hymn, or a german comedy, than in all the actual poetry that ever was penned, or poured forth, since the rhapsodies of orpheus. the sentimental anatomy of rousseau and mad. de s. are far more formidable than any quantity of verse. they are so, because they sap the principles, by _reasoning_ upon the _passions_; whereas poetry is in itself passion, and does not systematise. it assails, but does not argue; it may be wrong, but it does not assume pretensions to optimism. mr. bowles now has the goodness "to point out the difference between a _traducer_ and him who sincerely states what he sincerely believes." he might have spared himself the trouble. the one is a liar, who lies knowingly; the other (i speak of a scandal-monger of course) lies, charitably believing that he speaks truth, and very sorry to find himself in falsehood;--because he "would rather that the dean should die, than his prediction prove a lie." after a definition of a "traducer," which was quite superfluous (though it is agreeable to learn that mr. bowles so well understands the character), we are assured, that "he feels equally indifferent, mr. gilchrist, for what your malice can invent, or your impudence utter." this is indubitable; for it rests not only on mr. bowles's assurance, but on that of sir fretful plagiary, and nearly in the same words,--"and i shall treat it with exactly the same calm indifference and philosophical contempt, and so your servant." "one thing has given mr. bowles concern." it is "a passage which might seem to reflect on the patronage a young man has received." might seem!! the passage alluded to expresses, that if mr. gilchrist be the reviewer of "a certain poet of nature," his praise and blame are equally contemptible."--mr. bowles, who has a peculiarly ambiguous style, where it suits him, comes off with a "_not_ to the _poet_, but the critic," &c. in my humble opinion, the passage referred to both. had mr. bowles really meant fairly, he would have said so from the first--he would have been eagerly transparent.--"a certain poet of nature" is not the style of commendation. it is the very prologue to the most scandalous paragraphs of the newspapers, when "willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike." "a certain high personage,"--"a certain peeress,"--"a certain illustrious foreigner,"--what do these words ever precede, but defamation? had he felt a spark of kindling kindness for john clare, he would have named him. there is a sneer in the sentence as it stands. how a favourable review of a deserving poet can "rather injure than promote his cause" is difficult to comprehend. the article denounced is able and amiable, and it _has_ "served" the poet, as far as poetry can be served by judicious and honest criticism. with the two next paragraphs of mr. bowles's pamphlet it is pleasing to concur. his mention of "pennie," and his former patronage of "shoel," do him honour. i am not of those who may deny mr. bowles to be a benevolent man. i merely assert, that he is not a candid editor. mr. bowles has been "a writer occasionally upwards of thirty years," and never wrote one word in reply in his life "to criticisms, merely _as_ criticisms." this is mr. lofty in goldsmith's good-natured man; "and i vow by all that's honourable, my resentment has never done the men, as mere men, any manner of harm,--that is, _as mere men_." "the letter to the editor of the newspaper" is owned; but "it was not on account of the criticism. it was because the criticism came down in a frank _directed_ to mrs. bowles!!!"--(the italics and three notes of admiration appended to mrs. bowles are copied verbatim from the quotation), and mr. bowles was not displeased with the criticism, but with the frank and the address. i agree with mr. bowles that the intention was to annoy him; but i fear that this was answered by his notice of the reception of the criticism. an anonymous letter-writer has but one means of knowing the effect of his attack. in this he has the superiority over the viper; he knows that his poison has taken effect, when he hears the victim cry;--the adder is _deaf_. the best reply to an anonymous intimation is to take no notice directly nor indirectly. i wish mr. bowles could see only one or two of the thousand which i have received in the course of a literary life, which, though begun early, has not yet extended to a third part of his existence as an author. i speak of _literary_ life only. were i to add _personal_, i might double the amount of _anonymous_ letters. if he could but see the violence, the threats, the absurdity of the whole thing, he would laugh, and so should i, and thus be both gainers. to keep up the farce,--within the last month of this present writing ( ), i have had my life threatened in the same way which menaced mr. bowles's fame,--excepting that the anonymous denunciation was addressed to the cardinal legate of romagna, instead of to mrs. bowles. the cardinal is, i believe, the elder lady of the two. i append the menace in all its barbaric but literal italian, that mr. bowles may be convinced; and as this is the only "promise to pay," which the italians ever keep, so my person has been at least as much exposed to a "shot in the gloaming," from "john heatherblutter" (see waverley), as ever mr. bowles's glory was from an editor. i am, nevertheless, on horseback and lonely for some hours (_one_ of them twilight) in the forest daily; and this, because it was my "custom in the afternoon," and that i believe if the tyrant cannot escape amidst his guards (should it be so written?), so the humbler individual would find precautions useless. mr. bowles has here the humility to say, that "he must succumb; for with lord byron turned against him, he has no chance,"--a declaration of self-denial not much in unison with his "promise," five lines afterwards, that "for every twenty-four lines quoted by mr. gilchrist, or his friend, to greet him with as many from the 'gilchrisiad';" but so much the better. mr. bowles has no reason to "succumb" but to mr. bowles. as a poet, the author of "the missionary" may compete with the foremost of his cotemporaries. let it be recollected, that all my previous opinions of mr. bowles's poetry were _written_ long before the publication of his last and best poem; and that a poet's _last_ poem should be his best, is his highest praise. but, however, he may duly and honourably rank with his living rivals. there never was so complete a proof of the superiority of pope, as in the lines with which mr. bowles closes his "_to be concluded in our next_." mr. bowles is avowedly the champion and the poet of nature. art and the arts are dragged, some before, and others behind his chariot. pope, where he deals with passion, and with the nature of the naturals of the day, is allowed even by themselves to be sublime; but they complain that too soon-- "he stoop'd to truth and moralised his song," and _there_ even _they_ allow him to be unrivalled. he has succeeded, and even surpassed them, when he chose, in their own _pretended_ province. let us see what their coryphæus effects in pope's. but it is too pitiable, it is too melancholy, to see mr. bowles "_sinning_" not "_up_" but "_down_" as a poet to his lowest depth as an editor. by the way, mr. bowles is always quoting pope. i grant that there is no poet--not shakspeare himself--who can be so often quoted, with reference to life;--but his editor is so like the devil quoting scripture, that i could wish mr. bowles in his proper place, quoting in the pulpit. and now for his lines. but it is painful--painful--to see such a suicide, though at the shrine of pope. i can't copy them all:-- "shall the rank, loathsome miscreant of the age sit, like a night-mare, grinning o'er a page." "whose pye-bald character so aptly suit the two extremes of bantam and of brute, compound grotesque of sullenness and show, the chattering magpie, and the croaking crow." "whose heart contends with thy saturnian head, a root of hemlock, and a lump of lead. gilchrist proceed," &c. &c. "and thus stand forth, spite of thy venom'd foam, to give thee _bite for bite_, or lash thee limping home." with regard to the last line, the only one upon which i shall venture for fear of infection, i would advise mr. gilchrist to keep out of the way of such reciprocal morsure--unless he has more faith in the "ormskirk medicine" than most people, or may wish to anticipate the pension of the recent german professor, (i forget his name, but it is advertised and full of consonants,) who presented his memoir of an infallible remedy for the hydrophobia to the german diet last month, coupled with the philanthropic condition of a large annuity, provided that his cure cured. let him begin with the editor of pope, and double his demand. yours ever, byron. _to john murray, esq_. p.s. amongst the above-mentioned lines there occurs the following, _applied_ to pope-- "the assassin's vengeance, and the coward's lie." and mr. bowles persists that he is a well-wisher to pope!!! he has, then, edited an "assassin" and a "coward" wittingly, as well as lovingly. in my former letter i have remarked upon the editor's forgetfulness of pope's benevolence. but where he mentions his faults it is "with sorrow"--his tears drop, but they do not blot them out. the "recording angel" differs from the recording clergyman. a fulsome editor is pardonable though tiresome, like a panegyrical son whose pious sincerity would demi-deify his father. but a detracting editor is a paricide. he sins against the nature of his office, and connection--he murders the life to come of his victim. if his author is not worthy to be mentioned, do not edit at all: if he be, edit honestly, and even flatteringly. the reader will forgive the weakness in favour of mortality, and correct your adulation with a smile. but to sit down "mingere in patrios cineres," as mr. bowles has done, merits a reprobation so strong, that i am as incapable of expressing as of ceasing to feel it. _further addenda_. it is worthy of remark that, after all this outcry about "_in-door_ nature" and "artificial images," pope was the principal inventor of that boast of the english, _modern gardening_. he divides this honour with milton. hear warton:--"it hence appears, that this _enchanting_ art of modern gardening, in which this kingdom claims a preference over every nation in europe, chiefly owes _its origin_ and its improvements to two great poets, milton and _pope_." walpole (no friend to pope) asserts that pope formed _kent's_ taste, and that kent was the artist to whom the english are chiefly indebted for diffusing "a taste in laying out grounds." the design of the prince of wales's garden was copied from _pope's_ at twickenham. warton applauds "his singular effort of art and taste, in impressing so much variety and scenery on a spot of five acres." pope was the _first_ who ridiculed the "formal, french, dutch, false and unnatural taste in gardening," both in _prose_ and verse. (see, for the former, "the guardian.") "pope has given not only some of our _first_ but _best_ rules and observations on _architecture_ and _gardening_." (see warton's essay, vol. ii. p. , &c. &c.) now, is it not a shame, after this, to hear our lakers in "kendal green," and our bucolical cockneys, crying out (the latter in a wilderness of bricks and mortar) about "nature," and pope's "artificial in-door habits?" pope had seen all of nature that _england_ alone can supply. he was bred in windsor forest, and amidst the beautiful scenery of eton; he lived familiarly and frequently at the country seats of bathurst, cobham, burlington, peterborough, digby, and bolingbroke; amongst whose seats was to be numbered _stowe_. he made his own little "five acres" a model to princes, and to the first of our artists who imitated nature. warton thinks "that the most engaging of _kent_'s works was also planned on the model of pope's,--at least in the opening and retiring shades of venus's vale." it is true that pope was infirm and deformed; but he could walk, and he could ride (he rode to oxford from london at a stretch), and he was famous for an exquisite eye. on a tree at lord bathurst's is carved "here pope sang,"--he composed beneath it. bolingbroke, in one of his letters, represents them both writing in the hay-field. no poet ever admired nature more, or used her better, than pope has done, as i will undertake to prove from his works, _prose_ and _verse_, if not anticipated in so easy and agreeable a labour. i remember a passage in walpole, somewhere, of a gentleman who wished to give directions about some willows to a man who had long served pope in his grounds: "i understand, sir," he replied: "you would have them hang down, sir, _somewhat poetical_." now, if nothing existed but this little anecdote, it would suffice to prove pope's taste for _nature_, and the impression which he had made on a common-minded man. but i have already quoted warton and walpole (_both_ his enemies), and, were it necessary, i could amply quote pope himself for such tributes to _nature_ as no poet of the present day has even approached. his various excellence is really wonderful: architecture, painting, _gardening_, all are alike subject to his genius. be it remembered, that english _gardening_ is the purposed perfectioning of niggard _nature_, and that without it england is but a hedge-and-ditch, double-post-and-rail, hounslow heath and clapham common sort of country, since the principal forests have been felled. it is, in general, far from a picturesque country. the case is different with scotland, wales, and ireland; and i except also the lake counties and derbyshire, together with eton, windsor, and my own dear harrow on the hill, and some spots near the coast. in the present rank fertility of "great poets of the age," and "schools of poetry"--a word which, like "schools of eloquence" and of "philosophy," is never introduced till the decay of the art has increased with the number of its professors--in the present day, then, there have sprung up two sorts of naturals;--the lakers, who whine about nature because they live in cumberland; and their _under-sect_ (which some one has maliciously called the "cockney school"), who are enthusiastical for the country because they live in london. it is to be observed, that the rustical founders are rather anxious to disclaim any connexion with their metropolitan followers, whom they ungraciously review, and call cockneys, atheists, foolish fellows, bad writers, and other hard names not less ungrateful than unjust. i can understand the pretensions of the aquatic gentlemen of windermere to what mr. braham terms "_entusumusy_," for lakes, and mountains, and daffodils, and buttercups; but i should be glad to be apprised of the foundation of the london propensities of their imitative brethren to the same "high argument." southey, wordsworth, and coleridge have rambled over half europe, and seen nature in most of her varieties (although i think that they have occasionally not used her very well); but what on earth--of earth, and sea, and nature--have the others seen? not a half, nor a tenth part so much as pope. while they sneer at his windsor forest, have they ever seen any thing of windsor except its _brick_? the most rural of these gentlemen is my friend leigh hunt, who lives at hampstead. i believe that i need not disclaim any personal or poetical hostility against that gentleman. a more amiable man in society i know not; nor (when he will allow his sense to prevail over his sectarian principles) a better writer. when he was writing his "rimini," i was not the last to discover its beauties, long before it was published. even then i remonstrated against its vulgarisms; which are the more extraordinary, because the author is any thing but a vulgar man. mr. hunt's answer was, that he wrote them upon principle; they made part of his "_system!!_" i then said no more. when a man talks of his system, it is like a woman's talking of her _virtue_. i let them talk on. whether there are writers who could have written "rimini," as it might have been written, i know not; but mr. hunt is, probably, the only poet who could have had the heart to spoil his own capo d'opera. with the rest of his young people i have no acquaintance, except through some things of theirs (which have been sent out without my desire), and i confess that till i had read them i was not aware of the full extent of human absurdity. like garrick's "ode to shakspeare," _they "defy criticism_." these are of the personages who decry pope. one of them, a mr. john ketch, has written some lines against him, of which it were better to be the subject than the author. mr. hunt redeems himself by occasional beauties; but the rest of these poor creatures seem so far gone that i would not "march through coventry with them, that's flat!" were i in mr. hunt's place. to be sure, he has "led his ragamuffins where they will be well peppered;" but a system-maker must receive all sorts of proselytes. when they have really seen life--when they have felt it--when they have travelled beyond the far distant boundaries of the wilds of middlesex--when they have overpassed the alps of highgate, and traced to its sources the nile of the new river--then, and not till then, can it properly he permitted to them to despise pope; who had, if not _in wales_, been _near_ it, when he described so beautifully the "_artificial_" works of the benefactor of nature and mankind, the "man of ross," whose picture, still suspended in the parlour of the inn, i have so often contemplated with reverence for his memory, and admiration of the poet, without whom even his own still existing good works could hardly have preserved his honest renown. i would also observe to my friend hunt, that i shall be very glad to see him at ravenna, not only for my sincere pleasure in his company, and the advantage which a thousand miles or so of travel might produce to a "natural" poet, but also to point out one or two little things in "rimini," which he probably would not have placed in his opening to that poem, if he had ever seen ravenna;--unless, indeed, it made "part of his system!!" i must also crave his indulgence for having spoken of his disciples--by no means an agreeable or self-sought subject. if they had said nothing of _pope_, they might have remained "alone with their glory" for aught i should have said or thought about them or their nonsense. but if they interfere with the "little nightingale" of twickenham, they may find others who will bear it--_i_ won't. neither time, nor distance, nor grief, nor age, can ever diminish my veneration for him, who is the great moral poet of all times, of all climes, of all feelings, and of all stages of existence. the delight of my boyhood, the study of my manhood, perhaps (if allowed to me to attain it) he may be the consolation of my age. his poetry is the book of life. without canting, and yet without neglecting religion, he has assembled all that a good and great man can gather together of moral wisdom clothed in consummate beauty. sir william temple observes, "that of all the members of mankind that live within the compass of a thousand years, for one man that is born capable of making a _great poet_, there may be a _thousand_ born capable of making as great generals and ministers of state as any in story." here is a statesman's opinion of poetry: it is honourable to him and to the art. such a "poet of a thousand years" was _pope_. a thousand years will roll away before such another can be hoped for in our literature. but it can _want_ them--he himself is a literature. one word upon his so brutally abused translation of homer. "dr. clarke, whose critical exactness is well known, has _not been_ able to point out above three or four mistakes _in the sense_ through the whole iliad. the real faults of the translation are of a different kind." so says warton, himself a scholar. it appears by this, then, that he avoided the chief fault of a translator. as to its other faults, they consist in his having made a beautiful english poem of a sublime greek one. it will always hold. cowper and all the rest of the blank pretenders may do their best and their worst: they will never wrench pope from the hands of a single reader of sense and feeling. the grand distinction of the under forms of the new school of poets is their _vulgarity_. by this i do not mean that they are _coarse_, but "shabby-genteel," as it is termed. a man may be _coarse_ and yet not _vulgar_, and the reverse. burns is often coarse, but never _vulgar_. chatterton is never vulgar, nor wordsworth, nor the higher of the lake school, though they treat of low life in all its branches. it is in their _finery_ that the new under school are _most_ vulgar, and they may be known by this at once; as what we called at harrow "a sunday blood" might be easily distinguished from a gentleman, although his clothes might be the better cut, and his boots the best blackened, of the two;--probably because he made the one, or cleaned the other, with his own hands. in the present case, i speak of writing, not of persons. of the latter, i know nothing; of the former, i judge as it is found. of my friend hunt, i have already said, that he is any thing but vulgar in his manners; and of his disciples, therefore, i will not judge of their manners from their verses. they may be honourable and _gentlemanly_ men, for what i know; but the latter quality is studiously excluded from their publications. they remind me of mr. smith and the miss broughtons at the hampstead assembly, in "evelina." in these things (in private life, at least,) i pretend to some small experience; because, in the course of my youth, i have seen a little of all sorts of society, from the christian prince and the mussulman sultan and pacha, and the higher ranks of their countries, down to the london boxer, the "_flash and the swell_," the spanish muleteer, the wandering turkish dervise, the scotch highlander, and the albanian robber;--to say nothing of the curious varieties of italian social life. far be it from me to presume that there ever was, or can be, such a thing as an _aristocracy_ of _poets_; but there _is_ a nobility of thought and of style, open to all stations, and derived partly from talent, and partly from education,--which is to be found in shakspeare, and pope, and burns, no less than in dante and alfieri, but which is nowhere to be perceived in the mock birds and bards of mr. hunt's little chorus. if i were asked to define what this gentlemanliness is, i should say that it is only to be defined by _examples_--of those who have it, and those who have it not. in _life_, i should say that most _military_ men have it, and few _naval_;--that several men of rank have it, and few lawyers;--that it is more frequent among authors than divines (when they are not pedants); that _fencing_-masters have more of it than dancing-masters, and singers than players; and that (if it be not an irishism to say so) it is far more generally diffused among women than among men. in poetry, as well as writing in general, it will never _make_ entirely a poet or a poem; but neither poet nor poem will ever be good for any thing without it. it is the _salt_ of society, and the seasoning of composition. _vulgarity_ is far worse than downright _blackguardism_; for the latter comprehends wit, humour, and strong sense at times; while the former is a sad abortive attempt at all things, "signifying nothing." it does not depend upon low themes, or even low language, for fielding revels in both;--but is he ever _vulgar_? no. you see the man of education, the gentleman, and the scholar, sporting with his subject,--its master, not its slave. your vulgar writer is always most vulgar, the higher, his subject; as the man who showed the menagerie at pidcock's was wont to say,--"this, gentlemen, is the _eagle_ of the _sun_, from archangel, in russia; the _otterer_ it is, the _igherer_ he flies." but to the proofs. it is a thing to be felt more than explained. let any man take up a volume of mr. hunt's subordinate writers, read (if possible) a couple of pages, and pronounce for himself, if they contain not the kind of writing which may be likened to "shabby-genteel" in actual life. when he has done this, let him take up pope;--and when he has laid him down, take up the cockney again--if he can. * * * * * _note to the passage in page_ . _relative to pope's lines upon lady mary w. montague_.] i think that i could show, if necessary, that lady mary w. montague was also greatly to blame in that quarrel, _not_ for having rejected, but for having encouraged him: but i would rather decline the task--though she should have remembered her own line, "_he comes too near, that comes to be denied_." i admire her so much--her beauty, her talents--that i should do this reluctantly. i, besides, am so attached to the very name of _mary_, that as johnson once said, "if you called a dog _harvey_, i should love him;" so, if you were to call a female of the same species "mary," i should love it better than others (biped or quadruped) of the same sex with a different appellation. she was an extraordinary woman: she could translate _epictetus_, and yet write a song worthy of aristippus. the lines, "and when the long hours of the public are past, and we meet, with champaigne and a chicken, at last, may every fond pleasure that moment endear! be banish'd afar both discretion and fear! forgetting or scorning the airs of the crowd, he may cease to be formal, and i to be proud, till," &c. &c. there, mr. bowles!--what say you to such a supper with such a woman? and her own description too? is not her "_champaigne and chicken_" worth a forest or two? is it not poetry? it appears to me that this stanza contains the "_purée_" of the whole philosophy of epicurus:--i mean the _practical_ philosophy of his school, not the precepts of the master; for i have been too long at the university not to know that the philosopher was himself a moderate man. but, after all, would not some of us have been as great fools as pope? for my part, i wonder that, with his quick feelings, her coquetry, and his disappointment, he did no more,--instead of writing some lines, which are to be condemned if false, and regretted if true. index. * * * * * the roman letters refer to the volume; the arabic figures to the page. * * * * * a. aberdeen, mrs. byron's residence at the day school there at which lord byron was a pupil his allusion to the localities of affection of the people of, for his memory absence, consolations in abstinence, the sole remedy for plethora abydos, lord byron's swimming feat from sestos to see bride of abydos abyssinia, lord byron's project of visiting academical studies, effect of, on the imaginative faculty acerbi, giuseppe acland, mr., lord byron's school-fellow at harrow acting, no immaterial sensuality so delightful actium, remains of the town of actors, an impracticable race ada see byron, augusta-ada adair, robert, esq. adams, john, the southwell carrier lord byron's epitaph on addison, joseph, his character as a poet his conversation his 'drummer' 'adolphe,' benjamin constant's adversity 'Æneid, the,' written for political purposes Æschylus his 'prometheus' his 'seven before thebes' 'agathon,' wieland's history of aglietti, dr., ms. letters in his profession offered to mr. murray albania albanians, their character and manners alberoni, cardinal albrizzi, countess, some account of her conversazioni her 'ritratti di uomini illustri' her portrait of lord byron alder, mr alexander the great, his exclamation to the athenians alfieri, vittorio, his description of his first love effect of the representation of his 'mira' on lord byron his conduct to his mother his tomb in the church of santa croce coincidences between the disposition and habits of lord byron and his 'life' quoted alfred club algarotti, francesco, his treatment of lady m.w. montagu ali pacha of yanina, account of lord byron's visit to his letter in latin to lord byron allegra (lord byron's natural daughter) her death inscription for a tablet to her memory allen, john, esq., a 'helluo of books' althorp, viscount alvanley (william arden), second lord ambrosian library at milan, lord byron's visit to 'americani,' patriotic society so called americans, their freedom acquired by firmness without excess amurath, sultan 'anastasius,' mr. hope's, his character 'anatomy of melancholy,' a most amusing medley of quotations and classical anecdotes ancestry, pride of, one of the most decided features of lord byron's character andalusian nobleman, adventures of a young animal food annesley, the residence of miss chaworth annesley, mr., lord byron's schoolfellow at harrow anstey's 'bath guide' 'anti-byron,' a satire anti-jacobin review antiloctius, tomb of antinous, the bust of, super-natural 'antiquary,' character of scott's novel so called 'antony and cleopatra,' observations on the play of apollo belvidere arethusa, fountain of, lord byron's visit to argenson, marquis d', his advice to voltaire argyle institution ariosto, lord byron's imitation of his portrait by titian measure of his poetry spared by the robber who had read his 'orlando furioso' his courage aristides aristophanes, mitchell's translation of 'armageddon,' townshend's poem so called armenian convent of st. lazarus language grammar art, not inferior to nature, for poetical purposes arts, gulf of ash, thomas, author of 'the book' lord byron's generous conduct towards athens, lord byron's first visit to account of the maid of atticus, herodes aubonne augusta, stanzas to augustus cæsar, his times 'auld lang syne' authors, an irritable set avarice 'away, away, ye notes of woe' 'a year ago you swore,' &c. b. bacon, lord, on the celibacy of men of genius inaccuracies in his apophthegms baillie, joanna, the only woman capable of writing tragedy baillie, dr., lord byron put under his care ----, dr. matthew, consulted on lord byron's supposed insanity baillie 'long' baillie, mr. d. balgounie, brig of ballater, a residence of lord byron in his youth bandello, his history of romeo and juliet bankes, william, esq. letters to barbarossa, aruck barber, j.t., the painter barff, mr., lord byron's letters to, on the greek cause barlow, joel, character of his 'columbiad' barnes, thomas, esq. barry, mr., the banker of genoa bartley, george, the comedian ----, mrs., the actress bartolini, the sculptor, his bust of lord byron bartorini, princess, her monument at bologna bath, lord byron at 'bath guide,' anstey's baths of penelope, lord byron's visit to 'baviad and mæviad,' extinguishment of the delia cruscans by the bay of biscay bayes, mr., caricature of dryden beattie, dr., his 'minstrel' beaumarchais, his singular good fortune beaumont, sir george beauvais, bishop of beccaria, anecdote of becher, rev. john, lord byron's friend his epilogue to the 'wheel of fortune' his influence over lord byron letters to beckford, william, esq., his 'tales' in continuation of 'vathek' beggar's opera,' gay's, a st. giles's lampoon behmen, jacob, his reverses bellingham, lord byron present at his execution beloe, rev. william, character of his 'sexagenarian' bembo, cardinal, amatory correspondence between lucretia borgia and benacus, the (now the lago di garda) bentham, jeremy, quackery of his followers benzoni, countess, her conversazioni some account of 'beppo, a venetian story' see also bergami, the princess of wales's courier and chamberlain bernadotte, jean-baptiste-jules, king of sweden berni, the father of the beppo style of writing berry, miss 'bertram,' mathurin's tragedy of bettesworth, captain (cousin of lord byron), the only officer in the navy who had more wounds than lord nelson betty, william henry west (the young roscius) beyle, m., his 'histoire de la peinture en italie' his account of an interview with lord byron at milan bible, the, read through by lord byron before he was eight years old biography 'bioscope, or dial of life,' mr. grenville penn's birch, alderman blackett, joseph, the poetical cobbler his posthumous writings blackstone, judge, composed his commentaries with a bottle of port before him blackwood's magazine blake, the fashionable tonsor bland, rev. robert blaquiere, mr. bleeding, lord byron's prejudice against blessington, earl of letters to ----, countess of impromptu on her taking a villa called 'il paradiso' lines written at the request of letters to blinkensop, rev. mr., his sermon on christianity bloomfield, nathaniel ----, robert blount, martha, pope's attachment to blucher, marshal 'blues, the; a literary eclogue' 'boatswain,' lord byron's favourite dog boisragon, dr. bolivar, simon bolder, mr., lord byron's schoolfellow at harrow bologna, lord byron's visit to the cemetery of bolton, mr., letters of lord byron to, respecting his will bonneval, claudius alexander, count de bonstetten, m. books, list of, read by lord byron before the age of borgia, lucretia, her amatory correspondence with cardinal bembo 'born in a garret borromean islands 'bosquet de julie' 'bosworth field,' lord byron's projected epic entitled botzari, marco, his letter to lord byron his death bowers, mr. (lord byron's school-master at aberdeen) bowles, rev. william lisle, his controversy concerning pope his 'spirit of discovery,' his 'invariable principles of poetry,' his hypochondriacism his 'missionary,' lord byron's 'letter on his strictures on the life and writings of pope,' lord byron's 'observations upon observations; a second letter,' &c. bowring, dr., lord byron's letters to, on the greek cause, and his intention to embark in it boxing bradshaw, hon. cavendish braham, john, the singer breme, marquis de 'bride of abydos; a turkish tale' bridge of sighs at venice, account of brientz, town and lake of 'brig of balgounie' 'british critic' 'british review' ----, 'my grandmother's review' lord byron's letter to the editor broglie, duchess of (daughter of mad. de staël), her character anecdote of her remark on the errors of clever people brooke, lord (sir fulke greville), account of a ms. poem by brougham, henry, esq. (afterwards lord brougham and vaux), a candidate for westminster against sheridan broughton, the regicide, his monument at vevay brown, isaac hawkins, his 'pipe of tobacco' his 'lava buttons' browne, sir thomas, his 'religio medici' quoted bruce, mr. brummell, william, esq. bruno, dr., lord byron's medical attendant in greece anecdote of brussels bryant, jacob, on the existence of troy brydges, sir egerton, his 'letters on the character and poetical genius of byron' his 'ruminator' buchanan, rev. dr. bucke, rev. charles buonaparte, lucien, his 'charlemagne' ----, napoleon, one of the most extraordinary of men that anakim of anarchy poor little pagod ode on his fall fortune's favourite burdett, sir francis his style of eloquence burgage manor, notts, the residence of lord byron burgess, sir james bland burke, rt. hon. edmund, his oratory burns, robert, his habit of reading at meals his elegy on maillie 'what would he have been his unpublished letters his rank among poets 'often coarse, but never vulgar' burton's 'anatomy of melancholy,' 'a most amusing and instructive medley' burun, ralph de, mentioned in doomsday book busby, dr., dryden's reverential regard for ----, thomas, mus. doct., his monologue on the opening of drury lane theatre his translation of lucretius butler, dr. (headmaster at harrow) reconciliation between lord byron and byron, sir john, the little, with the great beard ----, sir john, st lord, his high and honourable services ----, sir richard, tribute to his valour and fidelity ----, admiral john (the grand-father of the poet), his shipwreck and sufferings ----, william, fifth lord (grand-uncle of the poet) his trial for killing mr. chaworth in a duel his death his eccentric and unsocial habits byron, john (father of the poet), his elopement with lady carmarthen his marriage with miss catherine gordon his death at valenciennes ----, mrs. (mother of the poet), descended from the gordons of gight vehemence of her feelings ballad on the occasion of her marriage her fortune separates from her husband her capricious excesses of fondness and of anger her death lord byron's letters to see also ----, honourable augusta (sister of the poet) see leigh, honourable augusta ----, (george-gordon-byron), sixth lord-- . born jan. -- . taken by his mother to aberdeen impetuosity of his temper affectionate sweetness and playfulness of his disposition the malformation of his foot a source of pain and uneasiness to him his early acquaintance with the sacred writings instances of his quickness and energy death of his father -- ; sent to a day-school at aberdeen his own account of the progress of his infantine studies his sports and exercises -- . removed into the highlands his visits to lachin-y-gair first awakening of his poetic talent his early love of mountain scenery attachment for mary duff . succeeds to the title made a ward of chancery, under the guardianship of the earl of carlisle, and removed to newstead placed under the care of an empiric at nottingham for the cure of his lameness . first symptom of a tendency towards rhyming removed to london, and put under the care of dr. baillie becomes the pupil of dr. glennie, at dulwich - . his boyish love for his cousin, margaret parker his 'first dash into poetry' is sent to harrow notices of his school-life his first harrow verses his school friendships his mode of life as a schoolboy accompanies his mother to bath his early attachment to miss chaworth heads a 'rebelling' at harrow passes the vacation at southwell . removed to cambridge his college friendships . aug.-nov., prepares a collection of his poems for the press his visit to harrowgate southwell private theatricals prints a volume of his poems; but, at the entreaty of mr. becher commits the edition to the flames . publishes 'hours of idleness' list of historical writers whose works he had perused at the age of nineteen reviews wordsworth's poems begins 'bosworth field,' an epic. writes part of a novel . his early scepticism effect produced on his mind by the critique on 'hours of idleness,' in the edinburgh review passes his time between the dissipations of london and cambridge takes up his residence at newstead forms the design of visiting india prepares 'english bards and scotch reviewers,' for the press . his coming of age celebrated at newstead takes his seat in the house of lords loneliness of his position at this period sets out on his travels state of mind in which he took leave of england visits lisbon, seville, cadiz, gibraltar, malta, prevesa, zitza tepaleen is introduced to ali pacha begins 'childe harold' at ioannina visits actium, nicopolis; nearly lost in a turkish ship of war proceeds through acarnania and Ætolia towards the morea reaches missolonghi visits patras, vostizza, mount parnassus, delphi, lepanto, thebes mount cithæron arrives, on christmas-day, at athens . spends ten weeks in visiting the monuments of athens; makes excursions to several parts of attica the maid of athens leaves athens for smyrna visits ruins of ephesus concludes, at smyrna, the second canto of 'childe harold' april, leaves smyrna for constantinople visits the troad swims from sestos to abydos may, arrives at constantinople june, expedition through the bosphorus to the black sea july aug.--sept., makes a tour of the morea returns to athens . writes 'hints from horace,' and 'curse of minerva.' returns to england effect of travel on the general character of his mind and disposition his first connection with mr. murray death of his mother of his college friends, matthews and wingfield and of 'thyrza' origin of his acquaintance with mr. moore act of generosity towards mr. hodgson . feb. ., makes his first speech in the house of lords feb. ., publishes the first and second cantos of 'childe harold,' presents the copyright of the poem to mr. dallas although far advanced in a fifth edition of 'english bards,' determines to commit it to the flames presented to the prince regent writes the address for the opening of drury lane theatre . april, brings out anonymously 'the waltz' may, publishes the 'giaour' his intercourse, through mr. moore, with mr. leigh hunt makes preparations for a voyage to the east projects a journey to abyssinia dec., publishes the 'bride of abydos' is an unsuccessful suitor for the hand of miss milbanke . jan., publishes the 'corsair' april, writes 'ode on the fall of napoleon buonaparte' comes to the resolution, not only of writing no more, but of suppressing all he had ever written may, writes 'lara;' makes a second proposal for the hand of miss milbanke, and is accepted dec., writes 'hebrew melodies' . jan ., marries miss milbanke april, becomes personally acquainted with sir walter scott may, becomes a member of the sub-committee of drury lane theatre pressure of pecuniary embarrassments . jan., lady byron adopts the resolution of separating from him samples of the abuse lavished on him march, writes 'fare thee well,' and 'a sketch' april, leaves england his route--brussels, waterloo, &c. takes up his abode at the campagne diodati finishes, june , the third canto of 'childe harold' writes, june , 'the prisoner of chillon' writes 'darkness,' 'epistle to augusta,' 'churchill's grave,' 'prometheus,' 'could i remount,' 'sonnet to lake leman,' and part of 'manfred' august, an unsuccessful negotiation for a domestic reconciliation sept., makes a tour of the bernese alps his intercourse with mr. shelley oct., proceeds to italy--route, martiguy, the simplon, milan verona nov., takes up his residence at venice marianna segati studies the armenian language . feb., finishes 'manfred' march, translates from the armenian, a correspondence between st. paul and the corinthians april makes a short visit to rome, and writes there a new third act to 'manfred' july, writes, at venice, the fourth canto of 'childe harold' oct., writes 'beppo' . the fornarina, margaritta cogni july, writes 'ode on venice' nov., finishes 'mazeppa' . jan., finishes second canto of 'don juan' april, beginning of his acquaintance with the countess guiccioli june, writes 'stanzas to the po' dec., completes the third and fourth cantos of 'don juan' removes to ravenna . jan., domesticated with countess guiccioli feb., translates first canto of the 'morgante maggiore' march, finishes 'prophecy of dante' translates 'francesa of rimini' and writes 'observations upon an article in blackwood's magazine' april--july, writes 'marino faliero' oct.--nov., writes fifth canto of 'don juan' . feb., writes 'letter on the rev. w.l. bowles's strictures on the life of pope' march, 'second letter,' &c. may, finishes 'sardanapalus' july, 'the two foscari' sept., 'cain' oct., writes 'heaven and earth, a mystery' and 'vision of judgment' removes to pisa . jan., finishes 'werner' sept, removes to genoa his coalition with hunt in the 'liberal' . april, turns his views towards greece receives a communication from the london committee may, offers to proceed to greece, and to devote his resources to the object in view preparations for his departure july ., sails for greece reaches argostoli excursion to ithaca waits, at cephalonia, the arrival of the greek fleet his conversations on religion with dr. kennedy at mataxata his letters to madame guiccioli his address to the greek government and remonstrance to prince mavrocordati testimonies to the benevolence and soundness of his views instances of his humanity and generosity while at cephalonia . jan. ., arrives at missolonghi writes 'lines on completing my thirty-sixth year' intended attack upon lepanto is made commander-in-chief of the expedition rupture with the suliotes the expedition suspended his last illness his death his funeral inscription on his monument his will his person his sensitiveness on the subject of his lameness his abstemiousness his habitual melancholy his tendency to make the worst of his own obliquities his generosity and kind-heartedness his politics his religious opinions his tendency to superstition portraits of him byron, lady her remarks on mr. moore's life of lord byron lord byron's letters to ----, honourable augusta ada byron, (george) seventh lord ----, eliza ----, henry c. cadiz, described cæsar, julius, his times cahir, lady 'cain, a mystery,' alleged blasphemies see also caledonian meeting, 'address intended to be recited at' calvert, mr., lord byron's schoolfellow at harrow cambridge, lord byron's entry into trinity college a chaos of din and drunkenness lord byron's distaste to camoens, distinguished himself in war campbell, thomas, esq., his first introduction to lord byron coleridge lecturing against him his 'pleasures of hope' the best of judges his unpublished poem on a scene in germany inadvertencies in his 'lives of the poets' his 'gertrude of wyoming' full of false scenery see, also canning, right hon. george his oratory ----, sir stratford, his poem entitled 'buonaparte' canova his early love cant, 'the grand primum mobile of england' cantemir, demetrius, his 'history of the ottoman empire,' carlile, richard, folly of his trial carlisle (frederick howard), fifth earl of, becomes lord byron's guardian his alleged neglect of his ward proposed reconciliation between lord byron and caroline, queen of england carmarthen, marchioness of caro, annibale, his translations from the classics carpenter, james, the bookseller carr, sir john, the traveller cartwright, major cary, rev. henry francis, his translation of dante castanos, general castellan, a.l., his 'moeurs des ottomans' castlereagh, viscount, (robert stewart, marquis of londonderry) catholic emancipation 'cato,' pope's prologue to catullus, his 'atys' not licentious 'cavalier servente' cawthorn, mr., the bookseller caylus, count de 'cecilia,' miss burney's celibacy of eminent philosophers centlivre, mrs., character of her comedies drove congreve from the stage 'cenci,' shelley's chamouni, remarks on the scenery of charlemont, lady, lord byron's admiration of ----, mrs. charles the fifth charlotte, the princess, attacks upon lord byron in consequence of his verses to death of chatham, lord, a notice of his oratory chatterton, thomas, self-educated never vulgar chaucer, geoffrey, character of his poetry chauncy, captain chaworth, mary anne (afterwards mrs. musters), lord byron's early attachment to his last farewell of her her marriage interview with, after her marriage cheltenham, lord byron at childe alarique 'childe harold's pilgrimage,' the poem commenced first produced to mr. dallas the author's false judgment concerning identification of lord byron's character with mr. gifford's opinion of the poem preparations for publication its progress through the press mr. moore's opinion its publication and instantaneous success alleged resemblance to marmion in it the d canto written progress of the th canto guineas asked for it the translation confiscated in italy 'the sublimest poetical achievement of mortal pen' chillon, castle of 'chillon, prisoner of christ, what proved him the son of god 'christabel', lord byron's admiration of cicero, antony's treatment of cid cigars cintra, the most beautiful village in the world clare (john fitzgibbon), earl of clare, john, the poet clarens claridge, mr. 'clarissa harlowe.' clarke, rev. james stanier, his 'naufragia.' clarke, hewson classical education claudian, the 'ultimus romanorum.' claughton, mr. clayton, mr. clitumnus, the river clubs coates, romeo, his lothario cobbett, william cochrane, lord 'cockney school' of poetry cogni, margarita (the fornarina), story of coldham, mr. coleridge, samuel taylor, esq., his 'devil's walk' his 'remorse' his 'zopolia' his 'biographia literaria' his 'christabel' lord byron's letters to see also colman, george, esq., his prologue to 'philaster' ----, george, jun., esq., parallel between sheridan and colocotroni colonna, cape columns of comedy more difficult to compose than tragedy concanen, mr. congreve, self-educated his comedies driven from the stage by mrs. centlivre constance (a german lady) constant, benjamin de, his 'adolphe' constantinople, st. sophia the seraglio the first sea view cooke, george frederick, tragedian, an american life of the most natural of actors coolidge, mr., of boston copet cordova, admiral ----, sennorita 'corinne,' notes written by lord byron in corinth ----, capture of see 'siege of corinth.' cork, countess of cornwall, barry (bryan walter proctor) 'corsair, the; a tale' 'cosmopolite,' an amusing little volume full of french flippancy cotin, l'abbé cottin, madame 'could i remount the river of my years' 'courier' courtenay, john, esq., anecdotes of cowell, mr. john, letters to cowley, abraham, his 'essays' quoted his character cowper, earl ----, countess ----, william, famous at cricket and football his remark on the english system of education his spaniel 'beau' an example of filial tenderness 'no poet' his translation of homer crabbe, rev. george, the just tribute to his 'resentment' his quality as a poet 'the father of present poesy' crebillon, the younger, his marriage cribb, tom, the pugilist cricketing, one of lord byron's most favourite sports 'critic,' sheridan's, 'too good for a farce' 'critical review' croker, right hon. john wilson, his query concerning the title of the 'bride of abydos' his 'guess' as to the origin of 'beppo' lord byron's letter to his 'boswell' quoted crosby, benjamin crowe, rev, william, his criticism in 'english bards' curioni, signor, singer curran, right hon. john philpot, lord byron's enthusiastic praise 'curse of kebama' 'curse of minerva' curzon, mr. cuvìer, baron d. dallas, robert charles, commencement of his acquaintance with lord byron childe harold first shown to him copywright of the corsair presented to him his ingratitude see also lord byron's letters to dalrymple, sir hew d'alton, john, esq., his 'dermid' dandies dante, his early passion for beatrice his infelicitous marriage his poem celebrated long before his death his popularity his gentle feelings lord byron's resemblance to see also 'prophecy of' d'arblay, madame (miss burney), guineas asked for one of her novels her 'cecilia' see also darnley, death of, a fine subject for a drama 'darkness' darwin, dr. erasmus, put down by the anti-jacobin davies, scrope, esq. davy, sir humphry dawkins, mr. 'dear doctor, i have read your play' death death de bath, lord deformity, an incentive to distinction d'egville, john, the ballet-master delaval, sir francis blake delawarr (george-john west), fifth earl delia, poetical epistle from, to lord byron delladecima, count his opinion of lord byron's conduct in greece delphi, fountain of demetrius denham, his 'cowper's hill' dent de jument dervish tahiri, lord byron's faithful arnaout guide 'devil's drive,' the devil's walk,' porson's devonshire, duchess of (lady elizabeth foster), her character of the roman government 'diary of an invalid,' matthews's dibdin, thomas, play-wright dick, mr. diderot, his definition of sensibility digestion dioclesian dionysius at corinth d'israeli, j., esq. his 'essay on the literary character' his 'quarrels of authors' his remark on the effect of medicine upon the mind and spirits 'distrest mother,' excellence of the epilogue to d'ivernois, sir francis divorce dogs, fidelity of -----, lord byron's fondness for his epitaph on 'boatswain' don, brig of donegal, lady 'don juan,' a scene in it adapted from the 'narrative of the shipwreck of the juno commencement of the poem the st canto finished copies to be printed privately nd canto 'nonsensical prudery' against it mr. murray in a fright about it the papers not so fierce as was anticipated authorship to be kept anonymous general outcry against the poem spurious rd cantos mr. murray going to law the author hurt but not frightened a french lady's compliments third canto the fifth canto hardly the beginning of the poem the countess guiccioli's intercession for its discontinuance shelley's opinion of it the poem all 'real life' errors of the press partiality of the germans for permission from the countess to continue it three more cantos another the 'quarterly' review of the poem an epitome of the author's character donna bianca, or white lady of colalto the story of her supernatural appearance d'orsay, count his 'journal' lord byron's letter to dorset (george-john frederick), fourth duke of 'lines occasioned by the death of' dorville, mr dovedale, lord byron's eulogy of the scenery of dramatists, old english, 'full of gross faults' 'not good as models' 'dream,' the the most mournful and picturesque story that ever came from the pen and heart of man 'one of the most interesting' of lord byron's poems dreams drummond, sir william his 'oedipus judaicus' ----, mr., lord byron's schoolfellow at harrow drury, rev. henry, lord byron's letters to ----, rev. dr. joseph, his account of lord byron's disposition and capabilities while at harrow lord byron's character of his retirement from the mastership of harrow drury, mark drury lane theatre 'address, spoken at the opening of' dryden, his praise of oxford, at the expense of cambridge eulogy of his 'fables' by lord byron 'duenna,' lord byron's partiality for the songs in duff, colonel (lord byron's god-father) ----, miss mary (afterwards mrs. robert cockburn), lord byron's boyish attachment for dulwich, lord byron at school there dumont, m duncan, mr., lord byron's writing-master at aberdeen dwyer, mr dyer's 'grongar hill' e. eagles, a flight of eboli, princess of, epigram on her losing an eye eclectic review eddleston, the cambridge chorister, lord byron's protegé edgecombe, mr edgehill, battle, seven brothers of the byron family at edgeworth, richard lovell, esq., sketch of ----, maria edinburgh annual register edinburgh review its effect on the author its review of the 'corsair' and 'bride of abydos' education, english system of elba, isle of, lord byron's 'ode to napoleon buonaparte' on his retreat to eldon, earl of anecdote of elgin, earl of, severe treatment of the 'curse of minerva' levelled against him ellice, edward, esq., letter to ellis, george, esq. ellison, lord byron's school-fellow at harrow elliston, robert william, comedian, lord byron's wish that he should speak his 'address' at drury lane theatre eloquence, state of endurance, of more worth than talent english bards and scotch reviewers, the groundwork laid before the appearance of the critique in the 'edinburgh review' sent to mr. harness success of the satire the author's regret in having written it refusal to republish it attempted publication of englishman, otway's three requisites for an envy ephesus, ruins of epigram on moore's operatic farce, or farcical opera erskine, lord, his eloquence his famous pamphlet see, also essex (george-capel), fifth earl of euxine, or black sea, description of ewing, dr. exeter 'change f. faber, rev. george fainting, sensation of falconer, his 'shipwreck' falkland (lucius gary), viscount, killed in a duel by mr. powell 'father of light! great god of heaven!' falkner, mr., lord byron's letter to, with a copy of his poems fall of terni falmouth fame, first tidings of, to lord byron see. also 'fare thee well, and if for ever' farrell, d., esq. fatalism 'faust,' goethe's 'faustus,' marlow's fawcett, john, comedian 'fazio,' milman's tragedy of fear ferrara, lord byron's visit to fersen, count fidler, ernest fielding, 'the prose homer of human nature.' finlay, kirkman, esq. fitzgerald, lord edward ----, william thomas, esq., poetaster flemish school of painting fletcher, william (lord byron's valet) flood, right hon. henry, his debut in the house of commons 'florence,' the lady addressed under this title in 'childe harold' (mrs., spencer smith) florence, lord byron's visits to the picture gallery foote, miss, the actress (afterwards, countess of harrington), her debut in the 'child of nature' forbes, lady adelaide forresti, g. forsyth, joseph, esq., his 'italy' fortune, lord byron attributed everything to see, also 'foscari, the two; an historical tragedy' foscolo, ugo his 'essay on petrarch' fountain of arethusa, lord byron's visit to fox, right hon. charles james, notice of poems his oratory ----, henry 'frament, a' 'francesca of rimini; from the inferno of dante' francis, sir philip, the probable author of 'junius' 'frankenstein,' mrs. shelley's franklin, benjamin frederick the second, 'the only monarch worth recording in prussian annals' free press in greece frere, right hon. john hookham, his 'whistlecraft' fribourg friday, supposed unluckiness of g. galignani, m. gait, john, esq., his life of lord byron see, also gamba, count pietro, the countess guiccioli's letter to mr. moore his friendship with lord byron his arrest at ravenna his notices of lord byron on his departure for greece remarks on lord byron's death garrick, sheridan's monologue on gay, madame sophie ----, mlle. delphine gell, sir william review of his 'geography of ithaca,' and 'itinerary of greece' geneva, lake of george the third, granted a pension to mrs. byron george the fourth, his interview with lord byron his indignation against 'cain' the 'vault reflection' 'georgics,' a finer poem than the Æneid germany and the germans ghost, the newstead 'giaour, the; a fragment of a turkish tale', the author's fears for it first publication of, and its brilliant success additions to the author's endeavours to 'beat' it the story on which it is founded gibbon, edward, esq., his remark on public schools his acacia his remark on his own history gifford, william, esq., his opinion of 'english bards' lord byron's disinclination that 'childe harold' should be shown to him influence of his opinion on lord byron and jeffrey, monarch-makers in poetry and prose the 'bride of abydos' submitted to lord byron's letters to gilchrist, octavius gillies, r.p., the author of 'childe alarique' giordani, signor giorgione his 'picture of his wife his judgment of solomon giraud, nicolo, lord byron's greek protégé 'glenarvon,' lady caroline lamb's glenbervie (sylvester douglas), first lord, his treatise on timber his 'ricciardetto' glennie, dr. (lord byron's preceptor) his account of his pupil's studies glover, mrs., actress godwin, william, lord byron's munificence to goethe, his 'kennst du das land,' &c. imitated his saying of lord byron his 'faust his remarks on 'manfred.' dedication of 'marino faliero' to his 'werther.' his 'giaour' story lord byron's letter to his tribute to the memory of byron goetz, countess gordon, sir john, of bogagicht ----, sir william, grandson of james i., an ancestor of lord byron's ----, duchess of ----, mr. ----, lord alexander ----, pryce, esq. gordons of gight gower, lord granville leveson (now earl and viscount granville) 'gradus ad parnassum,' lord byron's triangular grafton (george henry fitzroy), fourth duke of grainger, his 'ode to solitude.' grant, david, his 'battles and war pieces.' grattan, right hon. henry, his oratory curran's mimicry of him gray, his description of cambridge his preference for his latin poems an example of filial tenderness his 'elegy.' ----, may (lord byron's nurse) greece, past and present condition of small extent of greek islands, resources for an emigrant population in greeks, character of the cause of the purity with which they wrote their own language gregson, the pugilist grenville (william wyndham), lord greville, colonel, challenges lord byron for an insinuation in 'english bards.' grey, charles (afterwards earl grey), his oratory see also grey de ruthven, lord, newstead abbey let to him grillparzer, his tragedy of sappho character of his writings grimaldi, joseph, covent garden clown grimm, baron his 'correspondence' as valuable as muratori or tiraboschi grindenwald, the 'grongar hill,' dyer's guerrino, a picture of his at milan guiccioli, count ----, countess, her first introduction to lord byron attacked with fever sincerity of lord byron's attachment to her accompanies lord byron to venice disinterestedness of her conduct, and returns with the count to ravenna lord byron follows her efforts for a separation the pope pronounces for it the countess retires to her father's villa arrest of her father and brother shelley's opinion of her connexion with lord byron her intercession for the discontinuance of don juan lord byron's unwilling departure for greece his letters to the countess from greece see also guildford, earl of guinguene, p.l. gulley, john, the pugilist (in m. p. for pontefract) h. hafiz, the oriental anacreon hailstone, professor hall, captain basil, lord byron's attention to his letter to hamilton, lady dalrymple hancock, charles, esq. lord byron's letters to hannibal, saying of hanson, john, esq. (lord byron's solicitor) ----, miss (afterwards countess of portsmouth) lord byron's presence at her marriage 'hardyknute,' the fine poem so called harrington, earl of. see stanhope ----, countess of. see foote harley, lady charlotte (the 'lanthe' to whom the first and second cantos of 'childe harold' are dedicated) ----, lady jane harness, rev. william his sermons quoted lord byron's letters to harris, his 'philosophical inquiries' harrow, lord byron's entrance at his first harrow verses his magnanimity in behalf of his friend peel 'byron's tomb' his attachment to harrow harrowby, earl of harrowgate, lord byron's visit to hartington, marquis of (afterwards sixth duke of devonshire) harvey, mrs. jane hatchard, mr. john hawke (edward harvey), third lord hay, captain hayley, his 'triumphs of temper,' lord byron's eulogy of hayreddin hazlitt, william, his style headfort, marchioness of 'hebrew melodies' helen, 'lines on canova's bust of' hellespont, lord byron's swimming feat from sestos to abydos hemans, mrs., her 'restoration' character of her poetry henley, orator herbert of cherbury, lord, his life much interested lord byron hero and leander hill, aaron 'hills of annesley, bleak and barren.' 'hints from horace,' written at athens first produced to mr. dallas singular preference given by the author to them see also hippopotamus at exeter change historians, list of, perused by lord byron at nineteen hoare, mr., lord byron's schoolfellow at harrow hobbes, thomas hobhouse, right hon. henry ----, right hon. sir john cam, bart., his 'journey through albania' quoted his 'historical notes to childe harold' hodgson, rev. francis, lord byron's well-timed assistance to his 'friends' lord byron's letters to see also hogg, james, the ettrick shepherd holerott, thomas, his 'memoirs' holderness, lady holland, lord, the allusion to commencement of lord byron's acquaintance with his oratory lord byron's letters to holland, lady ----, dr. holmes, mr., the miniature painter homer, geography of, visit to the school of hope, thomas, esq., his 'anastasius' hoppner, r b., esq., his account of lord byron's mode of life at venice 'lines on the birth of his son' lord byron's letters to see also horace, lord byron's early dislike to quoted 'horace in london' see 'hints from horace' horestan castle, derbyshire, held by lord byron's ancestors 'horsæ ionicæ homer, francis, esq. 'hours of idleness,' first publication of a review of another in the 'critical review,' furious philippic in the 'eclectic' critique of the edinburgh review howard, hon. frederick hume, david, his essays his 'treatise of human nature' hunt, john ----, leigh, lord byron's first acquaintance with described his 'rimini' his 'foliage' his 'byron and some of his contemporaries' see also hunter, p., esq. hurd, bishop, his remark on academical studies hutchinson, colonel, his memoirs 'huzza! hodgson, we are going' hymettus hypochondriacism i ida, mount imagination immortality of the soul improvisatore, account of one at milan 'ina,' mrs. wilmot's tragedy of inchbald, mrs., her 'simple story' her 'nature and art' incledon, charles, singer 'inez,' stanzas to interlachen invention iris, the 'irish avatar' irving, washington, esq. italian manners italians, bad translators, except from the classics italy, the only modern nation in europe that has a poetical language ithaca, excursion to j. jackson, 'john, the professor of pugilism lord byron's letters to jacobson, m. 'jacqueline,' mr. rogers's jeffrey, francis, esq., allusion to in 'english bards' his duel with mr. moore his review of the 'giaour' his criticisms on lord byron's works his review of coleridge's 'christabel' jersey, earl of ----, countess of jesus christ job jocelyn, lord, (afterwards earl of roden) johnson, dr. his prologue on opening drury lane theatre his 'vanity of human wishes' his melancholy his 'lives of the poets' his 'london' lord byron's high opinion of him jones, mr., tutor at cambridge ----, richard, comedian jordan, mrs., actress joukoffsky, the russian poet joy, henry, esq., his visit to byron juliet's tomb see romeo julius cæsar, his times jungfrau, the junius's letters 'juno,' shipwreck of the jura mountains juvenal k. kay, mr., painter kayo, sir richard kean, edmund, tragedian, his richard the third lord byron's enthusiastic admiration of effect of his sir giles over-reach on keats, john, his poems died through bursting a blood-vessel on reading the article on his 'endymion' in the quarterly review his depreciation of pope kelly, miss, actress kemble, john philip, esq., his coriolanus his hamlet intreats lord byron to write a tragedy his acting described his othello his iago kennedy, dr., his 'conversations on religion with lord byron in cephalonia' lord byron's letters to kent, mr., his taste in gardening formed by pope kidd, captain strange story related to lord byron by kien long, his 'ode to tea' kinnaird, hon. douglas lord byron's letters to klopstock knight, galley, esq. his 'persian tales' knox, captain (british resident at ithaca) kosciusko, general koran, sublime poetical passages in l. la bruytère lachin-y-gair lago maggiore lake leman lake school of poetry 'lakers,' the 'lalla rookh' lamartine, m. lamb, hon. george ----, lady caroline her 'glenarvon' 'lament of tasso' lansdowne, (henry fitzmaurice pitty), fourth marquis of 'laka; a tale' lauderdale, earl of, his oratory laura, her portrait la valière, madame lavender, the nottingham empiric lawrence, sir thomas leacroft, mr. ----, miss leake, colonel his 'outlines of the greek revolution' leandor and hero leckie, gould francis, esq. leigh, mr., lord byron's schoolfellow at harrow ----, colonel ----, hon. augusta (lord byron's sister) leinster, duke of leman, lake le man, mr. leoni, signor, his translation of childe harold lepanto, gulf of lerici leveson-gower, lady charlotte (afterwards countess of surrey) levis, due de lewis, matthew gregory, esq. 'liberal,' the liberty life likenesses lisbon 'lisbon packet' liston, sir robert ----, john, comedian little's poems liverpool, earl of livy lloyd, charles, esq. lobster nights, pope's and lord byron's loch leven locke, his treatise on education his contempt for oxford lockhart, j.g., esq., his 'life of burns' his marriage with miss scott ----, mrs. lodburgh, his 'death song' lofft, capel londo, andrea, the greek patriot account of lord byron's letter to londonderry (robert stewart), second marquis of long, edward noel, esq., lord byron's schoolfellow at harrow long, miss (afterwards mrs. long pole wellesley) longevity longmans, messrs. love, 'not the principal passion for tragedy.' success in, dependent on fortune woman's low spirits lowe, sir hudson lucretius luc, jean andré de ludlow, general, the regicide, his monument his domal inscription lushington, dr., his letter to lady byron lutzerode, baron luxembourg, maréchal lyttleton, george, lord. lord byron compared to ----, thomas, lord m. machinery, effects of mackenzie, henry, esq., his notice of lord byron's early poems mackintosh, sir james, brightest of northern constellations his review of rogers in the edinburgh review a rare instance of the union of very transcendent talent and great good nature his letter in the 'morning chronicle high expectation of his promised history strong impression made by him on lord byron macnamara, arthur, esq. mafra, the palace of, the boast of portugal mahomet maid of athens account of maintenon, madame letters malamocco, wall of 'manfred; a dramatic poem,' finished extracts sent to mr. murray offered to him for guineas a sort of mad drama; instructions for its title the third act to be re-written new third act sent to mr. murray a critique on; omission of a line critique of the 'edinburgh review a menaced version of the poem goethe's remarks on mansel, dr., bishop of bristol manton gun, lord byron's 'manuel,' mathurin's marden, mrs., actress marianna segati 'marino faliero, doge of venice; an historical tragedy.' intention to write the tragedy commenced advanced into the second act completed not intended for the stage mr. gifford's opinion of it a note to be introduced the author's talent 'especially undramatic a phrase to be altered the poem not popular lines to be introduced reported representation of the play and its condemnation a note for the next edition marlow, his 'faustus.' 'marmion.' marriage ceremony marriages, great cause of unhappy ones 'mary,' lord byron's love for the name ---- of aberdeen massaniello materialism mathews, charles, comedian mathurin, rev. charles his 'bertram.' his 'manuel,' matlock, lord byron at matter matthews, john, esq., of belmont, some account of ----, charles skinner, esq. lord byron's account of his visit to newstead tributes to his memory ----, henry, esq. his 'diary of an invalid' account of ----, rev. arthur matthison, frederic, his 'letters from the continent' maugiron, epigram on the loss of his eye mavrocordato, prince lord byron's letters to proclamation issued by him, on lord byron's death mawman, joseph, bookseller mayfield, mr. moore's residence in staffordshire 'mazeppa' medicine, effects of, on the mind and spirits medwin, captain, his acquaintance with lord byron at pisa meillerie melbourne, lady mendelsohn, his habitual melancholy mengaldo, chevalier merivale, j.h., esq. his 'roncesvalles' his review of 'grimm's correspondence' lord byron's letter to metastasio meyler, richard, esq. mezzophanti, 'a monster of languages' milan cathedral ambrosian library at brera gallery napoleon's triumphal arch state of society at milbanke, sir ralph ----, lady. see noel ----, miss (afterwards lady byron) see byron miller, rev. dr., his 'essay on probabilities' ----, william, bookseller, refuses to publish childe harold millingen, mr., his account of the consultation on lord byron's last illness milman, rev. henry hart, now dean of st. paul's, his 'fazio' milnes, robert, esq. milo milton, his imitation of ariosto his practice of dating his poems followed by lord byron his dislike to cambridge his infelicitous marriage his disregard of painting and sculpture his politics kept him down his 'material thunder.' mirabeau, his eloquence 'mirra,' of alfieri, effect of the representation of, on lord byron missiaglia, venetian bookseller mistress, 'cannot be a friend mitchell, t., esq., his translation of aristophanes 'mobility' modern gardening, pope the chief inventor of moira, earl of (afterwards marquis of hastings) molière monçada, marquis 'monk,' lewis's, 'the philtered ideas of a jaded voluptuary' mont blanc montague, edward wortley ----, lady mary wortley, proposed italian translation of her letters and new life of three pretty notes by her pope's lines on her montbovon 'monthly literary recreations,' lord byron's review of wordsworth's poems in monti, his aristodemo ----, account of moore, thomas, esq., his prefaces to his 'life of lord byron,' his first acquaintance with lord byron duel between mr. jeffrey and his person and manners described his poetry 'lines on his last operatic farce or farcical opera' his 'lalla rookh' his 'loves of the angels' lord byron's letters to see also moore, peter, esq. morgan, lady her 'italy' ----, lord byron's school-fellow at harrow 'morgante maggiore, of pulci.' translation of the first canto commenced finished not a line to be omitted the author's opinion of it 'morning post' morosini. his siege of athens mosaic chronology mosti, count mother, future conduct of a child dependent on the muir, mr., letter to mule, mrs., lord byron's housemaid müller, the historian muloch, muley his 'atheism answered' murat, joachim, death of muratori murillo, lord byron's opinion of murray, john, esq, his first connection with lord byron childe harold placed in his hands shows the poem to mr. gifford purchases the copyright 'the [greek: anax] of publishers' recommended by lord byron to mr. moore as 'among the first of the trade,' offers guineas for the 'giaour' and 'bride of abydos,' lord byron's high compliment to pays guineas for the 'siege of corinth' and 'parisina' the 'mokanna' of publishers' offers guineas for the th canto of 'childe harold' poetical epistle to 'strahan, tonson, lintot, of the times' conduct to mr. moore lord byron's last letter to letters and allusions to, _passim_ music, lord byron's love of simple see, also musters, mr. john, his marriage to miss chaworth musters, mrs. see chaworth 'my boat is on the shore' 'my dear mr. murray' n. napier, colonel his testimony to the benevolence and soundness of lord byron's views with regard to greece naples, 'the second best sea view napoleon. see buonaparte nathan, his 'hebrew nasalities' nature ----, 'prayer of.' 'naufragia,' clarke's nelson, southey's life of nepean, mr. ----, sir evan nerni newstead, granted by henry viii. to sir john byron a prophecy of mother shipton's respecting let to lord grey de ruthen lord byron's affection for description of, and of the noble owner attempted sale of nicopolis, ruins of night nobility of thought and style defined noel, lady norfolk (charles howard), twelfth duke of nottingham frame breaking bill ----, lord byron's residence at 'nourjahad,' a drama, falsely attributed to lord byron novels o. oak, the byron 'ode on venice' o'donnovan, p.m., his 'sir proteus.' 'oh! banish care.' 'oh! memory, torture me no more.' o'higgins, mr., his irish tragedy olympus o'neil, miss, actress orators, only two thorough ones 'things of ages.' orchomenus orrery, earl of, his life of swift quoted osborne, lord sidney 'otello,' rossini's otway, his three requisites for an englishman his 'beividera.' ouchy owenson, miss see morgan, lady oxford, gibbon's bitter recollections of dryden's praise of, at the expense of cambridge oxford, earl of ----, countess of p. 'parisina,' guineas offered for it and the 'siege of corinth,' by mr. murray fancied resemblance between part of the poem and a similar scene in 'marmion.' parker, sir peter, stanzas written by lord byron on his death ----, lady ----, margaret, lord byron's boyish love for parkins, miss fanny parliament, lord byron's speeches in parnassus, lord byron's visit to, and stanzas upon parr, dr. parry, captain parruca, signor, letter to parthenon pasquali, padre past, 'the best prophet of the future.' paterson, mr. (lord byron's tutor at aberdeen) patrons paul, st., translation from the armenian, of correspondence between the corinthians and paul's, st., cathedral, comparison with st. sophia's pausanias, his 'achaics' quoted payne, thomas, bookseller peel, right hon. sir robert lord byron's form-fellow at harrow ----, william, esq., one of lord byron's friends penelope, baths of, lord byron's visit to penn, granville, esq., his 'bioscope, or dial of life, explained ----, william, the founder of quakerism perry, james, esq petersburgh petrarch, his literary and personal character interwoven his severity to his daughter in his youth a coxcomb his portrait in the manfrini palace his popularity see also phillips, ambrose, his pastorals ----, s.m., esq ----, thomas, esq., r.a philosophers, celibacy of eminent phoenix, sheridan's story of the physic pictures pierce plowman pigot, miss account of her first acquaintance with lord byron lord byron's letters to pigot, dr his account of lord byron's visit to harrowgate lord byron's letters to pigot, mrs., lord byron's letter to pigot, family pindemonte, ippolito, lord byron's portrait of pitt, rt. hon. william plagiarism players, an impracticable people 'pleasures of hope.' 'pleasures of memory.' plethora, abstinence the sole remedy for poetry, distasteful to byron when a boy when to be employed as the interpreter of feeling addiction to, whence resulting new school of 'the feeling of a former world and future' descriptive ethical, 'the highest of all see also poets, self-educated ones lord byron's list of celebrated poets of all nations unfitted for the calm affections and comforts of domestic life querulous and monotonous lives of female see also polidori, dr. some account of anecdotes of his 'vampire his tragedy political consistency politics pomponius atticus pope, alexander, a self-educated poet lord byron's enthusiastic admiration of his youth and byron's compared an example of filial tenderness his prologue to cato his ineffable distance above all modern poets the parent of real english poetry atrocious cant and nonsense about the christianity of english poetry ten times more poetry in his 'essay on man' than in the 'excursion' keats' depreciation of the most faultless of poets his imagery the greatest name in our poetry his essay upon phillips's pastorals a model of irony the principal inventor of modern gardening his 'homer' 'letter on bowles's strictures on the life and writings of,' second letter see, also porson, professor, his 'devil's walk' lord byron's recollection of portrait painter, agonies of a pouqueville, m. de powerscourt, lord, one of lord byron's friends pratt, samuel jackson priestley, dr., his christian materialism prince regent lord byron's introduction to see george iv. prior's paulo purgante 'prisoner of chillon' probabilities, dr. miller's essay on probationary odes prologues, 'only two decent ones in our language' 'prometheus,' of Æschylus 'prophecy of dante prophets pulci, his 'morgante maggiore' 'sire of the half serious rhyme' punctuation q. quarrels of authors, d'israeli's quarterly review 'quentin durward' r. rae, john, comedian rainsford, lord byron's schoolfellow at harrow rancliffe, lord raphael, his hair rashleigh, lord byron's schoolfellow at harrow ravenna raymond, james grant, comedian reading, the love of regnard, his hypochondriacism reinagle, r.r., his chained eagle 'rejected addresses,' 'the best of the kind since the rolliad,' ----, the genuine republics reviewers reviews reynolds, sir joshua, 'not good in history' reynolds, j.h., his 'safie' 'ricciardetto,' lord glenbervie's translation of rice, lord byron's schoolfellow at harrow richardson, 'the vainest and luckiest of authors' riddel, lady, her masquerade at bath, at which lord byron appeared ridge, printer riga, the greek patriot roberts, mr. (editor of the british review) robins, george, auctioneer robinson crusoe, the first part said to be written by lord oxford rocca, m. de rochdale estate rochefoucault, 'always right' sayings of rogers, samuel, esq., his 'pleasures of memory' his 'jacqueline' 'the tithonus of poetry' 'the father of present poesy' his tribute to the memory of lord byron lord byron's letters to see also ----, mr., of nottingham (lord byron's latin tutor) rokeby, lord byron's schoolfellow at harrow roman catholic religion romanelli, physician rome, 'the wonderful' finer than greece romeo and juliet, the story of rose, william stewart, esq., his 'animali' his 'lines to lord byron' rose glaciers 'rose-water' ross, rev. mr. (lord byron's tutor at aberdeen) rossini, his 'otello' roscoe, mr rossoe, mr., story of roufigny, abbé de rousseau, jean jacques, lord byron's resemblance to comparison between lord byron and his marriage his 'héloïse' his 'confessions' force and accuracy of his descriptions rowcroft, mr royston, lord byron's school-fellow at harrow rubens, his style rushton, robert (the 'little page' in childe harold) lord byron's letters to 'ruminator,' the, by sir egerton brydges rusponi, countess russell, lord john rycaut, his 'history of the turks' first drew lord byron's attention to the east see, also s. st. lambert, his imitation of thomson sanders, mr., his portraits of lord byron 'sappho,' of grillparzer 'sardanapalus,' outline of the tragedy sketched four acts completed the play finished a disparagement of it sarrazin, general satan, lord byron's opinion of his real appearance to the creator 'satirist' scaligers, tomb of the scamander schiller, his 'thirty years war' his 'robbers' his 'fiesco' his 'ghost-seer' schlegel, frederick, his writings anecdotes of 'school for scandal' school of homer, lord byron's visit to scotland, the impressions on lord byron's mind by the mountain scenery of lord byron 'half a scot by birth and bred a whole one' 'a canny scot till ten years' old' scott, sir walter, his dog 'maida' his 'rokeby' the 'monarch of parnassus' his 'lives of the novelists' his 'waverley' his first acquaintance with byron his 'antiquary' his review of 'childe harold' in the quarterly his 'tales of my landlord' 'the ariosto of the north' the first british poet titled for his talent his 'ivanhoe' his 'monastery' his 'abbot' his imitators the 'scotch fielding' his countenance his novels 'a new literature in themselves' his 'kenilworth' his 'life of swift' lord byron's letters to see, also scott, mr., of aberdeen ----, mr. alexander ----, mr. john 'scotticisms' scriptures, lord byron's knowledge of the see, also, bible 'scourge,' proceedings against the, for a libel on mrs. byron sculpture, the most artificial of the arts its superiority to painting more poetical than nature sécheron self-educated poets sensibility separation, miseries of seraglio at constantinople, description of sestos settle, elkanah, his 'emperor of morocco' 'seven before thebes' seville seward, anne, her 'life of darwin' 'sexagenarian,' beloe's 'shah nameh,' the persian iliad shakspeare, his infelicitous marriage 'the worst of models' 'will have his decline' sharp, william (the engraver, and disciple of joanna southcote) sharpe, richard, esq. (the 'conversationist') sheil, richard, esq. sheldrake, mr. shelley, percy bysshe, esq., his 'queen mab' his portrait of lord byron particulars concerning his visit to lord byron at ravenna his praise of don juan lord byron's letters to his letters to lord byron see also ----, mrs. her 'frankenstein' lord byron's letters to shepherd, rev. john, his letter enclosing his wife's prayer on lord byron's behalf lord byron's answer sheridan, right hon. richard brinsley, anecdotes of and colman compared his eloquence his conversation 'whatever he did, was the best of its kind' defence of his phoenix story 'monody on the death of' 'shipwreck,' falconer's shoel, mr. shreikhorn shrewsbury, earl of, his letter to sir john byron's grandson siddons, mrs., her performance of the character of isabella lord byron's praise of effect of her acting at edinburgh an allusion to 'siege of corinth' sigeum, cape simplon, the sinclair, george, esq., 'the prodigy' of harrow school sirmium 'sir proteus,' a satirical ballad 'sketch,' a skull-cup slave trade slavery sligo, marquis of his letter on the origin of the 'giaour' smart, christopher smith, sir henry ----, horace, esq., his 'horace in london' ----, mrs. spencer. see 'florence.' ----, miss (afterwards mrs. oscar byrne), dancer smyrna, lord byron's stay at smythe, professor socrates sonnets, 'the most puling, petrifying, stupidly platonic compositions,' sorelli, his translation of grillparzer's 'sappho' sotheby, william, esq., his tragedies his 'ivan' accepted for drury lane theatre similarity of a passage in 'ivan' to one in the 'corsair' a 'row' about 'ivan' the Æschylus of the age his 'orestes' see also lord byron's letters to southcote, joanna southey, robert, esq., ll.d., his person and manners his prose and poetry his 'roderick' his 'curse of kehama' lord byron's intention to dedicate 'don juan' to him his 'joan of arc' would have been better in rhyme see also southwell, notts, lord byron's residence at southwood, on the divine government speeches in parliament, lord byron's spence's anecdotes (singer's edition) spencer, dowager lady ----, william, esq. ----, countess spenser, edmund, his measure stäel, madame de, her essay against suicide her 'de l'allemagne' her personal appearance her death notes written by lord byron in her 'corinne' see also stafford, marquis of (now duke of sutherland) stafford, marchioness of (now duchess of sutherland) stanhope, hon. col. leicester, (now earl of harrington) his arrival in greece to assist in effecting its liberation his 'greece in - ' lord byron's letters to ----, lady hester, lord byron taken to task by steele, sir richard stella, swift's sterne, his affected sensibility stephenson, sir john stockhorn storm, aspect of one in the archipelago 'strahan, tonson, lintot of the times' strangford, lord, his 'camoens' strong, mr., lord byron's school-fellow at harrow stuart, sir charles (now lord stuart de rothsay) suleyman, of thebes 'sunshiny day' supernatural appearances suppers lobster nights 'sweet florence, could another ever share' swift, dr. jonathan similarity between the character of lord byron and gave away his copyrights his stella and vanessa swoon, the sensation described sylla symplegades switzerland and the swiss t. taaffe, mr. his 'commentary on dante' tahiri, dervise 'tales of my landlord' tasso, an expert swordsman and dancer an example of filial tenderness his imprisonment his popularity in his lifetime remade the whole of his 'jerusalem' his sensitiveness to public favour 'lament of' tattersall, rev. john cecil (lord byron's school acquaintance) tavernier, the eastern traveller, his château at aubonne tavistock, marquis of taylor. john, esq., lord byron's letter to in respect of an allusion to lady byron in the 'sun' newspaper teeth temple, sir william, his opinion of poetry tepaleen terni, falls of terry, daniel, comedian theatricals, private, at southwell thirst 'this day of all our days has done' thomas of ercildoune thompson, mr. thomson, james, the poet, his 'seasons' would have been better in rhyme thorwaldsen, the sculptor, his bust of lord byron 'though the day of my destiny's o'er' thoun 'through life's dull road, so dim and dirty' thurlow (thomas hovell thurlow) second lord thyrza tiberius tiraboschi ''tis done and shivering in the gale.' lord byron's stanzas to mrs. musters on leaving england titian, his portrait of ariosto his pictures at florence toderinus, his 'storia della letteratura turchesca' town life townshend, rev. george, his 'armageddon' travelling, lord byron's opinion of the advantages of travis, the venetian jew trelawney, edward, esq. troad, the troy authenticity of the tale of tuite, lady, her stanzas to memory tally's 'tripoli' turkey, women of turner, w., esq., his 'tour in the levant' twiss, horace, esq. tyranny u. ulissipont unities, the usurers v. vacca, dr. valentia, lord (now earl of mountnorris) valière, madame la 'vampire, the, a fragment' superstition vanbrugh, his comedies vanessa, swift's 'vanity of human wishes,' johnson's vascillie 'vathek' 'vault reflections' velasquez veli pacha venetian dialect venice, the gondolas st. mark's theatres women carnival morals and manners in nobility of riaito manfrini palace bridge of sighs 'venice, ode on' venus de medici, more for admiration than love verona, how much catullus, claudian, and shakspeare have done for it amphitheatre of juliet's tomb at tombs of the scaligers versatility vestris, italian comedian vevay vicar of wakefield voltaire, gave away his copyrights d'argenson's advice to voluptuary vondel, the dutch shakspeare vostizza vulgarity of style w. waite, mr. (lord byron's dentist) wales, princess of (afterwards queen caroline) wallace, the scottish chief wallace-nook walpole, sir robert, his conversation at table 'waltz, the; an apostrophic hymn' the authorship of it denied by lord byron ward, hon. john william (afterwards earl of dudley), his review of horne tooke's life in the quarterly his style of speaking lord byron's pun on his review of fox's correspondence epigrams on warren, sir john washington, george waterloo, lord byron's verses on the battle of wathen, mr. watier's club 'waverley,' character of way, william, esq. webster, sir godfrey webster, wedderburn, esq. 'weep, daughter of a royal line' wellesley, sir arthur. see wellington ----, richard, esq. wellington, duke of, 'the scipio of our hannibal' wengen alps wentworth, lord 'werner; or, the inheritance; a tragedy' 'werther,' goethe's effects of mad. de stäel's character of west, mr. (american artist), his conversations with lord byron westall, richard, esq.. r.a. westminster abbey westmoreland, lady wetterhorn 'what matter the pangs' 'when man expelled from eden's bowers' 'when time, who steals our years away' whigs 'whistlecraft' whitbread, samuel, esq. 'the demosthenes of bad taste' whitby, captain white, henry kirke, esq. ----, lydia 'white lady of avenel' 'white lady of colalto' 'who killed john keats?' 'why, how now, saucy tom?' wieland his history of 'agathon' resemblance between byron and wilberforce, william, esq., his style of speaking personified by sheridan wildman, thomas, esq. ----, colonel, present proprietor of newstead wilkes, john, esq. will, lord byron's his last williams, captain williams, mrs., the fortune-teller, her prediction concerning byron wilmot, mrs., her tragedy wilson, professor windham, right hon. william 'windsor poetics' wingfield, hon. john his death women, society of cannot write tragedy state of, under the ancient greeks woodhouselee, lord, his opinion of lord byron's early poems woolriche, dr. wordsworth, william, esq., lord byron's review of his early poems the allusion to his 'excursion' his powers to do 'anything' influence of his poetry on lord byron never vulgar see also wrangham, rev. francis wright, walter rodwell, esq., his 'horæ ionicæ' writers, tragic, generally mirthful persons y. yanina york, duke of young, dr. e. yussuff, pacha yverdun z. zitza zograffo, demetrius the end. memoirs of the life of the rt. hon. richard brinsley sheridan by thomas moore in two volumes vol. ii. [illustration] contents to vol. ii. chapter i. impeachment of mr. hastings. chapter ii. death of mr. sheridan's father.--verses by mrs. sheridan on the death of her sister, mrs. tickell. chapter iii. illness of the king.--regency.--private life of mr. sheridan. chapter iv. french revolution.--mr. burke.--his breach with mr. sheridan.--dissolution of parliament.--mr. burke and mr. fox.--russian armament.--royal scotch boroughs. chapter v. death of mrs. sheridan. chapter vi. drury-lane theatre.--society of "the friends of the people."--madame de genlis.--war with france.--whig seceders.--speeches in parliament--death of tickell. chapter vii. speech in answer to lord mornington.--coalition of the whig seceders with mr. pitt.--mr. canning.--evidence on the trial of horne tooke.--the "glorious first of june."--marriage of mr. sheridan.--pamphlet of mr. reeves--debts of the prince of wales.--shakspeare manuscripts.--trial of stone.--mutiny at the nore.--secession of mr. fox from parliament. chapter viii. play of "the stranger."--speeches in parliament.--pizarro.--ministry of mr. addington.--french institute.--negotiations with mr. kemble. chapter ix. state of parties.--offer of a place to mr. t. sheridan.--receivership of the duchy of cornwall bestowed upon mr. sheridan.--return of mr. pitt to power.--catholic question.--administration of lord grenville and mr. fox.--death of mr. fox.--representation of westminster.--dismission of the ministry.--theatrical negotiation.--spanish question.--letter to the prince. chapter x. destruction of the theatre of drury-lane by fire.--mr. whitbread--plan for a third theatre.--illness of the king.--regency.--lord grey and lord grenville.--conduct of mr. sheridan.--his vindication of himself. chapter xi. affairs of the new theatre.--mr. whitbread.--negotiations with lord grey and lord grenville.--conduct of mr. sheridan relative to the household.--his last words in parliament.--failure at stafford. --correspondence with mr. whitbread.--lord byron.--distresses of sheridan.--illness.--death and funeral.--general remarks. memoirs of the life of the right honorable richard brinsley sheridan. chapter i. impeachment of mr. hastings. the motion of mr. burke on the th of may, , "that warren hastings, esq., be impeached," having been carried without a division, mr. sheridan was appointed one of the managers, "to make good the articles" of the impeachment, and, on the d of june in the following year, brought forward the same charge in westminster hall which he had already enforced with such wonderful talent in the house of commons. to be called upon for a second great effort of eloquence, on a subject of which all the facts and the bearings remained the same, was, it must be acknowledged, no ordinary trial to even the most fertile genius; and mr. fox, it is said, hopeless of any second flight ever rising to the grand elevation of the first, advised that the former speech should be, with very little change, repeated. but such a plan, however welcome it might be to the indolence of his friend, would have looked too like an acknowledgment of exhaustion on the subject to be submitted to by one so justly confident in the resources both of his reason and fancy. accordingly, he had the glory of again opening, in the very same field, a new and abundant spring of eloquence, which, during four days, diffused its enchantment among an assembly of the most illustrious persons of the land, and of which mr. burke pronounced at its conclusion, that "of all the various species of oratory, of every kind of eloquence that had been heard, either in ancient or modern times; whatever the acuteness of the bar, the dignity of the senate, or the morality of the pulpit could furnish, had not been equal to what that house had that day heard in westminster hall. no holy religionist, no man of any description as a literary character, could have come up, in the one instance, to the pure sentiments of morality, or in the other, to the variety of knowledge, force of imagination, propriety and vivacity of allusion, beauty and elegance of diction, and strength of expression, to which they had that day listened. from poetry up to eloquence there was not a species of composition of which a complete and perfect specimen might not have been culled, from one part or the other of the speech to which he alluded, and which, he was persuaded, had left too strong an impression on the minds of that house to be easily obliterated." as some atonement to the world for the loss of the speech in the house of commons, this second master-piece of eloquence on the same subject has been preserved to us in a report, from the short-hand notes of mr. gurney, which was for some time in the possession of the late duke of norfolk, but was afterwards restored to mr. sheridan, and is now in my hands. in order to enable the reader fully to understand the extracts from this report which i am about to give, it will be necessary to detail briefly the history of the transaction, on which the charge brought forward in the speech was founded. among the native princes who, on the transfer of the sceptre of tamerlane to the east india company, became tributaries or rather slaves to that honorable body, none seems to have been treated with more capricious cruelty than cheyte sing, the rajah of benares. in defiance of a solemn treaty, entered into between him and the government of mr. hastings, by which it was stipulated that, besides his fixed tribute, no further demands, of any kind, should be made upon him, new exactions were every year enforced;--while the humble remonstrances of the rajah against such gross injustice were not only treated with slight, but punished by arbitrary and enormous fines. even the proffer of bribe succeeded only in being accepted [footnote: this was the transaction that formed one of the principal grounds of the seventh charge brought forward in the house of commons by mr. sheridan. the suspicious circumstances attending this present are thus summed up by mr. mill: "at first, perfect concealment of the transaction--such measures, however, taken as may, if afterwards necessary, appear to imply a design of future disclosure;--when concealment becomes difficult and hazardous, then disclosure made."--_history of british india_.]--the exactions which it was intended to avert being continued as rigorously as before. at length, in the year , mr. hastings, who invariably, among the objects of his government, placed the interests of leadenhall street first on the list, and those of justice and humanity _longo intervallo_ after,--finding the treasury of the company in a very exhausted state, resolved to sacrifice this unlucky rajah to their replenishment; and having as a preliminary step, imposed upon him a mulct of £ , , set out immediately for his capital, benares, to compel the payment of it. here, after rejecting with insult the suppliant advances of the prince, he put him under arrest, and imprisoned him in his own palace. this violation of the rights and the roof of their sovereign drove the people of the whole province into a sudden burst of rebellion, of which mr. hastings himself was near being the victim. the usual triumph, however, of might over right ensued; the rajah's castle was plundered of all its treasures, and his mother, who had taken refuge in the fort, and only surrendered it on the express stipulation that she and the other princesses should pass out safe from the dishonor of search, was, in violation of this condition, and at the base suggestion of mr. hastings himself, [footnote: in his letter to the commanding officer at bidgegur. the following are the terms in which he conveys the hint: "i apprehend that she will contrive to defraud the captors of a considerable part of the booty, by being suffered to retire _without examination_. but this is your consideration, and not mine. i should be very sorry that your officers and soldiers lost any part of the reward to which they are so well entitled; but i cannot make any objection, as you must be the best judge of the expediency of the _promised_ indulgence to the rannee."] rudely examined and despoiled of all her effects. the governor-general, however, in this one instance, incurred the full odium of iniquity without reaping any of its reward. the treasures found in the castle of the rajah were inconsiderable, and the soldiers, who had shown themselves so docile in receiving the lessons of plunder, were found inflexibly obstinate in refusing to admit their instructor to a share. disappointed, therefore, in the primary object of his expedition, the governor-general looked round for some richer harvest of rapine, and the begums of oude presented themselves as the most convenient victims. these princesses, the mother and grandmother of the reigning nabob of oude, had been left by the late sovereign in possession of certain government-estates, or jaghires, as well as of all the treasure that was in his hands at the time of his death, and which the orientalized imaginations of the english exaggerated to an enormous sum. the present nabob had evidently looked with an eye of cupidity on this wealth, and had been guilty of some acts of extortion towards his female relatives, in consequence of which the english government had interfered between them,--and had even guaranteed to the mother of the nabob the safe possession of her property, without any further encroachment whatever. guarantees and treaties, however, were but cobwebs in the way of mr. hastings; and on his failure at benares, he lost no time in concluding an agreement with the nabob, by which (in consideration of certain measures of relief to his dominions) this prince was bound to plunder his mother and grandmother of all their property, and place it at the disposal of the governor-general. in order to give a color of justice to this proceeding, it was [footnote: "it was the practice of mr. hastings (says burke, in his fine speech on mr. pitt's india bill, march , ) to examine the country, and wherever he found money to affix guilt. a more dreadful fault could not be alleged against a native than that he was rich."] pretended that these princesses had taken advantage of the late insurrection at benares, to excite a similar spirit of revolt in oude against the reigning nabob and the english government. as law is but too often, in such cases, the ready accomplice of tyranny, the services of the chief justice, sir elijah impey, were called in to sustain the accusations; and the wretched mockery was exhibited of a judge travelling about in search of evidence, [footnote: this journey of the chief justice in search of evidence is thus happily described by sheridan in the speech:--"when, on the th of november, he was busied at lucknow on that honorable business, and when, three days after, he was found at chunar, at the distance of miles, still searching for affidavits, and, like hamlet's ghost, exclaiming, 'swear,' his progress on that occasion was so whimsically rapid, compared with the gravity of his employ, that an observer would be tempted to quote again from the same scene, 'ha! old truepenny, canst thou mole so fast i' the ground?' here, however, the comparison ceased; for, when sir elijah made his visit to lucknow 'to whet the almost blunted purpose' of the nabob, his language was wholly different from that of the poet--for it would have been totally against his purpose to have said, taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive against thy mother aught."] for the express purpose of proving a charge, upon which judgment had been pronounced and punishment decreed already. the nabob himself, though sufficiently ready to make the wealth of those venerable ladies occasionally minister to his wants, yet shrunk back, with natural reluctance, from the summary task now imposed upon him; and it was not till after repeated and peremptory remonstrances from mr. hastings, that he could be induced to put himself at the head of a body of english troops, and take possession, by unresisted force, of the town and palace of these princesses. as the treasure, however, was still secure in the apartments of the women,--that circle, within which even the spirit of english rapine did not venture,--an expedient was adopted to get over this inconvenient delicacy. two aged eunuchs of high rank and distinction, the confidential agents of the begums, were thrown into prison, and subjected to a course of starvation and torture, by which it was hoped that the feelings of their mistresses might be worked upon, and a more speedy surrender of their treasure wrung from them. the plan succeeded:--upwards of , _l_. was procured to recruit the finances of the company; and thus, according to the usual course of british power in india, rapacity but levied its contributions in one quarter, to enable war to pursue its desolating career in another. to crown all, one of the chief articles of the treaty, by which the nabob was reluctantly induced to concur in these atrocious measures, was, as soon as the object had been gained, infringed by mr. hastings, who, in a letter to his colleagues in the government, honestly confesses that the concession of that article was only a fraudulent artifice of diplomacy, and never intended to be carried into effect. such is an outline of the case, which, with all its aggravating details, mr. sheridan had to state in these two memorable speeches; and it was certainly most fortunate for the display of his peculiar powers, that this should be the charge confided to his management. for, not only was it the strongest, and susceptible of the highest charge of coloring, but it had also the advantage of grouping together all the principal delinquents of the trial, and affording a gradation of hue, from the showy and prominent enormities of the governor-general and sir elijah impey in the front of the picture, to the subordinate and half-tint iniquity of the middletons and bristows in the back-ground. mr. burke, it appears, had at first reserved this grand part in the drama of the impeachment for himself; but, finding that sheridan had also fixed his mind upon it, he, without hesitation, resigned it into his hands; thus proving the sincerity of his zeal in the cause, [footnote: of the lengths to which this zeal could sometimes carry his fancy and language, rather, perhaps, than his actual feelings, the following anecdote is a remarkable proof. on one of the days of the trial, lord ----, who was then a boy, having been introduced by a relative into the manager's box, burke said to him, "i am glad to see you here--i shall be still gladder to see you there--(pointing to the peers' seats) i hope you will be _in at the death_--i should like to _blood_ you."] by sacrificing even the vanity of talent to its success. the following letters from him, relative to the impeachment, will be read with interest. the first is addressed to mrs. sheridan, and was written, i think, early in the proceedings; the second is to sheridan himself:-- "madam, "i am sure you will have the goodness to excuse the liberty i take with you, when you consider the interest which i have and which the public have (the said public being, at least, half an inch a taller person than i am) in the use of mr. sheridan's abilities. i know that his mind is seldom unemployed; but then, like all such great and vigorous minds, it takes an eagle flight by itself, and we can hardly bring it to rustle along the ground, with us birds of meaner wing, in coveys. i only beg that you will prevail on mr. sheridan to be with us _this day_, at half after three, in the committee. mr. wombell, the paymaster of oude, is to be examined there _to-day_. oude is mr. sheridan's particular province; and i do most seriously ask that he would favor us with his assistance. what will come of the examination i know not; but, without him, i do not expect a great deal from it; with him, i fancy we may get out something material. once more let me entreat your interest with mr. sheridan and your forgiveness for being troublesome to you, and do me the justice to believe me, with the most sincere respect, "madam, your most obedient "and faithful humble servant, _"thursday, o'clock._ "edm. burke." "my dear sir, "you have only to wish to be excused to succeed in your wishes; for, indeed, he must be a great enemy to himself who can consent, on account of a momentary ill-humor, to keep himself at a distance from you. "well, all will turn out right,--and half of you, or a quarter, is worth five other men. i think that this cause, which was originally yours, will be recognized by you, and that you will again possess yourself of it. the owner's mark is on it, and all our docking and cropping cannot hinder its being known and cherished by its original master. my most humble respects to mrs. sheridan. i am happy to find that she takes in good part the liberty i presumed to take with her. grey has done much and will do every thing. it is a pity that he is not always toned to the full extent of his talents. "most truly yours, _"monday._ "edm. burke. "i feel a little sickish at the approaching day. i have read much--too much, perhaps,--and, in truth, am but poorly prepared. many things, too, have broken in upon me." [footnote: for this letter, as well as some other valuable communications, i am indebted to the kindness of mr. burgess,--the solicitor and friend of sheridan during the last twenty years of his life.] though a report, however accurate, must always do injustice to that effective kind of oratory which is intended rather to be heard than read, and, though frequently, the passages that most roused and interested the hearer, are those that seem afterwards the tritest and least animated to the reader, [footnote: the converse assertion is almost equally true. mr. fox used to ask of a printed speech, "does it read well?" and, if answered in the affirmative, said, "then it was a bad speech."] yet, with all this disadvantage, the celebrated oration in question so well sustains its reputation in the perusal, that it would be injustice, having an authentic report in my possession, not to produce some specimens of its style and spirit. in the course of his exordium, after dwelling upon the great importance of the inquiry in which they were engaged, and disclaiming for himself and his brother-managers any feeling of personal malice against the defendant, or any motive but that of retrieving the honor of the british name in india, and bringing down punishment upon those whose inhumanity and injustice had disgraced it,--he thus proceeds to conciliate the court by a warm tribute to the purity of english justice:-- "however, when i have said this, i trust your lordships will not believe that, because something is necessary to retrieve the british character, we call for an example to be made, without due and solid proof of the guilt of the person whom we pursue:--no, my lords, we know well that it is the glory of this constitution, that not the general fame or character of any man--not the weight or power of any prosecutor--no plea of moral or political expediencey--not even the secret consciousness of guilt, which may live in the bosom of the judge, can justify any british court in passing any sentence, to touch a hair of the head, or an atom in any respect, of the property, of the fame, of the liberty of the poorest or meanest subject that breathes the air of this just and free land. we know, my lords, that there can be no legal guilt without legal proof, and that the rule which defines the evidence is as much the law of the land as that which creates the crime. it is upon that ground we mean to stand." among those ready equivocations and disavowals, to which mr. hastings had recourse upon every emergency, and in which practice seems to have rendered him as shameless as expert, the step which he took with regard to his own defence during the trial was not the least remarkable for promptness and audacity. he had, at the commencement of the prosecution, delivered at the bar of the house of commons, as his own, a written refutation of the charges then pending against him in that house, declaring at the same time, that "if truth could tend to convict him, he was content to be, himself, the channel to convey it." afterwards, however, on finding that he had committed himself rather imprudently in this defence, he came forward to disclaim it at the bar of the house of lords, and brought his friend major scott to prove that it had been drawn up by messrs. shore, middleton, &c. &c.--that he himself had not even seen it, and therefore ought not to be held accountable for its contents. in adverting to this extraordinary evasion, mr. sheridan thus shrewdly and playfully exposes all the persons concerned in it:-- "major scott comes to your bar--describes the shortness of time--represents mr. hastings as it were _contracting for_ a character--putting his memory _into commission_--making _departments_ for his conscience. a number of friends meet together, and he, knowing (no doubt) that the accusation of the commons had been drawn up by a committee, thought it necessary, as a point of punctilio, to answer it by a committee also. one furnishes the raw material of fact, the second spins the argument, and the third twines up the conclusion; while mr. hastings, with a master's eye, is cheering and looking over this loom. he says to one, 'you have got my good faith in your hands--_you_, my veracity to manage. mr. shore, i hope you will make me a good financier--mr. middleton, you have my humanity in commission.'--when it is done, he brings it to the house of commons, and says, 'i was equal to the task. i knew the difficulties, but i scorn them: here is the truth, and if the truth will convict me, i am content myself to be the channel of it.' his friends hold up their heads, and say, 'what noble magnanimity! this must be the effect of conscious and real innocence.' well, it is so received, it is so argued upon,--but it fails of its effect. "then says mr. hastings,--'that my defence! no, mere journeyman-work,--good enough for the commons, but not fit for your lordships' consideration.' he then calls upon his counsel to save him:--'i fear none of my accusers' witnesses--i know some of them well--i know the weakness of their memory, and the strength of their attachment--i fear no testimony but my own--save me from the peril of my own panegyric--preserve me from that, and i shall be safe.' then is this plea brought to your lordships' bar, and major scott gravely asserts,--that mr. hastings did, at the bar of the house of commons, vouch for facts of which he was ignorant, and for arguments which he had never read. "after such an attempt, we certainly are left in doubt to decide, to _which_ set of his friends mr. hastings is least obliged, those who assisted him in making his defence, or those who advised him to deny it." he thus describes the feelings of the people of the east with respect to the unapproachable sanctity of their zenanas:-- "it is too much, i am afraid, the case, that persons, used to european manners, do not take up these sort of considerations at first with the seriousness that is necessary. for your lordships cannot even learn the right nature of those people's feelings and prejudices from any history of other mahometan countries,--not even from that of the turks, for they are a mean and degraded race in comparison with many of these great families, who, inheriting from their persian ancestors, preserve a purer style of prejudice and a loftier superstition. women there are not as in turkey--they neither go to the mosque nor to the bath--it is not the thin veil alone that hides them--but in the inmost recesses of their zenana they are kept from public view by those reverenced and protected walls, which, as mr. hastings and sir elijah impey admit, are held sacred even by the ruffian hand of war or by the more uncourteous hand of the law. but, in this situation, they are not confined from a mean and selfish policy of man--not from a coarse and sensual jealousy--enshrined rather than immured, their habitation and retreat is a sanctuary, not a prison--their jealousy is their own--a jealousy of their own honor, that leads them to regard liberty as a degradation, and the gaze of even admiring eyes as inexpiable pollution to the purity of their fame and the sanctity of their honor. "such being the general opinion (or prejudices, let them be called) of this country, your lordships will find, that whatever treasures were given or lodged in a zenana of this description must, upon the evidence of the thing itself, be placed beyond the reach of resumption. to dispute with the counsel about the original right to those treasures--to talk of a title to them by the mahometan law!--their title to them is the title of a saint to the relics upon an altar, placed there by piety, [footnote: this metaphor was rather roughly handled afterwards ( ) by mr. law, one of the adverse counsel, who asked, how could the begum be considered as "a saint," or how were the camels, which formed part of the treasure, to be "placed upon the altar?" sheridan, in reply, said, "it was the first time in his life he had ever heard of _special pleading_ on a _metaphor_, or a _bill of indictment_ against a trope. but such was the turn of the learned counsel's mind, that, when he attempted to be humorous, no jest could be found, and, when serious, no fact was visible."] guarded by holy superstition, and to be snatched from thence only by sacrilege." in showing that the nabob was driven to this robbery of his relatives by other considerations than those of the pretended rebellion, which was afterwards conjured up by mr. hastings to justify it, he says,-- "the fact is, that through all his defences--through all his various false suggestions--through all these various rebellions and disaffections, mr. hastings never once lets go this plea--of extinguishable right in the nabob. he constantly represents the seizing the treasures as a resumption of a right which he could not part with;--as if there were literally something in the koran, that made it criminal in a true mussulman to keep his engagements with his relations, and impious in a son to abstain from plundering his mother. i do gravely assure your lordships that there is no such doctrine in the koran, and no such principle makes a part in the civil or municipal jurisprudence of that country. even after these princesses had been endeavoring to dethrone the nabob and to extirpate the english, the only plea the nabob ever makes, is his right under the mahometan law; and the truth is, he appears never to have heard any other reason, and i pledge myself to make it appear to your lordships, however extraordinary it may be, that not only had the nabob never heard of the rebellion till the moment of seizing the palace, but, still further, that he never heard of it at all--that this extraordinary rebellion, which was as notorious as the rebellion of in london, was carefully concealed from those two parties--the begums who plotted it, and the nabob who was to be the victim of it. "the existence of this rebellion was not the secret, but the notoriety of it was the secret; it was a rebellion which had for its object the destruction of no human creature but those who planned it;--it was a rebellion which, according to mr. middleton's expression, no man, either horse or foot, ever marched to quell. the chief justice was the only man who took the field against it,--the force against which it was raised, instantly withdrew to give it elbow-room,--and, even then, it was a rebellion which perversely showed itself in acts of hospitality to the nabob whom it was to dethrone, and to the english whom it was to extirpate;--it was a rebellion plotted by two feeble old women, headed by two eunuchs, and suppressed by an affidavit." the acceptance, or rather exaction, of the private present of £ , is thus animadverted upon: "my lords, such was the distressed situation of the nabob about a twelvemonth before mr. hastings met him at chunar. it was a twelvemonth, i say, after this miserable scene--a mighty period in the progress of british rapacity--it was (if the counsel will) after some natural calamities had aided the superior vigor of british violence and rapacity--it was after the country had felt other calamities besides the english--it was after the angry dispensations of providence had, with a progressive severity of chastisement, visited the land with a famine one year, and with a col. hannay the next--it was after he, this hannay, had returned to retrace the steps of his former ravages--it was after he and his voracious crew had come to plunder ruins which himself had made, and to glean from desolation the little that famine had spared, or rapine overlooked;--_then_ it was that this miserable bankrupt prince marching through his country, besieged by the clamors of his starving subjects, who cried to him for protection through their cages--meeting the curses of some of his subjects, and the prayers of others--with famine at his heels, and reproach following him,--then it was that this prince is represented as exercising this act of prodigal bounty to the very man whom he here reproaches--to the very man whose policy had extinguished his power, and whose creatures had desolated his country. to talk of a free-will gift! it is audacious and ridiculous to name the supposition. it was _not_ a free-will gift. what was it then? was it a bribe? or was it extortion? i shall prove it was both--it was an act of gross bribery and of rank extortion." again he thus adverts to this present:-- "the first thing he does is, to leave calcutta, in order to go to the relief of the distressed nabob. the second thing, is to take , _l_ from that distressed nabob on account of the distressed company. and the third thing is to ask of the distressed company this very same sum on account of the distresses of mr. hastings. there never were three distresses that seemed so little reconcilable with one another." anticipating the plea of state-necessity, which might possibly be set up in defence of the measures of the governor-general, he breaks out into the following rhetorical passage:-- "state necessity! no, my lords; that imperial tyrant, _state necessity_, is yet a generous despot,--bold is his demeanor, rapid his decisions, and terrible his grasp. but what he does, my lords, he dares avow, and avowing, scorns any other justification, than the great motives that placed the iron sceptre in his hand. but a quibbling, pilfering, prevaricating state-necessity, that tries to skulk behind the skirts of justice;--a state-necessity that tries to steal a pitiful justification from whispered accusations and fabricated rumors. no, my lords, that is no state necessity;--tear off the mask, and you see coarse, vulgar avarice,--you see speculation, lurking under the gaudy disguise, and adding the guilt of libelling the public honor to its own private fraud. "my lords, i say this, because i am sure the managers would make every allowance that state-necessity could claim upon any great emergency. if any great man in bearing the arms of this country;--if any admiral, bearing the vengeance and the glory of britain to distant coasts, should be compelled to some rash acts of violence, in order, perhaps, to give food to those who are shedding their blood for britain;--if any great general, defending some fortress, barren itself, perhaps, but a pledge of the pride, and, with the pride, of the power of britain; if such a man were to * * * while he himself was * * at the top, like an eagle besieged in its imperial nest; [footnote: the reporter, at many of these passages, seems to have thrown aside his pen in despair.]--would the commons of england come to accuse or to arraign such acts of state-necessity? no." in describing that swarm of english pensioners and placemen, who were still, in violation of the late purchased treaty, left to prey on the finances of the nabob, he says,-- "here we find they were left, as heavy a weight upon the nabob as ever,--left there with as keen an appetite, though not so clamorous. they were reclining on the roots and shades of that spacious tree, which their predecessors had stripped branch and bough--watching with eager eyes the first budding of a future prosperity, and of the opening harvest which they considered as the prey of their perseverance and rapacity." we have in the close of the following passage, a specimen of that lofty style, in which, as if under the influence of eastern associations, almost all the managers of this trial occasionally indulged: [footnote: much of this, however, is to be set down to the gratuitous bombast of the reporter. mr. fox, for instance, is made to say, "yes, my lords, happy is it for the world, that the penetrating gaze of providence searches after man, and in the dark den where he has stifled the remonstrances of conscience darts his compulsatory ray, that, bursting the secrecy of guilt, drives the criminal frantic to confession and expiation." _history of the trial._--even one of the counsel, mr. dallas, is represented as having caught this oriental contagion, to such a degree as to express himself in the following manner:--"we are now, however, (said the counsel,) advancing from the star-light of circumstance to the day-light of discovery: the sun of certainty is melting the darkness, and--we are arrived at facts admitted by both parties!"]-- "i do not mean to say that mr. middleton had _direct_ instructions from mr. hastings,--that he told him to go and give that fallacious assurance to the nabob,--that he had that order _under his hand_. no, but in looking attentively over mr. middleton's correspondence, you will find him say, upon a more important occasion, 'i don't expect your public authority for this;--it is enough if you but _hint_ your pleasure.' he knew him well; he could interpret every nod and motion of that head; he understood the glances of that eye which sealed the perdition of nations, and at whose throne princes waited, in pale expectation, for their fortune or their doom." the following is one of those labored passages, of which the orator himself was perhaps most proud, but in which the effort to be eloquent is too visible, and the effect, accordingly, falls short of the pretension:-- "you see how truth--empowered by that will which gives a giant's nerve to an infant's arm--has burst the monstrous mass of fraud that has endeavored to suppress it.--it calls now to your lordships, in the weak but clear tone of that cherub, innocence, whose voice is more persuasive than eloquence, more convincing than argument, whose look is supplication, whose tone is conviction,--it calls upon you for redress, it calls upon you for vengeance upon the oppressor, and points its heaven-directed hand to the detested, but unrepenting author of its wrongs!" his description of the desolation brought upon some provinces of oude by the misgovernment of colonel hannay, and of the insurrection at goruckpore against that officer in consequence, is, perhaps, the most masterly portion of the whole speech:-- "if we could suppose a person to have come suddenly into the country unacquainted with any circumstances that had passed since the days of sujah ul dowlah, he would naturally ask--what cruel hand has wrought this wide desolation, what barbarian foe has invaded the country, has desolated its fields, depopulated its villages? he would ask, what disputed succession, civil rage, or frenzy of the inhabitants, had induced them to act in hostility to the words of god, and the beauteous works of man? he would ask what religious zeal or frenzy had added to the mad despair and horrors of war? the ruin is unlike any thing that appears recorded in any age; it looks like neither the barbarities of men, nor the judgments of vindictive heaven. there is a waste of desolation, as if caused by fell destroyers, never meaning to return and making but a short period of their rapacity. it looks as if some fabled monster had made its passage through the country, whose pestiferous breath had blasted more than its voracious appetite could devour." "if there had been any men in the country, who had not their hearts and souls so subdued by fear, as to refuse to speak the truth at all upon such a subject, they would have told him, there had been no war since the time of sujah ul dowlah,--tyrant, indeed, as he was, but then deeply regretted by his subjects--that no hostile blow of any enemy had been struck in that land--that there had been no disputed succession--no civil war--no religious frenzy. but that these were the tokens of british friendship, the marks left by the embraces of british allies--more dreadful than the blows of the bitterest enemy. they would tell him that these allies had converted a prince into a slave, to make him the principal in the extortion upon his subjects;--that their rapacity increased in proportion as the means of supplying their avarice diminished; that they made the sovereign pay as if they had a right to an increased price, because the labor of extortion and plunder increased. to such causes, they would tell him, these calamities were owing. "need i refer your lordships to the strong testimony of major naylor when he rescued colonel hannay from their hands--where you see that this people, born to submission and bent to most abject subjection--that even they, in whose meek hearts injury had never yet begot resentment, nor even despair bred courage--that _their_ hatred, _their_ abhorrence of colonel hannay was such that they clung round him by thousands and thousands;--that when major naylor rescued him, they refused life from the hand that could rescue hannay;--that they nourished this desperate consolation, that by their death they should at least thin the number of wretches who suffered by his devastation and extortion. he says that, when he crossed the river, he found the poor wretches quivering upon the parched banks of the polluted river, encouraging their blood to flow, and consoling themselves with the thought, that it would not sink into the earth, but rise to the common god of humanity, and cry aloud for vengeance on their destroyers!--this warm description--which is no declamation of mine, but founded in actual fact, and in fair, clear proof before your lordships--speaks powerfully what the cause of these oppressions were, and the perfect justness of those feelings that were occasioned by them. and yet, my lords, i am asked to prove _why_ these people arose in such concert:--'there must have been machinations, forsooth, and the begums' machinations, to produce all this!'--why did they rise!--because they were people in human shape; because patience under the detested tyranny of man is rebellion to the sovereignty of god; because allegiance to that power that gives us the _forms_ of men commands us to maintain the _rights_ of men. and never yet was this truth dismissed from the human heart--never in any time, in any age--never in any clime, where rude man ever had any social feeling, or where corrupt refinement had subdued all feelings,--never was this one unextinguishable truth destroyed from the heart of man, placed, as it is, in the core and centre of it by his maker, that man was not made the property of man; that human power is a trust for human benefit and that when it is abused, revenge becomes justice, if not the bounden duty of the injured! these, my lords, were the causes why these people rose." another passage in the second day's speech is remarkable, as exhibiting a sort of tourney of intellect between sheridan and burke, and in that field of abstract speculation, which was the favorite arena of the latter. mr. burke had, in opening the prosecution, remarked, that prudence is a quality incompatible with vice, and can never be effectively enlisted in its cause:--"i never (said he) knew a man who was bad, fit for _service_ that was good. there is always some disqualifying ingredient, mixing and spoiling the compound. the man seems paralytic on that side, his muscles there have lost their very tone and character--they cannot move. in short, the accomplishment of any thing good is a physical impossibility for such a man. there is decrepitude as well as distortion: he could not, if he would, is not more certain than that he would not, if he could." to this sentiment the allusions in the following passage refer:-- "i am perfectly convinced that there is one idea, which must arise in your lordships' minds as a subject of wonder,--how a person of mr. hastings' reputed abilities can furnish such matter of accusation against himself. for, it must be admitted that never was there a person who seems to go so rashly to work, with such an arrogant appearance of contempt for all conclusions, that may be deduced from what he advances upon the subject. when he seems most earnest and laborious to defend himself, it appears as if he had but one idea uppermost in his mind--a determination not to care what he says, provided he keeps clear of fact. he knows that truth must convict him, and concludes, _à converso_, that falsehood will acquit him; forgetting that there must be some connection, some system, some co-operation, or, otherwise, his host of falsities fall without an enemy, self-discomfited and destroyed. but of this he never seems to have had the slightest apprehension. he falls to work, an artificer of fraud, against all the rules of architecture;--he lays his ornamental work first, and his massy foundation at the top of it; and thus his whole building tumbles upon his head. other people look well to their ground, choose their position, and watch whether they are likely to be surprised there; but he, as if in the ostentation of his heart, builds upon a precipice, and encamps upon a mine, from choice. he seems to have no one actuating principle, but a steady, persevering resolution not to speak the truth or to tell the fact. "it is impossible almost to treat conduct of this kind with perfect seriousness; yet i am aware that it ought to be more seriously accounted for--because i am sure it has been a sort of paradox, which must have struck your lordships, how any person having so many motives to conceal--having so many reasons to dread detection--should yet go to work so clumsily upon the subject. it is possible, indeed, that it may raise this doubt--whether such a person is of sound mind enough to be a proper object of punishment; or at least it may give a kind of confused notion, that the guilt cannot be of so deep and black a grain, over which such a thin veil was thrown, and so little trouble taken to avoid detection. i am aware that, to account for this seeming paradox, historians, poets, and even philosophers--at least of ancient times--have adopted the superstitious solution of the vulgar, and said that the gods deprive men of reason whom they devote to destruction or to punishment. but to unassuming or unprejudiced reason, there is no need to resort to any supposed supernatural interference; for the solution will be found in the eternal rules that formed the mind of man, and gave a quality and nature to every passion that inhabits in it. "an honorable friend of mine, who is now, i believe, near me,--a gentleman, to whom i never can on any occasion refer without feelings of respect, and, on this subject, without feelings of the most grateful homage;--a gentleman, whose abilities upon this occasion, as upon some former ones, happily for the glory of the age in which we live, are not entrusted merely to the perishable eloquence of the day, but will live to be the admiration of that hour when all of us are mute, and most of us forgotten;--that honorable gentleman has told you that prudence, the first of virtues, never can be used in the cause of vice. if, reluctant and diffident, i might take such a liberty, i should express a doubt, whether experience, observation, or history, will warrant us in fully assenting to this observation. it is a noble and a lovely sentiment, my lords, worthy the mind of him who uttered it, worthy that proud disdain, that generous scorn of the means and instruments of vice, which virtue and genius must ever feel. but i should doubt whether we can read the history of a philip of macedon, a caesar, or a cromwell, without confessing, that there have been evil purposes, baneful to the peace and to the rights of men, conducted--if i may not say, with prudence or with wisdom--yet with awful craft and most successful and commanding subtlety. if, however, i might make a distinction, i should say that it is the proud attempt to mix a _variety_ of lordly crimes, that unsettles the prudence of the mind, and breeds this distraction of the brain. "_one_ master-passion, domineering in the breast, may win the faculties of the understanding to advance its purpose, and to direct to that object every thing that thought or human knowledge can effect; but, to succeed, it must maintain a solitary despotism in the mind;--each rival profligacy must stand aloof, or wait in abject vassalage upon its throne. for, the power, that has not forbad the entrance of evil passions into man's mind, has, at least, forbad their union;--if they meet they defeat their object, and their conquest, or their attempt at it, is tumult. turn to the virtues--how different the decree! formed to connect, to blend, to associate, and to cooperate; bearing the same course, with kindred energies and harmonious sympathy, each perfect in its own lovely sphere, each moving in its wider or more contracted orbit, with different, but concentering, powers, guided by the same influence of reason, and endeavoring at the same blessed end--the happiness of the individual, the harmony of the species, and the glory of the creator. in the vices, on the other hand, it is the discord that insures the defeat--each clamors to be heard in its own barbarous language; each claims the exclusive cunning of the brain; each thwarts and reproaches the other; and even while their fell rage assails with common hate the peace and virtue of the world, the civil war among their own tumultuous legions defeats the purpose of the foul conspiracy. these are the furies of the mind, my lords, that unsettle the understanding; these are the furies, that destroy the virtue, prudence,--while the distracted brain and shivered intellect proclaim the tumult that is within, and bear their testimonies, from the mouth of god himself, to the foul condition of the heart." the part of the speech which occupied the third day (and which was interrupted by the sudden indisposition of mr. sheridan) consists chiefly of comments upon the affidavits taken before sir elijah impey,--in which the irrelevance and inconsistency of these documents is shrewdly exposed, and the dryness of detail, inseparable from such a task, enlivened by those light touches of conversational humor, and all that by-play of eloquence of which mr. sheridan was such a consummate master. but it was on the fourth day of the oration that he rose into his most ambitious flights, and produced some of those dazzling bursts of declamation, of which the traditional fame is most vividly preserved. among the audience of that day was gibbon, and the mention of his name in the following passage not only produced its effect at the moment, but, as connected with literary anecdote, will make the passage itself long memorable. politics are of the day, but literature is of all time--and, though it was in the power of the orator, in his brief moment of triumph, to throw a lustre over the historian by a passing epithet, [footnote: gibbon himself thought it an event worthy of record in his memoirs. "before my departure from england (he says) i was present at the august spectacle of mr. hastings's trial in westminster hall. it was not my province to absolve or condemn the governor of india, but mr. sheridan's eloquence demanded my applause, nor could i hear without emotion the personal compliment which he paid me in the presence of the british nation. from this display of genius, which blazed four successive days," &c &c.] the name of the latter will, at the long run, pay back the honor with interest. having reprobated the violence and perfidy of the governor-general, in forcing the nabob to plunder his own relatives and friends, he adds:-- "i do say, that if you search the history of the world, you will not find an act of tyranny and fraud to surpass this; if you read all past histories, peruse the annals of tacitus, read the luminous page of gibbon, and all the ancient and modern writers, that have searched into the depravity of former ages to draw a lesson for the present, you will not find an act of treacherous, deliberate, cool cruelty that could exceed this." on being asked by some honest brother whig, at the conclusion of the speech, how he came to compliment gibbon with the epithet "luminous," sheridan answered in a half whisper, "i said '_vo_luminous.'" it is well known that the simile of the vulture and the lamb, which occurs in the address of rolla to the peruvians, had been previously employed by mr. sheridan, in this speech; and it showed a degree of indifference to criticism,--which criticism, it must be owned, not unfrequently deserves,--to reproduce before the public an image, so notorious both from its application and its success. but, called upon, as he was, to levy, for the use of that drama, a hasty conscription of phrases and images, all of a certain altitude and pomp, this veteran simile, he thought, might be pressed into the service among the rest. the passage of the speech in which it occurs is left imperfect in the report:-- "this is the character of all the protection ever afforded to the allies of britain under the government of mr. hastings. they send their troops to drain the produce of industry, to seize all the treasures, wealth, and prosperity of the country, and then they call it protection!--it is the protection of the vulture to the lamb. * * *" the following is his celebrated delineation of filial affection, to which reference is more frequently made than to any other part of the speech;--though the gross inaccuracy of the printed report has done its utmost to belie the reputation of the original passage, or rather has substituted a changeling to inherit its fame. "when i see in many of these letters the infirmities of age made a subject of mockery and ridicule; when i see the feelings of a son treated by mr. middleton as puerile and contemptible; when i see an order given by mr. hastings to harden that son's heart, to choke the struggling nature in his bosom; when i see them pointing to the son's name, and to his standard while marching to oppress the mother, as to a banner that gives dignity, that gives a holy sanction and a reverence to their enterprise; when i see and hear these things done--when i hear them brought into three deliberate defences set up against the charges of the commons--my lords, i own i grow puzzled and confounded, and almost begin to doubt whether, where such a defence can be offered, it may not be tolerated. "and yet, my lords, how can i support the claim of filial love by argument--much less the affection of a son to a mother--where love loses its awe, and veneration is mixed with tenderness? what can i say upon such a subject, what can i do but repeat the ready truths which, with the quick impulse of the mind, must spring to the lips of every man on such a theme? filial love! the morality of instinct, the sacrament of nature and duty--or rather let me say it is miscalled a duty, for it flows from the heart without effort, and is its delight, its indulgence, its enjoyment. it is guided, not by the slow dictates of reason; it awaits not encouragement from reflection or from thought; it asks no aid of memory; it is an innate, but active, consciousness of having been the object of a thousand tender solicitudes, a thousand waking watchful cares, of meek anxiety and patient sacrifices unremarked and unrequited by the object. it is a gratitude founded upon a conviction of obligations, not remembered, but the more binding because not remembered,--because conferred before the tender reason could acknowledge, or the infant memory record them--a gratitude and affection, which no circumstances should subdue, and which few can strengthen; a gratitude, in which even injury from the object, though it may blend regret, should never breed resentment; an affection which can be increased only by the decay of those to whom we owe it, and which is then most fervent when the tremulous voice of age, resistless in its feebleness, inquires for the natural protector of its cold decline. "if these are the general sentiments of man, what must be their depravity, what must be their degeneracy, who can blot out and erase from the bosom the virtue that is deepest rooted in the human heart, and twined within the cords of life itself--aliens from nature, apostates from humanity! and yet, if there is a crime more fell, more foul--if there is any thing worse than a wilful persecutor of his mother--it is to see a deliberate, reasoning instigator and abettor to the deed:--this it is that shocks, disgusts, and appals the mind more than the other--to view, not a wilful parricide, but a parricide by compulsion, a miserable wretch, not actuated by the stubborn evils of his own worthless heart, not driven by the fury of his own distracted brain, but lending his sacrilegious hand, without any malice of his own, to answer the abandoned purposes of the human fiends that have subdued his will!--to condemn crimes like these, we need not talk of laws or of human rules--their foulness, their deformity does not depend upon local constitutions, upon human institutes or religious creeds:--they are crimes--and the persons who perpetrate them are monsters who violate the primitive condition, upon which the earth was given to man--they are guilty by the general verdict of human kind." in some of the sarcasms we are reminded of the quaint contrasts of his dramatic style. thus:-- "i must also do credit to them whenever i see any thing like lenity in mr. middleton or his agent:--they do seem to admit here, that it was not worth while to commit a massacre for the discount of a small note of hand, and to put two thousand women and children to death, in order to procure prompt payment." of the length to which the language of crimination was carried, as well by mr. sheridan as by mr. burke, one example, out of many, will suffice. it cannot fail, however, to be remarked that, while the denunciations and invectives of burke are filled throughout with a passionate earnestness, which leaves no doubt as to the sincerity of the hate and anger professed by him,--in sheridan, whose nature was of a much gentler cast, the vehemence is evidently more in the words than in the feeling, the tone of indignation is theatrical and assumed, and the brightness of the flash seems to be more considered than the destructiveness of the fire:-- "it is this circumstance of deliberation and consciousness of his guilt--it is this that inflames the minds of those who watch his transactions, and roots out all pity for a person who could act under such an influence. we conceive of such tyrants as caligula and nero, bred up to tyranny and oppression, having had no equals to control them--no moment for reflection--we conceive that, if it could have been possible to seize the guilty profligates for a moment, you might bring conviction to their hearts and repentance to their minds. but when you see a cool, reasoning, deliberate tyrant--one who was not born and bred to arrogance,--who has been nursed in a mercantile line--who has been used to look round among his fellow-subjects--to transact business with his equals--to account for conduct to his master, and, by that wise system of the company, to detail all his transactions--who never could fly one moment from himself, but must be obliged every night to sit down and hold up a glass to his own soul--who could never be blind to his deformity, and who must have brought his conscience not only to connive at but to approve of it--_this_ it is that distinguishes it from the worst cruelties, the worst enormities of those, who, born to tyranny, and finding no superior, no adviser, have gone to the last presumption that there were none above to control them hereafter. this is a circumstance that aggravates the whole of the guilt of the unfortunate gentleman we are now arraigning at your bar." we now come to the peroration, in which, skilfully and without appearance of design, it is contrived that the same sort of appeal to the purity of british justice, with which the oration opened, should, like the repetition of a solemn strain of music, recur at its close,--leaving in the minds of the judges a composed and concentrated feeling of the great public duty they had to perform, in deciding upon the arraignment of guilt brought before them. the court of directors, it appeared, had ordered an inquiry into the conduct of the begums, with a view to the restitution of their property, if it should appear that the charges against them were unfounded; but to this proceeding mr. hastings objected, on the ground that the begums themselves had not called for such interference in their favor, and that it was inconsistent with the "majesty of justice" to condescend to volunteer her services. the pompous and jesuitical style in which this singular doctrine [footnote: "if nothing (says mr. mill) remained to stain the reputation of mr. hastings but the principles avowed in this singular pleading, his character, among the friends of justice, would be sufficiently determined."] is expressed, in a letter addressed by the governor-general to mr. macpherson, is thus ingeniously turned to account by the orator, in winding up his masterly statement to a close:-- 'and now before i come to the last magnificent paragraph, let me call the attention of those who, possibly, think themselves capable of judging of the dignity and character of justice in this country;--let me call the attention of those who, arrogantly perhaps, presume that they understand what the features, what the duties of justice are here and in india;--let them learn a lesson from this great statesman, this enlarged, this liberal philosopher:--'i hope i shall not depart from the simplicity of official language, in saying that the majesty of justice ought to be approached with solicitation, not descend to provoke or invite it, much less to debase itself by the suggestion of wrongs and the promise of redress, with the denunciation of punishment before trial, and even before accusation.' this is the exhortation which mr. hastings makes to his counsel. this is the character which he gives of british justice. * * * * * "but i will ask your lordships, do you approve this representation? do you feel that this is the true image of justice? is this the character of british justice? are these her features? is this her countenance? is this her gait or her mien? no, i think even now i hear you calling upon me to turn from this vile libel, this base caricature, this indian pagod, formed by the hand of guilty and knavish tyranny, to dupe the heart of ignorance,--to turn from this deformed idol to the true majesty of justice here. _here_, indeed, i see a different form, enthroned by the sovereign hand of freedom,--awful without severity--commanding without pride--vigilant and active without restlessness or suspicion--searching and inquisitive without meanness or debasement--not arrogantly scorning to stoop to the voice of afflicted innocence, and in its loveliest attitude when bending to uplift the suppliant at its feet. "it is by the majesty, by the form of that justice, that i do conjure and implore your lordships to give your minds to this great business; that i exhort you to look, not so much to words, which may be denied or quibbled away, but to the plain facts,--to weigh and consider the testimony in your own minds: we know the result must be inevitable. let the truth appear and our cause is gained. it is this, i conjure your lordships, for your own honor, for the honor of the nation, for the honor of human nature, now entrusted to your care,--it is this duty that the commons of england, speaking through us, claims at your hands. "they exhort you to it by every thing that calls sublimely upon the heart of man, by the majesty of that justice which this bold man has libelled, by the wide fame of your own tribunal, by the sacred pledge by which you swear in the solemn hour of decision, knowing that that decision will then bring you the highest reward that ever blessed the heart of man, the consciousness of having done the greatest act of mercy for the world, that the earth has ever yet received from any hand but heaven.--my lords, i have done." though i have selected some of the most remarkable passages of this speech, [footnote: i had selected many more, but must confess that they appeared to me, when in print, so little worthy of the reputation of the speech, that i thought it would be, on the whole, more prudent to omit them. even of the passages, here cited, i speak rather from my imagination of what they must have been, than from my actual feeling of what they are. the character, given of such reports, by lord loughborough, is, no doubt, but too just. on a motion made by lord stanhope, (april , ), that the short-hand writers, employed on hastings's trial, should be summoned to the bar of the house, to read their minutes, lord loughborough, in the course of his observations on the motion, said, "god forbid that ever their lordships should call on the short-hand writers to publish their notes; for, of all people, short-hand writers were ever the farthest from correctness, and there were no man's words they ever heard that they again returned. they were in general ignorant, as acting mechanically; and by not considering the antecedent, and catching the sound, and not the sense, they perverted the sense of the speaker, and made him appear as ignorant as themselves."] it would be unfair to judge of it even from these specimens. a report, _verbatim_, of any effective speech must always appear diffuse and ungraceful in the perusal. the very repetitions, the redundancy, the accumulation of epithets which gave force and momentum in the career of delivery, but weaken and encumber the march of the style, when read. there is, indeed, the same sort of difference between a faithful short-hand report, and those abridged and polished records which burke has left us of his speeches, as there is between a cast taken directly from the face, (where every line is accurately preserved, but all the blemishes and excrescences are in rigid preservation also,) and a model, over which the correcting hand has passed, and all that was minute or superfluous is generalized and softened away. neither was it in such rhetorical passages as abound, perhaps, rather lavishly, in this speech, that the chief strength of mr. sheridan's talent lay. good sense and wit were the great weapons of his oratory--shrewdness in detecting the weak points of an adversary, and infinite powers of raillery in exposing it. these were faculties which he possessed in a greater degree than any of his contemporaries; and so well did he himself know the stronghold of his powers, that it was but rarely, after this display in westminster hall, that he was tempted to leave it for the higher flights of oratory, or to wander after sense into that region of metaphor, where too often, like angelica in the enchanted palace of atlante, she is sought for in vain. [footnote: curran used to say laughingly, "when i can't talk sense, i talk metaphor."] his attempts, indeed, at the florid or figurative style, whether in his speeches or his writings, were seldom very successful. that luxuriance of fancy, which in burke was natural and indigenous, was in him rather a forced and exotic growth. it is a remarkable proof of this difference between them, that while, in the memorandums of speeches left behind by burke, we find, that the points of argument and business were those which he prepared, trusting to the ever ready wardrobe of his fancy for their adornment,--in mr. sheridan's notes it is chiefly the decorative passages, that are worked up beforehand to their full polish; while on the resources of his good sense, ingenuity, and temper, he seems to have relied for the management of his reasonings and facts. hence naturally it arises that the images of burke, being called up on the instant, like spirits, to perform the bidding of his argument, minister to it throughout, with an almost coordinate agency; while the figurative fancies of sheridan, already prepared for the occasion, and brought forth to adorn, not assist, the business of the discourse, resemble rather those sprites which the magicians used to keep inclosed in phials, to be produced for a momentary enchantment, and then shut up again. in truth, the similes and illustrations of burke form such an intimate, and often essential, part of his reasoning, that if the whole strength of the samson does not lie in those luxuriant locks, it would at least be considerably diminished by their loss. whereas, in the speech of mr. sheridan, which we have just been considering, there is hardly one of the rhetorical ornaments that might not be detached, without, in any great degree, injuring the force of the general statement. another consequence of this difference between them is observable in their respective modes of transition, from what may be called the _business_ of a speech its more generalized and rhetorical parts. when sheridan rises, his elevation is not sufficiently prepared; he starts abruptly and at once from the level of his statement, and sinks down into it again with the same suddenness. but burke, whose imagination never allows even business to subside into mere prose, sustains a pitch throughout which accustoms the mind to wonder, and, while it prepares us to accompany him in his boldest flights, makes us, even when he walks, still feel that he has wings:-- "_même quand l'oiseau marche, on sent qu'il a des ailes._" the sincerity of the praises bestowed by burke on the speech of his brother manager has sometimes been questioned, but upon no sufficient grounds. his zeal for the success of the impeachment, no doubt, had a considerable share in the enthusiasm, with which this great effort in its favor filled him. it may be granted, too, that, in admiring the apostrophes that variegate this speech, he was, in some degree, enamored of a reflection of himself; "_cunctaque miratur, quibus est mirabilis ipse._" he sees reflected there, in fainter light. all that combines to make himself so bright. but whatever mixture of other motives there may have been in the feeling, it is certain that his admiration of the speech was real and unbounded. he is said to have exclaimed to mr. fox, during the delivery of some passages of it, "there,--that is the true style;--something between poetry and prose, and better than either." the severer taste of mr. fox dissented, as might be expected, from this remark. he replied, that "he thought such a mixture was for the advantage of neither--as producing poetic prose, or, still worse, prosaic poetry." it was, indeed, the opinion of mr. fox, that the impression made upon burke by these somewhat too theatrical tirades is observable in the change that subsequently took place in his own style of writing; and that the florid and less chastened taste which some persons discover in his later productions, may all be traced to the example of this speech. however this may be, or whether there is really much difference, as to taste, between the youthful and sparkling vision of the queen of france in , and the interview between the angel and lord bathurst in , it is surely a most unjust disparagement of the eloquence of burke, to apply to it, at any time of his life, the epithet "flowery,"--a designation only applicable to that ordinary ambition of style, whose chief display, by necessity, consists of ornament without thought, and pomp without substance. a succession of bright images, clothed in simple, transparent language,--even when, as in burke, they "crowd upon the aching sense" too dazzlingly,--should never be confounded with that mere verbal opulence of style, which mistakes the glare of words for the glitter of ideas, and, like the helen of the sculptor lysippus, makes finery supply the place of beauty. the figurative definition of eloquence in the book of proverbs--"apples of gold in a net-work of silver"--is peculiarly applicable to that enshrinement of rich, solid thoughts in clear and shining language, which is the triumph of the imaginative class of writers and orators,--while, perhaps, the net-work, _without_ the gold inclosed, is a type equally significant of what is called "flowery" eloquence. it is also, i think, a mistake, however flattering to my country, to call the school of oratory, to which burke belongs, _irish_. that irishmen are naturally more gifted with those stores of fancy, from which the illumination of this high order of the art must be supplied, the names of burke, grattan, sheridan, curran, canning, and plunkett, abundantly testify. yet had lord chatham, before any of these great speakers were heard, led the way, in the same animated and figured strain of oratory; [footnote: his few noble sentences on the privilege of the poor man's cottage are universally known. there is also his fanciful allusion to the confluence of the saone and rhone, the traditional reports of which vary, both as to the exact terms in which it was expressed, and the persons to whom he applied it. even lord orford does not seem to have ascertained the latter point. to these may be added the following specimen:--"i don't inquire from what quarter the wind cometh, but whither it goeth; and, if any measure that comes from the right honorable gentleman tends to the public good, my bark is ready." of a different kind is that grand passage,--"america, they tell me, has resisted--i rejoice to hear it,"--which mr. grattan used to pronounce finer than anything in demosthenes.] while another englishman, lord bacon, by making fancy the hand-maid of philosophy, had long since set an example of that union of the imaginative and the solid, which, both in writing and in speaking, forms the characteristic distinction of this school. the speech of mr. sheridan in westminster hall, though so much inferior in the opinion of mr. fox and others, to that which he had delivered on the same subject in the house of commons, seems to have produced, at the time, even a more lively and general sensation;--possibly from the nature and numerousness of the assembly before which it was spoken, and which counted among its multitude a number of that sex, whose lips are in general found to be the most rapid conductors of fame. but there was _one_ of this sex, more immediately interested in his glory, who seems to have felt it as women alone can feel. "i have delayed writing," says mrs. sheridan, in a letter to her sister-in-law, dated four days after the termination of the speech, "till i could gratify myself and you by sending you the news of our dear dick's triumph!--of _our_ triumph i may call it; for surely, no one, in the slightest degree connected with him, but must feel proud and happy. it is impossible, my dear woman, to convey to you the delight, the astonishment, the adoration, he has excited in the breasts of every class of people! every party-prejudice has been overcome by a display of genius, eloquence and goodness, which no one with any thing like a heart about them, could have listened to without being the wiser and the better for the rest of their lives. what must _my_ feelings be!--you can only imagine. to tell you the truth, it is with some difficulty that i can 'let down my mind,' as mr. burke said afterwards, to talk or think on any other subject. but pleasure, too exquisite, becomes pain, and i am at this moment suffering for the delightful anxieties of last week." it is a most happy combination when the wife of a man of genius unites intellect enough to appreciate the talents of her husband, with the quick, feminine sensibility, that can thus passionately feel his success. pliny tells us, that his calpurnia, whenever he pleaded an important cause, had messengers ready to report to her every murmur of applause that he received; and the poet statius, in alluding to his own victories at the albanian games, mentions the "breathless kisses," with which his wife, claudia, used to cover the triumphal garlands he brought home. mrs. sheridan may well take her place beside these roman wives;--and she had another resemblance to one of them, which was no less womanly and attractive. not only did calpurnia sympathize with the glory of her husband abroad, but she could also, like mrs. sheridan, add a charm to his talents at home, by setting his verses to music and singing them to her harp,--"with no instructor," adds pliny, "but love, who is, after all, the best master." this letter of mrs. sheridan thus proceeds:--"you were perhaps alarmed by the account of s.'s illness in the papers; but i have the pleasure to assure you he is now perfectly well, and i hope by next week we shall be quietly settled in the country, and suffered to repose, in every sense of the word; for indeed we have, both of us, been in a constant state of agitation, of one kind or other, for some time back. "i am very glad to hear your father continues so well. surely he must feel happy and proud of such a son. i take it for granted you see the newspapers: i assure you the accounts in them are not exaggerated, and only echo the exclamation of admiration that is in every body's mouth. i make no excuse for dwelling on this subject: i know you will not find it tedious. god bless you--i am an invalid at present, and not able to write long letters." the agitation and want of repose, which mrs. sheridan here complains of, arose not only from the anxiety which she so deeply felt, for the success of this great public effort of her husband, but from the share which she herself had taken, in the labor and attention necessary to prepare him for it. the mind of sheridan being, from the circumstances of his education and life, but scantily informed upon all subjects for which reading is necessary, required, of course, considerable training and feeding, before it could venture to grapple with any new or important task. he has been known to say frankly to his political friends, when invited to take part in some question that depended upon authorities, "you know i'm an ignoramus--but here i am--instruct me and i'll do my best." it is said that the stock of numerical lore, upon which he ventured to set up as the aristarchus of mr. pitt's financial plans, was the result of three weeks' hard study of arithmetic, to which he doomed himself, in the early part of his parliamentary career, on the chance of being appointed, some time or other, chancellor of the exchequer. for financial display it must be owned that this was rather a crude preparation. but there are other subjects of oratory, on which the outpourings of information, newly acquired, may have a freshness and vivacity which it would be vain to expect, in the communication of knowledge that has lain long in the mind, and lost in circumstantial spirit what it has gained in general mellowness. they, indeed, who have been regularly disciplined in learning, may be not only too familiar with what they know to communicate it with much liveliness to others, but too apt also to rely upon the resources of the memory, and upon those cold outlines which it retains of knowledge whose details are faded. the natural consequence of all this is that persons, the best furnished with general information, are often the most vague and unimpressive on particular subjects; while, on the contrary, an uninstructed man of genius, like sheridan, who approaches a topic of importance for the first time, has not only the stimulus of ambition and curiosity to aid him in mastering its details, but the novelty of first impressions to brighten his general views of it--and, with a fancy thus freshly excited, himself, is most sure to touch and rouse the imaginations of others. this was particularly the situation of mr. sheridan with respect to the history of indian affairs; and there remain among his papers numerous proofs of the labor which his preparation for this arduous task cost not only himself but mrs. sheridan. among others, there is a large pamphlet of mr. hastings, consisting of more than two hundred pages, copied out neatly in her writing, with some assistance from another female hand. the industry, indeed, of all around him was put in requisition for this great occasion--some, busy with the pen and scissors, making extracts--some pasting and stitching his scattered memorandums in their places. so that there was hardly a single member of the family that could not boast of having contributed his share, to the mechanical construction of this speech. the pride of its success was, of course, equally participated; and edwards, a favorite servant of mr. sheridan, who lived with him many years, was long celebrated for his professed imitation of the manner in which his master delivered (what seems to have struck edwards as the finest part of the speech) his closing words, "my lords, i have done!" the impeachment of warren hastings is one of those pageants in the drama of public life, which show how fleeting are the labors and triumphs of politicians--"what shadows they are, and what shadows they pursue." when we consider the importance which the great actors in that scene attached to it,--the grandeur with which their eloquence invested the cause, as one in which the liberties and rights of the whole human race were interested,--and then think how all that splendid array of law and of talent has dwindled away, in the view of most persons at present, into an unworthy and harassing persecution of a meritorious and successful statesman;--how those passionate appeals to justice, those vehement denunciations of crime, which made the halls of westminster and st. stephen's ring with their echoes, are now coldly judged, through the medium of disfiguring reports, and regarded, at the best, but as rhetorical effusions, indebted to temper for their warmth, and to fancy for their details;--while so little was the reputation of the delinquent himself even scorched by the bolts of eloquence thus launched at him, that a subsequent house of commons thought themselves honored by his presence, and welcomed him with such cheers [footnote: when called as a witness before the house, in , on the subject of the renewal of the east india company's charter.] as should reward only the friends and benefactors of freedom;--when we reflect on this thankless result of so much labor and talent, it seems wonderful that there should still be found high and gifted spirits, to waste themselves away in such temporary struggles, and, like that spendthrift of genius, sheridan, to _discount_ their immortality, for the payment of fame in hand which these triumphs of the day secure to them. for this direction, however, which the current of opinion has taken, with regard to mr. hastings and his eloquent accusers, there are many very obvious reasons to be assigned. success, as i have already remarked, was the dazzling talisman, which he waved in the eyes of his adversaries from the first, and which his friends have made use of to throw a splendor over his tyranny and injustice ever since. [footnote: in the important article of finance, however, for which he made so many sacrifices of humanity, even the justification of success was wanting to his measures. the following is the account given by the select committee of the house of commons in , of the state in which india was left by his administration:--"the revenues had been absorbed; the pay and allowances of both the civil and military branches of the service were greatly in arrear; the credit of the company was extremely depressed; and, added to all, the whole system had fallen into such irregularity and confusion, that the real state of affairs could not be _ascertained_ till the conclusion of the year - ."--_third report_.] too often in the moral logic of this world, it matters but little what the premises of conduct may be, so the conclusion but turns out showy and prosperous. there is also, it must be owned, among the english, (as perhaps, among all free people,) a strong taste for the arbitrary, when they themselves are not to be the victims of it, which invariably secures to such accomplished despotisms, as that of lord strafford in ireland, and hastings in india, even a larger share of their admiration than they are, themselves, always willing to allow. the rhetorical exaggerations, in which the managers of the prosecution indulged,--mr. sheridan, from imagination, luxuriating in its own display, and burke from the same cause, added to his overpowering autocracy of temper--were but too much calculated to throw suspicion on the cause in which they were employed, and to produce a reaction in favor of the person whom they were meant to overwhelm. "_rogo vos, judices_,"--mr. hastings might well have said,--"_si iste disertus est, ideo me damnari oportet?_" [footnote: seneca, controvers. lib. iii. c. .] there are also, without doubt, considerable allowances to be made, for the difficult situations in which mr. hastings was placed, and those impulses to wrong which acted upon him from all sides--allowances which will have more or less weight with the judgment, according as it may be more or less fastidiously disposed, in letting excuses for rapine and oppression pass muster. the incessant and urgent demands of the directors upon him for money may palliate, perhaps, the violence of those methods which he took to procure it for them; and the obstruction to his policy which would have arisen from a strict observance of treaties, may be admitted, by the same gentle casuistry, as an apology for his frequent infractions of them. another consideration to be taken into account, in our estimate of the character of mr. hastings as a ruler, is that strong light of publicity, which the practice in india of carrying on the business of government by written documents threw on all the machinery of his measures, deliberative as well as executive. these minutes, indeed, form a record of fluctuation and inconsistency--not only on the part of the governor-general, but of all the members of the government--a sort of weather-cock diary of opinions and principles, shifting with the interests or convenience of the moment, [footnote: instances of this, on the part of mr. hastings, are numberless. in remarking upon his corrupt transfer of the management of the nabob's household in , the directors say, "it is with equal surprise and concern that we observe this request introduced, and the nabob's ostensible rights so solemnly asserted at this period by our governor-general; because, on a late occasion, to serve a very different purpose, he has not scrupled to declare it as visible as the light of the sun, that the nabob is a mere pageant, and without even the shadow of authority." on another transaction in , mr. mill remarks:--"it is a curious moral spectacle to compare the minutes and letters of the governor-general, when, at the beginning of the year , maintaining the propriety of condemning the nabob to sustain the whole of the burden imposed upon him, and his minutes and letters maintaining the propriety of relieving him from those burthens in . the arguments and facts adduced on the one occasion, as well as the conclusion, are a flat contradiction to those exhibited on the other."] which entirely takes away our respect even for success, when issuing out of such a chaos of self-contradiction and shuffling. it cannot be denied, however, that such a system of exposure--submitted, as it was in this case, to a still further scrutiny, under the bold, denuding hands of a burke and a sheridan--was a test to which the councils of few rulers could with impunity be brought. where, indeed, is the statesman that could bear to have his obliquities thus chronicled? or where is the cabinet that would not shrink from such an inroad of light into its recesses? the undefined nature, too, of that power which the company exercised in india, and the uncertain state of the law, vibrating between the english and the hindoo codes, left such tempting openings for injustice as it was hardly possible to resist. with no public opinion to warn off authority from encroachment, and with the precedents set up by former rulers all pointing the wrong way, it would have been difficult, perhaps, for even more moderate men than hastings, not occasionally to break bounds and go continually astray. to all these considerations in his favor is to be added the apparently triumphant fact, that his government was popular among the natives of india, and that his name is still remembered by them with gratitude and respect. allowing mr. hastings, however, the full advantage of these and other strong pleas in his defence, it is yet impossible, for any real lover of justice and humanity, to read the plainest and least exaggerated history of his government, [footnote: nothing can be more partial and misleading than the coloring given to these transactions by mr. nicholls and other apologists of hastings. for the view which i have myself taken of the whole case i am chiefly indebted to the able history of british india by mr. mill--whose industrious research and clear analytical statements make him the most valuable authority that can be consulted on the subject. the mood of mind in which mr. nicholls listened to the proceedings of the impeachment may be judged from the following declaration, which he has had the courage to promulgate to the public:--"on this charge (the begum charge) mr. sheridan made a speech, which both sides of the house professed greatly to admire--for mr. pitt now openly approved of the impeachment. _i will acknowledge, that i did not admire this speech of mr. sheridan."_] without feeling deep indignation excited at almost every page of it. his predecessors had, it is true, been guilty of wrongs as glaring--the treachery of lord clive to omichund in , and the abandonment of ramnarain to meer causim under the administration of mr. vansittart, are stains upon the british character which no talents or glory can do away. there are precedents, indeed, to be found, through the annals of our indian empire, for the formation of the most perfect code of tyranny, in every department, legislative, judicial, and executive, that ever entered into the dreams of intoxicated power. but, while the practice of mr. hastings was, at least, as tyrannical as that of his predecessors, the principles upon which he founded that practice were still more odious and unpardonable. in his manner, indeed, of defending himself he is his own worst accuser--as there is no outrage of power, no violation of faith, that might not be justified by the versatile and ambidextrous doctrines, the lessons of deceit and rules of rapine, which he so ably illustrated by his measures, and has so shamelessly recorded with his pen. nothing but an early and deep initiation in the corrupting school of indian politics could have produced the facility with which, as occasion required, he could belie his own recorded assertions, turn hostilely round upon his own expressed opinions, disclaim the proxies which he himself had delegated, and, in short, get rid of all the inconveniences of personal identity, by never acknowledging himself to be bound by any engagement or opinion which himself had formed. to select the worst features of his administration is no very easy task; but the calculating cruelty with which he abetted the extermination of the rohillas--his unjust and precipitate execution of nuncomar, who had stood forth as his accuser, and, therefore, became his victim,--his violent aggression upon the raja of benares, and that combination of public and private rapacity, which is exhibited in the details of his conduct to the royal family of oude;--these are acts, proved by the testimony of himself and his accomplices, from the disgrace of which no formal acquittal upon points of law can absolve him, and whose guilt the allowances of charity may extenuate, but never can remove. that the perpetrator of such deeds should have been popular among the natives of india only proves how low was the standard of justice, to which the entire tenor of our policy had accustomed them;--but that a ruler of this character should be held up to admiration in england, is one of those anomalies with which england, more than any other nation, abounds, and only inclines us to wonder that the true worship of liberty should so long have continued to flourish in a country, where such heresies to her sacred cause are found. i have dwelt so long upon the circumstances and nature of this trial, not only on account of the conspicuous place which it occupies in the fore-ground of mr. sheridan's life, but because of that general interest which an observer of our institutions must take in it, from the clearness with which it brought into view some of their best and worst features. while, on one side, we perceive the weight of the popular scale, in the lead taken, upon an occasion of such solemnity and importance, by two persons brought forward from the middle ranks of society into the very van of political distinction and influence, on the other hand, in the sympathy and favor extended by the court to the practical assertor of despotic principles, we trace the prevalence of that feeling, which, since the commencement of the late king's reign, has made the throne the rallying point of all that are unfriendly to the cause of freedom. again, in considering the conduct of the crown lawyers during the trial--the narrow and irrational rules of evidence which they sought to establish--the unconstitutional control assumed by the judges, over the decisions of the tribunal before which the cause was tried, and the refusal to communicate the reasons upon which those decisions were founded--above all, too, the legal opinions expressed on the great question relative to the abatement of an impeachment by dissolution, in which almost the whole body of lawyers [footnote: among the rest, lord erskine, who allowed his profession, on this occasion, to stand in the light of his judgment. "as to a nisi-prius lawyer (said burke) giving an opinion on the duration of an impeachment--as well might a rabbit, that breeds six times a year, pretend to know any thing of the gestation of an elephant."] took the wrong, the pedantic, and the unstatesmanlike side of the question,--while in all these indications of the spirit of that profession, and of its propensity to tie down the giant truth, with its small threads of technicality and precedent, we perceive the danger to be apprehended from the interference of such a spirit in politics, on the other side, arrayed against these petty tactics of the forum, we see the broad banner of constitutional law, upheld alike by a fox and a pitt, a sheridan and a dundas, and find truth and good sense taking refuge from the equivocations of lawyers, in such consoling documents as the report upon the abuses of the trial by burke--a document which, if ever a reform of the english law should be attempted, will stand as a great guiding light to the adventurers in that heroic enterprise. it has been frequently asserted, that on the evening of mr. sheridan's grand display in the house of commons, the school for scandal and the duenna were acted at covent garden and drury lane, and thus three great audiences were at the same moment amused, agitated, and, as it were, wielded by the intellect of one man. as this triple triumph of talent--this manifestation of the power of genius to multiply itself, like an indian god--was, in the instance of sheridan, not only possible, but within the scope of a very easy arrangement, it is to be lamented that no such coincidence did actually take place, and that the ability to have achieved the miracle is all that can be with truth attributed to him. from a careful examination of the play-bills of the different theatres during this period, i have ascertained, with regret, that neither on the evening of the speech in the house of commons, nor on any of the days of the oration in westminster hall, was there, either at covent-garden, drury-lane, or haymarket theatres, any piece whatever of mr. sheridan's acted. the following passages of a letter from miss sheridan to her sister in ireland, written while on a visit with her brother in london, though referring to a later period of the trial, may without impropriety be inserted here:-- "just as i received your letter yesterday, i was setting out for the trial with mrs. crewe and mrs. dixon. i was fortunate in my day, as i heard all the principal speakers--mr. burke i admired the least--mr. fox very much indeed. the subject in itself was not particularly interesting, as the debate turned merely on a point of law, but the earnestness of his manner and the amazing precision with which he conveys his ideas is truly delightful. and last, not least, i heard my brother! i cannot express to you the sensation of pleasure and pride that filled my heart at the moment he rose. had i never seen him or heard his name before, i should have conceived him the first man among them at once. there is a dignity and grace in his countenance and deportment, very striking--at the same time that one cannot trace the smallest degree of conscious superiority in his manner. his voice, too, appeared to me extremely fine. the speech itself was not much calculated to display the talents of an orator, as of course it related only to dry matter. you may suppose i am not so lavish of praises before indifferent persons, but i am sure you will acquit me of partiality in what i have said. when they left the hall we walked about some time, and were joined by several of the managers--among the rest by mr. burke, whom we set down at his own house. they seem now to have better hopes of the business than they have had for some time; as the point urged with so much force and apparent success relates to very material evidence which the lords have refused to hear, but which, once produced, must prove strongly against mr. hastings; and, from what passed yesterday, they think their lordships must yield.--we sat in the king's box," &c. chapter ii. death of mr. sheridan's father.--verses by mrs. sheridan on the death of her sister, mrs. tickell. in the summer of this year the father of mr. sheridan died. he had been recommended to try the air of lisbon for his health, and had left dublin for that purpose, accompanied by his younger daughter. but the rapid increase of his malady prevented him from proceeding farther than margate, where he died about the beginning of august, attended in his last moments by his son richard. we have seen with what harshness, to use no stronger term, mr. sheridan was for many years treated by his father, and how persevering and affectionate were the efforts, in spite of many capricious repulses, that he made to be restored to forgiveness and favor. in his happiest moments, both of love and fame, the thought of being excluded from the paternal roof came across him with a chill that seemed to sadden all his triumph. [footnote: see the letter written by him immediately after his marriage, vol. i. page , and the anecdote in page , same vol.] when it is considered, too, that the father, to whom he felt thus amiably, had never distinguished him by any particular kindness but, on the contrary, had always shown a marked preference for the disposition and abilities of his brother charles--it is impossible not to acknowledge, in such true filial affection, a proof that talent was not the only ornament of sheridan, and that, however unfavorable to moral culture was the life that he led, nature, in forming his mind, had implanted there virtue, as well as genius. of the tender attention which he paid to his father on his death-bed, i am enabled to lay before the reader no less a testimony than the letters written at the time by miss sheridan, who, as i have already said, accompanied the old gentleman from ireland, and now shared with her brother the task of comforting his last moments. and here,--it is difficult even for contempt to keep down the indignation, that one cannot but feel at those slanderers, under the name of biographers, who calling in malice to the aid of their ignorance, have not scrupled to assert that the father of sheridan died unattended by any of his nearest relatives!--such are ever the marks that dulness leaves behind, in its gothic irruptions into the sanctuary of departed genius--defacing what it cannot understand, polluting what it has not the soul to reverence, and taking revenge for its own darkness, by the wanton profanation of all that is sacred in the eyes of others. immediately on the death of their father, sheridan removed his sister to deepden--a seat of the duke of norfolk in surrey, which his grace had lately lent him--and then returned, himself, to margate, to pay the last tribute to his father's remains. the letters of miss sheridan are addressed to her elder sister in ireland, and the first which i shall give entire, was written a day or two after her arrival at deepden. "my dear love, "_dibden, august ._ "though you have ever been uppermost in my thoughts, yet it has not been in my power to write since the few lines i sent from margate. i hope this will find you, in some degree, recovered from the shock you must have experienced from the late melancholy event. i trust to your own piety and the tenderness of your worthy husband, for procuring you such a degree of calmness of mind as may secure your health from injury. in the midst of what i have suffered i have been thankful that you did not share a scene of distress which you could not have relieved. i have supported myself, but i am sure, had we been together, we should have suffered more. "with regard to my brother's kindness, i can scarcely express to you how great it has been. he saw my father while he was still sensible, and never quitted him till the awful moment was past--i will not now dwell on particulars. my mind is not sufficiently recovered to enter on the subject, and you could only be distressed by it. he returns soon to margate to pay the last duties in the manner desired by my father. his feelings have been severely tried, and earnestly i pray he may not suffer from that cause, or from the fatigue he has endured. his tenderness to me i never can forget. i had so little claim on him, that i still feel a degree of surprise mixed with my gratitude. mrs. sheridan's reception of me was truly affectionate. they leave me to myself now as much as i please, as i had gone through so much fatigue of body and mind that i require some rest. i have not, as you may suppose, looked much beyond the present hour, but i begin to be more composed. i could now enjoy your society, and i wish for it hourly. i should think i may hope to see you sooner in england than you had intended; but you will write to me very soon, and let me know everything that concerns you. i know not whether you will feel like me a melancholy pleasure in the reflection that my father received the last kind offices from my brother richard, [footnote: in a letter, from which i have given an extract in the early part of this volume, written by the elder sister of sheridan a short time after his death, in referring to the differences that existed between him and his father, she says--"and yet it was that son, and not the object of his partial fondness, who at last closed his eyes." it generally happens that the injustice of such partialities is revenged by the ingratitude of those who are the objects of them; and the present instance, as there is but too much reason to believe, was not altogether an exception to the remark.] whose conduct on this occasion must convince every one of the goodness of his heart and the truth of his filial affection. one more reflection of consolation is, that nothing was omitted that could have prolonged his life or eased his latter hours. god bless and preserve you, my dear love. i shall soon write more to you, but shall for a short time suspend my journal, as still too many painful thoughts will crowd upon me to suffer me to regain such a frame of mind as i should wish when i write to you. "ever affectionately your "e. sheridan." in another letter, dated a few days after, she gives an account of the domestic life of mrs. sheridan, which, like everything that is related of that most interesting woman, excites a feeling towards her memory, little short of love. "my dear love, "_dibden, friday, ._ "i shall endeavor to resume my journal, though my anxiety to hear from you occupies my mind in a way that unfits me for writing. i have been here almost a week in perfect quiet. while there was company in the house, i stayed in my room, and since my brother's leaving us to go to margate, i have sat at times with mrs. sheridan, who is kind and considerate; so that i have entire liberty. her poor sister's [footnote: mrs. tickell.] children are all with her. the girl gives her constant employment, and seems to profit by being under so good an instructor. their father was here for some days, but i did not see him. last night mrs. s. showed me a picture of mrs. tickell, which she wears round her neck. the thing was misrepresented to you;--it was not done after her death, but a short time before it. the sketch was taken while she slept, by a painter at bristol. this mrs. sheridan got copied by cosway, who has softened down the traces of illness in such a way that the picture conveys no gloomy idea. it represents her in a sweet sleep; which must have been soothing to her friend, after seeing her for a length of time in a state of constant suffering. "my brother left us wednesday morning, and we do not expect him to return for some days. he meant only to stay at margate long enough to attend the last melancholy office, which it was my poor father's express desire should be performed in whatever parish he died. * * * * * "_sunday_. "dick is still in town, and we do not expect him for some time. mrs. sheridan seems now quite reconciled to these little absences, which she knows are unavoidable. i never saw any one so constant in employing every moment of her time, and to that i attribute, in a great measure, the recovery of her health and spirits. the education of her niece, her music, books, and work, occupy every minute of the day. after dinner, the children, who call her "mamma-aunt," spend some time with us, and her manner to them is truly delightful. the girl, you know, is the eldest. the eldest boy is about five years old, very like his father, but extremely gentle in his manners. the youngest is past three. the whole set then retire to the music-room. as yet i cannot enjoy their parties;--a song from mrs. sheridan affected me last night in a most painful manner. i shall not try the experiment soon again. mrs. s. blamed herself for putting me to the trial, and, after tea, got a book, which she read to us till supper. this, i find, is the general way of passing the evening. "they are now at their music, and i have retired to add a few lines. this day has been more gloomy than we have been for some days past;--it is the first day of our getting into mourning. all the servants in deep mourning made a melancholy appearance, and i found it very difficult to sit out the dinner. but as i have dined below since there has been only mrs. sheridan and miss linley here, i would not suffer a circumstance, to which i must accustom myself, to break in on their comfort." these children, to whom mrs. sheridan thus wholly devoted herself, and continued to do so for the remainder of her life, had lost their mother, mrs. tickell, in the year , by the same complaint that afterwards proved fatal to their aunt. the passionate attachment of mrs. sheridan to this sister, and the deep grief with which she mourned her loss, are expressed in a poem of her own so touchingly, that, to those who love the language of real feeling, i need not apologize for their introduction here. poetry, in general, is but a cold interpreter of sorrow; and the more it displays its skill, as an art, the less is it likely to do justice to nature. in writing these verses, however, the workmanship was forgotten in the subject; and the critic, to feel them as he ought, should forget his own craft in reading them. "_written in the spring of the year ._ "the hours and days pass on;--sweet spring returns, and whispers comfort to the heart that mourns: but not to mine, whose dear and cherish'd grief asks for indulgence, but ne'er hopes relief. for, ah, can changing seasons e'er restore the lov'd companion i must still deplore? shall all the wisdom of the world combin'd erase thy image, mary, from my mind, or bid me hope from others to receive the fond affection thou alone could'st give? ah, no, my best belov'd, thou still shalt be my friend, my sister, all the world to me. "with tender woe sad memory woos back time, and paints the scenes when youth was in its prime; the craggy hill, where rocks, with wild flow'rs crown'd, burst from the hazle copse or verdant ground; where sportive nature every form assumes, and, gaily lavish, wastes a thousand blooms; where oft we heard the echoing hills repeat our untaught strains and rural ditties sweet, till purpling clouds proclaimed the closing day, while distant streams detain'd the parting ray. then on some mossy stone we'd sit us down, and watch the changing sky and shadows brown, that swiftly glided o'er the mead below, or in some fancied form descended slow. how oft, well pleas'd each other to adorn, we stripped the blossoms from the fragrant thorn, or caught the violet where, in humble bed, asham'd its own sweets it hung its head. but, oh, what rapture mary's eyes would speak, through her dark hair how rosy glow'd her cheek, if, in her playful search, she saw appear the first-blown cowslip of the opening year. thy gales, oh spring, then whisper'd life and joy;-- now mem'ry wakes thy pleasures to destroy, and all thy beauties serve but to renew regrets too keen for reason to subdue. ah me! while tender recollections rise, the ready tears obscure my sadden'd eyes, and, while surrounding objects they conceal, _her_ form belov'd the trembling drops reveal. "sometimes the lovely, blooming girl i view. my youth's companion, friend for ever true, whose looks, the sweet expressions of her heart so gaily innocent, so void of art, with soft attraction whisper'd blessings drew from all who stopp'd, her beauteous face to view. then in the dear domestic scene i mourn, and weep past pleasures never to return! there, where each gentle virtue lov'd to rest. in the pure mansion of my mary's breast, the days of social happiness are o'er, the voice of harmony is heard no more; no more her graceful tenderness shall prove the wife's fond duty or the parent's love. those eyes, which brighten'd with maternal pride, as her sweet infants wanton'd by her side, 'twas my sad fate to see for ever close on life, on love, the world, and all its woes; to watch the slow disease, with hopeless care, and veil in painful smiles my heart's despair; to see her droop, with restless languor weak, while fatal beauty mantled in her cheek, like fresh flow'rs springing from some mouldering clay, cherish'd by death, and blooming from decay. yet, tho' oppress'd by ever-varying pain, the gentle sufferer scarcely would complain, hid every sigh, each trembling doubt reprov'd, to spare a pang to those fond hearts she lov'd. and often, in short intervals of ease, her kind and cheerful spirit strove to please; whilst we, alas, unable to refuse the sad delight we were so soon to lose, treasur'd each word, each kind expression claim'd,-- ''twas me she look'd at,'--'it was me she nam'd.' thus fondly soothing grief, too great to bear, with mournful eagerness and jealous care. "but soon, alas, from hearts with sorrow worn e'en this last comfort was for ever torn: that mind, the seat of wisdom, genius, taste. the cruel hand of sickness now laid waste; subdued with pain, it shar'd the common lot. all, all its lovely energies forgot! the husband, parent, sister, knelt in vain, one recollecting look alone to gain: the shades of night her beaming eyes obscur'd, and nature, vanquished, no sharp pain endur'd; calm and serene--till the last trembling breath wafted an angel from the bed of death! "oh, if the soul, releas'd from mortal cares, views the sad scene, the voice of mourning hears, then, dearest saint, didst thou thy heav'n forego, lingering on earth in pity to our woe. 'twas thy kind influence sooth'd our minds to peace. and bade our vain and selfish murmurs cease; 'twas thy soft smile, that gave the worshipp'd clay of thy bright essence one celestial ray, making e'en death so beautiful, that we, gazing on it, forgot our misery. then--pleasing thought!--ere to the realms of light thy franchis'd spirit took its happy flight, with fond regard, perhaps, thou saw'st me bend o'er the cold relics of my heart's best friend, and heard'st me swear, while her dear hand i prest. and tears of agony bedew'd my breast, for her lov'd sake to act the mother's part, and take her darling infants to my heart, with tenderest care their youthful minds improve, and guard her treasure with protecting love. once more look down, blest creature, and behold these arms the precious innocence enfold; assist my erring nature to fulfil the sacred trust, and ward off every ill! and, oh, let _her_, who is my dearest care, thy blest regard and heavenly influence share; teach me to form her pure and artless mind, like thine, as true, as innocent, as kind,-- that when some future day my hopes shall bless, and every voice her virtue shall confess, when my fond heart delighted hears her praise, as with unconscious loveliness she strays, 'such,' let me say, with tears of joy the while, 'such was the softness of my mary's smile; such was _her_ youth, so blithe, so rosy sweet, and such _her_ mind, unpractis'd in deceit; with artless elegance, unstudied grace, thus did _she_ gain in every heart a place!' "then, while the dear remembrance i behold, time shall steal on, nor tell me i am old, till, nature wearied, each fond duty o'er, i join my angel friend--to part no more!" to the conduct of mr. sheridan, during the last moments of his father, a further testimony has been kindly communicated to me by mr. jarvis, a medical gentleman of margate, who attended mr. thomas sheridan on that occasion, and whose interesting communication i shall here give in his own words:-- "on the th of august, , i was first called on to visit mr. sheridan, who was then fast declining at his lodgings in this place, where he was in the care of his daughter. on the next day mr. r. b. sheridan arrived here from town, having brought with him dr. morris, of parliament street. i was in the bedroom with mr. sheridan when the son arrived, and witnessed an interview in which the father showed himself to be strongly impressed by his son's attention, saying with considerable emotion, 'oh dick, i give you a great deal of trouble!' and seeming to imply by his manner, that his son had been less to blame than himself, for any previous want of cordiality between them. "on my making my last call for the evening, mr. r. b. sheridan, with delicacy, but much earnestness, expressed his fear that the nurse in attendance on his father, might not be so competent as myself to the requisite attentions, and his hope that i would consent to remain in the room for a few of the first hours of the night; as he himself, having been travelling the preceding night, required some short repose. i complied with his request, and remained at the father's bed-side till relieved by the son, about three o'clock in the morning:--he then insisted on taking my place. from this time he never quitted the house till his father's death; on the day after which he wrote me a letter, now before me, of which the annexed is an exact copy: 'sir, '_friday morning_, 'i wished to see you this morning before i went, to thank you for your attention and trouble. you will be so good to give the account to mr. thompson, who will settle it; and i must further beg your acceptance of the inclosed from myself. 'i am, sir, 'your obedient servant, 'r. b. sheridan. 'i have explained to dr. morris (who has informed me that you will recommend a proper person), that it is my desire to have the hearse, and the manner of coming to town, as respectful as possible.' "the inclosure, referred to in this letter, was a bank-note of ten pounds,--a most liberal remuneration. mr. r. b. sheridan left margate, intending that his father should be buried in london; but he there ascertained that it had been his father's expressed wish that he should be buried in the parish next to that in which he should happen to die. he then, consequently, returned to margate, accompanied by his brother-in-law, mr. tickell, with whom and mr. thompson and myself, he followed his father's remains to the burial-place, which was not in margate church-yard, but in the north aisle of the church of st. peter's." mr. jarvis, the writer of the letter from which i have given this extract, had once, as he informs me, the intention of having a cenotaph raised, to the memory of mr. sheridan's father, in the church of margate. [footnote: though this idea was relinquished, it appears that a friend of mr. jarvis, with a zeal for the memory of talent highly honorable to him, has recently caused a monument to mr. thomas sheridan to be raised in the church of st. peter.] with this view he applied to dr. parr for an inscription, and the following is the tribute to his old friend with which that learned and kind-hearted man supplied him:-- "this monument, a. d. , was, by subscription, erected to the memory of thomas sheridan, esq., who died in the neighboring parish of st. john, august , , in the th year of his age, and, according to his own request, was there buried. he was grandson to dr. thomas sheridan, the brother of dr. william, a conscientious non-juror, who, in , was deprived of the bishopric of kilmore. he was the son of dr. thomas sheridan, a profound scholar and eminent schoolmaster, intimately connected with dean swift and other illustrious writers in the reign of queen anne. he was husband to the ingenious and amiable author of sidney biddulph and several dramatic pieces favorably received. he was father of the celebrated orator and dramatist, richard brinsley sheridan. he had been the schoolfellow, and, through life, was the companion, of the amiable archbishop markham. he was the friend of the learned dr. sumner, master of harrow school, and the well-known dr. parr. he took his first academical degree in the university of dublin, about . he was honored by the university of oxford with the degree of a. m. in , and in he obtained the same distinction at cambridge. he, for many years, presided over the theatre of dublin; and, at drury lane, he in public estimation stood next to david garrick. in the literary world he was distinguished by numerous and useful writings on the pronunciation of the english language. through some of his opinions ran a vein of singularity, mingled with the rich ore of genius. in his manners there was dignified ease;--in his spirit, invincible firmness;--and in his habits and principles, unsullied integrity." chapter iii. illness of the king.--regency.--private life of mr. sheridan. mr. sheridan had assuredly no reason to complain of any deficiency of excitement in the new career to which he now devoted himself. a succession of great questions, both foreign and domestic, came, one after the other, like the waves described by the poet;-- "and one no sooner touched the shore, and died, than a new follower rose, and swell'd as proudly." scarcely had the impulse, which his own genius had given to the prosecution of hastings, begun to abate, when the indisposition of the king opened another field, not only for the display of all his various powers, but for the fondest speculations of his interest and ambition. the robust health and temperate habits of the monarch, while they held out the temptation of a long lease of power, to those who either enjoyed or were inclined to speculate in his favor, gave proportionally the grace of disinterestedness to the followers of an heir-apparent, whose means of rewarding their devotion were, from the same causes, uncertain and remote. the alarming illness of the monarch, however, gave a new turn to the prospect:--hope was now seen, like the winged victory of the ancients, to change sides; and both the expectations of those who looked forward to the reign of the prince, as the great and happy millennium of whiggism, and the apprehensions of the far greater number, to whom the morals of his royal highness and his friends were not less formidable than their politics, seemed now on the very eve of being realized. on the first meeting of parliament, after the illness of his majesty was known, it was resolved, from considerations of delicacy, that the house should adjourn for a fortnight; at the end of which period it was expected that another short adjournment would be proposed by the minister. in this interval, the following judicious letter was addressed to the prince of wales by mr. sheridan:-- "sir, "prom the intelligence of to-day we are led to think that pitt will make something more of a speech, in moving to adjourn on thursday, than was at first imagined. in this case we presume your royal highness will be of opinion that we must not be wholly silent. i possessed payne yesterday with my sentiments on the line of conduct which appeared to me best to be adopted on this occasion, that they might be submitted to your royal highness's consideration; and i take the liberty of repeating my firm conviction, that it will greatly advance your royal highness's credit, and, in case of events, lay the strongest grounds to baffle every attempt at opposition to your royal highness's just claims and right, that the language of those who may be, in any sort, suspected of knowing your royal highness's wishes and feelings, should be that of great moderation in disclaiming all party views, and avowing the utmost readiness to acquiesce in any reasonable delay. at the same time, i am perfectly aware of the arts which will be practised, and the advantages which some people will attempt to gain by time: but i am equally convinced that we should advance their evil views by showing the least impatience or suspicion at present; and i am also convinced that a third party will soon appear, whose efforts may, in the most decisive manner, prevent this sort of situation and proceeding from continuing long. payne will probably have submitted to your royal highness more fully my idea on this subject, towards which i have already taken some successful steps. [footnote: this must allude to the negotiation with lord thurlow.] your royal highness will, i am sure, have the goodness to pardon the freedom with which i give my opinion;--after which i have only to add, that whatever your royal highness's judgment decides, shall be the guide of my conduct, and will undoubtedly be so to others." captain (afterwards admiral) payne, of whom mention is made in this letter, held the situation of comptroller of the household of the prince of wales, and was in attendance upon his royal highness, during the early part of the king's illness, at windsor. the following letters, addressed by him to mr. sheridan at this period, contain some curious particulars, both with respect to the royal patient himself, and the feelings of those about him, which, however secret and confidential they were at the time, may now, without scruple, be made matters of history:-- "my dear sheridan, "_half past ten at night_. "i arrived here about three quarters of an hour after pitt had left it. i inclose you the copy of a letter the prince has just written to the chancellor, and sent by express, which will give you the outline of the conversation with the prince, as well as the situation of the king's health. i think it an advisable measure, [footnote: meaning, the communication to the chancellor] as it is a sword that cuts both ways, without being unfit to be shown to whom he pleases,--but which he will, i think, understand best himself. pitt desired the longest delay that could be granted with propriety, previous to the declaration of the present calamity. the duke of york, who is looking over me, and is just come out of the king's room, bids me add that his majesty's situation is every moment becoming worse. his pulse is weaker and weaker; and the doctors say it is impossible to survive it long, if his situation does not take some _extraordinary_ change in a few hours. "so far i had got when your servant came, meaning to send this by the express that carried the chancellor's letter; in addition to which, the prince has desired doctor warren to write an account to him, which he is now doing. his letter says, if an amendment does not take place in twenty-four hours, it is impossible for the king to support it:--he adds to me, he will answer for his never living to be declared a lunatic. i say all this to you in confidence, (though i will not answer for being intelligible,) as it goes by your own servant; but i need not add, your own discretion will remind you how necessary it is that neither my name nor those i use should be quoted even to many of our best friends, whose repetition, without any ill intention, might frustrate views they do not see. "with respect to the papers, the prince thinks you had better leave them to themselves, as we cannot authorize any report, nor can he contradict the worst; a few hours must, every individual says, terminate our suspense, and, therefore, all precaution must be needless:--however, do what you think best. his royal highness would write to you himself; the agitation he is in will not permit it. since this letter was begun, all articulation even seems to be at an end with the poor king: but for the two hours preceding, he was in a most determined frenzy. in short, i am myself in so violent a state of agitation, from participating in the feelings of those about me, that if i am intelligible to you, 'tis more than i am to myself. cataplasms are on his majesty's feet, and strong fomentations have been used without effect: but let me quit so painful a subject. the prince was much pleased with my conversation with lord loughborough, to whom i do not write, as i conceive 'tis the same, writing to you. "the archbishop has written a very handsome letter, expressive of his duty and offer of service; but he is not required to come down, it being thought too late. "good night.--i will write upon every occasion that information may be useful. "ever yours, most sincerely, "j. w. payne. "i have been much pleased with the _duke's_ zeal since my return, especially in this communication to you." "dear sheridan, "_twelve o'clock, noon._ "the king last night about twelve o'clock, being then in a situation he could not long have survived, by the effect of james's powder, had a profuse stool, after which a strong perspiration appeared, and he fell into a profound sleep. we were in hopes this was the crisis of his disorder, although the doctors were fearful it was so only with respect to one part of his disorder. however, these hopes continued not above an hour, when he awoke, with a well-conditioned skin, no extraordinary degree of fever, but with the exact state he was in before, with all the gestures and ravings of the most confirmed maniac, and a new noise, in imitation of the howling of a dog; in this situation he was this morning at one o'clock, when we came to bed. the duke of york, who has been twice in my room in the course of the night, immediately from the king's apartment, says there has not been one moment of lucid interval during the whole night,--which, i must observe to you, is the concurring, as well as _fatal_ testimony of all about him, from the first moment of his majesty's confinement. the doctors have since had their consultation, and find his majesty calmer, and his pulse tolerably good and much reduced, but the most decided symptoms of insanity. his theme has been all this day on the subject of religion, and of his being inspired, from which his physicians draw the worst consequences, as to any hopes of amendment. in this situation his majesty remains at the present moment, which i give you at length, to prevent your giving credit to the thousand ridiculous reports that we hear, even upon the spot. truth is not easily got at in palaces, and so i find here; and time only slowly brings it to one's knowledge. one hears a little bit every day from somebody, that has been reserved with great costiveness, or purposely forgotten; and by all such accounts i find that the present distemper has been very palpable for some time past, previous to any confinement from sickness; and so apprehensive have the people about him been of giving offence by interruption, that the two days (viz. yesterday se'nnight and the monday following) that he was five hours each on horseback, he was in a confirmed frenzy. on the monday at his return he burst out into tears to the duke of york, and said, 'he wished to god he might die, i for he was going to be mad;' and the queen, who sent to dr. warren, on his arrival, privately communicated her knowledge of his situation for some time past, and the melancholy event as it stood exposed. i am prolix upon all these different reports, that you may be completely master of the subject as it stands, and which i shall continue to advertise you of in all its variations. warren, who is the living principle in this business, (for poor baker is half crazed himself,) and who i see every half hour, is extremely attentive to the king's disorder. the various fluctuations of his ravings, as well as general situation of his health, are accurately written down throughout the day, and this we have got signed by the physician every day, and all proper inquiry invited; for i think it necessary to do every thing that may prevent their making use hereafter of any thing like jealousy, suspicion, or mystery, to create public distrust; and, therefore, the best and most unequivocal means of satisfaction shall be always attended to. "_five o'clock, p.m._ "so far i had proceeded when i was, on some business of importance, obliged to break off till now; and, on my return, found your letter;--i need not, i hope, say your confidence is as safe as if it was returned to your own mind, and your advice will always be thankfully adopted. the event we looked for last night is postponed, perhaps for a short time, so that, at least, we shall have time to consider more maturely. the doctors told pitt they would beg not to be obliged to make their declaration for a fortnight as to the incurability of the king's mind, and not to be surprised if, at the expiration of that time, they should ask more time; but that they were perfectly ready to declare now for the furtherance of public business, that he is now insane; that it appears to be unconnected with any other disease of his body, and that they have tried all their skill without effect, and that to the _disease they at present see no end in their contemplation:_--these are their own words, which is all that can be implied in an absolute declaration,--for infallibility cannot be ascribed to them. "should not something be done about the public amusements? if it was represented to pitt, it might embarrass them either way; particularly as it might call for a public account every day. i think the chancellor might take a good opportunity to break with his colleagues, if they propose restriction, the law authority would have great weight with us, as well as preventing even a design of moving the city;--at all events, i think parliament would not confirm their opinion. if pitt stirs much, i think any attempt to _grasp at power_ might be fatal to his interest, at least, well turned against it. "the prince has sent for me directly, so i'll send this now, and write again." in the words, "i think the chancellor might take a good opportunity to break with his colleagues," the writer alludes to a negotiation which sheridan had entered into with lord thurlow, and by which it was expected that the co-operation of that learned lord might be secured, in consideration of his being allowed to retain the office of chancellor under the regency. lord thurlow was one of those persons who, being taken by the world at their own estimate of themselves, contrive to pass upon the times in which they live for much more than they are worth. his bluntness gained him credit for superior honesty, and the same peculiarity of exterior gave a weight, not their own, to his talents; the roughness of the diamond being, by a very common mistake, made the measure of its value. the negotiation for his alliance on this occasion was managed, if not first suggested, by sheridan; and mr. fox, on his arrival from the continent, (having been sent for express upon the first announcement of the king's illness,) found considerable progress already made in the preliminaries of this heterogeneous compact. the following letter from admiral payne, written immediately after the return of mr. fox, contains some further allusions to the negotiations with the chancellor:-- "my dear sheridan, "i am this moment returned with the prince from riding, and heard, with great pleasure, of charles fox's arrival; on which account, he says, i must go to town to-morrow, when i hope to meet you at his house some time before dinner. the prince is to see the chancellor to-morrow, and therefore he wishes i should be able to carry to town the result of this interview, or i would set off immediately. due deference is had to our _former opinion_ upon this subject, and no courtship will be practised; for the chief object in the visit is to show him the king, who has been worse the two last days than ever: this morning he made an effort to jump out of the window, and is now very turbulent and incoherent. sir g. baker went yesterday to give pitt a little specimen of his loquacity, in his discovery of some material state-secrets, at which he looked astonished. the physicians wish him to be removed to kew; on which we shall proceed as we settled. have you heard any thing of the foreign ministers respecting what the p. said at bagshot? the frenchman has been here two days running, but has not seen the prince. he sat with me half an hour this morning, and seemed much disposed to confer a little closely. he was all admiration and friendship for the prince, and said he was sure _every body_ would unite to give vigor to his government. "to-morrow you shall hear particulars; in the mean time i can only add i have none of the apprehensions contained in lord l.'s letter. i have had correspondence enough myself on this subject to convince me of the impossibility of the ministry managing the present parliament by any contrivance hostile to the prince. dinner is on table; so adieu; and be assured of the truth and sincerity of "yours affectionately, "_windsor, monday, o'clock, p. m._ "j. w. p. "i have just got rodney's proxy sent." the situation in which mr. fox was placed by the treaty thus commenced, before his arrival, with the chancellor, was not a little embarrassing. in addition to the distaste which he must have felt for such a union, he had been already, it appears, in some degree pledged to bestow the great seal, in the event of a change, upon lord loughborough. finding, however, the prince and his party so far committed in the negotiation with lord thurlow, he thought it expedient, however contrary to his own wishes, to accede to their views; and a letter, addressed by him to mr. sheridan on the occasion, shows the struggle with his own feelings and opinions, which this concession cost him:-- "dear sheridan, "i have swallowed the pill,--a most bitter one it was,--and have written to lord loughborough, whose answer of course must be consent. what is to be done next? should the prince himself, you, or i, or warren, be the person to speak to the chancellor? the objection to the last is, that he must probably wait for an opportunity, and that no time is to be lost. pray tell me what is to be done: i am convinced, after all, the negotiation will not succeed, and am not sure that i am sorry for it. i do not remember ever feeling so uneasy about any political thing i ever did in my life. call if you can. "yours ever, "c. j. f." _sat. past ._ lord loughborough, in the mean time, with a vigilance quickened by his own personal views, kept watch on the mysterious movements of the chancellor; and, as appears by the following letter, not only saw reason to suspect duplicity himself, but took care that mr. fox and mr. sheridan should share in his distrust:-- "my dear s. "i was afraid to pursue the conversation on the circumstance of the inspection committed to the chancellor, lest the reflections that arise upon it might have made too strong an impression on some of our neighbors last night. it does indeed appear to me full of mischief, and of that sort most likely to affect the apprehensions of our best friends, (of lord john for instance,) and to increase their reluctance to take any active part. "the chancellor's object evidently is to make his way by himself, and he has managed hitherto as one very well practised in that game. his conversations, both with you and mr. fox, were encouraging, but at the same time checked all explanations on his part under a pretence of delicacy towards his colleagues. when he let them go to salthill and contrived to dine at windsor, he certainly took a step that most men would have felt not very delicate in its appearance, and unless there was some private understanding between him and them, not altogether fair; especially if you add to it the sort of conversation he held with regard to them. i cannot help thinking that the difficulties of managing the patient have been excited or improved to lead to the proposal of his inspection, (without the prince being conscious of it,) for by that situation he gains an easy and frequent access to him, and an opportunity of possessing the confidence of the queen. i believe this the more from the account of the tenderness he showed at his first interview, for i am sure, it is not in his character to feel any. with a little instruction from lord hawksbury, the sort of management that was carried on by means of the princess-dowager, in the early part of the reign, may easily be practised. in short, i think he will try to find the key of the back stairs, and, with that in his pocket, take any situation that preserves his access, and enables him to hold a line between different parties. in the present moment, however, he has taken a position that puts the command of the house of lords in his hands, for * * * * * * *. [footnote: the remainder of this sentence is effaced by damp] "i wish mr. fox and you would give these considerations what weight you think they deserve, and try if any means can be taken to remedy this mischief, if it appears in the same light to you. "ever yours, &c." what were the motives that induced lord thurlow to break off so suddenly his negotiation with the prince's party, and declare himself with such vehemence on the side of the king and mr. pitt, it does not appear very easy to ascertain. possibly, from his opportunities of visiting the royal patient, he had been led to conceive sufficient hopes of recovery, to incline the balance of his speculation that way; or, perhaps, in the influence of lord loughborough [footnote: lord loughborough is supposed to have been the person who instilled into the mind of mr. fox the idea of advancing that claim of right for the prince, which gave mr. pitt, in principle as well as in fact, such an advantage over him.] over mr. fox, he saw a risk of being supplanted in his views on the great seal. whatever may have been the motive, it is certain that his negotiation with the whigs had been amicably carried on, till within a few hours of his delivery of that speech, from whose enthusiasm the public could little suspect how fresh from the incomplete bargain of defection was the speaker, and in the course of which he gave vent to the well-known declaration, that "his debt of gratitude to his majesty was ample, for the many favors he had graciously conferred upon him, which, when he forgot, might god forget him!" [footnote: "forget you!" said wildes, "he'll see you d---d first."] as it is not my desire to imitate those biographers, who swell their pages with details that belong more properly to history, i shall forbear to enter into a minute or consecutive narrative of the proceedings of parliament on the important subject of the regency. a writer of political biography has a right, no doubt, like an engineer who constructs a navigable canal, to lay every brook and spring in the neighborhood under contribution for the supply and enrichment of his work. but, to turn into it the whole contents of the annual register and parliamentary debates is a sort of literary engineering, not quite so laudable, which, after the example set by a right reverend biographer of mr. pitt, will hardly again be attempted by any one, whose ambition, at least, it is to be read as well as bought. mr. fox and mr. pitt, it is well known, differed essentially, not only with respect to the form of the proceedings, which the latter recommended in that suspension of the royal authority, but also with respect to the abstract constitutional principles, upon which those proceedings of the minister were professedly founded. as soon as the nature of the malady, with which the king was afflicted, had been ascertained by a regular examination of the physicians in attendance on his majesty, mr. pitt moved (on the th of december), that a "committee be appointed to examine and report precedents of such proceedings as may have been had, in case of the personal exercise of the royal authority being prevented or interrupted, by infancy, sickness, infirmity, or otherwise, with a view to provide for the same." [footnote: mr. burke and mr. sheridan were both members of this committee, and the following letter from the former to sheridan refers to it:-- "my dear sir, "my idea was, that on fox's declaring that the precedents, neither individually nor collectively, do at all apply, our attendance ought to have been merely formal. but as you think otherwise, i shall certainly be at the committee soon after one. i rather think, that they will not attempt to garble: because, supposing the precedents to apply, the major part are certainly in their favor. it is not likely that they mean to suppress,--but it is good to be on our guard. "ever most truly yours, &c. "edmund burke." _gerard street, thursday morning_.] it was immediately upon this motion that mr. fox advanced that inconsiderate claim of right for the prince of wales, of which his rival availed himself so dexterously and triumphantly. having asserted that there existed no precedent whatever that could bear upon the present case, mr. fox proceeded to say, that "the circumstance to be provided for did not depend upon their deliberations as a house of parliament,--it rested elsewhere. there was then a person in the kingdom, different from any other person that any existing precedents could refer to,--an heir apparent, of full age and capacity to exercise the royal power. it behoved them, therefore, to waste not a moment unnecessarily, but to proceed with all becoming speed and diligence to restore the sovereign power and the exercise of the royal authority. from what he had read of history, from the ideas he had formed of the law, and, what was still more precious, of the spirit of the constitution, from every reasoning and analogy drawn from those sources, he declared that he had not in his mind a doubt, and he should think himself culpable if he did not take the first opportunity of declaring it, that, in the present condition of his majesty, his royal highness the prince of wales had as clear, as express a right to exercise the power of sovereignty, during the continuance of the illness and incapacity, with which it had pleased god to afflict his majesty, as in the case of his majesty's having undergone a natural demise." it is said that, during the delivery of this adventurous opinion, the countenance of mr. pitt was seen to brighten with exultation at the mistake into which he perceived his adversary was hurrying; and scarcely had the sentence, just quoted, been concluded, when, slapping his thigh triumphantly, he turned to the person who sat next to him, and said, "i'll _un-whig_ the gentleman for the rest of his life!" even without this anecdote, which may be depended upon as authentic, we have sufficient evidence that such were his feelings in the burst of animation and confidence with which he instantly replied to mr. fox,--taking his ground, with an almost equal temerity, upon the directly opposite doctrine, and asserting, not only that "in the case of the interruption of the personal exercise of the royal authority, it devolved upon the other branches of the legislature to provide a substitute for that authority," but that "the prince of wales had no more right to exercise the powers of government than any other person in the realm." the truth is, the assertion of a _right_ was equally erroneous, on both sides of the question. the constitution having provided no legal remedy for such an exigence as had now occurred, the two houses of parliament had as little right (in the strict sense of the word) to supply the deficiency of the royal power, as the prince had to be the person elected or adjudged for that purpose. constitutional analogy and expediency were the only authorities by which the measures necessary in such a conjuncture could be either guided or sanctioned; and if the disputants on each side had softened down their tone to this true and practical view of the case, there would have been no material difference, in the first stage of the proceedings between them,--mr. pitt being ready to allow that the heir apparent was the obvious person to whom expediency pointed as the depository of the royal power, and mr. fox having granted, in a subsequent explanation of his doctrine, that, strong as was the right upon which the claim of the prince was founded, his royal highness could not assume that right till it had been formally adjudicated to him by parliament. the principle, however, having been imprudently broached, mr. pitt was too expert a tactician not to avail himself of the advantage it gave him. he was thus, indeed, furnished with an opportunity, not only of gaining time by an artful protraction of the discussions, but of occupying victoriously the ground of whiggism, which mr. fox had, in his impatience or precipitancy, deserted, and of thus adding to the character, which he had recently acquired, of a defender of the prerogatives of the crown, the more brilliant reputation of an assertor of the rights of the people. in the popular view which mr. pitt found it convenient to take of this question, he was led, or fell voluntarily into some glaring errors, which pervaded the whole of his reasonings on the subject. in his anxiety to prove the omnipotence of parliament, he evidently confounded the estates of the realm with the legislature, [footnote: mr. grattan and the irish parliament carried this error still farther, and founded all their proceedings on the necessity of "providing for the deficiency of the third _estate_."] and attributed to two branches of the latter such powers as are only legally possessed by the whole three in parliament assembled. for the purpose, too, of flattering the people with the notion that to them had now reverted the right of choosing their temporary sovereign, he applied a principle, which ought to be reserved for extreme cases, to an exigence by no means requiring this ultimate appeal,--the defect in the government being such as the still existing estates of the realm, appointed to speak the will of the people, but superseding any direct exercise of their power, were fully competent, as in the instance of the revolution, to remedy. [footnote: the most luminous view that has been taken of this question is to be found in an article of the edinburgh review, on the regency of ,--written by one of the most learned and able men of our day, mr. john allen.] indeed, the solemn use of such language as mr. pitt, in his over-acted whiggism, employed upon this occasion,--namely, that the "right" of appointing a substitute for the royal power was "to be found in the voice and the sense of the people,"--is applicable only to those conjunctures, brought on by misrule and oppression, when all forms are lost in the necessity of relief, and when the right of the people to change and choose their rulers is among the most sacred and inalienable that either nature or social polity has ordained. but, to apply the language of that last resource to the present emergency was to brandish the sword of goliath [footnote: a simile applied by lord somers to the power of impeachment, which, he said, "should be like goliath's sword, kept in the temple, and not used but upon great occasions."] on an occasion that by no means called for it. the question of the prince's claim,--in spite of the efforts of the prince himself and of his royal relatives to avert the agitation of it,--was, for evident reasons, forced into discussion by the minister, and decided by a majority, not only of the two houses but of the nation, in his favor. during one of the long debates to which the question gave rise, mr. sheridan allowed himself to be betrayed into some expressions, which, considering the delicate predicament in which the prince was placed by the controversy, were not marked with his usual tact and sagacity. in alluding to the claim of right advanced for his royal highness, and deprecating any further agitation of it, he "reminded the right honorable gentleman (mr. pitt) of the danger of provoking that claim to be asserted [a loud cry of hear! hear!], which, he observed, had not yet been preferred. [another cry of hear! hear!]" this was the very language that mr. pitt most wished his adversaries to assume, and, accordingly, he turned it to account with all his usual mastery and haughtiness. "he had now," he said, "an additional reason for asserting the authority of the house, and defining the boundaries of right, when the deliberative faculties of parliament were invaded, and an indecent menace thrown out to awe and influence their proceedings. in the discussion of the question, the house, he trusted, would do their duty, in spite of any threat that might be thrown out. men, who felt their native freedom, would not submit to a threat, however high the authority from which it might come." [footnote: _impartial report of all the proceedings on the subject of the regency_] the restrictions of the prerogative with which mr. pitt thought proper to encumber the transfer of the royal power to the prince, formed the second great point of discussion between the parties, and brought equally adverse principles into play. mr. fox, still maintaining his position on the side of royalty, defended it with much more tenable weapons than the question of right had enabled him to wield. so founded, indeed, in the purest principles of whiggism did he consider his opposition, on this memorable occasion, to any limitation of the prerogative in the hands of a regent, that he has, in his history of james ii., put those principles deliberately upon record, as a fundamental article in the creed of his party. the passage to which i allude occurs in his remarks upon the exclusion bill; and as it contains, in a condensed form, the spirit of what he urged on the same point in , i cannot do better than lay his own words before the reader. after expressing his opinion that, at the period of which he writes, the measure of exclusion from the monarchy altogether would have been preferable to any limitation of its powers, he proceeds to say:--"the whigs, who consider the powers of the crown as a trust for the people, a doctrine which the tories themselves, when pushed in argument, will sometimes admit, naturally think it their duty rather to change the manager of the trust than impair the subject of it; while others, who consider them as the right or property of the king, will as naturally act as they would do in the case of any other property, and consent to the loss or annihilation of any part of it, for the purpose of preserving the remainder to him, whom they style the rightful owner." further on he adds:--"the royal prerogative ought, according to the whigs, to be reduced to such powers as are in their exercise beneficial to the people; and of the benefit of these they will not rashly suffer the people to be deprived, whether the executive power be in the hands of an hereditary or of an elective king, of a regent, or of any other denomination of magistrate; while, on the other hand, they who consider prerogative with reference only to royalty will, with equal readiness, consent either to the extension or the suspension of its exercise, as the occasional interests of the prince may seem to require." taking this as a correct exposition of the doctrines of the two parties, of which mr. fox and mr. pitt may be considered to have been the representatives in the regency question of , it will strike some minds that, however the whig may flatter himself that the principle by which he is guided in such exigencies is favorable to liberty, and however the tory may, with equal sincerity, believe his suspension of the prerogative on these occasions to be advantageous to the crown, yet that in both of the principles, so defined, there is an evident tendency to produce effects, wholly different from those which the parties professing them contemplate. on the one side, to sanction from authority the notion, that there are some powers of the crown which may be safely dispensed with,--to accustom the people to an abridged exercise of the prerogative, with the risk of suggesting to their minds that its full efficacy needs not be resumed,--to set an example, in short, of reducing the kingly power, which, by its success, may invite and authorize still further encroachments,--all these are dangers to which the alleged doctrine of toryism, whenever brought into practice, exposes its idol; and more particularly in enlightened and speculative times, when the minds of men are in quest of the right and the useful, and when a superfluity of power is one of those abuses, which they are least likely to overlook or tolerate. in such seasons, the experiment of the tory might lead to all that he most deprecates, and the branches of the prerogative, once cut away, might, like the lopped boughs of the fir-tree, never grow again. on the other hand, the whig, who asserts that the royal prerogative ought to be reduced to such powers as are beneficial to the people, and yet stipulates, as an invariable principle, for the transfer of that prerogative full and unimpaired, whenever it passes into other hands, appears, even more perhaps than the tory, to throw an obstacle in the way of his own object. circumstances, it is not denied, may arise when the increase of the powers of the crown, in other ways, may render it advisable to control some of its established prerogatives. but, where are we to find a fit moment for such a reform,--or what opening will be left for it by this fastidious whig principle, which, in , could see no middle step between a change of the succession and an undiminished maintenance of the prerogative, and which, in , almost upon the heels of a declaration that "the power of the crown had increased and ought to be diminished," protested against even an experimental reduction of it! according to mr. fox, it is a distinctive characteristic of the tory, to attach more importance to the person of the king than to his office. but, assuredly, the tory is not singular in this want of political abstraction; and, in england, (from a defect, hume thinks, inherent in all limited monarchies,) the personal qualities and opinions of the sovereign have considerable influence upon the whole course of public affairs,--being felt alike in that courtly sphere around them where their attraction acts, and in that outer circle of opposition where their repulsion comes into play. to this influence, then, upon the government and the community, of which no abstraction can deprive the person of the monarch, the whig principle in question (which seems to consider entireness of prerogative as necessary to a king, as the entireness of his limbs was held to be among the athenians,) superadds the vast power, both actual and virtual, which would flow from the inviolability of the royal office, and forecloses, so far, the chance which the more pliant tory doctrine would leave open, of counteracting the effects of the king's indirect personal influence, by curtailing or weakening the grasp of some of his direct regal powers. ovid represents the deity of light (and on an occasion, too, which may be called a regency question) as crowned with movable rays, which might be put off when too strong or dazzling. but, according to this principle, the crown of prerogative must keep its rays fixed and immovable, and (as the poet expresses it) "_circa caput_ omne _micantes_." upon the whole, however high the authorities, by which this whig doctrine was enforced in , its manifest tendency, in most cases, to secure a perpetuity of superfluous powers to the crown, appears to render it unfit, at least as an invariable principle, for any party professing to have the liberty of the people for their object. the prince, in his admirable letter upon the subject of the regency to mr. pitt, was made to express the unwillingness which he felt "that in his person an experiment should be made to ascertain with how small a portion of kingly power the executive government of the country might be carried on;"--but imagination has not far to go in supposing a case, where the enormous patronage vested in the crown, and the consequent increase of a royal bias through the community, might give such an undue and unsafe preponderance to that branch of the legislature, as would render any safe opportunity, however acquired, of ascertaining with _how much less power_ the executive government could be carried on, most acceptable, in spite of any dogmas to the contrary, to all true lovers as well of the monarchy as of the people. having given thus much consideration to the opinions and principles, professed on both sides of this constitutional question, it is mortifying, after all, to be obliged to acknowledge, that, in the relative situation of the two parties at the moment, may be found perhaps the real, and but too natural, source of the decidedly opposite views which they took of the subject. mr. pitt, about to surrender the possession of power to his rival, had a very intelligible interest in reducing the value of the transfer, and (as a retreating army spike the guns they leave behind) rendering the engines of prerogative as useless as possible to his successor. mr. fox, too, had as natural a motive to oppose such a design; and, aware that the chief aim of these restrictive measures was to entail upon the whig ministry of the regent a weak government and strong opposition, would, of course, eagerly welcome the aid of any abstract principle, that might sanction him in resisting such a mutilation of the royal power;--well knowing that (as in the case of the peerage bill in the reign of george i.) the proceedings altogether were actuated more by ill-will to the successor in the trust, than by any sincere zeal for the purity of its exercise. had the situations of the two leaders been reversed, it is more than probable that their modes of thinking and acting would have been so likewise. mr. pitt, with the prospect of power before his eyes, would have been still more strenuous, perhaps, for the unbroken transmission of the prerogative--his natural leaning on the side of power being increased by his own approaching share in it. mr. fox, too, if stopped, like his rival, in a career of successful administration, and obliged to surrender up the reins of the state to tory guidance, might have found in his popular principles a still more plausible pretext, for the abridgment of power in such unconstitutional hands. he might even too, perhaps, (as his india bill warrants us in supposing) have been tempted into the same sort of alienation of the royal patronage, as that which mr. pitt now practised in the establishment of the queen, and have taken care to leave behind him a stronghold of whiggism, to facilitate the resumption of his position, whenever an opportunity might present itself. such is human nature, even in its noblest specimens, and so are the strongest spirits shaped by the mould in which chance and circumstances have placed them. mr. sheridan spoke frequently in the debates on this question, but his most important agency lay in the less public business connected with it. he was the confidential adviser of the prince throughout, directed every step he took, and was the author of most of his correspondence on the subject. there is little doubt, i think, that the celebrated and masterly letter to mr. pitt, which by some persons has been attributed to burke, and by others to sir gilbert elliot (afterwards lord minto), was principally the production of mr. sheridan. for the supposition that it was written by burke there are, besides the merits of the production, but very scanty grounds. so little was he at that period in those habits of confidence with the prince, which would entitle him to be selected for such a task in preference to sheridan, that but eight or ten days before the date of this letter (jan. .) he had declared in the house of commons, that "he knew as little of the inside of carlton house as he did of buckingham house." indeed, the violent state of this extraordinary man's temper, during the whole of the discussions and proceedings on the regency, would have rendered him, even had his intimacy with the prince been closer, an unfit person for the composition of a document, requiring so much caution, temper, and delicacy. the conjecture that sir gilbert elliot was the author of it is somewhat more plausible,--that gentleman being at this period high in the favor of the prince, and possessing talents sufficient to authorize the suspicion (which was in itself a reputation) that he had been the writer of a composition so admirable. but it seems hardly necessary to go farther, in quest of its author, than mr. sheridan, who, besides being known to have acted the part of the prince's adviser through the whole transaction, is proved by the rough copies found among his papers, to have written several other important documents connected with the regency. i may also add that an eminent statesman of the present day, who was at that period, though very young, a distinguished friend of mr. sheridan, and who has shown by the ability of his own state papers that he has not forgot the lessons of that school from which this able production emanated, remembers having heard some passages of the letter discussed in bruton-street, as if it were then in the progress of composition, and has always, i believe, been under the impression that it was principally the work of mr. sheridan. [footnote: to this authority may be added also that of the bishop of winchester, who says,--"mr. sheridan was supposed to have been materially concerned in drawing up this admirable composition."] i had written thus far on the subject of this letter--and shall leave what i have written as a memorial of the fallacy of such conjectures--when, having still some doubts of my correctness in attributing the honor of the composition to sheridan, i resolved to ask the opinion of my friend, sir james mackintosh, a person above all others qualified, by relationship of talent, to recognize and hold parley with the mighty spirit of burke, in whatever shape the "royal dane" may appear. the strong impression on his mind--amounting almost to certainty--was that no other hand but that of burke could have written the greater part of the letter; [footnote: it is amusing to observe how tastes differ;--the following is the opinion entertained of this letter by a gentleman, who, i understand, and can easily believe, is an old established reviewer. after mentioning that it was attributed to the pen of burke, he adds,--"the story, however, does not seem entitled to much credit, for the internal character of the paper is too vapid and heavy for the genius of burke, whose ardent mind would assuredly have diffused vigor into the composition, and the correctness of whose judgment would as certainly have preserved it from the charge of inelegance and grammatical deficiency."--dr. watkins, _life of sheridan_. such, in nine cases out of ten, are the periodical guides of public taste.] and by a more diligent inquiry, in which his kindness assisted me, it has been ascertained that his opinion was, as it could not fail to be, correct. the following extract from a letter written by lord minto at the time, referring obviously to the surmise that he was, himself, the author of the paper, confirms beyond a doubt the fact, that it was written almost solely by burke:-- "_january st, ._ "there was not a word of the prince's letter to pitt mine. it was originally burke's, altered a little, but not improved, by sheridan and other critics. the answer made by the prince yesterday to the address of the two houses was entirely mine, and done in a great hurry half an hour before it was to be delivered." while it is with regret i give up the claim of mr. sheridan to this fine specimen of english composition, it but adds to my intense admiration of burke--not on account of the beauty of the writing, for his fame required no such accession--but from that triumph of mind over temper which it exhibits--that forgetfulness of _self_, the true, transmigrating power of genius, which enabled him thus to pass his spirit into the station of royalty, and to assume all the calm dignity, both of style and feeling, that became it. it was to be expected that the conduct of lord thurlow at this period should draw down upon him all the bitterness of those who were in the secret of his ambidextrous policy, and who knew both his disposition to desert, and the nature of the motives that prevented him. to sheridan, in particular, such a result of a negotiation, in which he had been the principal mover and mediator, could not be otherwise than deeply mortifying. of all the various talents with which he was gifted, his dexterity in political intrigue and management was that of which he appears to have been most vain; and this vanity it was that, at a later period of his life, sometimes led him to branch off from the main body of his party, upon secret and solitary enterprises of ingenuity, which--as may be expected from all such independent movements of a partisan--generally ended in thwarting his friends and embarrassing himself. in the debate on that clause of the bill, which restricted the regent from granting places or pensions in reversion, mr. sheridan is represented as having attacked lord thurlow in terms of the most unqualified severity,--speaking of "the natural ferocity and sturdiness of his temper," and of "his brutal bluffness." but to such abuse, unseasoned by wit, mr. sheridan was not at all likely to have condescended, being well aware that, "as in smooth oil the razor best is set," so satire is whetted to its most perfect keenness by courtesy. his clumsy reporters have, in this, as in almost all other instances, misrepresented him. with equal personality, but more playfulness, mr. burke, in exposing that wretched fiction, by which the great seal was converted into the third branch of the legislature, and the assent of the king forged to a bill, in which his incapacity to give either assent or dissent was declared, thus expressed himself:--"but what is to be done when the crown is in a _deliquium_? it was intended, he had heard, to set up a man with black brows and a large wig, a kind of scare-crow to the two houses, who was to give a fictitious assent in the royal name--and this to be binding on the people at large!" the following remarkable passage, too, in a subsequent speech, is almost too well known to be cited:--"the other house," he said, "were not yet perhaps recovered from that extraordinary burst of the pathetic which had been exhibited the other evening; they had not yet dried their eyes, or been restored to their former placidity, and were unqualified to attend, to new business. the tears shed in that house on the occasion to which he alluded, were not the tears of patriots for dying laws, but of lords for their expiring places. the iron tears, which flowed down pluto's cheek, rather resembled the dismal bubbling of the styx, than the gentle murmuring streams of aganippe." while lord thurlow was thus treated by the party whom he had so nearly joined, he was but coldly welcomed back by the minister whom he had so nearly deserted. his reconciliation, too, with the latter was by no means either sincere or durable,--the renewal of friendship between politicians, on such occasions, being generally like that which the diable boiteux describes, as having taken place between himself and a brother sprite,--"we were reconciled, embraced, and have hated each other heartily ever since." in the regency, indeed, and the transactions connected with it, may be found the source of most of those misunderstandings and enmities, which broke out soon after among the eminent men of that day, and were attended with consequences so important to themselves and the country. by the difference just mentioned, between mr. pitt and lord thurlow, the ministerial arrangements of were facilitated, and the learned lord, after all his sturdy pliancy, consigned to a life of ineffectual discontent ever after. the disagreement between mr. burke and mr. fox, if not actually originating now--and its foundation had been, perhaps, laid from the beginning, in the total dissimilarity of their dispositions and sentiments--was, at least, considerably ripened and accelerated by the events of this period, and by the discontent that each of them, like partners in unsuccessful play, was known to feel at the mistakes which the other had committed in the game. mr. fox had, unquestionably, every reason to lament as well as blame the violence and virulence by which his associate had disgraced the contest. the effect, indeed, produced upon the public by the irreverent sallies of burke, and by the too evident triumph, both of hate and hope, with which he regarded the calamitous situation of the king, contributed not a little to render still lower the already low temperature of popularity at which his party stood throughout the country. it seemed as if a long course of ineffectual struggle in politics, of frustrated ambition and unrewarded talents, had at length exasperated his mind to a degree beyond endurance; and the extravagances into which he was hurried in his speeches on this question, appear to have been but the first workings of that impatience of a losing cause-- that resentment of failure, and disgust at his partners in it--which soon afterwards found such a signal opportunity of exploding. that mr. burke, upon far less grounds, was equally discontented with his co-operators in this emergency, may be collected from the following passage of a letter addressed by him in the summer of this year to lord charlemont, and given by hardy in his memoirs of that nobleman:-- "perpetual failure, even though nothing in that failure can be fixed on the improper choice of the object or the injudicious choice of means, will detract every day more and more from a man's credit, until he ends without success and without reputation. in fact, a constant pursuit even of the best objects, without adequate instruments, detracts something from the opinion of a man's judgment. this, i think, may be in part the cause of the inactivity of others of our friends who are in the vigor of life and in possession of a great degree of lead and authority. i do not blame them, though i lament that state of the public mind, in which the people can consider the exclusion of such talents and such virtues from their service, as a point gained to them. the only point in which i can find any thing to blame in these friends, is their not taking the effectual means, which they certainly had in their power, of making an honorable retreat from their prospect of power into the possession of reputation, by an effectual defence of themselves. there was an opportunity which was not made use of for that purpose, and which could scarcely have failed of turning the tables on their adversaries." another instance of the embittering influence of these transactions may be traced in their effects upon mr. burke and mr. sheridan--between whom there had arisen a degree of emulation, amounting to jealousy, which, though hitherto chiefly confined to one of the parties, received on this occasion such an addition of fuel, as spread it equally through the minds of both, and conduced, in no small degree, to the explosion that followed. both irishmen, and both adventurers in a region so much elevated above their original station, it was but natural that some such feeling should kindle between them; and that, as burke was already mid-way in his career, when sheridan was but entering the field, the stirrings, whether of emulation or envy, should first be felt by the latter. it is, indeed, said that in the ceremonial of hastings's trial, the privileges enjoyed by burke, as a privy-councillor, were regarded with evident uneasiness by his brother manager, who could not as yet boast the distinction of right honorable before his name. as soon, however, as the rapid run of sheridan's success had enabled him to overtake his veteran rival, this feeling of jealousy took possession in full force of the latter,--and the close relations of intimacy and confidence, to which sheridan was now admitted both by mr. fox and the prince, are supposed to have been not the least of those causes of irritation and disgust, by which burke was at length driven to break with the party altogether, and to show his gigantic strength at parting, by carrying away some of the strongest pillars of whiggism in his grasp. lastly, to this painful list of the feuds, whose origin is to be found in the times and transactions of which we are speaking, may be added that slight, but too visible cloud of misunderstanding, which arose between mr. fox and mr. sheridan, and which, though it never darkened into any thing serious, continued to pervade their intercourse with each other to the last--exhibiting itself, on the part of mr. fox, in a degree of distrustful reserve not natural to him, and, on the side of sheridan, in some of those counter-workings of influence, which, as i have already said, he was sometimes induced by his love of the diplomacy of politics to practise. among the appointments named in contemplation of a regency, the place of treasurer of the navy was allotted to mr. sheridan. he would never, however, admit the idea of certainty in any of the arrangements so sanguinely calculated upon, but continually impressed upon his impatient friends the possibility, if not probability, of the king's recovery. he had even refused to look at the plan of the apartments, which he himself was to occupy in somerset house; and had but just agreed that it should be sent to him for examination, on the very day when the king was declared convalescent by dr. warren. "he entered his own house (to use the words of the relater of the anecdote) at dinner-time with the news. there were present,--besides mrs. sheridan and his sister,--tickell, who, on the change of administration, was to have been immediately brought into parliament,--joseph richardson, who was to have had tickell's place of commissioner of the stamp-office,--mr. reid, and some others. not one of the company but had cherished expectations from the approaching change--not one of them, however, had lost so much as mr. sheridan. with his wonted equanimity he announced the sudden turn affairs had taken, and looking round him cheerfully, as he filled a large glass, said,--'let us all join in drinking his majesty's speedy recovery.'" the measures which the irish parliament adopted on this occasion, would have been productive of anomalies, both theoretical and practical, had the continued illness of the king allowed the projected regency to take place. as it was, the most material consequence that ensued was the dismissal from their official situations of mr. ponsonby and other powerful individuals, by which the whig party received such an accession of strength, as enabled them to work out for their country the few blessings of liberty that still remain to her. among the victims to their votes on this question was mr. charles sheridan, who, on the recovery of the king, was dismissed from his office of secretary of war, but received compensation by a pension of _l_. a year, with the reversion of _l_. a year to his wife. the ready and ardent burst of devotion with which ireland, at this moment, like the pythagoreans at their morning worship, turned to welcome with her harp the rising sun, was long remembered by the object of her homage with pride and gratitude,--and, let us trust, is not even yet entirely forgotten. [footnote: this vain hope was expressed before the late decision on the catholic question had proved to the irish that, where their rights are concerned, neither public nor private pledges are regarded.] it has already been mentioned that to mr. sheridan, at this period, was entrusted the task of drawing up several of the state papers of the heir-apparent. from the rough copies of these papers that have fallen into my hands, i shall content myself with selecting two letters--the first of which was addressed by the prince to the queen, immediately after the communication to her majesty of the resolution of the two houses placing the royal household under her control. "before your majesty gives an answer to the application for your royal permission to place under your majesty's separate authority the direction and appointment of the king's household, and thereby to separate from the difficult and arduous situation which i am unfortunately called upon to fill, the accustomed and necessary support which has ever belonged to it, permit me, with every sentiment of duty and affection towards your majesty, to entreat your attentive perusal of the papers which i have the honor to enclose. they contain a sketch of the plan now proposed to be carried into execution as communicated to me by mr. pitt, and the sentiments which i found myself bound in duty to declare in reply to that communication. i take the liberty of lodging these papers in your majesty's hands, confiding that, whenever it shall please providence to remove the malady with which the king my father is now unhappily afflicted, your majesty will, in justice to me and to those of the royal family whose affectionate concurrence and support i have received, take the earliest opportunity of submitting them to his royal perusal, in order that no interval of time may elapse before he is in possession of the true motives and principles upon which i have acted. i here solemnly repeat to your majesty, that among those principles there is not one which influences my mind so much as the firm persuasion i have, that my conduct in endeavoring to maintain unimpaired and undivided the just rights, prerogatives, and dignity of the crown, in the person of the king's representative, is the only line of conduct which would entitle me to his majesty's approbation, or enable me to stand with confidence in his royal presence on the happy day of his recovery;--and, on the contrary, that those who, under color of respect and attachment to his royal person, have contrived this project for enfeebling and degrading the executive authority of the realm, will be considered by him as having risked the happiness of his people and the security of the throne itself, by establishing a fatal precedent which may hereafter be urged against his own authority, on as plausible pretences, or revived against the just rights of his family. in speaking my opinions of the motive of the projectors of this scheme, i trust i need not assure your majesty that the respect, duty, and affection i owe to your majesty have never suffered me for a single moment to consider you as countenancing, in the slightest degree, their plan or their purposes. i have the firmest reliance on your majesty's early declaration to me, on the subject of public affairs, at the commencement of our common calamity; and, whatever may be the efforts of evil or interested advisers, i have the same confidence that you will never permit or endure that the influence of your respected name shall be profaned to the purpose of distressing the government and insulting the person of your son. how far those, who are evidently pursuing both these objects, may be encouraged by your majesty's acceptance of one part of the powers purposed to be lodged in your hands, i will not presume to say. [footnote: in speaking of the extraordinary _imperium in imperio_, with which the command of so much power and patronage would have invested the queen, the annual register (robinson's) remarks justly, "it was not the least extraordinary circumstance in these transactions, that the queen could be prevailed upon to lend her name to a project which would eventually have placed her in avowed rivalship with her son, and, at a moment when her attention might seem to be absorbed by domestic calamity, have established her at the head of a political party."] the proposition has assumed the shape of a resolution of parliament, and therefore i am silent. "your majesty will do me the honor to weigh the opinions i formed and declared before parliament had entertained the plan, and, with those before you, your own good judgment will decide. i have only to add that whatever that decision may be, nothing will ever alter the interest of true affection and inviolable duty," &c. &c. the second letter that i shall give, from the rough copy of mr. sheridan, was addressed by the prince to the king after his recovery, announcing the intention of his royal highness to submit to his majesty a memorial, in vindication of his own conduct and that of his royal brother the duke of york throughout the whole of the proceedings consequent upon his majesty's indisposition. "sir, "thinking it probable that i should have been honored with your commands to attend your majesty on wednesday last, i have unfortunately lost the opportunity of paying my duty to your majesty before your departure from weymouth. the account? i have received of your majesty's health have given me the greatest satisfaction, and should it be your majesty's intention to return to weymouth, i trust, sir, there will be no impropriety in my _then_ entreating your majesty's gracious attention to a point of the greatest moment to the peace of my own mind, and one in which i am convinced your majesty's feelings are equally interested. your majesty's letter to my brother the duke of clarence, in may last, was the first direct intimation i had ever received that my conduct, and that of my brother the duke of york, during your majesty's late lamented illness, had brought on us the heavy misfortune of your majesty's displeasure. i should be wholly unworthy the return of your majesty's confidence and good opinion, which will ever be the first objects of my life, if i could have read the passage i refer to in that letter without the deepest sorrow and regret for the effect produced on your majesty's mind; though at the same time i felt the firmest persuasion that your majesty's generosity and goodness would never permit that effect to _remain_, without affording us an opportunity of knowing what had been urged against us, of replying to our accusers, and of justifying ourselves, if the means of justification were in our power. "great however as my impatience and anxiety were on this subject, i felt it a superior consideration not to intrude any unpleasing or agitating discussions upon your majesty's attention, during an excursion devoted to the ease and amusement necessary for the re-establishment of your majesty's health. i determined to sacrifice my own feelings, and to wait with resignation till the fortunate opportunity should arrive, when your majesty's own paternal goodness would, i was convinced, lead you even to _invite_ your sons to that fair hearing, which your justice would not deny to the meanest individual of your subjects. in this painful interval i have employed myself in drawing up a full statement and account of my conduct during the period alluded to, and of the motives and circumstances which influenced me. when these shall be humbly submitted to your majesty's consideration, i may be possibly found to have erred in judgment, and to have acted on mistaken principles, but i have the most assured conviction that i shall not be found to have been deficient in that duteous affection to your majesty which nothing shall ever diminish. anxious for every thing that may contribute to the comfort and satisfaction of your majesty's mind, i cannot omit this opportunity of lamenting those appearances of a less gracious disposition in the queen, towards my brothers and myself, than we were accustomed to experience; and to assure your majesty that if by your affectionate interposition these most unpleasant sensations should be happily removed, it would be an event not less grateful to our minds than satisfactory to your majesty's own benign disposition. i will not longer. &c. &c. "g. p." the statement here announced by his royal highness (a copy of which i have seen, occupying, with its appendix, near a hundred folio pages), is supposed to have been drawn up by lord minto. to descend from documents of such high import to one of a much humbler nature, the following curious memorial was presented this year to mr. sheridan, by a literary gentleman whom the whig party thought it worth while to employ in their service, and who, as far as industry went, appears to have been not unworthy of his hire, simonides is said to be the first author that ever wrote for pay, but simonides little dreamt of the perfection to which his craft would one day be brought. _memorial for dr. w. t.,_ [footnote: this industrious scotchman (of whose name i have only given the initials) was not without some share of humor. on hearing that a certain modern philosopher had carried his belief in the perfectibility of all living things so far, as to say that he did not despair of seeing the day when tigers themselves might be educated, dr. t. exclaimed, "i should like dearly to see him in a cage with _two_ of his pupils!"] _fitzroy-street, fitzroy-chapel._ "in may, , dr. parr, in the name of his political friends, engaged dr. t. to embrace those opportunities, which his connections with booksellers and periodical publications might afford him, of supporting the principles of their party. mr. sheridan in august, , gave two notes, _l_. each, to dr. t. for the first year's service, which notes were paid at different periods--the first by mr. sheridan at brookes's, in january, , the second by mr. windham in may, . mr. sheridan, in different conversations, encouraged dr. t. to go on with the expectation of a like sum yearly, or _l_. half yearly. dr. t. with this encouragement engaged in different publications for the purpose of this agreement. he is charged for the most part with the political and historical articles in the analytic review, and he also occasionally writes the political appendix to the english review, of which particularly he wrote that for april last, and that for june last. he also every week writes an abridgment of politics for the whitehall evening post, and a political review every month for a sunday paper entitled the review and sunday advertiser. in a romance, entitled 'mammoth, or human nature displayed, &c.,' dr. t. has shown how mindful he is on all occasions of his engagements to those who confide in him. he has also occasionally moved other engines, which it would be tedious and might appear too trifling to mention. dr. t. is not ignorant that uncommon charges have happened in the course of this last year, that is, the year preceding may, . instead of _l_., therefore, he will be satisfied with _l_ for that year, provided that this abatement shall not form a precedent against his claim of _l_. annually, if his further services shall be deemed acceptable. there is one point on which dr. t. particularly reserved himself, namely, to make no attack on mr. hastings, and this will be attested by dr. parr, mr. sheridan, and, if the doctor rightly recollects, by mr. windham. "_fitzroy-street, st july, ."_ taking into account all the various circumstances that concurred to glorify this period of sheridan's life, we may allow ourselves, i think, to pause upon it as the apex of the pyramid, and, whether we consider his fame, his talents, or his happiness, may safely say, "here is their highest point." the new splendor which his recent triumphs in eloquence had added to a reputation already so illustrious,--the power which he seemed to have acquired over the future destinies of the country, by his acknowledged influence in the councils of the heir apparent, and the tribute paid to him, by the avowal both of friends and foes, that he had used this influence in the late trying crisis of the regency, with a judgment and delicacy that proved him worthy of it,--all these advantages, both brilliant and solid, which subsequent circumstances but too much tended to weaken, at this moment surrounded him in their newest lustre and promise. he was just now, too, in the first enjoyment of a feeling, of which habit must have afterwards dulled the zest, namely, the proud consciousness of having surmounted the disadvantages of birth and station, and placed himself on a level with the highest and noblest of the land. this footing in the society of the great he could only have attained by parliamentary eminence;--as a mere writer, with all his genius, he never would have been thus admitted _ad eundem_ among them. talents, in literature or science, unassisted by the advantages of birth, may lead to association with the great, but rarely to equality;--it is a passport through the well-guarded frontier, but no title to naturalization within. by him, who has not been born among them, this can only be achieved by politics. in that arena, which they look upon as their own, the legislature of the land, let a man of genius, like sheridan, but assert his supremacy,--at once all these barriers of reserve and pride give way, and he takes, by storm, a station at their side, which a shakspeare or a newton would but have enjoyed by courtesy. in fixing upon this period of sheridan's life, as the most shining aera of his talents as well as his fame, it is not meant to be denied that in his subsequent warfare with the minister, during the stormy time of the french revolution, he exhibited a prowess of oratory no less suited to that actual service, than his eloquence on the trial of hastings had been to such lighter tilts and tournaments of peace. but the effect of his talents was far less striking;--the current of feeling through england was against him;--and, however greatly this added to the merit of his efforts, it deprived him of that echo from the public heart, by which the voice of the orator is endued with a sort of multiplied life, and, as it were, survives itself. in the panic, too, that followed the french revolution, all eloquence, but that from the lips of power, was disregarded, and the voice of him at the helm was the only one listened to in the storm. of his happiness, at the period of which we are speaking, in the midst of so much success and hope, there can be but little doubt. though pecuniary embarrassment, as appears from his papers, had already begun to weave its fatal net around him, there was as yet little more than sufficed to give exercise to his ingenuity, and the resources of the drury-lane treasury were still in full nightly flow. the charms, by which his home was embellished, were such as few other homes could boast; and, if any thing made it less happy than it ought to be, the cause was to be found in the very brilliancy of his life and attractions, and in those triumphs out of the sphere of domestic love, to which his vanity, perhaps, oftener than his feelings, impelled him. among his own immediate associates, the gaiety of his spirits amounted almost to boyishness. he delighted in all sorts of dramatic tricks and disguises; and the lively parties, with which his country-house was always filled, were kept in momentary expectation of some new device for their mystification or amusement. [footnote: to give some idea of the youthful tone of this society, i shall mention one out of many anecdotes related to me by persons who themselves been ornaments of it. the ladies having one evening received the gentlemen in masquerade dresses, which with their obstinate silence, made it impossible to distinguish one from the other, the gentlemen, in their turn invited the ladies next evening, to a similar trial of conjecture on themselves; and notice being given that they were ready dressed, mrs. sheridan and her companions were admitted into the dining room, where they found a party of turks, sitting silent and masked around the table. after a long course of the usual guesses, examinations, &c, &c., and each lady having taken the arm of the person she was most sure of, they heard a burst of laughter through the half open door, and looking there, saw the gentlemen themselves in their proper person--the masks upon whom they had been lavishing their sagacity being no other than the maid servants of the house, who had been thus dressed up to deceive them.] it was not unusual to dispatch a man and horse seven or eight miles for a piece of crape or a mask, or some other such trifle for these frolics. his friends tickell and richardson, both men of wit and humor, and the former possessing the same degree of light animal spirits as himself, were the constant companions of all his social hours, and kept up with him that ready rebound of pleasantry, without which the play of wit languishes. there is a letter, written one night by richardson at tunbridge [footnote: in the year , when mrs. sheridan was trying the waters of tunbridge for her health. in a letter to sheridan's sister from this place, dated september , she says: "i drink the waters once a day, and ride and drive all the forenoon, which makes me ravenous when i return. i feel i am in very good health, and i am in high beauty, two circumstances which ought and do put me in high good humor."] (after waiting five long hours for sheridan,) so full of that mixture of melancholy and humor, which chequered the mind of this interesting man, that, as illustrative of the character of one of sheridan's most intimate friends, it may be inserted here:-- "dear sheridan, "_half-past nine, mount ephraim._ "after you had been gone an hour or two i got moped damnably. perhaps there is a sympathy between the corporeal and the mind's eye. in the temple i can't see far before me, and seldom extend my speculations on things to come into any fatiguing sketch of reflection.--from your window, however, there was a tedious scope of black atmosphere, that i think won my mind into a sort of fellow-travellership, pacing me again through the cheerless waste of the past, and presenting hardly one little rarified cloud to give a dim ornament to the future;--not a star to be seen;--no permanent light to gild my horizon;--only the fading helps to transient gaiety in the lamps of tunbridge;--no law coffee-house at hand, or any other house of relief;--no antagonist to bicker one into a control of one's cares by a successful opposition, [footnote: richardson was remarkable for his love of disputation; and tickell, when hard pressed by him in argument, used often, as a last resource, to assume the voice and manner of mr. fox, which he had the power of mimicking so exactly, that richardson confessed he sometimes stood awed and silenced by the resemblance. this disputatious humor of richardson was once turned to account by sheridan in a very characteristic manner. having had a hackney-coach in employ for five or six hours, and not being provided with the means of paying it, he happened to espy richardson in the street, and proposed to take him in the coach some part of his way. the offer being accepted, sheridan lost no time in starting a subject of conversation, on which he knew his companion was sure to become argumentative and animated. having, by well-managed contradiction, brought him to the proper pitch of excitement, he affected to grow impatient and angry, himself, and saying that "he could not think of staying in the same coach with a person that would use such language," pulled the check-string, and desired the coachman to let him out. richardson, wholly occupied with the argument, and regarding the retreat of his opponent as an acknowledgment of defeat, still pressed his point, and even hollowed "more last words" through the coach-window after sheridan, who, walking quietly home, left the poor disputant responsible for the heavy fare of the coach.] nor a softer enemy to soothe one into an oblivion of them. "it is damned foolish for ladies to leave their scissors about;--the frail thread of a worthless life is soon snipped. i wish to god my fate had been true to its first destination, and made a parson of me;--i should have made an excellent country joll. i think i can, with confidence, pronounce the character that would have been given of me:--he was an indolent good-humored man, civil at all times, and hospitable at others, namely, when he was able to be so, which, truth to say, happened but seldom. his sermons were better than his preaching, and his doctrine better than his life; though often grave, and sometimes melancholy, he nevertheless loved a joke,--the more so when overtaken in his cups, which, a regard to the faith of history compels us to subjoin, fell out not unfrequently. he had more thought than was generally imputed to him, though it must be owned no man alive ever exercised thought to so little purpose. rebecca, his wife, the daughter of an opulent farmer in the neighborhood of his small living, brought him eighteen children; and he now rests with those who, being rather _not_ absolutely vicious than actively good, confide in the bounty of providence to strike a mild average between the contending negations of their life, and to allow them in their future state, what he ordained them in this earthly pilgrimage, a snug neutrality and a useless repose.--i had written thus far, absolutely determined, under an irresistible influence of the megrims, to set off for london on foot, when, accidentally searching for a cardialgic, to my great delight, i discovered three fugitive sixpences, headed by a vagrant shilling, immerged in the heap in my waistcoat pocket. this discovery gave an immediate elasticity to my mind; and i have therefore devised a scheme, worthier the improved state of my spirits, namely, to swindle your servants out of a horse, under the pretence of a ride upon the heath, and to jog on contentedly homewards. so, under the protection of providence, and the mercy of footpads, i trust we shall meet again to-morrow; at all events, there is nothing huffish in this; for, whether sad or merry, i am always, "most affectionately yours, "j. richardson. "p.s. your return only confirmed me in my resolution of going; for i had worked myself, in five hours solitude, into such a state of nervous melancholy, that i found i could not help the meanness of crying, even if any one looked me in the face. i am anxious to avoid a regular conviction of so disreputable an infirmity;--besides, the night has become quite pleasant." between tickell and sheridan there was a never-ending "skirmish of wit," both verbal and practical; and the latter kind, in particular, was carried on between them with all the waggery, and, not unfrequently, the malice of school-boys. [footnote: on one occasion, sheridan having covered the floor of a dark passage, leading from the drawing room, with all the plates and dishes of the house, ranged closely together, provoked his unconscious play-fellow to pursue him into the midst of them. having left a path for his own escape, he passed through easily, but tickell, falling at full length into the ambuscade, was very much cut in several places. the next day, lord john townshend, on paying a visit to the bed-side of tickell, found him covered over with patches, and indignantly vowing vengeance against sheridan for this unjustifiable trick. in the midst of his anger, however, he could not help exclaiming, with the true feeling of an amateur of this sort of mischief, "but how amazingly well done it was!"] tickell, much less occupied by business than his friend, had always some political _jeux d'esprit_ on the anvil; and sometimes these trifles were produced by them jointly. the following string of pasquinades so well known in political circles, and written, as the reader will perceive, at different dates, though principally by sheridan, owes some of its stanzas to tickel, and a few others, i believe, to lord john townshend. i have strung together, without regard to chronology, the best of these detached lampoons. time having removed their venom, and with it, in a great degree, their wit, they are now, like dried snakes, mere harmless objects of curiosity. "johnny w--lks, johnny w--lks, [ ] thou greatest of bilks, how chang'd are the notes you now sing! your fam'd forty-five is prerogative, and your blasphemy, 'god save the king,' johnny w-lks, and your blasphemy, 'god save the king.'" "jack ch--ch--ll, jack ch--ch--ll, the town sure you search ill, your mob has disgraced all your brags; when next you draw out your hospital rout, do, prithee, afford them clean rags, jack ch--ch--ll, do, prithee, afford them clean rags." "captain k--th, captain k--th, keep your tongue 'twixt your teeth, lest bed-chamber tricks you betray; and, if teeth you want more, why, my bold commodore,-- you may borrow of lord g--ll--y, captain k--th, you may borrow of lord g--ll--y." [ ]"joe m--wb--y, joe m--wb--y, your throat sure must raw be, in striving to make yourself heard; but it pleased not the pigs. nor the westminster whigs, that your knighthood should utter one word, joe m--wb--y, that your knighthood should utter one word." "m--ntm--res, m--ntm--res, whom nobody for is, and _for_ whom we none of us care; from dublin you came-- it had much been the same if your lordship had staid where you were, m--ntm--res, if your lordship had staid where you were." "lord o--gl--y, lord o--gl--y, you spoke mighty strongly-- who you _are_, tho', all people admire! but i'll let you depart, for i believe in my heart, you had rather they did not inquire, lord o--gl--y, you had rather they did not inquire." "gl--nb--e, gl--nb--e, what's good for the scurvy? for ne'er be your old trade forgot-- in your arms rather quarter a pestle and mortar, and your crest be a spruce gallipot, gl--nb--e, and your crest be a spruce gallipot." "gl--nb--e, gl--nb--e, the world's topsy-turvy, of this truth you're the fittest attester; for, who can deny that the low become high, when the king makes a lord of silvester, gl--nb--e, when the king makes a lord of silvester." "mr. p--l, mr. p--l, in return for your zeal, i am told they have dubb'd you sir bob; having got wealth enough by coarse manchester stuff, for honors you'll now drive a job, mr. p--l, for honors you'll now drive a job." "oh poor b--ks, oh poor b--ks, still condemned to the ranks, nor e'en yet from a private promoted; pitt ne'er will relent, though he knows you repent, having once or twice honestly voted, poor b--ks, having once or twice honestly voted." "dull h--l--y, dull h--l--y, your audience feel ye a speaker of very great weight, and they wish you were dumb, when, with ponderous hum, you lengthened the drowsy debate, dull h--l--y, you lengthened the drowsy debate." [footnote : in sheridan's copy of the stanzas written by him in this metre at the time of the union, (beginning "zooks, harry! zooks, harry!") he entitled them, "an admirable new ballad, which goes excellently well to the tune of "mrs. arne, mrs. arne, it gives me concern," &c.] [footnote : this stanza and, i rather think, the next were by lord john townshend.] there are about as many more of these stanzas, written at different intervals, according as new victims, with good names for rhyming, presented themselves,--the metre being a most tempting medium for such lampoons. there is, indeed, appended to one of sheridan's copies of them, a long list (like a tablet of proscription), containing about fifteen other names marked out for the same fate; and it will be seen by the following specimen that some of them had a very narrow escape: "will c--rt--s...." "v--ns--t--t, v--ns--t--t,--for little thou fit art." "will d--nd--s, will d--nd--s,--were you only an ass." "l--ghb--h,--thorough." "sam h--rsl--y, sam h--rsl--y, ... coarsely." "p--ttym--n, p--ttym--n,--speak truth, if you can." but it was not alone for such lively purposes [footnote: as i have been mentioning some instances of sheridan's love of practical jests, i shall take this opportunity of adding one more anecdote, which i believe is pretty well known, but which i have had the advantage of hearing from the person on whom the joke was inflicted. the rev. mr. o'b---- (afterwards bishop of ----) having arrived to dinner at sheridan's country-house, near osterley, where, as usual, a gay party was collected, (consisting of general burgoyne, mrs. crewe, tickell, &c.) it was proposed that on the next day (sunday) the rev. gentleman should, on gaining the consent of the resident clergyman, give a specimen of his talents as a preacher in the village church. on his objecting that he was not provided with a sermon, his host offered to write one for him, if he would consent to preach it; and, the offer being accepted, sheridan left the company early, and did not return for the remainder of the evening. the following morning mr. o'b---- found the manuscript by his bed-side, tied together neatly (as he described it) with riband;--the subject of the discourse being the "abuse of riches." having read it over and corrected some theological errors, (such as "it is easier for a camel, _as moses says_," &c.) he delivered the sermon in his most impressive style, much to the delight of his own party, and to the satisfaction, as he unsuspectingly flattered himself, of all the rest of the congregation, among whom was mr. sheridan's wealthy neighbor mr. c---- some months afterwards, however, mr. o'b---- perceived that the family of mr. c----, with whom he had previously been intimate, treated him with marked coldness; and, on his expressing some innocent wonder at the circumstance, was at length informed, to his dismay, by general burgoyne, that the sermon which sheridan had written for him was, throughout, a personal attack upon mr. c----, who had at that time rendered himself very unpopular in the neighborhood by some harsh conduct to the poor, and to whom every one in the church, except the unconscious preacher, applied almost every sentence of the sermon.] that sheridan and his two friends drew upon their joint wits; they had also but too much to do with subjects of a far different nature)--with debts, bonds, judgments, writs, and all those other humiliating matters of fact, that bring law and wit so often and so unnaturally in contact. that they were serviceable to each other, in their defensive alliance against duns, is fully proved by various documents; and i have now before me articles of agreement, dated in , by which tickell, to avert an execution from the theatre, bound himself as security for sheridan in the sum of _l_.,--the arrears of an annuity charged upon sheridan's moiety of the property. so soon did those pecuniary difficulties, by which his peace and character were afterwards undermined, begin their operations. yet even into transactions of this nature, little as they are akin to mirth, the following letter of richardson will show that these brother wits contrived to infuse a portion of gaiety: "dear sheridan, "_essex-street, saturday evening._ "i had a terrible long batch with bobby this morning, after i wrote to you by francois. i have so far succeeded that he has agreed to continue the day of trial as _we_ call it (that is, in vulgar, unlearned language, to put it off) from tuesday till saturday. he demands, as preliminaries, that wright's bill of _l_. should be given up to him, as a prosecution had been commenced against him, which, however, he has stopped by an injunction from the court of chancery. this, if the transaction be as he states it, appears reasonable enough. he insists, besides, that the bill should undergo the most rigid examination; that you should transmit your objections, to which he will send answers, (for the point of a personal interview has not been yet carried,) and that the whole amount at last, whatever it may be, should have your clear and satisfied approbation:--nothing to be done without this--almighty honor! "all these things being done, i desired to know what was to be the result at last:--'surely, after having carried so many points, you will think it only common decency to relax a little as to the time of payment? you will not cut your pound of flesh the nearest from the merchant's heart?' to this bobides, 'i must have _l_. put in a shape of practicable use, and payment immediately;--for the rest i will accept security.' this was strongly objected to by me, as jewish in the extreme; but, however, so we parted. you will think with me, i hope, that something has been done, however, by this meeting. it has opened an access to a favorable adjustment, and time and trust may do much. i am to see him again on monday morning at two, so pray don't go out of town to-morrow without my seeing you. the matter is of immense consequence. i never knew till to-day that the process had been going on so long. i am convinced he could force you to trial next tuesday with all your infirmities green upon your head; so pray attend to it. "_r. b. sheridan, esq._ "yours ever, "_lower grosvenor-street_. "j. richardson." this letter was written in the year , when sheridan's involvements had begun to thicken around him more rapidly. there is another letter, about the same date, still more characteristic,--where, after beginning in evident anger and distress of mind, the writer breaks off, as if irresistibly, into the old strain of playfulness and good humor. "dear sheridan, "_wednesday, essex-street, july _. "i write to you with more unpleasant feelings than i ever did in my life. westly, after having told me for the last three weeks that nothing was wanting for my accommodation but your consent, having told me so, so late as friday, sends me word on monday that he would not do it at all. in four days i have a _cognovit_ expires for _l_. i can't suffer my family to be turned into the streets if i can help it. i have no resource but my abilities, such as they are. i certainly mean to write something in the course of the summer. as a matter of business and bargain i _can_ have no higher hope about it than that you won't suffer by it. however, if you won't take it somebody else _must_, for no human consideration will induce me to leave any means untried, that may rescue my family from this impending misfortune. "for the sake of convenience you will probably give me the importance of construing this into an incendiary letter. i wish to god you may, and order your treasurer to deposit the acceptance accordingly; for nothing can be so irksome to me as that the nations of the earth should think there had been any interruption of friendship between you and me; and though that would not be the case in fact, both being influenced, i must believe, by a necessity which we could not control, yet the said nations would so interpret it. if i don't hear from you before friday, i shall conclude that you leave me in this dire scrape to shift for myself. "_r. b. sheridan, esq._ "yours ever, "_isleworth, middlesex._ "j. richardson." _diben, friday, d._ chapter iv. french revolution.--mr. burke.--his breach with mr. sheridan.--dissolution of parliament.--mr. burke and mr. fox.--russian armament.--royal scotch boroughs. we have now to consider the conduct and opinions of mr. sheridan, during the measures and discussions consequent upon the french revolution,--an event, by which the minds of men throughout all europe were thrown into a state of such feverish excitement, that a more than usual degree of tolerance should be exercised towards the errors and extremes into which all parties were hurried during the paroxysm. there was, indeed, no rank or class of society, whose interests and passions were not deeply involved in the question. the powerful and the rich, both of state and church, must naturally have regarded with dismay the advance of a political heresy, whose path they saw strewed over with the broken talismans of rank and authority. many, too, with a disinterested reverence for ancient institutions, trembled to see them thus approached by rash hands, whose talents for ruin were sufficiently certain, but whose powers of reconstruction were yet to be tried. on the other hand, the easy triumph of a people over their oppressors was an example which could not fail to excite the hopes of the many as actively as the fears of the few. the great problem of the natural rights of mankind seemed about to be solved in a manner most flattering to the majority; the zeal of the lover of liberty was kindled into enthusiasm, by a conquest achieved for his cause upon an arena so vast; and many, who before would have smiled at the doctrine of human perfectibility, now imagined they saw, in what the revolution performed and promised, almost enough to sanction the indulgence of that splendid dream. it was natural, too, that the greater portion of that unemployed, and, as it were, homeless talent, which, in all great communities, is ever abroad on the wing, uncertain where to settle, should now swarm round the light of the new principles,--while all those obscure but ambitious spirits, who felt their aspirings clogged by the medium in which they were sunk, would as naturally welcome such a state of political effervescence, as might enable them, like enfranchised air, to mount at once to the surface. amidst all these various interests, imaginations, and fears, which were brought to life by the dawn of the french revolution, it is not surprising that errors and excesses, both of conduct and opinion, should be among the first products of so new and sudden a movement of the whole civilized world;--that the friends of popular rights, presuming upon the triumph that had been gained, should, in the ardor of pursuit, push on the vanguard of their principles, somewhat farther than was consistent with prudence and safety; or that, on the other side, authority and its supporters, alarmed by the inroads of the revolutionary spirit, should but the more stubbornly intrench themselves in established abuses, and make the dangers they apprehended from liberty a pretext for assailing its very existence. it was not long before these effects of the french revolution began to show themselves very strikingly in the politics of england; and, singularly enough, the two extreme opinions, to which, as i have just remarked, that disturbing event gave rise, instead of first appearing, as might naturally be expected, the one on the side of government, and the other on that of the opposition, both broke out simultaneously in the very heart of the latter body. on such an imagination as that of burke, the scenes now passing in france were every way calculated to make a most vivid impression. so susceptible was he, indeed, of such impulses, and so much under the control of the imaginative department of his intellect, that, whatever might have been the accidental mood of his mind, at the moment when this astounding event first burst upon him, it would most probably have acted as a sort of mental catalepsy, and fixed his reason in the very attitude in which it found it. he had, however, been prepared for the part which he now took by much more deep and grounded causes. it was rather from circumstances than from choice, or any natural affinity, that mr. burke had ever attached himself to the popular party in politics. there was, in truth, nothing democratic about him but his origin;--his tastes were all on the side of the splendid and the arbitrary. the chief recommendation of the cause of india to his fancy and his feeling was that it involved the fate of ancient dynasties, and invoked retribution for the downfall of thrones and princedoms, to which his imagination, always most affected by objects at a distance, lent a state and splendor that did not, in sober reality, belong to them. though doomed to make whiggism his habitual haunt, he took his perch at all times on its loftiest branches, as far as possible away from popular contact; and, upon most occasions, adopted a sort of baronial view of liberty, as rather a question lying between the throne and the aristocracy, than one in which the people had a right to any efficient voice or agency. accordingly, the question of parliamentary reform, from the first moment of its agitation, found in him a most decided opponent. this inherent repugnance to popular principles became naturally heightened into impatience and disgust, by the long and fruitless warfare which he had waged under their banner, and the uniform ill success with which they had blasted all his struggles for wealth and power. nor was he in any better temper with his associates in the cause,--having found that the ascendancy, which he had formerly exercised over them, and which, in some degree, consoled him for the want of official dominion, was of late considerably diminished, if not wholly transferred to others. sheridan, as has been stated, was the most prominent object of his jealousy;--and it is curious to remark how much, even in feelings of this description, the aristocratical bias of his mind betrayed itself. for, though mr. fox, too, had overtaken and even passed him in the race, assuming that station in politics which he himself had previously held, yet so paramount did those claims of birth and connection, by which the new leader came recommended, appear in his eyes, that he submitted to be superseded by him, not only without a murmur, but cheerfully. to sheridan, however, who had no such hereditary passport to pre-eminence, he could not give way without heart burning and humiliation; and to be supplanted thus by a rival son of earth seemed no less a shock to his superstitious notions about rank, than it was painful to his feelings of self-love and pride. such, as far as can be ascertained by a distant observer of those times, was the temper in which the first events of the revolution found the mind of this remarkable man;--and, powerfully as they would, at any time, have appealed to his imagination and prejudices, the state of irritability to which he had been wrought by the causes already enumerated peculiarly predisposed him, at this moment, to give way to such impressions without restraint, and even to welcome as a timely relief to his pride, the mighty vent thus afforded to the "_splendida bilis_" with which it was charged. there was indeed much to animate and give a zest to the new part which he now took. he saw those principles, to which he owed a deep grudge, for the time and the talents he had wasted in their service, now embodied in a shape so wild and alarming, as seemed to justify him, on grounds of public safety, in turning against them the hole powers of his mind, and thus enabled him, opportunely, to dignify desertion, by throwing the semblance of patriotism and conscientiousness round the reality of defection and revenge. he saw the party, too, who, from the moment they had ceased to be ruled by him, were associated only in his mind with recollections of unpopularity and defeat, about to adopt a line of politics which his long knowledge of the people of england, and his sagacious foresight of the consequences of the french revolution, fully convinced him would lead to the same barren and mortifying results. on the contrary, the cause to which he proffered his alliance, would, he was equally sure, by arraying on its side all the rank, riches, and religion of europe, enable him at length to feel that sense of power and triumph, for which his domineering spirit had so long panted in vain. in this latter hope, indeed, of a speedy triumph over jacobinism, his temperament, as was often the case, outran his sagacity; for, while he foresaw clearly that the dissolution of social order in france would at last harden into a military tyranny, he appeared not to be aware that the violent measures which he recommended against her would not only hasten this formidable result, but bind the whole mass of the people into union and resistance during the process. lastly--to these attractions, of various kinds, with which the cause of thrones was now encircled in the eyes of burke, must be added one, which, however it may still further disenchant our views of his conversion, cannot wholly be omitted among the inducements to his change,--and this was the strong claim upon the gratitude of government, which his seasonable and powerful advocacy in a crisis so difficult established for him, and which the narrow and embarrassed state of his circumstances rendered an object by no means of secondary importance in his views. unfortunately,--from a delicate wish, perhaps, that the reward should not appear to come in too close coincidence with the service,--the pension bestowed upon him arrived too late to admit of his deriving much more from it than the obloquy by which it was accompanied. the consequence, as is well known, of the new course taken by burke was that the speeches and writings which he henceforward produced, and in which, as usual, his judgment was run away with by his temper, form a complete contrast, in spirit and tendency, to all that he had put on record in the former part of his life. he has, indeed, left behind him two separate and distinct armories of opinion, from which both whig and tory may furnish themselves with weapons, the most splendid, if not the most highly tempered, that ever genius and eloquence have condescended to bequeath to party. he has thus too, by his own personal versatility, attained, in the world of politics, what shakspeare, by the versatility of his characters, achieved for the world in general,--namely, such a universality of application to all opinions and purposes, that it would be difficult for any statesman of any party to find himself placed in any situation, for which he could not select some golden sentence from burke, either to strengthen his position by reasoning or illustrate and adorn it by, fancy. while, therefore, our respect for the man himself is diminished by this want of moral identity observable through his life and writings, we are but the more disposed to admire that unrivalled genius, which could thus throw itself out in so many various directions with equal splendor and vigor. in general, political deserters lose their value and power in the very act, and bring little more than their treason to the new cause which they espouse:-- _"fortis in armis caesaris labienus erat; nunc transfuga vilis."_ but burke was mighty in either camp; and it would have taken _two_ great men to effect what he, by this division of himself achieved. his mind, indeed, lies parted asunder in his works, like some vast continent severed by a convulsion of nature,--each portion peopled by its own giant race of opinions, differing altogether in features and language, and committed in eternal hostility with each other. it was during the discussions on the army estimates, at the commencement of the session of , that the difference between mr. burke and his party in their views of the french revolution first manifested itself. mr. fox having taken occasion to praise the late conduct of the french guards in refusing to obey the dictates of the court, and having declared that he exulted, "both from feelings and from principles," in the political change that had been brought about in that country, mr. burke, in answering him, entered fully, and, it must be owned, most luminously into the question,--expressing his apprehension, lest the example of france, which had, at a former period, threatened england with the contagion of despotism, should now be the means of introducing among her people the no less fatal taint of democracy and atheism. after some eloquent tributes of admiration to mr. fox, rendered more animated, perhaps, by the consciousness that they were the last offerings thrown into the open grave of their friendship, he proceeded to deprecate the effects which the language of his right honorable friend might have, in appearing to countenance the disposition observable among "some wicked persons" to "recommend an imitation of the french spirit of reform," and then added a declaration, equally remarkable for the insidious charge which it implied against his own party, and the notice of his approaching desertion which it conveyed to the other,--that "so strongly opposed was he to any the least tendency towards the _means_ of introducing a democracy like that of the french, as well as to the _end_ itself, that, much as it would afflict him, if such a thing should be attempted, and that any friend of his could concur in such measures (he was far, very far, from believing they could), he would abandon his best friends, and join with his worst enemies to oppose either the means or the end." it is pretty evident, from these words, that burke had already made up his mind as to the course he should pursue, and but delayed his declaration of a total breach, in order to prepare the minds of the public for such an event, and, by waiting to take advantage of some moment of provocation, make the intemperance of others responsible for his own deliberate schism. the reply of mr. fox was not such as could afford this opportunity;--it was, on the contrary, full of candor and moderation, and repelled the implied charge of being a favorer of the new doctrines of france in the most decided, but, at the same time, most conciliatory terms. "did such a declaration," he asked, "warrant the idea that he was a friend to democracy? he declared himself equally the enemy of all absolute forms of government, whether an absolute monarchy, an absolute aristocracy, or an absolute democracy. he was adverse to all extremes, and a friend only to a mixed government like our own, in which, if the aristocracy, or indeed either of the three branches of the constitution, were destroyed, the good effect of the whole, and the happiness derived under it would, in his mind, be at an end." in returning, too, the praises bestowed upon him by his friend, he made the following memorable and noble acknowledgment of all that he himself had gained by their intercourse:-- "such (he said) was his sense of the judgment of his right honorable friend, such his knowledge of his principles, such the value which he set upon them, and such the estimation in which he held his friendship, that if he were to put all the political information which he had learned from books, all which he had gained from science, and all which any knowledge of the world and its affairs had taught him, into one scale, and the improvement which he had derived from his right honorable friend's instruction and conversation were placed in the other, he should be at a loss to decide to which to give the preference." this, from a person so rich in acquirements as mr. fox, was the very highest praise,--nor, except in what related to the judgment and principles of his friend, was it at all exaggerated. the conversation of burke must have been like the procession of a roman triumph, exhibiting power and riches at every step--occasionally, perhaps, mingling the low fescennine jest with the lofty music of its march, but glittering all over with the spoils of the whole ransacked world. mr. burke, in reply, after reiterating his praises of mr. fox, and the full confidence which he felt in his moderation and sagacity, professed himself perfectly satisfied with the explanations that had been given. the conversation would thus have passed off without any explosion, had not sheridan, who was well aware that against him, in particular, the charge of a tendency to the adoption of french principles was directed, risen immediately after, and by a speech warmly in favor of the revolution and of the national assembly, at once lighted the train in the mind of burke, and brought the question, as far as regarded themselves, to an immediate issue. "he differed," he said, "decidedly, from his right honorable friend in almost every word that be had uttered respecting the french revolution. he conceived it to be as just a revolution as ours, proceeding upon as sound a principle and as just a provocation. he vehemently defended the general views and conduct of the national assembly. he could not even understand what was meant by the charges against them of having overturned the laws, the justice, and the revenues of their country. what were their laws? the arbitrary mandates of capricious despotism. what their justice? the partial adjudications of venal magistrates. what their revenues? national bankruptcy. this he thought the fundamental error of his right honorable friend's argument, that he accused the national assembly of creating the evils, which they had found existing in full deformity at the first hour of their meeting. the public creditor had been defrauded; the manufacturer was without employ; trade was languishing; famine clung upon the poor; despair on all. in this situation, the wisdom and feelings of the nation were appealed to by the government; and was it to be wondered at by englishmen, that a people, so circumstanced, should search for the cause and source of all their calamities, or that they should find them in the arbitrary constitution of their government, and in the prodigal and corrupt administration of their revenues? for such an evil when proved, what remedy could be resorted to, but a radical amendment of the frame and fabric of the constitution itself? this change was not the object and wish of the national assembly only; it was the claim and cry of all france, united as one man for one purpose." all this is just and unanswerable--as indeed was the greater part of the sentiments which he uttered. but he seems to have failed, even more signally than mr. fox, in endeavoring to invalidate the masterly view which burke had just taken of the revolution of , as compared, in its means and object, with that of france. there was, in truth, but little similarity between them,--the task of the former being to preserve liberty, that of the latter to destroy tyranny; the one being a regulated movement of the aristocracy against the throne for the nation, the other a tumultuous rising of the whole nation against both for itself. the reply of mr. burke was conclusive and peremptory,--such, in short, as might be expected from a person who came prepared to take the first plausible opportunity of a rupture. he declared that "henceforth, his honorable friend and he were separated in politics,"--complained that his arguments had been cruelly misrepresented, and that "the honorable gentleman had thought proper to charge him with being the advocate of despotism." having endeavored to defend himself from such an imputation, he concluded by saying,-- "was that a fair and candid mode of treating his arguments? or was it what he ought to have expected _in the moment of departed friendship?_ on the contrary, was it not evident that the honorable gentleman had made a sacrifice of his friendship, for the sake of catching some momentary popularity? if the fact were such, even greatly as he should continue to admire the honorable gentleman's talents, he must tell him that his argument was chiefly an argument _ad invidiam_, and all the applause for which he could hope from clubs was scarcely worth the sacrifice which he had chosen to make for so insignificant an acquisition." i have given the circumstances of this debate somewhat in detail, not only on account of its own interest and of the share which mr. sheridan took in it, but from its being the first scene of that great political schism, which in the following year assumed a still more serious aspect, and by which the policy of mr. pitt at length acquired a predominance, not speedily to be forgotten in the annals of this country. mr. sheridan was much blamed for the unseasonable stimulant which, it was thought, his speech on this occasion had administered to the temper of burke; nor can it be doubted that he had thereby, in some degree, accelerated the public burst of that feeling which had so long been treasured up against himself but, whether hastened or delayed, such a breach was ultimately inevitable; the divergence of the parties once begun, it was in vain to think of restoring their parallelism. that some of their friends, however, had more sanguine hopes appears from an effort which was made, within two days after the occurrence of this remarkable scene, to effect a reconciliation between burke and sheridan. the interview that took place on that occasion is thus described by mr. dennis o'brien, one of the persons chiefly instrumental in the arrangements for it:-- "it appeared to the author of this pamphlet [footnote: entitled "utrum horum."] that the difference between these two great men would be a great evil to the country and to their own party. full of this persuasion he brought them both together the second night after the original contest in the house of commons; and carried them to burlington house to mr. fox and the duke of portland, according to a previous arrangement. this interview, which can never be forgotten by those who were present, lasted from ten o'clock at night until three in the morning, and afforded a very remarkable display of the extraordinary talents of the parties." it will easily be believed that to the success of this conciliatory effort the temper on one side would be a greater obstacle than even the hate on both. mr. sheridan, as if anxious to repel from himself the suspicion of having contributed to its failure, took an opportunity, during his speech upon the tobacco act, in the month of april following, to express himself in the most friendly terms of mr. burke, as "one, for whose talents and personal virtue he had the highest esteem, veneration, and regard, and with whom he might be allowed to differ in opinion upon the subject of france, persuaded, as he was, that they never could differ in principle." of this and some other compliments of a similar nature, mr. burke did not deign to take the slightest notice--partly, from an implacable feeling towards him who offered them, and partly, perhaps, from a suspicion that they were intended rather for the ears of the public than his own, and that, while this tendency to conciliation appeared on the surface, the under-current of feeling and influence set all the other way. among the measures which engaged the attention of mr. sheridan during this session, the principal was a motion of his own for the repeal of the excise duties on tobacco, which appears to have called forth a more than usual portion of his oratory,--his speeches on the subject occupying nearly forty pages. it is upon topics of this unpromising kind, and from the very effort, perhaps, to dignity and enliven them, that the peculiar characteristics of an orator are sometimes most racily brought out. to the cider tax we are indebted for one of the grandest bursts of the constitutional spirit and eloquence of lord chatham; and, in these orations of sheridan upon tobacco, we find examples of the two extreme varieties of his dramatic talent--both of the broad, natural humor of his farce, and the pointed, artificial wit of his comedy. for instance, in representing, as one of the abuses that might arise from the discretionary power of remitting fines to manufacturers, the danger that those only should feel the indulgence, who were found to be supporters of the existing administration, [footnote: a case of this kind formed the subject of a spirited speech of mr. windham, in . see his speeches, vol. i. p. .] he says:-- "were a man whose stock had increased or diminished beyond the standard table in the act, to attend the commissioners and assure them that the weather alone had caused the increase or decrease of the article, and that no fraud whatever had been used on the occasion, the commissioners might say to him, 'sir, you need not give yourself so much trouble to prove your innocence;--we see honesty in your orange cape.' but should a person of quite a different side in politics attend for the same purpose, the commissioners might say, 'sir, you are not to be believed; we see fraud in your blue and buff, and it is impossible that you should not be a smuggler." again, in stating the case between the manufacturers and the minister, the former of whom objected to the bill altogether, while the latter determined to preserve its principle and only alter its form, he says:-- "the manufacturers ask the right honorable gentleman, if he will consent to give up the principle? the right honorable gentleman answers, 'no; the principle must not be abandoned, but do you inform me how i shall alter the bill.' this the manufacturers refused; and they wisely refused it in his opinion; for, what was it but the minister's saying, 'i have a yoke to put about your necks,--do you help me in fitting it on--only assist me with your knowledge of the subject, and i'll fit you with the prettiest pair of fetters that ever were seen in the world.'" as a specimen of his quaint and far-sought witticisms, the following passage in the same speech may vie with trip's "post-obit on the blue and silver, &c."--having described the effects of the weather in increasing or decreasing the weight of the stock, beyond the exact standard established in the act, he adds, "the commissioners, before they could, in justice, levy such fines, ought to ascertain that the weather is always in that precise state of heat or cold which the act supposed it would be. they ought to make christmas give security for frost, take a bond for hot weather from august, and oblige damps and fogs to take out permits." it was in one of these speeches on the tobacco act, that he adverted with considerable warmth to a rumor, which, he complained, had been maliciously circulated, of a misunderstanding between himself and the duke of portland, in consequence (as the report expresses it) of "a certain opposition affirmed to have been made by this noble duke, to some views or expectations which he (mr. sheridan) was said to have entertained." after declaring that "there was not in these rumors one grain of truth," he added that-- "he would not venture to state to the committee the opinion that the noble duke was pleased to entertain of him, lest he should be accused of vanity in publishing what he might deem highly flattering. all that he would assert on this occasion was, that if he had it in his power to make the man whose good opinion he should most highly prize think flatteringly of him, he would have that man think of him precisely as the noble duke did, and then his wish on that subject would be most amply gratified." as it is certain, that the feelings which burke entertained towards sheridan were now in some degree shared by all those who afterwards seceded from the party, this boast of the high opinion of the duke of portland must be taken with what, in heraldry, is called _abatement_--that is, a certain degree of diminution of the emblazonry. among the papers of mr. sheridan, i find a letter addressed to him this year by one of his most distinguished friends, relative to the motions that had lately been brought forward for the relief of the dissenters. the writer, whose alarm for the interest of the church had somewhat disturbed his sense of liberality and justice, endeavors to impress upon mr. sheridan, and through him upon mr. fox, how undeserving the dissenters were, as a political body, of the recent exertions on their behalf, and how ungratefully they had more than once requited the services which the whigs had rendered them. for this latter charge there was but too much foundation in truth, however ungenerous might be the deduction which the writer would draw from it. it is, no doubt, natural that large bodies of men, impatiently suffering under the ban of disqualification, should avail themselves, without much regard to persons or party, of every aid they can muster for their cause, and should (to use the words of an old earl of pembroke) "lean on both sides of the stairs to get up." but, it is equally natural that the occasional desertion and ingratitude, of which, in pursuit of this selfish policy, they are but too likely to be guilty towards their best friends, should, if not wholly indispose the latter to their service, at least considerably moderate their zeal in a cause, where all parties alike seem to be considered but as instruments, and where neither personal predilections nor principle are regarded in the choice of means. to the great credit, however, of the whig party, it must be said, that, though often set aside and even disowned by their clients, they have rarely suffered their high duty, as advocates, to be relaxed or interrupted by such momentary suspensions of confidence. in this respect, the cause of ireland has more than once been a trial of their constancy. even lord north was able, by his reluctant concessions, to supersede them for a time in the favor of my too believing countrymen,--whose despair of finding justice at any hands has often led them thus to carry their confidence to market, and to place it in the hands of the first plausible bidder. the many vicissitudes of popularity which their own illustrious whig, grattan, had to encounter, would have wearied out the ardor of any less magnanimous champion. but high minds are as little affected by such unworthy returns for services, as the sun is by those fogs which the earth throws up between herself and his light. with respect to the dissenters, they had deserted mr. fox in his great struggle with the crown in , and laid their interest and hopes at the feet of the new idol of the day. notwithstanding this, we find him, in the year , warmly maintaining, and in opposition to his rival, the cause of the very persons who had contributed to make that rival triumphant,--and showing just so much remembrance of their late defection as served to render this sacrifice of personal to public feelings more signal. "he was determined," he said, "to let them know that, though they could upon some occasions lose sight of their principles of liberty, he would not upon any occasion lose sight of his principles of toleration." in the present session, too, notwithstanding that the great organ of the dissenters, dr. price, had lately in a sermon, published with a view to the test, made a pointed attack on the morals of mr. fox and his friends, this generous advocate of religious liberty not the less promptly acceded to the request of the body, that he would himself bring the motion for their relief before the house. on the th of june the parliament was dissolved,--and mr. sheridan again succeeded in being elected for stafford. the following letters, however, addressed to him by mrs. sheridan during the election, will prove that they were not without some apprehensions of a different result. the letters are still more interesting, as showing how warmly alive to each other's feelings the hearts of both husband wife could remain, after the long lapse of near twenty years, and after trials more fatal to love than even time itself. "this letter will find you, my dear dick. i hope, encircled with honors at stafford. i take it for granted you entered it triumphantly on sunday, --but i am very impatient to hear the particulars, and of the utter discomfiture of s---- and his followers. i received your note from birmingham this morning, and am happy to find that you and my dear cub were well, so far on your journey. you could not be happier than i should be in the proposed alteration for tom, but we will talk more of this when we meet. i sent you cartwright yesterday, and to-day i pack you off perry with the soldiers. i was obliged to give them four guineas for their expenses. i send you, likewise, by perry, the note from mrs. crewe, to enable you to speak of your qualification if you should be called upon. so i think i have executed all your commissions, sir; and if you want any of these doubtful votes which i mentioned to you, you will have time enough to send for them, for i would not let them go till i hear they can be of any use. "and, now for my journal, sir, which i suppose you expect. saturday, i was at home all day busy for you,--kept mrs. reid to dinner,--went to the opera,--afterwards to mrs. st. john's, where i lost my money sadly, sir,--eat strawberries and cream for supper,--sat between lord salisbury and mr. meynell, (hope you approve of that, sir,)--overheard lord salisbury advise miss boyle by no means to subscribe to taylor's opera, as o'reilly's would certainly have the patent,--confess i did not come home till past two. sunday, called on lady julia,--father and mr. reid to dinner,--in the evening at lady hampden's,--lost my money again, sir, and came home by one o'clock. 'tis now near one o'clock,--my father is established in my boudoir, and, when i have finished this, i am going with him to hear abbé vogler play on the stafford organ. i have promised to dine with mrs. crewe, who is to have a female party only,--no objection to that, i suppose. sir? whatever the party do, i shall do of course,--i suppose it will end in mrs. hobart's. mr. james told me on saturday, and i find it is the report of the day, that bond hopkins has gone to stafford. i am sorry to tell you there is an opposition at york, mr. montague opposes sir willam milner. mr. beckford has given up at dover, and lord ** is so provoked at it, that he has given up too, though they say they were both sure. st. ives is gone for want of a candidate. mr. barham is beat at stockbridge. charles lenox has offered for surry, and they say lord egremont might drive him to the deuce, if he would set any body up against him. you know, i suppose, mr. crewe has likewise an opponent. i am sorry to tell you all this bad news, and, to complete it, mr. adam is sick in bed, and there is nobody to do any good left in town. "i am more than ever convinced we must look to other resources for wealth and independence, and consider politics merely as an amusement,--and in that light 'tis best to be in opposition, which i am afraid we are likely to be for some years again. "i see the rumors of war still continue--stocks continue to fall--is that good or bad for the ministers? the little boys are come home to me to-day. i could not help showing in my answer to mr. t's letter, that i was hurt at his conduct,--so i have got another flummery letter, and the boys, who (as he is pretty sure) will be the best peace-makers. god bless you, my dear dick. i am very well, i assure you; pray don't neglect to write to your ever affectionate "e. s." "my dearest dick, "_wednesday_. "i am full of anxiety and fright about you.--i cannot but think your letters are very alarming. deuce take the corporation! is it impossible to make them resign their pretensions, and make peace with the burgesses? i have sent thomas after mr. cocker. i suppose you have sent for the out-votes; but, if they are not good, what a terrible expense will that be!--however, they are ready. i saw mr. cocker yesterday,--he collected them together last night, and gave them a treat,--so they are in high good humor. i inclose you a letter which b. left here last night,--i could not resist opening it. every thing seems going wrong. i think. i thought he was not to do anything in your absence.--it strikes me the bad business he mentions was entirely owing to his own stupidity, and want of a little patience,--is it of much consequence? i don't hear that the report is true of basilico's arrival;--a messenger came to the spanish embassy, which gave rise to this tale, i believe. "if you were not so worried, i should scold you for the conclusion of your letter of to-day. might not i as well accuse you of coldness, for not filling your letter with professions, at a time when your head must be full of business? i think of nothing all day long, but how to do good, some how or other, for you. i have given you a regular journal of my time, and all to please you,--so don't, dear dick, lay so much stress on words. i should use them oftener, perhaps, but i feel as if it would look like deceit. you know me well enough, to be sure that i can never do what i'm bid, sir,--but, pray, don't think i meant to send you a cold letter, for indeed nothing was ever farther from my heart. "you will see mr. horne tooke's advertisement to-day in the papers;--what do you think of that to complete the thing? bishop dixon has just called from the hustings:--he says the late recorder. adair, proposed charles with a good speech, and great applause,--captain berkeley, lord hood, with a bad speech, not much applauded; and then horne tooke came forward, and, in the most impudent speech that ever was heard, proposed himself,--abused both the candidates, and said he should have been ashamed to have sat and heard such ill-deserved praises given him. but he told the crowd that, since so many of these fine virtues and qualifications had never yet done them the least good, they might as well now choose a candidate without them. he said, however, that if they were sincere in their professions of standing alone, he was sure of coming in, for they must all give him their second votes. there was an amazing deal of laughing and noise in the course of his speech. charles fox attempted to answer him, and so did lord hood,--but they would hear neither, and they are now polling away. "do, my dearest love, if you have possibly time, write me a few more particulars, for your letters are very unsatisfactory, and i am full of anxiety. make richardson write,--what has he better to do? god bless thee, my dear, dear dick,--would it were over and all well! i am afraid, at any rate, it will be ruinous work. "ever your true and affectionate "e. s. "_near five_. i am just come from the hustings;--the state of the poll when i left it was, fox, ; hood, ; home tooke, ! but he still persists in his determination of polling a man an hour for the whole time--i saw mr. wilkes go up to vote for tooke and hood, amidst the hisses and groans of a multitude," "my poor dick, how you are worried! this is the day.--you will easily guess how anxious i shall be; but you seem pretty sanguine yourself, which is my only comfort, for richardson's letter is rather croaking. you have never said a word of little monkton:--has he any chance, or none? i ask questions without considering that, before you receive this, every thing will be decided--i hope triumphantly for you. what a sad set of venal rascals your favorites the blacks must be, to turn so suddenly from their professions and promises! i am half sorry you have any thing more to do with them, and more than ever regret you did not stand for westminster with charles, instead of lord john;--in that case you would have come in now, and we should not have been persecuted by this horne tooke. however, it is the dullest contested election that ever was seen--no canvassing, no houses open, no cockades. but i heard that a report prevails now, that horne tooke polling so few the two or three first days is an artful trick to put the others off their guard, and that he means to pour in his votes on the last days, when it will be too late for them to repair their neglect. but i don't think it possible, either, for such a fellow to beat charles in westminster. "i have just had a note from reid--he is at canterbury:--the state of the poll there, thursday night, was as follows:--gipps, ; lord * *, ; sir t. honeywood, ; mr. warton, . we have got two members for wendover, and two at ailsbury. mr. barham is beat at stockbridge. mr. tierney says he shall be beat, owing to bate dudley's manoeuvres, and the dissenters having all forsaken him,--a set of ungrateful wretches. e. fawkener has just sent me a state of the poll at northampton, as it stood yesterday, when they adjourned to dinner:--lord compton, ; bouverie, ; colonel manners, . they are in hopes mr. manners will give up, this is all my news, sir. "we had a very pleasant musical party last night at lord erskine's, where i supped. i am asked to dine to-day with lady palmerston, at sheen; but i can't go, unless mrs. crewe will carry me, as the coach is gone to have its new lining. i have sent to ask her, for 'tis a fine day, and i should like it very well. god thee bless, my dear dick. "yours ever, true and affectionate, "e.s. "duke of portland has just left me:--he is full of anxiety about you:-- this is the second time he has called to inquire." having secured his own election, mr. sheridan now hastened to lend his aid, where such a lively reinforcement was much wanted, on the hustings at westminster. the contest here was protracted to the d of july; and it required no little exercise both of wit and temper to encounter the cool personalities of tooke, who had not forgotten the severe remarks of sheridan upon his pamphlet the preceding year, and who, in addition to his strong powers of sarcasm, had all those advantages which, in such a contest, contempt for the courtesies and compromises of party warfare gives. among other sallies of his splenetic humor it is related, that mr. fox having, upon one occasion, retired from the hustings, and left to sheridan the task of addressing the multitude, tooke remarked, that such was always the practice of quack-doctors, who, whenever they quit the stage themselves, make it a rule to leave their merry-andrews behind. [footnote: tooke, it is said, upon coming one monday morning to the hustings, was thus addressed by a pietism of his opponent, not of a very reputable character--"well, mr. tooke, you will have all the blackguards with you to day"--"i am delighted to hear it, sir," (said tooke, bowing,) "and from such good authority."] the french revolution still continued, by its comet-like course, to dazzle, alarm, and disturb all europe. mr. burke had published his celebrated "reflections" in the month of november, ; and never did any work, with the exception, perhaps, of the eikon basilike, produce such a rapid, deep, and general sensation. the eikon was the book of a king, and this might, in another sense, be called the book of kings. not only in england, but throughout all europe,--in every part of which monarchy was now trembling for its existence,--this lofty appeal to loyalty was heard and welcomed. its effect upon the already tottering whig party was like that of "the voice," in the ruins of rome, "disparting towers." the whole fabric of the old rockingham confederacy shook to its base. even some, who afterwards recovered their equilibrium, at first yielded to the eloquence of this extraordinary book,--which, like the aera of chivalry, whose loss it deplores, mixes a grandeur with error, and throws a charm round political superstition, that will long render its pages a sort of region of royal romance, to which fancy will have recourse for illusions that have lost their last hold on reason. the undisguised freedom with which mr. fox and mr. sheridan expressed every where their opinions of this work and its principles had, of course, no small influence on the temper of the author, and, while it confirmed him in his hatred and jealousy of the one, prepared him for the breach which he meditated with the other. this breach was now, indeed, daily expected, as a natural sequel to the rupture with mr. sheridan in the last session; but, by various accidents and interpositions, the crisis was delayed till the th of may, when the recommitment of the quebec bill,--a question upon which both orators had already taken occasion to unfold their views of the french revolution,--furnished burke with an opportunity, of which he impetuously took advantage, to sever the tie between himself and mr. fox forever. this scene, so singular in a public assembly, where the natural affections are but seldom called out, and where, though bursts of temper like that of burke are common, such tears as those shed by mr. fox are rare phenomena,--has been so often described in various publications, that it would be superfluous to enter into the details of it here. the following are the solemn and stern words in which sentence of death was pronounced upon a friendship, that had now lasted for more than the fourth part of a century. "it certainly," said mr. burke, "was indiscretion at any period, but especially at his time of life, to provoke enemies, or to give his friends occasion to desert him; yet, if his firm and steady adherence to the british constitution placed him in such a dilemma, he would risk all, and, as public duty and public prudence taught him, with his last words exclaim, 'fly from the french constitution.'" [mr. fox here whispered, that "there was no loss of friendship."] mr. burke said, "yes, there _was_ a loss of friendship;--he knew the price of his conduct;--he had done his duty at the price of his friend; their friendship was at an end." in rising to reply to the speech of burke, mr. fox was so affected as to be for some moments unable to speak:--he wept, it is said, even to sobbing; and persons who were in the gallery at the time declare, that, while he spoke, there was hardly a dry eye around them. had it been possible for two natures so incapable of disguise--the one from simplicity and frankness, the other from ungovernable temper,--to have continued in relations of amity, notwithstanding their disagreement upon a question which was at that moment setting the world in arms, both themselves and the country would have been the better for such a compromise between them. their long habits of mutual deference would have mingled with and moderated the discussion of their present differences; --the tendency to one common centre to which their minds had been accustomed, would have prevented them from flying so very widely asunder; and both might have been thus saved from those extremes of principle, which mr. burke always, and mr. fox sometimes, had recourse to in defending their respective opinions, and which, by lighting, as it were, the torch at both ends, but hastened a conflagration in which liberty herself might have been the sufferer. but it was evident that such a compromise would have been wholly impossible. even granting that mr. burke did not welcome the schism as a relief, neither the temper of the men nor the spirit of the times, which converted opinions at once into passions, would have admitted of such a peaceable counterbalance of principles, nor suffered them long to slumber in that hollow truce, which tacitus has described,--"_manente in speciem amicitia_" mr. sheridan saw this from the first; and, in hazarding that vehement speech, by which he provoked the rupture between himself and burke, neither his judgment nor his temper were so much off their guard as they who blamed that speech seemed inclined to infer. but, perceiving that a separation was in the end inevitable, he thought it safer, perhaps, as well as manlier, to encounter the extremity at once, than by any temporizing delay, or too complaisant suppression of opinion, to involve both himself and mr. fox in the suspicion of either sharing or countenancing that spirit of defection, which, he saw, was fast spreading among the rest of their associates. it is indeed said, and with every appearance of truth, that mr. sheridan had felt offended by the censures which some of his political friends had pronounced upon the indiscretion (as it was called) of his speech in the last year, and that, having, in consequence, withdrawn from them the aid of his powerful talents during a great part of the present session, he but returned to his post under the express condition, that he should be allowed to take the earliest opportunity of repeating, fully and explicitly, the same avowal of his sentiments. the following letter from dr. parr to mrs. sheridan, written immediately after the scene between burke and sheridan in the preceding year, is curious:-- "dear madam, "i am most fixedly and most indignantly on the side of mr. sheridan and mr. fox against mr. burke. it is not merely french politics that produced this dispute;--they might have been settled privately. no, no,--there is jealousy lurking underneath;--jealousy of mr. sheridan's eloquence; --jealousy of his popularity;--jealousy of his influence with mr. fox;--jealousy, perhaps, of his connection with the prince. "mr. sheridan was, i think, not too warm; or, at least, i should have myself been warmer. why, burke accused mr. fox and mr. sheridan of acts leading to rebellion,--and he made mr. fox a dupe, and mr. sheridan a traitor! i think _this_,--and i am sure, yes, positively sure, that nothing else will allay the ferment of men's minds. mr. sheridan ought, publicly in parliament, to demand proof, or a retractation, of this horrible charge. pitt's words never did the party half the hurt;--and, just on the eve of an election, it is worse. as to private bickerings, or private concessions and reconciliations, they are all nothing. in public all must be again taken up; for, if drowned, the public will say, and pitt will insinuate, that the charge is well founded, and that they dare not provoke an inquiry. "i know burke is not addicted to giving up,--and so much the worse for him and his party. as to mr. fox's yielding, well had it been for all, all, all the party, if mr. fox had, now and then, stood out against mr. burke. the ferment and alarm are universal, and something must be done; for it is a conflagration in which they must perish, unless it be stopped. all the papers are with burke,--even the foxite papers, which i have seen. i know his violence, and temper, and obstinacy of opinion, and--but i will not speak out, for, though i think him the greatest man upon the earth, yet, in politics i think him,--what he has been found, to the sorrow of those who act with him. he is uncorrupt, i know; but his passions are quite headstrong; [footnote: it was well said, (i believe, by mr. fox,) that it was lucky both for burke and windham that they took the royal side on the subject of the french revolution, as they would have got hanged on the other.] and age, and disappointment, and the sight of other men rising into fame and consequence, sour him. pray tell me when they are reconciled,--though, as i said, it is nothing to the purpose without a public explanation. "i am, dear madam, "yours truly, "s. parr." another letter, communicated to me as having been written about this period to sheridan by a gentleman, then abroad, who was well acquainted with the whole party, contains allusions to the breach, which make its introduction here not irrelevant:-- "i wish very much to have some account of the state of things with you that i can rely on. i wish to know how all my old companions and fellow-laborers do; if the club yet exists; if you, and richardson, and lord john, and ellis, and lawrence, and fitzpatrick, &c., meet, and joke, and write, as of old. what is become of becket's, and the supper-parties,--the _noctes coenaeque_? poor burgoyne! i am sure you all mourned him as i did, particularly richardson:--pray remember me affectionately to richardson. it is a shame for you all, and i will say ungrateful in many of you, to have so totally forgotten me, and to leave me in ignorance of every thing public and private in which i am interested. the only creature who writes to me is the duke of portland; but in the great and weighty occupations that engross his mind, you can easily conceive that the little details of our society cannot enter into his grace's correspondence. i have indeed carried on a pretty regular correspondence with young burke. but that is now at an end. _he_ is so wrapt up in the importance of his present pursuits, that it is too great an honor for me to continue to correspond with him. his father i ever must venerate and ever love; yet i never could admire, even in him, what his son has inherited from him, a tenacity of opinion and a violence of _principle_, that makes him lose his friendships in his politics, and quarrel with every one who differs from him. bitterly have i lamented that greatest of these quarrels, and, indeed, the only important one; nor can i conceive it to have been less afflicting to my private feelings than fatal to the party. the worst of it to me was, that i was obliged to condemn the man i loved, and that all the warmth of my affection, and the zeal of my partiality, could not suggest a single excuse to vindicate him either to the world or to myself, from the crime (for such it was) of giving such a triumph to the common enemy. he failed, too, in what i most loved him for,--his heart. there it was that _mr. fox principally rose above him_; nor, amiable as he ever has been, did he ever appear half so amiable as on that trying occasion." the topic upon which sheridan most distinguished himself during this session was the meditated interference of england in the war between russia and the porte,--one of the few measures of mr. pitt on which the sense of the nation was opposed to him. so unpopular, indeed, was the armament, proposed to be raised for this object, and so rapidly did the majority of the minister diminish during the discussion of it, that there appeared for some time a probability that the whig party would be called into power,--an event which, happening at this critical juncture, might, by altering the policy of england, have changed the destinies of all europe. the circumstance to which at present this russian question owes its chief hold upon english memories is the charge, arising out of it, brought against mr. fox of having sent mr. adair as his representative to petersburg, for the purpose of frustrating the objects for which the king's ministers were then actually negotiating. this accusation, though more than once obliquely intimated during the discussions upon the russian armament in , first met the public eye, in any tangible form, among those celebrated articles of impeachment against mr. fox, which were drawn up by burke's practised hand [footnote: this was the third time that his talent for impeaching was exercised, as he acknowledged having drawn up, during the administration of lord north, seven distinct articles of impeachment against that nobleman, which, however, the advice of lord rockingham induced him to relinquish] in , and found their way surreptitiously into print in . the angry and vindictive tone of this paper was but little calculated to inspire confidence in its statements, and the charge again died away, unsupported and unrefuted, till the appearance of the memoirs of mr. pitt by the bishop of winchester; when, upon the authority of documents said to be found among the papers of mr. pitt, but not produced, the accusation was revived,--the right reverend biographer calling in aid of his own view of the transaction the charitable opinion of the turks, who, he complacently assures us, "expressed great surprise that mr. fox had not lost his head for such conduct." notwithstanding, however, this _concordat_ between the right reverend prelate and the turks, something more is still wanting to give validity to so serious an accusation. until the production of the alleged proofs (which mr. adair has confidently demanded) shall have put the public in possession of more recondite materials for judging, they must regard as satisfactory and conclusive the refutation of the whole charge, both as regards himself and his illustrious friend, which mr. adair has laid before the world; and for the truth of which not only his own high character, but the character of the ministries of both parties, who have since employed him in missions of the first trust and importance, seem to offer the strongest and most convincing pledges. the empress of russia, in testimony of her admiration of the eloquence of mr. fox on this occasion, sent an order to england, through her ambassador, for a bust of that statesman, which it was her intention, she said, to place between those of demosthenes and cicero. the following is a literal copy of her imperial majesty's note on the subject: [footnote: found among mr. sheridan's papers, with these words, in his own hand-writing, annexed:--"n. b. fox would have lost it, if i had not made him look for it, and taken a copy."]-- "ecrivés au cte. worenzof qu'il me fasse avoir en marbre blanc le buste resemblant de charle fox. je veut le mettre sur ma colonade entre eux de demosthene et ciceron. "il a delivré par son eloquence sa patrie et la russie d'une guerre a la quelle il n'y avoit ni justice ni raisons." another subject that engaged much of the attention of mr. sheridan this year was his own motion relative to the constitution of the royal scotch boroughs. he had been, singularly enough, selected, in the year , by the burgesses of scotland, in preference to so many others possessing more personal knowledge of that country, to present to the house the petition of the convention of delegates, for a reform of the internal government of the royal boroughs. how fully satisfied they were with his exertions in their cause may be judged by the following extract from the minutes of convention, dated th august, :-- "mr. mills of perth, after a suitable introductory speech, moved a vote of thanks to mr. sheridan, in the following words:-- "the delegates of the burgesses of scotland, associated for the purpose of reform, taking into their most serious consideration the important services rendered to their cause by the manly and prudent exertions of richard brinsley sheridan, esq., the genuine and fixed attachment to it which the whole tenor of his conduct has evinced, and the admirable moderation he has all along displayed, "resolved unanimously, that the most sincere thanks of this meeting be given to the said richard brinsley sheridan, esq., for his steady, honorable, and judicious conduct in bringing the question relative to the violated rights of the scottish boroughs to its present important and favorable crisis; and the burgesses with firm confidence hope that, from his attachment to the cause, which he has shown to be deeply rooted in principle, he will persevere to exert his distinguished, abilities, till the objects of it are obtained, with that inflexible firmness, and constitutional moderation, which have appeared so conspicuous and exemplary throughout the whole of his conduct, as to be highly deserving of the imitation of all good citizens. "john ewen, secretary." from a private letter written this year by one of the scottish delegates to a friend of mr. sheridan, (a copy of which letter i have found among the papers of the latter,) it appears that the disturbing effects of mr. burke's book had already shown themselves so strongly among the whig party as to fill the writer with apprehensions of their defection, even on the safe and moderate question of scotch reform. he mentions one distinguished member of the party, who afterwards stood conspicuously in the very van of the opposition, but who at that moment, if the authority of the letter may be depended upon, was, like others, under the spell of the great alarmist, and yielding rapidly to the influence of that anti-revolutionary terror, which, like the panic dignified by the ancients with the name of one of their gods, will be long associated in the memories of englishmen with the mighty name and genius of burke. a consultation was, however, held among this portion of the party, with respect to the prudence of lending their assistance to the measure of scotch reform; and sir james mackintosh, as i have heard him say, was in company with sheridan, when dr. lawrence came direct from the meeting, to inform him that they had agreed to support his motion. the state of the scotch representation is one of those cases where a dread of the ulterior objects of reform induces many persons to oppose its first steps, however beneficial and reasonable they may deem them, rather than risk a further application of the principle, or open a breach by which a bolder spirit of innovation may enter. as it is, there is no such thing as popular election in scotland. we cannot, indeed, more clearly form to ourselves a notion of the manner in which so important a portion of the british empire is represented, than by supposing the lords of the manor throughout england to be invested with the power of electing her representatives,--the manorial rights, too, being, in a much greater number of instances than at present, held independently of the land from which they derive their claim, and thus the natural connection between property and the right of election being, in most cases, wholly separated. such would be, as nearly as possible, a parallel to the system of representation now existing in scotland;--a system, which it is the understood duty of all present and future lord advocates to defend, and which neither the lively assaults of a sheridan nor the sounder reasoning and industry of an abercrombie have yet been able to shake. the following extract from another of the many letters of dr. parr to sheridan shows still further the feeling entertained towards burke, even by some of those who most violently differed with him:-- "during the recess of parliament i hope you will read the mighty work of my friend and your friend, and mr. fox's friend, mackintosh: there is some obscurity and there are many scotticisms in it; yet i do pronounce it the work of a most masculine and comprehensive mind. the arrangement is far more methodical than mr. burke's, the sentiments are more patriotic, the reasoning is more profound, and even the imagery in some places is scarcely less splendid. i think mackintosh a better philosopher, and a better citizen, and i know him to be a far better scholar and a far better man, than payne; in whose book there are great irradiations of genius, but none of the glowing and generous warmth which virtue inspires; that warmth which is often kindled in the bosom of mackintosh, and which pervades almost every page of mr. burke's book--though i confess, and with sorrow i confess, that the holy flame was quite extinguished in his odious altercation with you and mr. fox." a letter from the prince of wales to sheridan this year furnishes a new proof of the confidence reposed in him by his royal highness. a question of much delicacy and importance having arisen between that illustrious personage and the duke of york, of a nature, as it appears, too urgent to wait for a reference to mr. fox, sheridan had alone the honor of advising his royal highness in the correspondence that took place between him and his royal brother on that occasion. though the letter affords no immediate clue to the subject of these communications, there is little doubt that they referred to a very important and embarrassing question, which is known to have been put by the duke of york to the heir-apparent, previously to his own marriage this year;--a question which involved considerations connected with the succession to the crown, and which the prince, with the recollection of what occurred on the same subject in , could only get rid of by an evasive answer. chapter v. death of mrs. sheridan. in the year , after a long illness, which terminated in consumption, mrs. sheridan died at bristol, in the thirty-eighth year of her age. there has seldom, perhaps, existed a finer combination of all those qualities that attract both eye and heart, than this accomplished and lovely person exhibited. to judge by what we hear, it was impossible to see her without admiration, or know her without love; and a late bishop used to say that she "seemed to him the connecting link between woman and angel." [footnote: jackson of exeter, too, giving a description of her, in some memoirs of his own life that were never published, said that to see her, as she stood singing beside him at the piano-forte, was "like looking into the face of an angel."] the devotedness of affection, too, with which she was regarded, not only by her own father and sisters, but by all her husband's family, showed that her fascination was of that best kind which, like charity, "begins at home;" and that while her beauty and music enchanted the world, she had charms more intrinsic and lasting for those who came nearer to her. we have already seen with what pliant sympathy she followed her husband through his various pursuits,-- identifying herself with the politician as warmly and readily as with the author, and keeping love still attendant on genius through all his transformations. as the wife of the dramatist and manager, we find her calculating the receipts of the house, assisting in the adaptation of her husband's opera, and reading over the plays sent in by dramatic candidates. as the wife of the senator and orator we see her, with no less zeal, making extracts from state-papers, and copying out ponderous pamphlets,--entering with all her heart and soul into the details of elections, and even endeavoring to fathom the mysteries of the funds. the affectionate and sensible care with which she watched over, not only her own children, but those which her beloved sister, mrs. tickell, confided to her, in dying, gives the finish to this picture of domestic usefulness. when it is recollected, too, that the person thus homelily employed was gifted with every charm that could adorn and delight society, it would be difficult, perhaps, to find any where a more perfect example of that happy mixture of utility and ornament, in which all that is prized by the husband and the lover combines, and which renders woman what the sacred fire was to the parsees,--not only an object of adoration on their altars, but a source of warmth and comfort to their hearths. to say that, with all this, she was not happy, nor escaped the censure of the world, is but to assign to her that share of shadow, without which nothing bright ever existed on this earth. united not only by marriage, but by love, to a man who was the object of universal admiration, and whose vanity and passions too often led him to yield to the temptations by which he was surrounded, it was but natural that, in the consciousness of her own power to charm, she should be now and then piqued into an appearance of retaliation, and seem to listen with complaisance to some of those numerous worshippers, who crowd around such beautiful and unguarded shrines. not that she was at any time unwatched by sheridan,--on the contrary, he followed her with a lover's eyes throughout; and it was believed of both, by those who knew them best, that, even when they seemed most attracted by other objects, they would willingly, had they consulted the real wishes of their hearts, have given up every one in the world for each other. so wantonly do those, who have happiness in their grasp, trifle with that rare and delicate treasure, till, like the careless hand playing with the rose, "in swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas, they snap it--it falls to ground." they had, immediately after their marriage, as we have seen, passed some time in a little cottage at eastburnham, and it was a period, of course, long remembered by them both for its happiness. i have been told by a friend of sheridan, that he once overheard him exclaiming to himself, after looking for some moments at his wife, with a pang, no doubt, of melancholy self-reproach,--"could anything bring back those first feelings?" then adding with a sigh, "yes, perhaps, the cottage at eastburnham might." in this as well as in some other traits of the same kind, there is assuredly any thing but that common-place indifference, which too often clouds over the evening of married life. on the contrary, it seems rather the struggle of affection with its own remorse; and, like the humorist who mourned over the extinction of his intellect so eloquently as to prove that it was still in full vigor, shows love to be still warmly alive in the very act of lamenting its death. i have already presented the reader with some letters of mrs. sheridan, in which the feminine character of her mind very interestingly displays itself. their chief charm is unaffectedness, and the total absence of that literary style, which in the present day infects even the most familiar correspondence. i shall here give a few more of her letters, written at different periods to the elder sister of sheridan,--it being one of her many merits to have kept alive between her husband and his family, though so far separated, a constant and cordial intercourse, which, unluckily, after her death, from his own indolence and the new connections into which he entered, was suffered to die away, almost entirely. the first letter, from its allusion to the westminster scrutiny, must have been written in the year , mr. fox having gained his great victory over sir cecil wray on the th of may, and the scrutiny having been granted on the same day. "my dear lissy, "_london, june ._ "i am happy to find by your last that our apprehensions on charles's account were useless. the many reports that were circulated here of his accident gave us a good deal of uneasiness; but it is no longer wonderful that he should be buried here, when mr. jackman has so barbarously murdered him with you. i fancy he would risk another broken head, rather than give up his title to it as an officer of the crown. we go on here wrangling as usual, but i am afraid all to no purpose. those who are in possession of power are determined to use it without the least pretence to justice or consistency. they have ordered a scrutiny for westminster, in defiance of all law or precedent, and without any other hope or expectation but that of harassing and tormenting mr. fox and his friends, and obliging them to waste their time and money, which perhaps they think might otherwise be employed to a better purpose in another cause. we have nothing for it but patience and perseverance, which i hope will at last be crowned with success, though i fear it will be a much longer trial than we at first expected. i hear from every body that your ... are vastly disliked--but are you not all kept in awe by such beauty? i know she flattered herself to subdue all your volunteers by the fire of her eyes only:--how astonished she must be to find that they have not yet laid down their arms! there is nothing would tempt me to trust my sweet person upon the water sooner than the thoughts of seeing you; but i fear my friendship will hardly ever be put to so hard a trial. though sheridan is not in office, i think he is more engaged by politics than ever. "i suppose we shall not leave town till september. we have promised to pay many visits, but i fear we shall be obliged to give up many of our schemes, for i take it for granted parliament will meet again as soon as possible. we are to go to chatsworth, and to another friend of mine in that neighborhood, so that i doubt our being able to pay our annual visit to crewe hall. mrs. crewe has been very ill all this winter with your old complaint, the rheumatism--she is gone to brightelmstone to wash it away in the sea. do you ever see mrs. greville? i am glad to hear my two nephews are both in so thriving a way. are you still a nurse? i should like to take a peep at your bantlings. which is the handsomest? have you candor enough to think any thing equal to your own boy? if you have, you have more merit than i can claim. pray remember me kindly to bess, mr. l., &c., and don't forget to kiss the little squaller for me when you have nothing better to do. god bless you. "ever yours." "the inclosed came to dick in one of charles's franks; he said he should write to you himself with it, but i think it safest not to trust him." in another letter, written in the same year, there are some touches both of sisterly and of conjugal feeling, which seem to bespeak a heart happy in all its affections. "my dear lissy, _putney, august ._ "you will no doubt be surprised to find me still dating from this place, but various reasons have detained me here from day to day, to the great dissatisfaction of my dear mary, who has been expecting me hourly for the last fortnight. i propose going to hampton-court tonight, if dick returns in any decent time from town. "i got your letter and a half the day before yesterday, and shall be very well pleased to have such blunders occur more frequently. you mistake, if you suppose i am a friend to your tarrers and featherers:--it is such wretches that always ruin a good cause. there is no reason on earth why you should not have a new parliament as well as us:--it might not, perhaps, be quite as convenient to our immaculate minister, but i sincerely hope he will not find your volunteers so accommodating as the present india troops in our house of commons. what! does the secretary at war condescend to reside in any house but his own?--'tis very odd he should turn himself out of doors in his situation. i never could perceive any economy in dragging furniture from one place to another; but, of course, he has more experience in these matters than i have. "mr. forbes dined here the other day, and i had a great deal of conversation with him on various subjects relating to you all. he says, charles's manner of talking of his wife, &c. is so ridiculous, that, whenever he comes into company, they always cry out,--'now s----a, we allow you half an hour to talk of the beauties of mrs. s.----, half an hour to your child, and another half hour to your farm,--and then we expect you will behave like a reasonable person.' "so mrs. ---- is not happy: poor thing, i dare say, if the truth were known, he teazes her to death. your _very good_ husbands generally contrive to make you sensible of their merit somehow or other. "from a letter mr. canning has just got from dublin, i find you have been breaking the heads of some of our english heroes. i have no doubt in the world that they deserved it; and if half a score more that i know had shared the same fate, it might, perhaps become less the fashion among our young men to be such contemptible coxcombs as they certainly are. "my sister desired me to say all sorts of affectionate things to you, in return for your kind remembrance of her in your last. i assure you, you lost a great deal by not seeing her in her maternal character:--it is the prettiest sight in the world to see her with her children:--they are both charming creatures, but my little namesake is my delight:--'tis impossible to say how foolishly fond of her i am. poor mary! she is in a way to have more;--and what will become of them all is sometimes a consideration that gives me many a painful hour. but _they_ are happy, with _their_ little portion of the goods of this world:--then, what are riches good for? for my part, as you know, poor dick and i have always been struggling against the stream, and shall probably continue to do so to the end of our lives,--yet we would not change sentiments or sensations with ... for all his estate. by the bye, i was told t'other day he was going to receive eight thousand pounds as a compromise for his uncle's estate, which has been so long in litigation;--is it true?--i dare say it is, though, or he would not be so discontented as you say he is. god bless you.--give my love to bess, and return a kiss to my nephew for me. remember me to mr. l. and believe me "truly yours." the following letter appears to have been written in , some months after the death of her sister, miss maria linley. her playful allusions to the fame of her own beauty might have been answered in the language of paris to helen:-- "_minor est tua gloria vero famaque de forma pene maligna est_." "thy beauty far outruns even rumor's tongue, and envious fame leaves half thy charms unsung." "my dear lissy, "_delapre abbey, dec. ._ "notwithstanding your incredulity, i assure you i wrote to you from hampton-court, very soon after bess came to england. my letter was a dismal one; for my mind was at that time entirely occupied by the affecting circumstance of my poor sister's death. perhaps you lost nothing by not receiving my letter, for it was not much calculated to amuse you. "i am still a recluse, you see, but i am preparing to _launch_ for the winter in a few days. dick was detained in town by a bad fever:--you may suppose i was kept in ignorance of his situation, or i should not have remained so quietly here. he came last week, and the fatigue of the journey very nearly occasioned a relapse:--but by the help of a jewel of a doctor that lives in this neighborhood we are both quite stout and well again, (for _i_ took it into my head to fall sick again, too, without rhyme or reason.) "we purpose going to town to-morrow or next day. our own house has been painting and papering, and the weather has been so unfavorable to the business, that it is probable it will not be fit for us to go into this month; we have, therefore, accepted a most pressing invitation of general burgoyne to take up our abode with him, till our house is ready; so your next must be directed to bruton-street, under cover to dick, unless charles will frank it again. i don't believe what you say of charles's not being glad to have seen me in dublin. you are very flattering in the reasons you give, but i rather think his vanity would have been more gratified by showing every body how much prettier and younger his wife was than the mrs. sheridan in whose favor they have been prejudiced by your good-natured partiality. if i could have persuaded myself to trust the treacherous ocean, the pleasure of seeing you and your nursery would have compensated for all the fame i should have lost by a comparison. but my guardian sylph, vainer of my beauty, perhaps, than myself, would not suffer me to destroy the flattering illusion _you_ have so often displayed to your irish friends. no,--i shall stay till i am past all pretensions, and then you may excuse your want of taste by saying, 'oh, if you had seen her when she was young!' "i am very glad that bess is satisfied with my attention to her. the unpleasant situation i was in prevented my seeing her as often as i could wish. for _her_ sake i assure you i shall be glad to have dick and your father on good terms, without entering into any arguments on the subject; but i fear, where _one_ of the parties, at least, has a _tincture_ of what they call in latin _damnatus obstinatus mulio_, the attempt will be difficult, and the success uncertain. god bless you, and believe me "_mrs. lefanu, great cuff-street, dublin_. "truly yours." the next letter i shall give refers to the illness with which old mr. sheridan was attacked in the beginning of the year , and of which he died in the month of august following. it is unnecessary to direct the reader's attention to the passages in which she speaks of her lost sister, mrs. tickell, and her children:--they have too much of the heart's best feelings in them to be passed over slightly. "my dear lissy, "_london, april ._ "your last letter i hope was written when you were low spirited, and consequently inclined to forebode misfortune. i would not show it to sheridan:--he has lately been much harassed by business, and i could not bear to give him the pain i know your letter would have occasioned. partial as your father has always been to charles, i am confident _he_ never has, nor ever will feel half the duty and affections that dick has always exprest. i know how deeply he will be afflicted, if you confirm the melancholy account of his declining health;--but i trust your next will remove my apprehensions, and make it unnecessary for me to wound his affectionate heart by the intelligence. i flatter myself likewise, that you have been without reason alarmed about poor bess. her life, to be sure, must be dreadful;--but i should hope the good nature and kindness of her disposition will support her, and enable her to continue the painful duty so necessary, probably, to the comfort of your poor father. if charles has not or does not do every thing in his power to contribute to the happiness of the few years which nature can allow him, he will have more to answer to his conscience than i trust any of those dear to me will have. mrs. crewe told us, the other day, she had heard from mrs. greville, that every thing was settled much to your father's satisfaction. i _will_ hope, therefore, as i have said before, you were in a gloomy fit when you wrote, and in the mean time i will congratulate you on the recovery of your own health and that of your children. "i have been confined now near two months:--i caught cold almost immediately on coming to town, which brought on all those dreadful complaints with which i was afflicted at crewe-hall. by constant attention and strict regimen i am once more got about again; but i never go out of my house after the sun is down, and on those terms only can i enjoy tolerable health. i never knew dick better. my dear boy is now with me for his holydays, and a charming creature he is, i assure you, in every respect. my sweet little charge, too, promises to reward me for all my care and anxiety. the little ones come to me every day, though they do not at present live with me. we think of taking a house in the country this summer as necessary for my health and convenient to s., who must be often in town. i shall then have _all_ the children with me, as they now constitute a very great part of my happiness. the scenes of sorrow and sickness i have lately gone through have depressed my spirits, and made me incapable of finding pleasure in the amusements which used to occupy me perhaps too much. my greatest delight is in the reflection that i am acting according to the wishes of my ever dear and lamented sister, and that by fulfilling the sacred trust bequeathed me in her last moments, i insure my own felicity in the grateful affection of the sweet creatures,--whom, though i love for their own sakes, i idolize when i consider them as the dearest part of her who was the first and nearest friend of my heart! god bless you, my dear liss:--this is a subject that always carries me away. i will therefore bid you adieu,--only entreating you as soon as you can to send me a more comfortable letter. my kind love to bess, and mr. l. "yours, ever affectionately." i shall give but one more letter; which is perhaps only interesting as showing how little her heart went along with the gayeties into which her husband's connection with the world of fashion and politics led her. "my dear lissy, "_may ._ "i have only time at present to write a few lines at the request of mrs. crewe, who is made very unhappy by an account of mrs. greville's illness, as she thinks it possible mrs. g. has not confessed the whole of her situation. she earnestly wishes you would find out from dr. quin what the nature of her complaint is, with every other particular you can gather on the subject, and give me a line as soon as possible. "i am very glad to find your father is better. as there has been a recess lately from the trial, i thought it best to acquaint sheridan with his illness. i hope now, however, there is but little reason to be alarmed about him. mr. tickell has just received an account from holland, that poor mrs. berkeley, (whom you know best as betty tickell,) was at the point of death in a consumption. "i hope in a very short time now to get into the country. the duke of norfolk has lent us a house within twenty miles of london; and i am impatient to be once more out of this noisy, dissipated town, where i do nothing that i really like, and am forced to appear pleased with every thing odious to me. god bless you. i write in the hurry of dressing for a great ball given by the duke of york to night, which i had determined not to go to till late last night, when i was persuaded that it would be very improper to refuse a royal invitation, if i was not absolutely confined by illness. adieu. believe me truly yours. "you must pay for this letter, for dick has got your last with the direction; and any thing in his hands is _irrecoverable_!" the health of mrs. sheridan, as we see by some of her letters, had been for some time delicate; but it appears that her last, fatal illness originated in a cold, which she had caught in the summer of the preceding year. though she continued from that time to grow gradually worse, her friends were flattered with the hope that as soon as her confinement should take place, she would be relieved from all that appeared most dangerous in her complaint. that event, however, produced but a temporary intermission of the malady, which returned after a few days with such increased violence, that it became necessary for her, as a last hope, to try the waters of bristol. the following affectionate letter of tickell must have been written at this period:-- "my dear sheridan, "i was but too well prepared for the melancholy intelligence contained in your last letter, in answer to which, as richardson will give you this, i leave it to his kindness to do me justice in every sincere and affectionate expression of my grief for your situation, and my entire readiness to obey and further your wishes by every possible exertion. "if you have any possible opportunity, let me entreat you to remember me to the dearest, tenderest friend and sister of my heart. sustain yourself, my dear sheridan, "and believe me yours, "most affectionately and faithfully, "r. tickell." the circumstances of her death cannot better be told than in the language of a lady whose name it would be an honor to mention, who, giving up all other cares and duties, accompanied her dying friend to bristol, and devoted herself, with a tenderness rarely equalled even among women, to the soothing and lightening of her last painful moments. from the letters written by this lady at the time, some extracts have lately been given by miss lefanu [footnote: the talents of this young lady are another proof of the sort of _garet kind_ of genius allotted to the whole race of sheridan. i find her very earliest poetical work, "the sylphid queen," thus spoken of in a letter from the second mrs. sheridan to her mother, mrs. lefanu--"i should have acknowledged your very welcome present immediately, had not mr. sheridan, on my telling him what it was, run off with it, and i have been in vain endeavoring to get it from him ever since. what little i did read of it, i admired particularly, but it will be much more gratifying to you and your daughter to hear that _he_ read it with the greatest attention, and thought it showed a great deal of imagination."] in her interesting memoirs of her grandmother, mrs. frances sheridan. but their whole contents are so important to the characters of the persons concerned, and so delicately draw aside the veil from a scene of which sorrow and affection were the only witnesses, that i feel myself justified not only in repeating what has already been quoted, but in adding a few more valuable particulars, which, by the kindness of the writer and her correspondent, i am enabled to give from the same authentic source. the letters are addressed to mrs. h. lefanu, the second sister of mr. sheridan. "_bristol, june , ._ * * * * * "i am happy to have it in my power to give you any information on a subject so interesting to you, and to all that have the happiness of knowing dear mrs. sheridan; though i am sorry to add, it cannot be such as will relieve your anxiety, or abate your fears. the truth is, our poor friend is in a most precarious state of health, and quite given over by the faculty. her physician here, who is esteemed very skilful in consumptive cases, assured me from the first that it was a _lost case_; but as your brother seemed unwilling to know the truth, he was not so explicit with him, and only represented her as being in a very critical situation. poor man! he cannot bear to think her in danger himself, or that any one else should; though he is as attentive and watchful as if he expected every moment to be her last. it is impossible for any man to behave with greater tenderness, or to feel more on such an occasion, than he does. * * * * * "at times the dear creature suffers a great deal from weakness, and want of rest. she is very patient under her sufferings, and perfectly resigned. she is well aware of her danger, and talks of dying with the greatest composure. i am sure it will give you and mr. lefanu pleasure to know that her mind is well prepared for any change that may happen, and that she derives every comfort from religion that a sincere christian can look for." on the th of the same month mrs. sheridan died; and a letter from this lady, dated july th, thus touchingly describes her last moments. as a companion-picture to the close of sheridan's own life, it completes a lesson of the transitoriness of this world, which might sadden the hearts of the beautiful and gifted, even in their most brilliant and triumphant hours. far happier, however, in her death than he was, she had not only his affectionate voice to soothe her to the last, but she had one devoted friend, out of the many whom she had charmed and fascinated, to watch consolingly over her last struggle, and satisfy her as to the fate of the beloved objects which she left behind. "_july , ._ "our dear departed friend kept her bed only two days, and seemed to suffer less during that interval than for some time before. she was perfectly in her senses to the last moment, and talked with the greatest composure of her approaching dissolution; assuring us all that she had the most perfect confidence in the mercies of an all-powerful and merciful being, from whom alone she could have derived the inward comfort and support she felt at that awful moment! she said, she had no fear of death, and that all her concern arose from the thoughts of leaving so many dear and tender ties, and of what they would suffer from her loss. her own family were at bath, and had spent one day with her, when she was tolerably well. your poor brother now thought it proper to send for them, and to flatter them no longer. they immediately came;--it was the morning before she died. they were introduced one at a time at her bed-side, and were prepared as much as possible for this sad scene. the women bore it very well, but all our feelings were awakened for her poor father. the interview between him and the dear angel was afflicting and heart-breaking to the greatest degree imaginable. i was afraid she would have sunk under the cruel agitation:--she said it was indeed too much for her. she gave some kind injunction to each of them, and said everything she could to comfort them under this severe trial. they then parted, in the hope of seeing her again in the evening, but they never saw her more! mr. sheridan and i sat up all that night with her:--indeed he had done so for several nights before, and never left her one moment that could be avoided. about four o'clock in the morning we perceived an alarming change, and sent for her physician. [footnote: this physician was dr. bain, then a very young man, whose friendship with sheridan began by this mournful duty to his wife, and only ended with the performance of the same melancholy office for himself. as the writer of the above letters was not present during the interview which she describes between him and mrs. sheridan, there are a few slight errors in her account of what passed, the particulars of which, as related by dr. bain himself, are as follows:--on his arrival, she begged of sheridan and her female friend to leave the room, and then, desiring him to lock the door after them, said, "you have never deceived me:--tell me truly, shall i live over this night." dr. bain immediately felt her pulse, and, finding that she was dying, answered, "i recommend you to take some laudanum;" upon which she replied, "i understand you:--then give it me." dr. bain fully concurs with the writer of these letters in bearing testimony to the tenderness and affection that sheridan evinced on this occasion:--it was, he says, quite "the devotedness of a lover." the following note, addressed to him after the sad event was over, does honor alike to the writer and the receiver:-- "my dear sir, "i must request your acceptance of the inclosed for your professional attendance. for the kind and friendly attentions, which have accompanied your efforts, i must remain your debtor. the recollection of them will live in my mind with the memory of the dear lost object, whose sufferings you soothed, and whose heart was grateful for it. "believe me, "dear sir, "very sincerely yours, "_friday night_. "r. b. sheridan."] she said to him, 'if you can relieve me, do it quickly;--if not do not let me struggle, but give me some laudanum.' his answer was, 'then i will give you some laudanum.' she desired to see tom and betty tickell before she took it, of whom she took a most affecting leave! your brother behaved most wonderfully, though his heart was breaking; and at times his feelings were so violent, that i feared he would have been quite ungovernable at the last. yet he summoned up courage to kneel by the bed-side, till he felt the last pulse of expiring excellence, and then withdrew. she died at five o'clock in the morning, th of june. "i hope, my dear mrs. lefanu, you will excuse my dwelling on this most agonizing scene. i have a melancholy pleasure in so doing, and fancy it will not be disagreeable to you to hear all the particulars of an event so interesting, so afflicting, to all who knew the beloved creature! for my part, i never beheld such a scene--never suffered such a conflict--much as i have suffered on my own account. while i live, the remembrance of it and the dear lost object can never be effaced from my mind. "we remained ten days after the event took place at bristol; and on the th instant mr. sheridan and tom, accompanied by all her family (except mrs. linley), mr. and mrs. leigh, betty tickell and myself, attended the dear remains [footnote: the following striking reflection, which i have found upon a scrap of paper, in sheridan's handwriting, was suggested, no doubt, by his feelings on this occasion-- "the loss of the breath from a beloved object, long suffering in pain and certainly to die, is not so great a privation as the last loss of her beautiful remains, if they remain so. the victory of the grave is sharper than the sting of death."] to wells, where we saw her laid beside her beloved sister in the cathedral. the choir attended; and there was such a concourse of people of all sorts assembled on the occasion that we could hardly move along. mr. leigh read the service in a most affecting manner. indeed, the whole scene, as you may easily imagine, was awful and affecting to a very great degree. though the crowd certainly interrupted the solemnity very much, and, perhaps, happily for us abated somewhat of our feelings, which, had we been less observed, would not have been so easily kept down. "the day after the sad scene was closed we separated, your brother choosing to be left by himself with tom for a day or two. he afterwards joined us at bath, where we spent a few days with our friends, the leighs. last saturday we took leave of them, and on sunday we arrived at isleworth, where with much regret, i left your brother to his own melancholy reflections, with no other companions but his two children, in whom he seems at present entirely wrapped up. he suffered a great deal in returning the same road, and was most dreadfully agitated on his arrival at isleworth. his grief is deep and sincere, and i am sure will be lasting. he is in very good spirits, and at times is even cheerful, but the moment he is left alone he feels all the anguish of sorrow and regret. the dear little girl is the greatest comfort to him:--he cannot bear to be a moment without her. she thrives amazingly, and is indeed a charming little creature. tom behaves with constant and tender attention to his father:--he laments his dear mother sincerely, and at the time was violently affected;--but, at his age, the impressions of grief are not lasting; and his mind is naturally too lively and cheerful to dwell long on melancholy objects. he is in all respects truly amiable and in many respects so like his dear, charming mother, that i am sure he will be ever dear to my heart. i expect to have the pleasure of seeing mr. sheridan again next week, when i hope to find him more composed than when i took leave of him last sunday." to the mention which is made, in this affecting letter, of the father of mrs. sheridan, whose destiny it had been to follow to the grave, within a few short years, so many of his accomplished children, [footnote: in his eldest son thomas was drowned, while amusing himself in a pleasure-boat at the seat of the duke of ancaster. the pretty lines of mrs. sheridan to his violin are well known. a few years after, samuel, a lieutenant in the navy, was carried off by a fever. miss maria linley died in , and mrs. tickell in . i have erroneously stated, in a former part of this work, that mr. william linley is the only surviving branch of this family;--there is another brother, mr. ozias linley, still living.] i must add a few sentences more from another letter of the same lady, which, while they increase our interest in this amiable and ingenious man, bear testimony to sheridan's attaching powers, and prove how affectionate he must have been to her who was gone, to be thus loved by the father to whom she was so dear:-- "poor mr. linley has been here among us these two months. he is very much broke, but is still a very interesting and agreeable companion. i do not know any one more to be pitied than he is. it is evident that the recollection of past misfortunes preys on his mind, and he has no comfort in the surviving part of his family, they being all scattered abroad. mr. sheridan seems more his child than any one of his own, and i believe he likes being near him and his grandchildren." [footnote: in the memoirs of mrs. crouch i find the following anecdote:--"poor mr. linley after the death of one of his sons, when seated at the harpsichord in drury-lane theatre, in order to accompany the vocal parts of an interesting little piece taken from prior's henry and emma, by mr. tickell, and excellently represented by paduer and miss farren,--when the tutor of henry, mr. aikin gave an impressive description of a promising young man, in speaking of his pupil henry, the feelings of mr. linley could not be suppressed. his tears fell fast--nor did he weep alone." in the same work mrs. crouch is made to say that, after miss maria linley died, it was melancholy for her to sing to mr. linley, whose tears continually fell on the keys as he accompanied her; and if, in the course of her profession, she was obliged to practise a song which he had been accustomed to hear his lost daughter sing, the similarity of their manners and their voices, which he had once remarked with pleasure, then affected him to such a degree, that he was frequently forced to quit the instrument and walk about the room to recover his composure.] towards the autumn, (as we learn from another letter of this lady,) mr. sheridan endeavored to form a domestic establishment for himself at wanstead. "_wanstead, october_ , . "your brother has taken a house in this village very near me, where he means to place his dear little girl to be as much as possible under my projection. this was the dying request of my beloved friend; and the last effort of her mind and pen [footnote: there are some touching allusions to these last thoughts of mrs. sheridan, in an elegy, written by her brother, mr. william linley, soon after the news of the sad event reached him in india:-- "oh most beloved! my sister and my friend! while kindred woes still breathe around thine urn, long with the tear of absence must _i_ blend the sigh, that speaks thou never shall return. * * * * "'twas faith, that, bending o'er the bed of death, shot o'er thy pallid cheek a transient ray, with softer effort soothed thy laboring breath, gave grace to anguish, beauty to decay. "thy friends, thy children, claim'd thy latest care; theirs was the last that to thy bosom clung; for them to heaven thou sent'st the expiring prayer, the last that falter'd on thy trembling tongue."] was made the day before she expired, to draw up a solemn promise for both of us to sign, to ensure the strict performance of this last awful injunction: so anxious was she to commit this dear treasure to my care, well knowing how impossible it would be for a father, situated as your brother is, to pay that constant attention to her which a daughter so articularly requires. * * * you may be assured i shall engage in the task with the greatest delight and alacrity:--would to god that i were in the smallest degree qualified to supply the place of that angelic, all-accomplished mother, of whose tender care she has been so early 'deprived. all i _can_ do for her i _will_ do; and if i can succeed so far as to give her early and steady principles of religion, and to form her mind to virtue, i shall think my time well employed, and shall feel myself happy in having fulfilled the first wish of her beloved mother's heart. * * * * * "to return to your brother, he talks of having his house here immediately furnished and made ready for the reception of his nursery. it is a very good sort of common house, with an excellent garden, roomy and fit for the purpose, but will admit of no show or expense. i understand he has taken a house in jermyn-street, where he may see company, but he does not intend having any other country-house but this. isleworth he gives up, his time being expired there. i believe he has got a private tutor for tom--somebody very much to his mind. at one time he talked of sending him abroad with this gentleman, but i know not at present what his determinations are. he is too fond of tom's society to let him go from him for any time; but i think it would be more to his advantage if he would consent to part with him for two or three years. it is impossible for any man to be more devotedly attached to his children than he is and i hope they will be a comfort and a blessing to him, when the world loses its charms. the last time i saw him, which was for about five minutes, i thought he looked remarkably well, and seemed tolerably cheerful. but i have observed in general that this affliction has made a wonderful alteration in the expression of his countenance and in his manners. [footnote: i have heard a noble friend of sheridan say that, happening about this time to sleep in the room next to him, he could plainly hear him sobbing throughout the greater part of the night.] the leighs and my family spent a week with him at isleworth the beginning of august, where we were indeed most affectionately and hospitably entertained. i could hardly believe him to be the same man. in fact, we never saw him do the honors of his house before; _that,_ you know, he always left the dear, elegant creature, who never failed to please and charm every one who came within the sphere of her notice. nobody could have filled her place so well:--he seemed to have pleasure in making much of those whom she loved, and who, he knew, sincerely loved her. we all thought he never appeared to such advantage. he was attentive to every body and every thing, though grave and thoughtful; and his feelings, poor fellow, often ready to break forth in spite of his efforts to suppress them. he spent his evenings mostly by himself. he desired me, when i wrote, to let you know that she had by will made a little distribution of what she called 'her own property,' and had left you and your sister rings of remembrance, and her _fausse montre,_ containing mr. sheridan's picture to you, [footnote: this bequest is thus announced by sheridan himself in a letter to his sister, dated june , :--"i mean also to send by miss patrick a picture which has long been your property, by a bequest from one whose image is not often from my mind, and whose memory, i am sure, remains in yours."]--mrs. joseph lefanu having got hers. she left rings also to mr. and mrs. leigh, my sister, daughter, and myself, and positively forbids any others being given on any pretence, but these i have specified,--evidently precluding all her _fine friends_ from this last mark of her esteem and approbation. she had, poor thing, with some justice, turned from them all in disgust, and i observed, during her illness, never mentioned any of them with regard or kindness." the consolation which sheridan derived from his little daughter was not long spared to him. in a letter, without a date, from the same amiable writer, the following account of her death is given:-- "the circumstances attending this melancholy event were particularly distressing. a large party of young people were assembled at your brother's to spend a joyous evening in dancing. we were all in the height of our merriment,--he himself remarkably cheerful, and partaking of the amusement, when the alarm was given that the dear little angel was dying. it is impossible to describe the confusion and horror of the scene:--he was quite frantic, and i knew not what to do. happily there were present several kind, good-natured men, who had their recollection, and pointed out what should be done. we very soon had every possible assistance, and for a short time we had some hope that her precious life would have been spared to us--but that was soon at an end! "the dear babe never throve to my satisfaction:--she was small and delicate beyond imagination, and gave very little expectation of long life; but she had visibly declined during the last month. * * * mr. sheridan made himself very miserable at first, from an apprehension that she had been neglected or mismanaged; but i trust he is perfectly convinced that this was not the case. he was severely afflicted at first. the dear babe's resemblance to her mother after her death was so much more striking, that it was impossible to see her without recalling every circumstance of that afflicting scene, and he was continually in the room indulging the sad remembrance. in this manner he indulged his feelings for four or five days; then, having indispensable business, he was obliged to go to london, from whence he returned, on sunday, apparently in good spirits and as well as usual. but, however he may assume the appearance of ease or cheerfulness, his heart is not of a nature to be quickly reconciled to the loss of any thing he loves. he suffers deeply and secretly; and i dare say he will long and bitterly lament both mother and child." the reader will, i think, feel with me, after reading the foregoing letters, as well as those of mrs. sheridan, given in the course of this work, that the impression which they altogether leave on the mind is in the highest degree favorable to the characters both of husband and wife. there is, round the whole, an atmosphere of kindly, domestic feeling, which seems to answer for the soundness of the hearts that breathed in it. the sensibility, too, displayed by sheridan at this period, was not that sort of passionate return to former feelings, which the prospect of losing what it once loved might awaken in even the most alienated heart;--on the contrary, there was a depth and mellowness in his sorrow which could proceed from long habits of affection alone. the idea, indeed, of seeking solace for the loss of the mother in the endearments of the children would occur only to one who had been accustomed to find happiness in his home, and who therefore clung for comfort to what remained of the wreck. such, i have little doubt, were the natural feelings and dispositions of sheridan; and if the vanity of talent too often turned him aside from their influence, it is but another proof of the danger of that "light which leads astray," and may console those who, safe under the shadow of mediocrity, are unvisited by such disturbing splendors. the following letters on this occasion, from his eldest sister and her husband, are a further proof of the warm attachment which he inspired in those connected with him:-- "my dearest brother, "charles has just informed me that the fatal, the dreaded event has taken place. on my knees i implore the almighty to look down upon you in your affliction, to strengthen your noble, your feeling heart to bear it. oh my beloved brother, these are sad, sad trials of fortitude. one consolation, at least, in mitigation of your sorrow, i am sure you possess,--the consciousness of having done all you could to preserve the dear angel you have lost, and to soften the last painful days of her mortal existence. mrs. canning wrote to me that she was in a resigned and happy frame of mind: she is assuredly among the blest; and i feel and i think she looks down with benignity at my feeble efforts to soothe that anguish i participate. let me then conjure you, my dear brother, to suffer me to endeavor to be of use to you. could i have done it, i should have been with you from the time of your arrival at bristol. the impossibility of my going has made me miserable, and injured my health, already in a very bad state. it would give value to my life, could i be of that service i think i _might_ be of, if i were near you; and as i cannot go to you, and as there is every reason for your quitting the scene and objects before you, perhaps you may let us have the happiness of having you here, and my dear tom; i will write to him when my spirits are quieter. i entreat you, my dear brother, try what change of place can do for you: your character and talents are here held in the highest estimation; and you have here some who love you beyond the affection any in england can feel for you. "_cuff-street, th july_. "a. lefanu." "my dear good sir, "_wednesday, th july, ._ "permit me to join my entreaties to lissy's to persuade you to come over to us. a journey might be of service to you, and change of objects a real relief to your mind. we would try every thing to divert your thoughts from too intensely dwelling on certain recollections, which are yet too keen and too fresh to be entertained with safety, at least to occupy you too entirely. having been so long separated from your sister, you can hardly have an adequate idea of her love for you. i, who on many occasions have observed its operation, can truly and solemnly assure you that it far exceeds any thing i could ever have supposed to have been felt by a sister towards a brother. i am convinced you would experience such soothing in her company and conversation as would restore you to yourself sooner than any thing that could be imagined. come, then, my dear sir, and be satisfied you will add greatly to her comfort, and to that of your very affectionate friend, "j. lefanu." chapter vi. drury-lane theatre.--society of "the friends of the people."--madame de genlis.--war with france.--whig seceders.--speeches in parliament.--death of tickell. the domestic anxieties of mr. sheridan, during this year, left but little room in his mind for public cares. accordingly, we find that, after the month of april, he absented himself from the house of commons altogether. in addition to his apprehensions for the safety of mrs. sheridan, he had been for some time harassed by the derangement of his theatrical property, which was now fast falling into a state of arrear and involvement, from which it never after entirely recovered. the theatre of drury-lane having been, in the preceding year, reported by the surveyors to be unsafe and incapable of repair, it was determined to erect an entirely new house upon the same site; for the accomplishment of which purpose a proposal was made, by mr. sheridan and mr. linley, to raise the sum of one hundred and fifty thousand pounds, by the means of three hundred debentures, of five hundred pounds each. this part of the scheme succeeded instantly; and i have now before me a list of the holders of the shares, appended to the proposal of , at the head of which the names of the three trustees, on whom the theatre was afterwards vested in the year , stand for the following number of shares:--albany wallis, ; hammersley, ; richard ford, . but, though the money was raised without any difficulty, the completion of the new building was delayed by various negotiations and obstacles, while, in the mean time, the company were playing, at an enormous expense, first in the opera-house, and afterwards at the haymarket-theatre, and mr. sheridan and mr. linley were paying interest for the first instalment of the loan. to these and other causes of the increasing embarrassments of sheridan is to be added the extravagance of his own style of living, which became much more careless and profuse after death had deprived him of her, whose maternal thoughtfulness alone would have been a check upon such improvident waste. we are enabled to form some idea of his expensive habits, by finding, from the letters which have just been quoted, that he was, at the same time, maintaining three establishments,--one at wanstead, where his son resided with his tutor; another at isleworth, which he still held, (as i learn from letters directed to him there,) in ; and the third, his town-house, in jermyn street. rich and ready as were the resources which the treasury of the theatre opened to him, and fertile as was his own invention in devising new schemes of finance, such mismanaged expenditure would exhaust even _his_ magic wealth, and the lamp must cease to answer to the rubbing at last. the tutor, whom he was lucky enough to obtain for his son at this time, was mr. william smythe, a gentleman who has since distinguished himself by his classical attainments and graceful talent for poetry. young sheridan had previously been under the care of dr. parr, with whom he resided a considerable time at hatton; and the friendship of this learned man for the father could not have been more strongly shown than in the disinterestedness with which he devoted himself to the education of the son. the following letter from him to mr. sheridan, in the may of this year, proves the kind feeling by which he was actuated towards him:-- "dear sir, "i hope tom got home safe, and found you in better spirits. he said something about drawing on your banker; but i do not understand the process, and shall not take any step. you will consult your own convenience about these things; for my connection with you is that of friendship and personal regard. i feel and remember slights from those i respect, but acts of kindness i cannot forget; and, though my life has been passed far more in doing than receiving services, yet i know and i value the good dispositions of yourself and a few other friends,--men who are worthy of that name from me. "if you choose tom to return, he knows and you know how glad i am always to see him. if not, pray let him do something, and i will tell you what he should do. "believe me, dear sir, "yours sincerely, "s. parr." in the spring of this year was established the society of "the friends of the people," for the express purpose of obtaining a parliamentary reform. to this association, which, less for its professed object than for the republican tendencies of some of its members, was particularly obnoxious to the loyalists of the day, mr. sheridan, mr. grey, and many others of the leading persons of the whig party, belonged. their address to the people of england, which was put forth in the month of april, contained an able and temperate exposition of the grounds upon which they sought for reform; and the names of sheridan, mackintosh, whitbread, &c., appear on the list of the committee by which this paper was drawn up. it is a proof of the little zeal which mr. fox felt at this period on the subject of reform, that he withheld the sanction of his name from a society, to which so many of his most intimate political friends belonged. some notice was, indeed, taken in the house of this symptom of backwardness in the cause; and sheridan, in replying to the insinuation, said that "they wanted not the signature of his right honorable friend to assure them i of his concurrence. they had his bond in the steadiness of his political principles and the integrity of his heart." mr. fox himself, however, gave a more definite explanation of the circumstance. "he might be asked," he said, "why his name was not on the list of the society for reform? his reason was, that though he saw great and enormous grievances, he did not see the remedy." it is to be doubted, indeed, whether mr. fox ever fully admitted the principle upon which the demand for a reform was founded. when he afterward espoused the question so warmly, it seems to have been merely as one of those weapons caught up in the heat of a warfare, in which liberty itself appeared to him too imminently endangered to admit of the consideration of any abstract principle, except that summary one of the right of resistance to power abused. from what has been already said, too, of the language held by sheridan on this subject, it may be concluded that, though far more ready than his friend to inscribe reform upon the banner of the party, he had even still less made up his mind as to the practicability or expediency of the measure. looking upon it as a question, the agitation of which was useful to liberty, and at the same time counting upon the improbability of its objects being ever accomplished, he adopted at once, as we have seen, the most speculative of all the plans that had been proposed, and flattered himself that he thus secured the benefit of the general principle, without risking the inconvenience of any of the practical details. the following extract of a letter from sheridan to one of his female correspondents, at this time, will show that he did not quite approve the policy of mr. fox in holding aloof from the reformers:-- "i am down here with mrs. canning and her family, while all my friends and party are meeting in town, where i have excused myself, to lay their wise heads together in this crisis. again i say there is nothing but what is unpleasant before my mind. i wish to occupy and fill my thoughts with public matters, and to do justice to the times, they afford materials enough; but nothing is in prospect to make activity pleasant, or to point one's efforts against one common enemy, making all that engage in the attack cordial, social, and united. on the contrary, every day produces some new schism and absurdity. windham has signed a nonsensical association with lord mulgrave; and when i left town yesterday, i was informed that the _divan_, as the meeting at debrett's is called, were furious at an _authentic_ advertisement from the duke of portland against charles fox's speech in the whig club, which no one before believed to be genuine, but which they now say dr. lawrence brought from burlington-house. if this is so, depend on it there will be a direct breach in what has been called the whig party. charles fox must come to the reformers openly and avowedly; and in a month four-fifths of the whig club will do the same." the motion for the abolition of the slave-trade, brought forward this year by mr. wilberforce, (on whose brows it may be said, with much more truth than of the roman general, "_annexuit africa lauros_,") was signalized by one of the most splendid orations that the lofty eloquence of mr. pitt ever poured forth. [footnote: it was at the conclusion of this speech that, in contemplating the period when africa would, he hoped, participate in those blessings of civilization and knowledge which were now enjoyed by more fortunate regions, he applied the happy quotation, rendered still more striking, it is said, by the circumstance of the rising sun just then shining in through the windows of the house:-- "_nos ... primus equis oriens afflavit anhelis, illic sera rubens accendit lumina vesper_."] i mention the debate, however, for the mere purpose of remarking, as a singularity, that, often as this great question was discussed in parliament, and ample as was the scope which it afforded for the grander appeals of oratory, mr. sheridan was upon no occasion tempted to utter even a syllabic on the subject,-- except once for a few minutes, in the year , upon some point relating to the attendance of a witness. the two or three sentences, however, which he did speak on that occasion were sufficient to prove, (what, as he was not a west-india proprietor, no one can doubt,) that the sentiments entertained by him on this interesting topic were, to the full extent, those which actuated not only his own party, but every real lover of justice and humanity throughout the world. to use a quotation which he himself applied to another branch of the question in :-- "i would not have a slave to till my ground, to fan me when i sleep, and tremble when i wake, for all that human sinews, bought and sold, have ever earn'd." the national convention having lately, in the first paroxysm of their republican vanity, conferred the honor of citizenship upon several distinguished englishmen, and, among others, upon mr. wilberforce and sir james mackintosh, it was intended, as appears by the following letter from mr. stone, (a gentleman subsequently brought into notice by the trial of his brother for high treason,) to invest mr. fox and mr. sheridan with the same distinction, had not the prudent interference of mr. stone saved them from this very questionable honor. the following is the letter which this gentleman addressed to sheridan on the occasion. "_paris, nov. , year , of the french republic._ "dear sir, "i have taken a liberty with your name, of which i ought to give you notice, and offer some apology. the convention, having lately enlarged their connections in europe, are ambitious of adding to the number of their friends by bestowing some mark of distinction on those who have stood forth in support of their cause, when its fate hung doubtful. the french conceive that they owe this obligation very eminently to you and mr. fox; and, to show their gratitude, the committee appointed to make the report has determined to offer to you and mr. fox the honor of citizenship. had this honor never been conferred before, had it been conferred only on worthy members of society, or were you and mr. fox only to be named at this moment, i should not have interfered. but as they have given the title to obscure and vulgar men and scoundrels, of which they are now very much ashamed themselves, i have presumed to suppose that you would think yourself much more honored in the breach than the observance, and have therefore caused your nomination to be suspended. but i was influenced in this also by other considerations, of which one was, that, though the committee would be more careful in their selection than the last had been, yet it was probable you would not like to share the honors with such as would be chosen. but another more important one that weighed with me was, that this new character would not be a small embarrassment in the route which you have to take the next session of parliament, when the affairs of france must necessarily be often the subject of discussion. no one will suspect mr. wilberforce of being seduced, and no one has thought that he did any thing to render him liable to seduction; as his superstition and devotedness to mr. pitt have kept him perfectly _à l'abri_ from all temptations to err on the side of liberty, civil or religious. but to you and mr. fox the reproach will constantly be made, and the blockheads and knaves in the house will always have the means of influencing the opinions of those without, by opposing with success your english character to your french one; and that which is only a mark of gratitude for past services will be construed by malignity into a bribe of some sort for services yet to be rendered. you may be certain that, in offering the reasons for my conduct, i blush that i think it necessary to stoop to such prejudices. of this, however, you will be the best judge, and i should esteem it a favor if you would inform me whether i have done right, or whether i shall suffer your names to stand as they did before my interference. there will be sufficient time for me to receive your answer, as i have prevailed on the reporter, m. brissot, to delay a few days. i have given him my reasons for wishing the suspension, to which he has assented. mr. o'brien also prompted me to this deed, and, if i have done wrong, he must take half the punishment. my address is "rose, huissier," under cover of the president of the national convention. "i have the honor to be "your most obedient "and most humble servant, "j.h. stone." it was in the month of october of this year that the romantic adventure of madame de genlis, (in the contrivance of which the practical humor of sheridan may, i think, be detected,) occurred on the road between london and dartford. this distinguished lady had, at the dose of the year , with a view of escaping the turbulent scenes then passing in france, come over with her illustrious pupil, mademoiselle d'orleans, and her adopted daughter, pamela, [footnote: married at tournay in the month of december, , to lord edward fitzgerald. lord edward was the only one, among the numerous suitors of mrs. sheridan, to whom she is supposed to have listened with any thing like a return of feeling; and that there should be mutual admiration between two such noble specimens of human nature, it is easy, without injury to either of them, to believe. some months before her death, when sheridan had been describing to her and lord edward a beautiful french girl whom he had lately seen, and added that she put him strongly in mind of what his own wife had been in the first bloom of her youth and beauty, mrs. sheridan turned to lord edward, and said with a melancholy smile, "i should like you, when i am dead, to marry that girl." this was pamela, whom sheridan had just seen during his visit of a few hours to madame de genlis, at bury, in suffolk, and whom lord edward married in about a year after.] to england, where she received both from mr. fox and mr. sheridan, all that attention to which her high character for talent, as well as the embarrassing nature of her situation at that moment, claimed for her. the following letter from her to mr. fox i find inclosed in one from the latter to mr. sheridan:-- "sir, "you have, by your infinite kindness, given me the right to show you the utmost confidence. the situation i am in makes me desire to have with me, during two days, a person perfectly well instructed in the laws, and very sure and honest. i desire such a person that i could offer to him all the money he would have for this trouble. but there is not a moment to be lost on the occasion. if you could send me directly this person, you would render me the most important service. to calm the most cruel agitation of a sensible and grateful soul shall be your reward.--oh could i see you but a minute!--i am uneasy, sick, unhappy; surrounded by the most dreadful snares of the fraud and wickedness; i am intrusted with the most interesting and sacred charge!--all these are my claims to hope your advices, protection and assistance. my friends are absent in that moment; there is only two names in which i could place my confidence and my hopes, pardon this bad language. as hypolite i may say, "'songez que je vous parle une langue étrangère,' but the feelings it expresses cannot be strangers to your heart. "sans avoir l'avantage d'être connue de monsieur fox, je prens la liberté de le supplier de comuniquer cette lettre à mr. sheridan, et si ce dernier n'est pas à londres, j'ose espérer de monsieur fox la même bonté que j'attendois de mr. shéridan dans l'embarras où je me trouve. je m'adresse aux deux personnes de l'angleterre que j'admire le plus, et je serois doublement heureuse d'être tirée de cette perplexité et de leur en avoir l'obligation. je serai peut être à londres incessament. je désirerois vivement les y trouver; mais en attendant je souhaite avec ardeur avoir ici le plus promptement possible l'homme de loi, ou seulement en êtat de donner de bons conseils que je demande. je renouvelle toutes mes excuses de tant d'importunités." it was on her departure for france in the present year that the celebrated adventure to which i have alluded, occurred; and as it is not often that the post boys between london and dartford are promoted into agents of mystery or romance, i shall give the entire narrative of the event in the lady's own words,--premising, (what mr. sheridan, no doubt discovered,) that her imagination had been for some time on the watch for such incidents, as she mentions, in another place, her terrors at the idea of "crossing the desert plains of newmarket without an escort." "we left london," says madame de genlis, "on our return to france the th of october, , and a circumstance occurred to us so extraordinary, that i ought not, i feel, to pass it over in silence. i shall merely, however, relate the fact, without any attempt to explain it, or without adding to my recital any of those reflections which the impartial reader will easily supply. we set out at ten o'clock in the morning in two carriages, one with six horses, and the other, in which were our maids, with four. i had, two months before, sent off four of my servants to paris, so that we had with us only one french servant, and a footman, whom we had hired to attend us as far as dover. when we were about a quarter of a league from london, the french servant, who had never made the journey from dover to london but once before, thought he perceived that we were not in the right road, and on his making the remark to me, i perceived it also. the postillions, on being questioned, said that they had only wished to avoid a small hill, and that they would soon return into the high road again. after an interval of three quarters of an hour, seeing that we still continued our way through a country that was entirely new to me, i again interrogated both the footman and the postillions, and they repeated their assurance that we should soon regain the usual road. "notwithstanding this, however, we still pursued our course with extreme rapidity, in the same unknown route; and as i had remarked that the post-boys and footman always answered me in a strange sort of laconic manner, and appeared as if they were afraid to stop, my companions and i began to look at each other with a mixture of surprise and uneasiness. we renewed our inquiries, and at last they answered that it was indeed true they had lost their way, but that they had wished to conceal it from us till they had found the cross-road to dartford (our first stage,) and that now, having been for an hour and a half in that road, we had but two miles to go before we should reach dartford. it appeared to us very strange that people should lose their way between london and dover, but the assurance that we were only half a league from dartford dispelled the sort of vague fear that had for a moment agitated us. at last, after nearly an hour had elapsed, seeing that we still were not arrived at the end of the stage, our uneasiness increased to a degree which amounted even to terror. it was with much difficulty that i made the post-boys stop opposite a small village which lay to our left; in spite of my shouts they still went on, till at last the french servant, (for the other did not interfere,) compelled them to stop. i then sent to the village to ask how far we were from dartford, and my surprise may be guessed when i received for answer that we were now miles, (more than seven leagues,) distant from that place. concealing my suspicions, i took a guide in the village, and declared that it was my wish to return to london, as i found i was now at a less distance from that city than from dartford. the post-boys made much resistance to my desire, and even behaved with an extreme degree of insolence, but our french servant, backed by the guide, compelled them to obey. "as we returned at a very slow pace, owing to the sulkiness of the postboys and the fatigue of the horses, we did not reach london before nightfall, when i immediately drove to mr. sheridan's house. he was extremely surprised to see me returned, and on my relating to him our adventure, agreed with us that it could not have been the result of mere chance. he then sent for a justice of the peace to examine the post-boys, who were detained till his arrival under the pretence of calculating their account; but in the meantime, the hired footman disappeared and never returned. the post-boys being examined by the justice according to the legal form, and in the presence of witnesses, gave their answers in a very confused way, but confessed that an unknown gentleman had come in the morning to their masters, and carrying them from thence to a public-house, had, by giving them something to drink, persuaded them to take the road by which we had gone. the examination was continued for a long time, but no further confession could be drawn from them. mr. sheridan told me, that there was sufficient proof on which to ground an action against these men, but that it would be a tedious process, and cost a great deal of money. the post-boys were therefore dismissed, and we did not pursue the inquiry any further. as mr. sheridan saw the terror i was in at the very idea of again venturing on the road to dover, he promised to accompany us thither himself, but added that, having some indispensable business on his hands, he could not go for some days. he took us then to isleworth, a country-house which he had near richmond, on the banks of the thames, and as he was not able to dispatch his business so quickly as he expected, we remained for a month in that hospitable retreat, which both gratitude and friendship rendered so agreeable to us." it is impossible to read this narrative, with the recollection, at the same time, in our minds of the boyish propensity of sheridan to what are called practical jokes, without strongly suspecting that he was himself the contriver of the whole adventure. the ready attendance of the justice,--the "unknown gentleman" deposed to by the post-boys,--the disappearance of the laquais, and the advice given by sheridan that the affair should be pursued no further,--all strongly savor of dramatic contrivance, and must have afforded a scene not a little trying to the gravity of him who took the trouble of getting it up. with respect to his motive, the agreeable month at his country-house sufficiently explains it; nor could his conscience have felt much scruples about an imposture, which, so far from being attended with any disagreeable consequences, furnished the lady with an incident of romance, of which she was but too happy to avail herself, and procured for him the presence of such a distinguished party, to grace and enliven the festivities of isleworth. [footnote: in the memoirs of madame genlis, lately published, she supplies a still more interesting key to his motives for such a contrivance. it appears, from the new recollections of this lady, that "he was passionately in love with pamela," and that, before her departure from england, the following scene took place--"two days before we set out, mr. sheridan made, in my presence, his dedication of love to pamela, who was affected by his agreeable manner and high character, and accepted the offer of his hand with pleasure. in consequence of this, it was settled that he was to marry her on our return from france, which was expected to take place in a fortnight." i suspect this to be but a continuation of the romance of dartford.] at the end of the month, (adds madame de genlis,) "mr. sheridan having finished his business, we set off together for dover, himself, his son, and an english friend of his, mr. reid, with whom i was but a few days acquainted. it was now near the end of the month of november, . the wind being adverse, detained us for five days at dover, during all which time mr. sheridan remained with us. at last the wind grew less unfavorable, but still blew so violently that nobody would advise me to embark. i resolved, however, to venture, and mr. sheridan attended us into the very packet-boat, where i received his farewell with a feeling of sadness which i cannot express. he would have crossed with us, but that some indispensable duty, at that moment, required his presence in england. he, however, left us mr. reid, who had the goodness to accompany us to paris." in war was declared between england and france. though hostilities might, for a short time longer, have been avoided, by a more accommodating readiness in listening to the overtures of france, and a less stately tone on the part of the english negotiator, there could hardly have existed in dispassionate minds any hope of averting the war entirely, or even of postponing it for any considerable period. indeed, however rational at first might have been the expectation, that france, if left to pass through the ferment of her own revolution, would have either settled at last into a less dangerous form of power, or exhausted herself into a state of harmlessness during the process, this hope had been for some time frustrated by the crusade proclaimed against her liberties by the confederated princes of europe. the conference at pilnitz and the manifesto of the duke of brunswick had taught the french people what they were to expect, if conquered, and had given to that inundation of energy, under which the republic herself was sinking, a vent and direction outwards that transferred all the ruin to her enemies. in the wild career of aggression and lawlessness, of conquest without, and anarchy within, which naturally followed such an outbreak of a whole maddened people, it would have been difficult for england, by any management whatever, to keep herself uninvolved in the general combustion,--even had her own population been much less heartily disposed than they were then, and ever have been, to strike in with the great discords of the world. that mr. pitt himself was slow and reluctant to yield to the necessity of hostile measures against france, appears from the whole course of his financial policy, down to the very close of the session of . the confidence, indeed, with which he looked forward to a long continuance of peace, in the midst of events, that were audibly the first mutterings of the earthquake, seemed but little indicative of that philosophic sagacity, which enables a statesman to see the rudiments of the future in the present. [footnote: from the following words in his speech on the communication from france in , he appears, himself, to have been aware of his want of foresight at the commencement of the war:-- "besides this, the reduction of our peace establishment in the year , and continued to the subsequent year, is a fact, from which the inference is indisputable; a fact, which, i am afraid, shows not only that we were not waiting for the occasion of war, but that, in our partiality for a pacific system, we had indulged ourselves in a fond and credulous security, which wisdom and discretion would not have dictated."] "it is not unreasonable," said he on the st of february, , "to expect that the peace which we now enjoy should continue at least fifteen years, since at no period of the british history, whether we consider the internal situation of this kingdom or its relation to foreign powers, has the prospect of war been farther removed than at present." in pursuance of this feeling of security, he, in the course of the session of - , repealed taxes to the amount of , _l_. a year, made considerable reductions in the naval and military establishments, and allowed the hessian subsidy to expire, without any movement towards its renewal. he likewise showed his perfect confidence in the tranquillity of the country, by breaking off a negotiation into which he had entered with the holders of the four per cents, for the reduction of their stock to three per cent.--saying, in answer to their demand of a larger bonus than he thought proper to give, "then we will put off the reduction of this stock till next year." the truth is, mr. pitt was proud of his financial system;--the abolition of taxes and the reduction of the national debt were the two great results to which he looked as a proof of its perfection; and while a war, he knew, would produce the very reverse of the one, it would leave little more than the name and semblance of the other. the alarm for the safety of their establishments, which at this time pervaded the great mass of the people of england, earned the proof of its own needlessness in the wide extent to which it spread, and the very small minority that was thereby left to be the object of apprehension. that in this minority, (which was, with few exceptions, confined to the lower classes,) the elements of sedition and insurrection were actively at work, cannot be denied. there was not a corner of europe where the same ingredients were not brought into ferment; for the french revolution had not only the violence, but the pervading influence of the simoom, and while it destroyed where it immediately passed, made itself felt every where. but, surrounded and watched as were the few disaffected in england, by all the rank, property and power of the country,--animated at that moment by a more than usual portion of loyalty,--the dangers from sedition, as yet, were by no means either so deep or extensive, as that a strict and vigilant exercise of the laws already in being, would not have been abundantly adequate to all the purposes of their suppression. the admiration, indeed, with which the first dawn of the revolution was hailed had considerably abated. the excesses into which the new republic broke loose had alienated the worship of most of its higher class of votaries, and in some, as in mr. windham, had converted enthusiastic admiration into horror;--so that, though a strong sympathy with the general cause of the revolution was still felt among the few whigs that remained, the profession of its wild, republican theories was chiefly confined to two classes of persons, who coincide more frequently than they themselves imagine,--the speculative and the ignorant. the minister, however, gave way to a panic which, there is every reason to believe, he did not himself participate, and in going out of the precincts of the constitution for new and arbitrary powers, established a series of fatal precedents, of which alarmed authority will be always but too ready to avail itself. by these stretches of power he produced--what was far more dangerous than all the ravings of club politicians--that vehement reaction of feeling on the part of mr. fox and his followers, which increased with the increasing rigor of the government, and sometimes led them to the brink of such modes and principles of opposition, as aggressions, so wanton, upon liberty alone could have either provoked or justified. the great promoters of the alarm were mr. burke, and those other whig seceders, who had for some time taken part with the administration against their former friends, and, as is usual with such proselytes, outran those whom they joined, on every point upon which they before most differed from them. to justify their defection, the dangers upon which they grounded it, were exaggerated; and the eagerness with which they called for restrictions upon the liberty of the subject was but too worthy of deserters not only from their post but from their principles. one striking difference between these new pupils of toryism and their master was with respect to the ultimate object of the war.--mr. pitt being of opinion that security against the power of france, without any interference whatever with her internal affairs, was the sole aim to which hostilities should be directed; while nothing less than the restoration of the bourbons to the power which they possessed before the assembling of the etats genereaux could satisfy mr. burke and his fellow converts to the cause of thrones and hierarchies. the effect of this diversity of objects upon the conduct of the war--particularly after mr. pitt had added to "security for the future," the suspicious supplement of "indemnity for the past"--was no less fatal to the success of operations abroad than to the unity of councils at home. so separate, indeed, were the views of the two parties considered, that the unfortunate expedition, in aid of the vendean insurgents in , was known to be peculiarly the measure of the _burke_ part of the cabinet, and to have been undertaken on the sole responsibility of their ministerial organ, mr. windham. it must be owned, too, that the obect of the alarmists in the war, however grossly inconsistent with their former principles, had the merit of being far more definite than that of mr. pitt; and, had it been singly and consistently pursued from the first, with all the vigor and concentration of means so strenuously recommended by mr. burke, might have justified its quixotism in the end by a more speedy and less ruinous success. as it was, however, the divisions, jealousies and alarms which mr. pitt's views towards a future dismemberment of france excited not only among the continental powers, but among the french themselves, completely defeated every hope and plan for either concert without or co operation within. at the same time, the distraction of the efforts of england from the heart of french power to its remote extremities, in what mr. windham called "a war upon sugar islands," was a waste of means as unstatesmanlike as it was calamitous, and fully entitled mr. pitt to the satire on his policy, conveyed in the remark of a certain distinguished lady, who said to him, upon hearing of some new acquisition in the west indies, "i protest, mr. pitt, if you go on thus, you will soon be master of every island in the world except just those two little ones, england and ireland." [footnote: mr. sheridan quoted this anecdote in one of his speeches in .] that such was the light in which mr. sheridan himself viewed the mode of carrying on the war recommended by the alarmists, in comparison with that which mr. pitt in general adopted, appears from the following passage in his speech upon spanish affairs in the year :-- "there was hardly a person, except his right honorable friend near him, (mr. windham,) and mr. burke, who since the revolution of france had formed adequate notions of the necessary steps to be taken. the various governments which this country had seen during that period were always employed in filching for a sugar-island, or some other object of comparatively trifling moment, while the main and principal purpose was lost and forgotten," whatever were the failures of mr. pitt abroad, at home his ascendancy was fixed and indisputable; and, among all the triumphs of power which he enjoyed during his career, the tribute now paid to him by the whig aristocracy, in taking shelter under his ministry from the dangers of revolution, could not have been the least gratifying to his haughty spirit. the india bill had ranged on his side the king and the people, and the revolution now brought to his banner the flower of the nobility of both parties. his own estimate of rank may be fairly collected both from the indifference which he showed to its honors himself, and from the depreciating profusion with which he lavished them upon others. it may be doubted whether his respect for aristocracy was much increased, by the readiness which he now saw in some of his high-born opponents, to volunteer for safety into his already powerful ranks, without even pausing to try the experiment, whether safety might not have been reconcilable with principle in their own. it is certain that, without the accession of so much weight and influence, he never could have ventured upon the violations of the constitution that followed--nor would the opposition, accordingly, have been driven by these excesses of power into that reactive violence which was the natural consequence of an effort to resist them. the prudent apprehensions, therefore, of these noble whigs would have been much more usefully as well as honorably employed, in mingling with, and moderating the proceedings of the friends of liberty, than in ministering fresh fuel to the zeal and vindictiveness of her enemies. [footnote: the case against these noble seceders is thus spiritedly stated by lord moira:-- "i cannot ever sit in a cabinet with the duke of portland. he appears to me to have done more injury to the constitution and to the estimation of the higher ranks in this country than any man on the political stage. by his union with mr. pitt he has given it to be understood by the people, that either all the constitutional charges which he and his friends for so many years urged against mr. put were groundless, or that, being solid, there was no difficulty in waving them when a convenient partition of powers and emoluments was proposed. in either case the people must infer that the constitutional principle which can be so played with is unimportant, and that parliamentary professions are no security." --_letter from the earl of moira to colonel m'mahon, in . parliamentary history_.] it may be added, too, that in allowing themselves to be persuaded by burke, that the extinction of the ancient noblesse of france portended necessarily any danger to the english aristocracy, these noble persons did injustice to the strength of their own order, and to the characteristics by which it is proudly distinguished from every other race of nobility in europe. placed, as a sort of break-water, between the people and the throne, in a state of double responsibility to liberty on one side, and authority on the other, the aristocracy of england hold a station which is dignified by its own great duties, and of which the titles transmitted by their ancestors form the least important ornament. unlike the nobility of other countries, where the rank and privileges of the father are multiplied through his offspring, and equally elevate them all above the level of the community, the very highest english nobleman must consent to be the father but of commoners. thus, connected with the class below him by private as well as public sympathies, he gives his children to the people as hostages for the sincerity of his zeal in their cause--while on the other hand, the people, in return for these pledges of the aristocracy, sends a portion of its own elements aloft into that higher region, to mingle with its glories and assert their claim to a share in its power. by this mutual transfusion an equilibrium is preserved, like that which similar processes maintain in the natural world, and while a healthy, popular feeling circulates through the aristocracy, a sense of their own station in the scale elevates the people. to tremble for the safety of a nobility so constituted, without much stronger grounds for alarm than appear to have existed in , was an injustice not only to that class itself, but the whole nation. the world has never yet afforded an example, where this artificial distinction between mankind has been turned to such beneficial account; and as no monarchy can exist without such an order, so, in any other shape than this, such an order is a burden and a nuisance. in england, so happy a conformation of her aristocracy is one of those fortuitous results which time and circumstances have brought out in the long-tried experiment of her constitution; and, while there is no chance of its being ever again attained in the old world, there is but little, probability of its being attempted in the new,--where the youthful nations now springing into life, will, if they are wise, make the most of the free career before them, and unencumbered with the costly trappings of feudalism, adopt, like their northern neighbors, that form of government, whose simplicity and cheapness are the best guarantees for its efficacy and purity. in judging of the policy of mr. pitt, during the revolutionary war, his partisans, we know, laud it as having been the means of salvation to england, while his opponents assert that it was only prevented by chance from being her ruin--and though the event gives an appearance of triumph to the former opinion, it by no means removes or even weakens the grounds of the latter. during the first nine years of his administration, mr. pitt was, in every respect, an able and most useful minister, and, "while the sea was calm, showed mastership in floating." but the great events that happened afterwards took him by surprise. when he came to look abroad from his cabinet into the storm that was brewing through europe, the clear and enlarged view of the higher order of statesman was wanting. instead of elevating himself above the influence of the agitation and alarm that prevailed, he gave way to it with the crowd of ordinary minds, and even took counsel from the panic of others. the consequence was a series of measures, violent at home and inefficient abroad--far short of the mark where vigor was wanting, and beyond it, as often, where vigor was mischievous. when we are told to regard his policy as the salvation of the country--when, (to use a figure of mr. dundas,) a _claim of salvage_ is made for him--it may be allowed us to consider a little the nature of the measures by which this alleged salvation was achieved. if entering into a great war without either consistency of plan, or preparation of means, and with a total ignorance of the financial resources of the enemy [footnote: into his erroneous calculations upon this point he is supposed to have been led by sir francis d'ivernois.]--if allowing one part of the cabinet to flatter the french royalists, with the hope of seeing the bourbons restored to undiminished power, while the other part acted, whenever an opportunity offered, upon the plan of dismembering france for the aggrandizement of austria, and thus, at once, alienated prussia at the very moment of subsidizing him, and lost the confidence of all the royalist party in france, [footnote: among other instances, the abbé maury is reported to have said at rome in a large company of his countrymen--"still we have one remedy--let us not allow france to be divided--we have seen the partition of poland we must all turn jacobins to preserve our country."] except the few who were ruined by english assistance at quiberon--if going to war in for the right of the dutch to a river, and so managing it that in the dutch lost their whole seven provinces--if lavishing more money upon failures than the successes of a century had cost, and supporting this profusion by schemes of finance, either hollow and delusive, like the sinking fund, or desperately regardless of the future, like the paper issues--if driving ireland into rebellion by the perfidious recall of lord fitzwilliam, and reducing england to two of the most, fearful trials, that a nation, depending upon credit and a navy, could encounter, the stoppage of her bank and a mutiny in her fleet--if, finally, floundering on from effort to effort against france, and then dying upon the ruins of the last coalition he could muster against her--if all this betokens a wise and able minister, then is mr. pitt most amply entitled to that name;--then are the lessons of wisdom to be read, like hebrew, backward, and waste and rashness and systematic failure to be held the only true means of saving a country. had even success, by one of those anomalous accidents, which sometimes baffle the best founded calculations of wisdom, been the immediate result of this long monotony of error, it could not, except with those to whom the event is every thing--"_eventus, stultorum magister_" [footnote: a saying of the wise fabius.]--reflect back merit upon the means by which it was achieved, or, by a retrospective miracle, convert that into wisdom, which chance had only saved from the worst consequences of folly. just as well might we be called upon to pronounce alchemy a wise art, because a perseverance in its failures and reveries had led by accident to the discoveries of chemistry. but even this sanction of good-luck was wanting to the unredeemed mistakes of mr. pitt. during the eight years that intervened between his death and the termination of the contest, the adoption of a far wiser policy was forced upon his more tractable pupils; and the only share that his measures can claim in the successful issue of the war, is that of having produced the grievance that was then abated--of having raised up the power opposed to him to the portentous and dizzy height, from which it then fell by the giddiness of its own elevation, [footnote: --"_summisque negatum stare din_." lucan.] and by the reaction, not of the princes, but the people of europe against its yoke. what would have been the course of affairs, both foreign and domestic, had mr. fox--as was, at one time, not improbable--been the minister during this period, must be left to that superhuman knowledge, which the schoolmen call "_media scientia_," and which consists in knowing all that would have happened, had events been otherwise than they have been. it is probable that some of the results would not have been so different as the respective principles of mr. pitt and mr. fox might naturally lead us, on the first thought, to assert. if left to himself, there is little doubt that the latter, from the simple and fearless magnanimity of his nature, would have consulted for the public safety with that moderation which true courage inspires; and that, even had it been necessary to suspend the constitution for a season, he would have known how to veil the statue of liberty, [footnote: "_il y a des cas ou il faut mettre pour un moment un voile sur la liberté, comme l'on cache les statues des dieux_."--montesquieu, liv. xii. chap. .] without leaving like his rival, such marks of mutilation on its limbs. but it is to be recollected that he would have had to encounter, in his own ranks, the very same patrician alarm, which could even to mr. pitt give an increase of momentum against liberty, and which the possession of power would have rendered but more sensitive and arbitrary. accustomed, too, as he had long been, to yield to the influence of burke, it would have required more firmness than habitually belonged to mr. fox, to withstand the persevering impetuosity of such a counsellor, or keep the balance of his mind unshaken by those stupendous powers, which, like the horses of the sun breaking out of the ecliptic, carried every thing they seized upon, so splendidly astray:-- "_quaque impetus egit, hac sine lege ruunt, altoque sub aethere fixis incursant stellis, rapiuntque per avia currum_." where'er the impulse drives, they burst away in lawless grandeur;--break into the array of the fix'd stars, and bound and blaze along their devious course, magnificently wrong! having hazarded these general observations, upon the views and conduct of the respective parties of england, during the crusade now begun against the french people, i shall content myself with briefly and cursorily noticing the chief questions upon which mr. sheridan distinguished himself, in the course of the parliamentary campaigns that followed. the sort of _guerilla_ warfare, which he and the rest of the small band attached to mr. fox carried on, during this period, against the invaders of the constitution, is interesting rather by its general character than its detail; for in these, as usual, the episodes of party personality are found to encroach disproportionately on the main design, and the grandeur of the cause, as viewed at a distance, becomes diminished to our imaginations by too near an approach. englishmen, however, will long look back to that crisis with interest; and the names of fox, of sheridan, and of grey will be affectionately remembered, when that sort of false elevation, which party-feeling now gives to the reputations of some who were opposed to them, shall have subsided to its due level, or been succeeded by oblivion. they who act against the general sympathies of mankind, however they may be artificially buoyed up for the moment, have the current against them in the long run of fame; while the reputation of those, whose talents have been employed upon the popular and generous side of human feelings, receives, through all time, an accelerating impulse from the countless hearts that go with it in its course. lord chatham, even now, supersedes his son in fame, and will leave him at an immeasurable distance with posterity. of the events of the private life of mr. sheridan, during this stormy part of his political career, there remain but few memorials among his papers. as an illustration, however, of his love of betting--the only sort of gambling in which he ever indulged--the following curious list of his wagers for the year is not unamusing:-- _" th may, ._--mr. sheridan bets gen. fitzpatrick one hundred guineas to fifty guineas, that within two years from this date some measure is adopted in parliament which shall be (_bonâ fide_) considered as the adoption of a parliamentary reform. "_ th january, ._--mr. s. bets mr. boothby clopton five hundred guineas, that there is a reform in the representation of the people of england within three years from the date hereof. "_ th january, _.--mr. s. bets mr. hardy one hundred guineas to fifty guineas, that mr. w. windham does not represent norwich at the next general election. "_ th january, ._--mr. s. bets gen. fitzpatrick fifty guineas, that a corps of british troops are sent to holland within two months of the date hereof. "_ th march, ._--mr. s. bets lord titchfield two hundred guineas, that the d. of portland is at the head of an administration on or before the th of march, ; mr. fox to decide whether any place the duke may then fill shall _bonâ fide_ come within the meaning of this bet. "_ th march, _.--mr. s. bets mr. hardy one hundred guineas, that the three per cent. consols are as high this day twelvemonth as at the date hereof. "mr. s. bets gen. tarleton one hundred guineas to fifty guineas, that mr. pitt is first lord of the treasury on the th of may, .--mr. s. bets mr. st. a. st. john fifteen guineas to five guineas, ditto.--mr. s. bets lord sefton one hundred and forty guineas to forty guineas, ditto. _" th march, _.--lord titchfield and lord w. russell bet mr. s. three hundred guineas to two hundred guineas, that mr. pitt is first lord of the treasury on the th of march, . "_ th march, _.--lord titchfield bets mr. s. twenty-five guineas to fifty guineas, that mr. w. windham represents norwich at the next general election." as a sort of moral supplement to this strange list, and one of those insights into character and conduct which it is the duty of a biographer to give, i shall subjoin a letter, connected evidently with one of the above speculations:-- "sir, "i am very sorry that i have been so circumstanced as to have been obliged to disappoint you respecting the payment of the five hundred guineas: when i gave the draughts on lord * * i had every reason to be assured he would accept them, as * * had also. i enclose you, as you will see by his desire, the letter in which he excuses his not being able to pay me this part of a larger sum he owes me, and i cannot refuse him any time he requires, however inconvenient to me. i also enclose you two draughts accepted by a gentleman from whom the money will be due to me, and on whose punctuality i can rely. i extremely regret that i cannot at this juncture command the money. "at the same time that i regret your being put to any inconvenience by this delay, i cannot help adverting to the circumstance which perhaps misled me into the expectation that you would not unwillingly allow me any reasonable time i might want for the payment of this bet. the circumstance i mean, however discreditable the plea, is the total inebriety of some of the party, particularly of myself, when i made this preposterous bet. i doubt not you will remember having yourself observed on this circumstance to a common friend the next day, with an intimation that you should not object to being off; and for my part, when i was informed that i had made such a bet and for such a sum,--the first, such folly on the face of it on my part, and the latter so out of my practice,--i certainly should have proposed the cancelling it, but that, from the intimation imparted to me, i hoped the proposition might come from you. "i hope i need not for a moment beg you not to imagine that i am now alluding to these circumstances as the slightest invalidation of your due. so much the contrary, that i most perfectly admit that from your not having heard any thing further from me on the subject, and especially after i might have heard that if i desired it the bet might be off, you had every reason to conclude that i was satisfied with the wager, and whether made in wine or not, was desirous of abiding by it. and this was further confirmed by my receiving soon after from you _l_, on another bet won by me. "having, i think, put this point very fairly, i again repeat that my only motive for alluding to the matter was, as some explanation of my seeming dilatoriness, which certainly did in part arise from always conceiving that, whenever i should state what was my real wish the day after the bet was made, you would be the more disposed to allow a little time;--the same statement admitting, as it must, the bet to be as clearly and as fairly won as possible; in short, as if i had insisted on it myself the next morning. "i have said more perhaps on the subject than can be necessary; but i should regret to appear negligent to an application for a just claim. "i have the honor to be, "sir, "your obedient servant, "_hertford st. feb. ._ "r. b. sheridan." of the public transactions of sheridan at this time, his speeches are the best record. to them, therefore, i shall henceforward principally refer my readers,--premising, that though the reports of his latter speeches are somewhat better, in general, than those of his earlier displays, they still do great injustice to his powers, and exhibit little more than the mere _torso_ of his eloquence, curtailed of all those accessories that lent motion and beauty to its form. the attempts to give the terseness of his wit particularly fail, and are a strong illustration of what he himself once said to lord * *. that nobleman, who among his many excellent qualities does not include a very lively sense of humor, having exclaimed, upon hearing some good anecdote from sheridan, "i'll go and tell that to our friend * *." sheridan called him back instantly and said, with much gravity, "for god's sake, don't, my dear * *: a joke is no laughing matter in your mouth." it is, indeed, singular, that all the eminent english orators--with the exception of mr. burke and mr. windham--should have been so little anxious for the correct transmission of their eloquence to posterity. had not cicero taken more care of even his extemporaneous effusions, we should have lost that masterly burst of the moment, to which the clemency of caesar towards marcellus gave birth. the beautiful fragments we have of lord chatham are rather traditional than recorded;--there are but two, i believe, of the speeches of mr. pitt corrected by himself, those on the budget of , and on the union with ireland;--mr. fox committed to writing but one of his, namely, the tribute to the memory of the duke of bedford;--and the only speech of mr. sheridan, that is known with certainty to have passed under his own revision, was that which he made at the opening of the following session, ( ,) in answer to lord mornington. in the course of the present year he took frequent opportunities of expressing his disgust at that spirit of ferocity which had so deeply disgraced the cause of the revolution. so earnest was his interest in the fate of the royal family of france, that, as appears from one of his speeches, he drew up a paper on the subject, and transmitted it to the republican rulers;--with the view, no doubt, of conveying to them the feelings of the english opposition, and endeavoring to avert, by the influence of his own name and that of mr. fox, the catastrophe that awaited those royal victims of liberty. of this interesting document i cannot discover any traces. in one of his answers to burke on the subject of the french revolution, adverting to the charge of deism and atheism brought against the republicans, he says, "as an argument to the feelings and passions of men, the honorable member had great advantages in dwelling on this topic; because it was a subject which those who disliked everything that had the air of cant and profession on the one hand, or of indifference on the other, found it awkward to meddle with. establishments, tests, and matters of that nature, were proper objects of political discussion in that house, but not general charges of atheism and deism, as pressed upon their consideration by the honorable gentleman. thus far, however, he would say, and it was an opinion he had never changed or concealed, that, although no man can command his conviction, he had ever considered a deliberate disposition to make proselytes in infidelity as an unaccountable depravity. whoever attempted to pluck the belief or the prejudice on this subject, style it which he would, from the bosom of one man, woman, or child, committed a brutal outrage, the motive for which he had never been able to trace or conceive." i quote these words as creditable to the feeling and good sense of sheridan. whatever may be thought of particular faiths and sects, a belief in a life beyond this world is the only thing that pierces through the walls of our prison-house, and lets hope shine in upon a scene, that would be otherwise bewildered and desolate. the proselytism of the atheist is, indeed, a dismal mission. that believers, who have each the same heaven in prospect, should invite us to join them on their respective ways to it, is at least a benevolent officiousness,--but that he, who has no prospect or hope himself, should seek for companionship in his road to annihilation, can only be explained by that tendency in human creatures to count upon each other in their despair, as well as their hope. in the speech upon his own motion relative to the existence of seditious practices in the country, there is some lively ridicule, upon the panic then prevalent. for instance:-- "the alarm had been brought forward in great pomp and form on saturday morning. at night all the mail-coaches were stopped; the duke of richmond stationed himself, among other curiosities, at the tower; a great municipal officer, too, had made a discovery exceedingly beneficial to the people of this country. he meant the lord mayor of london, who had found out that there was at the king's arms at cornhill a debating society, where principles of the most dangerous tendency were propagated; where people went to buy treason at sixpence a head; where it was retailed to them by the glimmering of an inch of candle; and five minutes, to be measured by the glass, were allowed to each traitor to perform his part in overturning the state." it was in the same speech that he gave the well-known and happy turn to the motto of the sun newspaper, which was at that time known to be the organ of the alarmists. "there was one paper," he remarked, "in particular, said to be the property of members of that house, and published and conducted under their immediate direction, which had for its motto a garbled part of a beautiful sentence, when it might, with much more propriety, have assumed the whole-- "solem quis dicere falsum audeat? ille etiam cacos instare tumultus saepe monet, fraudemque et operta tumescere bella." among the subjects that occupied the greatest share of his attention during this session, was the memorial of lord auckland to the states-general,--which document he himself brought under the notice of parliament as deserving of severe reprobation for the violent and vindictive tone which it assumed towards the commissioners of the national convention. it was upon one of the discussions connected with this subject that a dispute, as to the correct translation of the word "_malheureux_" was maintained with much earnestness between him and lord melville--two persons, the least qualified, perhaps, of any in the house, to volunteer as either interpreters or pronouncers of the french language. according to sheridan, "_ces malheureux_" was to be translated "these wretches," while lord melville contended, to the no small amusement of the house, that "_mollyroo_" (as he pronounced it,) meant no more than "these unfortunate gentlemen." in the november of this year mr. sheridan lost by a kind of death which must have deepened the feeling of the loss, the most intimate of all his companions, tickell. if congeniality of dispositions and pursuits were always a strengthener of affection, the friendship between tickell and sheridan ought to have been of the most cordial kind; for they resembled each other in almost every particular--in their wit, their wants, their talent, and their thoughtlessness. it is but too true, however, that friendship in general gains far less by such a community of pursuit than it loses by the competition that naturally springs out of it; and that two wits or two beauties form the last sort of alliance, in which we ought to look for specimens of sincere and cordial friendship. the intercourse between tickell and sheridan was not free from such collisions of vanity. they seem to have lived, indeed, in a state of alternate repulsion and attraction; and, unable to do without the excitement of each other's vivacity, seldom parted without trials of temper as well as of wit. being both, too, observers of character, and each finding in the other rich materials for observation, their love of ridicule could not withstand such a temptation, and they freely criticised each other to common friends, who, as is usually the case, agreed with both. still, however, there was a whim and sprightliness even about their mischief, which made it seem rather an exercise of ingenuity than an indulgence of ill nature; and if they had not carried on this intellectual warfare, neither would have liked the other half so well. the two principal productions of tickell, the "wreath of fashion" and "anticipation," were both upon temporary subjects, and have accordingly passed into oblivion. there are, however, some graceful touches of pleasantry in the poem; and the pamphlet, (which procured for him not only fame but a place in the stamp-office,) contains passages of which the application and the humor have not yet grown stale. as sheridan is the hero of the wreath of fashion, it is but right to quote the verses that relate to him; and i do it with the more pleasure, because they also contain a well-merited tribute to mrs. sheridan. after a description of the various poets of the day that deposit their offerings in lady millar's "vase of sentiment," the author thus proceeds:-- "at fashion's shrine behold a gentler bard gaze on the mystic vase with fond regard-- but see, thalia checks the doubtful thought, 'canst thou, (she cries,) with sense, with genius fraught, canst thou to fashion's tyranny submit, secure in native, independent wit? or yield to sentiment's insipid rule, by taste, by fancy, chac'd through scandal's school? ah no--be sheridan's the comic page, or let me fly with garrick from the stage. haste then, my friend, (for let me boast that name,) haste to the opening path of genuine fame; or, if thy muse a gentler theme pursue, ah, 'tis to love and thy eliza due! for, sure, the sweetest lay she well may claim, whose soul breathes harmony o'er all her frame; while wedded love, with ray serenely clear, beams from her eye, as from its proper sphere." in the year , tickell brought out at drury-lane an opera called "the carnival of venice," on which there is the following remark in mrs. crouch's memoirs:--"many songs in this piece so perfectly resemble in poetic beauty those which adorn the duenna, that they declare themselves to be the offspring of the same muse." i know not how far this conjecture may be founded, but there are four pretty lines which i remember in this opera, and which, it may be asserted without hesitation, sheridan never wrote. he had no feeling for natural scenery, [footnote: in corroboration of this remark, i have been allowed to quote the following passage of a letter written by a very eminent person, whose name all lovers of the picturesque associate with their best enjoyment of its beauties:-- "at one time i saw a good deal of sheridan--he and his first wife passed some time here, and he is an instance that a taste for poetry and for scenery are not always united. had this house been in the midst of hounslow heath, he could not have taken less interest in all around it: his delight was in shooting, all and every day, and my game-keeper said that of all the gentlemen he had ever been out with he never knew so bad a shot."] nor is there a trace of such a sentiment discoverable through his poetry. the following, as well as i can recollect, are the lines:-- "and while the moon shines on the stream, and as soft music breathes around, the feathering oar returns the gleam, and dips in concert to the sound." i have already given a humorous dedication of the rivals, written by tickell on the margin of a copy of that play in my possession. i shall now add another piece of still more happy humor, with which he has filled, in very neat hand-writing, the three or four first pages of the same copy. "the rivals, a comedy--one of the best in the english language--written as long ago as the reign of george the third. the author's name was sheridan--he is mentioned by the historians of that age as a man of uncommon abilities, very little improved by cultivation. his confidence in the resources of his own genius and his aversion to any sort of labor were so great that he could not be prevailed upon to learn either to read or write. he was, for a short time, manager of one the play-houses, and conceived the extraordinary and almost incredible project of composing a play extempore, which he was to recite in the green-room to the actors, who were immediately to come on the stage and perform it. the players refusing to undertake their parts at so short a notice, and with so little preparation, he threw up the management in disgust. "he was a member of the last parliaments that were summoned in england, and signalized himself on many occasions by his wit and eloquence, though he seldom came to the house till the debate was nearly concluded, and never spoke, unless he was drunk. he lived on a footing of great intimacy with the famous fox, who is said to have concerted with him the audacious attempt which he made, about the year , to seize the whole property of the east india company, amounting at that time to above , , _l_. sterling, and then to declare himself lord protector of the realm by the title of carlo khan. this desperate scheme actually received the consent of the lower house of parliament, the majority of whom were bribed by fox, or intimidated by his and sheridan's threats and violence: and it is generally believed that the revolution would have taken place, if the lords of the king's bedchamber had not in a body surrounded the throne and shown the most determined resolution not to abandon their posts but with their lives. the usurpation being defeated, parliament was dissolved and loaded with infamy. sheridan was one of the few members of it who were re-elected:--the burgesses of stafford, whom he had kept in a constant state of intoxication for near three weeks, chose him again to represent them, which he was well qualified to do. "fox's whig party being very much reduced, or rather almost annihilated, he and the rest of the conspirators remained quiet for some time; till, in the year , the french, in conjunction with tippoo sultan, having suddenly seized and divided between themselves the whole of the british possessions in india, the east india company broke, and a national bankruptcy was apprehended. during this confusion fox and his partisans assembled in large bodies, and made a violent attack in parliament on pitt, the king's first minister:--sheridan supported and seconded him. parliament seemed disposed to inquire into the cause of the calamity: the nation was almost in a state of actual rebellion; and it is impossible for us, at the distance of three hundred years, to form any judgment what dreadful consequences might have followed, if the king, by the advice of the lords of the bedchamber, had not dissolved the parliament, and taken the administration of affairs into his own hands, and those of a few confidential servants, at the head of whom he was pleased to place one mr. atkinson, a merchant, who had acquired a handsome fortune in the jamaica trade, and passed universally for a man of unblemished integrity. his majesty having now no farther occasion for pitt, and being desirous of rewarding him for his past services, and, at the same time, finding an adequate employment for his great talents, caused him to enter into holy orders, and presented him with the deanery of windsor; where he became an excellent preacher, and published several volumes of sermons, all of which are now lost. "to return to sheridan:--on the abrogation of parliaments, he entered into a closer connection than ever with fox and a few others of lesser note, forming together as desperate and profligate a gang as ever disgraced a civilized country. they were guilty of every species of enormity, and went so far as even to commit robberies on the highway, with a degree of audacity that could be equalled only by the ingenuity with which they escaped conviction. sheridan, not satisfied with eluding, determined to mock the justice of his country, and composed a masque called 'the foresters,' containing a circumstantial account of some of the robberies he had committed, and a good deal of sarcasm on the pusillanimity of those whom he had robbed, and the inefficacy of the penal laws of the kingdom. this piece was acted at drury-lane theatre with great applause, to the astonishment of all sober persons, and the scandal of the nation. his majesty, who had long wished to curb the licentiousness of the press and the theatres, thought this a good opportunity. he ordered the performers to be enlisted into the army, the play-house to be shut up, and all theatrical exhibitions to be forbid on pain of death, drury-lane play-house was soon after converted into a barrack for soldiers, which it has continued to be ever since. sheridan was arrested, and, it was imagined, would have suffered the rack, if he had not escaped from his guard by a stratagem, and gone over to ireland in a balloon with which his friend fox furnished him. immediately on his arrival in ireland, he put himself at the head of a party of the most violent reformers, commanded a regiment of volunteers at the siege of dublin in , and was supposed to be the person who planned the scheme for tarring and feathering mr. jenkinson, the lord lieutenant, and forcing him in that condition to sign the capitulation of the castle. the persons who were to execute this strange enterprise had actually got into the lord lieutenant's apartment at midnight, and would probably have succeeded in their project, if sheridan, who was intoxicated with whiskey, a strong liquor much in vogue with the volunteers, had not attempted to force open the door of mrs. ----'s bed-chamber, and so given the alarm to the garrison, who instantly flew to arms, seized sheridan and every one of his party, and confined them in the castle-dungeon. sheridan was ordered for execution the next day, but had no sooner got his legs and arms at liberty, than he began capering, jumping, dancing, and making all sorts of antics, to the utter amazement of the spectators. when the chaplain endeavored, by serious advice and admonition, to bring him to a proper sense of his dreadful situation, he grinned, made faces at him, tried to tickle him, and played a thousand other pranks with such astonishing drollery, that the gravest countenances became cheerful, and the saddest hearts glad. the soldiers who attended at the gallows were so delighted with his merriment, which they deemed magnanimity, that the sheriffs began to apprehend a rescue, and ordered the hangman instantly to do his duty. he went off in a loud horse-laugh, and cast a look towards the castle, accompanied with a gesture expressive of no great respect. "thus ended the life of this singular and unhappy man--a melancholy instance of the calamities that attend the misapplication of great and splendid ability. he was married to a very beautiful and amiable woman, for whom he is said to have entertained an unalterable affection. he had one son, a boy of the most promising hopes, whom he would never suffer to be instructed in the first rudiments of literature. he amused himself, however, with teaching the boy to draw portraits with his toes, in which he soon became so astonishing a proficient that he seldom failed to take a most exact likeness of every person who sat to him. "there are a few more plays by the same author, all of them excellent. "for further information concerning this strange man, vide 'macpherson's moral history,' art. '_drunkenness_.'" chapter vii. speech in answer to lord mornington.--coalition of the whig seceders with mr. pitt.--mr. canning.--evidence on the trial of horne tooke.--the "glorious first of june."--marriage of mr. sheridan.--pamphlet of mr. reeves.--debts of the prince of wales.--shakspeare manuscripts.--trial of stone.--mutiny at the nore.--secession of mr. fox from parliament. in the year , the natural consequences of the policy pursued by mr. pitt began rapidly to unfold themselves both at home and abroad. [footnote: see, for a masterly exposure of the errors of the war, the speech of lord lansdowne this year on bringing forward his motion for peace. i cannot let the name of this nobleman pass, without briefly expressing the deep gratitude which i feel to him, not only for his own kindness to me, when introduced, as a boy, to his notice, but for the friendship of his truly noble descendant, which i, in a great degree, owe to him, and which has long been the pride and happiness of my life.] the confederated princes of the continent, among whom the gold of england was now the sole bond of union, had succeeded as might be expected from so noble an incentive, and, powerful only in provoking france, had by every step they took but ministered to her aggrandizement. in the mean time, the measures of the english minister at home were directed to the two great objects of his legislation--the raising of supplies and the suppressing of sedition; or, in other words, to the double and anomalous task of making the people pay for the failures of their royal allies, and suffer for their sympathy with the success of their republican enemies. it is the opinion of a learned jesuit that it was by _aqua regia_ the golden calf of the israelites was dissolved--and the cause of kings was the royal solvent, in which the wealth of great britain now melted irrecoverably away. while the successes, too, of the french had already lowered the tone of the minister from projects of aggression to precautions of defence, the wounds which in the wantonness of alarm, he had inflicted on the liberties of the country, were spreading an inflammation around them that threatened real danger. the severity of the sentence upon muir and palmer in scotland, and the daring confidence with which charges of high treason were exhibited against persons who were, at the worst, but indiscreet reformers, excited the apprehensions of even the least sensitive friends of freedom. it is, indeed, difficult to say how far the excited temper of the government, seconded by the ever ready subservience of state-lawyers and bishops, might have proceeded at this moment, had not the acquittal of tooke and his associates, and the triumph it diffused through the country, given a lesson to power such as england is alone capable of giving, and which will long be remembered, to the honor of that great political safeguard,--that life-preserver in stormy times,--the trial by jury. at the opening of the session, mr. sheridan delivered his admirable answer to lord mornington, the report of which, as i have already said, was corrected for publication by himself. in this fine speech, of which the greater part must have been unprepared, there is a natural earnestness of feeling and argument that is well contrasted with the able but artificial harangue that preceded it. in referring to the details which lord mornington had entered into of the various atrocities committed in france, he says:-- "but what was the sum of all that he had told the house? that great and dreadful enormities had been committed, at which the heart shuddered, and which not merely wounded every feeling of humanity, but disgusted and sickened the soul. all this was most true; but what did all this prove? what, but that eternal and unalterable truth which had always presented itself to his mind, in whatever way he had viewed the subject, namely, that a long established despotism so far degraded and debased human nature, as to render its subjects, on the first recovery of their rights, unfit for the exercise of them. but never had he, or would he meet but with re probation that mode of argument which went, in fact, to establish, as an inference from this truth, that those who had been long slaves, ought therefore to remain so for over! no; the lesson ought to be, he would again repeat, a tenfold horror of that despotic form of government, which had so profaned and changed the nature of civilized man, and a still more jealous apprehension of any system tending to withhold the rights and liberties of our fellow-creatures. such a form of government might be considered as twice cursed; while it existed, it was solely responsible for the miseries and calamities of its subjects; and should a day of retribution come, and the tyranny be destroyed, it was equally to be charged with all the enormities which the folly or frenzy of those who overturned it should commit. "but the madness of the french people was not confined to their proceedings within their own country; we, and all the powers of europe, had to dread it. true; but was not this also to be accounted for? wild and unsettled as their state of mind was, necessarily, upon the events which had thrown such power so suddenly into their hands, the surrounding states had goaded them into a still more savage state of madness, fury, and desperation. we had unsettled their reason, and then reviled their insanity; we drove them to the extremities that produced the evils we arraigned; we baited them like wild beasts, until at length we made them so. the conspiracy of pilnitz, and the brutal threats of the royal abettors of that plot against the rights of nations and of men, had, in truth, to answer for all the additional misery, horrors, and iniquity, which had since disgraced and incensed humanity. such has been your conduct towards france, that you have created the passions which you persecute; you mark a nation to be cut off from the world; you covenant for their extermination; you swear to hunt them in their inmost recesses; you load them with every species of execration; and you now come forth with whining declamations on the horror of their turning upon you with the fury which you inspired." having alluded to an assertion of condorcet, quoted by lord mornington, that "revolutions are always the work of the minority," he adds livelily:-- "--if this be true, it certainly is a most ominous thing for the enemies of reform in england; for, if it holds true, of necessity, that the minority still prevails, in national contests, it must be a consequence that the smaller the minority the more certain must be the success. in what a dreadful situation then must the noble lord be and all the alarmists!--for, never surely was a minority so small, so thin in number as the present. conscions, however, that m. condorcet was mistaken in our object, i am glad to find that we are terrible in proportion as we are few; i rejoice that the liberality of secession which has thinned our ranks has only served to make us more formidable. the alarmists will hear this with new apprehensions; they will no doubt return to us with a view to diminish our force, and encumber us with their alliance in order to reduce us to insignificance." we have here another instance, in addition to the many that have been given, of the beauties that sprung up under sheridan's correcting hand. this last pointed sentence was originally thus: "and we shall swell our numbers in order to come nearer in a balance of insignificance to the numerous host of the majority." it was at this time evident that the great whig seceders would soon yield to the invitations of mr. pitt and the vehement persuasions of burke, and commit themselves still further with the administration by accepting of office. though the final arrangements to this effect were not completed till the summer, on account of the lingering reluctance of the duke of portland and mr. windham, lord loughborough and others of the former opposition had already put on the official livery of the minister. it is to be regretted that, in almost all cases of conversion to the side of power, the coincidence of some worldly advantage with the change should make it difficult to decide upon the sincerity or disinterestedness of the convert. that these noble whigs were sincere in their alarm there is no reason to doubt; but the lesson of loyalty they have transmitted would have been far more edifying, had the usual corollary of honors and emoluments not followed, and had they left at least one instance of political conversion on record, where the truth was its own sole reward, and the proselyte did not subside into the placeman. mr. sheridan was naturally indignant at these desertions, and his bitterness overflows in many passages of the speech before us. lord mornington having contrasted the privations and sacrifices demanded of the french by their minister of finance with those required of the english nation, he says in answer:-- "the noble lord need not remind us, that there is no great danger of our chancellor of the exchequer making any such experiment. i can more easily fancy another sort of speech for our prudent minister. i can more easily conceive him modestly comparing himself and his own measures with the character and conduct of his rival, and saying,--'do i demand of you, wealthy citizens, to lend your hoards to government without interest? on the contrary, when i shall come to propose a loan, there is not a man of you to whom i shall not hold out at least a job in every part of the subscription, and an usurious profit upon every pound you devote to the necessities of your country. do i demand of you, my fellow-placemen and brother-pensioners, that you should sacrifice any part of your stipends to the public exigency? on the contrary; am i not daily increasing your emoluments and your numbers in proportion as the country becomes unable to provide for you? do i require of you, my latest and most zealous proselytes, of you who have come over to me for the special purpose of supporting the war--a war, on the success of which you solemnly protest, that the salvation of britain, and of civil society itself, depend--do i require of you, that you should make a temporary sacrifice, in the cause of human nature, of the greater part of your private incomes? no, gentlemen, i scorn to take advantage of the eagerness of your zeal; and to prove that i think the sincerity of your attachment to me needs no such test, i will make your interest co-operate with your principle: i will quarter many of you on the public supply, instead of calling on you to contribute to it; and, while their whole thoughts are absorbed in patriotic apprehensions for their country, i will dexterously force upon others the favorite objects of the vanity or ambition of their lives. * * * * * "good god, sir, that he should have thought it prudent to have forced this contrast upon our attention; that he should triumphantly remind us of everything that shame should have withheld, and caution would have buried in oblivion! will those who stood forth with a parade of disinterested patriotism, and vaunted of the _sacrifices_ they had made, and the _exposed situation_ they had chosen, in order the better to oppose the friends of brissot in england--will they thank the noble lord for reminding us how soon these lofty professions dwindled into little jobbing pursuits for followers and dependents, as unfit to fill the offices procured for them, as the offices themselves were unfit to be created?--will the train of newly titled alarmists, of supernumerary negotiators, of pensioned paymasters, agents and commissaries, thank him for remarking to us how profitable their panic has been to themselves, and how expensive to their country? what a contrast, indeed, do we exhibit!--what! in such an hour as this, at a moment pregnant with the national fate, when, pressing as the exigency may be, the hard task of squeezing the money from the pockets of an impoverished people, from the toil, the drudgery of the shivering poor, must make the most practised collector's heart ache while he tears it from them--can it be that people of high rank, and professing high principles, that _they_ or _their families_ should seek to thrive on the spoils of misery and fatten on the meals wrested from industrious poverty? can it be that that should be the case with the very persons, who state the _unprecedented peril of the country_ as the _sole_ cause of their being found in the ministerial ranks? the constitution is in danger, religion is in danger, the very existence of the nation itself is endangered; all personal and party considerations ought to vanish; the war must be supported by every possible exertion, and by every possible sacrifice; the people must not murmur at their burdens, it is for their salvation, their all is at stake. the time is come, when all honest and disinterested men should rally round the throne as round a standard;--for what? ye honest and disinterested men, to receive, for your own private emolument, a portion of those very taxes wrung from the people on the pretence of saving them from the poverty and distress which you say the enemy would inflict, but which you take care no enemy shall be able to aggravate. oh! shame! shame! is this a time for selfish intrigues, and the little dirty traffic for lucre and emolument? does it suit the honor of a gentleman to ask at such a moment? does it become the honesty of a minister to grant? is it intended to confirm the pernicious doctrine, so industriously propagated by many, that all public men are impostors, and that every politician has his price? or even where there is no principle in the bosom, why does not prudence hint to the mercenary and the vain to abstain a while at least, and wait the fitting of the times? improvident impatience! nay, even from those who seem to have no direct object of office or profit, what is the language which their actions speak? the throne is in danger!--'we will support the throne; but let us share the smiles of royalty;'--the order of nobility is in danger!--'i will fight for nobility,' says the viscount, 'but my zeal would be much greater if i were made an earl.' 'rouse all the marquis within me,' exclaims the earl, 'and the peerage never turned forth a more undaunted champion in its cause than i shall prove.' 'stain my green riband blue,' cries out the illustrious knight, 'and the fountain of honor will have a fast and faithful servant.' what are the people to think of our sincerity?--what credit are they to give to our professions?--is this system to be persevered in? is there nothing that whispers to that right honorable gentleman that the crisis is too big, that the times are too gigantic, to be ruled by the little hackneyed and every-day means of ordinary corruption?" the discussions, indeed, during the whole of this session, were marked by a degree of personal acrimony, which in the present more sensitive times would hardly be borne. mr. pitt and mr. sheridan came, most of all, into collision; and the retorts of the minister not unfrequently proved with what weight the haughty sarcasms of power may descend even upon the tempered buckler of wit. it was in this session, and on the question of the treaty with the king of sardinia, that mr. canning made his first appearance, as an orator, in the house. he brought with him a fame, already full of promise, and has been one of the brightest ornaments of the senate and the country ever since. from the political faith in which he had been educated, under the very eyes of mr. sheridan, who had long been the friend of his family, and at whose house he generally passed his college vacations, the line that he was to take in the house of commons seemed already, according to the usual course of events, marked out for him. mr. sheridan had, indeed, with an eagerness which, however premature, showed the value which he and others set upon the alliance, taken occasion in the course of a laudatory tribute to mr. jenkinson, [footnote: now lord liverpool] on the success of his first effort in the house, to announce the accession which his own party was about to receive, in the talents of another gentleman,--the companion and friend of the young orator who had now distinguished himself. whether this and other friendships, formed by mr. canning at the university, had any share in alienating him from a political creed, which he had hitherto, perhaps, adopted rather from habit and authority than choice--or, whether he was startled at the idea of appearing for the first time in the world, as the announced pupil and friend of a person who, both by the vehemence of his politics and the irregularities of his life, had put himself, in some degree, under the ban of public opinion--or whether, lastly, he saw the difficulties which even genius like his would experience, in rising to the full growth of its ambition, under the shadowing branches of the whig aristocracy, and that superseding influence of birth and connections, which had contributed to keep even such men as burke and sheridan out of the cabinet--_which_ of these motives it was that now decided the choice of the young political hercules, between the two paths that equally wooed his footsteps, none, perhaps, but himself can fully determine. his decision, we know, was in favor of the minister and toryism; and, after a friendly and candid explanation to sheridan of the reasons and feelings that urged him to this step, he entered into terms with mr. pitt, and was by him immediately brought into parliament. however dangerous it might be to exalt such an example into a precedent, it is questionable whether, in thus resolving to join the ascendant side, mr. canning has not conferred a greater benefit on the country than he ever would have been able to effect in the ranks of his original friends. that party, which has now so long been the sole depository of the power of the state, had, in addition to the original narrowness of its principles, contracted all that proud obstinacy, in antiquated error, which is the invariable characteristic of such monopolies; and which, however consonant with its vocation, as the chosen instrument of the crown, should have long since _invalided_ it in the service of a free and enlightened people. some infusion of the spirit of the times into this body had become necessary, even for its own preservation,--in the same manner as the inhalement of youthful breath has been recommended, by some physicians, to the infirm and superannuated. this renovating inspiration the genius of mr. canning has supplied. his first political lessons were derived from sources too sacred to his young admiration to be forgotten. he has carried the spirit of these lessons with him into the councils which he joined, and by the vigor of the graft, which already, indeed, shows itself in the fruits, bids fair to change altogether the nature of toryism. among the eminent persons summoned as witnesses on the trial of horne tooke, which took place in november of this year, was mr. sheridan; and, as his evidence contains some curious particulars, both with regard to himself and the state of political feeling in the year , i shall here transcribe a part of it:-- "he, (mr. sheridan,) said he recollects a meeting to celebrate the establishment of liberty in france in the year . upon that occasion he moved a resolution drawn up the day before by the whig club. mr. horne tooke, he says, made no objection to his motion, but proposed an amendment. mr. tooke stated that an unqualified approbation of the french revolution, in the terms moved, might produce an ill effect out of doors, a disposition to a revolution in this country, or, at least, be misrepresented to have that object; he adverted to the circumstance of their having all of them national cockades in their hats; he proposed to add some qualifying expression to the approbation of the french revolution, a declaration of attachment to the principles of our own constitution; he said mr. tooke spoke in a figurative manner of the former government of france; he described it as a vessel so foul and decayed, that no repair could save it from destruction, that in contrasting our state with that, he said, thank god, the main timbers of our constitution are sound; he had before observed, however, that some reforms might be necessary; he said that sentiment was received with great disapprobation, and with very rude interruption, insomuch that lord stanhope, who was in the chair, interfered; he said it had happened to him, in many public meetings, to differ with and oppose the prisoner, and that he has frequently seen him received with very considerable marks of disapprobation, but he never saw them affect him much; he said that he himself objected to mr. tooke's amendment; he thinks he withdrew his amendment, and moved it as a separate motion; he said it was then carried as unanimously as his own motion had been; that original motion and separate motion are in these words:--'that this meeting does most cordially rejoice in the establishment and confirmation of liberty in france; and it beholds with peculiar satisfaction the sentiments of amity and good will which appear to pervade the people of that country towards this kingdom, especially at a time when it is the manifest interest of both states that nothing should interrupt the harmony which at present subsists between them, and which is so essentially necessary to the freedom and happiness, not only of the french nation, but of all mankind.' "mr. tooke wished to add to his motion some qualifying clause, to guard against misunderstanding and misrepresentation:--that there was a wide difference between england and france; that in france the vessel was so foul and decayed, that no repair could save it from destruction, whereas, in england, we had a noble and stately vessel, sailing proudly on the bosom of the ocean; that her main timbers were sound, though it was true, after so long a course of years, she might want some repairs. mr. tooke's motion was,--'that we feel equal satisfaction that the subjects of england, by the virtuous exertions of their ancestors, have not so arduous a task to perform as the french have had, but have only to maintain and improve the constitution which their ancestors have transmitted to them.'--this was carried unanimously." the trial of warren hastings still "dragged its slow length along," and in the may of this year mr. sheridan was called upon for his reply on the begum charge. it was usual, on these occasions, for the manager who spoke to be assisted by one of his brother managers, whose task it was to carry the bag that contained his papers, and to read out whatever minutes might be referred to in the course of the argument. mr. michael angelo taylor was the person who undertook this office for sheridan; but, on the morning of the speech, upon his asking for the bag that he was to carry, he was told by sheridan that there was none--neither bag nor papers. they must manage, he said, as well as they could without them;--and when the papers were called for, his friend must only put the best countenance he could upon it. as for himself "he would abuse ned law--ridicule plumer's long orations--make the court laugh--please the women, and, in short, with taylor's aid would get triumphantly through his task." his opening of the case was listened to with the profoundest attention; but when he came to contrast the evidence of the commons with that adduced by hastings, it was not long before the chancellor interrupted him, with a request that the printed minutes to which he referred should be read. sheridan answered that his friend mr. taylor would read them; and mr. taylor affected to send for the bag, while the orator begged leave, in the meantime, to proceed. again, however, his statements rendered a reference to the minutes necessary, and again he was interrupted by the chancellor, while an outcry after mr. sheridan's bag was raised in all directions. at first the blame was laid on the solicitor's clerk--then a messenger was dispatched to mr. sheridan's house. in the meantime, the orator was proceeding brilliantly and successfully in his argument; and, on some further interruption and expostulation from the chancellor, raised his voice and said, in a dignified tone, "on the part of the commons, and as a manager of this impeachment, i shall conduct my case as i think proper. i mean to be correct, and your lordships, having the printed minutes before you, will afterwards see whether i am right or wrong." during the bustle produced by the inquiries after the bag, mr. fox, alarmed at the inconvenience which, he feared, the want of it might occasion sheridan, ran up from the managers' room, and demanded eagerly the cause of this mistake from mr. taylor; who, hiding his mouth with his hand, whispered him, (in a tone of which they alone, who have heard this gentleman relate the anecdote, can feel the full humor,) "the man has no bag!" the whole of this characteristic contrivance was evidently intended by sheridan to raise that sort of surprise at the readiness of his resources, which it was the favorite triumph of his vanity to create. i have it on the authority of mr. william smythe, that, previously to the delivery of this speech, he passed two or three days alone at wanstead, so occupied from morning till night in writing and reading of papers, as to complain in the evenings that he "had motes before his eyes." this mixture of real labor with apparent carelessness was, indeed, one of the most curious features of his life and character. together with the political contests of this stormy year, he had also on his mind the cares of his new theatre, which opened on the st of april, with a prologue, not by himself, as might have been expected, but by his friend general fitzpatrick. he found time, however, to assist in the rapid manufacture of a little piece called "the glorious first of june," which was acted immediately after lord howe's victory, and of which i have found some sketches [footnote: one of these is as follows:-- "scene i.--miss _leake_--miss _decamp--walsh_. "short dialogue--nancy persuading susan to go to the fair, where there is an entertainment to be given by the lord of the manor--susan melancholy because henry, her lover, is at sea with the british admiral--_song_ --her old mother scolds from the cottage--her little brother (_walsh_) comes from the house, with a message--laughs at his sister's fears and sings--_trio_. "scene ii.--_the fair_ "puppet show--dancing bear--bells--hurdy-gurdy--recruiting party--song and chorus. "_ballet_--d'egville. "susan says she has no pleasure, and will go and take a solitary walk. "scene iii.--_dark wood._ "susan--gipsy--tells her fortune--recitative and ditty. "scene iv. "sea-fight--hell and the devil! "henry and susan meet--chorus introducing burden, "rule britannia." among other occasional trifles of this kind, to which sheridan condescended for the advantage of the theatre, was the pantomime of robinson crusoe, brought out, i believe, in , of which he is understood to have been the author. there was a practical joke in this pantomime, (where, in pulling off a man's boot, the leg was pulled off with it,) which the famous delpini laid claim to as his own, and publicly complained of sheridan's having stolen it from him. the punsters of the day said it was claimed as literary property--being "in usum _delpini_." another of these inglorious tasks of the author of the school for scandal, was the furnishing of the first outline or _programme_ of "the forty thieves." his brother in law, ward, supplied the dialogue, and mr. colman was employed to season it with an infusion of jokes. the following is sheridan's sketch of one of the scenes-- "ali baba. "bannister called out of the cavern boldly by his son--comes out and falls on the ground a long time, not knowing him--says he would only have taken a little gold to keep off misery and save his son, &c. "afterwards, when he loads his asses, his son reminds him to be moderate--but it was a promise made to thieves--'it gets nearer the owner, if taken from the stealer'--the son disputes this morality--'they stole it, _ergo_, they have no right to it; and we steal it from the stealer, _ergo_, our title is twice as bad as theirs.'"] in sheridan's hand-writing,--though the dialogue was, no doubt, supplied (as mr. boaden says,) "by cobb, or some other such _pedissequus_ of the dramatic muse. this piece was written, rehearsed, and acted within three days. the first operation of mr. sheridan towards it was to order the mechanist of the theatre to get ready two fleets. it was in vain that objections were started to the possibility of equipping these pasteboard armaments in so short an interval--lord chatham's famous order to lord anson was not more peremptory. [footnote: for the expedition to the coast of france, after the convention of closter seven. when he ordered the fleet to be equipped, and appointed the time and place of its rendezvous, lord anson said it would be impossible to have it prepared so soon. "it may," said mr. pitt, "be done, and if the ships are not ready at the time specified, i shall signify your lordship's neglect to the king, and impeach you in the house of commons." this intimation produced the desired effect--the ships were ready. see anecdotes of lord chatham, vol. i] the two fleets were accordingly ready at the time, and the duke of clarence attended the rehearsal of their evolutions. this mixture of the cares of the statesman and the manager is one of those whimsical peculiarities that made sheridan's own life so dramatic, and formed a compound altogether too singular ever to occur again. in the spring of the following year, ( ,) we find mr. sheridan paying that sort of tribute to the happiness of a first marriage which is implied by the step of entering into a second. the lady to whom he now united himself was miss esther jane ogle, daughter of the dean of winchester, and grand-daughter, by the mother's side, of the former bishop of winchester. we have here another proof of the ready mine of wealth which the theatre opened,--as in gratitude it ought,--to him who had endowed, it with such imperishable treasures. the fortune of the lady being five thousand pounds, he added to it fifteen thousand more, which he contrived to raise by the sale of drury-lane shares; and the whole of the sum was subsequently laid out in the purchase from sir w. geary of the estate of polesden, in surrey, near leatherhead. the trustees of this settlement were mr. grey, (now lord grey,) and mr. whitbread. to a man at the time of life which sheridan had now attained--four years beyond that period, at which petrarch thought it decorous to leave off writing love-verses [footnote: see his epistle, "ad posteritatem," where, after lamenting the many years which he had devoted to love, he adds: "mox vero ad _quadragesimum annum_ appropinquans, dum adhuc et caloris satis esset," &c.]--a union with a young and accomplished girl, ardently devoted to him, must have been like a renewal of his own youth; and it is, indeed, said by those who were in habits of intimacy with him at this period, that they had seldom seen his spirits in a state of more buoyant vivacity. he passed much of his time at the house of his father-in-law near southampton;--and in sailing about with his lively bride on the southampton river, (in a small cutter called the phaedria, after the magic boat in the "fairy queen,") forgot for a while his debts, his theatre, and his politics. it was on one of these occasions that my friend mr. bowles, who was a frequent companion of his parties, [footnote: among other distinguished persons present at these excursions were mr. joseph richardson, dr. howley, now bishop of london, and mrs. wilmot, now lady dacre, a lady, whose various talents,--not the less delightful for being so feminine,--like the group of the graces, reflect beauty on each other.] wrote the following verses, which were much admired, as they well deserved to be, by sheridan, for the sweetness of their thoughts, and the perfect music of their rhythm:-- "smooth went our boat upon the summer seas, leaving, (for so it seem'd.) the world behind, its cares, its sounds, its shadows: we reclin'd upon the sunny deck, heard but the breeze that o'er us whispering pass'd or idly play'd with the lithe flag aloft.--a woodland scene on either side drew its slope line of green, and hung the water's shining edge with shade. above the woods, netley! thy ruins pale peer'd, as we pass'd; and vecta's [ ] azure hue beyond the misty castle [ ] met the view; where in mid channel hung the scarce-seen sail. so all was calm and sunshine as we went cheerily o'er the briny element. oh! were this little boat to us the world, as thus we wander'd far from sounds of care, circled with friends and gentle maidens fair, whilst morning airs the waving pendant curl'd, how sweet were life's long voyage, till in peace we gain'd that haven still, where all things cease!" [footnote : isle of wight] [footnote : kelshot castle] the events of this year but added fresh impetus to that reaction upon each other of the government and the people, which such a system of misrule is always sure to produce. among the worst effects, as i have already remarked, of the rigorous policy adopted by the minister, was the extremity to which it drove the principles and language of opposition, and that sanction which the vehement rebound against oppression of such influencing spirits as fox and sheridan seemed to hold out to the obscurer and more practical assertors of freedom. this was at no time more remarkable than in the present session, during the discussion of those arbitrary measures, the treason and sedition bills, when sparks were struck out, in the collision of the two principles, which the combustible state of public feeling at the moment rendered not a little perilous. on the motion that the house should resolve itself into a committee upon the treason bill, mr. fox said, that "if ministers were determined, by means of the corrupt influence they already possessed in the two houses of parliament, to pass these bills, in violent opposition to the declared sense of the great majority of the nation, and they should be put in force with all their rigorous provisions,--if his opinion were asked by the people as to their obedience, he should tell them, that it was no longer a question of moral obligation and duty, but of prudence." mr. sheridan followed in the bold footsteps of his friend, and said, that "if a degraded and oppressed majority of the people applied to him, he would advise them to acquiesce in those bills only as long as resistance was imprudent." this language was, of course, visited with the heavy reprobation of the ministry;--but their own partisans had already gone as great lengths on the side of absolute power, and it is the nature of such extremes to generate each other. bishop horsley had preached the doctrine of passive obedience in the house of lords, asserting that "man's abuse of his delegated authority is to be borne with resignation, like any other of god's judgments; and that the opposition of the individual to the sovereign power is an opposition to god's providential arrangements." the promotion of the right reverend prelate that followed, was not likely to abate his zeal in the cause of power; and, accordingly, we find him in the present session declaring, in his place in the house of lords, that "the people have nothing to do with the laws but to obey them." the government, too, had lately given countenance to writers, the absurd slavishness of whose doctrines would have sunk below contempt, but for such patronage. among the ablest of them was arthur young,--one of those renegades from the cause of freedom, who, like the incendiary that set fire to the temple with the flame he had stolen from its altar, turn the fame and the energies which they have acquired in _defence_ of liberty _against_ her. this gentleman, to whom his situation as secretary to the board of agriculture afforded facilities for the circulation of his political heresies, did not scruple, in one of his pamphlets, roundly to assert, that unequal representation, rotten boroughs, long parliaments, extravagant courts, selfish ministers, and corrupt majorities, are not only intimately interwoven with the practical freedom of england, but, in a great degree, the causes of it. but the most active and notorious of these patronized advocates of the court was mr. john reeves,--a person who, in his capacity of president of the association against republicans and levellers, had acted as a sort of sub-minister of alarm to mr. burke. in a pamphlet, entitled "thoughts on the english government," which mr. sheridan brought under the notice of the house, as a libel on the constitution, this pupil of the school of filmer advanced the startling doctrine that the lords and commons of england derive their existence and authority from the king, and that the kingly government could go on, in all its functions, without them. this pitiful paradox found an apologist in mr. windham, whose chivalry in the new cause he had espoused left mr. pitt himself at a wondering distance behind. his speeches in defence of reeves, (which are among the proofs that remain of that want of equipoise observable in his fine, rather than solid, understanding,) have been with a judicious charity towards his memory, omitted in the authentic collection by mr. amyot. when such libels against the constitution were not only promulgated, but acted upon, on one side, it was to be expected, and hardly, perhaps, to be regretted, that the repercussion should be heard loudly and warningly from the other. mr. fox, by a subsequent explanation, softened down all that was most menacing in his language; and, though the word "resistance," at full length, should, like the hand-writing on the wall, be reserved for the last intoxication of the belshazzars of this world, a letter or two of it may, now and then, glare out upon their eyes, without producing any thing worse than a salutary alarm amid their revels. at all events, the high and constitutional grounds on which mr. fox defended the expressions he had hazarded, may well reconcile us to any risk incurred by their utterance. the tribute to the house of russell, in the grand and simple passage beginning, "dear to this country are the descendants of the illustrious russell," is as applicable to that noble family now as it was then; and will continue to be so, i trust, as long as a single vestige of a race, so pledged to the cause of liberty, remains. in one of mr. sheridan's speeches on the subject of reeves's libel, there are some remarks on the character of the people of england, not only candid and just, but, as applied to them at that trying crisis, interesting:-- "never was there," he said, "any country in which there was so much absence of public principle, and at the same time so many instances of private worth. never was there so much charity and humanity towards the poor and the distressed; any act of cruelty or oppression never failed to excite a sentiment of general indignation against its authors. it was a circumstance peculiarly strange, that though luxury had arrived to such a pitch, it had so little effect in depraving the hearts and destroying the morals of people in private life; and almost every day produced some fresh example of generous feelings and noble exertions of benevolence. yet amidst these phenomena of private virtue, it was to be remarked, that there was an almost total want of public spirit, and a most deplorable contempt of public principle. * * * * * "when great britain fell, the case would not be with her as with rome in former times. when rome fell, she fell by the weight of her own vices. the inhabitants were so corrupted and degraded, as to be unworthy of a continuance of prosperity, and incapable to enjoy the blessings of liberty; their minds were bent to the state in which a reverse of fortune placed them. but when great britain falls, she will fall with a people full of private worth and virtue; she will be ruined by the profligacy of the governors, and the security of her inhabitants,--the consequence of those pernicious doctrines which have taught her to place a false confidence in her strength and freedom, and not to look with distrust and apprehension to the misconduct and corruption of those to whom she has trusted the management of her resources." to this might have been added, that when great britain falls, it will not be from either ignorance of her rights, or insensibility to their value, but from that want of energy to assert them which a high state of civilization produces. the love of ease that luxury brings along with it,--the selfish and compromising spirit, in which the members of a polished society countenance each other, and which reverses the principle of patriotism, by sacrificing public interests to private ones,--the substitution of intellectual for moral excitement, and the repression of enthusiasm by fastidiousness and ridicule,--these are among the causes that undermine a people,--that corrupt in the very act of enlightening them; till they become, what a french writer calls "_esprits exigeans et caracteres complaisans_," and the period in which their rights are best understood may be that in which they most easily surrender them. it is, indeed, with the advanced age of free states, as with that of individuals,--they improve in the theory of their existence as they grow unfit for the practice of it; till, at last, deceiving themselves with the semblance of rights gone by, and refining upon the forms of their institutions after they have lost the substance, they smoothly sink into slavery, with the lessons of liberty on their lips. besides the treason and sedition bills, the suspension of the habeas corpus act was another of the momentous questions which, in this as well as the preceding session, were chosen as points of assault by mr. sheridan, and contested with a vigor and reiteration of attack, which, though unavailing against the massy majorities of the minister, yet told upon public opinion so as to turn even defeats to account. the marriage of the prince of wales to the princess caroline of brunswick having taken place in the spring of this year, it was proposed by his majesty to parliament, not only to provide an establishment for their royal highnesses, but to decide on the best manner of liquidating the debts of the prince, which were calculated at , _l_. on the secession of the leading whigs, in , his royal highness had also separated himself from mr. fox, and held no further intercourse either with him or any of his party,--except, occasionally, mr. sheridan,--till so late, i believe, as the year . the effects of this estrangement are sufficiently observable in the tone of the opposition throughout the debates on the message of the king. mr. grey said, that he would not oppose the granting of an establishment to the prince equal to that of his ancestors; but neither would he consent to the payment of his debts by parliament. a refusal, he added, to liberate his royal highness from his embarrassments would certainly prove a mortification; but it would, at the same time, awaken a just sense of his imprudence. mr. fox asked, "was the prince well advised in applying to that house on the subject of his debts, after the promise made in ?"--and mr. sheridan, while he agreed with his friends that the application should not have been made to parliament, still gave it as his "positive opinion that the debts ought to be paid immediately, for the dignity of the country and the situation of the prince, who ought not to be seen rolling about the streets, in his state-coach, as an insolvent prodigal." with respect to the promise given in , and now violated, that the prince would not again apply to parliament for the payment of his debts, mr. sheridan, with a communicativeness that seemed hardly prudent, put the house in possession of some details of the transaction, which, as giving an insight into royal character, are worthy of being extracted. "in , a pledge was given to the house that no more debts should be contracted. by that pledge the prince was bound as much as if he had given it knowingly and voluntarily. to attempt any explanation of it now would be unworthy of his honor,--as if he had suffered it to be wrung from him, with a view of afterwards pleading that it was against his better judgment, in order to get rid of it. he then advised the prince not to make any such promise, because it was not to be expected that he could himself enforce the details of a system of economy; and, although he had men of honor and abilities about him, he was totally unprovided with men of business, adequate to such a task. the prince said he could not give such a pledge, and agree at the same time to take back his establishment. he (mr. sheridan) drew up a plan of retrenchment, which was approved of by the prince, and afterwards by his majesty; and the prince told him that the promise was not to be insisted upon. in the king's message, however, the promise was inserted,--by whose advice he knew not. he heard it read with surprise, and, on being asked next day by the prince to contradict it in his place, he inquired whether the prince had seen the message before it was brought down. being told that it had been read to him, but that he did not understand it as containing a promise, he declined contradicting it, and told the prince that he must abide by it in whatever way it might have been obtained. by the plan then settled, ministers had a check upon the prince's expenditure, which they never exerted, nor enforced adherence to the plan. * * * * * "while ministers never interfered to check expenses, of which they could not pretend ignorance, the prince had recourse to means for relieving himself from his embarrassments, which ultimately tended to increase them. it was attempted to raise a loan for him in foreign countries, a measure which he thought unconstitutional, and put a stop to; and, after a consultation with lord loughborough, all the bonds were burnt, although with a considerable loss to the prince. after that, another plan of retrenchment was proposed, upon which he had frequent consultations with lord thurlow, who gave the prince fair, open, and manly advice. that noble lord told the prince, that, after the promise he had made, he must not think of applying to parliament;--that he must avoid being of any party in politics, but, above all, exposing himself to the suspicion of being influenced in political opinion by his embarrassments;--that the only course he could pursue with honor, was to retire from public life for a time, and appropriate the greater part of his income to the liquidation of his debts. this plan was agreed upon in the autum of . why, it might be asked, was it not carried into effect? about that period his royal highness began to receive unsolicited advice from another quarter. he was told by lord loughborough, both in words and in writing, that the plan savored too much of the advice given to m. egalité, and he could guess from what quarter it came. for his own part, he was then of opinion, that to have avoided meddling in the great political questions which were then coming to be discussed, and to have put his affairs in a train of adjustment, would have better become his high station, and tended more to secure public respect to it, than the pageantry of state-liveries." the few occasions on which the name of mr. sheridan was again connected with literature, after the final investment of his genius in political speculations, were such as his fame might have easily dispensed with;--and one of them, the forgery of the shakspeare papers, occurred in the course of the present year. whether it was that he looked over these manuscripts with the eye more of a manager than of a critic, and considered rather to what account the belief in their authenticity might be turned, than how far it was founded upon internal evidence;--or whether, as mr. ireland asserts, the standard at which he rated the genius of shakspeare was not so high as to inspire him with a very watchful fastidiousness of judgment; certain it is that he was, in some degree, the dupe of this remarkable imposture, which, as a lesson to the self-confidence of criticism, and an exposure of the fallibility of taste, ought never to be forgotten in literary history. the immediate payment of _l_. and a moiety of the profits for the first sixty nights, were the terms upon which mr. sheridan purchased the play of vortigern from the irelands. the latter part of the conditions was voided the first night; and, though it is more than probable that a genuine tragedy of shakspeare, if presented under similar circumstances, would have shared the same fate, the public enjoyed the credit of detecting and condemning a counterfeit, which had passed current through some of the most learned and tasteful hands of the day. it is but justice, however, to mr. sheridan to add, that, according to the account of ireland himself, he was not altogether without misgivings during his perusal of the manuscripts, and that his name does not appear among the signatures to that attestation of their authenticity which his friend dr. parr drew up, and was himself the first to sign. the curious statement of mr. ireland, with respect to sheridan's want of enthusiasm for shakspeare, receives some confirmation from the testimony of mr. boaden, the biographer of kemble, who tells us that "kemble frequently expressed to him his wonder that sheridan should trouble himself _so little_ about shakspeare." this peculiarity of taste,--if it really existed to the degree that these two authorities would lead us to infer,--affords a remarkable coincidence with the opinions of another illustrious genius, lately lost to the world, whose admiration of the great demiurge of the drama was leavened with the same sort of heresy. in the january of this year, mr. william stone--the brother of the gentleman whose letter from paris has been given in a preceding chapter--was tried upon a charge of high treason, and mr. sheridan was among the witnesses summoned for the prosecution. he had already in the year , in consequence of a reference from mr. stone himself, been examined before the privy council, relative to a conversation which he had held with that gentleman, and, on the day after his examination, had, at the request of mr. dundas, transmited to that minister in writing the particulars of his testimony before the council. there is among his papers a rough draft of this statement, in comparing which with his evidence upon the trial in the present year, i find rather a curious proof of the faithlessness of even the best memories. the object of the conversation which he had held with mr. stone in --and which constituted the whole of their intercourse with each other--was a proposal on the part of the latter, submitted also to lord lauderdale and others, to exert his influence in france, through those channels which his brother's residence there opened to him, for the purpose of averting the threatened invasion of england, by representing to the french rulers the utter hopelessness of such an attempt. mr. sheridan, on the trial, after an ineffectual request to be allowed to refer to his written statement, gave the following as part of his recollections of the conversation:-- "mr. stone stated that, in order to effect this purpose, he had endeavored to collect the opinions of several gentlemen, political characters in this country, whose opinions he thought would be of authority sufficient to advance his object; that for this purpose he had had interviews with different gentlemen; he named mr. smith and, i think, one or two more, whose names i do not now recollect. he named some gentlemen connected with administration--if the counsel will remind me of the name--" here mr. law, the examining counsel, remarked, that "upon the cross-examination, if the gentlemen knew the circumstance, they would mention it." the cross-examination of sheridan by sergeant adair was as follows:-- "you stated in the course of your examination that mr. stone said there was a gentleman connected with government, to whom he had made a similar communication, should you recollect the name of that person if you were reminded of it?--i certainly should.--was it general murray?--general murray certainly." notwithstanding this, however, it appears from the written statement in my possession, drawn up soon after the conversation in question, that this "gentleman connected with government," so difficult to be remembered, was no other than the prime minister, mr. pitt himself. so little is the memory to be relied upon in evidence, particularly when absolved from responsibility by the commission of its deposit to writing. the conduct of mr. sheridan throughout this transaction appears to have been sensible and cautious. that he was satisfied with it himself may be collected from the conclusion of his letter to mr. dundas:--"under the circumstances in which the application, (from mr. dundas,) has been made to me, i have thought it equally a matter of respect to that application and of respect to myself, as well as of justice to the person under suspicion, to give this relation more in detail than at first perhaps might appear necessary. my own conduct in the matter not being in question, i can only say that were a similar case to occur, i think i should act in every circumstance precisely in the manner i did on this occasion." the parliamentary exertions of mr. sheridan this year, though various and active, were chiefly upon subordinate questions; and, except in the instance of mr. fox's motion of censure upon ministers for advancing money to the emperor without the consent of parliament, were not distinguished by any signal or sustained displays of eloquence. the grand questions, indeed, connected with the liberty of the subject, had been so hotly contested, that but few new grounds were left on which to renew the conflict. events, however,--the only teachers of the great mass of mankind,--were beginning to effect what eloquence had in vain attempted. the people of england, though generally eager for war, are seldom long in discovering that "the cup but sparkles near the brim;" and in the occurrences of the following year they were made to taste the full bitterness of the draught. an alarm for the solvency of the bank, an impending invasion, a mutiny in the fleet, and an organized rebellion in ireland,--such were the fruits of four years' warfare, and they were enough to startle even the most sanguine and precipitate into reflection. the conduct of mr. sheridan on the breaking out of the mutiny at the nore is too well known and appreciated to require any illustration here. it is placed to his credit on the page of history, and was one of the happiest impulses of good feeling and good sense combined, that ever public man acted upon in a situation demanding so much of both. the patriotic promptitude of his interference was even more striking than it appears in the record of his parliamentary labors; for, as i have heard at but one remove from his own authority, while the ministry were yet hesitating as to the steps they should take, he went to mr. dundas and said.--"my advice is that you cut the buoys on the river--send sir charles grey down to the coast, and set a price on parker's head. if the administration take this advice instantly, they ill save the country--if not, they will lose it; and, on their refusal, i will impeach them in the house of commons this very evening." without dwelling on the contrast which is so often drawn--less with a view to elevate sheridan than to depreciate his party--between the conduct of himself and his friends at this fearful crisis, it is impossible not to concede that, on the scale of public spirit, he rose as far superior to them as the great claims of the general safety transcend all personal considerations and all party ties. it was, indeed, a rare triumph of temper and sagacity. with less temper, he would have seen in this awful peril but an occasion of triumph over the minister whom he had so long been struggling to overturn--and, with less sagacity, he would have thrown away the golden opportunity of establishing himself for ever in the affections and the memories of englishmen, as one whose heart was in the common-weal, whatever might be his opinions, and who, in the moment of peril, could sink the partisan in the patriot. as soon as he had performed this exemplary duty, he joined mr. fox and the rest of his friends who had seceded from parliament about a week before, on the very day after the rejection of mr. grey's motion for a reform. this step, which was intended to create a strong sensation, by hoisting, as it were, the signal of despair to the country, was followed by no such striking effects, and left little behind but a question as to its prudence and patriotism. the public saw, however, with pleasure, that there were still a few champions of the constitution, who did not "leave her fair side all unguarded" in this extremity. mr. tierney, among others, remained at his post, encountering mr. pitt on financial questions with a vigor and address to which the latter had been hitherto unaccustomed, and perfecting by practice that shrewd power of analysis, which has made him so formidable a sifter of ministerial sophistries ever since. sir francis burdett, too, was just then entering into his noble career of patriotism; and, like the youthful servant of the temple in euripides, was aiming his first shafts at those unclean birds, that settle within the sanctuary of the constitution and sully its treasures:-- [greek: "ptaenon t'agalas a blaptusae semn' anathaemata"] by a letter from the earl of moira to col. m'mahon in the summer of this year it appears, that in consequence of the calamitous state of the country, a plan had been in agitation among some members of the house of commons, who had hitherto supported the measures of the minister, to form an entirely new administration, of which the noble earl was to be the head, and from which both mr. pitt and mr. fox, as equally obnoxious to the public, were to be excluded. the only materials that appear to have been forthcoming for this new cabinet were lord moira himself, lord thurlow, and sir william pulteney--the last of whom it was intended to make chancellor of the exchequer. such a tottering balance of parties, however, could not have been long maintained; and its relapse, after a short interval, into toryism, would but have added to the triumph of mr. pitt, and increased his power. accordingly lord moira, who saw from the beginning the delicacy and difficulty of the task, wisely abandoned it. the share that mr. sheridan had in this transaction is too honorable to him not to be recorded, and the particulars cannot be better given than in lord moira's own words:-- "you say that mr. sheridan has been traduced, as wishing to abandon mr. fox, and to promote a new administration. i had accidentally a conversation with that gentleman at the house of lords. i remonstrated strongly with him against a principle which i heard mr. fox's friends intended to lay down, namely, that they would support a new administration, but that not any of them would take part in it. i solemnly declare, upon my honor, that i could not shake mr. sheridan's conviction of the propriety of that determination. he said that he and mr. fox's other friends, as well as mr. fox himself, would give the most energetic support to such an administration as was in contemplation; but that their acceptance of office would appear an acquiescence under the injustice of the interdict supposed to be fixed upon mr. fox. i did not and never can admit the fairness of that argument. but i gained nothing upon mr. sheridan, to whose uprightness in that respect i can therefore bear the most decisive testimony. indeed i am ashamed of offering testimony, where suspicion ought not to have been conceived." chapter viii. play of "the stranger"--speeches in parliament.--pizarro.--ministry of mr. addington.--french institute.--negotiation with mr. kemble. the theatrical season of introduced to the public the german drama of "the stranger," translated by mr. thompson, and (as we are told by this gentleman in his preface) altered and improved by sheridan. there is reason, however, to believe that the contributions of the latter to the dialogue were much more considerable than he was perhaps willing to let the translator acknowledge. my friend mr. rogers has heard him, on two different occasions, declare that he had written every word of the stranger from beginning to end; and, as his vanity could not be much interested in such a claim, it is possible that there was at least some virtual foundation for it. the song introduced in this play, "i have a silent sorrow here," was avowedly written by sheridan, as the music of it was by the duchess of devonshire--two such names, so brilliant in their respective spheres, as the muses of song and verse have seldom had the luck to bring together. the originality of these lines has been disputed; and that expedient of borrowing which their author _ought_ to have been independent of in every way, is supposed to have been resorted to by his indolence on this occasion. some verses by tickell are mentioned as having supplied one of the best stanzas; but i am inclined to think, from the following circumstances, that this theft of sheridan was of that venial and domestic kind--from himself. a writer, who brings forward the accusation in the gentleman's magazine, (vol. lxxi. p. ,) thus states his grounds:-- "in a song which i purchased at bland's music-shop in holborn in the year , intitled, 'think not, my love' and professing to be set to music by thomas wright. (i conjecture, organist of newcastle-upon-tyne, and composer of the pretty opera called rusticity.) are the following words:-- "the song to which the writer alludes, "think not, my love," was given to me, as a genuine production of mr. sheridan, by a gentleman nearly connected with his family; and i have little doubt of its being one of those early love-strains which, in his _tempo de' dolci sospiri_, he addressed to miss linley. as, therefore, it was but "a feather of his own" that the eagle made free with, he may be forgiven. the following is the whole of the song:-- "this treasured grief, this loved despair, my lot forever be; but, dearest, may the pangs i bear be never known to thee!' "now, without insisting that the opening thought in mr. sheridan's famous song has been borrowed from that of 'think not, my love,' the second verse is manifestly such a theft of the lines i have quoted as entirely overturns mr. sheridan's claim to originality in the matter, unless 'think not, my love,' has been written by him, and he can be proved to have only stolen from himself." "think not, my love, when secret grief preys on my saddened heart, think not i wish a mean relief. or would from sorrow part. "dearly i prize the sighs sincere, that my true fondness prove. nor would i wish to check the tear, that flows from hapless love! "alas! tho' doom'd to hope in vain the joys that love requite, yet will i cherish all its pain, with sad, but dear delight. "this treasured grief, this lov'd despair, my lot for ever be; but, dearest, may the pangs i bear be never known to thee!" among the political events of this year, the rebellion of ireland holds a memorable and fearful preeminence. the only redeeming stipulation which the duke of portland and his brother alarmists had annexed to their ill-judged coalition with mr. pitt was, that a system of conciliation and justice should, at last, be adopted towards ireland. had they but carried thus much wisdom into the ministerial ranks with them, their defection might have been pardoned for the good it achieved, and, in one respect at least, would have resembled the policy of those missionaries, who join in the ceremonies of the heathen for the purpose of winning him over to the truth. on the contrary, however, the usual consequence of such coalitions with power ensued,--the good was absorbed in the evil principle, and, by the false hope which it created, but increased the mischief. lord fitzwilliam was not only deceived himself, but, still worse to a noble and benevolent nature like his, was made the instrument of deception and mockery to millions. his recall, in , assisted by the measures of his successor, drove ireland into the rebellion which raged during the present year, and of which the causes have been so little removed from that hour to this, that if the people have become too wise to look back to it, as an example, it is assuredly not because their rulers have much profited by it as a lesson. i am aware that, on the subject of ireland and her wrongs, i can ill trust myself with the task of expressing what i feel, or preserve that moderate, historical tone, which it has been my wish to maintain through the political opinions of this work. on every other point, my homage to the high character of england, and of her institutions, is prompt and cordial;--on this topic alone, my feelings towards her have been taught to wear "the badge of bitterness." as a citizen of the world, i would point to england as its brightest ornament,--but, as a disfranchised irishman, i blush to belong to her. instead, therefore, of hazarding any farther reflections of my own on the causes and character of the rebellion of , i shall content myself with giving an extract from a speech which mr. sheridan delivered on the subject, in the june of that year:-- "what! when conciliation was held out to the people of ireland, was there any discontent? when the government of ireland was agreeable to the people, was there any discontent? after the prospect of that conciliation was taken away,--after lord fitzwilliam was recalled,--after the hopes which had been raised were blasted,--when the spirit of the people was beaten down, insulted, despised, i will ask any gentleman to point out a single act of conciliation which has emanated from the government of ireland? on the contrary; has not that country exhibited one continual scene of the most grievous oppression, of the most vexatious proceedings; arbitrary punishments inflicted; torture declared necessary by the highest authority in the sister-kingdom next to that of the legislature? and do gentlemen say that the indignant spirit which is roused by such exercise of government is unprovoked? is this conciliation? is this lenity? has everything been done to avert the evils of rebellion? it is the fashion to say, and the address holds the same language, that the rebellion which now rages in the sister-kingdom has been owing to the machinations of 'wicked men.' agreeing to the amendment proposed, it was my first intention to move that these words should be omitted. but, sir, the fact they assert is true. it is, indeed, to the measures of wicked men that the deplorable state of ireland is to be imputed. it is to those wicked ministers who have broken the promises they held out, who betrayed the party they seduced into their views, to be the instruments of the foulest treachery that ever was practised against any people. it is to those wicked ministers who have given up that devoted country to plunder,--resigned it a prey to this faction, by which it has so long been trampled upon, and abandoned it to every species of insult and oppression by which a country was ever overwhelmed, or the spirit of a people insulted, that we owe the miseries into which ireland is plunged, and the dangers by which england is threatened. these evils are the doings of wicked ministers, and applied to them, the language of the address records a fatal and melancholy truth." the popularity which the conduct of mr. sheridan, on the occasion of the mutiny, had acquired for him,--everywhere but among his own immediate party,--seems to have produced a sort of thaw in the rigor of his opposition to government; and the language which he now began to hold, with respect to the power and principles of france, was such as procured for him, more than once in the course of the present session, the unaccustomed tribute of compliments from the treasury-bench. without, in the least degree, questioning his sincerity in this change of tone, it may be remarked, that the most watchful observer of the tide of public opinion could not have taken it at the turn more seasonably or skilfully. there was, indeed, just at this time a sensible change in the feeling of the country. the dangers to which it had been reduced were great, but the crisis seemed over. the new wings lent to credit by the paper-currency, --the return of the navy to discipline and victory,--the disenchantment that had taken place with respect to french principles, and the growing persuasion, since strengthened into conviction, that the world has never committed a more gross mistake than in looking to the french as teachers of liberty,--the insulting reception of the late pacific overtures at lisle, and that never-failing appeal to the pride and spirit of englishmen, which a threat of invading their sacred shore brings with it,--all these causes concurred, at this moment, to rally the people of england round the government, and enabled the minister to extract from the very mischiefs which himself had created the spirit of all others most competent to bear and surmount them. such is the elasticity of a free country, however, for the moment, misgoverned,--and the only glory due to the minister under whom such a people, in spite of misgovernment, flourishes, is that of having proved, by the experiment, how difficult it is to ruin them. while mr. sheridan took these popular opportunities of occasionally appearing before the public, mr. fox persevered, with but little interruption, in his plan of secession from parliament altogether. from the beginning of the session of this year, when, at the instance of his constituents, he appeared in his place to oppose the assessed taxes bill, till the month of february, , he raised his voice in the house but upon two questions,--each "dignus vindice,"--the abolition of the slave-trade, and a change of system in ireland. he had thrown into his opposition too much real feeling and earnestness to be able, like sheridan, to soften it down, or shape it to the passing temper of the times. in the harbor of private life alone could that swell subside; and, however the country missed his warning eloquence, there is little doubt that his own mind and heart were gainers by a retirement, in which he had leisure to "prune the ruffled wings" of his benevolent spirit,--to exchange the ambition of being great for that of being useful, and to listen, in the stillness of retreat, to the lessons of a mild wisdom, of which, had his life been prolonged, his country would have felt the full influence. from one of sheridan's speeches at this time we find that the change which had lately taken place in his public conduct had given rise to some unworthy imputations upon his motives. there are few things less politic in an eminent public man than a too great readiness to answer accusations against his character. for, as he is, in general, more extensively read or heard than his accusers, the first intimation, in most cases, that the public receives of any charge against him will be from his own answer to it. neither does the evil rest here;--for the calumny remains embalmed in the defence, long after its own ephemeral life is gone. to this unlucky sort of sensitiveness mr. sheridan was but too much disposed to give way, and accordingly has been himself the chronicler of many charges against him, of which we should have been otherwise wholly ignorant. of this nature were the imputations founded on his alleged misunderstanding with the duke of portland, in , to which i have already made some allusion, and of which we should have known nothing but for his own notice of it. his vindication of himself, in , from the suspicion of being actuated by self-interest, in his connection with the prince, or of having received from him, (to use his own expressions,) "so much as the present of a horse or a picture," is another instance of the same kind, where he has given substance and perpetuity to rumor, and marked out the track of an obscure calumny, which would otherwise have been forgotten. at the period immediately under our consideration he has equally enabled us to collect, from his gratuitous defence of himself, that the line lately taken by him in parliament, on the great questions of the mutiny and invasion, had given rise to suspicions of his political steadiness, and to rumors of his approaching separation from mr. fox. "i am sorry," he said, on one occasion, "that it is hardly possible for any man to speak in this house, and to obtain credit for speaking from a principle of public spirit; that no man can oppose a minister without being accused of faction, and none, who usually opposed, can support a minister, or lend him assistance in anything, without being accused of doing so from interested motives. i am not such a coxcomb as to say, that it is of much importance what part i may take; or that it is essential that i should divide a little popularity, or some emolument, with the ministers of the crown; nor am i so vain as to imagine, that my services might be solicited. certainly they have not. that might have arisen from want of importance in myself, or from others, whom i have been in the general habit of opposing, conceiving that i was not likely either to give up my general sentiments, or my personal attachments. however that may be, certain it is, they never have made any attempt to apply to me for my assistance." in reviewing his parliamentary exertions during this year, it would be injustice to pass over his speech on the assessed taxes bill, in which, among other fine passages, the following vehement burst of eloquence occurs: "but we have gained, forsooth, several ships by the victory of the first of june,--by the capture of toulon,--by the acquisition of those charnel-houses in the west indies, in which , men have been lost to this country. consider the price which has been paid for these successes. for these boasted successes, i will say, give me back the blood of englishmen which has been shed in this fatal contest.--give me back the millions of debt which it has occasioned.--give me back the honor of the country which has been tarnished,--give me back the credit of the country, which has been destroyed,--give me back the solidity of the bank of england, which has been overthrown; the attachment of the people to their ancient constitution, which has been shaken by acts of oppression and tyrannical laws,--give me back the kingdom of ireland, the connection of which is endangered by a cruel and outrageous system of military coercion,--give me back that pledge of eternal war, which must be attended with inevitable ruin !" the great success which had attended the stranger, and the still increasing taste for the german drama, induced mr. sheridan, in the present year, to embark his fame even still more responsibly in a venture to the same romantic shores. the play of pizarro was brought out on the th of may, . the heroic interest of the plot, the splendor of the pageantry, and some skilful appeals to public feeling in the dialogue, obtained for it at once a popularity which has seldom been equalled. as far, indeed, as multiplied representations and editions are a proof of success, the legitimate issue of his muse might well have been jealous of the fame and fortune of their spurious german relative. when the author of the critic made puff say, "now for my magnificence,--my noise and my procession!" he little anticipated the illustration which, in twenty years afterwards, his own example would afford to that ridicule. not that in pageantry, when tastefully and subordinately introduced, there is any thing to which criticism can fairly object:--it is the dialogue of this play that is unworthy of its author, and ought never, from either motives of profit or the vanity of success, to have been coupled with his name. the style in which it is written belongs neither to verse nor prose, but is a sort of amphibious native of both,--neither gliding gracefully through the former element, nor walking steadily on the other. in order to give pomp to the language, inversion is substituted for metre; and one of the worst faults of poetry, a superfluity of epithet, is adopted, without that harmony which alone makes it venial or tolerable. it is some relief however, to discover, from the manuscripts in my possession, that mr. sheridan's responsibility for the defects of pizarro is not very much greater than his claim to a share in its merits. in the plot, and the arrangement of the scenes, it is well known, there is but little alteration from the german original. the omission of the comic scene of diego, which kotzebue himself intended to omit,--the judicious suppression of elvira's love for alonzo,--the introduction, so striking in representation, of rolla's passage across the bridge, and the re-appearance of elvira in the habit of a nun, form, i believe, the only important points in which the play of mr. sheridan deviates from the structure of the original drama. with respect to the dialogue, his share in its composition is reducible to a compass not much more considerable. a few speeches, and a few short scenes, re-written, constitute almost the whole of the contribution he has furnished to it. the manuscript- translation, or rather imitation, of the "spaniards in pern," which he used as the ground-work of pizarro, has been preserved among his papers:--and, so convenient was it to his indolence to take the style as he found it, that, except, as i have said, in a few speeches and scenes, which might be easily enumerated, he adopted, with scarcely any alteration, the exact words of the translator, whose taste, therefore, (whoever he may have been,) is answerable for the spirit and style of three-fourths of the dialogue. even that scene where cora describes the "white buds" and "crimson blossoms" of her infant's teeth, which i have often heard cited as a specimen of sheridan's false ornament, is indebted to this unknown paraphrast for the whole of its embroidery. but though he is found to be innocent of much of the contraband matter, with which his co-partner in this work had already vitiated it, his own contributions to the dialogue are not of a much higher or purer order. he seems to have written down, to the model before him, and to have been inspired by nothing but an emulation of its faults. his style, accordingly, is kept hovering in the same sort of limbo, between blank verse and prose,--while his thoughts and images, however shining and effective on the stage, are like the diamonds of theatrical royalty, and will not bear inspection off it. the scene between alonzo and pizarro, in the third act, is one of those almost entirely rewritten by sheridan; and the following medley group of personifications affords a specimen of the style to which his taste could descend:-- "then would i point out to him where now, in clustered villages, they live like brethren, social and confiding, while through the burning day content sits basking on the cheek of toil, till laughing pastime leads them to the hour of rest." the celebrated harangue of rolla to the peruvians, into which kemble used to infuse such heroic dignity, is an amplification of the following sentences of the original, as i find them given in lewis's manuscript translation of the play:-- "_rolla_. you spaniards fight for gold; we for our country. "_alonzo_. they follow an adventurer to the field; we a monarch whom we love. "_atalib_. and a god whom we adore!" this speech, to whose popular sentiments the play owed much of its success, was chiefly made up by sheridan of loans from his own oratory. the image of the vulture and the lamb was taken, as i have already remarked, from a passage in his speech on the trial of hastings;--and he had, on the subject of invasion, in the preceding year, ( ,) delivered more than once the substance of those patriotic sentiments, which were now so spirit-stirring in the mouth of rolla. for instance, on the king's message relative to preparation for invasion:-- "the directory may instruct their guards to make the fairest professions of how their army is to act; but of these professions surely not one can be believed. the victorious buonaparte may say that he comes like a minister of grace, with no other purpose than to give peace to the cottager, to restore citizens to their rights, to establish real freedom, and a liberal and humane government. but can there be an englishman so stupid, so besotted, so befooled, as to give a moment's credit to such ridiculous professions? ... what, then, is their object? they come for what they really want: they come for ships, for commerce, for credit, and for capital. yes; they come for the sinews, the bones--for the marrow and the very heart's blood of great britain. but let us examine what we are to purchase at this price. liberty, it appears, is now their staple commodity: but attend, i say, and examine how little of real liberty they themselves enjoy, who are so forward and prodigal in bestowing it on others." the speech of rolla in the prison-scene is also an interpolation of his own,--kotzebue having, far more judiciously, (considering the unfitness of the moment for a _tirade_,) condensed the reflections of rolla into the short exclamation, "oh, sacred nature! thou art still true to thyself," and then made him hurry into the prison to his friend. of the translation of this play by lewis, which has been found among the papers, mr. sheridan does not appear to have made any use;--except in so far as it may have suggested to him the idea of writing a song for cora, of which that gentleman had set him an example in a ballad, beginning "soft are thy slumbers, soft and sweet, hush thee, hush thee, hush thee, boy." the song of mr. lewis, however, is introduced, with somewhat less violence to probability, at the beginning of the third act, where the women are waiting for the tidings of the battle, and when the intrusion of a ballad from the heroine, though sufficiently unnatural, is not quite so monstrous as in the situation which sheridan has chosen for it. the following stanza formed a part of the song, as it was originally written:-- 'those eyes that beam'd this morn the light of youth, this morn i saw their gentle rays impart the day-spring sweet of hope, of love, of truth, the pure aurora of my lover's heart. yet wilt thou rise, oh sun, and waste thy light, while my alonzo's beams are quench'd in night.' the only question upon which he spoke this year was the important measure of the union, which he strenuously and at great length opposed. like every other measure, professing to be for the benefit of ireland, the union has been left incomplete in the one essential point, without which there is no hope of peace or prosperity for that country. as long as religious disqualification is left to "lie like lees at the bottom of men's hearts," [footnote: "it lay like lees at the bottom of men's hearts; and, if the vessel was but stirred, it would come up."--bacon, henry vii.] in vain doth the voice of parliament pronounce the word "union" to the two islands--a feeling, deep as the sea that breaks between them, answers back, sullenly, "separation." through the remainder of mr. sheridan's political career it is my intention, for many reasons, to proceed with a more rapid step; and merely to give the particulars of his public conduct, together with such documents as i can bring to illustrate it, without entering into much discussion or comment on either. of his speeches in ,--during which year, on account, perhaps, of the absence of mr. fox from the house, he was particularly industrious,--i shall select a few brief specimens for the reader. on the question of the grant to the emperor of germany, he said:-- "i do think, sir, jacobin principles never existed much in this country; and even admitting they had, i say they have been found so hostile to true liberty, that, in proportion as we love it, (and, whatever may be said, i must still consider liberty an inestimable blessing,) we must hate and detest these principles. but more,--i do not think they even exist in france. they have there died the best of deaths; a death i am more pleased to see than if it had been effected by foreign force,--they have stung themselves to death, and died by their own poison." the following is a concise and just summary of the causes and effects of the french revolutionary war:-- "france, in the beginning of the revolution, had conceived many romantic notions; she was to put an end to war, and produce, by a pure form of government, a perfectibility of mind which before had never been realized. the monarchs of europe, seeing the prevalence of these new principles, trembled for their thrones. france, also, perceiving the hostility of kings to her projects, supposed she could not be a republic without the overthrow of thrones. such has been the regular progress of cause and effect; but who was the first aggressor, with whom the jealousy first arose, need not now be a matter of discussion. both the republic and the monarchs who opposed her acted on the same principles;--the latter said they must exterminate jacobins, and the former that they must destroy monarchs. from this source have all the calamities of europe flowed; and it is now a waste of time and argument to inquire further into the subject." adverting, in his speech on the negotiation with france, to the overtures that had been made for a maritime truce, he says, with that national feeling, which rendered him at this time so popular,-- "no consideration for our ally, no hope of advantage to be derived from joint negotiation, should have induced the english government to think for a moment of interrupting the course of our naval triumphs. this measure, sir, would have broken the heart of the navy, and would have damped all its future exertions. how would our gallant sailors have felt, when, chained to their decks like galley-slaves, they saw the enemy's vessels sailing under their bows in security, and proceeding, without a possibility of being molested, to revictual those places which had been so long blockaded by their astonishing skill, perseverance, and valor? we never stood more in need of their services, and their feelings at no time deserved to be more studiously consulted. the north of europe presents to england a most awful and threatening aspect. without giving an opinion as to the origin of these hostile dispositions, or pronouncing decidedly whether they are wholly ill-founded, i hesitate not to say, that if they have been excited because we have insisted upon enforcing the old established maritime law of europe,--because we stood boldly forth in defence of indisputable privileges,--because we have refused to abandon the source of our prosperity, the pledge of our security, and the foundation of our naval greatness,--they ought to be disregarded or set at defiance. if we are threatened to be deprived of that which is the charter of our existence, which has procured us the commerce of the world, and been the means of spreading our glory over every land,--if the rights and honors of our flag are to be called in question, every risk should be run, and every danger braved. then we should have a legitimate cause of war;--then the heart of every briton would burn with indignation, and his hand be stretched forth in defence of his country. if our flag is to be insulted, let us nail it to the top-mast of the nation; there let it fly while we shed the last drop of our blood in protecting it, and let it be degraded only when the nation itself is overwhelmed." he thus ridicules, in the same speech, the etiquette that had been observed in the selection of the ministers who were to confer with m. otto:-- "this stiff-necked policy shows insincerity. i see mr. napean and mr. hammond also appointed to confer with m. otto, because they are of the same rank. is not this as absurd as if lord whitworth were to be sent to petersburgh, and told that he was not to treat but with some gentleman of six feet high, and as handsome as himself? sir, i repeat, that this is a stiff-necked policy, when the lives of thousands are at stake." in the following year mr. pitt was succeeded, as prime minister, by mr. addington. the cause assigned for this unexpected change was the difference of opinion that existed between the king and mr. pitt, with respect to the further enfranchisement of the catholics of ireland. to this measure the minister and some of his colleagues considered themselves to have been pledged by the act of union; but, on finding that they could not carry it, against the scruples of their royal master, resigned. though mr. pitt so far availed himself of this alleged motive of his abdication as to found on it rather an indecorous appeal to the catholics, in which he courted popularity for himself at the expense of that of the king, it was suspected that he had other and less disinterested reasons for his conduct. indeed, while he took merit to himself for thus resigning his supremacy, he well knew that he still commanded it with "a falconer's voice," and, whenever he pleased, "could lure the tassel-gentle back again." the facility with which he afterwards returned to power, without making any stipulation for the measure now held to be essential, proves either that the motive now assigned for his resignation was false, or that, having sacrificed power to principle in , he took revenge by making principle, in its turn, give way to power in . during the early part of the new administration, mr. sheridan appears to have rested on his arms,--having spoken so rarely and briefly throughout the session as not to have furnished to the collector of his speeches a single specimen of oratory worth recording. it is not till the discussion of the definitive treaty, in may, , that he is represented as having professed himself friendly to the existing ministry:--"certainly," he said, "i have in several respects given my testimony in favor of the present ministry,--in nothing more than for making the best peace, perhaps, they could, after their predecessors had left them in such a deplorable situation." it was on this occasion, however, that, in ridiculing the understanding supposed to exist between the ex-minister and his successor, he left such marks of his wit on the latter as all his subsequent friendship could not efface. among other remarks, full of humor, he said,-- "i should like to support the present minister on fair ground; but what is he? a sort of _outside passenger_,--or rather a man leading the horses round a corner, while reins, whip, and all, are in the hands of the coachman on the _box_! (_looking at mr. pitt's elevated seat, three or four benches above that of the treasury_.) why not have an union of the two ministers, or, at least, some intelligible connection? when the ex-minister quitted office, almost all the _subordinate_ ministers kept their places. how was it that the whole family did not move together? had he only one _covered waggon_ to carry _friends and goods_? or has he left directions behind him that they may know where to call? i remember a fable of _aristophanes's_, which is translated from greek into decent english. i mention this for the country gentlemen. it is of a man that sat so long on a seat, (about as long, perhaps, as the ex-minister did on the treasury-bench,) that he grew to it. when hercules pulled him off, he left all the sitting part of the man behind him. the house can make the allusion." [footnote: the following is another highly humorous passage from this speech:--"but let france have colonies! oh, yes! let her have a good trade, that she may be afraid of war, says the learned member,--that's the way to make buonaparte love peace. he has had, to be sure, a sort of military education. he has been abroad, and is rather _rough company_; but if you put him behind the _counter_ a little, he will mend exceedingly. when i was reading the treaty, i thought all the names of foreign places, viz. poindicherry, chandenenagore, cochin, martinico, &c, all _cessions_. not they--they are all so many _traps_ and _holes_ to catch this silly fellow in, and make a _merchant_ of him! i really think the best way upon this principle would be this:--let the merchants of london open a _public subscription_, and set him up at once. i hear a great deal respecting a certain _statue_ about to be erected to the right honorable gentleman, (mr. pitt,) now in my eye, at a great expense. send all that money over to the first consul, and give him, what you talk of so much, _capital_, to begin trade with. i hope the right honorable gentleman over the way will, like the first consul, refuse a statue for the present, and postpone it as a work to posterity. there is no harm, however, in marking out the place. the right honorable gentleman is musing, perhaps, on what square, or place, he will choose for its erection. i recommend the _bank of england_. now for the material. not gold: no, no!--he has not left enough of it. i should, however, propose _papier mache_ and old banknotes."] we have here an instance, in addition to the many which i have remarked, of his adroitness, not only in laying claim to all _waifs_ of wit, "_ubi non apparebat dominus,_" but in stealing the wit himself, wherever he could find it. this happy application of the fable of hercules and theseus to the ministry had been first made by gilbert wakefield, in a letter to mr. fox, which the latter read to sheridan a few days before the debate; and the only remark that sheridan made, on hearing it, was, "what an odd pedantic fancy!" but the wit knew well the value of the jewel that the pedant had raked up, and lost no time in turning it to account with all his accustomed skill. the letter of wakefield, in which the application of the fable occurs, has been omitted, i know not why, in his published correspondence with mr. fox: but a letter of mr. fox in the same collection, thus alludes to it:--"your story of theseus is excellent, as applicable to our present rulers; if you could point out to me where i could find it, i should be much obliged to you. the scholiast on aristophanes is too wide a description." mr. wakefield in answer, says,--"my aristophanes, with the scholia, is not here. if i am right in my recollection, the story probably occurs in the scholia on the frogs, and would soon be found by reference to the name of theseus in kuster's index." another instance of this propensity in sheridan, (which made him a sort of catiline in wit, "covetous of another's wealth, and profuse of his own,") occurred during the preceding session. as he was walking down to the house with sir philip francis and another friend, on the day when the address of thanks on the peace as moved, sir philip francis pithily remarked, that "it was a peace which every one would be glad of, but no one would be proud of." sheridan, who was in a hurry to get to the house, did not appear to attend to the observation;--but, before he had been many minutes in his seat, he rose, and, in the course of a short speech, (evidently made for the purpose of passing his stolen coin as soon as possible,) said, "this, sir, is a peace which every one will be glad of, but no one can be proud of." [footnote: a similar theft was his observation, that "half the debt of england had been incurred in pulling down the bourbons, and the other half in setting them up"--which pointed remark he had heard, in conversation, from sir arthur pigott.] the following letter from dr. parr to sheridan, this year, records an instance of delicate kindness which renders it well worthy of preservation:-- "dear sir, "i believe that you and my old pupil tom feel a lively interest in my happiness, and, therefore, i am eager to inform you that, without any solicitation, and in the most handsome manner, sir francis burdett has offered me the rectory of graffham in huntingdonshire; that the yearly value of it now amounts to _l_., and is capable of considerable improvement; that the preferment is tenable with my northamptonshire rectory; that the situation is pleasant; and that, by making it my place of residence, i shall be nearer to my respectable scholar and friend, edward maltby, to the university of cambridge, and to those norfolk connections which i value most highly. "i am not much skilled in ecclesiastical negotiations; and all my efforts to avail myself of the very obliging kindness conditionally intended for me by the duke of norfolk completely failed. but the noble friendship of sir francis burdett has set everything right. i cannot refuse myself the great satisfaction of laying before you the concluding passage in sir francis's letter:-- "'i acknowledge that a great additional motive with me to the offer i now make dr. parr, is, that i believe i cannot do any thing more pleading to his friends, mr. fox, mr. sheridan, and mr. knight; and i desire you, sir, to consider yourself as obliged to them only.' "you will readily conceive, that i was highly gratified with this striking and important passage, and that i wish for an early opportunity of communicating with yourself, and mr. fox, and mr. knight. "i beg my best compliments to mrs. sheridan and tom; and i have the honor to be, dear sir, your very faithful well-wisher, and respectful, obedient servant, "_september , buckden_. "s. parr." "sir francis sent his own servant to my house at hilton with the letter; and my wife, on reading it, desired the servant to bring it to me at buckden, near huntingdon, where i yesterday received it." it was about this time that the primary electors of the national institute of france having proposed haydn, the great composer, and mr. sheridan, as candidates for the class of literature and the fine arts, the institute, with a choice not altogether indefensible, elected haydn. some french epigrams on this occurrence, which appeared in the courier, seem to have suggested to sheridan the idea of writing a few english _jeux-d'esprit_ on the same subject, which were intended for the newspapers, but i rather think never appeared. these verses show that he was not a little piqued by the decision of the institute; and the manner in which he avails himself of his anonymous character to speak of his own claims to the distinction, is, it must be owned, less remarkable for modesty than for truth. but vanity, thus in masquerade, may be allowed some little license. the following is a specimen:-- "the wise decision all admire; 'twas just, beyond dispute-- sound taste! which, to apollo's lyre preferred--a german flute!" mr. kemble, who had been for some time manager of drury-lane theatre, was, in the course of the year - , tempted, notwithstanding the knowledge which his situation must have given him of the embarrassed state of the concern, to enter into negotiation with sheridan for the purchase of a share in the property. how much anxiety the latter felt to secure such an associate in the establishment appears strongly from the following paper, drawn up by him, to accompany the documents submitted to kemble during the negotiation, and containing some particulars of the property of drury-lane, which will be found not uninteresting:-- "outline of the terms on which it is proposed that mr. kemble shall purchase a quarter in the property of drury-lane theatre. "i really think there cannot be a negotiation, in matter of purchase and sale, so evidently for the advantage of both parties, if brought to a satisfactory conclusion. "i am decided that the management of the theatre cannot be respected, or successful, but in the hands of an actual proprietor; and still the better, if he is himself in the profession, and at the head of it. i am desirous, therefore, that mr. kemble should be a proprietor and manager. "mr. kemble is the person, of all others, who must naturally be desirous of both situations. he is at the head of his profession, without a rival; he is attached to it, and desirous of elevating its character. he may be assured of proper respect, &c., while i have the theatre; but i do not think he could brook his situation were the property to pass into vulgar and illiberal hands,--an event which he knows contingencies might produce. laying aside then all affectation of indifference, so common in making bargains, let us set out with acknowledging that it is mutually our interest to agree, if we can. at the same time, let it be avowed, that i must be considered as trying to get as good a price as i can, and mr. kemble to buy as cheap as he can. in parting with theatrical property, there is no standard, or measure, to direct the price: the whole question is, what are the probable profits, and what is such a proportion of them worth? "i bought of mr. garrick at the rate of , _l_. for the whole theatre. i bought of mr. lacey at the rate of , _l_. ditto. i bought of dr. ford at the rate of ,ooo_l_. ditto. in all these cases there was a perishable patent, and an expiring lease, each having to run, at the different periods of the purchases, from ten to twenty years only. "all these purchases have undoubtedly answered well; but in the chance of a third theatre consisted the risk; and the want of size and accommodation must have produced it, had the theatres continued as they were. but the _great_ and _important feature_ in the present property, and which is never for a moment to be lost sight of, is, that the monopoly is, morally speaking, established for ever, at least as well as the monarchy, constitution, public funds, &c.,--as appears by no. . being the copy of' the final arrangement' signed by the lord chamberlain, by authority of his majesty, the prince of wales, the duke of bedford, &c.; and the dormant patent of covent-garden, that former terror of drury-lane, is perpetually annexed to the latter. so that the value of drury-lane at present, and in the former sales, is out of all comparison,--independently of the new building, superior size, raised prices, &c., &c. but the incumbrances on the theatre, whose annual charge must be paid before there can be any surplus profit, are much greater than in mr. garrick's time, or on the old theatre afterwards. undoubtedly they are, and very considerably greater; but what is the proportion of the receipts? mr. garrick realized and left a fortune, of ,ooo_l_. (having lived, certainly, at no mean expense,) acquired in ---- years, on an average annual receipt of , _l_. (qu. this?) our receipts cannot be stated at less than , _l_. per ann.; and it is demonstrable that preventing the most palpable frauds and abuses, with even a tolerable system of exertion in the management, must bring it, at the least, to , _l_.; and this estimate does not include the advantages to be derived from the new tavern, passages, chinese hall, &c.,--an aid to the receipt, respecting the amount of which i am very sanguine. what then, is the probable profit, and what is a quarter of it worth? no. . is the amount of three seasons' receipts, the only ones on which an attempt at an average could be justifiable. no. . is the future estimate, on a system of exertion and good management. no. . the actual annual incumbrauces. no. . the nightly expenses. no. . the estimated profits. calculating on which, i demand for a quarter of the property, * * * *, reserving to myself the existing private boxes, but no more to be created, and the fruit-offices and houses not part of the theatre. "i assume that mr. kemble and i agree as to the price, annexing the following conditions to our agreement:--mr. kemble shall have his engagement as an actor for any rational time he pleases. mr. kemble shall be manager, with a clear salary of guineas per annum, and * * per cent. on the clear profits. mr. sheridan engages to procure from messrs. hammersleys a loan to mr. kemble of ten thousand pounds, part of the purchase-money for four years, for which loan he is content to become collateral security, and also to leave his other securities, now in their hands, in mortgage for the same. and for the payment of the rest of the money, mr. sheridan is ready to give mr. kemble every facility his circumstances will admit of. it is not to be overlooked, that if a private box is also made over to mr. kemble, for the whole term of the theatre lease, its value cannot be stated at less than , _l_. indeed, it might at any time produce to mr. kemble, or his assigns, _l_ per annum. vide no. . this is a material deduction from the purchase-money to be paid. "supposing all this arrangement made, i conceive mr. kemble's income would stand thus: £ s. d. salary as an actor, in lieu of benefit, as manager, percentage on clear profit, dividend on quarter-share, [footnote: "i put this on the very lowest speculation"] ______________ £ ______________ i need not say how soon this would clear the whole of the purchase. with regard to the title, &c. mr. crews and mr. pigott are to decide. as to debts, the share must be made over to mr. kemble free from a claim even; and for this purpose all demands shall be called in, by public advertisement, to be sent to mr. kemble's own solicitor. in short, mr. crews shall be satisfied that there does not exist an unsatisfied demand on the theatre, or a possibility of mr. kemble being involved in the risk of a shilling. mr. hammersley, or such person as mr. kemble and mr. sheridan shall agree on, to be treasurer, and receive and account for the whole receipts, pay the charges, trusts, &c.; and, at the close of the season, the surplus profits to the proprietors. a clause in case of death, or sale, to give the refusal to each other." the following letter from sheridan to kemble in answer, as it appears, to some complaint or remonstrance from the latter, in his capacity of manager, is too curiously characteristic of the writer to be omitted:-- "dear kemble, "if i had not a real good opinion of your principles and intentions upon all subjects, and a very bad opinion of your nerves and philosophy upon some, i should take very ill indeed, the letter i received from you this evening. "that the management of the theatre is a situation capable of becoming _troublesome_ is information which i do not want, and a discovery which i thought you had made long since. "i should be sorry to write to you gravely on your offer, because i must consider it as a nervous flight, which it would be as unfriendly in me to notice seriously as it would be in you seriously to have made it. "what i _am_ most serious in is a determination that, while the theatre is indebted, and others, for it and for me, are so involved and pressed as they are, i will exert myself, and give every attention and judgment in my power to the establishment of its interests. in you i hoped, and do hope, to find an assistant, on principles of liberal and friendly confidence,--i mean confidence that should be above touchiness and reserve, and that should trust to me to estimate the value of that assistance. "if there is any thing amiss in your mind, not arising from the _troublesomeness_ of your situation, it is childish and unmanly not to disclose it to me. the frankness with which i have always dealt towards you entitles me to expect that you should have done so. "but i have no reason to believe this to be the case; and, attributing your letter to a disorder which i know ought not to be indulged, i prescribe that you shall keep your appointment at the piazza coffee-house, to-morrow at five, and, taking four bottles of claret instead of three, to which in sound health you might stint yourself, forget that you ever wrote the letter, as i shall that i ever received it. "r. b. sheridan." chapter ix. state of parties.--offer of a place to mr. t. sheridan.--receivership of the duchy of cornwall bestowed upon mr. sheridan.--return of mr. pitt to power.--catholic question.--administration of lord grenville and mr. fox.--death of mr. fox.--representation of westminster.--dismission of the ministry.--theatrical negotiation.--spanish question.--letter to the prince. during the short interval of peace into which the country was now lulled,--like a ship becalmed for a moment in the valley between two vast waves,--such a change took place in the relative positions and bearings of the parties that had been so long arrayed against each other, and such new boundaries and divisions of opinion were formed, as considerably altered the map of the political world. while mr. pitt lent his sanction to the new administration, they, who had made common cause with him in resigning, violently opposed it; and, while the ministers were thus thwarted by those who had hitherto always agreed with them, they were supported by those whigs with whom they had before most vehemently differed. among this latter class of their friends was, as i have already remarked, mr. sheridan,--who, convinced that the only chance of excluding mr. pitt from power lay in strengthening the hands of those who were in possession, not only gave them the aid of his own name and eloquence, but endeavored to impress the same views upon mr. fox, and exerted his influence also to procure the sanction of carlton-house in their favor. it cannot, indeed, he doubted that sheridan, at this time, though still the friend of mr. fox, had ceased, in a great degree, to be his follower. their views with respect to the renewal of the war were wholly different. while sheridan joined in the popular feeling against france, and showed his knowledge of that great instrument, the public mind, by approaching it only with such themes as suited the martial mood to which it was tuned, the too confiding spirit of fox breathed nothing but forbearance and peace;--and he who, in , had proclaimed the "natural enmity" of england and france, as an argument against their commercial intercourse, now asked, with the softened tone which time and retirement had taught him, "whether france was for ever to be considered our rival?" [footnote: speech on the address of thanks in .] the following characteristic note, written by him previously to the debate on the army estimates, (december , ,) shows a consciousness that the hold which he had once had upon his friend was loosened:-- "dear sheridan, "i mean to be in town for monday,--that is, for the army. as for to-morrow, it is no matter;--i am _for_ a largish fleet, though perhaps not quite so large as they mean. pray, do not be absent monday, and let me have a quarter of an hour's conversation before the business begins. remember, i do not wish you to be inconsistent, at any rate. pitt's opinion by proxy is ridiculous beyond conception, and i hope you will show it in that light. i am very much against your abusing bonaparte, because i am sure it is impolitic both for the country and ourselves. but, as you please;--only, for god's sake, peace. [footnote: these last words are an interesting illustration of the line in mr. rogers's verses on this statesman:--"'peace,' when he spoke, was ever on his tongue"] "yours ever "_tuesday night._ "c. j. fox." it was about this period that the writer of these pages had, for the first time, the gratification of meeting mr. sheridan, at donington-park, the seat of the present marquis of hastings;--a circumstance which he recalls, not only with those lively impressions, that our first admiration of genius leaves behind, but with many other dreams of youth and hope, that still endear to him the mansion where that meeting took place, and among which gratitude to its noble owner is the only one, perhaps, that has not faded. mr. sheridan, i remember, was just then furnishing a new house, and talked of a plan he had of levying contributions on his friends for a library. a set of books from each would, he calculated, amply accomplish it, and already the intimation of his design had begun to "breathe a soul into the silent walls." [footnote: rogers.] the splendid and well-chosen library of donington was, of course, not slow in furnishing its contingent; and little was it foreseen into what badges of penury these gifts of friendship would be converted at last. as some acknowledgment of the services which sheridan had rendered to the ministry, (though professedly as a tribute to his public character in general,) lord st. vincent, about this time, made an offer to his son, mr. thomas sheridan, of the place of registrar of the vice-admiralty court of malta,--an office which, during a period of war, is supposed to be of considerable emolument. the first impulse of sheridan, when consulted on the proposal, was, as i have heard, not unfavorable to his son's acceptance of it. but, on considering the new position which he had, himself, lately taken in politics, and the inference that might be drawn against the independence of his motives, if he submitted to an obligation which was but too liable to be interpreted, as less a return for past services than a _lien_ upon him for future ones, he thought it safest for his character to sacrifice the advantage, and, desirable as was the provision for his son, obliged him to decline it. the following passages of a letter to him from mrs. sheridan on this subject do the highest honor to her generosity, spirit, and good sense. they also confirm what has generally been understood, that the king, about this time, sent a most gracious message to sheridan, expressive of the approbation with which he regarded his public conduct, and of the pleasure he should feel in conferring upon him some mark of his royal favor:-- "i am more anxious than i can express about tom's welfare. it is, indeed, unfortunate that you have been obliged to refuse these things for him, but surely there could not be two opinions; yet why will you neglect to observe those attentions that honor does not compel you to refuse? don't you know that when once the king takes offence, he was never known to forgive? i suppose it would be impossible to have your motives explained to him, because it would touch his weak side, yet any thing is better than his attributing your refusal to contempt and indifference. would to god i could bear these necessary losses instead of tom, particularly as i so entirely approve of your conduct." "i trust you will be able to do something positive for tom about money. i am willing to make any sacrifice in the world for that purpose, and to live in any way whatever. whatever he has _now ought_ to be certain, or how will he know how to regulate his expenses?" the fate, indeed, of young sheridan was peculiarly tantalizing. born and brought up in the midst of those bright hopes, which so long encircled his father's path, he saw them all die away as he became old enough to profit by them, leaving difficulty and disappointment, his only inheritance, behind. unprovided with any profession by which he could secure his own independence, and shut out, as in this instance, from those means of advancement, which, it was feared, might compromise the independence of his father, he was made the victim even of the distinction of his situation, and paid dearly for the glory of being the son of sheridan. in the expression of his face, he resembled much his beautiful mother, and derived from her also the fatal complaint of which he died. his popularity in society was unexampled,--but he knew how to attach as well as amuse; and, though living chiefly with that class of persons, who pass over the surface of life, like camilla over the corn, without leaving any impression of themselves behind, he had manly and intelligent qualities, that deserved a far better destiny. there are, indeed, few individuals, whose lives have been so gay and thoughtless, whom so many remember with cordiality and interest: and, among the numerous instances of discriminating good nature, by which the private conduct of his royal highness the duke of york is distinguished, there are, none that do him more honor than his prompt and efficient kindness to the interesting family that the son of sheridan has left behind him. soon after the declaration of war against france, when an immediate invasion was threatened by the enemy, the heir apparent, with the true spirit of an english prince, came forward to make an offer of his personal service to the country. a correspondence upon the subject, it is well known, ensued, in the course of which his royal highness addressed letters to mr. addington, to the duke of york, and the king. it has been sometimes stated that these letters were from the pen of mr. sheridan; but the first of the series was written by sir robert wilson, and the remainder by lord hutchinson. the death of joseph richardson, which took place this year, was felt as strongly by sheridan as any thing _can_ be felt, by those who, in the whirl of worldly pursuits, revolve too rapidly round self, to let any thing rest long upon their surface. with a fidelity to his old habits of unpunctuality, at which the shade of richardson might have smiled, he arrived too late at bagshot for the funeral of his friend, but succeeded in persuading the good-natured clergyman to perform the ceremony over again. mr. john taylor, a gentleman, whose love of good-fellowship and wit has made him the welcome associate of some of the brightest men of his day, was one of the assistants at this singular scene, and also joined in the party at the inn at bedfont afterwards, where sheridan, it is said, drained the "cup of memory" to his friend, till he found oblivion at the bottom. at the close of the session of , that strange diversity of opinions, into which the two leading parties were decomposed by the resignation of mr. pitt, had given way to new varieties, both of cohesion and separation, quite as little to be expected from the natural affinities of the ingredients concerned in them. mr. pitt, upon perceiving, in those to whom he had delegated his power, an inclination to surround themselves with such strength from the adverse ranks as would enable them to contest his resumption of the trust, had gradually withdrawn the sanction which he at first afforded them, and taken his station by the side of the other two parties in opposition, without, however, encumbering himself, in his views upon office, with either. by a similar movement, though upon different principles, mr. fox and the whigs, who had begun by supporting the ministry against the strong war-party of which lord grenville and mr. windham were the leaders, now entered into close co-operation with this new opposition, and seemed inclined to forget, both recent and ancient differences in a combined assault upon the tottering administration of mr. addington. the only parties, perhaps, that acted with consistency through these transactions, were mr. sheridan and the few who followed him on one side, and lord grenville and his friends on the other. the support which the former had given to the ministry,--from a conviction that such was the true policy of his party,--he persevered in, notwithstanding the suspicion it drew down upon him, to the last; and, to the last, deprecated the connection with the grenvilles, as entangling his friends in the same sort of hollow partnership, out of which they had come bankrupts in character and confidence before. [footnote: in a letter written this year by mr. thomas sheridan to his father, there is the following passage--"i am glad you intended wrong to lord ----, he is _quite right_ about politics--reprobates the idea most strongly of any union with the granvilles, &c which, he says he sees as fox's leaning. 'i agreed with your father perfectly on the subject, when i left him in town, but when i saw charles at st. ann's hill, i perceived he was wrong and obstinate.'"] in like manner, it must be owned the opposition, of which lord grenville was the head, held a course direct and undeviating from beginning to end. unfettered by those reservations in favor of addington, which so long embarrassed the movements of their former leader, they at once started in opposition to the peace and the ministry, and, with not only mr. pitt and mr. fox, but the whole people of england against them, persevered till they had ranged all these several parties on their side:--nor was it altogether without reason that this party afterwards boasted that, if any abandonment of principle had occurred in the connection between them and the whigs, the surrender was assuredly not from their side. early in the year , on the death of lord elliot, the office of receiver of the duchy of cornwall, which had been held by that nobleman, was bestowed by the prince of wales upon mr. sheridan, "as a trifling proof of that sincere friendship his royal highness had always professed and felt for him through a long series of years." his royal highness also added, in the same communication, the very cordial words, "i wish to god it was better worth your acceptance." the following letter from sheridan to mr. addington, communicating the intelligence of this appointment, shows pretty plainly the terms on which he not only now stood, but was well inclined to continue, with that minister:-- "dear sir, "_george-street, tuesday evening._ "convinced as i am of the sincerity of your good will towards me, i do not regard it as an impertinent intrusion to inform you that the prince has, in the most gracious manner, and wholly unsolicited, been pleased to appoint me to the late lord elliot's situation in the duchy of cornwall. i feel a desire to communicate this to you myself, because i feel a confidence that you will be glad of it. it has been my pride and pleasure to have exerted my humble efforts to serve the prince without ever accepting the slightest obligation from him; but, in the present case, and under the present circumstances, i think it would have been really false pride and apparently mischievous affectation to have declined this mark of his royal highness's confidence and favor. i will not disguise that, at this peculiar crisis, i am greatly gratified at this event. had it been the result of a mean and subservient devotion to the prince's every wish and object, i could neither have respected the gift, the giver, nor myself; but when i consider how recently it was my misfortune to find myself compelled by a sense of duty, stronger than my attachment to him, wholly to risk the situation i held in his confidence and favor, and that upon a subject [footnote: the offer made by the prince of his personal services in ,--on which occasion sheridan coincided with the views of mr. addington somewhat more than was agreeable to his royal highness.] on which his feelings were so eager and irritable, i cannot but regard the increased attention, with which he has since honored me, as a most gratifying demonstration that he has clearness of judgment and firmness of spirit to distinguish the real friends to his true glory and interests from the mean and mercenary sycophants, who fear and abhor that such friends should be near him. it is satisfactory to me, also, that this appointment gives me the title and opportunity of seeing the prince, on trying occasions, openly and in the face of day, and puts aside the mask of mystery and concealment. i trust i need not add, that whatever small portion of fair influence i may at any time possess with the prince, it shall be uniformly exerted to promote those feelings of duty and affection towards their majesties, which, though seemingly interrupted by adverse circumstances, i am sure are in his heart warm and unalterable--and, as far as i may presume, that general concord throughout his illustrious family, which must be looked to by every honest subject, as an essential part of the public strength at this momentous period. i have the honor to be, with great respect and esteem, "your obedient servant, "_right hon. henry addington_. "r. b. sheridan." the same views that influenced mr. sheridan, lord moira, and others, in supporting an administration which, with all its defects, they considered preferable to a relapse into the hands of mr. pitt, had led mr. tierney, at the close of the last session, to confer upon it a still more efficient sanction, by enrolling himself in its ranks as treasurer of the navy. in the early part of the present year, another ornament of the whig party, mr. erskine, was on the point of following in the same footsteps, by accepting, from mr. addington, the office of attorney-general. he had, indeed, proceeded so far in his intention as to submit the overtures of the minister to the consideration of the prince, in a letter which was transmitted to his royal highness by sheridan. the answer of the prince, conveyed also through sheridan, while it expressed the most friendly feelings towards erskine, declined, at the same time, giving any opinion as to either his acceptance or refusal of the office of attorney-general, if offered to him under the present circumstances. his royal highness also added the expression of his sincere regret, that a proposal of this nature should have been submitted to his consideration by one, of whose attachment and fidelity to himself he was well convinced, but who ought to have felt, from the line of conduct adopted and persevered in by his royal highness, that he was the very last person that should have been applied to for either his opinion or countenance respecting the political conduct or connection of any public character,--especially of one so intimately connected with him, and belonging to his family. if, at any time, sheridan had entertained the idea of associating himself, by office, with the ministry of mr. addington, (and proposals to this effect were, it is certain, made to him,) his knowledge of the existence of such feelings as prompted this answer to mr. erskine would, of course, have been sufficient to divert him from the intention. the following document, which i have found, in his own handwriting, and which was intended, apparently, for publication in the newspapers, contains some particulars with respect to the proceedings of his party at this time, which, coming from such a source, may be considered as authentic:-- "state of parties. "among the various rumors of coalitions, or attempted coalitions, we have already expressed our disbelief in that reported to have taken place between the grenville-windhamites and mr. fox. at least, if it was ever in negotiation, we have reason to think it received an early check, arising from a strong party of the _old opposition_ protesting against it. the account of this transaction, as whispered in the political circles, is as follows:-- "in consequence of some of the most respectable members of the old opposition being sounded on the subject, a meeting was held at norfolk-house; when it was determined, with very few dissentient voices, to present a friendly remonstrance on the subject to mr. fox, stating the manifold reasons which obviously presented themselves against such a procedure, both as affecting character and party. it was urged that the present ministers had, on the score of innovation on the constitution, given the whigs no pretence for complaint whatever; and, as to their alleged incapacity, it remained to be proved that they were capable of committing errors and producing miscarriages, equal to those which had marked the councils of their predecessors, whom the measure in question was expressly calculated to replace in power. at such a momentous crisis, therefore, waving all considerations of past political provocation, to attempt, by the strength and combination of party, to expel the ministers of his majesty's choice, and to force into his closet those whom the whigs ought to be the first to rejoice that he had excluded from it, was stated to be a proceeding which would assuredly revolt the public feeling, degrade the character of parliament, and produce possibly incalculable mischief to the country. "we understand that mr. fox's reply was, that he would never take any political step against the wishes and advice of the majority of his old friends. "the paper is said to have been drawn up by mr. erskine, and to have been presented to mr. fox by his grace of norfolk, on the day his majesty was pronounced to be recovered from his first illness. rumor places among the supporters of this measure the written authority of the duke of northumberland and the earl of moira, with the signatures of messrs. erskine, sheridan, shum, curwen, western, brogden, and a long _et caetera_. it is said also that the prince's sanction had been previously given to the duke,--his royal highness deprecating all party struggle, at a moment when the defence of all that is dear to britons ought to be the single sentiment that should fill the public mind. "we do not vouch for the above being strictly accurate; but we are confident that it is not far from the truth." the illness of the king, referred to in this paper, had been first publicly announced in the month of february, and was for some time considered of so serious a nature, that arrangements were actually in progress for the establishment of a regency. mr. sheridan, who now formed a sort of connecting link between carlton-house and the minister, took, of course, a leading part in the negotiations preparatory to such a measure. it appears, from a letter of mr. fox on the subject, that the prince and another person, whom it is unnecessary to name, were at one moment not a little alarmed by a rumor of an intention to associate the duke of york and the queen in the regency. mr. fox, however, begs of sheridan to tranquillize their minds on this point:--the intentions, (he adds,) of "the doctor," [footnote: to the infliction of this nickname on his friend, mr. addington, sheridan was, in no small degree, accessory, by applying to those who disapproved of his administration, and yet gave no reasons for their disapprobation, the well-known lines,-- "i do not love thee, doctor fell, and why i cannot tell; but this i know full well, i do not love thee, doctor fell."] though bad enough in all reason, do not go to such lengths; and a proposal of this nature, from any other quarter, could be easily defeated. within about two months from the date of the remonstrance, which, according to a statement already given, was presented to mr. fox by his brother whigs, one of the consequences which it prognosticated from the connection of their party with the grenvilles took place, in the resignation of mr. addington and the return of mr. pitt to power. the confidence of mr. pitt, in thus taking upon himself, almost single-handed, the government of the country at such an awful crisis, was, he soon perceived, not shared by the public. a general expectation had prevailed that the three great parties, which had lately been encamped together on the field of opposition, would have each sent its chiefs into the public councils, and thus formed such a congress of power and talent as the difficulties of the empire, in that trying moment, demanded. this hope had been frustrated by the repugnance of the king to mr. fox, and the too ready facility with which mr. pitt had given way to it. not only, indeed, in his undignified eagerness for office, did he sacrifice without stipulation the important question, which, but two years before, had been made the _sine-qua non_ of his services, but, in yielding so readily to the royal prejudices against his rival, he gave a sanction to that unconstitutional principle of exclusion, [footnote: "this principle of personal exclusion, (said lord grenville,) is one of which i never can approve, because, independently of its operation to prevent parliament and the people from enjoying the administration they desired, and which it was their particular interest to have, it tends to establish a dangerous precedent, that would afford too much opportunity of private pique against the public interest. i, for one, therefore, refused to connect myself with any one argument that should sanction that principle; and, in my opinion, every man who accepted office under that administration is, according to the letter and spirit of the constitution, responsible for its character and construction, and the principle upon which it is founded."--_speech of lord grenville on the motion of lord darnley for the repeal of the additional force bill, feb. , ._] which, if thus acted upon by the party-feelings of the monarch, would soon narrow the throne into the mere nucleus of a favored faction. in allowing, too, his friends and partisans to throw the whole blame of this exclusive ministry on the king, he but repeated the indecorum of which he had been guilty in . for, having at that time made use of the religious prejudices of the monarch, as a pretext for his manner of quitting office, he now employed the political prejudices of the same personage, as an equally convenient excuse for his manner of returning to it. a few extracts from the speech of mr. sheridan upon the additional force bill,--the only occasion on which he seems to have spoken during the present year,--will show that the rarity of his displays was not owing to any failure of power, but rather, perhaps, to the increasing involvement of his circumstances, which left no time for the thought and preparation that all his public efforts required. mr. pitt had, at the commencement of this year, condescended to call to his aid the co-operation of mr. addington, lord buckinghamshire, and other members of that administration, which had withered away, but a few months before, under the blight of his sarcasm and scorn. in alluding to this coalition, sheridan says-- "the right honorable gentleman went into office alone;--but, lest the government should become too full of vigor from his support, he thought proper to beckon back some of the weakness of the former administration. he, i suppose, thought that the ministry became, from his support, like spirits above proof, and required to be diluted; that, like gold refined to a certain degree, it would be unfit for use without a certain mixture of alloy; that the administration would be too brilliant, and dazzle the house, unless he called back a certain part of the mist and fog of the last administration to render it tolerable to the eye. as to the great change made in the ministry by the introduction of the right honorable gentleman himself, i would ask, does he imagine that he came back to office with the same estimation that he left it? i am sure he is much mistaken if he fancies that he did. the right honorable gentleman retired from office because, as was stated, he could not carry an important question, which he deemed necessary to satisfy the just claims of the catholics; and in going out he did not hesitate to tear off the sacred veil of majesty, describing his sovereign as the only person that stood in the way of this desirable object. after the right honorable gentleman's retirement, he advised the catholics to look to no one but him for the attainment of their rights, and cautiously to abstain from forming a connection with any other person. but how does it appear, now that the right honorable gentleman is returned to office? he declines to perform his promise; and has received, as his colleagues in office, those who are pledged to resist the measure. does not the right honorable gentleman then feel that he comes back to office with a character degraded by the violation of a solemn pledge, given to a great and respectable body of the people, upon a particular and momentous occasion? does the right honorable gentleman imagine either that he returns to office with the same character for political wisdom, after the description which he gave of the talents and capacity of his predecessors, and after having shown, by his own actions, that his description was totally unfounded?" in alluding to lord melville's appointment to the admiralty; he says,-- "but then, i am told, there is the first lord of the admiralty,--'do you forget the leader of the grand catamaran project? are you not aware of the important change in that department, and the advantage the country is likely to derive from that change?' why, i answer, that i do not know of any peculiar qualifications the noble lord has to preside over the admiralty; but i do know, that if i were to judge of him from the kind of capacity he evinced while minister of war, i should entertain little hopes of him. if, however, the right honorable gentleman should say to me, 'where else would you put that noble lord, would you have him appointed war-minister again?' i should say, oh no, by no means,--i remember too well the expeditions to toulon, to quiberon, to corsica, and to holland, the responsibility for each of which the noble lord took on himself, entirely releasing from any responsibility the commander in chief and the secretary at war. i also remember that, which, although so glorious to our arms in the result, i still shall call a most unwarrantable project.--the expedition to egypt. it may be said, that as the noble lord was so unfit for the military department, the naval was the proper place for him. perhaps there wore people who would adopt this whimsical reasoning. i remember a story told respecting mr. garrick, who was once applied to by an eccentric scotchman, to introduce a production of his on the stage. this scotchman was such a good-humored fellow, that he was called 'honest johnny m'cree.' johnny wrote four acts of a tragedy, which he showed to mr. garrick, who dissuaded him from finishing it; telling him that his talent did not lie that way; so johnny abandoned the tragedy, and set about writing a comedy. when this was finished, he showed it to mr. garrick, who found it to be still more exceptionable than the tragedy, and of course could not be persuaded to bring it forward on the stage. this surprised poor johnny, and he remonstrated. 'nay, now, david, (said johnny,) did you not tell me my talents did not lie in tragedy?'--'yes, (replied garrick,) but i did not tell you that they lay in comedy.'--'then, (exclaimed johnny,) gin they dinna lie there, where the de'il dittha lie, mon?' unless the noble lord at the head of the admiralty has the same reasoning in his mind as johnny m'cree, he cannot possibly suppose that his incapacity for the direction of the war-department necessarily qualifies him for the presidency of the naval. perhaps, if the noble lord be told that he has no talents for the latter, his lordship may exclaim with honest johnny m'cree, 'gin they dinna lie there, where the de'il dittha lie, mon?'" on the th of may, the claims of the roman catholics of ireland, were, for the first time, brought under the notice of the imperial parliament, by lord grenville in the house of lords, and by mr. fox in the house of commons. a few days before the debate, as appears, by the following remarkable letter, mr. sheridan was made the medium of a communication from carlton house, the object of which was to prevent mr. fox from presenting the petition. "dear sheridan, "i did not receive your letter till last night. "i did, on thursday, consent to be the presenter of the catholic petition, at the request of the delegates, and had further conversation on the subject with them at lord grenville's yesterday morning. lord grenville also consented to present the petition to the house of lords. now, therefore, any discussion on this part of the subject would be too late; but i will fairly own, that, if it were not, i could not be dissuaded from doing the public act, which, of all others, it will give me the greatest satisfaction and pride to perform. no past event in my political life ever did, and no future one ever can, give me such pleasure. "i am sure you know how painful it would be to me to disobey any command of his royal highness's, or even to act in any manner that might be in the slightest degree contrary to his wishes, and therefore i am not sorry that your intimation came too late. i shall endeavor to see the prince today; but, if i should fail, pray take care that he knows how things stand before we meet at dinner, lest any conversation there should appear to come upon him by surprise. "yours ever, _"arlington street, sunday,_ "c. j. f." it would be rash, without some further insight into the circumstances of this singular interference, to enter into any speculations with respect to its nature or motives, or to pronounce how far mr. sheridan was justified in being the instrument of it. but on the share of mr. fox in the transaction, such suspension of opinion is unnecessary. we have here his simple and honest words before us,--and they breathe a spirit of sincerity from which even princes might take a lesson with advantage. mr. pitt was not long in discovering that place does not always imply power, and that in separating himself from the other able men of the day, he had but created an opposition as much too strong for the government, as the government itself was too weak for the country. the humiliating resource to which he was driven, in trying, as a tonic, the reluctant alliance of lord sidmouth,--the abortiveness of his efforts to avert the full of his old friend, lord melville, and the fatality of ill luck that still attended his exertions against france,--all concurred to render this reign of the once powerful minister a series of humiliations, shifts, and disasters, unlike his former proud period in every thing but ill success. the powerful coalition opposed to him already had a prospect of carrying by storm the post which he occupied, when, by his death, it was surrendered, without parley, into their hands. the administration that succeeded, under the auspices of lord greville and mr. fox, bore a resemblance to the celebrated brass of corinth, more, perhaps, in the variety of the metals brought together, than in the perfection of the compound that resulted from their fusion. [footnote: see in the annual register of , some able remarks upon coalitions in general, as well as a temperate defence of this coalition in particular,--for which that work is, i suspect, indebted to a hand such as has not often, since the time of burke, enriched its pages.] there were comprised in it, indeed, not only the two great parties of the leading chiefs, but those whigs who differed with them both under the addington ministry, and the addingtons that differed with them all on the subject of the catholic claims. with this last anomalous addition to the miscellany the influence of sheridan is mainly chargeable. having, for some time past, exerted all his powers of management to bring about a coalition between carlton-house and lord sidmouth, he had been at length so successful, that upon the formation of the present ministry, it was the express desire of the prince that lord sidmouth should constitute a part of it. to the same unlucky influence, too, is to be traced the very questionable measure, (notwithstanding the great learning and ability with which it was defended,) of introducing the chief justice, lord ellenborough, into the cabinet. as to sheridan's own share in the arrangements, it was, no doubt, expected by him that he should now be included among the members of the cabinet; and it is probable that mr. fox, at the head of a purely whig ministry, would have so far considered the services of his ancient ally, and the popularity still attached to his name through the country, as to confer upon him this mark of distinction and confidence. but there were other interests to be consulted;--and the undisguised earnestness with which sheridan had opposed the union of his party with the grenvilles, left him but little supererogation of services to expect in that quarter. some of his nearest friends, and particularly mrs. sheridan, entreated, as i understand, in the most anxious manner, that he would not accept any such office as that of treasurer of the navy, for the responsibility and business of which they knew his habits so wholly unfitted him,--but that, if excluded by his colleagues from the distinction of a seat in the cabinet, he should decline all office whatsoever, and take his chance in a friendly independence of them. but the time was now past when he could afford to adopt this policy,--the emoluments of a place were too necessary to him to be rejected;--and, in accepting the same office that had been allotted to him in the regency--arrangements of , he must have felt, with no small degree of mortification, how stationary all his efforts since then had left him, and what a blank was thus made of all his services in the interval. the period of this ministry, connected with the name of mr. fox, though brief, and in some respects, far from laudable, was distinguished by two measures,--the plan of limited service, and the resolution for the abolition of the slave-trade,--which will long be remembered to the honor of those concerned in them. the motion of mr. fox against the slave-trade was the last he ever made in parliament;--and the same sort of melancholy admiration that pliny expressed, in speaking of a beautiful picture, the painter of which had died in finishing it,--"dolor manas dum id ageret, abreptae"--comes naturally over our hearts in thinking of the last, glorious work, to which this illustrious statesman, in dying, set his hand. though it is not true, as has been asserted, that mr. fox refused to see sheridan in his last illness, it is but too certain that those appearances of alienation or reserve, which had been for some time past observable in the former, continued to throw a restraint over their intercourse with each other to the last. it is a proof, however, of the absence of any serious grounds for this distrust, that sheridan as the person selected by the relatives of mr. fox to preside over and direct the arrangements of the funeral, and that he put the last, solemn seal to their long intimacy, by following his friend, as mourner, to the grave. the honor of representing the city of westminster in parliament had been, for some time, one of the dreams of sheridan's ambition. it was suspected, indeed,--i know not with what justice,--that in advising mr. fox, as he is said to have done, about the year , to secede from public life altogether, he was actuated by a wish to succeed him in the representation of westminster, and had even already set on foot some private negotiations towards that object. whatever grounds there may have been for this suspicion, the strong wish that he felt on the subject had long been sufficiently known to his colleagues; and on the death of mr. fox, it appeared, not only to himself, but the public, that he was the person naturally pointed out as most fit to be his parliamentary successor. it was, therefore, with no slight degree of disappointment he discovered, that the ascendancy of aristocratic influence was, as usual, to prevail, and that the young son of the duke of northumberland would be supported by the government in preference to him, it is but right, however, in justice to the ministry, to state, that the neglect with which they appear to have treated him on this occasion,--particularly in not apprising him of their decision in favor of lord percy, sufficiently early to save him from the humiliation of a fruitless attempt,--is proved, by the following letters, to have originated in a double misapprehension, by which, while sheridan, on one side, was led to believe that the ministers would favor his pretensions, the ministers, on the other, were induced to think that he had given up all intentions of being a candidate. the first letter is addressed to the gentleman, (one of sheridan's intimate friends,) who seems to have been, unintentionally, the cause of the mistake on both sides. "dear ----, "_somerset-place, september ._ "you must have seen by my manner, yesterday, how much i was surprised and hurt at learning, for the first time, that lord grenville had, many days previous to mr. fox's death, decided to support lord percy on the expected vacancy for westminster, and that you had since been the active agent in the canvass actually commenced. i do not like to think i have grounds to complain or change my opinion of any friend, without being very explicit, and opening my mind, without reserve, on such a subject. i must frankly declare, that i think you have brought yourself and me into a very unpleasant dilemma. you seemed to say, last night, that you had not been apprised of my intention to offer for westminster on the apprehended vacancy. i am confident you have acted under that impression; but i must impute to you either great inattention to what fell from me in our last conversation on the subject, or great inaccuracy of recollection; for i solemnly protest i considered you as the individual most distinctly apprised, that at this moment to succeed that great man and revered friend in westminster, should the fatal event take place, would be the highest object of my ambition; for, in that conversation i thanked you expressly for informing me that lord grenville had said to yourself, upon lord percy being suggested to him, that he, lord grenville, '_would decide on nothing until mr. sheridan had been spoken to, and his intentions known_' or words precisely to that effect. i expressed my grateful sense of lord grenville's attention, and said, that it would confirm me in my intention of making no application, however hopeless myself respecting mr. fox, while life remained with him,--and these words of lord grenville you allowed last night to have been so stated to me, though not as a message from his lordship. since that time i think we have not happened to meet; at least sure i am, we have had no conversation on the subject. having the highest opinion of lord grenville's honor and sincerity, i must be confident that he must have had another impression made on his mind respecting my wishes before i was entirely passed by. i do not mean to say that my offering myself was immediately to entitle me to the support of government, but i do mean to say, that my pretensions were entitled to consideration before that support was offered to another without the slightest notice taken of me,--the more especially as the words of lord grenville, reported by you to me, had been stated by me to many friends as my reliance and justification in not following their advice by making a direct application to government. i pledged myself to them that lord grenville would not promise the support of government till my intentions had been asked, and i quoted your authority for doing so: i never heard a syllable of that support being promised to lord percy until from you on the evening of mr. fox's death. did i ever authorize you to inform lord grenville that i had abandoned the idea of offering myself? these are points which it is necessary, for the honor of all parties, should be amicably explained. i therefore propose, as the shortest way of effecting it,--wishing you not to consider this letter as in any degree confidential,--that my statements in this letter may be submitted to any two common friends, or to the lord chancellor alone, and let it be ascertained where the error has arisen, for error is all i complain of; and, with regard to lord grenville, i desire distinctly to say, that i feel myself indebted for the fairness and kindness of his intentions towards me. my disappointment of the protection of government may be a sufficient excuse to the friends i am pledged to, should i retire; but i must have it understood whether or not i deceived them, when i led them to expect that i should have that support. "i hope to remain ever yours sincerely, "r. b. sheridan. "the sooner the reference i propose the better." the second letter, which is still further explanatory of the misconception, was addressed by sheridan to lord grenville: "my dear lord, "since i had the honor of your lordship's letter, i have received one from mr. ----, in which, i am sorry to observe he is silent as to my offer of meeting, in the presence of a third person, in order to ascertain whether he did or not so report a conversation with your lordship as to impress on my mind a belief that my pretensions would be considered, before the support of government should be pledged elsewhere. instead of this, he not only does not admit the precise words quoted by me, but does not state what he allows he did say. if he denies that he ever gave me reason to adopt the belief i have stated, be it so; but the only stipulation i have made is that we should come to an explicit understanding on this subject,--not with a view to quoting words or repeating names, but that the misapprehension, whatever it was, may be so admitted as not to leave me under an unmerited degree of discredit and disgrace. mr. ---- certainly never encouraged me to stand for westminster, but, on the contrary, advised me to support lord percy, which made me the more mark at the time the fairness with which i thought he apprised me of the preference my pretensions were likely to receive in your lordship's consideration. "unquestionably your lordship's recollection of what passed between mr. ---- and yourself must be just; and were it no more than what you said on the same subject to lord howick, i consider it as a mark of attention; but what has astonished me is, that mr. ---- should ever have informed your lordship, as he admits he did, that i had no intention of offering myself. this naturally must have put from your mind whatever degree of disposition was there to have made a preferable application to me; and lord howick's answer to your question, on which i have ventured to make a friendly remonstrance, must have confirmed mr. ----'s report. but allow me to suppose that i had myself seen your lordship, and that you had explicitly promised me the support of government, and had afterwards sent for me and informed me that it was at all an object to you that i should give way to lord percy, i assure you, with the utmost sincerity, that i should cheerfully have withdrawn myself, and applied every interest i possessed as your lordship should have directed. "all i request is, that what passed between me and mr. ---- may take an intelligible shape before any common friend, or before your lordship. this i conceive to be a preliminary due to my own honor, and what he ought not to evade." the address which he delivered, at the crown and anchor tavern, in declining the offer of support which many of the electors still pressed upon him, contains some of those touches of personal feeling which a biographer is more particularly bound to preserve. in speaking of mr. fox, he said,-- "it is true there have been occasions upon which i have differed with him --painful recollections of the most painful moments of my political life! nor were there wanting those who endeavored to represent these differences as a departure from the homage which his superior mind, though unclaimed by him, was entitled to, and from the allegiance of friendship which our hearts all swore to him. but never was the genuine and confiding texture of his soul more manifest than on such occasions; he knew that nothing on earth could detach me from him; and he resented insinuations against the sincerity and integrity of a friend, which he would not have noticed had they been pointed against himself. with such a man to have battled in the cause of genuine liberty,--with such a man to have struggled against the inroads of oppression and corruption,--with such an example before me, to have to boast that i never in my life gave one vote in parliament that was not on the side of freedom, is the congratulation that attends the retrospect of my public life. his friendship was the pride and honor of my days. i never, for one moment, regretted to share with him the difficulties, the calumnies, and sometimes even the dangers, that attended an honorable course. and now, reviewing my past political life, were the option possible that i should retread the path. i solemnly and deliberately declare that i would prefer to pursue the same course; to bear up under the same pressure; to abide by the same principles; and remain by his side an exile from power, distinction, and emolument, rather than be at this moment a splendid example of successful servility or prosperous apostacy, though clothed with power, honor, titles, gorged with sinecures, and lord of hoards obtained from the plunder of the people." at the conclusion of his address he thus alludes, with evidently a deep feeling of discontent, to the circumstances that had obliged him to decline the honor now proposed to him:-- "illiberal warnings have been held out, most unauthoritatively i know, that by persevering in the present contest i may risk my official situation, and if i retire, i am aware, that minds, as coarse and illiberal, may assign the dread of that as my motive. to such insinuations i shall scorn to make any other reply than a reference to the whole of my past political career. i consider it as no boast to say, that any one who has struggled through such a portion of life as i have, without obtaining an office, is not likely to i abandon his principles to retain one when acquired. if riches do not give independence, the next-best thing to being very rich is to have been used to be very poor. but independence is not allied to wealth, to birth, to rank, to power, to titles, or to honor. independence is in the mind of a man, or it is no where. on this ground were i to decline the contest, should scorn the imputation that should bring the purity of my purpose into doubt. no minister can expect to find in me a servile vassal. no minister can expect from me the abandonment of any principle i have avowed, or any pledge i have given. i know not that i have hitherto shrunk in place from opinions i have maintained while in opposition. did there exist a minister of a different cast from any i know in being, were he to attempt to exact from me a different conduct, my office should be at his service tomorrow. such a minister might strip me of my situation, in some respects of considerable emolument, but he could not strip me of the proud conviction that i was right; he could not strip me of my own self-esteem; he could not strip me, i think, of some portion of the confidence and good opinion of the people. but i am noticing the calumnious threat i allude to more than it deserves. there can be no peril, i venture to assert, under the present government, in the free exercise of discretion, such as belongs to the present question. i therefore disclaim the merit of putting anything to hazard. if i have missed the opportunity of obtaining all the support i might, perhaps, have had on the present occasion, from a very scrupulous delicacy, which i think became and was incumbent upon me, but which i by no means conceive to have been a fit rule for others, i cannot repent it. while the slightest aspiration of breath passed those lips, now closed for ever,--while one drop of life's blood beat in that heart, now cold for ever,--i could not, i ought not, to have acted otherwise than i did.--i now come with a very embarrassed feeling to that declaration which i yet think you must have expected from me, but which i make with reluctance, because, from the marked approbation i have experienced from you, i fear that with reluctance you will receive it.--i feel myself under the necessity of retiring from this contest." about three weeks after, ensued the dissolution of parliament,--a measure attended with considerable unpopularity to the ministry, and originating as much in the enmity of one of its members to lord sidmouth, as the introduction of that noble lord among them, at all, was owing to the friendship of another. in consequence of this event, lord percy having declined offering himself again, mr. sheridan became a candidate for westminster, and after a most riotous contest with a demagogue of the moment, named paul, was, together with sir samuel hood, declared duly elected. the moderate measure in favor of the roman catholics, which the ministry now thought it due to the expectations of that body to bring forward, was, as might be expected, taken advantage of by the king to rid himself of their counsels, and produced one of those bursts of bigotry, by which the people of england have so often disgraced themselves. it is sometimes a misfortune to men of wit, that they put their opinions in a form to be remembered. we might, perhaps, have been ignorant of the keen, but worldly view which mr. sheridan, on this occasion, took of the hardihood of his colleagues, if he had not himself expressed it in a form so portable to the memory. "he had often," he said, "heard of people knocking out their brains against a wall, but never before knew of any one building a wall expressly for the purpose." it must be owned, indeed, that, though far too sagacious and liberal not to be deeply impressed with the justice of the claims advanced by the catholics, he was not altogether disposed to go those generous lengths in their favor, of which mr. fox and a few others of their less calculating friends were capable. it was his avowed opinion, that, though the measure, whenever brought forward, should be supported and enforced by the whole weight of the party, they ought never so far to identify or encumber themselves with it, as to make its adoption a sine-qua-non of their acceptance or retention of office. his support, too, of the ministry of mr. addington, which was as virtually pledged against the catholics as that which now succeeded to power, sufficiently shows the secondary station that this great question occupied in his mind; nor can such a deviation from the usual tone of his political feelings be otherwise accounted for, than by supposing that he was aware of the existence of a strong indisposition to the measure in that quarter, by whose views and wishes his public conduct was, in most cases, regulated. on the general question, however, of the misgovernment of ireland, and the disabilities of the catholics, as forming its most prominent feature, his zeal was always forthcoming and ardent,--and never more so than during the present session, when, on the question of the irish arms bill, and his own motion upon the state of ireland, he distinguished himself by an animation and vigor worthy of the best period of his eloquence. mr. grattan, in supporting the coercive measures now adopted against his country, had shown himself, for once, alarmed into a concurrence with the wretched system of governing by insurrection acts, and, for once, lent his sanction to the principle upon which all such measures are founded, namely, that of enabling power to defend itself against the consequences of its own tyranny and injustice. in alluding to some expressions used by this great man, sheridan said:-- "he now happened to recollect what was said by a right honorable gentleman, to whose opinions they all deferred, (mr. grattan,) that notwithstanding he voted for the present measure, with all its defects, rather than lose it altogether, yet that gentleman said, that he hoped to secure the revisionary interest of the constitution to ireland. but when he saw that the constitution was suspended from the year to the present period, and that it was now likely to be continued for three years longer, the danger was that we might lose the interest altogether;--when we were mortgaged for such a length of time, at last a foreclosure might take place." the following is an instance of that happy power of applying old stories, for which mr. windham, no less than sheridan, was remarkable, and which, by promoting anecdote into the service of argument and wit, ennobles it, when trivial, and gives new youth to it, when old. "when they and others complain of the discontents of the irish, they never appear to consider the cause. when they express their surprise that the irish are not contented, while according to their observation, that people have so much reason to be happy, they betray a total ignorance of their actual circumstances. the fact is, that the tyranny practised upon the irish has been throughout unremitting. there has been no change but in the manner of inflicting it. they have had nothing but variety in oppression, extending to all ranks and degrees of a certain description of the people. if you would know what this varied oppression consisted in, i refer you to the penal statutes you have repealed, and to some of those which still exist. there you will see the high and the low equally subjected to the lash of persecution; and yet still some persons affect to be astonished at the discontents of the irish. but with all my reluctance to introduce any thing ludicrous upon so serious an occasion, i cannot help referring to a little story which those very astonished persons call to my mind. it was with respect to an irish drummer, who was employed to inflict punishment upon a soldier. when the boy struck high, the poor soldier exclaimed, 'lower, bless you,' with which the boy complied. but soon after the soldier exclaimed, 'higher if you please,' but again he called out, 'a little lower:' upon which the accommodating boy addressed him--'now, upon my conscience, i see you are a discontented man; for, strike where i may, there's no pleasing you.' now your complaint of the discontents of the irish appears to me quite as rational, while you continue to strike, only altering the place of attack." upon this speech, which may be considered as the _bouquet_, or last parting blaze of his eloquence, he appears to have bestowed considerable care and thought. the concluding sentences of the following passage, though in his very worst taste, were as anxiously labored by him, and put through as many rehearsals on paper, as any of the most highly finished witticisms in the school for scandal. "i cannot think patiently of such petty squabbles, while bonaparte is grasping the nations; while he is surrounding france, not with that iron frontier, for which the wish and childish ambition of louis xiv. was so eager, but with kingdoms of his own creation; securing the gratitude of higher minds as the hostage, and the fears of others as pledges for his safety. his are no ordinary fortifications. his martello towers are thrones; sceptres tipt with crowns are the palisadoes of his entrenchments, and kings are his sentinels." the reporter here, by "tipping" the sceptres "with crowns," has improved, rather unnecessarily, upon the finery of the original. the following are specimens of the various trials of this passage which i find scribbled over detached scraps of paper:-- "contrast the different attitudes and occupations of the two governments:--b. eighteen months from his capital,--head-quarters in the villages,--neither berlin nor warsaw,--dethroning and creating thrones,-- the works he raises are monarchies,--sceptres his palisadoes, thrones his martello towers." "commissioning kings,--erecting thrones,--martello towers,--cambaceres count noses,--austrians, fine dressed, like pompey's troops." "b. fences with sceptres,--his martello towers are thrones,--he alone is, france." another dissolution of parliament having taken place this year, he again became a candidate for the city of westminster. but, after a violent contest, during which he stood the coarse abuse of the mob with the utmost good humor and playfulness, the election ended in favor of sir francis burdett and lord cochrane, and sheridan was returned, with his friend mr. michael angelo taylor, for the borough of ilchester. in the autumn of he had conceived some idea of leasing the property of drury-lane theatre, and with that view had set on foot, through mr. michael kelly, who was then in ireland, a negotiation with mr. frederick jones, the proprietor of the dublin theatre. in explaining his object to mr. kelly, in a letter dated august , , he describes it as "a plan by which the property may be leased to those who have the skill and the industry to manage it as it should be for their own advantage, upon terms which would render any risk to them almost impossible;--the profit to them, (he adds,) would probably be beyond what i could now venture to state, and yet upon terms which would be much better for the real proprietors than any thing that can arise from the careless and ignorant manner in which the undertaking is now misconducted by those who, my son excepted, have no interest in its success, and who lose nothing by its failure." the negotiation with mr. jones was continued into the following year; and, according to a draft of agreement, which this gentleman has been kind enough to show me, in sheridan's handwriting, it was intended that mr. jones should, on becoming proprietor of one quarter-share of the property, "undertake the management of the theatre in conjunction with mr. t. sheridan, and be entitled to the same remuneration, namely, £. per annum certain income, and a certain per centage on the net profits arising from the office-receipts, as should be agreed upon," &c. &c. the following memorandum of a bet connected with this transaction, is of somewhat a higher class of wagers than the one tun tavern has often had the honor of recording among its archives:-- "_one tun, st. james's market, may , ._" "in the presence of messrs. g. ponsonby, r. power, and mr. becher, [footnote: it is not without a deep feeling of melancholy that i transcribe this paper. of three of my most valued friends,--whose names are signed to it,--becher, ponsonby, and power,--the last has, within a few short months, been snatched away, leaving behind him the recollection of as many gentle and manly virtues as ever concurred to give sweetness and strength to character.] mr. jones bets mr. sheridan five hundred guineas that he, mr. sheridan, does not write, and produce under his name, a play of five acts, or a first piece of three, within the term of three years from the th of september next.--it is distinctly to be understood that this bet is not valid unless mr. jones becomes a partner in drury-lane theatre before the commencement of the ensuing season. "richard power, "r. b. sheridan, "george ponsonby, "fred. edw. jones. "w. w. becher. "n. b.--w. w. becher and richard power join, one fifty,--the other one hundred pounds in this bet. "r. power." the grand movement of spain, in the year , which led to consequences so important to the rest of europe, though it has left herself as enslaved and priest-ridden as ever, was hailed by sheridan with all that prompt and well-timed ardor, with which he alone, of all his party, knew how to meet such great occasions. had his political associates but learned from his example thus to place themselves in advance of the procession of events, they would not have had the triumphal wheels pass by them and over them so frequently. immediately on the arrival of the deputies from spain, he called the attention of the house to the affairs of that country; and his speech on the subject, though short and unstudied, had not only the merit of falling in with the popular feeling at the moment, but, from the views which it pointed out through the bright opening now made by spain, was every way calculated to be useful both at home and abroad. "let spain," he said, "see, that we were not inclined to stint the services we had it in our power to render her; that we were not actuated by the desire of any petty advantage to ourselves; but that our exertions were to be solely directed to the attainment of the grand and general object, the emancipation of the world. if the flame were once fairly caught, our success was certain. france would then find, that she had hitherto been contending only against principalities, powers, and authorities, but that she had now to contend against a people." the death of lord lake this year removed those difficulties which had, ever since the appointment of sheridan to the receivership of the duchy of cornwall, stood in the way of his reaping the full advantages of that office. previously to the departure of general lake for india, the prince had granted to him the reversion of this situation which was then filled by lord elliot. it was afterwards, however, discovered that, according to the terms of the grant, the place could not be legally held or deputed by any one who had not been actually sworn into it before the prince's council. on the death of lord elliot, therefore, his royal highness thought himself authorized, as we have seen, in conferring the appointment upon mr. sheridan. this step, however, was considered by the friends of general lake as not only a breach of promise, but a violation of right; and it would seem from one of the documents which i am about to give, that measures were even in train for enforcing the claim by law. the first is a letter on the subject from sheridan to colonel m'mahon:-- "my dear m'mahon, "_thursday evening_. "i have thoroughly considered and reconsidered the subject we talked upon today. nothing on earth shall make me risk the possibility of the prince's goodness to me furnishing an opportunity for a single scurrilous fool's presuming to hint even that he had, in the slightest manner, departed from the slightest engagement. the prince's right, in point of law and justice, on the present occasion to recall the appointment given, i hold to be incontestible; but, believe me, i am right in the proposition i took the liberty of submitting to his royal highness, and which (so far is he from wishing to hurt general lake,) he graciously approved. but understand me,--my meaning is to give i up the emoluments of the situation to general lake, holding the situation at the prince's pleasure, and abiding by an arbitrated estimate of general lake's claim, supposing his royal highness had appointed him; in other words, to value his interest in the appointment as if he had it, and to pay him for it or resign to him. "with the prince's permission i should be glad to meet mr. warwick lake, and i am confident that no two men of common sense and good intentions can fail, in ten minutes, to arrange it so as to meet the prince's wishes, and not to leave the shadow of a pretence for envious malignity to whisper a word against his decision. "yours ever, "r. b. sheridan. "i write in great haste--going to a----." the other paper that i shall give, as throwing light on the transaction, is a rough and unfinished sketch by sheridan of a statement, intended to be transmitted to general lake, containing the particulars of both grants, and the documents connected with them:-- "dear general, "i am commanded by the prince of wales to transmit to you a correct statement of a transaction in which your name is so much implicated, and in which his feelings have been greatly wounded from a quarter, i am commanded to say, whence he did not expect such conduct. "as i am directed to communicate the particulars in the most authentic form, you will, i am sure, excuse on this occasion my not adopting the mode of a familiar letter. "authentic statement respecting the appointment by his royal highness the prince of wales to the receivership of the duchy of cornwall, in the year , to be transmitted by his royal highness's command, to lieutenant-general lake, commander-in-chief of the forces in india. "the circumstances attending the original reversionary grant to general lake are stated in the brief for counsel on this occasion by mr. bignell, the prince's solicitor, to be as follow: (no. i.) it was afterwards understood by the prince that the service he had wished to render general lake, by this grant, had been defeated by the terms of it; and so clearly had it been shown that there were essential duties attached to the office, which no deputy was competent to execute, and that a deputy, even for the collection of the rents, could not be appointed but by a principal actually in possession of the office, (by having been sworn into it before his council,) that upon general appointment to the command in india, the prince could have no conception that general lake, could have left the country under an impression or expectation that the prince would appoint him, in case of a vacancy, to the place in question. accordingly, his royal highness, on the very day he heard of the death of lord elliot, unsolicited, and of his own gracious suggestion, appointed mr. sheridan. mr. sheridan returned, the next day, in a letter to the prince, such an answer and acknowledgment as might be expected from him; and, accordingly, directions were given to make out his patent. on the ensuing ---- his royal highness was greatly surprised at receiving the following letter from mr. warwick lake. (no. ii.) "his royal highness immediately directed mr. sheridan to see mr. w. lake, and to state his situation, and how the office was circumstanced; and for further distinctness to make a minute in writing * * * *." such were the circumstances that had, at first, embarrassed his enjoyment of this office; but, on the death of lord lake, all difficulties were removed, and the appointment was confirmed to sheridan for his life. in order to afford some insight into the nature of that friendship, which existed so long between the heir apparent and sheridan,--though unable, of course, to produce any of the numerous letters, on the royal side of the correspondence, that have been found among the papers in my possession,--i shall here give, from a rough copy in sheridan's hand-writing, a letter which he addressed about this time to the prince:-- "it is matter of surprise to myself, as well as of deep regret, that i should have incurred the appearance of ungrateful neglect and disrespect towards the person to whom i am most obliged on earth, to whom i feel the most ardent, dutiful, and affectionate attachment, and in whose service i would readily sacrifice my life. yet so it is, and to nothing but a perverse combination of circumstances, which would form no excuse were i to recapitulate them, can i attribute a conduct so strange on my part; and from nothing but your royal highness's kindness and benignity alone can i expect an indulgent allowance and oblivion of that conduct: nor could i even hope for this were i not conscious of the unabated and unalterable devotion towards your royal highness which lives in my heart, and will ever continue to be its pride and boast. "but i should ill deserve the indulgence i request did i not frankly state what has passed in my mind, which, though it cannot justify, may, in some degree, extenuate what must have appeared so strange to your royal highness, previous to your royal highness's having actually restored me to the office i had resigned. "i was mortified and hurt in the keenest manner by having repeated to me from an authority which _i then trusted,_ some expressions of your royal highness respecting me, which it was impossible i could have deserved. though i was most solemnly pledged never to reveal the source from which the communication came, i for some time intended to unburthen my mind to my sincere friend and your royal highness's most attached and excellent servant, m'mahon--but i suddenly discovered, beyond a doubt, that i had been grossly deceived, and that there had not existed the slightest foundation for the tale that had been imposed on me; and i do humbly ask your royal highness's pardon for having for a moment credited a fiction suggested by mischief and i malice. yet, extraordinary as it must seem, i had so long, under this false impression, neglected the course which duty and gratitude required from me, that i felt an unaccountable shyness and reserve in repairing my error, and to this procrastination other unlucky circumstances contributed. one day when i had the honor of meeting your royal highness on horseback in oxford-street, though your manner was as usual gracious and kind to me, you said that i had deserted you privately and _politically_. i had long before that been assured, though falsely i am convinced, that your royal highness had promised to make a point that i should neither speak nor vote on lord wellesly's business. my view of this topic, and my knowledge of the delicate situation in which your royal highness stood in respect to the catholic question, though weak and inadequate motives, i confess, yet encouraged the continuance of that reserve which my original error had commenced. these subjects being passed by,--and sure i am your royal highness would never deliberately ask me to adopt a course of debasing inconsistency,--it was my hope fully and frankly to have explained myself and repaired my fault, when i was informed that a circumstance that happened at burlington-house, and which must have been heinously misrepresented, had greatly offended you; and soon after it was stated to me, by an authority which i have no objection to disclose, that your royal highness had quoted, with marked disapprobation, words supposed to have been spoken by me on the spanish question, and of which words, as there is a god in heaven, i never uttered one syllable. "most justly may your royal highness answer to all this, why have i not sooner stated these circumstances, and confided in that uniform friendship and protection which i have so long experienced at your hands. i can only plead a nervous, procrastinating nature, abetted, perhaps, by sensations of, i trust, no false pride, which, however i may blame myself, impel me involuntarily to fly from the risk of even a cold look from the quarter to which i owe so much, and by whom to be esteemed is the glory and consolation of my private and public life. "one point only remains for me to intrude upon your royal highness's consideration, but it is of a nature fit only for personal communication. i therefore conclude, with again entreating your royal highness to continue and extend the indulgence which the imperfections in my character have so often received from you, and yet to be assured that there never did exist to monarch, prince, or man, a firmer or purer attachment than i feel, and to my death shall feel, to you, my gracious prince and master." chapter x. destruction of the theatre of drury-lane by fire.--mr. whitbread.--plan for a third theatre.--illness of the king.--regency. lord obey and lord grenville.--conduct of mr. sheridan.--his vindication of himself. with the details of the embarrassments of drury-lane theatre, i have endeavored, as little as possible, to encumber the attention of the reader. this part of my subject would, indeed, require a volume to itself. the successive partnerships entered into with mr. grubb and mr. richardson,--the different trust-deeds for the general and individual property,--the various creations of shares,--the controversies between the trustees and proprietors, as to the obligations of the deed of , which ended in a chancery-suit in ,--the perpetual entanglements of the property which sheridan's private debts occasioned, and which even the friendship and skill of mr. adam were wearied out in endeavoring to rectify,--all this would lead to such a mass of details and correspondence as, though i have waded through it myself, it is by no means necessary to inflict upon others. the great source of the involvements, both of sheridan himself and of the concern, is to be found in the enormous excess of the expense of rebuilding the theatre in , over the amount stated by the architect in his estimate. this amount was , _l_.; and the sum of , £. then raised by subscription, would, it was calculated, in addition to defraying this charge, pay off also the mortgage-debts with which the theatre was encumbered. it was soon found, however, that the expense of building the house alone would exceed the whole amount raised by subscription; and, notwithstanding the advance of a considerable sum beyond the estimate, the theatre was delivered in n very unfinished state into the hands of the proprietors,--only part of the mortgage-debts was paid off, and, altogether a debt of , £ was left upon the property. this debt mr. sheridan and the other proprietors took, voluntarily, and, as it has been thought, inconsiderately, upon themselves,--the builders, by their contracts, having no legal claim upon them,--and the payment of it being at various times enforced, not only against the theatre, but against the private property of mr. sheridan, involved both in a degree of embarrassment from which there appeared no hope of extricating them. such was the state of this luckless property,--and it would have been difficult to imagine any change for the worse that could befall it,--when, early in the present year, an event occurred, that seemed to fill up at once the measure of its ruin. on the night of the th of february, while the house of commons was occupied with mr. ponsonby's motion on the conduct of the war in spain, and mr. sheridan was in attendance, with the intention, no doubt, of speaking, the house was suddenly illuminated by a blaze of light; and, the debate being interrupted, it was ascertained that the theatre of drury-lane was on fire. a motion was made to adjourn; but mr. sheridan said with much calmness, that "whatever might be the extent of the private calamity, he hoped it would not interfere with the public business of the country." he then left the house; and, proceeding to drury-lane, witnessed, with a fortitude which strongly interested all who observed him, the entire destruction of his property. [footnote: it is said that, as he sat at the piazza coffee-house, during the fire, taking some refreshment, a friend of his having remarked on the philosophic calmness with which he bore his misfortune, sheridan answered, "a man may surely be allowed to take a glass of wine _by his own fire-side._" without vouching for the authenticity or novelty of this anecdote, (which may have been, for aught i know, like the wandering jew, a regular attendant upon all fires, since the time of hierocles,) i give it as i heard it.] among his losses on the occasion there was one which, from being associated with feelings of other times, may have affected him, perhaps, more deeply than many that were far more serious. a harpsichord, that had belonged to his first wife, and had long survived her sweet voice in silent widowhood, was, with other articles of furniture that had been moved from somerset-house to the theatre, lost in the flames. the ruin thus brought upon this immense property seemed, for a time, beyond all hope of retrieval. the embarrassments of the concern were known to have been so great, and such a swarm of litigious claims lay slumbering under those ashes, that it is not surprising the public should have been slow and unwilling to touch them. nothing, indeed, short of the intrepid zeal of mr. whitbread could have ventured upon the task of remedying so complex a calamity; nor could any industry less persevering have compassed the miracle of rebuilding and re-animating that edifice, among the many-tongued claims that beset and perplexed his enterprise. in the following interesting letter to him from sheridan, we trace the first steps of his friendly interference on the occasion:-- "my dear whithbread, "procrastination is always the consequence of an indolent man's resolving to write a long detailed letter, upon any subject, however important to himself, or whatever may be the confidence he has in the friend he proposes to write to. to this must be attributed your having escaped the statement i threatened you with in my last letter, and the brevity with which i now propose to call your attention to the serious, and, to me, most important request, contained in this,--reserving all i meant to have written for personal communication. "i pay you no compliment when i say that, without comparison, you are the man living, in my estimation, the most disposed and the most competent to bestow a portion of your time and ability to assist the call of friendship,--on the condition that that call shall be proved to be made in a cause just and honorable, and in every respect entitled to your protection. "on this ground alone i make my application to you. you said, some time since, in my house, but in a careless conversation only, that you would be a member of a committee for rebuilding drury-lane theatre, if it would serve me; and, indeed, you very kindly suggested, yourself, that these were more persons disposed to assist that object than i might be aware of. i most thankfully accept the offer of your interference, and am convinced of the benefits your friendly exertions are competent to produce. i have worked the whole subject in my own mind, and see a clear way to retrieve a great property, at least to my son and his family, if my plan meets the support i hope it will appear to merit. "writing thus to you in the sincerity of private friendship, and the reliance i place on my opinion of your character, i need not ask of you, though eager and active in politics as you are, not to be severe in criticising my palpable neglect of all parliamentary duty. it would not be easy to explain to you, or even to make you comprehend, or any one in prosperous and affluent plight, the private difficulties i have to struggle with. my mind, and the resolute independence belonging to it, has not been in the least subdued by the late calamity; but the consequences arising from it have more engaged and embarrassed me than, perhaps, i have been willing to allow. it has been a principle of my life, persevered in through great difficulties, never to borrow money of a private friend and this resolution i would starve rather than violate. of course, i except the political aid of election-subscription. when i ask you to take a part in the settlement of my shattered affairs, i ask you only to do so after a previous investigation of every part of the past circumstances which relate to the trust i wish you to accept, in conjunction with those who wish to serve me, and to whom i think you could not object. i may be again seized with an illness as alarming as that i lately experienced. assist me in relieving my mind from the greatest affliction that such a situation can again produce,--the fear of others suffering by my death. "to effect this little more is necessary than some resolution on my part, and the active superintending advice of a mind like yours. "thus far on paper. i will see you next ----, and therefore will not trouble you for a written reply." encouraged by the opening which the destruction of drury-lane seemed to offer to free adventure in theatrical property, a project was set on foot for the establishment of a third great theatre, which, being backed by much of the influence and wealth of the city of london, for some time threatened destruction to the monopoly that had existed so long. but, by the exertions of mr. sheridan and his friends, this scheme was defeated, and a bill for the erection of drury-lane theatre by subscription, and for the incorporation of the subscribers, was passed through parliament. that mr. sheridan himself would have had no objection to a third theatre, if held by a joint grant to the proprietors of the other two, appears not only from his speeches and petitions on the subject at this time, but from the following plan for such an establishment, drawn up by him, some years before, and intended to be submitted to the consideration of the proprietors of both houses:-- "gentlemen, "according to your desire, the plan of the proposed assistant theatre, is here explained in writing for your further consideration. "from our situations in the theatres royal of drury-lane and covent-garden we have had opportunities of observing many circumstances relative to our general property, which must have escaped those who do not materially interfere in the management of that property. one point in particular has lately weighed extremely in our opinions, which is, an apprehension of a new theatre being erected for some species or other of dramatic entertainment. were this event to take place on an opposing interest, our property would sink in value one-half, and in all probability, the contest that would ensue would speedily end in the absolute ruin of one of the present established theatres. we have reason, it is true, from his majesty's gracious patronage to the present houses, to hope, that a third patent for a winter theatre is not easily to be obtained; but the motives which appear to call for one are so many, (and those of such a nature, as to increase every day,) that we cannot, on the maturest consideration of the subject, divest ourselves of the dread that such an event may not be very remote. with this apprehension before us, we have naturally fallen into a joint consideration of the means of preventing so fatal a blow to the present theatres, or of deriving a general advantage from a circumstance which might otherwise be our ruin. "some of the leading motives for the establishment of a third theatre are as follows:-- " st. the great extent of the town and increased residence of a higher class of people, who, on account of many circumstances, seldom frequent the theatre. " d. the distant situation of the theatres from the politer streets, and the difficulty with which ladies reach their carriages or chairs. " d. the small number of side-boxes, where only, by the uncontrollable influence of fashion, ladies of any rank can be induced to sit. " th. the earliness of the hour, which renders it absolutely impossible for those who attend on parliament, live at any distance, or, indeed, for any person who dines at the prevailing hour, to reach the theatre before the performance is half over. "these considerations have lately been strongly urged to me by many leading persons of rank. there has also prevailed, as appears by the number of private plays at gentlemen's seats, an unusual fashion for theatrical entertainments among the politer class of people; and it is not to be wondered at that they, feeling themselves, (from the causes above enumerated,) in a manner, excluded from our theatres, should persevere in an endeavor to establish some plan of similar entertainment, on principles of superior elegance and accommodation. "in proof of this disposition, and the effects to be apprehended from it, we need but instance one fact, among many, which might be produced, and that is the well-known circumstance of a subscription having actually been begun last winter, with very powerful patronage, for the importation of a french company of comedians, a scheme which, though it might not have answered to the undertaking, would certainly have been the foundation of other entertainments, whose opposition we should speedily have experienced. the question, then, upon a full view of our situation, appears to be, whether the proprietors of the present theatres will contentedly wait till some other person takes advantage of the prevailing wish for a third theatre, or, having the remedy in their power, profit by a turn of fashion which they cannot control. "a full conviction that the latter is the only line of conduct which can give security to the patents of drury-lane and covent-garden theatres, and yield a probability of future advantage in the exercise of them, has prompted us to endeavor at modelling this plan, on which we conceive those theatres may unite in the support of a third, to the general and mutual advantage of all the proprietors. "proposals. "the proprietors of the theatre-royal in covent-garden appear to be possessed of two patents, for the privilege of acting plays, &c., under one of which the above-mentioned theatre is opened,--the other lying dormant and useless;--it is proposed that this dormant patent shall be exercised, (with his majesty's approbation,) in order to license the dramatic performance of the new theatre to be erected. "it is proposed that the performances of this new theatre shall be supported from the united establishments of the two present theatres, so that the unemployed part of each company may exert themselves for the advantage of the whole. "as the object of this assistant theatre will be to reimburse the proprietors of the other two, at the full season, for the expensive establishment they are obliged to maintain when the town is almost empty, it is proposed, that the scheme of business to be adopted in the new theatre shall differ as much as possible from that of the other two, and that the performances at the new house shall be exhibited at a superior price, and shall commence at a later hour. "the proposers will undertake to provide a theatre for the purpose, in a proper situation, and on the following terms:--if they engage a theatre to be built, being the property of the builder or builders, it must be for an agreed on rent, with security for a term of years. in this case the proprietors of the two present theatres shall jointly and severally engage in the whole of the risk; and the proposers are ready, on equitable terms, to undertake the management of it. but, if the proposers find themselves enabled, either on their own credit, or by the assistance of their friends, or on a plan of subscription, the mode being devised, and the security given by themselves, to become the builders of the theatre, the interest in the building will, in that case, be the property of the proposers, and they will undertake to demand no rent for the performances therein to be exhibited for the mutual advantage of the two present theatres. "the proposers will, in this case, conducting the business under the dormant patent above mentioned, bind themselves, that no theatrical entertainments, as plays, farces, pantomimes, or english operas, shall at any time be exhibited in this theatre but for the general advantage of the proprietors of the two other theatres; the proposers reserving to themselves any profit they can make of their building, converted to purposes distinct from the business of the theatres. "the proposers, undertaking the management of the new theatre, shall be entitled to a sum to be settled by the proprietors at large, or by an equitable arbitration. "it is proposed, that all the proprietors of the two present theatres royal of drury-lane and covent-garden shall share all profits from the dramatic entertainments exhibited at the new theatre; that is, each shall be entitled to receive a dividend in proportion to the shares he or she possesses of the present theatres: first only deducting a certain nightly sum to be paid to the proprietors of covent-garden theatre, as a consideration for the license furnished by the exercise of their present dormant patent. "'fore heaven! the plan's a good plan! i shall add a little epilogue to-morrow. "r. b. s." "'tis now too late, and i've a letter to write before i go to bed,--and then, good night." in the month of july, this year, the installation of lord grenville, as chancellor of oxford, took place, and mr. sheridan was among the distinguished persons that attended the ceremony. as a number of honorary degrees were to be conferred on the occasion, it was expected, as a matter of course, that his name would be among those selected for that distinction; and, to the honor of the university, it was the general wish among its leading members that such a tribute should be paid to his high political character. on the proposal of his name, however, (in a private meeting, i believe, held previously to the convocation.) the words _"non placet"_ were heard from two scholars, one of whom, it is said, had no nobler motive for his opposition than that sheridan did not pay his father's tithes very regularly. several efforts were made to win over these dissentients; and the rev. mr. ingram delivered an able and liberal latin speech, in which he indignantly represented the shame that it would bring on the university, if such a name as that of sheridan should be _"clam subductum"_ from the list. the two scholars, however, were immovable; and nothing remained but to give sheridan intimation of their intended opposition, so as to enable him to decline the honor of having his name proposed. on his appearance, afterwards, in the theatre, a burst of acclamation broke forth, with a general cry of "mr. sheridan among the doctors,--sheridan among the doctors;" in compliance with which he was passed to the seat occupied by the honorary graduates, and sat, in unrobed distinction, among them, during the whole of the ceremonial. few occurrences, of a public nature, ever gave him more pleasure than this reception. at the close of the year , the malady, with which the king had been thrice before afflicted, returned; and, after the usual adjournments of parliament, it was found necessary to establish a regency. on the question of the second adjournment, mr. sheridan took a line directly opposed to that of his party, and voted with the majority. that in this step he did not act from any previous concert with the prince, appears from the following letter, addressed by him to his royal highness on the subject, and containing particulars which will prepare the mind of the reader to judge more clearly of the events that followed:-- "sir, "i felt infinite satisfaction when i was apprised that your royal highness had been far from disapproving the line of conduct i had presumed to pursue, on the last question of adjournment in the house of commons. indeed, i never had a moment's doubt but that your royal highness would give me credit that i was actuated on that, as i shall on every other occasion through my existence, by no possible motive but the most sincere and unmixed desire to look to your royal highness's honor and true interest, as the objects of my political life,--directed, as i am sure your efforts will ever be, to the essential interests of the country and the constitution. to this line of conduct i am prompted by every motive of personal gratitude, and confirmed by every opportunity, which peculiar circumstances and long experience have afforded me, of judging of your heart and understanding,--to the superior excellence of which, (beyond all, i believe, that ever stood in your rank and high relation to society,) i fear not to advance my humble testimony, because i scruple not to say for myself, that i am no flatterer, and that i never found that to _become_ one was the road to your real regard. "i state thus much because it has been under the influence of these feelings that i have not felt myself warranted, (without any previous communication with your royal highness,) to follow implicitly the dictates of others, in whom, however they may be my superiors in many qualities, i can subscribe to no superiority as to devoted attachment and duteous affection to your royal highness, or in that practical knowledge of the public mind and character, upon which alone must be built that popular and personal estimation of your royal highness, so necessary to your future happiness and glory, and to the prosperity of the nation you are destined to rule over. "on these grounds, i saw no policy or consistency in unnecessarily giving a general sanction to the examination of the physicians before the council, and then attempting, on the question of adjournment, to hold that examination as naught. on these grounds, i have ventured to doubt the wisdom or propriety of any endeavor, (if any such endeavor has been made,) to induce your royal highness, during so critical a moment, to stir an inch from the strong reserved post you have chosen, or give the slightest public demonstration of any future intended political preferences;--convinced as i was that the rule of conduct you had prescribed to yourself was precisely that which was gaining you the general heart, and rendering it impracticable for any quarter to succeed in annexing unworthy conditions to that most difficult situation, which you were probably so soon to be called on to accept. "i may, sir, have been guilty of error of judgment in both these respects, differing, as i fear i have done, from those whom i am bound so highly to respect; but, at the same time, i deem it no presumption to say that, until better instructed, i feel a strong confidence in the justness of my own view of the subject; and simply because of this--i am sure that the decisions of that judgment, be they sound or mistaken, have not, at least, been rashly taken up, but were founded on deliberate zeal for your service and glory, unmixed, i will confidently say, with any one selfish object or political purpose of my own." the same limitations and restrictions that mr. pitt proposed in , were, upon the same principles, adopted by the present minister: nor did the opposition differ otherwise from their former line of argument, than by omitting altogether that claim of right for the prince, which mr. fox had, in the proceedings of , asserted. the event that ensued is sufficiently well known. to the surprise of the public, (who expected, perhaps, rather than wished, that the coalesced party of which lord grey and lord grenville were the chiefs, should now succeed to power,) mr. perceval and his colleagues were informed by the regent that it was the intention of his royal highness to continue them still in office. the share taken by mr. sheridan in the transactions that led to this decision, is one of those passages of his political life upon which the criticism of his own party has been most severely exercised, and into the details of which i feel most difficulty in entering:--because, however curious it may be to penetrate into these _"postscenia"_ of public life, it seems hardly delicate, while so many of the chief actors are still upon the stage. as there exists, however, a paper drawn up by mr. sheridan, containing what he considered a satisfactory defence of his conduct on this occasion, i should ill discharge my duty towards his memory, were i, from any scruples or predilections of my own, to deprive him of the advantage of a, statement, on which he appears to have relied so confidently for his vindication. but, first,--in order fully to understand the whole course of feelings and circumstances, by which not only sheridan, but his royal master, (for their cause is, in a great degree, identified,) were for some time past, predisposed towards the line of conduct which they now pursued,--it will be necessary to recur to a few antecedent events. by the death of mr. fox the chief personal tie that connected the heir-apparent with the party of that statesman was broken. the political identity of the party itself had, even before that event, been, in a great degree, disturbed by a coalition against which sheridan had always most strongly protested, and to which the prince, there is every reason to believe, was by no means friendly. immediately after the death of mr. fox, his royal highness made known his intentions of withdrawing from all personal interference in politics; and, though still continuing his sanction to the remaining ministry, expressed himself as no longer desirous of being considered "a party man." [footnote: this is the phrase used by the prince himself, in a letter addressed to a noble lord,(not long after the dismissal of the grenville ministry,) for the purpose of vindicating his own character from some imputations cast upon it, in consequence of an interview which he had lately had with the king. this important exposition of the feelings of his royal highness, which, more than any thing, throws light upon his subsequent conduct, was drawn up by sheridan; and i had hoped that i should have been able to lay it before the reader:--but the liberty of perusing the letter is all that has been allowed me.] during the short time that these ministers continued in office, the understanding between them and the prince was by no means of that cordial and confidential kind, which had been invariably maintained during the life-time of mr. fox. on the contrary, the impression on the mind, of his royal highness, us well as on those of his immediate friends in the ministry, lord moira and mr. sheridan, was, that a cold neglect had succeeded to the confidence with which they had hitherto been treated; and that, neither in their opinions nor feelings, were they any longer sufficiently consulted or considered. the very measure, by which the ministers ultimately lost their places, was, it appears, one of those which the illustrious personage in question neither conceived himself to have been sufficiently consulted upon before its adoption, nor approved of afterwards. such were the gradual loosenings of a bond, which at no time had promised much permanence; and such the train of feelings and circumstances which, (combining with certain prejudices in the royal mind against one of the chief leaders of the party,) prepared the way for that result by which the public was surprised in , and the private details of which i shall now, as briefly as possible, relate. as soon as the bill for regulating the office of regent had passed the two houses, the prince, who, till then, had maintained a strict reserve with respect to his intentions, signified, through mr. adam, his pleasure that lord grenville should wait upon him. he then, in the most gracious manner, expressed to that noble lord his wish that he should, in conjunction with lord grey, prepare the answer which his royal highness was, in a few days, to return to the address of the houses. the same confidential task was entrusted also to lord moira, with an expressed desire that he should consult with lord grey and lord grenville on the subject. but this co-operation, as i understand, the two noble lords declined. one of the embarrassing consequences of coalitions now appeared. the recorded opinions of lord grenville on the regency question differed wholly and in principle not only from those of his coadjutor in this task, but from those of the royal person himself, whose sentiments he was called upon to interpret. in this difficulty, the only alternative that remained was so to neutralize the terms of the answer upon the great point of difference, as to preserve the consistency of the royal speaker, without at the same time compromising that of his noble adviser. it required, of course, no small art and delicacy thus to throw into the shade that distinctive opinion of whigism, which burke had clothed in his imperishable language in , and which fox had solemnly bequeathed to the party, when "in his upward flight he left his mantle there." [footnote: joanna baithe] the answer, drawn up by the noble lords, did not, it must be confessed, surmount this difficulty very skilfully. the assertion of the prince's consistency was confined to two meagre sentences, in the first of which his royal highness was made to say:--"with respect to the proposed limitation of the authority to be entrusted to me, i retain my former opinion:"--and in the other, the expression of any decided opinion upon the constitutional point is thus evaded:--"for such a purpose no restraint can be necessary to be imposed upon me." somewhat less vague and evasive, however, was the justification of the opinion opposed to that of the prince, in the following sentence:--"that day when i may restore to the king those powers, which _as belonging only to him_, [footnote: the words which i have put in italics in these quotations, are, in the same manner, underlined in sheridan's copy of the paper,--doubtless, from a similar view of their import to that which i have taken.] are in his name and in his behalf," &c. &c. this, it will be recollected, is precisely the doctrine which, on the great question of limiting the prerogative, mr. fox attributed to the tories. in another passage, the whig opinion of the prince was thus tamely surrendered:--"conscious that, whatever _degree_ of confidence you may _think fit_ to repose in me," &c. [footnote: on the back of sheridan's own copy of this answer, i find, written by him, the following words "grenville's and grey's proposed answer from the prince to the address of the two houses,--very flimsy, and attempting to cover grenville's conduct and consistency in supporting the present restrictions at the expense of the prince."] the answer, thus constructed, was, by the two noble lords, transmitted through mr. adam, to the prince, who, "strongly objecting, (as we are told), to almost every part of it," acceded to the suggestion of sheridan, whom he consulted on the subject, that a new form of answer should be immediately sketched out, and submitted to the consideration of lord grey and lord grenville. there was no time to be lost, as the address of the houses was to be received the following day. accordingly, mr. adam and mr. sheridan proceeded that night, with the new draft of the answer to holland-house, where, after a warm discussion upon the subject with lord grey, which ended unsatisfactorily to both parties, the final result was that the answer drawn up by the prince and sheridan was adopted.--such is the bare outline of this transaction, the circumstances of which will be found fully detailed in the statement that shall presently be given. the accusation against sheridan is, that chiefly to his undermining influence the view taken by the prince of the paper of these noble lords is to be attributed; and that not only was he censurable in a constitutional point of view, for thus interfering between the sovereign and his responsible advisers, but that he had been also guilty of an act of private perfidy, in endeavoring to represent the answer drawn up by these noble lords, as an attempt to sacrifice the consistency and dignity of their royal master to the compromise of opinions and principles which they had entered into themselves. under the impression that such were the nature and motives of his interference, lord grey and lord grenville, on the th of january, (the day on which the answer substituted for their own was delivered), presented a joint representation to the regent, in which they stated that "the circumstances which had occurred, respecting his royal highness's answer to the two houses, had induced them, most humbly, to solicit permission to submit to his royal highness the following considerations, with the undisguised sincerity which the occasion seemed to require, but, with every expression that could best convey their respectful duty and inviolable attachment. when his royal highness, (they continued), did lord grenville the honor, through mr. adam, to command his attendance, it was distinctly expressed to him, that his royal highness had condescended to select him, in conjunction with lord grey, to be consulted with, as the public and responsible advisers of that answer; and lord grenville could never forget the gracious terms in which his royal highness had the goodness to lay these his orders upon him. it was also on the same grounds of public and responsible advice, that lord grey, honored in like manner by the most gracious expression of his royal highness's confidence on this subject, applied himself to the consideration of it conjointly with lord grenville. they could not but feel the difficulty of the undertaking, which required them to reconcile two objects essentially different,--to uphold and distinctly to manifest that unshaken adherence to his royal highness's past and present opinion, which consistency and honor required, but to conciliate, at the same time, the feelings of the two houses, by expressions of confidence and affection, and to lay the foundation of that good understanding between his royal highness and the parliament, the establishment of which must be the first wish of every man who is truly attached to his royal highness, and who knows the value of the constitution of his country. lord grey and lord grenville were far from the presumption of believing that their humble endeavors for the execution of so difficult a task might not be susceptible of many and great amendments. "the draft, (their lordships said), which they humbly submitted to his royal highness was considered by them as open to every remark which might occur to his royal highness's better judgment. on every occasion, but more especially in the preparation of his royal highness's first act of government, it would have been no less their desire than their duty to have profited by all such objections, and to have labored to accomplish, in the best manner they were able, every command which his royal highness might have been pleased to lay upon them. upon the objects to be obtained there could be no difference of sentiment. these, such as above described, were, they confidently believed, not less important in his royal highness's view of the subject than in that which they themselves had ventured to express. but they would be wanting in that sincerity and openness by which they could alone hope, however imperfectly, to make any return to that gracious confidence with which his royal highness had condescended to honor them, if they suppressed the expression of their deep concern, in finding that their humble endeavors in his royal highness's service had been submitted to the judgment of another person, by whose advice his royal highness had been guided in his final decision, on a matter on which they alone had, however unworthily, been honored with his royal highness's commands. it was their most sincere and ardent wish that, in the arduous station which his royal highness was about to fill, he might have the benefit of the public advice and responsible services of those men, whoever they might be, by whom his royal highness's glory and the interests of the country could best be promoted. it would be with unfeigned distrust of their own means of discharging such duties that they could, in any case, venture to undertake them; and, in this humble but respectful representation which they had presumed to make of their feelings on this occasion, they were conscious of being actuated not less by their dutiful and grateful attachment to his royal highness, than by those principles of constitutional responsibility, the maintenance of which they deemed essential to any hope of a successful administration of the public interests." on receiving this representation, in which, it must be confessed, there was more of high spirit and dignity than of worldly wisdom, [footnote: to the pure and dignified character of the noble whig associated in this remonstrance, it is unnecessary for me to say how heartily i bear testimony. the only fault, indeed, of this distinguished person is, that knowing but one high course of conduct for himself, he impatiently resents any sinking from that pitch in others. then, only, in his true station, when placed between the people and the crown, as one of those fortresses that ornament and defend the frontier of democracy, he has shown that he can but ill suit the dimensions of his spirit to the narrow avenues of a court, or, like that pope who stooped to look for the keys of st. peter, accommodate his natural elevation to the pursuit of official power. all the pliancy of his nature is, indeed, reserved for private life, where the repose of the valley succeeds to the grandeur of the mountain, and where the lofty statesman gracefully subsides into the gentle husband and father, and the frank, social friend. the eloquence of lord grey, more than that of any other person, brings to mind what quintilian says of the great and noble orator, messala:--"_quodammodo prae se ferens in dicendo nobilitatem suam_."] his royal highness lost no time in communicating it to sheridan, who, proud of the influence attributed to him by the noble writers, and now more than ever stimulated to make them feel its weight, employed the whole force of his shrewdness and ridicule [footnote: he called rhymes also to his aid, as appears by the following:-- "_an address to the prince_, . "in all humility we crave our regent may become our slave, and being so, we trust that he will thank us for our loyalty. then, if he'll help us to pull down his father's dignity and crown, we'll make him, in some time to come, the greatest prince in christendom."] in exposing the stately tone of dictation which, according to his view, was assumed throughout this paper, and in picturing to the prince the state of tutelage he might expect under ministers who began thus early with their lectures. such suggestions, even if less ably urged, were but too sure of a willing audience in the ears to which they were adressed. shortly after, his royal highness paid a visit to windsor, where the queen and another royal personage completed what had been so skilfully begun; and the important resolution was forthwith taken to retain mr. perceval and his colleagues in the ministry. i shall now give the statement of the whole transaction, which mr. sheridan thought it necessary to address, in his own defence, to lord holland, and of which a rough and a fair copy have been found carefully preserved among his papers:-- _queen-street, january_ , . "dear holland, "as you have been already apprised by his royal highness the prince that he thought it becoming the frankness of his character, and consistent with the fairness and openness of proceeding due to any of his servants whose conduct appears to have incurred the disapprobation of lord grey and lord grenville, to communicate their representations on the subject to the person so censured, i am confident you will give me credit for the pain i must have felt, to find myself an object of suspicion, or likely, in the slightest degree, to become the cause of any temporary misunderstanding between his royal highness amid those distinguished characters, whom his royal highness appears to destine to those responsible situations, which must in all public matters entitle them to his exclusive confidence. "i shall as briefly as i can state the circumstances of the fact, so distinctly referred to in the following passage of the noble lord's representation:-- "'but they would be wanting in that sincerity and openness by which they can alone hope, however imperfectly, to make any return to that gracious confidence with which your royal highness has condescended to honor them, if they suppressed the expression of their deep concern in finding that their humble endeavors in your royal highness's service have been submitted to the judgment of another person, _by whose advice_ your royal highness has been guided in your final decision on a matter in which they alone had, however unworthily, been honored with your royal highness's commands.' "i must premise, that from my first intercourse with the prince during the present distressing emergency, such conversations as he may have honored me with have been communications of resolutions already formed on his part, and not of matter referred to consultation or submitted to _advice_. i know that my declining to vote for the further adjournment of the privy council's examination of the physicians gave offence to some, and was considered as a difference from the party i as rightly esteemed to belong to. the intentions of the leaders of the party upon that question were in no way distinctly known to me; my secession was entirely my own act, and not only unauthorized, but perhaps unexpected by the prince. my motives for it i took the liberty of communicating to his royal highness by letter, [footnote: this letter has been given in page .] the next day, and, previously to that, i had not even seen his royal highness since the confirmation of his majesty's malady. "if i differed from those who, equally attached to his royal highness's interest and honor, thought that his royal highness should have taken the step which, in my humble opinion, he has since, precisely at the proper period, taken of sending to lord grenville and lord grey, i may certainly have erred in forming an imperfect judgment on the occasion, but, in doing so, i meant no disrespect to those who had taken a different view of the subject. but, with all deference, i cannot avoid adding, that experience of the impression made on the public mind by the reserved and retired conduct which the prince thought proper to adopt, has not shaken my opinion of the wisdom which prompted him to that determination. but here, again, i declare, that i must reject the presumption that any suggestion of mine led to the rule which the prince had prescribed to himself. my knowledge of it being, as i before said, the communication of a resolution formed on the part of his royal highness, and not of a proposition awaiting the advice, countenance, or corroboration, of any other person. having thought it necessary to premise thus much, as i wish to write to you without reserve or concealment of any sort, i shall as briefly as i can relate the facts which attended the composing the answer itself, as far as i was concerned. "on sunday, or on monday the th instant, i mentioned to lord moira, or to adam, that the address of the two houses would come very quickly upon the prince, and that he should be prepared with his answer, without entertaining the least idea of meddling with the subject myself, having received no authority from his royal highness to do so. either lord moira or adam informed me, before i left carlton-house, that his royal highness had directed lord moira to sketch an outline of the answer proposed, and i left town. on tuesday evening it occurred to me to try at a sketch also of the intended reply. on wednesday morning i read it, at carlton-house, very hastily to adam, before i saw the prince. and here i must pause to declare, that i have entirely withdrawn from my mind any doubt, if for a moment i ever entertained any, of the perfect propriety of adam's conduct at that hurried interview; being also long convinced, as well from intercourse with him at carlton-house as in every transaction i have witnessed, that it is impossible for him to act otherwise than with the most entire sincerity and honor towards all he deals with. i then read the paper i had put together to the prince,--the most essential part of it literally consisting of sentiments and expressions, which had fallen from the prince himself in different conversations; and i read it to him without _having once heard lord grenville's name_ even mentioned as in any way connected with the answer proposed to be submitted to the prince. on the contrary, indeed, i was under an impression that the framing this answer was considered as the single act which it would be an unfair and embarrassing task to require the performance of from lord grenville. the prince approved the paper i read to him, objecting, however, to some additional paragraphs of my own, and altering others. in the course of his observations, he cursorily mentioned that lord grenville had undertaken to sketch out his idea of a proper answer, and that lord moira had done the same,--evidently expressing himself, to my apprehension, as not considering the framing of this answer as a matter of official responsibility any where, but that it was his intention to take the choice and decision respecting it on himself. if, however, i had known, before i entered the prince's apartment, that lord grenville and lord grey had in any way undertaken to frame the answer, and had thought themselves authorized to do so, i protest the prince would never even have heard of the draft which i had prepared, though containing, as i before said, the prince's own ideas. "his royal highness having laid his commands on adam and me to dine with him alone on the next day, thursday, i then, for the first time, learnt that lord grey and lord grenville had transmitted, through adam, a formal draft of an answer to be submitted to the prince. "under these circumstances i thought it became me humbly to request the prince not to refer to me, in any respect, the paper of the noble lords, or to insist even on my hearing its contents; but that i might be permitted to put the draft he had received from me into the fire. the prince, however, who had read the noble lords' paper, declining to hear of this, proceeded to state, how strongly he objected to almost every part of it. the draft delivered by adam he took a copy of himself, as mr. adam read it, affixing shortly, but warmly, his comments to each paragraph. finding his royal highness's objections to the whole radical and insuperable, and seeing no means myself by which the noble lords could change their draft, so as to meet the prince's ideas, i ventured to propose, as the only expedient of which the time allowed, that both the papers should be laid aside, and that a very short answer, indeed, keeping clear of all topics liable to disagreement, should be immediately sketched out and be submitted that night to the judgment of lord grey and lord grenville. the lateness of the hour prevented any but very hasty discussion, and adam and myself proceeded, by his royal highness's orders, to your house to relate what had passed to lord grey. i do not mean to disguise, however, that when i found myself bound to give my opinion, i did fully assent to the force and justice of the prince's objections, and made other observations of my own, which i thought it my duty to do, conceiving, as i freely said, that the paper could not have been drawn up but under the pressure of embarrassing difficulties, and, as i conceived also, in considerable haste. "before we left carlton-house, it was agreed between adam and myself that we were not so strictly enjoined by the prince, as to make it necessary for us to communicate to the noble lords the marginal comments of the prince, and we determined to withhold them. but at the meeting with lord grey, at your house, he appeared to me, erroneously perhaps, to decline considering the objections as coming from the prince, but as originating in my suggestions. upon this, i certainly called on adam to produce the prince's copy, with his notes, in his royal highness's own hand-writing. "afterwards, finding myself considerably hurt at an expression of lord grey's, which could only be pointed at me, and which expressed his opinion that the whole of the paper, which he assumed me to be responsible for, was 'drawn up in an invidious spirit,' i certainly did, with more warmth than was, perhaps, discreet, comment on the paper proposed to be substituted; and there ended, with no good effect, our interview. "adam and i saw the prince again that night, when his royal highness was graciously pleased to meet our joint and earnest request, by striking out from the draft of the answer, to which he still resolved to adhere, every passage which we conceived to be most liable to objection on the part of lord grey and lord grenville. "on the next morning, friday,--a short time before he was to receive the address,--when adam returned from the noble lords, with their expressed disclaimer of the preferred answer, altered as it was, his royal highness still persevered to eradicate every remaining word which he thought might yet appear exceptionable to them, and made further alterations, although the fair copy of the paper had been made out. "thus the answer, nearly reduced to the expression of the prince's own suggestions, and without an opportunity of farther meeting the wishes of the noble lords, was delivered by his royal highness, and presented by the deputation of the two houses. "i am ashamed to have been thus prolix and circumstantial, upon a matter which may appear to have admitted of much shorter explanation; but when misconception has produced distrust among those, i hope, not willingly disposed to differ, and, who can have, i equally trust, but one common object in view in their different stations, i know no better way than by minuteness and accuracy of detail to remove whatever may have appeared doubtful in conduct, while unexplained, or inconsistent in principle not clearly re-asserted. "and now, my dear lord, i have only shortly to express my own personal mortification, i will use no other word, that i should have been considered by any persons however high in rank, or justly entitled to high political pretensions, as one so little 'attached to his royal highness,' or so ignorant of the value 'of the constitution of his country,' as to be held out to him, whose fairly-earned esteem i regard as the first honor and the sole reward of my political life, in the character of an interested contriver of a double government, and, in some measure, as an apostate from all my former principles,--which have taught me, as well as the noble lords, that 'the maintenance of constitutional responsibility in the ministers of the crown is essential to any hope of success in the administration of the public interest.' "at the same time, i am most ready to admit that it could not be their _intention_ so to characterize me; but it is the direct inference which others must gather from the first paragraph i have quoted from their representation, and an inference which, i understand, has already been raised in public opinion. a departure, my dear lord, on my part, from upholding the principle declared by the noble lords, much more a presumptuous and certainly ineffectual attempt to inculcate a contrary doctrine on the mind of the prince of wales, would, i am confident, lose me every particle of his favor and confidence at once and for ever. but i am yet to learn what part of my past public life,--and i challenge observation on every part of my present proceedings,--has warranted the adoption of any such suspicion of me, or the expression of any such imputation against me. but i will dwell no longer on this point, as it relates only to my own feelings and character; which, however, i am the more bound to consider, as others, in my humble judgment, have so hastily disregarded both. at the same time, i do sincerely declare, that no personal disappointment in my own mind interferes with the respect and esteem i entertain for lord grenville, or in addition to those sentiments, the friendly regard i owe to lord grey. to lord grenville i have the honor to be but very little personally known. from lord grey, intimately acquainted as he was with every circumstance of my conduct and principles in the years - , i confess i should have expected a very tardy and reluctant interpretation of any circumstance to my disadvantage. what the nature of my endeavors were at that time, i have the written testimonies of mr. fox and the duke of portland. to you i know those testimonies are not necessary, and perhaps it has been my recollection of what passed in those times that may have led me too securely to conceive myself above the reach even of a suspicion that i could adopt different principles now. such as they were they remain untouched and unaltered. i conclude with sincerely declaring, that to see the prince meeting the reward which his own honorable nature, his kind and generous disposition, and his genuine devotion to the true objects of our free constitution so well entitle him to, by being surrounded and supported by an administration affectionate to his person, and ambitious of gaining and meriting his entire esteem, (yet tenacious, above all things, of the constitutional principle, that exclusive confidence must attach to the responsibility of those whom he selects to be his public servants,) i would with heartfelt satisfaction rather be a looker on of such a government, giving it such humble support as might be in my power, than be the possessor of any possible situation either of profit or ambition, to be obtained by any indirectness, or by the slightest departure from the principles i have always professed, and which i have now felt myself in a manner called upon to re-assert. "i have only to add, that my respect for the prince, and my sense of the frankness he has shown towards me on this occasion, decide me, with all duty, to submit this letter to his perusal, before i place it in your hands; meaning it undoubtedly to be by you shown to those to whom your judgment may deem it of any consequence to communicate it. "i have the honor to be, &c. "_to lord holland_. (signed) "r. b. sheridan "read and approved by the prince, january , . "r.b.s." though this statement, it must be recollected, exhibits but one side of the question, and is silent as to the part that sheridan took after the delivery of the remonstrance of the two noble lords, yet, combined with preceding events and with the insight into motives which they afford, it may sufficiently enable the reader to form his own judgment, with respect to the conduct of the different persons concerned in the transaction. with the better and more ostensible motives of sheridan, there was, no doubt, some mixture of, what the platonists call, "the material alluvion" of our nature. his political repugnance to the coalesced leaders would have been less strong but for the personal feelings that mingled with it; and his anxiety that the prince should not be dictated to by others was at least equalled by his vanity in showing that he could govern him himself. but, whatever were the precise views that impelled him to this trial of strength, the victory which he gained in it was far more extensive than he himself had either foreseen or wished. he had meant the party to _feel_ his power,--not to sink under it. though privately alienated from them, on personal as well as political grounds, he knew that, publicly he was too much identified with their ranks, ever to serve, with credit or consistency, in any other. he had, therefore, in the ardor of undermining, carried the ground from beneath his own feet. in helping to disband his party, he had cashiered himself; and there remained to him now, for the residue of his days, but that frailest of all sublunary treasures, a prince's friendship. with this conviction, (which, in spite of all the sanguineness of his disposition, could hardly have failed to force itself on his mind,) it was not, we should think, with very self-gratulatory feelings that he undertook the task, a few weeks after, of inditing, for the regent, that memorable letter to mr. perceval, which sealed the fate at once both of his party and himself, and whatever false signs of re-animation may afterwards have appeared, severed the last life-lock by which the "struggling spirit" [footnote: _lavtans anima_] of this friendship between royalty and whiggism still held:-- --"_dextra crinem secat, omnis et una dilapsus calor, atque in ventos vita recessit_." with respect to the chief personage connected with these transactions, it is a proof of the tendency of knowledge, to produce a spirit of tolerance, that they who, judging merely from the surface of events, have been most forward in reprobating his separation from the whigs, as a rupture of political ties and an abandonment of private friendships, must, on becoming more thoroughly acquainted with all the circumstances that led to this crisis, learn to soften down considerably their angry feelings; and to see, indeed, in the whole history of the connection,--from its first formation, in the hey-day of youth and party, to its faint survival after the death of mr. fox,--but a natural and destined gradation towards the result at which it at last arrived, after as much fluctuation of political principle, on one side, as there was of indifference, perhaps, to all political principle on the other. among the arrangements that had been made, in contemplation of a new ministry, at this time, it was intended that lord moira should go, as lord lieutenant, to ireland, and that mr. sheridan should accompany him, as chief secretary. chapter xi. affairs of the new theatre.--mr. whitbread.--negotiations with lord grey and lord grenville.--conduct of mr. sheridan relative to the household.--his last words in parliament.--failure at stafford. --correspondence with mr. whitbread.--lord byron.--distresses of sheridan.--illness.--death and funeral.--general remarks. it was not till the close of this year that the reports of the committee appointed under the act for rebuilding the theatre of drury-lane, were laid before the public. by these it appeared that sheridan was to receive, for his moiety of the property, , _l_., out of which sum the claims of the linley family and others were to be satisfied;--that a further sum of _l_. was to be paid to him for the property of the fruit offices and reversion of boxes and shares;--and that his son, mr. thomas sheridan, was to receive, for his quarter of the patent property, , _l_. the gratitude that sheridan felt to mr. whitbread at first, for the kindness with which he undertook this most arduous task, did not long remain unembittered when they entered into practical details. it would be difficult indeed to find two persons less likely to agree in a transaction of this nature,--the one, in affairs of business, approaching almost as near to the extreme of rigor as the other to that of laxity. while sheridan, too,--like those painters, who endeavor to disguise their ignorance of anatomy by an indistinct and _furzy_ outline,--had an imposing method of generalizing his accounts and statements, which, to most eyes, concealed the negligence and fallacy of the details, mr. whitbread, on the contrary, with an unrelenting accuracy, laid open the minutiae of every transaction, and made evasion as impossible to others, as it was alien and inconceivable to himself. he was, perhaps, the only person, whom sheridan had ever found proof against his powers of persuasion,--and this rigidity naturally mortified his pride full as much as it thwarted and disconcerted his views. among the conditions to which he agreed, in order to facilitate the arrangements of the committee, the most painful to him was that which stipulated that he, himself, should "have no concern or connection, of any kind whatever, with the new undertaking." this concession, however, he, at first, regarded as a mere matter of form--feeling confident that, even without any effort of his own, the necessity under which the new committee would find themselves of recurring to his advice and assistance, would, ere long, reinstate him in all his former influence. but in this hope he was disappointed--his exclusion from all concern in the new theatre, (which, it is said, was made a _sine-qua-non_ by all who embarked in it,) was inexorably enforced by whitbread; and the following letter addressed by him to the latter will show the state of their respective feelings on this point:-- "my dear whitbread, "i am not going to write you a controversial or even an argumentative letter, but simply to put down the heads of a few matters which i wish shortly to converse with you upon, in the most amicable and temperate manner, deprecating the impatience which may sometimes have mixed in our discussions, and not contending who has been the aggressor. "the main point you seem to have had so much at heart you have carried, so there is an end of that; and i shall as fairly and cordially endeavor to advise and assist mr. benjamin wyatt in the improving and perfecting his plan as if it had been my own preferable selection, assuming, as i must do, that there cannot exist an individual in england so presumptuous or so void of common sense as not sincerely to solicit the aid of my practical experience on this occasion, even were i not, in justice to the subscribers, bound spontaneously to offer it. "but it would be unmanly dissimulation in me to retain the sentiments i do with respect to _your_ doctrine on this subject, and not express what i so strongly feel. that doctrine was, to my utter astonishment, to say no more, first promulgated to me in a letter from you, written in town, in the following terms. speaking of building and plans, you say to me, '_you are in no, way answerable if a bad theatre is built: it is not_ you _who built it; and if we come to the_ strict right _of the thing, you have_ no business to interfere;' and further on you say, '_will_ you _but_ stand aloof, _and every thing will go smooth_, and a good theatre shall be built;' and in conversation you put, as a similar case, that, '_if a man sold another a piece of land, it was nothing to the seller whether the purchaser built himself a good or a bad house upon it._' now i declare before god i never felt more amazement than that a man of your powerful intellect, just view of all subjects, and knowledge of the world, should hold such language or resort to such arguments; and i must be convinced, that, although in an impatient moment this opinion may have fallen from you, upon the least reflection or the slightest attention to the reason of the case, you would, 'albeit unused to the retracting mood,' confess the erroneous view you had taken of the subject. otherwise, i must think, and with the deepest regret would it be, that although you originally engaged in this business from motives of the purest and kindest regard for me and my family, your ardor and zealous eagerness to accomplish the difficult task you had undertaken have led you, in this instance, to overlook what is due to my feelings, to my honor, and my just interests. for, supposing i were to '_stand aloof_,' totally unconcerned, provided i were paid for my share, whether the new theatre were excellent or execrable, and that the result should be that the subscribers, instead of profit, could not, through the misconstruction of the house, obtain one per cent. for their money, do you seriously believe you could find a single man, woman, or child, in the kingdom, out of the committee, who would believe that i was wholly guiltless of the failure, having been so stultified and proscribed by the committee, (a committee of _my own nomination)_ as to have been compelled to admit, as the condition of my being paid for my share, that 'it was nothing to me whether the theatre was good or bad' or, on the contrary? can it be denied that the reproaches of disappointment, through the great body of the subscribers, would be directed against me and me alone? "so much as to _character_:--now as to my feelings on the subject;--i must say that in friendship, at least, if not in '_strict right_,' they ought to be consulted, even though the committee could either prove that i had not to apprehend any share in the discredit and discontent which might follow the ill success of their plan, or that i was entitled to brave whatever malice or ignorance might direct against me. next, and lastly, as to my just interest in the property i am to part with, a consideration to which, however careless i might be were i alone concerned, i am bound to attend in justice to my own private creditors, observe how the matter stands:--i agree to wave my own '_strict right_' to be paid before the funds can be applied to the building, and this in the confidence and on the continued understanding, that my advice should be so far respected, that, even should the subscription not fill, i should at least see a theatre capable of being charged with and ultimately of discharging what should remain justly due to the proprietors. to illustrate this i refer to the size of the pit, the number of private boxes, and the annexation of a tavern; but in what a situation would the doctrine of your committee leave me and my son? 'it is nothing to us how the theatre is built, or whether it prospers or not.' these are two circumstances we have nothing to do with; only, unfortunately, upon them may depend our best chance of receiving any payment for the property we part with. it is nothing to us how the ship is refitted or manned, only we must leave all we are worth on board her, and abide the chance of her success. now i am confident your justice will see, that in order that the committee should, in '_strict right_,' become entitled to deal thus with us, and bid us _stand aloof_, they should buy us out, and make good the payment. but the reverse of this has been my own proposal, and i neither repent nor wish to make any change in it. "i have totally departed from my intention, when i first began this letter, for which i ought to apologize to you; but it may save much future talk: other less important matters will do in conversation. you will allow that i have placed in you the most implicit confidence--have the reasonable trust in me that, in any communication i may have with b. wyatt, my object will not be to _obstruct_, as you have hastily expressed it, but _bonâ fide_ to assist him to render his theatre as perfect as possible, as well with a view to the public accommodation as to profit to the subscribers; neither of which can be obtained without establishing a reputation for him which must be the basis of his future fortune. "and now, after all this statement, you will perhaps be surprised to find how little i require;--simply some resolution of the committee to the effect of that i enclose. "i conclude with heartily thanking you for the declaration you made respecting me, and reported to me by peter moore, at the close of the last meeting of the committee. i am convinced of your sincerity; but as i have before described the character of the gratitude i feel towards you in a letter written likewise in this house, i have only to say, that every sentiment in that letter remains unabated and unalterable. "ever, my dear whitbread, "yours, faithfully. "p.s. the discussion we had yesterday respecting some investigation of the _past_, which i deem so essential to my character and to my peace of mind, and your present concurrence with me on that subject, have relieved my mind from great anxiety, though i cannot but still think the better opportunity has been passed by. one word more, and i release you. tom informed me that you had hinted to him that any demands, not practicable to be settled by the committee, must fall on the proprietors. my resolution is to take all such on myself, and to leave tom's share untouched." another concession, which sheridan himself had volunteered, namely, the postponement of his right of being paid the amount of his claim, till after the theatre should be built, was also a subject of much acrimonious discussion between the two friends,--sheridan applying to this condition that sort of lax interpretation, which would have left him the credit of the sacrifice without its inconvenience, and whitbread, with a firmness of grasp, to which, unluckily, the other had been unaccustomed in business, holding him to the strict letter of his voluntary agreement with the subscribers. never, indeed, was there a more melancholy example than sheridan exhibited, at this moment, of the last, hard struggle of pride and delicacy against the most deadly foe of both, pecuniary involvement,--which thus gathers round its victims, fold after fold, till they are at length crushed in its inextricable clasp. the mere likelihood of a sum of money being placed at his disposal was sufficient--like the "bright day that brings forth the adder"--to call into life the activity of all his duns; and how liberally he made the fund available among them, appears from the following letter of whitbread, addressed, not to sheridan himself, but, apparently, (for the direction is wanting,) to some man of business connected with him:-- "my dear sir, "i had determined not to give any written answer to the note you put into my hands yesterday morning; but a further perusal of it leads me to think it better to make a statement in writing, why i, for one, cannot comply with the request it contains, and to repel the impression which appears to have existed in mr. sheridan's mind at the time that note was written. he insinuates that to some postponement of his interests, by the committee, is owing the distressed situation in which he is unfortunately placed. "whatever postponement of the interests of the proprietors may ultimately be resorted to, as matter of indispensable necessity from the state of the subscription fund, will originate in the written suggestion of mr. sheridan himself; and, in certain circumstances, unless such latitude were allowed on his part, the execution of the act could not have been attempted. "at present there is no postponement of his interests,--but there is an utter impossibility of touching the subscription fund at all, except for very trifling specified articles, until a supplementary act of parliament shall have been obtained. "by the present act, even if the subscription were full, and no impediments existed to the use of the money, the act itself, and the incidental expenses of plans, surveys, &c., are first to be paid for,--then the portion of killegrew's patent,--then the claimants,--and _then_ the proprietors. now the act is not paid for: white and martindale are not paid; and not one single claimant is paid, nor can any one of them _be_ paid, until we have fresh powers and additional subscriptions. "how then can mr. sheridan attribute to any postponement of his interests, actually made by the committee, the present condition of his affairs? and why are we driven to these observations and explanations? "we cannot but all deeply lament his distress, but the palliation he proposes it is not in our power to give. "we cannot guarantee mr. hammersley upon the fund coming eventually to mr. sheridan. he alludes to the claims he has already created upon that fund. he must, besides, recollect the list of names he sent to me some time ago, of persons to whom he felt himself in honor bound to appropriate to each his share of that fund, in common with others for whose names he left a blank, and who, he says in the same letter, have written engagements from him. besides, he has communicated both to mr. taylor and to mr. shaw, through me, offers to impound the whole of the sum to answer the issue of the unsettled demands made upon him by those gentlemen respectively. "how then can we guarantee mr. hammersley in the payment of any sum out of this fund, so circumstanced? mr. hammersley's possible profits are prospective, and the prospect remote. i know the positive losses he sustains, and the sacrifices he is obliged to make to procure the chance of the compromise he is willing to accept. "add to all this, that we are still struggling with difficulties which we may or may not overcome; that those difficulties are greatly increased by the persons whose interest and duty should equally lead them to give us every facility and assistance in the labors we have disinterestedly undertaken, and are determined faithfully to discharge. if we fail at last, from whatever cause, the whole vanishes. "you know, my dear sir, that i grieve for the sad state of mr. sheridan's affairs. i would contribute my mite to their temporary relief, if it would be acceptable; but as one of the committee, intrusted with a public fund, i can do nothing. i cannot be a party to any claim upon mr. hammersley; and i utterly deny that, individually, or as part of the committee, any step taken by me, or with my concurrence, has pressed upon the circumstances of mr. sheridan. "i am, "my dear sir, "faithfully yours, "_southill, dec. , ."_ "samuel whitbread." a dissolution of parliament being expected to take place, mr. sheridan again turned his eyes to stafford; and, in spite of the estrangement to which his infidelities at westminster had given rise, saw enough, he thought, of the "_veteris vestigia flammae_" to encourage him to hope for a renewal of the connection. the following letter to sir oswald moseley explains his views and expectations on the subject:-- "dear sir oswald, "_cavendish-square, nov. , ._ "being apprised that you have decided to decline offering yourself a candidate for stafford, when a future election may arrive,--a place where you are highly esteemed, and where every humble service in my power, as i have before declared to you, should have been at your command,--i have determined to accept the very cordial invitations i have received from _old friends_ in that quarter, and, (though entirely secure of my seat at ilchester, and, indeed, even of the second seat for my son, through the liberality of sir w. manners), to return to the old goal from whence i started thirty-one years since! you will easily see that arrangements at ilchester may be made towards assisting me, in point of expense, to meet _any opposition_, and, _in that respect,_ nothing will be _wanting._ it will, i confess, be very gratifying to me to be again elected _by the sons of those_ who chose me in the year _eighty_, and adhered to me so stoutly and so long. i think i was returned for stafford seven, if not eight, times, including two most tough and expensive contests; and, in taking a temporary leave of them i am sure my credit must stand well, for not a shilling did i leave unpaid. i have written to the jerninghams, who, in the handsomest manner, have ever given me their warmest support; and, as no political object interests my mind so much as the catholic cause, i have no doubt that independent of their personal friendship, i shall receive a continuation of their honorable support. i feel it to be no presumption to add, that other respectable interests in the neighborhood will be with me. "i need scarcely add my sanguine hope, that whatever interest rests with you, (which ought to be much), will also be in my favor. "i have the honor to be, "with great esteem and regard, "yours most sincerely, "r. b. sheridan." "i mean to be in stafford, from lord g. levison's, in about a fortnight." among a number of notes addressed to his former constituents at this time, (which i find written in his neatest hand, as if _intended_ to be sent), is this curious one:-- "dear king john, "_cavendish-square, sunday night_, "i shall be in stafford in the course of next week, and if your majesty does not renew our old alliance i shall never again have faith in any potentate on earth. "yours very sincerely, "_mr. john k_. "r. b. sheridan." the two attempts that were made in the course of the year --the one, on the cessation of the regency restrictions, and the other after the assassination of mr. perceval,--to bring the whigs into official relations with the court, were, it is evident, but little inspired on either side, with the feelings likely to lead to such a result. it requires but a perusal of the published correspondence in both cases to convince us that, at the bottom of all these evolutions of negotiation, there was anything but a sincere wish that the object to which they related should be accomplished. the maréchal bassompiere was not more afraid of succeeding in his warfare, when he said, _"je crois que nous serons assez fous pour prendre la rochelle_," than was one of the parties, at least, in these negotiations, of any favorable turn that might inflict success upon its overtures. even where the court, as in the contested point of the household, professed its readiness to accede to the surrender so injudiciously demanded of it, those who acted as its discretionary organs knew too well the real wishes in that quarter, and had been too long and faithfully zealous in their devotion to those wishes to leave any fear that advantage would be taken of the concession. but, however high and chivalrous was the feeling with which lord moira, on this occasion, threw himself into the breach for his royal master, the service of sheridan, though flowing partly from the same zeal, was not, i grieve to say, of the same clear and honorable character. lord yarmouth, it is well known, stated in the house of commons that he had communicated to mr. sheridan the intention of the household to resign, with the view of having that intention conveyed to lord grey and lord grenville, and thus removing the sole ground upon which these noble lords objected to the acceptance of office. not only, however, did sheridan endeavor to dissuade the noble vice-chamberlain from resigning, but with an unfairness of dealing which admits, i own, of no vindication, he withheld from the two leaders of opposition the intelligence thus meant to be conveyed to them; and, when questioned by mr. tierney as to the rumored intentions of the household to resign, offered to bet five hundred guineas that there was no such step in contemplation. in this conduct, which he made but a feeble attempt to explain, and which i consider as the only indefensible part of his whole public life, he was, in some degree, no doubt, influenced by personal feelings against the two noble lords, whom his want of fairness on the occasion was so well calculated to thwart and embarrass. but the main motive of the whole proceeding is to be found in his devoted deference to what he knew to be the wishes and feelings of that personage, who had become now, more than ever, the mainspring of all his movements,--whose spell over him, in this instance, was too strong for even his sense of character; and to whom he might well have applied the words of one of his own beautiful songs-- "friends, fortune, _fame itself_ i'd lose, to gain one smile from thee!" so fatal, too often, are royal friendships, whose attraction, like the loadstone-rock in eastern fable, that drew the nails out of the luckless ship that came near it, steals gradually away the strength by which character is held together, till, at last, it loosens at all points, and falls to pieces, a wreck! in proof of the fettering influence under which he acted on this occasion, we find him in one of his evasive attempts at vindication, suppressing, from delicacy to his royal master, a circumstance which, if mentioned, would have redounded considerably to his own credit. after mentioning that the regent had "asked his opinion with respect to the negotiations that were going on," he adds, "i gave him my opinion, and i most devoutly wish that that opinion could be published to the world, that it might serve to shame those who now belie me." the following is the fact to which these expressions allude. when the prince-regent, on the death of mr. perceval, entrusted to lord wellesley the task of forming an administration, it appears that his royal highness had signified either his intention or wish to exclude a certain noble earl from the arrangements to be made under that commission. on learning this, sheridan not only expressed strongly his opinion against such a step, but having, afterwards, reason to fear that the freedom with which he spoke on the subject had been displeasing to the regent, he addressed a letter to that illustrious person, (a copy of which i have in my possession,) in which, after praising the "wisdom and magnanimity" displayed by his royal highness, in confiding to lord wellesley the powers that had just been entrusted to him, he repeated his opinion that any "proscription" of the noble earl in question, would be "a proceeding equally derogatory to the estimation of his royal highness's personal dignity and the security of his political power;"--adding, that the advice, which he took the liberty of giving against such a step, did not proceed "from any peculiar partiality to the noble earl or to many of those with whom he was allied; but was founded on what he considered to be best for his royal highness's honor and interest, and for the general interests of the country." the letter (in alluding to the displeasure which he feared he had incurred by venturing this opinion) concludes thus:-- "junius said in a public letter of his, addressed to your royal father, 'the fate that made you a king forbad your having a friend.' i deny his proposition as a general maxim--i am confident that your royal highness possesses qualities to win and secure to you the attachment and devotion of private friendship, in spite of your being a sovereign. at least i feel that i am entitled to make this declaration as far as relates to myself--and i do it under the assured conviction that you will never require from me any proof of that attachment and devotion inconsistent with the clear and honorable independence of mind and conduct, which constitute my sole value as a public man, and which have hitherto been my best recommendation to your gracious favor, confidence, and protection." it is to be regretted that while by this wise advice he helped to save his royal master from the invidious _appearance_ of acting upon a principle of exclusion, he should, by his private management afterwards, have but too well contrived to secure to him all the advantage of that principle in _reality_. the political career of sheridan was now drawing fast to a close. he spoke but upon two or three other occasions during the session; and among the last sentences uttered by him in the house were the following;--which, as calculated to leave a sweeter flavor on the memory, at parting, than those questionable transactions that have just been related, i have great pleasure in citing:-- "my objection to the present ministry, is that they are avowedly arrayed and embodied against a principle,--that of concession to the catholics of ireland,--which i think, and must always think, essential to the safety of this empire. i will never give my vote to any administration that opposes the question of catholic emancipation. i will not consent to receive a furlough upon that particular question, even though a ministry were carrying every other that i wished. in fine, i think the situation of ireland a paramount consideration. if they were to be the last words i should ever utter in this house, i should say, 'be just to ireland, as you value your own honor,--be just to ireland, as you value your own peace.'" his very last words in parliament, on his own motion relative to the overtures of peace from france, were as follow:-- "yet after the general subjugation and ruin of europe, should there ever exist an independent historian to record the awful events that produced this universal calamity, let that historian have to say,--'great britain fell, and with her fell all the best securities for the charities of human life, for the power and honor, the fame, the glory, and the liberties, not only of herself, but of the whole civilized world.'" in the month of september following, parliament was dissolved; and, presuming upon the encouragement which he had received from some of his stafford friends, he again tried his chance of election for that borough, but without success. this failure he, himself, imputed, as will be seen by the following letter, to the refusal of mr. whitbread to advance him _l._ out of the sum due to him by the committee for his share of the property:-- "dear whitbread, "_cook's hotel, nov._ , . "i was misled to expect you in town the beginning of last week, but being positively assured that you will arrive to-morrow, i have declined accompanying hester into hampshire as i intended, and she has gone to-day without me; but i must leave town to join her _as soon as i can_. we must have some serious but yet, i hope, friendly conversation respecting my unsettled claims on the drury-lane theatre corporation. a concluding paragraph, in one of your last letters to burgess, which he thought himself justified in showing me, leads me to believe that it is not your object to distress or destroy me. on the subject of your refusing to advance to me the _l._. i applied for to take with me to stafford, out of the large sum confessedly due to me, (unless i signed some paper containing i know not what, and which you presented to my breast like a cocked pistol on the last day i saw you,) i will not dwell. _this, and this alone, lost me my election._ you deceive yourself if you give credit to any other causes, which the pride of my friends chose to attribute our failure to, rather than confess our poverty. i do not mean now to expostulate with you, much less to reproach you, but sure i am that when you contemplate the positive injustice of refusing me the accommodation i required, and the irreparable injury that refusal has cast on me, overturning, probably, all the honor and independence of what remains of my political life, you will deeply reproach yourself. "i shall make an application to the committee, when i hear you have appointed one, for the assistance which most pressing circumstances now compel me to call for; and all i desire is, through a sincere wish that our friendship may not be interrupted, that the answer to that application may proceed from a _bonâ fide committee, with their signatures_, testifying their decision. "i am, yet, "yours very sincerely, "_s. whitbread, esq._ "r. b. sheridan." notwithstanding the angry feeling which is expressed in this letter, and which the state of poor sheridan's mind, goaded as he was now by distress and disappointment, may well excuse, it will be seen by the following letter from whitbread, written on the very eve of the elections in september, that there was no want of inclination, on the part of this honorable and excellent man, to afford assistance to his friend,--but that the duties of the perplexing trust which he had undertaken rendered such irregular advances as sheridan required impossible:-- 'my dear sheridan, "we will not enter into details, although you are quite mistaken in them. you know how happy i shall be to propose to the committee to agree to anything practicable; and you may make all practicable, if you will have resolution to look at the state of the account between you and the committee, and agree to the mode of its liquidation. "you will recollect the _l_. pledged to peter moore to answer demands; the certificates given to giblet, ker, ironmonger, cross, and hirdle, five each at your request; the engagements given to ellis and myself, and the arrears to the linley family. all this taken into consideration will leave a large balance still payable to you. still there are upon that balance the claims upon you by shaw, taylor, and grubb, for all of which you have offered to leave the whole of your compensation in my hands, to abide the issue of arbitration. "this may be managed by your agreeing to take a considerable portion of your balance in bonds, leaving those bonds in trust to answer the events. "i shall be in town on monday to the committee, and will be prepared with a sketch of the state of your account with the committee, and with the mode in which i think it would be prudent for you and them to adjust it; which if you will agree to, and direct the conveyance to be made forthwith, i will undertake to propose the advance of money you wish. but without a clear arrangement, as a justification, nothing can be done. "i shall be in dover-street at nine o'clock, and be there and in drury-lane all day. the queen comes, but the day is not fixed. the election will occupy me after monday. after that is over, i hope we shall see you. "yours very truly, "_southill, sept. , ._ "s. whitbread." the feeling entertained by sheridan towards the committee had already been strongly manifested this year by the manner in which mrs. sheridan received the resolution passed by them, offering her the use of a box in the new theatre. the notes of whitbread to mrs. sheridan on this subject, prove how anxious he was to conciliate the wounded feelings of his friend:-- "my dear esther, "i have delayed sending the enclosed resolution of the drury-lane committee to you, because i had hoped to have found a moment to have called upon you, and to have delivered it into your hands. but i see no chance of that, and therefore literally obey my instructions in writing to you. "i had great pleasure in proposing the resolution, which was cordially and unanimously adopted. i had it always in contemplation,--but to have proposed it earlier would have been improper. i hope you will derive much amusement from your visits to the theatre, and that you and all of your name will ultimately be pleased with what has been done. i have just had a most satisfactory letter from tom sheridan. "i am, "my dear esther, "affectionately yours, "_dover-street, july , ._ "samuel whitbread." "my dear esther, "it has been a great mortification and disappointment to me, to have met the committee twice, since the offer of the use of a box at the new theatre was made to you, and that i have not had to report the slightest acknowledgment from you in return. "the committee meet again tomorrow, and after that there will be no meeting for some time. if i shall be compelled to return the same blank answer i have hitherto done, the inference drawn will naturally be, that what was designed by himself, who moved it, and by those who voted it, as a gratifying mark of attention to sheridan through you, (as the most gratifying mode of conveying it,) has, for some unaccountable reason, been mistaken and is declined. "but i shall be glad to know before to-morrow, what is your determination on the subject. "i am, dear esther, "affectionately yours, "_dover-street, july_ , ." "s. whitbread. the failure of sheridan at stafford completed his ruin. he was now excluded both from the theatre and from parliament:--the two anchors by which he held in life were gone, and he was left a lonely and helpless wreck upon the waters. the prince regent offered to bring him into parliament; but the thought of returning to that scene of his triumphs and his freedom, with the royal owner's mark, as it were, upon him, was more than he could bear--and he declined the offer. indeed, miserable and insecure as his life was now, when we consider the public humiliations to which he would have been exposed, between his ancient pledge to whiggism and his attachment and gratitude to royalty, it is not wonderful that he should have preferred even the alternative of arrests and imprisonments to the risk of bringing upon his political name any further tarnish in such a struggle. neither could his talents have much longer continued to do themselves justice, amid the pressure of such cares, and the increased indulgence of habits, which, as is usual, gained upon him, as all other indulgences vanished. the ancients, we are told, by a significant device, inscribed on the wreaths they wore at banquets the name of minerva. unfortunately, from the festal wreath of sheridan this name was now but too often effaced; and the same charm, that once had served to give a quicker flow to thought, was now employed to muddy the stream, as it became painful to contemplate what was at the bottom of it. by his exclusion, therefore, from parliament, he was, perhaps, seasonably saved from affording to that "folly, which loves the martyrdom of fame," [footnote: "and folly loves the martyrdom of fame." this fine line is in lord byron's monody to his memory. there is another line, equally true and touching, where, alluding to the irregularities of the latter part of sheridan's life, he says-- "and what to them seem'd vice might be but woe."] the spectacle of a great mind, not only surviving itself, but, like the champion in berni, continuing the combat after life is gone:-- _"andava combattendo, ed era morto."_ in private society, however, he could, even now, (before the rubicon of the cup was passed,) fully justify his high reputation for agreeableness and wit; and a day which it was my good fortune to spend with him, at the table of mr. rogers, has too many mournful, as well as pleasant, associations connected with it, to be easily forgotten by the survivors of the party. the company consisted but of mr. rogers himself, lord byron, mr. sheridan, and the writer of this memoir. sheridan knew the admiration his audience felt for him; the presence of the young poet, in particular, seemed to bring back his own youth and wit; and the details he gave of his early life were not less interesting and animating to himself than delightful to us. it was in the course of this evening that, describing to us the poem which mr. whitbread had written and sent in, among the other addresses, for the opening of drury-lane, and which, like the rest, turned chiefly on allusions to the phenix, he said,--"but whitbread made more of this bird than any of them:--he entered into particulars, and described its wings, beak, tail, &c.; in short, it was a _poulterer's_ description of a phenix!" the following extract from a diary in my possession, kept by lord byron during six months of his residence in london, - , will show the admiration which this great and generous spirit felt for sheridan:-- "_saturday, december , ._ "lord holland told me a curious piece of _sentimentality_ in sheridan. the other night we were all delivering our respective and various opinions on him and other '_hommes marquans,_' and mine was this:--'whatever sheridan has done or chosen to do has been _par excellence_, always the _best_ of its kind. he has written the _best_ comedy, (school for scandal,) the _best_ opera, (the duenna--in my mind far before that st. giles's lampoon, the beggar's opera,) the _best_ farce, (the critic--it is only too good for an after-piece,) and the _best_ address, (monologue on garrick,)--and to crown all, delivered the very _best_ oration, (the famous begum speech,) ever conceived or heard in this country.' somebody told sheridan this the next day, and on hearing it, he burst into tears!--poor brinsley! if they were tears of pleasure, i would rather have said those few, but sincere, words, than have written the iliad, or made his own celebrated philippic. nay, his own comedy never gratified me more than to hear that he had derived a moment's gratification from any praise of mine --humble as it must appear to 'my elders and my betters.'" the distresses of sheridan now increased every day, and through the short remainder of his life it is a melancholy task to follow him. the sum arising from the sale of his theatrical property was soon exhausted by the various claims upon it, and he was driven to part with all that he most valued, to satisfy further demands and provide for the subsistence of the day. those books which, as i have already mentioned, were presented to him by various friends, now stood in their splendid bindings, [footnote: in most of them, too, were the names of the givers. the delicacy with which mr. harrison of wardour-street, (the pawnbroker with whom the books and the cup were deposited,) behaved, after the death of mr. sheridan, deserves to be mentioned with praise. instead of availing himself of the public feeling at that moment, by submitting these precious relics to the competition of a sale, he privately communicated to the family and one or two friends of sheridan the circumstance of his having such articles in his hands, and demanded nothing more than the sum regularly due on them. the stafford cup is in the possession of mr. charles sheridan.] on the shelves of the pawnbroker. the handsome cup, given him by the electors of stafford, shared the same fate. three or four fine pictures by gainsborough, and one by morland, were sold for little more than five hundred pounds; [footnote: in the following extract from a note to his solicitor, he refers to these pictures: "dear burgess, "i am perfectly satisfied with your account;--nothing can be more clear or fair, or more disinterested on your part;--but i must grieve to think that five or six hundred pounds for my poor pictures are added to the expenditure. however, we shall come through!"] and even the precious portrait of his first wife, [footnote: as saint cecilia. the portrait of mrs. sheridan at knowle, though less ideal than that of sir joshua, is, (for this very reason, perhaps, as bearing a closer resemblance to the original,) still more beautiful.] by reynolds, though not actually sold during his life, vanished away from his eyes into other hands. one of the most humiliating trials of his pride was yet to come. in the spring of this year he was arrested and carried to a spunging-house, where he remained two or three days. this abode, from which the following painful letter to whitbread was written, formed a sad contrast to those princely halls, of which he had so lately been the most brilliant and favored guest, and which were possibly, at that very moment, lighted up and crowded with gay company, unmindful of him within those prison walls:-- "_tooke's court, cursitor-street, thursday, past two._ "i have done everything in my power with the solicitors, white and founes, to obtain my release, by substituting a better security for them than their detaining me--but in vain. "whitbread, putting all false professions of friendship and feeling out of the question, you have no right to keep me here!--for it is in truth _your_ act--if you had not forcibly withheld from me the _twelve thousand pounds_, in consequence of a threatening letter from a miserable swindler, whose claim you in particular knew to _be a lie_, i should at least have been out of the reach of _this_ state of miserable insult--for that, and that only, lost me my seat in parliament. and i assert that you cannot find a lawyer in the land, that is not either a natural-born fool or a corrupted scoundrel, who will not declare that your conduct in this respect was neither warrantable nor legal--but let that pass _for the present_. "independently of the _l_. ignorantly withheld from me on the day of considering my last claim. i require of you to answer the draft i send herewith on the part of the committee, pledging myself to prove to them on the first day i can _personally_ meet them, that there are still thousands and thousands due to me, both legally, and equitably, from the theatre. my word ought to be taken on this subject; and you may produce to them this document, if one, among them could think that, under all the circumstances, your conduct required a justification. o god! with what mad confidence have i trusted _your word_,--i ask _justice_ from you, and _no boon_. i enclosed you yesterday three different securities, which had you been disposed to have acted even as a private friend, would have made it _certain_ that you might have done so _without the smallest risk_. these you discreetly offered to put into the fire, when you found the object of your humane visit satisfied by seeing me safe in prison. "i shall only add, that, i think, if i know myself, had our lots been reversed, and i had seen you in my situation, and had left lady e. in that of my wife, i would have risked _l_. rather than have left you so--although i had been in no way accessory in bringing you into that condition. "_s. whitbread. esq._ "r. b. sheridan." even in this situation the sanguineness of his disposition did not desert him; for he was found by mr. whitbread, on his visit to the spunging-house, confidently calculating on the representation for westminster, in which the proceedings relative to lord cochrane at that moment promised a vacancy. on his return home, however, to mrs. sheridan, (some arrangements having been made by whitbread for his release,) all his fortitude forsook him, and he burst into a long and passionate fit of weeping at the profanation, as he termed it, which his person had suffered. he had for some months had a feeling that his life was near its close; and i find the following touching passage in a letter from him to mrs. sheridan, after one of those differences which will sometimes occur between the most affectionate companions, and which, possibly, a remonstrance on his irregularities and want of care of himself occasioned:--"never again let one harsh word pass between us, during the period, which may not perhaps be long, that we are in this world together, and life, however clouded to me, is mutually spared to us. i have expressed this same sentiment to my son, in a letter i wrote to him a few days since, and i had his answer--a most affecting one, and, i am sure, very sincere--and have since cordially embraced him. don't imagine that i am expressing an interesting apprehension about myself, which i do not feel." though the new theatre of drury-lane had now been three years built, his feelings had never allowed him to set his foot within its walls. about this time, however, he was persuaded by his friend, lord essex, to dine with him and go in the evening to his lordship's box, to see kean. once there, the "_genius loci_" seems to have regained its influence over him; for, on missing him from the box, between the acts, lord essex, who feared that he had left the house, hastened out to inquire, and, to his great satisfaction, found him installed in the green-room, with all the actors around him, welcoming him back to the old region of his glory, with a sort of filial cordiality. wine was immediately ordered, and a bumper to the health of mr. sheridan was drank by all present, with the expression of many a hearty wish that he would often, very often, re-appear among them. this scene, as was natural, exhilarated his spirits, and, on parting with lord essex that night, at his own door, in saville-row, he said triumphantly that the world would soon hear of him, for the duke of norfolk was about to bring him into parliament. this, it appears, was actually the case; but death stood near as he spoke. in a few days after his last fatal illness began. amid all the distresses of these latter years of his life, he appears but rarely to have had recourse to pecuniary assistance from friends. mr. peter moore, mr. ironmonger, and one or two others, who did more for the comfort of his decline than any of his high and noble associates, concur in stating that, except for such an occasional trifle as his coach-hire, he was by no means, as has been sometimes asserted, in the habit of borrowing. one instance, however, where he laid himself under this sort of obligation, deserves to be mentioned. soon after the return of mr. canning from lisbon, a letter was put into his hands, in the house of commons, which proved to be a request from his old friend sheridan, then lying ill in bed, that he would oblige him with the loan of a hundred pounds. it is unnecessary to say that the request was promptly and feelingly complied with; and if the pupil has ever regretted leaving the politics of his master, it was not at _that_ moment, at least, such a feeling was likely to present itself. there are, in the possession of a friend of sheridan, copies of a correspondence in which he was engaged this year with two noble lords and the confidential agent of an illustrious personage, upon a subject, as it appears, of the utmost delicacy and importance. the letters of sheridan, it is said, (for i have not seen them,) though of too secret and confidential a nature to meet the public eye, not only prove the great confidence reposed in him by the parties concerned, but show the clearness and manliness of mind which he could still command, under the pressure of all that was most trying to human intellect. the disorder, with which he was now attacked, arose from a diseased state of the stomach, brought on partly by irregular living, and partly by the harassing anxieties that had, for so many years, without intermission, beset him. his powers of digestion grew every day worse, till he was at length unable to retain any sustenance. notwithstanding this, however, his strength seemed to be but little broken, and his pulse remained, for some time, strong and regular. had he taken, indeed, but ordinary care of himself through life, the robust conformation of his frame, and particularly, as i have heard his physician remark, the peculiar width and capaciousness of his chest, seemed to mark him out for a long course of healthy existence. in general nature appears to have a prodigal delight in enclosing her costliest essences in the most frail and perishable vessels:--but sheridan was a signal exception to this remark; for, with a spirit so "finely touched," he combined all the robustness of the most uninspired clay. mrs. sheridan was, at first, not aware of his danger; but dr. bain--whose skill was now, as it ever had been, disinterestedly at the service of his friend, [footnote: a letter from sheridan to this amiable man, (of which i know not the date,) written in reference to a caution which he had given mrs. sheridan, against sleeping in the same bed with a lady who was consumptive, expresses feelings creditable alike to the writer and his physician:-- "my dear sir, "_july ._ "the caution you recommend proceeds from that attentive kindness which hester always receives from you, and upon which i place the greatest reliance for her safety. i so entirely agree with your apprehensions on the subject, that i think it was very giddy in me not to have been struck with them when she first mentioned having slept with her friend. nothing can abate my love for her; and the manner in which you apply the interest you take in her happiness, and direct the influence you possess in her mind, render you, beyond comparison, the person i feel most obliged to upon earth. i take this opportunity of saying this upon paper, because it is a subject on which i always find it difficult to speak. "with respect to that part of your note in which you express such friendly partiality, as to my parliamentary conduct, i need not add that there is no man whose good opinion can be more flattering to me. "i am ever, my dear bain, "your sincere and obliged "r. b. sheridan."]--thought it right to communicate to her the apprehensions that he felt. from that moment, her attentions to the sufferer never ceased day or night; and, though drooping herself with an illness that did not leave her long behind him, she watched over his every word and wish, with unremitting anxiety, to the last. connected, no doubt, with the disorganization of his stomach, was an abscess, from which, though distressingly situated, he does not appear to have suffered much pain. in the spring of this year, however, he was obliged to confine himself, almost entirely, to his bed. being expected to attend the st. patrick's dinner, on the th of march, he wrote a letter to the duke of kent, who was president, alleging severe indisposition as the cause of his absence. the contents of this letter were communicated to the company, and produced, as appears by the following note from the duke of kent, a strong sensation:-- _kensington palace, march_ , . "my dear sheridan, "i have been so hurried ever since st. patrick's day, as to be unable earlier to thank you for your kind letter, which i received while presiding at the festive board; but i can assure you, i was not unmindful of it _then_, but announced the afflicting cause of your absence to the company, who expressed, in a manner that could not be _misunderstood_, their continued affection for the writer of it. it now only remains for me to assure you, that i appreciate as i ought the sentiments of attachment it contains for me, and which will ever be most cordially returned by him, who is with the most friendly regard, my dear sheridan, "yours faithfully, "_the right hon. r. b. sheridan_. "edward." the following letter to him at this time from his elder sister will be read with interest:-- "my dear brother, "_dublin, may , ._ "i am very, very sorry you are ill; but i trust in god your naturally strong constitution will retrieve all, and that i shall soon have the satisfaction of hearing that you are in a fair way of recovery. i well know the nature of your complaint, that it is extremely painful, but if properly treated, and no doubt you have the best advice, not dangerous. i know a lady now past seventy four, who many years since was attacked with a similar complaint, and is now as well as most persons of her time of life. where poulticing is necessary, i have known oatmeal used with the best effect. forgive, dear brother, this officious zeal. your son thomas told me he felt obliged to me for not prescribing for him. i did not, because in his case i thought it would be ineffectual; in yours i have reason to hope the contrary. i am very glad to hear of the good effect change of climate has made in him;--i took a great liking to him; there was something kind in his manner that won upon my affections. of your son charles i hear the most delightful accounts:--that he has an excellent and cultivated understanding, and a heart as good. may he be a blessing to you, and a compensation for much you have endured! that i do not know him, that i have not seen you, (so early and so long the object of my affection,) for so many years, has not been my fault; but i have ever considered it as a drawback upon a situation not otherwise unfortunate; for, to use the words of goldsmith, i have endeavored to 'draw upon content for the deficiencies of fortune;' and truly i have had some employment in that way, for considerable have been our worldly disappointments. but those are not the worst evils of life, and we have good children, which is its first blessing. i have often told you my son tom bore a strong resemblance to you, when i loved you preferably to any thing the world contained. this, which was the case with him in childhood and early youth, is still so in mature years. in character of mind, too, he is very like you, though education and situation have made a great difference. at that period of existence, when the temper, morals, and propensities are formed, tom had a mother who watched over his health, his well-being, and every part of education in which a female could be useful. _you_ had lost a mother who would have cherished you, whose talents you inherited, who would have softened the asperity of our father's temper, and probably have prevented his unaccountable partialities. you have always shown a noble independence of spirit, that the pecuniary difficulties you often had to encounter could not induce you to forego. as a public man, you have been, like the motto of the lefanu family, '_sine macula_,' and i am persuaded had you not too early been thrown upon the world, and alienated from your family, you would have been equally good as a private character. my son is eminently so. * * * "do, dear brother, send me one line to tell me you are better, and believe me, most affectionately, "yours, "alicia leeanu." while death was thus gaining fast on sheridan, the miseries of his life were thickening around him also; nor did the last corner, in which he now lay down to die, afford him any asylum from the clamors of his legal pursuers. writs and executions came in rapid succession, and bailiffs at length gained possession of his house. it was about the beginning of may that lord holland, on being informed by mr. rogers, (who was one of the very few that watched the going out of this great light with interest,) of the dreary situation in which his old friend was lying, paid him a visit one evening, in company with mr. rogers, and by the cordiality, suavity, and cheerfulness of his conversation, shed a charm round that chamber of sickness, which, perhaps, no other voice but his own could have imparted. sheridan was, i believe, sincerely attached to lord holland, in whom he saw transmitted the same fine qualities, both of mind and heart, which, notwithstanding occasional appearances to the contrary, he had never ceased to love and admire in his great relative;--the same ardor for right and impatience of wrong--the same mixture of wisdom and simplicity, so tempering each other, as to make the simplicity refined and the wisdom unaffected--the same gentle magnanimity of spirit, intolerant only of tyranny and injustice--and, in addition to all this, a range and vivacity of conversation, entirely his own, which leaves no subject untouched or unadorned, but is, (to borrow a fancy of dryden,) "as the morning of the mind," bringing new objects and images successively into view, and scattering its own fresh light over all. such a visit, therefore, could not fail to be soothing and gratifying to sheridan; and, on parting, both lord holland and mr. rogers comforted him with the assurance that some steps should be taken to ward off the immediate evils that he dreaded. an evening or two after, (wednesday, may ,) i was with mr. rogers, when, on returning home, he found the following afflicting note upon his table:-- "_saville-row_. "i find things settled so that _l_. will remove all difficulty. i am absolutely undone and broken-hearted. i shall negotiate for the plays successfully in the course of a week, when all shall be returned. i have desired fairbrother to get back the guarantee for thirty. "they are going to put the carpets out of window, and break into mrs. s.'s room and _take me_--for god's sake let me see you. "r. b. s." it was too late to do any thing when this note was received, being then between twelve and one at night; but mr. rogers and i walked down to saville-row together to assure ourselves that the threatened arrest had not yet been put in execution. a servant spoke to us out of the area, and said that all was safe for the night, but that it was intended, in pursuance of this new proceeding, to paste bills over the front of the house next day. on the following morning i was early with mr. rogers, and willingly undertook to be the bearer of a draft for _l_. [footnote: lord holland afterwards insisted upon paying the half of this sum,--which was not the first of the same amount that my liberal friend, mr. rogers, had advanced for sheridan.] to saville-row. i found mr. sheridan good-natured and cordial as ever; and though he was then within a few weeks of his death, his voice had not lost its fulness or strength, nor was that lustre, for which his eyes were so remarkable, diminished. he showed, too, his usual sanguineness of disposition in speaking of the price that he expected for his dramatic works, and of the certainty he felt of being able to arrange all his affairs, if his complaint would but suffer him to leave his bed. in the following month, his powers began rapidly to fail him;--his stomach was completely worn out, and could no longer bear any kind of sustenance. during the whole of this time, as far as i can learn, it does not appear that, (with the exceptions i have mentioned,) any one of his noble or royal friends ever called at his door, or even sent to inquire after him! about this period doctor bain received the following note from mr. vaughan:-- "my dear sir, "an apology in a case of humanity is scarcely necessary, besides i have the honor of a slight acquaintance with you. a friend of mine, hearing of _our friend_ sheridan's forlorn situation, and that he has neither money nor credit for a few comforts, has employed me to convey a small sum for his use, through such channel as i think right. i can devise none better than through you. if i had had the good fortune to have seen you, i should have left for this purpose a draft for _l_. perhaps as much more might be had if it will be conducive to a good end--of course you must feel it is not for the purpose of satisfying troublesome people. i will say more to you if you will do me the honor of a call in your way to saville-street to-morrow. i am a mere agent. "i am, "my dear sir, "most truly yours, " , _grafton-street_. "john taylor vaughan. "if i should not see you before twelve, i will come through the passage to you." in his interview with dr. bain, mr. vaughan stated, that the sum thus placed at his disposal was, in all, _l_.; [footnote: mr. vaughan did not give doctor bain to understand that he was authorized to go beyond the _l_.; but, in a conversation which i had with him a year or two after, in contemplation of this memoir, he told me that a further supply was intended.] and the proposition being submitted to mrs. sheridan, that lady, after consulting with some of her relatives, returned for answer that, as there was a sufficiency of means to provide all that was necessary for her husband's comfort, as well as her own, she begged leave to decline the offer. mr. vaughan always said, that the donation, thus meant to be doled out, came from a royal hand;--but this is hardly credible. it would be safer, perhaps, to let the suspicion rest upon that gentleman's memory, of having indulged his own benevolent disposition in this disguise, than to suppose it possible that so scanty and reluctant a benefaction was the sole mark of attention accorded by a "gracious prince and master" [footnote: see sheridan's letter, page .] to the last, death-bed wants of one of the most accomplished and faithful servants, that royalty ever yet raised or ruined by its smiles. when the philosopher anaxagoras lay dying for want of sustenance, his great pupil, pericles, sent him a sum of money. "take it back," said anaxagoras--"if he wished to keep the lamp alive, he ought to have administered the oil before!" in the mean time, the clamors and incursions of creditors increased. a sheriff's officer at length arrested the dying man in his bed, and was about to carry him off, in his blankets, to a spunging-house, when doctor bain interfered--and, by threatening the officer with the responsibility he must incur, if, as was but too probable, his prisoner should expire on the way, averted this outrage. about the middle of june, the attention and sympathy of the public were, for the first time, awakened to the desolate situation of sheridan, by an article that appeared in the morning post,--written, as i understand, by a gentleman, who, though on no very cordial terms with him, forgot every other feeling in a generous pity for his fate, and in honest indignation against those who now deserted him. "oh delay not," said the writer, without naming the person to whom he alluded--"delay not to draw aside the curtain within which that proud spirit hides its sufferings." he then adds, with a striking anticipation of what afterwards happened:--"prefer ministering in the chamber of sickness to mustering at 'the splendid sorrows that adorn the hearse;' i say, _life_ and _succor_ against westminster-abbey and a funeral!" this article produced a strong and general sensation, and was reprinted in the same paper the following day. its effect, too, was soon visible in the calls made at sheridan's door, and in the appearance of such names as the duke of york, the duke of argyle, &c. among the visitors. but it was now too late;--the spirit, that these unavailing tributes might once have comforted, was now fast losing the consciousness of every thing earthly, but pain. after a succession of shivering fits, he fell into a state of exhaustion, in which he continued, with but few more signs of suffering, till his death. a day or two before that event, the bishop of london read prayers by his bed-side; and on sunday, the seventh of july, in the sixty-fifth year of his age, he died. on the following saturday the funeral took place;--his remains having been previously removed from saville-row to the house of his friend, mr. peter moore, in great george-street, westminster. from thence, at one o'clock, the procession moved on foot to the abbey, where, in the only spot in poet's corner that remained unoccupied, the body was interred; and the following simple inscription marks its resting-place:-- "richard brinsley sheridan, born, , died, th july, . this marble is the tribute of an attached friend, peter moore." seldom has there been seen such an array of rank as graced this funeral. [footnote: it was well remarked by a french journal, in contrasting the penury of sheridan's latter years with the splendor of his funeral, that "france is the place for a man of letters to live in, and england the place for him to die in."] the pall-bearers were the duke of bedford, the earl of lauderdale, earl mulgrave, the lord bishop of london, lord holland, and lord spencer. among the mourners were his royal highness the duke of york, his royal highness the duke of sussex, the duke of argyle, the marquisses of anglesea and tavistock; the earls of thanet, jersey, harrington, besborough, mexborough, rosslyn, and yarmouth; lords george cavendish and robert spencer; viscounts sidmouth, granville, and duncannon; lords rivers, erskine, and lynedoch; the lord mayor; right hon. g. canning and w. w. pole, &c., &c. [footnote: in the train of all this phalanx of dukes, marquisses, earls, viscounts, barons, honorables, and right honorables, princes of the blood royal, and first officers of the state, it was not a little interesting to see, walking humbly, side by side, the only two men whose friendship had not waited for the call of vanity to display itself--dr. bain and mr. rogers.] where were they all, these royal and noble persons, who now crowded to "partake the gale" of sheridan's glory--where were they all while any life remained in him? where were they all, but a few weeks before, when their interposition might have saved his heart from breaking,--or when the zeal, now wasted on the grave, might have soothed and comforted the death-bed? this is a subject on which it is difficult to speak with patience. if the man was unworthy of the commonest offices of humanity while he lived, why all this parade of regret and homage over his tomb? there appeared some verses at the time, which, however intemperate in their satire and careless in their style, came, evidently, warm from the heart of the writer, and contained sentiments to which, even in his cooler moments, he needs not hesitate to subscribe:-- "oh it sickens the heart to see bosoms so hollow, and friendships so false in the great and high-born;-- to think what a long line of titles may follow the relics of him who died, friendless and lorn! "how proud they can press to the funeral array of him whom they shunn'd, in his sickness and sorrow-- how bailiffs may seize his last blanket to-day, whose pall shall be held up by nobles to-morrow!" the anonymous writer thus characterizes the talents of sheridan:-- "was this, then, the fate of that high-gifted man, the pride of the palace, the bower, and the hall-- the orator, dramatist, minstrel,--who ran through each mode of the lyre, and was master of all. "whose mind was an essence, compounded, with art, from the finest and best of all other men's powers;-- who rul'd, like a wizard, the world of the heart, and could call up its sunshine, or draw down its showers;-- "whose humor, as gay as the fire-fly's light, play'd round every subject, and shone, as it play'd;-- whose wit, in the combat as gentle as bright, ne'er carried a heart-stain away on its blade;-- "whose eloquence brightened whatever it tried, whether reason or fancy, the gay or the grave, was as rapid, as deep, and as brilliant a tide, as ever bore freedom aloft on its wave!" * * * * * though a perusal of the foregoing pages has, i trust, sufficiently furnished the reader with materials out of which to form his own estimate of the character of sheridan, a few general remarks may, at parting, be allowed me--rather with a view to convey the impressions left upon myself, than with any presumptuous hope of influencing the deductions of others. in considering the intellectual powers of this extraordinary man, the circumstance that first strikes us is the very scanty foundation of instruction, upon which he contrived to raise himself to such eminence both as a writer and a politician. it is true, in the line of authorship he pursued, erudition was not so much wanting; and his wit, like the laurel of caesar, was leafy enough to hide any bareness in this respect. in politics, too, he had the advantage of entering upon his career, at a time when habits of business and a knowledge of details were less looked for in public men than they are at present, and when the house of commons was, for various reasons, a more open play-ground for eloquence and wit. the great increase of public business, since then, has necessarily made a considerable change in this respect. not only has the time of the legislature become too precious to be wasted upon the mere gymnastics of rhetoric, but even those graces, with which true oratory surrounds her statements, are but impatiently borne, where the statement itself is the primary and pressing object of the hearer. [footnote: the new light that as been thrown on political science may also, perhaps, be assigned as a reason for this evident revolution in parliamentary taste. "truth." says lord bacon, "is a naked and open daylight, that doth not show the masques, and mummeries, and triumphs of the present world half so stately and daintily as candle-lights;"--and there can be little doubt that the clearer and important truths are made, the less controversy they will excite among fair and rational men, and the less passion and fancy accordingly can eloquence infuse into the discussion of them. mathematics have produced no quarrels among mankind--it is by the mysterious and the vague, that temper as well as imagination is most roused. in proof of this while the acknowledged clearness almost to truism, which the leading principles of political science have attained, has tended to simplify and tame down the activities of eloquence on that subject. there is still another arena left, in the science of the law, where the same illumination of truth has not yet penetrated, and where oratory will still continue to work her perplexing spells, till common sense and the plain principles of utility shall find their way there also to weaken them.] burke, we know, was, even for his own time, too much addicted to what falconers would call _raking_, or flying wide of his game; but there was hardly, perhaps, one among his great contemporaries, who, if beginning his career at present, would not find it, in some degree, necessary to conform his style to the taste for business and matter-of-fact that is prevalent. mr. pitt would be compelled to curtail the march of his sentences--mr. fox would learn to repeat himself less lavishly--nor would mr. sheridan venture to enliven a question of evidence by a long and pathetic appeal to filial piety. in addition to this change in the character and taste of the house of commons, which, while it has lowered the value of some of the qualifications possessed by sheridan, has created a demand for others of a more useful but less splendid kind, which his education and habits of life would have rendered less easily attainable by him, we must take also into account the prodigious difference produced by the general movement, at present, of the whole civilized world towards knowledge;--a movement, which no public man, however great his natural talents, could now lag behind with impunity, and which requires nothing less than the versatile and _encyclopaedic_ powers of a brougham to keep pace with it. another striking characteristic of sheridan, as an orator and a writer, was the great degree of labor and preparation which his productions in both lines cost him. of this the reader has seen some curious proofs in the preceding pages. though the papers left behind by him have added nothing to the stock of his _chef-d'oeuvres_, they have given us an insight into his manner of producing his great works, which is, perhaps, the next most interesting thing to the works themselves. though no new star has been discovered, the history of the formation of those we already possess, and of the gradual process by which they were brought "firm to retain their gathered beams," has, as in the instance of the school for scandal, been most interestingly unfolded to us. the same marks of labor are discoverable throughout the whole of his parliamentary career. he never made a speech of any moment, of which the sketch, more or less detailed, has not been found among his papers--with the showier passages generally written two or three times over, (often without any material change in their form,) upon small detached pieces of paper, or on cards. to such minutiae of effect did he attend, that i have found, in more than one instance, a memorandum made of the precise place in which the words "good god, mr. speaker," were to be introduced. these preparatory sketches are continued down to his latest displays; and it is observable that when from the increased derangement of his affairs, he had no longer leisure or collectedness enough to prepare, he ceased to speak. the only time he could have found for this pre-arrangement of his thoughts, (of which few, from the apparent idleness of his life, suspected him,) must have been during the many hours of the day that he remained in bed,--when, frequently, while the world gave him credit for being asleep, he was employed in laying the frame-work of his wit and eloquence for the evening. that this habit of premeditation was not altogether owing to a want of quickness, appears from the power and liveliness of his replies in parliament, and the vivacity of some of his retorts in conversation. [footnote: his best _bon mots_ are in the memory of every one. among those less known, perhaps, is his answer to general t----, relative to some difference of opinion between them on the war in spain:--"well, t----, are you still on your high horse?"--"if i was on a horse before, i am upon an elephant now." "no, t----, you were upon an _ass_ before, now you are upon a _mule_." some mention having been made in his presence of a tax upon milestones. sheridan said, "such a tax would be unconstitutional,--as they were a race that could not meet to remonstrate." as an instance of his humor, i have been told that, in some country-house where he was on a visit, an elderly maiden lady having set her heart on being his companion in a walk, he excused himself at first on account of the badness of the weather. soon afterwards, however, the lady intercepted him in an attempt to escape without her:--"well," she said, "it has cleared up, i see." "why, yes," he answered, "it has cleared up enough for _one_, but not for _two_."] the labor, indeed, which he found necessary for his public displays, was, in a great degree, the combined effect of his ignorance and his taste;--the one rendering him fearful of committing himself on the _matter_ of his task, and the other making him fastidious and hesitating as to the _manner_ of it. i cannot help thinking, however, that there must have been, also, a degree of natural slowness in the first movements of his mind upon any topic; and, that, like those animals which remain gazing upon their prey before they seize it, he found it necessary to look intently at his subject for some time, before he was able to make the last, quick spring that mastered it. among the proofs of this dependence of his fancy upon time and thought for its development, may be mentioned his familiar letters, as far as their fewness enables us to judge. had his wit been a "fruit, that would fall without shaking," we should, in these communications at least, find some casual windfalls of it. but, from the want of sufficient time to search and cull, he seems to have given up, in despair, all thoughts of being lively in his letters; and accordingly, as the reader must have observed in the specimens that have been given, his compositions in this way are not only unenlivened by any excursions beyond the bounds of mere matter of fact, but, from the habit or necessity of taking a certain portion of time for correction, are singularly confused, disjointed, and inelegant in their style. it is certain that even his _bon-mots_ in society were not always to be set down to the credit of the occasion; but that frequently, like skilful priests, he prepared the miracle of the moment before-hand. nothing, indeed, could be more remarkable than the patience and tact, with which he would wait through a whole evening for the exact moment, when the shaft which he had ready feathered, might be let fly with effect. there was no effort, either obvious or disguised, to lead to the subject--no "question detached, (as he himself expresses it,) to draw you into the ambuscade of his ready-made joke"--and, when the lucky moment did arrive, the natural and accidental manner in which he would let this treasured sentence fall from his lips, considerably added to the astonishment and the charm. so bright a thing, produced so easily, seemed like the delivery of wieland's [footnote: see sotheby's admirable translation of oberon, canto .] amanda in a dream;--and his own apparent unconsciousness of the value of what he said might have deceived dull people into the idea that there was really nothing in it. the consequence of this practice of waiting for the moment of effect was, (as all, who have been much in his society, must have observed,) that he would remain inert in conversation, and even taciturn, for hours, and then suddenly come out with some brilliant sally, which threw a light over the whole evening, and was carried away in the memories of all present. nor must it be supposed that in the intervals, either before or after these flashes, he ceased to be agreeable; on the contrary, he had a grace and good nature in his manner, which gave a charm to even his most ordinary sayings,--and there was, besides, that ever-speaking lustre in his eye, which made it impossible, even when he was silent, to forget who he was. a curious instance of the care with which he treasured up the felicities of his wit, appears in the use he made of one of those epigrammatic passages, which the reader may remember among the memorandums for his comedy of affectation, and which, in its first form, ran thus:--"he certainly has a great deal of fancy, and a very good memory; but, with a perverse ingenuity, he employs these qualities as no other person does--for he employs his fancy in his narratives, and keeps his recollection for his wit:--when he makes his jokes, you applaud the accuracy of his memory, and 'tis only when he states his facts that you admire the flights of his imagination." after many efforts to express this thought more concisely, and to reduce the language of it to that condensed and elastic state, in which alone it gives force to the projectiles of wit, he kept the passage by him patiently some years,--till at length he found an opportunity of turning it to account, in a reply, i believe, to mr. dundas, in the house of commons, when, with the most extemporaneous air, he brought it forth, in the following compact and pointed form:--"the right honorable gentleman is indebted to his memory for his jests, and to his imagination for his facts." his political character stands out so fully in these pages, that it is needless, by any comments, to attempt to raise it into stronger relief. if to watch over the rights of the subject, and guard them against the encroachments of power, be, even in safe and ordinary times, a task full of usefulness and honor, how much more glorious to have stood sentinel over the same sacred trust, through a period so trying as that with which sheridan had to struggle--when liberty itself had become suspected and unpopular--when authority had succeeded in identifying patriotism with treason, and when the few remaining and deserted friends of freedom were reduced to take their stand on a narrowing isthmus, between anarchy on one side, and the angry incursions of power on the other. how manfully he maintained his ground in a position so critical, the annals of england and of the champions of her constitution will long testify. the truly national spirit, too, with which, when that struggle was past, and the dangers to liberty from without seemed greater than any from within, he forgot all past differences, in the one common cause of englishmen, and, while others "gave but the _left_ hand to the country," [footnote: his own words] proffered her _both_ of his, stamped a seal of sincerity on his public conduct, which, in the eyes of all england, authenticated it as genuine patriotism. to his own party, it is true, his conduct presented a very different phasis; and if implicit partisanship were the sole merit of a public man, his movements, at this and other junctures, were far too independent and unharnessed to lay claim to it. but, however useful may be the bond of party, there are occasions that supersede it; and, in all such deviations from the fidelity which it enjoins, the two questions to be asked are--were they, as regarded the public, right? were they, as regarded the individual himself, unpurchased? to the former question, in the instance of sheridan, the whole country responded in the affirmative; and to the latter, his account with the treasury, from first to last, is a sufficient answer. even, however, on the score of fidelity to party, when we recollect that he more than once submitted to some of the worst martyrdoms which it imposes--that of sharing in the responsibility of opinions from which he dissented, and suffering by the ill consequences of measures against which he had protested;--when we call to mind, too, that during the administration of mr. addington, though agreeing wholly with the ministry and differing with the whigs, he even then refused to profit by a position so favorable to his interests, and submitted, like certain religionists, from a point of honor, to suffer for a faith in which he did not believe--it seems impossible not to concede that even to the obligations of party he was as faithful as could be expected from a spirit that so far outgrew its limits, and, in paying the tax of fidelity while he asserted the freedom of dissent, showed that he could sacrifice every thing to it, except his opinion. through all these occasional variations, too, he remained a genuine whig to the last; and, as i have heard one of his own party happily express it, was "like pure gold, that changes color in the fire, but comes out unaltered." the transaction in , relative to the household, was, as i have already said, the least defensible part of his public life. but it should be recollected hove broken he was, both in mind and body, at that period;--his resources from the theatre at an end,--the shelter of parliament about to be taken from over his head also,--and old age and sickness coming on, as every hope and comfort vanished. in that wreck of all around him, the friendship of carlton-house was the last asylum left to his pride and his hope; and that even character itself should, in a too zealous moment, have been one of the sacrifices offered up at the shrine that protected him, is a subject more of deep regret than of wonder. the poet cowley, in speaking of the unproductiveness of those pursuits connected with wit and fancy, says beautifully-- "where such fairies once have danc'd, no grass will ever grow;" but, unfortunately, thorns _will_ grow there;--and he who walks unsteadily among such thorns as now beset the once enchanted path of sheridan, ought not, after all, to be very severely criticised. his social qualities were, unluckily for himself but too attractive. in addition to his powers of conversation, there was a well-bred good-nature in his manner, as well as a deference to the remarks and opinions of others, the want of which very often, in distinguished wits, offends the self-love of their hearers, and makes even the dues of admiration that they levy a sort of "_droit de seigneur_," paid with unwillingness and distaste. no one was so ready and cheerful in promoting the amusements of a country-house; and on a rural excursion he was always the soul of the party. his talent at dressing a little dish was often put in requisition on such occasions, and an irish stew was that on which he particularly plumed himself. some friends of his recall with delight a day of this kind which they passed with him, when he made the whole party act over the battle of the pyramids on marsden moor, and ordered "captain" creevey and others upon various services, against the cows and donkeys entrenched in the ditches. being of so playful a disposition himself, it was not wonderful that he should take such pleasure in the society of children. i have been told, as doubly characteristic of him, that he has often, at mr. monckton's, kept a chaise and four waiting half the day for him at the door, while he romped with the children. in what are called _ver de sociétié_, or drawing-room verses, he took great delight; and there remain among his papers several sketches of these trifles. i once heard him repeat in a ballroom, some verses which he had lately written on waltzing, and of which i remember the following: "with tranquil step, and timid, downcast glance, behold the well-pair'd couple now advance. in such sweet posture our first parents mov'd, while, hand in hand, through eden's bowers they rov'd; ere yet the devil, with promise foul and false, turn'd their poor heads and taught them how to _walse_. one hand grasps hers, the other holds her hip-- * * * * * for so the law's laid down by baron trip." [footnote: this gentleman, whose name suits so aptly as legal authority on the subject of waltzing, was at the time these verses were written, well known in the dancing circles.] he had a sort of hereditary fancy for difficult trifling in poetry;--particularly for that sort, which consists in rhyming to the same word through a long string of couplets, till every rhyme that the language supplies for it is exhausted, [footnote: some verses by general fitzpatrick on lord holland's father are the best specimen that i know of this sort of _scherzo_.] the following are specimens from a poem of this kind, which he wrote on the loss of a lady's trunk:-- "my trunk! "(_to anne_.) "have you heard, my deer anne, how my spirits are sunk? have you heard of the cause? oh, the loss of my _trunk_! from exertion or firmness i've never yet slunk; but my fortitude's gone with the loss of my _trunk_! stout lucy, my maid, is a damsel of spunk; yet she weeps night and day for the loss of my _trunk_! i'd better turn nun, and coquet with a monk; for with whom can i flirt without aid from my _trunk_! * * * * * accurs'd be the thief, the old rascally hunks; who rifles the fair, and lays hands on their _trunks_! he, who robs the king's stores of the least bit of junk, is hang'd--while he's safe, who has plunder'd my _trunk_! * * * * * there's a phrase amongst lawyers, when _nune's_ put for _tune_; but, tune and nune both, must i grieve for my _trunk_! huge leaves of that great commentator, old brunck, perhaps was the paper that lin'd my poor _trunk_! but my rhymes are all out;--for i dare not use st--k; [ ] 'twould shock sheridan more than the loss of my _trunk_!" [footnote : he had a particular horror of this word.] from another of these trifles, (which, no doubt, produced much gaiety at the breakfast-table,) the following extracts will be sufficient:-- "muse, assist me to complain, while i grieve for lady _jane_. i ne'er was in so sad a vein, deserted now by lady _jane_. * * * * * lord petre's house was built by payne-- no mortal architect made _jane_. if hearts had windows, through the pane of mine you'd see sweet lady _jane_. * * * * * at breakfast i could scarce refrain from tears at missing lovely _jane_, nine rolls i eat, in hopes to gain the roll that might have fall'n to _jane_," &c. another written on a mr. _bigg_, contains some ludicrous couplets:-- "i own he's not fam'd for a reel or a jig, tom sheridan there surpasses tom _bigg_.-- for lam'd in one thigh, he is obliged to go zig- zag, like a crab--for no dancer is _bigg_. those who think him a coxcomb, or call him a prig, how little they know of the mind of my _bigg_! tho' he ne'er can be mine, hope will catch a twig-- two deaths--and i yet may become mrs. _bigg_. oh give me, with him, but a cottage and pig, and content i would live on beans, bacon, and _bigg_." a few more of these light productions remain among his papers, but their wit is gone with those for whom they were written;--the wings of time "eripuere _jocos_." of a very different description are the following striking and spirited fragments, (which ought to have been mentioned in a former part of this work,) written by him, apparently, about the year , and addressed to the naval heroes of that period, to console them for the neglect they experienced from the government, while ribands and titles were lavished on the whig seceders:-- "never mind them, brave black dick, though they've played thee such a trick-- damn their ribands and their garters, get you to your post and quarters. look upon the azure sea, there's a sailor's taffety! mark the zodiac's radiant bow, that's a collar fit for howe!-- and, then p--tl--d's brighter far, the pole shall furnish you a star! [ ] damn their ribands and their garters, get you to your post and quarters, think, on what things are ribands showered-- the two sir georges--y---- and h---! look to what rubbish stars will stick, to dicky h----n and johnny d----k! would it be for your country's good, that you might pass for alec. h----d, or, perhaps,--and worse by half-- to be mistaken for sir r----h! would you, like c----, pine with spleen, because your bit of silk was green? would you, like c----, change your side, to have your silk new dipt and dyed?-- like him exclaim, 'my riband's hue was green--and now, by heav'ns! 'tis blue,' and, like him--stain your honor too? damn their ribands and their garters, get you to your post and quarters. on the foes of britain close, while b----k garters his dutch hose, and cons, with spectacles on nose, (while to battle _you_ advance,) his '_honi soit qui mal y pense_.'" * * * * * [footnote : this reminds me of a happy application which he made, upon a subsequent occasion, of two lines of dryden:-- "when men like erskine go astray, the stars are more in fault than they."] it has been seen, by a letter of his sister already given, that, when young, he was generally accounted handsome; but, in later years, his eyes were the only testimonials of beauty that remained to him. it was, indeed, in the upper part of his face that the spirit of the man chiefly reigned;--the dominion of the world and the senses being rather strongly marked out in the lower. in his person, he was above the middle size, and his general make was, as i have already said, robust and well proportioned. it is remarkable that his arms, though of powerful strength, were thin, and appeared by no means muscular. his hands were small and delicate; and the following couplet, written on a cast from one of them, very livelily enumerates both its physical and moral qualities:-- "good at a fight, but better at a play, godlike in giving, but--the devil to pay!" among his habits, it may not be uninteresting to know that his hours of composition, as long as he continued to be an author, were at night, and that he required a profusion of lights around him while he wrote. wine, too, was one of his favorite helps to inspiration;--"if the thought, (he would say,) is slow to come, a glass of good wine encourages it, and, when it _does_ come, a glass of good wine rewards it." having taken a cursory view of his literary, political, and social qualities, it remains for me to say a few words upon that most important point of all, his moral character. there are few persons, as we have seen, to whose kind and affectionate conduct, in some of the most interesting relations of domestic life, so many strong and honorable testimonies remain. the pains he took to win back the estranged feelings of his father, and the filial tenderness with which he repaid long years of parental caprice, show a heart that had, at least, set out by the right road, however, in after years, it may have missed the way. the enthusiastic love which his sister bore him, and retained unblighted by distance or neglect, is another proof of the influence of his amiable feelings, at that period of life when he was as yet unspoiled by the world. we have seen the romantic fondness which he preserved towards the first mrs. sheridan, even while doing his utmost, and in vain, to extinguish the same feeling in her. with the second wife, a course, nearly similar, was run;--the same "scatterings and eclipses" of affection, from the irregularities and vanities, in which he continued to indulge, but the same hold kept of each other's hearts to the last. her early letters to him breathe a passion little short of idolatry, and her devoted attentions beside his death-bed showed that the essential part of the feeling still remained. to claim an exemption for frailties and irregularities on the score of genius, while there are such names as milton and newton on record, were to be blind to the example which these and other great men have left, of the grandest intellectual powers combined with the most virtuous lives. but, for the bias given early to the mind by education and circumstances, even the least charitable may be inclined to make large allowances. we have seen how idly the young days of sheridan were wasted--how soon he was left, (in the words of the prophet,) "to dwell carelessly ," and with what an undisciplined temperament he was thrown upon the world, to meet at every step that never-failing spring of temptation, which, like the fatal fountain in the garden of armida, sparkles up for ever in the pathway of such a man:-- "un fonte sorge in lei, che vaghe e monde ha l'acque si, che i riguardanti asseta, ma dentro ai freddi suoi cristalli asconde di tosco estran malvagita secreta." even marriage, which is among the sedatives of other men's lives, but formed a part of the romance of his. the very attractions of his wife increased his danger, by doubling, as it were the power of the world over him, and leading him astray by her light as well as by his own. had his talents, even then, been subjected to the _manège_ of a profession, there was still a chance that business, and the round of regularity which it requires, might have infused some spirit of order into his life. but the stage--his glory and his ruin--opened upon him; and the property of which it made him master was exactly of that treacherous kind which not only deceives a man himself, but enables him to deceive others, and thus combined all that a person of his carelessness and ambition had most to dread. an uncertain income, which, by eluding calculation, gives an excuse for improvidence, [footnote: how feelingly aware he was of this great source of all his misfortunes appears from a passage in the able speech which he delivered before the chancellor, as counsel in his own case, in the year or :-- "it is a great disadvantage, relatively speaking, to any man, and especially to a very careless, and a very sanguine man, to have possessed an uncertain and fluctuating income. that disadvantage is greatly increased, if the person so circumstanced has conceived himself to be in some degree entitled to presume that, by the exertion of his own talents, he may at pleasure increase that income--thereby becoming induced to make promises to himself which he may afterwards fail to fulfil. "occasional excess and frequent unpunctuality will be the natural consequences of such a situation. but, my lord, to exceed an ascertained and limited income, i hold to be a very different matter. in that situation i have placed myself, (not since the present unexpected contention arose, for since then i would have adopted no arrangements,) but months since, by my deed of trust to mr. adam, and in that situation i shall remain until every debt on earth, in which the theatre or i am concerned, shall be fully and fairly discharged. till then i will live on what remains to me--preserving that spirit of undaunted independence, which, both as a public and a private man, i trust, i have hitherto maintained."] and, still more fatal, a facility of raising money, by which the lesson, that the pressure of distress brings with it, is evaded till it comes too late to be of use--such was the dangerous power put into his hands, in his six-and-twentieth year, and amidst the intoxication of as deep and quick draughts of fame as ever young author quaffed. scarcely had the zest of this excitement begun to wear off, when he was suddenly transported into another sphere, where successes still more flattering to his vanity awaited him. without any increase of means, he became the companion and friend of the first nobles and princes, and paid the usual tax of such unequal friendships, by, in the end, losing them and ruining himself. the vicissitudes of a political life, and those deceitful vistas into office that were for ever opening on his party, made his hopes as fluctuating and uncertain as his means, and encouraged the same delusive calculations on both. he seemed, at every new turn of affairs, to be on the point of redeeming himself; and the confidence of others in his resources was no less fatal to him than his own, as it but increased the facilities of ruin that surrounded him. such a career as this--so shaped towards wrong, so inevitably devious--it is impossible to regard otherwise than with the most charitable allowances. it was one long paroxysm of excitement--no pause for thought--no inducements to prudence--the attractions all drawing the wrong way, and a voice, like that which bossuet describes, crying inexorably from behind him "on, on!" [footnote: "la loi est prononcee; il faut avancer toujours. je voudrois retourner sur mes pas; 'marche, marche!' un poids invincible nous entraine; il faut sans cesse avancer vers le precipice. on se console pourtant, parce que de tems en tems on rencontre des objets qui nous divertissent, des eaux courantes, des fleurs qui passent. on voudroit arreter; 'marche, marche!'"--_sermon sur la resurrection_.] instead of wondering at the wreck that followed all this, our only surprise should be, that so much remained uninjured through the trial,--that his natural good feelings should have struggled to the last with his habits, and his sense of all that was right in conduct so long survived his ability to practise it. numerous, however, as were the causes that concurred to disorganize his moral character, in his pecuniary embarrassment lay the source of those blemishes, that discredited him most in the eyes of the world. he might have indulged his vanity and his passions, like others, with but little loss of reputation, if the consequence of these indulgences had not been obtruded upon observation in the forbidding form of debts and distresses. so much did his friend richardson, who thoroughly knew him, consider his whole character to have been influenced by the straitened circumstances in which he was placed, that he used often to say, "if an enchanter could, by the touch of his wand, endow sheridan suddenly with fortune, he would instantly transform him into a most honorable and moral man." as some corroboration of this opinion, i must say that, in the course of the inquiries which my task of biographer imposed upon me, i have found all who were ever engaged in pecuniary dealings with him, not excepting those who suffered most severely by his irregularities, (among which class i may cite the respected name of mr. hammersley,) unanimous in expressing their conviction that he always _meant_ fairly and honorably; and that to the inevitable pressure of circumstances alone, any failure that occurred in his engagements was to be imputed. there cannot, indeed, be a stronger exemplification of the truth, that a want of regularity [footnote: his improvidence in every thing connected with money was most remarkable. he would frequently be obliged to stop on his journies, for want of the means of getting on, and to remain living expensively at an inn, till a remittance could reach him. his letters to the treasurer of the theatre on these occasions were generally headed with the words "money-bound." a friend of his told me, that one morning, while waiting for him in his study, he cast his eyes over the heap of unopened letters that lay upon the table, and, seeing one or two with coronets on the seals, said to mr. westley, the treasurer, who was present, "i see we are all treated alike." mr. westley then informed him that he had once found, on looking over this table, a letter which he had himself sent, a few weeks before, to mr. sheridan, enclosing a ten-pound note, to release him from some inn, but which sheridan, having raised the supplies in some other way, had never thought of opening. the prudent treasurer took away the letter, and reserved the enclosure for some future exigence. among instances of his inattention to letters, the following is mentioned. going one day to the banking-house, where he was accustomed to receive his salary, as receiver of cornwall, and where they sometimes accommodated him with small sums before the regular time of payment, he asked, with all due humility, whether they could oblige him with the loan of twenty pounds. "certainly, sir," said the clerk,--"would you like any more--fifty, or a hundred?" sheridan, all smiles and gratitude, answered that a hundred pounds would be of the greatest convenience to him. "perhaps you would like to take two hundred, or three?" said the clerk. at every increase of the sum, the surprise of the borrower increased. "have not you then received our letter?" said the clerk;--on which it turned out that, in consequence of the falling in of some fine, a sum of twelve hundred pounds had been lately placed to the credit of the receiver-general, and that, from not having opened the letter written to apprise him, he had been left in ignorance of his good luck.] becomes, itself, a vice, from the manifold evils to which it leads, than the whole history of mr. sheridan's pecuniary transactions. so far from never paying his debts, as is often asserted of him, he was, in fact, always paying;--but in such a careless and indiscriminate manner, and with so little justice to himself or others, as often to leave the respectable creditor to suffer for his patience, while the fraudulent dun was paid two or three times over. never examining accounts nor referring to receipts, he seemed as if, (in imitation of his own charles, preferring generosity to justice,) he wished to make paying as like as possible to giving. interest, too, with its usual, silent accumulation, swelled every debt; and i have found several instances among his accounts where the interest upon a small sum had been suffered to increase till it outgrew the principal;--"_minima pars ipsa puella sui_." notwithstanding all this, however, his debts were by no means so considerable as has been supposed. in the year , he empowered sir r. berkely, mr. peter moore, and mr. frederick homan, by power of attorney, to examine into his pecuniary affairs and take measures for the discharge of all claims upon him. these gentlemen, on examination, found that his _bona fide_ debts were about ten thousand pounds, while his apparent debts amounted to five or six times as much. whether from conscientiousness or from pride, however, he would not suffer any of the claims to be contested, but said that the demands were all fair, and must be paid just as they were stated;--though it was well known that many of them had been satisfied more than once. these gentlemen, accordingly, declined to proceed any further with their commission. on the same false feeling he acted in - , when the balance due on the sale of his theatrical property was paid him, in a certain number of shares. when applied to by any creditor, he would give him one of these shares, and allowing his claim entirely on his own showing, leave him to pay himself out of it, and refund the balance. thus irregular at all times, even when most wishing to be right, he deprived honesty itself of its merit and advantages; and, where he happened to be just, left it doubtful, (as locke says of those religious people, who believe right by chance, without examination,) "whether even the luckiness of the accident excused the irregularity of the proceeding." [footnote: chapter on reason] the consequence, however, of this continual paying was that the number of his creditors gradually diminished, and that ultimately the amount of his debts was, taking all circumstances into account, by no means considerable. two years after his death it appeared by a list made up by his solicitor from claims sent in to him, in consequence of an advertisement in the newspapers, that the _bonâ fide_ debts amounted to about five thousand five hundred pounds. if, therefore, we consider his pecuniary irregularities in reference to the injury that they inflicted upon others, the quantum of evil for which he is responsible becomes, after all, not so great. there are many persons in the enjoyment of fair characters in the world, who would be happy to have no deeper encroachment upon the property of others to answer for; and who may well wonder by what unlucky management sheridan could contrive to found so extensive a reputation for bad pay upon so small an amount of debt. let it never, too, be forgotten, in estimating this part of his character, that had he been less consistent and disinterested in his public conduct, he might have commanded the means of being independent and respectable in private. he might have died a rich apostate, instead of closing a life of patriotism in beggary. he might, (to use a fine expression of his own,) have 'hid his head in a coronet,' instead of earning for it but the barren wreath of public gratitude. while, therefore, we admire the great sacrifice that he made, let us be tolerant to the errors and imprudences which it entailed upon him; and, recollecting how vain it is to look for any thing unalloyed in this world, rest satisfied with the martyr, without requiring, also, the saint. the end.