<|^f s .H -acrwii GKEtrv; :fi ISPOMBE ' V/uU VOI^^Io ^ x:: \ 1 ''■■ NT ■P ^> TT • MEMOIRS, JOURNAL, AND CORRESPONDENCE OF THOMAS MOORE, EDITED BY THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LORD JOHj^ RUSSELL, M.P. " Spirat adhuc amor." — Hok. • J , .^ . • " • I • • I VOL. I. LONDON: LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, AND LONGMANS. 1853. ■'■,,■'' 'I'lio < '(i|ivi l{il»l el lliin wiirli U |(l'iittM(' liy Ui'f>i« liiilioM ii( I'liria, |>iiraiiitiil (o llio < 'uMviMilinii I'nr llvo ti|iniiMit nl' lltltJi'imlloiinl « 'opvi'ldhl bIhoi'iI nl r.iiin, .lul NovcihImt. IMril. New tl>-vi>t'Smw»^. ^ ^^ \ PREFACE. vS In the will of the late Thomas Moore, written in 1828, there occurs the following passage : — ^ "I also confide to my valued friend Lord John Russell, (having obtained his kind promise to undertake this service fur me,) the task of o, looking over whatever papers, letters, or journals I may leave behind o). ^ mc, for the purpose of forming from them some kind of publication, whether in the shape of memoirs or otherwise, which may afford the means of making some provision for my wife and family." Many years have elapsed since this paper Avas written, and since the promise referred to was made. But the obligation has not become less sacred, and the reader will not wonder that I have thought it right to comply with the request of my deceased friend. The papers which have been thus left consist of, A Memoir of his Life, written by liimself, beginning from his birth, but only reaching to the year 1799, when he was not twenty years old. A Journal, begun In 1818, and extending to the years 1846-7. Letters to and from various correspondents, but especially to his mother. I have arranged these materials in the following oixler : I have placed first the Memoir of his Life. I have then ^ VI PREFACE. given upwards of four liundred letters, extended over the period from 1800 to 1818, with respect to which there is neither memoir nor journal. With these letters there is inserted a short account of his duel with Mr. Jeffrey, written by himself. I have next proceeded Avith the Journal, which has been very carefully kept till the period of his illness. In preparing these papers for the press, I have felt the embarrassments which must weigh upon any one who has a similar task to perform. In the first place, it is not easy to choose between the evil of over-loading the work with letters and anecdotes not worth preserving, and the danger of losing the indi- vidual Hkeness by softening or obhterating details. Upon the whole, I have chosen to encounter blame for the former, rather than for the latter, of these faults. Mr. Moore was one of those men whose genius was so remark- able that the world ought to be acquainted with the daily current of his life, and the lesser traits of his character. I know at least, that while I have often been wearied by the dull letters of insignificant men, I have been far more in- terested by the voluminous life of a celebrated man, than I should have been by a more general and compendious biography. The lives of Sir Walter Scott and Madame de Genlis derive much of their interest from the reality Avhich profuse details give to the story. Indeed it may be observed, that the greatest masters of fiction introduce small circumstances and homely remarks in order to give life and probability to stories which otherwise would PREFACE. Vll strike the imagination as absurd and inconceivable. Thus Dante brings before us a tailor threading his needle, and the crowds which pass over a well known bridge in order to carry his readers with him on his strange and incredible journey. Thus Cervantes describes places and persons like one who has himself seen them. Thus like- wise Defoe remarks every trifling circumstance which a real E-obinson Crusoe might have retained in his me- mory ; and Swift makes his Gidliver carefully minute in his measurements of Lilliput houses and Brobdignag corn. This attention to little circumstances gives a hue of reality even to these wondrous and fanciful fictions, and makes Don Quixote, Eobinson Crusoe, and Gidliver better known to us than Homer, Virgil, and Shakspeare. But if this is the mode in which these great masters have imparted an interest to imaginary events, it is a proof that in slight, but characteristic, details is to be found the source of sympathy in the story of a real life. Keturning to biography, I Avill here insert a remark of Mr. Lockhart in the seventh volume of his Life of Sir Walter Scott : — " Let it be granted to me, that Scott belonged to the class of first-rate men, and I may very safely ask, who would be sorry to possess a biography of any such man of a former time in full and honest detail?" Let us not forget likewise that our literature is spreading every year both in the old world and in the new. In our own country the diffusion of knowledge, and in foreign countries the greater acquaintance with our language, increases the number of readers. In the new world • • • Vm PREFACE. millions are added every year to the number of those whose government and institutions are American, but whose literature is English. Among these increasing mil- lions there will in all probability be communities holding aloft the literature of England through the ocean of time. They will neither be subject to conquest by a superior state like the Greeks, nor exposed to the invasion of barba- rians like the Romans. To them the English will ever be a living language, and among them the names of Byron, Scott, Moore, Campbell, Eogers, Wordsworth, and Crabbe will ever be famous. Is it too much to expect that the life of each of these men will be the subject of inquiry, of curiosity, and of affectionate concern ? The second difficulty is of a more serious kind. If it is a bad tiling to tire the world with details which are not entertaining, it is a much worse thing to amuse them with stories and remarks which are not harmless. The trans- actions and the conversations related in Moore's Journal are of such recent occurrence, that it is difficult to avoid giving pain by the publication of his papers. The world can well bear a great deal of scandal of the times of Charles the Second, wliich the gossiping pen of Pei3ys has pre- sented to us. But the times of George the Fourth cannot be displayed with equal unreserve, and in disturbing the dark recesses of society, we may at every instant touch a web which " Feels at each thread, and lives along the line." In performing the task I have undertaken, I had two PREFACE. IX considerations to guide me : — In the first place, it was plain that Mr. Moore intended to leave out of the materials of his Memoii', Letters, and Journal, " the means of making some provision for his wife and family." In the next place it was clear, that, by assigning to me the task of " looking over whatever papers, letters, or journals," he might leave behind him, " for the purpose of forming from them some kind of publication, whether in the shape of memoirs or otherwise, " he meant to leave much to my discretion. With respect to the first of these considerations, the melancholy loss of all his children, and the death of his sister EUen towards the close of his life, left his beloved and devoted wife the sole person for whom provision was to be made. Mr. Longman, anxious to comply with the wishes of Mr. Moore, at once offered for INIr. Moore's papers, on condition of my undertaking to be the editor, such a sum, as with the small pension allowed by the Crown, would enable Mrs. Moore to enjoy for the re- mainder of her life the moderate income which had latterly been the extent and limit of tlie yearly family expenses. With respect to the second consideration, I have en- deavoured to preserve the interest of letters and of a diary written with great freedom and familiarity, at as little cost as possible to those private and hallowed feelings which ought always to be respected. It is a comfort to reflect, that the kindness of Moore's nature, and the general benevolence which his bright talents and warm heart excited, tend to cxliibit society, in his view of it, in its best aspect. It is thus with a good portrait-painter. Not X PREFACE. only would Sir Josliua Reynolds paint better tliat wliich was before bim than an ordinary limner, but that which was before him would be better worth painting. For, by agreeable conversation, and by quickness in catching the best turn of the features, he would raise upon the counte- nance and fix upon the canvass, the wisest look of the judge, the liveliest expression of the wit, and the most brilliant gknces of the beauty. Moore's life, from infancy to decay, is represented in his own account, whether in the shape of memoir, letters, or diary. There will be seen his early progress as a schoolboy ; his first success as an author ; his marriage ; the happiness of his wedded life ; the distress arising from the defalcation of his deputy at Bermuda; his re- sidence at Paris ; his popularity as a poet ; and, lastly, the domestic losses which darkened his latter days, and obscured one of the most sparkling intellects that ever shone upon the world. His virtues and his failings, his happiness and his afflictions, liis popularity as an author, his success in society, his attachment as a friend, his love as a son and a husband, are reflected in these volumes. Still there are some remarks which an editor may be allowed to make by way of introduction to tliis work. The most engaging as well as the most powerful passions of Moore were his domestic affections. It was truly and sagaciously observed of hhn by his friend, Miss Godfrey, " You have contrived, God knows how ! amidst the plea- sures of the world, to preserve all your home fireside affec- tions true and genuine as you brought them out with you ; PREFACE. XI and tills Is a trait In your character that I think beyond all praise ; it is a perfection that never goes alone ; and I believe you will turn out a saint or an angel after all." * Twice a week during his whole life, except during his absence in America and Bermuda, he wrote a letter to his mother. If he had nothing else to tell her, these letters conveyed the repeated assurance of his devotion and at- tachment. His expressions of tenderness, however simple and however reiterated, are, in my estimation, more valu- able than the brightest jewels of his wit. They flow from a heart uncorrupted by fame, unspoilt by the world, and continue to retain to his old age the accents and obedient spirit of infancy. In the same stream, and from the same source, flowed the w^aters of true, deep, touching, unchang- ing affection for his wife. From 1811, the year of his marriage, to 1852, that of his death, this excellent and beautiful person received from him the homage of a lover, enhanced by all the gratitude, all the confidence, which the daily and hourly happiness he enjoyed were sure to inspire. Thus, whatever amusement he might find in society, whatever sights he might behold, whatever literary resources he might seek elsewhere, he always returned to his home with a fresh feeling of delight. The time he had been absent had always been a time of exertion and of exile; his return restored him to tranquillity and to peace. Keen as was his natural sense of enjoyment, he never balanced between pleasure and happiness. His letters and his journal bear abundant evidence of these natural and deep-seated affections. * Miss Godfi-ey, Oct. 2. 1806. XU PREFACE. His affections as a father were no less genuine, but were not equally rewarded. The deaths of some of his children at an early period, of his remaining daughter and of his sons at a more advanced age, together with some other circumstances, cast a gloom over the latter years of his life, which was never entirely dispelled. Another characteristic quality of Moore, was his love of independence. Unfortunately for him he entertained, as a young man, expectations of advancement and compe- tency, if not wealth, from a patron. Lord Moira, who assumed that character, seems to have meant kindness, and perhaps to have done all in his power to help the rising poet, but his attempts were not altogether success- ful. He procured for Mr. Moore an office in the Court of Admiralty at Bermuda, which produced the only great pecuniary embarrassment from which he ever suffered. When Lord Moira went to India, he lamented he could not take Mr. Moore with him, but made some indis- tinct offer of exchanging some portion of his patronage to help his friend at home. Mr. Moore's answer was prompt and conclusive. Whatever he might have done had employment immediately under Lord Moira been offered to him, he replied to this last proposal, " I would rather struggle on as I am, than take anything that would have the effect of tying up my tongue under such a system as the present."* Within a few days of giving this answer, he was obliged to write to Mr. Power, the pubhsher of his music, for an * Letters to Lady Donegal and Mr. Power, 1812. PREFACE. XIU advance of three or four pounds as he had not sixpence In his house. Lord Moira, who seems to have esteemed Moore's cha- racter, was not offended by his spirit; continued to open to him his library and his house at Donington, and was in fact of more use to him by that kindness than if he had carried him to the East Indies to waste his genius in the details of office. It must also be recorded that Lord Moira had given his father an office in Dublin, which for many years relieved Mr. Moore from a burthen he could hardly have supported. It may, however, with truth be averred, that while literary men of acknowledged talent have a claim on the government of their country, to save them from penury or urgent distress, it is better for literature that eminent authors should not look to political patronage for their maintenance. It is desirable that they who are the heirs of fame should preserve an independence of position, and that the rewards of the Crown should not bind men of letters in servile adherence. Rightly did Mr. Moore understand the dignity of the laurel. He never would barter his freedom away for any favour from any quarter. Although the wolf of poverty often prowled round his door, he never abandoned his humble dwelhng for the safety of the City, or the protection of the Palace. From the strokes of penury indeed, more than once, neither his unceasing exertion, " nee Apollinis infula, texit." But never did he make his wife and family a pretext for political shabbincss ; never did he imagine that to leave a XIV PEEFACE. disgraced name as an inheritance to his children was his duty as a father. Neither did he, hke many a richer man, with negligence amounting to crime, leave his trades- men to suffer for his want of fortune. Mingling careful economy with an intense love of all the enjoyments of society, he managed, with the assistance of his excellent wife, who carried on for him the detail of his household, to struggle through all the petty annoyances attendant on narrow means, to support his father, mother, and sister, besides his own family, and at his death he left no debt behind him. It is true that Mr. Moore had a small office at Bermuda, and that in his latter days he received a pension of 300/. a-year from the Crown. But the office at Bermuda was of little avail to him, was the cause of the greatest embar- rassment he ever suffered, and obhged him to pass in a foreign country more than a year of his life. The pension which was granted to him by Her Majesty, near the end of his life, was no more than sufficient to defray, in the most humble manner, the expenses of subsistence. But this pension had no reference to political conduct, and left him as free as it found him. Another marked quality of Moore was his cheerfid- ness. Keenly sensitive to criticism he was yet far more pleased with praise than annoyed by blame, and was always more elevated by admiration than depressed by censure. In all contingencies he could say, " When equal chances arbitrate th' event, My mind inclines to hope rather than fear ;" PREFACE. XV and when the certiunty of si misfortune left no room for doubt he could write in this tone to Miss Godfrey : — ** Your friends, the Fudges, are nearly out of hand. It was well this shock did not come upon me sooner, as it might perhaps (though I doubt whether it wovild) have damped my gaiety with them ; but, I don't know how it is, as long as my conscience is sound, and that suiFering is not attended by delinquency, I doubt whether even a prison will make much difference in my cheerfulness : ' Stone walls do not a prison make,' &c. " I crossed from Dover to Calais with him not long after- wards, when he was leaving his country, embarrassed by an unforeseen incumbrance, and with but an uncertain hope of an early return. Yet he was as cheerful as if he had been going for a few weeks' amusement to the Con- tinent, and we amused ourselves with imaginary para- graphs, describing liis exile as " the consequence of an unfortunate attachment.'''' His sensibility to happy and affecting emotions was exquisite. A return to his wife and children after even a short separation affected him deeply ; music enchanted him ; views of great scenes of nature made him weep. I shall never forget the day when I hurried him on from a post-house in the Jura mountains to get a first view of the Alps at sunset, and on coming up to him found him speechless and in tears, overcome with the sublimity of Mont Blanc. As he grew older this sensibility gave a deeper gloom to his sorrows, but during the greater part of his life his XVI PREFACE. love, and affections, and admiration being much keener than his dislikes, and antipathies, and aversions, he derived from this constitution of his nature a degree of happiness to which few men can attain. To the good qualities of Moore both Byron and Scott, his great cotemporaries, have borne witness. " I have read Lalla Rookh (says Bjron), but not with sufEcient attention yet, for I ride about, and lounge, and ponder, and two or three other things, so that my reading is very desultory, and not so attentive as it used to be. I am very glad to hear of its popularity, for Moore is a very noble fellow in all respects, and will enjoy it without any of the bad feelings which success — good or evil — some- times engenders in the men of rhyme. Of the poem itself, I will tell you my opinion when I have mastered it. I say of the poem, for I don't like the prose at all ; in the meantime, the ' Fire- worshippers' is the best, and the 'Veiled Prophet' the worst of the volume." Lord Byron says elsewhere, " Moore has a peculiarity of talent, or rather talents — poetry, music, voice, all his own ; and an expression in each, which never was, nor will be, possessed by another. But he is capable of still higher flights in poetry. By the bye, what humour, what — everything, in the ' Post Bag ! There is nothing Moore may not do, if he will but seriously set about it. In society he is gentlemanly, gentle, and, altogether, more pleasing than any individual with whom I am acquainted. For his honour, principle, and independence, his conduct to Hunt speaks ' trumpet- tongued.' He has but one fault — and that one I daily regret — he is not here." ^o Walter Scott, in his "Diary," gives the following just account of the differences and resemblances between him- self and Moore : "Nov. 22. 1825. Moore. I saw Moore (for the first time, I may say, this season). We had, indeed, met In public twenty years ago. PREFACE. XVll There is a manly frankness, with perfect ease and good breeding about him, which is delightful. Not the least touch of the poet or the pedant. A little, very little man — less, I think, than Lewis, and something like him in person ; God knows, not in conversation ; for Matt., though a clever fellow, was a bore of the first description ; moreover, he looked always like a schoolboy. Now Moore has none of this insignificance. His countenance is plain, but the expression is very animated, especially in speaking or singing, so that it is far more interesting than the finest features could have rendered it. I was aware that Byron had often spoken, both in private society and in his journal, of Moore and myself in the same breath, and with the same sort of regard; so I was curious to see what there could be in conimou betwixt us, Moore having lived so much in the gay world, I in the country, and with people of business, and sometimes with politicians ; Moore a scholar, I none ; he a musician and artist, I without know- ledge of a note ; he a democrat, I an aristocrat ; with many other points of difference; besides his being an Irishman, I a Scotchman, and both tolerably national. Yet there is a point of resemblance, and a strong one. "We are both good-humoured fellows, who rather seek to enjoy what is going forward than to maintain our dignity as Lions ; and we have both seen the world too widely and too well not to con- temn in our souls the imaginary consequence of literary people, who walk with their noses in the air, and remind me always of the fellow whom Johnson met in an alehouse, and who called himself ' the great Twalmly, inventor of the floodgate iron for smoothing linen.' He always enjoys the viot pour rire, and so do I. It was a pity that nothing save the total destruction of Byron's memoirs would satisfy his executors; but there was a reason — Premat nox alia. It would be a delightful addition to life, if Thomas ]\Ioore had a cottage within two miles of me. AYe went to the theatre together, and the house being luckily a good one, received Thomas Moore with rapture. I could have hugged them, for it paid back the debt of the kind recep- tion I met with in Ireland."* * Life of Scott, vol. vi. p. 128. VOL. I. a XVIU PllEFACE. I have placed in the notes some other testimonies to the merit of Moore, for which I am indebted to a cotem- porary publication.* The independence of his character, and the fastidious- ness of his taste, affected his opinions both in politics and religion. His political sympathies in early youth were deeply and ardently engaged on the side of those who excited and partook in the Irish Kebellion, so wickedly provoked, so rashly begun, and so cruelly crushed, in 1798. But the sight of democracy triumphant in America soon disgusted him, and speaking of Hudson, one of his earliest and most enthusiastic college friends, who had settled at Baltimore, he writes to his mother, " I shall leave this place for Philadelphia on to-morrow, or the day after. I shall see there poor Edward Hudson, who, if I am riglitly informed, has married the daughter of a very rich bookseller, and is taken into partnership by the father. Surely, surely, this country must have cured him of republicanism." In another letter he says, — "I have seen Edward Hudson : the rich bookseller I had heard of is Pat Byrne, whose daughter Hudson has married ; they are, I believe, doing well. I dine with them to-day. Oh ! if Mrs. Merry were to know that ! However, I dined with the Consul-general yesterday, which makes the balance even. I feel awkward with Hudson now; he has perhaps had reason to confirm him in his politics, and God knows I see every reason to change mine." * The Irish Quarterly Ecview, No. VI. See Note A. PREFACE. XIX Althouo-li the %'iew which he took of America and her institutions was afterwards referred to by hun as a mere boyish impression, yet a simihir aheration took pkce in liis \dews regarding his native country. Although nothing could be warmer or more constant than his love for Ireland, he never could look with complacency on the attempts at revolution by force, or even on the organised agitation of opinion wdiich from time to time disturbed the peace of his unhappy country. Of his own feelings he speaks thus in one of the dedications of the Irish Melodies : — "To those who identify nationality wath treason, and who see, in every effort for Ireland, a system of hostility towards England; to those too wdio, nursed in the gloom of prejudice, are alarmed by the faintest gleam of liberality that threatens to disturb their darkness (like that of Demophoon of old, who, when the sun shone upon him, shivered) ; to such men I shall not deign to apologise for the warmth of any political sentiment which may occur in the covirse of these pages. But, as there are many, among the more wise and tolerant, who, with feeling enough to mourn over the wrongs of their country, and sense enough to perceive all the danger of not redressing them, may yet think that allusions in the least degi'ee bold or inflammatory should be avoided in a publication of this popular description, I beg of these respected persons to believe, that there is no one who deprecates more sincerely than I do any appeal to the passions of an ignorant and angry multitude ; but. that it is not through that gross and inflammable region of a 2 XX PREFACE society a work of this nature could ever have been in- tended to circulate. It looks much higher for its audience and readers : it is found upon the pianofortes of the rich and the educated — of those who can afford to have their national zeal a little stimulated, without exciting much dread of tlie excesses into which it may hurry them ; and of many whose nerves may be, now and then, alarmed with advantage, as much more is to be gained by their fears, than could ever be expected from their justice."* Of the political agitation, which, whether under the name of Catholic Association, or any other, has so often been employed as a means to obtain redress, or change, he never speaks but Avith repugnance and dislike. The language used to move an ignorant mass was abhorrent to his taste ; the machinery of meetings and societies suited ill with his love of domestic quiet ; the fierce denunciations uttered by impassioned orators jarred with his feelings of kindness and goodwill to mankind. On the other hand, his spirit of independence revolted against a proposition by which a seat in Parliament was offered him in the days when Mr. O'Connell ruled supreme over the minds of the great majority of the Irish people. If I am not mistaken, he expressed to Mr. O'Connell himself his manly determination not to bend his political will to any one. Thus, in the midst of an agitation purely Irish, the most gifted of Irish patriots held aloof, foregoing the applause in which he would have delighted, and the political distinction for which he often * Irish Melodies, IsTo. VI. Dedication to Lady Donegal. PREFACE. XXI sighed, that he might not sully the white robe of his independence, or 'file his soul for any object of ambition or of vanity. An equal devotion to truth marked his literary cha- racter. The liberal opinions of the Whigs, combined with the literary tastes of the chief members of that party naturally led him to espouse their cause, and live in their society. Yet in his Life of Sheridan he did not hesitate to question their policy, and to blame their great leader, Mr. Fox, when his own judgment led him to withhold his assent, or refuse his approbation. For he loved to examine history for himself, and to state fearlessly the opinions which he formed impartially. It is not my pur- pose here to defend those opinions, or to impugn them; it is enough to say that he did not frame them from any motives of interest, or suppress them from any personal regard. On his religious opinions I shall touch very briefly. He was bred a Roman Catholic, and in his mature years he published a work of some learning in defence of the chief articles of the Roman Catholic faith. Yet he occasionally attended the Protestant Church ; he had his children bap- tized into that Church ; and when the Head of his own Church was restored to his throne, he dreaded the conse- quences of that triumph to the liberty which he prized.* Yet he always adhered to the Roman Catholic Church, and when in London attended the Roman Catholic chapel * See Letter to Lady Donegal, April lOtb, 1815. a 3 XXU PREFACE. in Wardour Street. His answer to a person who tried to convert him to Protestantism was nearly in these terms: " I was born and bred in the faith of my fathers, and in that faith I intend to die." In that intention he persevered to the end. Of two things all who knew him must have been persuaded: the one, his strong feelings of devotion, his aspirations, Ms longing for life and immortality, and liis submission to the will of God ; the other, his love of his neighbour, his charity, his Samaritan kindness for the distressed, his good will to all men. In the last days of his life he frequently repeated to his wife, " Lean upon God, Bessy ; lean upon God." That God is love was the summary of his belief; that a man should love his neigh- bour as hunself, seems to have been the rule of his life. As a poet, Moore must always hold a high place. Of English lyrical poets he is surely the first. Beautiful specimens of lyrical poetry may indeed be found from the earliest times of our literature to the days of Burns, of Campbell, and of Tennyson, but no one poet can equal Moore in the united excellence and abundance of his pro- ductions. Lord Byron writes, upon reading one or two of the numbers of the Irish Melodies, then recently published, " To me, some of Moore's last Erin sparks, ' As a Beam o'er the Face of the Waters,' ' When He who adores Thee,' * Oh ! blame not,' and ' Oh ! breathe not his Name,' are worth all the epics that ever were composed." When we remember that to these early Irish Melodies were added so many numbers of Irish Melodies, National Melodies, and Sacred Songs, each full of the most exquisite poetry, it is impossible not to be lost in admiration at the TEEFACE. XXlll fancy and the feeling of which the sj^rlng was so abundant, and the waters so clear, the chiare,fresclie, e dolci acque, which seemed to flow perennially from an inexhaustible fountain. In mentioning fancy and feeling, I have mentioned what appear to me the two qualities in which Moore was most rich. His was a delightful fancy, not a sublime imagina- tion ; a tender and touching feeling, not a rending and overwhelming passion. The other quality most remarkable is the sweetness of the versification, arising from the happy choice of words, and the delicacy of a correct musical ear. Never has the English language, except in some few songs of the old poets, been made to render such melody ; never have the most refined emotions of love, and the most ingenious creations of fancy been expressed In a language SO simple, so easy, so natural. Lalla Rookh is the work next to the IMelodies and Sacred Songs in proof of Moore's title as a poet. It is a poem rich with the most l^rilliant creations ; a work such as Pope always wislied to write, such as Tasso might have written. Indeed there is no poet whom Moore resembles in profusion of invention, in beauty of language, and In tenderness of feeling so mucli as Tasso. Tasso, Indeed, placed certain limits to his own invention by taking for his subject a well known historical event, and adopting for his heroes historical characters. Whether he has stained or lost by that choice of subject may be doubted. On the one hand, he has indeed shed upon his poem all the interest which attaches to the religious enterprlze of the Crusaders, and has restrained his own genius from Avandcrlng into the a 1 I XXIV PREFACE. wild realms of fiction where some poets of his country have lost themselves ; while, on the other hand, he has sub- jected his beautiful poem to a comparison with Homer, Virgil, and Milton, who all surpass him in the simplicity and grandeur Avhich properly belong to the epic poem.* Moore has, however, taken a different course, and relin- quishing all the advantages to be derived from an historical subject, has sought in the abundant spring of his own imagination, the tales upon which his poem is founded. Some few hints, indeed, he has borrowed from Eastern legends, and recorded revolutions, and in one of his letters he says that Mr. Rogers furnished him with the subject of his poem. But the whole narrative of the Veiled Prophet and the Fire-Worshippers is in fact his own creation. It must be owned that Spenser and Moore huve sub- jected themselves to some disadvantage by thus building out of " airy notliing," and giving to the creations of their own brain " a local habitation and a name." Where the foundations are already laid, and are strong in popular belief, the architect finds his task much lightened, and liis superstructure more easily raised. It is difficult to feel for Azini and Hafed the interest wliich the name of Achilles inspired in the Greeks, and that of Goffredo in the Italians. But neither Spenser nor Moore were made to wear the heavy armour of the epic poet : light and easy movement, weapons that might be thrown to a distance, and dazzle the beholder as they glittered in the air, fitted them better than the broad shield and the ponderous sword. It is best that every poet should attempt that * Sec Xole B at llie end of tlie Preface. PREFACE. XXV kind of poetiy in wlilch he is most likely to succeed. The Greeks used to say of Arcliilochus, " If Archilochus had written epic, Archilochus would have been erpial to Homer." But it is not clear that Archilochus had a genius for the kind of poetry which he did not attempt. Besides, it is to be said that Moore wrote in an age, when, as Lord Jeffrey expressed it, men would as little tliink of sitting down to a whole epic as to a whole ox. Be this as it may, the execution of the work is exquisite. Such charm of versification, such tenderness of womanly love, such strains of patriotic ardour, and such descriptions of blind and fierce fanaticism as are found in Lalla Eookh, are found nowhere else in a poem of this length. Indeed, the fault on which most readers dwell is that the feast is too sumptuous, the lights of a splendour which dazzles the eyes they were meant to enchant, and the flowers of a fragrance which overpowers the senses they were meant to delight. To this may be added the too copious display of Eastern learning, which often brings the unknown to illus- trate that which of itself is obscure. It is difficult to give a preference to one of the poems which compose the volume over the rest. Craljbe pre- ferred the Veiled Prophet ; Byron the Fire-Worshippers. Of these, the Yelled Prophet displays the greater power ; the Fire-Worshippers the more natural and genuine passion. The story of the Veiled Prophet is somewhat revolting, and requires the most musical and refined poetry to make it even bearable. The Ghebers were no doubt associated in the mind of INIoore with the religion and the country most dear to his heart. XXYl PEEFACE. It may be remarked that the catastrophe of the two poems is too nearly similar. Mokanna and Hafed are both insurgents ; both are defeated ; both seek death to avoid captivity after the destruction of their armies, and the ruin of their cause. One, indeed, is a monster, and the other a hero ; but the similarity of situation is undeniable. Paradise and the Peri is a short poem of exquisite beauty, and perhaps the most perfect in the volume. The Loves of the Angels is another work rich with the same freight of tenderness and fancy which are the true property of Moore. There is a falling off in the third of the stories, which together compose the poem, and alto- gether the effect is not that which a single tale woidd have produced. Sweetness too much prolonged, tenderness not varied with the sterner and more deadly passions are a food too milky for our un-childlike nature. I will not enter into the question of the propriety of Moore's earlier poems. Horace is very licentious, yet his odes are the delight of our clerical instructors and solemn critics. Prior is not very decent, but liis tales are praised on a monument in Westminster Abbey, and defended by our great moralist. Dr. Johnson. Some of Little's poems should never have been written, far less published, but they must now be classed with those of other amatory poets, who have allowed their fancy to roam beyond the limits which morality and decorum would prescribe. Two of Moore's cotemporaries must be placed before him in any fair estimate of the authors of the first part of the nineteenth century. Byron rose as a poet above all his rivals. The strength of passion, the command of ner- PEEFACE. XXVll vous expression, tlie power of searching the heart, the philosophy of Ufe which liis poems display, are wonderful. In the last of these attributes only "Wordsworth has equalled or surpassed hiui. In all the rest he has no equal. The personification of Greece, the Sunset at Athens, the lines on Solitude, those on the Gladiator, on the Ocean, on the Battle of Waterloo, are matchless iu conception and in execution. Scott is the other wonder of this age. Picturesque, interesting, and bard-like as are his narrative poems, the pathos, humour, description, character, and, above all, the marvellous fertility displayed in the novels, show far greater power : a whole region of the territory of Imagi- nation is occupied by tliis extraordinary man alone and unapproachable. Lope de Vega and many others have shown wonderful rapidity in composition, but their works, with very few exceptions, have died almost as soon as they were born. The fertility of Voltaire is wonderful, but great part of what he has written is so objectionable on the score of religion or morality, that even his wit does not furnish salt enough to keep from corruption the intellectual food he has lavished in such abundance. But the novels of Scott will furnish entertainment to many generations ; nor is there Hkely to be any race of men so fastidious as to require anything purer, so spoilt by excitement as to need anything more amusing, ' or so grave as to scorn all delight from this kind of composition. When these two great men have been enumerated, I know not any other writer of his time who can be put in competition with Moore. If liis poetry is not so powerful or so passionate as that of Byron XXVlll PREFACE. it is far sweeter and more melodious ; if his prose works cannot be weighed either in number or value against those of Scott, his command of poetical resources is far greater, his imagery more brilliant and more copious, his diction more easy and more finished. In his hands the English language is no longer that jargon {jiuel gergo) which Alfieri declares it to be, but becomes a soft and tuneable tongue, conveying sentiments the most tender and the most spirited, tlie gayest, and the most melancholy in ex- pressions the most appropriate. Dr. Johnson, in quoting some verses of Pope expressing by sound the sense to be conveyed, gives the line, " Flies o'er th' unbending corn, and skims along the main." Nothing can less well express rapid motion than this verse. The word " unbending " sounds, as it means, stiff, resisting, &c., and thus clashes violently with the idea of rapid and easy motion, which Pope seeks to convey. Much better has Scott said, " E'en the liglit harebell raised its head, Elastic from her airy tread." But in fifty instances Moore has done better still. Thus, " The young May moon Is beaming, love ! The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love ! How sweet to rove Through iMorna's grove, "When the drowsy world is dreaming, love ! Or, " Oh ! had we some bright little isle of our own. In a blue summer ocean far oflf and alone. Where a leaf never dies in the still-blooming bowers, And the bee banquets on through a whole year of flowers ; PREFACE. XXIX "Where tlie sun loves to pause AVItli so fond a delay, That the night only draws A thin veil o'er the day ; Where simply to feel that we Lreathe, that we live, Is worth the best joy that life elsewhere can give." Again, " But oh ! how the tear in her eyelids grew bright, "When, after whole pages of sorrow and shame. She saw History write, "With a pencil of light, That illum'd all the volume, her "Wellington's name." And in tlie address to the Harp of his Country, " I was hut as the wind, passing heedlessly over. And all the wild sweetness I wak'd was thy own." It is the merit of these passages that they do not merely represent a sound, but they express by sound — scenery, action, and feehng. Lalla Rookh aboimds with such pas- sages. I knoAV not how faithfully the translators have conveyed into various languages the beauty of the original, but that Eastern imagery was well transfused into his own tongue by the poet is playfully recorded by Luttrell, who expressed a fact when he wrote, " I'm told, dear Moore, your lays are sung, (Can it be true, you lucky man ?) By moonlight, in the Persian tongue, Along the streets of Ispahan." The political squibs are excellent, from their ease and playfulness : they are too well known to require further notice. Of jSIoore's prose works I need say but little. The Life of Sheridan, and that of Lord Edward Fitzgerald must, from their intrinsic merit, always be read Avith interest. In the former of these Avorks the history of XXX PREFACE. an extraordinary period is sketched witli great candour and impartiality, however I may differ from some of the opinions of the author. The character and the fate of Lord Edward Fitzo;erald are made to touch the heart of every Irish patriot. The " Memoirs of Captain Kock" abound in Avit : the " Travels of an Irish Gentleman in Search of a Religion" display a fund of learning on theo- logical subjects on which Dr. Doyle pronounced his judg- ment in nearly the following form : — "If St. Augustine were more orthodox, and Scratchinbach less plausible, it is a book of which any one of us might be proud." Ireland, which has the glory of having produced Burke and Grattan, both philosophers and orators, may justly boast of Moore as her first poet. The latter years of Moore were clouded by loss of memory, and a helplessness almost childish ; yet he pre- served liis interest about his friends; and when I saw him for the last time, on the 20th of December, 1849, he spoke rationally, agreeably, and kindly on all those subjects which were the topics of our conversation. But the death of his sister Ellen, and of his two sons, seem to have saddened his heart and obscured his intellect. The wit which sparkled so brightly, the gaiety which threw such sunshine over society, the readiness of reply, the quickness of recollection, all that marked the poet and the wit, were gone. As we left his house Lord LansdoAvne remarked, that he had not seen him so well for a long time ; Mrs. Moore has since made to me the same observation. But that very evening he had a fit from the effects of which he never recovered. The light of his intellect PREFACE. XXXI grew still more dim ; his memory failed still more ; yet ttere never was a total extinction of that brio-ht flame. To the last day of his life, he would inquire with anxiety about the health of his friends, and would sing, or ask his wife to sing to him, the favourite airs of his past days. Even the day before his death he "warbled," as Mrs. Moore expressed it ; and a fond love of music never left him but with life. On the 26th of February, 1852, he expired calmly and without pain, at Sloperton Cottage. His body Avas in- terred within the neighbouring churchyard of Bromham, where the remains of four of his children had been de- posited. The funeral was f|uite private, as no doubt he would have desired. The reader of the following memoir, correspondence, and journal may find, with ample traces of a " loving, noble nature," the blots of human frailty, and the troubles and anxieties of a combatant in this world's strife. If so, let him recollect the author's own beautiful words : " This world is all a fleeting show, For man's illusion given j The smiles of joy, the tears of woe, Deceitful shine, deceitful How : There's nothing true but Heaven " And false the light on glory's plume, As fading hues of even ; And Love, and Hope, and Beauty's bloom, Are blessings gather'd for the tomb ; There's nothing bright but Heaven ! " Poor wanderers of a stormy day. From wave to wave we're driven, And Fancy's flasli and Reason's ray Serve but to light our troubled way; There's nothing calm but Heaven!" xxxu NOTE A. I HAVE extracted from the Irish Quarterly Eeview, No. VL, some further notices of Mr. Moore's appearance, manners, and conversation. The evidence is all to the same effect, and from the most opposite quarters. " Moore's country did not forget him ; and fancying that the author of Captain Rock, and the Life of Sheridan, must possess that stuff, of which popular patriots and members of Parliament are made, the electors of Limerick determined to offer to him the representation of their city. In the latter part of the year 1832, when Gerald Griffin was about to leave his native country for London, it was resolved that he (the Irish poet and novelist) should convey, to the poet of Ireland, the invitation of the people of Limerick. Gerald, who was accom- panied to Sloperton by his brother Daniel, thus describes the visit, in a letter to his fair Quaker friend : " ' To Mrs. * * * " 'Monday morning, March 31st, 1833. " ' Pitman's, Senior, Taunton. " ' My dear L . Procrastination — It is all the fruit of procras- tination. When Dan and I returned to the inn at Devizes, after our first sight and speech of the Irish Melodist, I opened my writing case to give L an account of our day's work : then I put it ofij I be- lieve, till morning : then as Dan was returning, I put it off till some hour when I could tell you about It at full leisure : then Saunders and Otley set me to work, and I put it off until my authorship should be concluded for the season, at least ; and now it is concluded, for I am not to publish this year ; and here I come before you with my news, my golden bit of news, stale, flat, and unprofitable. Oh, dear L , I saw the poet ! and I spoke to him, and he spoke to me, and it was not to bid me "get out of his way," as the King of France did to the man who boasted that his majesty had spoken to him ; but it was to NOTES. xxxm sliake hands with me, and to ask me " How I did, IMi'. Griffin," and to speak of " my fame." My fame ! Tom Moore talk of my flime ! Ah, the ron:ue ! he was humbusgins, L , I'm afraid. He knew the soft side of an author's heart, and, perhaps, he had pity on my long mehmcholy-looking figure, and said to himself, " I will make this poor fellow feel pleasant, if I can ; " for which, with all his roguery, who could help liking him and being grateful to him. But you want to know all about it step by step, if not for the sake of your poor dreamy- looking Beltard, at least for that of fancy, wit, and patriotism. I will tell you then, although Dan has told you before, for the subject cannot be tiresome to an Irishwoman. I will tell you how we hired a great, grand cabriolet, and set off— no, pull in a little. I should first tell you how we arrived at the inn at Devizes, late in the evening, I forget the exact time, and ordered tea (for which, by the bye, we had a pro- digious appetite, not having stopped to dine in Bath or Bristol), when the waiter (a most solid-looking fellow, who won Dan's heart by his precision and the mathematical exactness of all his movements) brought us up, amongst other good things, fresh butter prepared in a very curious way. I could not for a long time imagine how they did it. It was in strings just like vermicelli, and as if tied in some way at the bottom. King George, not poor real King George, but Peter Pindar's King George, was never more puzzled to know how the apple got into the dumpling ; but at last, on applying to the waiter, he told us it was done by squeezing it through a linen cloth ; an excellent plan, particulai-ly in frosty weather, when it is actually impossible to make the butter adhere to the bread on account of its working up with a coat of crumbs on the under side, but that's true — Tom Moore — and, besides, it is unfashionable now to spread the butter, isn't it ? I'm afraid I exposed myself, as they say. Well, we asked the waiter, out came the important question, "How far Is Sloperton Cottage from Devizes ? " " Sloperton, sir ? that's Mr. Moore's place, sir, lie is a poet, sir. Wc do all Mr. Moore's work." "What ought I to have done, L ? To h:ivc flung my arms about his neck for knowing so much about Moore, or to have knocked him down for knowing so little ? Well, we learned all we wanted to know ! and, after making our arrangements for the following day, went to bed and slept soundly. And in the morning it was that we hired the grand cabriolet, and set off to Sloperton ; drizzling rain, but a delightful country ; such a gentle shower as that through which he looked at Innlsfullen — his farewell look. And we drove away until we came to a cottage, a cot- tage of gentility, with two gateways" and pretty grounds about it, and we alighted and knocked at the hall-door ; and there was dead silence, VOL. I. b XXXIV NOTES. and we whispered one another ; and my nerves thrilled as the wind rustled in the creeping shrubs that graced the retreat of — Moore. Oh, L ! there's no use in talking, but I must be fine. I wonder I ever stood it at all, and I an Irishman, too, and singing his songs since I was the height of my knee — " The Veiled Prophet," " Azim," " She is far from the Land," " Those Evening Bells." But the door opened, and a young woman appeared. " Is Mr. Moore at home ? " " I'll see, sir. What name shall I say, sir ? " Well, not to be too particular, we were shown upstairs, when we found the nightingale in his cage ; in honester language, and more to the purjiose, we found our hero in his study, a table before him covered with books and papers, a drawer half opened and stuffed with letters, a piano also open at a little dis- tance ; and the thief himself, a little man, but full of spirits, with eyes, hands, feet, and frame for ever in motion, looking as if it would be a feat for him to sit for three minutes quiet in his chair. I am no great observer of proportions, but he seemed to me to be a neat-made little fellow, tidily buttoned up, young as fifteen at heart, though with hair that reminded me of " AI^ds in the sunset ; " not handsome, perhaps, but something in the whole cut of him that pleased me ; finished as an actor, but without an actor's affectation ; easy as a gentleman, but without some gentlemen's formality : in a word, as people say when they find their brains begin to run aground at the fag end of a mag- nificent period, we found him a hospitable, warm-hearted Irishman, as pleasant as could be himself, and disposed to make others so. And is this enough ? And need I tell you the day was spent delightfully, chiefly in listening to his innumerable jests and admirable stories, and beautiful similes — beautiful and original as those he throws into his songs — and anecdotes that would make the Danes laugh ? and how we did all we could, I believe, to get him to stand for Limerick ; and how we called again the day after, and walked with him about his little garden ; and how he told us that he always wrote walking, and how we came in again and took luncheon, and how I was near for- getting that it was Friday (which you know I am rather apt to do in pleasant company), and how he walked with us through the fields, and wished us a " good-bye," and left us to do as well as we could without him?'"* " Of his appearance and life in 1 834, Willis gives the following sketch : '"June, 1834. " ' I called on Moore with a letter of introduction, and met him at the door of his lodgings. I knew him instantly from the pictures I * Griflin's liiie of Gerald GrifHn, vol. i. p. 382. I NOTES. XXXV had seen of him, but was surprised at the dlminutiveness of his person. Pie is much below the middle size, and with his white hat, and long chocolate frock coat, was far from prepossessing in his appearance. With this material disadvantage, however, his address is gentlemanlike to a very marked degree, and I should think no one could see Moore, without conceiving a strong liking for hira. As I was to meet hira at dinner, I did not detain him.' " This dinner was at Lady Blessington's. Willis had arrived but a few minutes when "' Mr. Moore,' cried the footman, at the bottom of the staircase ; 'Mr. Moore,' cried the footman at the top; and with his glass at his eye, stumbling over an ottoman between his near-sightedness and the darkness of the room, enters the poet. Half a glance tells you he is at home on the carpet. Sliding his little feet up to Lady Blessington, he made his compliments with a gaiety and an ease combined with a kind of worshipping deference that was worthy of a prime minister at the coiirt of love. With the gentlemen, all of whom he knew, he had a frank, merry manner of a confident favourite, and he was greeted like one. He went from one to the other, straining back his head to look up at them (for, singularly enough, every gentleman in the room was six feet high and upwards), and to every one ho said something wliich, from any one else, would have seemed peculiarly felicitous, but which fell from his lips as if his breath was not more spontaneous, " ' Nothing but a short-hand report coidd retain the delicacy and elegance of Moore's language, and memory itself cannot embody again the kind of frost-work of imagery which was formed and melted on his lips. His voice is soft or firm as the subject requires, but, perhaj^s, the woi'd gentlemanltj describes it belter than any other. It is upon a natural key, but, if I may so phrase it, is fused with a high-bred affectation, expressing deference and courtesy, at the same time that its pauses are constructed peculiarly to catch the ear. It would be diflficult not to attend to him while he Is talking, though the subject were but the shape of a wine-glass. Moore's head is distinctly before me while I write, but I sliall find it difficult to describe. His hair, which curled once all over it in long tendrils, unlike anybody else's in the world, and which, probably, suggested his soubriquet of '■^ Bacchus " is diminished now to a few curls sprinkled with grey, and scattered in a single ring above his eai's. His forehead is wrinkled, with the ex- ception of a most prominent development of the organ of gaiety, which, singularly enough, shines with the lustre and smooth polish of b 2 XXXVl NOTES. a pearl, and is surrounded by a semicircle of lines drawn close about it, like intrenchments against Time. His eyes still sparkle like a champagne bubble, though the invader has drawn his pencillings about the corners ; and there is a kind of wintry red, of the tinge of an October leaf, that seems enamelled on his cheek, the eloquent record of the claret his wit has brightened. His mouth is the most charac- teristic feature of all. The lips are delicately cut, slight and change- able as an aspen ; but there is a set-up look about the lower lip — a determination of the muscle to a particular expression, and you fancy that you can almost see wit astride upon it. It is written legibly with the imprint of habitual success. It is arch, confident, and half dif- fident, as if he was disguising his pleasure at applause, while another bright gleam of fancy was breaking on him. The slightly-tossed nose confirms the fun of the expression, and altogether it is a face that sparkles, beams, radiates. " ' We went up to coffee and Moore brightened again over his Chasse-cafe, and went glittering on with criticisms on Grisi, the deli- cious songstress now ravishing the world, whom he placed above all but Pasta, and whom he thought, with the exception that her legs were too short, an incomparable creature. This introduced music very naturally, and with a great deal of difiiculty he was taken to the piano. My letter is getting long, and I have no time to describe his singing. It is well known, however, that its effect is only equalled by the beauty of his' own words ; and, for one, I could have taken him into my heart with delight. He makes no attempt at music. It is a kind of admirable recitative, in which every shade of thought is sylla- bled and dwelt upon, and the sentiment of the song goes through your blood, warming you to the very eyelids, and starting your tears, if you have a soid or sense in you. I have heard of a woman's fainting at a song of Moore's ; and if the burden of it answered by chnnce to a secret in the bosom of the listener, I should think from its comparative effect upon so old a stager as myself, that the heart would break with it. We all sat around the piano, and after two or three songs of Lady Blessington's choice, he rambled over the keys awhile, and sang " ^Vhen first I met thee," with a pathos that beggars description. When the last word had faltered out, he rose and took Lady Blessing- ton's hand, said good night, and was gone before a word was uttered. For a full minute after he had closed the door, no one spoke. I could have wished for myself to drop silently asleep where I sat, with the tears in my eyes and the softness upon my heart — ' "Here's a health to thee, Tom Moore !'"* * Willis's Pencillings by the Way, p. 361. ed. 1839. NOTES. XXXVU " ' I remember,' writes Leigh Hunt, ' it is one of my prison recol- lections, when I was showing him and Lord Byron the prison garden, a smart shower came on, which induced Moore to button up his coat, and push on for the interior. He returned instantly, blushing up to the eyes. He had forgotten the lameness of his noble friend. " How- much better you behaved," said he to me afterwards, "in not hastening to get out of the rain ! I quite forgot, at the moment, whom I was walking with." I told him that the virtue was involuntary on my part, having been occupied in conversation with his lordship, which he was not ; and that to forget a man's lameness involved a compliment in it, which the sufferer could not dislike. " True," says he, "but the devil of it was, that I was forced to remember it by his not coming up. I could not in decency go on, and to return was very awkward." His anxiety appeared to me very amiable.' "'Amiable' is the proper expression, a genuine kindness of heart that was ever genial and ready. Hunt, with his usual flowing, and graceful, and facile pen, thus describes his impression of Moore's social qualities : " ' I thought Thomas Mooie, when I first knew him, as delightful a person as one could imagine. He could not help being an interesting one : and his sort of talent has this advantage in it, that being of a description intelligible to all, the possessor is equally sui'e of j)resent and future fame. I never received a visit from him but I felt as if I had been talking with Prior or Sir Charles Sedley. His acquaintance with Lord Byron began by talking of a duel. "With me it commenced in as gallant a way, though of a different sort. I had cut up an Opera of his (The Blue Stocking), as unworthy of so great a wit. He came to see me, saying I was very much in the right, and an intercourse took place, which I might have enjoyed to this daj-, had he valued his real fame as much as I did. " ' Mr. Moore was lively, polite, bustling, full of amenities and acqui- escences, into which he contrived to throw a sort of roughening of cordiality, like the crust of old port. It seemed a happiness to him to say " yes." There was just enough of the L'isliman in him to flavour his speech and manner. He was a little particular, perhaps, in his orthoepy, but not more so than became a poet; and he appeared to me the last man in iLe world to cut his country, even for the sake of high life. As to his person, all the world knows that he is as little of sta- ture, as he is great in wit. It is said that an illustrious personage, in b 3 XXXVIU NOTES. a fit of plajfulness, once threatened to put Lim into a -wine-cooler; a proposition which Mr. Moore took to be more royal than polite. A Spanish gentleman, whom I met on the Continent, and who knew him well, said, in his energetic English, which he spoke none the worse for a wrong vowel or so : ' Now there's Mooerr, Thomas Mooerr; I look upon Mooe7'r as an active little man.'" This is true. He reminds us of those active little great men who abound so remarkably in Chu'en- don's history. Like them, he would have made an excellent practical partisan, and it would have done him good. Horseback, and a little Irish fighting, would have seen fair play with his good living, and kept his look as juvenile as his spirit. His forehead is long and full of cha- racter, with ''• bumps" of wit, large and radiant, enough to transport a phrenologist. His eyes are as dark and fine, as you would wish to see under a set of vine-leaves : his mouth generous and good-humoured, Avith dimples ; his nose sensual, prominent, and at the same time the reverse of aquiline. There Is a very peculiar character in it, as if it were looking forward, and scenting a feast or an orchard. The face, upon the whole, is Irish, not unruffled with care and passion ; but fes- tivity is the predominant expression. When Mr. Moore was a child, he is said to have been eminently handsome, a Cupid for a picture ; and notwithstanding the tricks which both joy and sorrow have played with his fixce, you can fancy as much. It was a recollection perhaps, to this effect, that induced his friend, Mr. Atkinson, to say one after- noon, in defending him from the charge of libertinism, " Sir, they may talk of Moore as they please ; but I tell you what, — I always con- sider him" (and this argument he thought conclusive), " I always con- sider my friend Thomas INIoore as an infant sporting on the bosom of Venus." There was no contesting this ; and, in truth, the hearers ■were very little disposed to contest it, Mr. Atkinson having hit upon a defence which was more logical in spirit than chronological in image. When conscience comes, a man's Impulses must take thought ; but, till then, poetry is only the eloquent and irresistible development of the individual's nature ; and Mr. Moore's wildest verses were a great deal more innocent than could enter into the imaginations of the old liber- tines who thought they had a right to use them. I must not, in this portrait, leave out his music. He plays and sings with great taste on the pianoforte, and is known as a graceful composer. His voice, which is a little hoarse in speaking (at least, I used to think so) softens into a breath like that of the llute, when singing. In speaking, he is emphatic in rolling the letter i?, perhaps out of a despair of being able to get rid of the national peculiarity.'* * Hunt's Byron and his Cotemporarles. Ed. 1828. NOTES. XXXIX " Moore devoted liis later years to tlie collection and revision of liis poetical works. It was whilst thus engaged that he wrote the foUow- in^ statement of his own and Burns' services to the national music and the national song-writing. All that he here states of the great Scotch- man applies with equal truth to himself as author of the Irish Melodies : — " ' That Burns, however untaught, was yet, in ear and feeling, a musician, is clear from the skill with which he adapts his verse to the structure and character of each difierent strain. Still more strikingly did he prove his fitness for this peculiar task, by the sort of instinct with which, in more than one instance, he discerned the local and innate sentiment which an air was calculated to convey, though pre- viously associated with words expressing a totally different cast of feeling. Thus the air of a ludicrous old song, " Fee him. Father, fee him," has been made the medium of one of Burns' most pathetic effu- sions ; while, still more marvellously, "Hey tuttle, tattie" has been elevated by him into that heroic strain, " Scots, wba hae wi Wallace bled" — a song which, in a great national crisis, would be of more avail than the eloquence of a Demosthenes. It was impossible that the example of Burns, in these his higher inspirations, should not materially contribute to elevate the character of English song-writing, and even to lead to a reunion of the gifts which it requires, if not, as of old, in the same individual, yet in that perfect sympathy between poet and musician which almost amounts to identity, and of which, in our own times, we have seen so interesting an example in the few sono-s which bear the united names of those two sister muses, Mrs. Arkwright* and the late Mrs. Ilemans. Very dIfFerent was the state of the song department of English poesy when I first tried my novice hand at the lyre. The divorce between song and sense had then reached its utmost range ; and to all verses connected with music, from a Birth-day Ode down to the libretto of the last new opera, might fairly be applied the solution which Figaro gives of the quality of the words of songs in general, — " Ce qui ne vaut pas la peine d'etre dit, on le chante." ' " Thus Moore wrote of a Scotchman, let us now observe what a great Scotchman, glorious Christopher North, writes of Moore : — " ' Lyrical Poetry, we opine, bath many branches ; and one of them * Stephen Kemble's daughter, the composer of the music of Tenny- son's " Queen of the May." xl KOTES. "beautiful exceedingly" with bud, blossom, and fruit of balm and brigbtness, round which is ever the murmur of bees and of birds, hangs trailingly along tlie mossy greensward when the air is calm, and ever and anon, when blow the fitful breezes, it is uplifted in the sun- shine, and glories wavingly aloft, as if it belonged even to the loftiest region of the Tree which is Amaranth. This is a fanciful, perhaps foolish, form of expression, employed at present to signify Song-writ- ing. Now of all the song-writers that ever warbled, or chanted, or sung, the best, in our estimation, is verily none other than Thomas Moore. True that Robert Burns has indited many songs that slip into the heart, just like light, no one knows how, filling its chambers sweetly and silently, and leaving it nothing more to desire for perfect contentment. Or let us say, sometimes when he sings, it is like listening to a linnet in the broom, a blackbird in the brake, a laverock in the sky. They sing in the fulness of their joy, as nature teaches them — and so did he ; and the man, woman, or child, who is delighted not with such singing, be their virtues what they may, must never hope to be in Heaven. Gracious Providence placed Burns in the midst of the sources of Lyrical Poetry — when he was born a Scottish peasant. Xow, JMoore is an Irishman, and was born in Dublin. Moore is a Greek scholar, and translated — after a fashion — Anacreon. And Moore has lived much in towns and cities — and in that society which will suffer none else to be called good. Some advantages he has en- joyed which Burns never did — but then how many disadvantages has he undergone, from which the Ayrshire Ploughman, in the bondage of his poverty, was free ! You see all that at a single glance into their poetry. But all in humble life is not high — all in high life is not low ; and there is as much to guard against in hovel as in hall — in " cauld clay bigging, as in marble palace." Burns sometimes wrote like a mere boor — Moore has too often written like a mere man of fashion. But take them both at their best — and both are inimitable. Both are national poets — and who shall say, that if Moore had been born and bred a peasant, as Burns was, and if Ireland had been such a land of knowledge, and virtue, and religion as Scotland is — and surely with- out offence, we may say that it never was, and never will be — though we love the Green Island well — that with his fine fancy, warm heart, and exquisite sensibilities, he might not have been as natural a lyrist as Burns ; while, take him as he is, who can deny that in richness, in variety, in grace, and in the power of art, he is superior to the Ploughman.' " * * Recreations of Christopher North, vol. i. p. 272. xli NOTE B. If Tasso seldom has full justice done him, it is because, in comparison with the great Epic poets, he appears wanting in grandeur. Armida, Erminia, and even Clox'inda, the most beautiful creations of his muse, belong to a less severe order of poetry than the Epic. But let us compare his Satan, or Pluto, as he calls him, with the magnificent " Arch-angel ruin'd " of Milton. Canto IV. * * * * * " Siede Pluton nel mezzo, e con la destra Sostien lo scettro ruvido e pesante ; Ne tanto scoglio in mar, nc rupe alpestra, Ne pill Calpe s' Innalza, e '1 magno Atlaute, Ch' anzl lui non j^aresse un picciol colle ; Si la gran froute e le gran corna estoUe. 7. " Orrlda maesta nel fero aspetto Terrore accresce, e piu superbo il I'ende : Kosseggian gli occhi, e di veneno infetto, Come infausta Cometa, il guardo splende ; GI' involve il mento, e su 1' irsuto petto Ispida e folta la gran barba sccude ; E in guisa di voragine profonda S' apre la bocca d' atro sangue immonda. xlii NOTES. 8. " Qual i fumi sulfurei ed infiammati Escon di Mongibello, e il puzzo, e '1 tuono ; Tal della fera bocca i neri fiati, Tale il fetore, e le faville sono," etc. With the exception of the mountains and the cometj all the images here produced tend to produce disgust rather than terror. The look " infected with poison," " the great beard enveloping his chin, and spreading thick and bushy over his shaggy breast," the " mouth filthy with black blood," " the stench and the sparks of his dark breath," all these compose the features of as foul and noisome a fiend as can well be described — but not Satan. Now let us look at the contrast which Milton's picture presents to us. First, the outward and physical appearance of him who has contested with the Almighty the supremacy of Heaven is presented to us : " The superior fiend Was moving toward the shore : his ponderous shield, Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round, Behind him cast ; the broad circumference Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb Through optic glass the Tus(?an artist views At evening from the top of Fiesole, Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, Kivers or mountains in her spotty globe. His spear, to equal which the tallest pine Hewn on Norwegian hills, to be the mast Of some great admiral, were but a wand. He walk'd with to support uneasy steps Over the burning marl, not like those steps On Heaven's azure ; and the torrid clime Smote on him sore besides, vaulted with fire. NOTES. xliii Here all is great, and nothing is disgusting. Presently our terror at this giant spirit is mingled with respect for some moral qualities still left ; for, " Natliless he so endiir'd, till on the beach Of that inflamed sea he stood, and call'd His legions, angel forms, who lay entranc'd. Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks In Vallombrosa, where th' Etrurian shades, High overarch' d, embower ; or scatter'd sedge Afloat," &c. Then, again, when they were assembled to hear him, they beheld, not a foul fiend with dirty beard, and filthy sulphurous breath, fit only to frighten the nursery, but " Thus far these beyond Compare of mortal prowess, yet observ'd Their dread commander : he, above the rest In shape and gesture proudly eminent. Stood like a tow'r ; his form had yet not lost All her original brightness ; nor appear'd Less than Arch- angel ruln'd, and th' excess Of glory obscur'd : as when the sun, new risen. Looks through the horizontal misty air, Shorn of his beams ; or from behind the moon. In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds On half the nations, and with fear of change Perplexes monarchs. Darken'd so, yet shone Above them all, th' Arch-angel : but his face Deep scars of thunder had entrench'd, and care Sat on his faded cheek, but under brows Of dauntless courage, and considerate pride, Waiting revenge : cruel his eye, but cast Signs of rerno7-se and passion, to behold The fellows of his crime, the followers rather, xliv NOTES. (Far other once beheld in bliss) condemn'd For ever now to have their lot in pain ; Millions of spirits for his fault amerc'd Of heav'n," &c. In these well-kuown and admirable lines, Milton has por- trayed a Spirit, wicked indeed and without compunction for his crimes, but with a form still bright, and redeem'd from utter abhorrence by fortitude in bearing pain, by dauntless courage, and by pity for his followers, over whom he is immeasurably raised as the sole cause of their rebellion. Struck by similar contrasts, Boileau has spoken of one who prefers " le clinquant de Tasse a tout I'or de Virgile." But this is a foolish and unjust phrase. The metal of Tasso may be silver as compared to Virgil's gold, but it is not tinsel. A true poet, surpassed by very few, one of the glories of the glorious literature of Italy, he only loses when, leaving the regions of chivalry, of valour, and of love^, he attempts to rise to the heights of Homer, Virgil, Dante, or where " daring Milton sits sublime." CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME. Page Memoirs of Myself, begun many Years since, but never, I fear, to be completed - - •■ - - 1 Letters, 1793—1806 - - - - - 77 Duel with Jeffrey - - - - - 197 Letters, 1807—1813 . - - - 215 MEMOIRS, JOUENAL, AWD CORRESPONDENCE OF THOMAS MOORE. MEMOIRS, JOURNAL, AND CORRESPONDENCE OF rv THOMAS MOOEB. Memoirs of Myself, begun many Years since, but never, I fear, to be completed. — T. M. (1833.) Of my ancestors on the paternal side I know little or notliing, having never, so far as I can recollect, heard my father speak of his father and mother, of their station in life, or of anything at all connected with them. My uncle. Garret Moore, was the only member of my father's family with whom I was ever personally acquainted. AATien I came indeed to be somewhat known, there turned up into light a numerous shoal of Kerry cousins (my dear father having been a native of Kerry), who Avcrc eager to advance their claims to relationship with me ; and I was from time to time haiuited by applications from first and second cousins, each asking in their respective lines for my patronage and influence. Of the family of my mother, who Avas born in the town of Wexford, and whose maiden name was Codd, I can speak more fvilly and satisf\ictorily ; and my old gouty grandfather, Tom Codd, who lived in the Corn- VOL. I. B 2 MEMOIRS OP market, Wexford, is connected with some of my earliest remembrances. Besides being engaged in the provision trade, he must also, I think (from my recollection of the macliinery), have had something to do with weaving. But though thus humble in his calling, he brought up a large family reputably, and was always, as I have heard, much respected by his fellow townsmen. It was some time in the year 1778, that Anastasia, the eldest daughter of this Thomas Codd, became the wife of my father, John Moore, and in the following year I came into the world. My mother could not have been much more than eighteen (if so old) at the time of her marriage, and my father was considerably her senior. Indeed, I have frequently heard her say to liim in her laughing moods, " You know. Jack, you were an old bachelor when I married you." At this period, as I always understood, my father kept a small wine store in Johnson's Court, Grafton Street, Dublin ; the same court, by the way, where I afterwards went to school. On his marriage, however, having received I rather think some httle money with my mother, he set up business in Aungier Street, No. 12., at the corner of Little Longford Street; and in that house, on the 28th of May, 1779, I was born. Immediately after this event, my mother indulged in the strange fancy of having a medal (if such it could be called) struck off, with my name and the date of the birth engraved on it. The medal was, in fact, nothing more than a large crown-piece, which she had caused to be smoothed so as to receive the inscription ; and this record of my birth, which, from a Aveakness on the subject of her children's ages, she had kept always carefully concealed, she herself delivered into my hands when I last saw her, on 16th Feb. 1831 ; and when she CA-idently felt we were THOMAS MOOEE. 3 parting for the last time. For so unusual a mode of com- memorating a child's age I can only account by the state of the laws at that period, which, not allowing of the regis- tration of the births of Catholic children, left to parents no other mode* of recording them than by some such method as this fondest of mothei's devised. At a very early age I was sent to a school kept by a man of the name of Malone, in the same street w^here we lived. This wild, odd fellow, of whose cocked hat I have still a very clear remembrance, used to pass the greater part of his nights in cbinking at public-houses, and was hardly ever able to make his appearance in the school be- fore noon. He would then generally wliip the boys all round for disturbing his slumbers. I was myself, however, a special favourite with him, partly, perhaps, from being the youngest boy in the school, but chiefly, I think, from the plan which then, and ever after, my anxious mother adopted, of heaping with all sorts of kindnesses and atten- tions, those who were in any way, whether as masters, ushers, or schoolfellows, hkely to assist me in my learning. From my natural quickness, and the fond pride with which I was regarded at home, it was my lot, unluckily perhaps, — though from such a source I can consider nothing unlucky, — to be made at a very early age, a sort of show cliild ; and a talent for reciting was one of the first which my mother's own tastes led her to encourage and cultivate in me. The zealous interest, too, which to the last moment of her life, she continued to take in the popu- lar politics of the day was shown by her teaching me, when I was not quite four years old, to recite some verses which * I have, not long since, been told by my sister tliat there does exist a registration of my birth, in the buok for such purposes, be- longing to Townsend Street Chapel, Dublin. B 2 4 MEMOIRS OF had just then appeared against Grattan, reflecting severely upon his conduct on the question of simple Eepeal. Tliis short echpse of our great patriot's popularity followed closely upon the splendid grant bestowed on him by the House of Commons ; and the following description of an apostate patriot, in allusion to this circumstance, I used to repeat, as my mother has often told me, with pecuhar energy : — " Pay down his price, he'll wheel about, And laugh, like Grattan, at the nation." I sometimes wonder that it never occurred to me, during the many happy hours I have since passed with tliis great and good man, to tell him that the first words of rhyme I ever lisped in my life, were taken from this factious piece of doggerel, aimed at himself during one of those fits of popular injustice, to which all fame derived from the popu- lace is but too likely to be exposed. One of the persons of those early days to whom I look back with most pleasure, was an elderly maiden lady, pos- sessed of some property, whose name was Dodd, and who lived in a small neat house in Camden Street. The class of society she moved in was somewhat of a higher level than ours ; and she was the only person to whom, during my childhood, my mother could ever trust me for any time, away from herself. It was, indeed, from the first, my poor mother's ambition, though with no undue aspirings for her- self, to secure for her children an early footing in the better walks of society ; and to her constant attention to this object I owe both my taste for good company, and the facility I afterwards found in adapting myself to that sphere. "Well, indeed, do I remember my Christmas visits to Miss Dodd, when I used to pass with her generally three THOMAS MOORE. 5 whole days, and be made so mucli of by herself and her guests : most especially do I recall the delight of one even- ing when she had a large tea-party, and when, with her alone in the secret, I remained for hours concealed under the table, having a small barrel-organ in my lap, and watching anxiously the moment when I was to burst upon their ears Avith music from — they knew not where ! If the pleasure, indeed, of the poet lies in anticipating his own power over the imagination of others, I had as much of the poetical feeling about me while lying hid under that table as ever I could boast since. About the same time, or it might be a year or two later, I was taken by my mother on a visit to the country-house of some friend of ours, whose name was, I think, Mac- Clellan, and who, though with all such signs of Avealth about them, as a carriage, horses, country-house, &c., left on my memory the impression of being rather vulgar people. Though I was, by all accounts, a very quick child, I was still perfectly a child; nor had the least consciousness of being different from any other child in this respect. One tribute, however, to my precociousness struck my fancy too much to be unheeded or forgotten by me. A Captain Maliony, who was at this time one of the guests at our friend's, used to say, laughingly, to my mother, that he was sure I passed all my nights with the " little people " (meaning the fairies) on the hills ; and at breakfast he would often, to my great amusement, ask me, " Well, Tom, what news from your friends on the hills ? It was a fine moonlight night, and I know you were among them."- I have said that Miss Dodd was the only person to whom my mother would trust me for any time away from herself; but there was also a family of the name of Dunn, long B 3 6 MEMOIRS OP intimate with ours, with whom I once or twice passed some part of my hoHdays, at a small country-house they had at Dundrum. In the middle of a field, near the house, stood the remains of an old ruined castle, and some of my play- fellows — who they were I now forget — agreed among themselves, to make Tommy Moore the king of that castle. A day was accordingly fixed for the purpose ; and I re- member the pleasure with which I found myself borne on the shoulders of the other boys to this ruin, and there crowned on its summit by the hands of some little girl of the party. A great many years after, when I was in Dubhn with my family, Ave went one morning along with my mother, to pay a visit a few miles out of town, to the daughter of her old friends the Dunn's. I had not been apprised that her house was in the neighbourhood of that formerly occupied by her father; but as I stood by myself at the bottom of the garden, and looked at the field ad- joining, there seemed something familiar to me in the Avhole scene as if it had passed often before me in my dreams, and at last the field where I had been crowned came vividly into my memory. I looked in vain, however, for any signs of the castle that once stood in it. On my return into the house, I asked Mrs. Graham (the former Miss Dunn) Avhether there had not formerly been a ruin in the field next her garden? " There was, indeed," she answered, " and that was the castle where you were crowned when a child." As soon as I was old enough to encounter the crowd of a large school, it was determined that I should go to the best then in Dublin, — the grammar school of the well- known Samuel Whyte, whom a reputation of more than tliirty years' standing had placed, at that time, at the head of Iiis profession. So early as the year 1758, a boy had THOMAS MOOEE. 7 been entrusted to this gentleman's care, wliom, after a few years' trial of his powers, he pronounced to be " a most in- corrigible dunce." Tliis boy was no other than the after- wards celebrated Richard Brinsley Sheridan ; and so far from being ashamed of liis mistake, my worthy school- master had the good sense often to mention the circum- stance, as an instance of the difficulty and rashness of forming any judgment of the future capacity of children. The circumstance of my ha^dng happened to be under the same schoolmaster with Sheridan, though at so distant an interval, has led the writer of a professed memoir of my life, prefixed to the Zwickau edition of my works, into rather an amusing mistake : — " His talents," he is pleased to say of me, " dawned so early, and so great attention was paid to his education hy his tutor, Sheridan, that," &c. &c. The turn for recitation and acting which I had so very early manifested was the talent, of all others, which my new schoolmaster was most inclined to encourage ; and it was not long before I attained the honour of beino; sinaled out by him on days of public examination, as one of his most successful and popular exliibitors, — to the no small jealousy, as may be supposed, of all other mammas, and the great glory of my own. As I looked particularly infantine for my age, the wonder was, of course, still more wonderful. " Oh, he's an old httle crab," said one of the rival Cornelias, on an occasion of tliis kind, " he can't be less than eleven or twelve years of age." " Then, madam," said a gentleman sitting next her, who was slightly ac- quainted with our family, " if that is the case, he must have been four years old before he Avas born." Tliis an- swer, which was reported to my mother, won her warm heart towards that gentleman for ever after. To the drama and all connected with it, Mr. Whyte had B 4 8 MEMOIES OF been tlirougli liis whole life warmly devoted, having lived in habits of intimacy with the family of Brinsley Sheri- dan, as well as with most of the other ornaments of the Irish stage in the middle of the last century. Among his private pupils, too, he had to number some of the most distinguished of our people of fashion, both male and female; and of one of the three beautiful Misses Mont- gomery, who had been under his tuition, a portrait hung in his drawing-room. In the direction of those private theatricals wliich were at that time so fashionable among the higher circles in Ireland, he had always a leading share. Besides teaching and training the young actors, he took frequently a part in the dramatis personce himself; and either the prologue or epilogue was generally furnished by his pen. Among the most memorable of the theatricals which he assisted in, may be mentioned the performance of the " Beggar's Opera," at Carton, the seat of the Duke of Leinster, on which occasion the Rev. Dean Mavley, who was afterwards Bishop of Watei'ford, besides perform- ing the part of Lockit in the opera, recited a prologue of which he was himself the author. The Peachum of the night was Lord Charlemont ; the Lucy, Lady Louisa ConoUy ; and Captain Morris (I know not whether the admirable song writer) Avas the Macheath. At the representation of " Henry the Fourth," by most of the same party at Castletown, a prologue written by my schoolmaster had the high honour of being delivered by that distinguished Irishman, Hussey Burgh; and on another occasion, Avhen the masque of Comus was played at Carton, his muse Avas associated with one glorious in other walks than those of rhyme, — the prologue to the piece being announced as " Avritten by INIr. Whyte, and the epilogue by the Rt. Hon. Henry Grattan." THOMAS MOORE. 9 It has been remarked, and I tliink truly, that it would he difficult to name any eminent public man, who had not, at some time or other, tried his hand at verse ; and the only signal exception to this remark is said to have been Mr. Pitt. In addition to his private pupils in the dilettante line of theatricals, ]\Ir. Whyte was occasionally employed in giving lessons on elocution to persons who meant to make the stage their profession. One of these, a very pretty and interesting girl. Miss Campion, became afterwards a popular actress both in Dublin and London. She con- tinued, I think, to take instructions of him in reading even after she had made her appearance on the stage ; and one day, while she was with him, a messenger came into the school to say that " Mr. Whyte wanted Tommy ]\Ioore in the drawing-room." A summons to the master's house (which stood detached away from the school on the other side of a yard) was at all times an event ; but how great was my pride, dehght, and awe, — for I looked upon actors then as a race of superior beings, — when I found I. had been summoned for no less a purpose than to be intro- duced to Miss Campion, and to have the high honour of reciting to her " Alexander's Feast." The pride of being thought worthy of appearing before so celebrated a person took possession of all my thoughts. I felt my heart beat as I Avalked through the streets, not only with the expectation of meeting her, but with anxious doubts whether, if I did happen to meet her, she would condescend to recognise me ; and when at last the happy moment did arrive, and she made me a gracious bow in passing, I question if a salute from Corinne, when on her way to be crowned in the Capitol, would in after days have aifected me half so much. 10 MEMOIRS OF Whyte's connection, indeed, with theatrical people was rather against his success in the way of his profession ; as many parents were apprehensive, lest, being so fond of the drama himself, he might inspire too much the same taste in his pupils. As for me, it was thought hardly possible that I could escape being made an actor, and my poor mother, who, sanguinely speculating on the speedy removal of the CathoHc disabilities, had destined me to the bar, was frequently doomed to hear prognostics of my devotion of myself to the profession of the stage. Among the most intimate friends of my schoolmaster were the Rev. Joseph Lefanu and his wife, — she was the sister of Richard Brinsley Sheridan. This lady, who had a good deal of the talent of her family, with a large alloy of affectation, was, like the rest of the world at that time, strongly smitten Avith the love of acting; and in some private theatricals held at the house of a Lady Borrowes, in Dublin, had played the part of Jane Shore with con- siderable success. A repetition of the same performance took place at the same little theatre in the year 1790, when Mrs. Lefanu being, if I recollect right, indisposed, the part of Jane Shore was played by Mr. Whyte's daughter, a very handsome and weU educated young per- son, wliile I myself — at that time about eleven years of age — recited the epilogvie ; being kept up, as I well re- member, to an hour so far beyond my usual bed-time, as to be near falling asleep beliind the scenes while waiting for my debut. As this was the first time I ever saw my name in print, and I am now " myself the little hero of my tale," it is but right I should commemorate the im- portant event by transcribing a part of the play-bill on the occasion, as I find it given in the second edition of my Master's Poetical Works, printed in Dublin 1792 : — THOMAS MOOEE. 11 *• Lady Borrowes' Private Theatre, Kildare Street. On Tuesday, March 16th, 1790, Will be performed the Tra2;edy of JANE S'HORE: Gloucester, Rev. Peter Lefanu. Lord Hastings, Counsellor IIigginson, etc. etc., And Jane Shore, by Miss Whtte. An Occasional Prologue, Mr. Snagg. Epilogue, A Squeeze to St. Paul's, blaster Moore. To which will be added, the Farce of THE DEVIL TO PAY : Jobson, Colonel French, etc. etc." The commencement of my career in rhyming was so very early as to be ahnost beyond the reach of memory. But the first instance I can recal of any attempt of mine at regular versicles was on a subject wliich oddly enables me to give the date with tolerable accuracy ; the theme of my muse on this occasion having been a certain toy very fashionable about the year 1789 or 1790, called in French a " bandalore," and in English a " quiz." To such a ridiculous degree did the fancy for this toy pervade at that time all ranks and ages, that in the public gardens and in the streets numbers of persons, of both sexes, were playing it up and down as they walked along ; or, as my own very young doggrel described it, — " The ladies too, when in the streets, or walking in the Green, Went quizzing on, to show their shapes and graceful mien." I have been enabled to mark more certainly the date of this toy's reign from a circumstance mentioned to me by Lord Plunket concerning the Duke of Wellington, who. 12 MEMOIRS OF at the time I am speaking of, was one of the aid-cle-camps of the Lord Lieutenant of L'eland, and in the year 1790, according to Lord Phmket's account, must have been a member of the Irish House of Commons. " I remember," said Lord Pkinket, " being on a committee with him ; and, it is remarkable enough, Lord Edward Fitzgerald was also one of the members of it. The Duke (then Captain Wel- lesley, or Wesley?) was, I recollect, playing with one of those toys called quizzes, the whole time of the sitting of the committee." This trait of the Duke coincides perfectly with all that I have ever heard about this great man's apparent frivolity at that period of his life. Luttrell, In- deed, who Is about two years older than the Duke, and who lived on terms of Intimacy with all the Castle men of those days, has the courage to own. In the face of all the Duke's present glory, that often. In speculating on the future fortunes of the young men with whom he lived, he has said to himself, In looking at Wellesley's vacant face, " Well, let who will get on In this world, you certainly will not." So little promise did there appear at that time of even the most ordinary success In life, in the man who has since accumulated around his name such great and lasting glory. To return to my small self The next effort at rhyming of which I remember having been guilty, sprung out of that other and then paramount fancy of mine, acting. For the advantage of sea-bathing during the summer months, my father generally took a lodging for us, either at Irish- town or Sandymount, to which we young folks were usually sent, under the care of a female servant, with occa- sionally, visits from my mother during the week, to see that all was going on well. On the Sundays, however, she and my father came to pass the day with us, bringing down THOMAS MOOEE. 13 with them cold clurners, and, generally, two or three friends, so that we had always a merry day of it. Of one of those summers in particular I have a most vivid and agreeable recollection, for there were assembled there at the same time a uvimber of young people of our own age, with whose families we were acquainted. Be- sides our childish sports, we had likewise dawning within us all those vague anticipations of a matiire period, — those little love-makings, gallantries, ambitions, rivalries, — which in their first stirrings have a romance and sweetness about them that never come again. Among other things, we got up theatricals, and on one occasion performed O'Keefe's farce of The Poor Soldier, in which a very pretty person named Fanny Eyan played the part of Norah, and I was the happy Patrick, — dressed, I recollect, in a volunteer uniform belonging to a boy much older, or at least much larger than myself, and which, accordingly, hung about me in no very soldierly fashion.* It was for this exhibition, which took place a few dnys before our return to school, that I made that second at- tempt at versifying to which I have alluded, — having written a farewell epilogue for the occasion, which I deli- vered myself, in a suit of mourning as little adapted to me as my regimentals. In describing the transition we were now about to tmdergo, from actors to mere school-boys, my epilogue had the following lines : — * About this time (1790) a general election took pliioe, and Grattaa and Lord Henry Fitzgerald were chosen triumphantly to represent the city of Dublin. On the day of their chairing, they passed our bouse, both seated in one car ; and among the numerous heads out- stretched from our window, I made my own, I recollect, so conspi- cuous, by the enthusiasm witli which I waved a large branch of laurel, that I either caught, or fancied I caught, the particular notice of Grattan, and was of course prodigiously i)roud in couseciuence. 14 MEMOIRS OF " Our Pantaloon that did so aged look, Must now resume his youth, liis task, his book. Our Harlequin who skipp'd, leap'd, danced, and died, Must now stand trembling by his tutor's side." In repeating the two last lines of kind farewell, — " Whate'er the course we're destined to pursue. Be sure our hearts will always be with you," it was with great difficulty I could refrain from blubbering outright. The harlequin here described was myself; and of all theatrical beings harlequin was my idol and passion. To have been put in possession of a real and complete harle- quin's dress, would have made me the happiest of mortals, and I used sometimes to dream that there appeared some- times at my bedside a good spirit, presenting to me a fuU suit of the true parti-coloured raiment. But the utmost I ever attained of this desire was the possession of an old cast-off wand, which had belonged to the harlequin at Ast- ley's, and which I viewed with as much reverence and delight as if it really possessed the wonderful powers attributed to it. Being a very active boy, I was quite as much charmed with Harlequin's jumping talents as with any of his other attributes, and by constant practice over the rail of a tent-bed which stood in one of our rooms, was, at last, able to perform the head-foremost leap of my hero most successfully. Though the gay doings I have above mentioned Avere put an end to by my return to school, my brothers and sisters remained generally a month or two longer at the sea- side ; and I used every Saturday evening to join them there, and stay over the Sunday. My father at that time kept a little pony for me, on which I always rode down on those evenings ; and at the hour when I was expected. THOMAS MOOEE. 15 there generally came with my sister a number of young girls to meet me, and full of smiles and welcomes, walked by the side of my pony into the town. Though such a reception was, even at that age, rather intoxicating, yet there mingled but little of personal pride in the pleasure which it gave me. There is, indeed, far more of what is called vanity in my now reporting the tribute, than I felt then in receiving it ; and I attribute very much to the cheerful and kindly circumstances which thus surrounded my childliood, that spirit of enjoyment, and, I may venture to add, good temper, which has never, thank God, failed me to the present time (July, 1833). My youth was in every respect a most happy one. Though kept closely to my school studies by my mother, who examined me daily in all of them herself, she was in every thing else so full of indulgence, so affectionately de- voted to me, that to gain her approbation 1 would have thought no labour or difficulty too hard. As an instance both of her anxiety about my studies and the wilhng temper with which I met it, I need only mention that, on more than one occasion, when having been kept out too late at some evening party to be able to examine me in my task for next day, she has come to my bedside on her return home, and waked me (sometimes as late as one or two o'clock in the morning), and I have cheerfully sat up in my bed and repeated over all my lessons to her. Her anxiety indeed, that I should attain and keep a high rank in the school was ever watchful and active, and on one occasion exhibited itself in a way that was rather discon- certing to me. On our days of public examination which were, if I recollect, twice a year, there was generally a large attendance of the parents and friends of the boys ; and on the particular day I allude to, all the seats in the 16 MEMOIES OF area of the room being occupied, my mother and a few other ladies were obliged to go up into one of the galleries that surrounded the school, and there sit or stand as they could. When the reading class to wliich I belonged, and of which I had attained the first place, was called up, some of the boys in it who were much older and nearly twice as tall as myself, not liking what they deemed the disgrace of havins; so little a fellow at the head of the class, when standing up before the audience all placed themselves above me. Though feeling that this was unjust, I adopted the plan which, according to Corneille, is that of " Vhonnete liomme trompe,^'' namely, " ne dire mot^'' — and was submitting without a word to what I saw the master himself did not oppose, when to my surprise and, I must say, shame, I heard my mother's voice break- ing the silence, and saw her stand forth in the opposite gallery, while every eye in the room was turned towards her, and in a firm, clear tone Cthough in reality she was ready to sink with the effort), address herself to the enthroned schoolmaster on the injustice she saw about to be perpetrated. It required, however, but very few words to rouse his attention to my wi'ongs. The big boys were obliged to descend from their usurped elevation, wliile I, — ashamed a little of the exhibition which I thought my mother had made of herself, took my due station at the head of the class. But great as was my mother's ambition about me, it was still perfectly under the control of her strong, good sense, as may be shown by a shght incident which now occurred tome. About the beginning of the year 1792, a wild author and artist of our acquaintance, named Paulett Carey, set up a monthly publication, called the Senti- mental and Masonic Magazine, — one of the first attempts J 1792. J THOMAS MOORE. 17 at graphic embellishment (and a most wretched one it was) that yet had appeared in Dublin. Among the engravings prefixed to the numbers were, occasionally, portraits of public characters ; and as I had, in my tiny way, acquired some Httle celebrity by my recitations at school and else- where, a strong wish was expressed by the editor that there sliould be a drawing of me engraved for the work. My mother, however, though pleased, of course, at the proposal, saw the injudiciousness of bringing me so early before the public, and, much to my disappointment^ refused her consent. Having expatiated more than enough on my first efforts In acting and rhyming, I must try the reader's patience with some account of my beginnings in music, — the only art for which, in my own opinion, I was born with a real natural love ; my poetry, such as it is, having sprung out of my deep feeling for music. While I was yet quite a child, my father happened to have an old lumbering harpsichord thrown on his hands, as part payment of a debt from some bankrupt customer; and when I was a little older, my mother, anxious to try my faculties in all possible ways, employed a youth who was in the service of a tuner in our neighbourhood, to teach me to play. My instructor, how- ever, being young himself, was a good deal more given to romping and jumping than to music, and our time together was chiefly passed in vaulting over the tables and chairs of the drawing-room. The progress I made, therefore, was not such as to induce my mother to continue me in this line of instruction ; and 1 left off, after acquiring little more than the power of playing two or three tunes with the right hand only. It was soon, however, discovered that I had an agreeable voice and taste for singing ; and in the sort of gay life we led (for my mother Avas always VOL. I. C 18 MEMOIRS OF [iETAT. 13. fond of society), this talent of mine was frequently called into play to enliven our tea-parties and svippers. In the summer theatricals too, which I have already recorded, my sinffino: of the sonscs of Patrick, in the Poor Soldier, — particularly of the duet with Norah, into which I threw a feeling far beyond my years, — was received Avith but too encouraging applause. About this time (1792) the political affairs of Ireland began to assume a most animated or, as to some it ap- peared, stormy aspect. The cause of the Catholics was becoming every day more national ; and in each new step and vicissitude of its course, our whole family, especially my dear mother, took the intensest interest. Besides her feelings, as a patriotic and warm-hearted Irishwoman, the ambitious hopes with which she looked forward to my future career all depended, for even the remotest chance of their fulfilment, on the success of the measures of Ca- tholic enfranchisement then in progress. Some of the most violent of those who early took a part in the proceed- ings of the United Irishmen were among our most inti- mate friends ; and I remember being taken by my fjither to a public dinner in honour of Napper Tandy, where one of the toasts, as well fx'om its poetry as its politics, made an indelible impression upon my mind, — " May the breezes of France blow our Irish oak into verdure ! " I recollect my pride too, at the hero of the night, Napper Tandy, taking me, for some minutes, on his knee. Most of these patriot acquaintances of ours, of whom I have just spoken, were Protestants, the Catholics being still too timorous to come forward openly in their own cause, — and amongst the most intimate, was a clever, drunken attorney, named Matthew Dowling, who lived in Great Longford Street, opposite to us, and was a good i 1792.] THOMAS MOOEE. 19 deal at om- liouse. He belonged to the famous Xatlonal Guard, against whose assemblage (Dec. 9. 1792) a pro- clamation was issued by the government ; and was one of the few who on that day ventured to make their ap- pearance. I recollect his paying us a visit that memorable Sunday, having engraved upon the buttons of his green uniform a cap of liberty surmounting the Irish harp, in- stead of a crown. Tliis unfortvmate man who, not lone: after the time I am speaking of, fought a duel at Holyhead with Major Burrow, the private secretary of the Et. Hon. Hobart, was in the year 1798 taken up for treason. In looking lately over the papers of Lord Edward Fitz- gerald, I found a note or two addressed to his family by poor Dowling, Avho was in the very prison to which the noble Edward was taken to breathe his last. What be- came of him afterwards I know not, but fear that he died in great misery. Among my schoolfellows at Whyte's was a son of the eminent barrister Beresford Burston, Avho was about the same age as myself, and with whom I formed an Intimacy which lasted a good many years. INIy acquaintance with this family was one of those steps in the scale of respect- able society which it delighted my dear mother to see me attain and preserve. Mr. Burston was one of the most distinguished men, as a lawyer, at tlie bar ; and possessino* also some fortune by right of his wife, lived in a style not only easy but elegant ; having, besides his town house in York Street, a very handsome countiy villa near Black- rock, at which I used to pass, with my young friend Beresford, the greater part of my vacations. This boy being an only son, was of course an object of great solici- tude to his parents ; and my mother used always to look upon it as a most flattering tribute to me, that a man so c 2 20 MEMOIKS OP IMtat. 14. sensible and particular, as was Mr. Burston in all respects, sliould have singled me out to be his son's most constant associate. In politics this gentleman was liberal, but re- tiring and moderate ; and this moderation enhanced con- siderably the importance of the opinion which, in concert with the Hon. Simon Butler, he pronounced, in the year 1792, in favour of the legality of the General Catholic Committee ; — an opinion which at that time procured for him very great popularity. The laro;e measure of Catholic enfranchisement which passed in the year 1793, sweeping away, among various other disquahfications, those which excluded persons of that faith from the University and Bar, left my mother free to indulge her long- cherished wish of bringing me up to the profession of the law. Accordingly, no time was to be lost in preparing me for college. Though professing to teach English himself, and indeed knowing little or no- thing of any other language, Mr. Whyte kept ahvays a Latin usher employed in the school for the use of such boys as, though not meant for the University, their parents thought right to have instructed in the classics sufficiently for the purposes of ordinary life ; and under this usher I had been now for a year or two studying. It had been for some time a matter of deliberation whether I should not be sent to a regular Latin school ; and Dr. Carr's of Copinger Lane was the one thought of for the purpose. But there were advantages in keej)ing me still at Whyte's, wliich my mother knew Avell how to appreciate. In the first place, the person ^vho had been for some time our Latin usher, had — thanks to my mother's constant civilities towards him, and perhaps my own quickness and teach- ableness — taken a strong fancy to me ; and not only during school-time, but at our own house in the evening, Avhere 1793. J • THOMAS MOORE. 21 he Wfvs always made a welcome guest, took the most friendly pains to forward me in my studies. Another advantage I had was in not being tied to any class ; for the few learners of Latin which the school contained, I very soon outstripped, and thus Avas left free to advance as fast as my natural talent and application would carry me. I was also enabled to attend at the same time to my English studies with \Yhyte (far more fortunate, in this, than the youths of public schools in England, Avhose know- ledge of their own language is the last thing thought worthy of attention) ; and, accordingly. In reading and re- citation, maintained my supremacy in the school to the last. An early and quick foresight of the advantages and of the account to which they might be turned, had led my mother to decide upon keeping me at INIr. Whyte's ; and I accordingly remained there till the time of my entering the University In 1794. The Latin usher of whom I have here spoken, and whose name was Donovan, was an uncouth, honest, hard- headed, and kind-hearted man, and, together with the Latin and Greek which he did his best to pour Into me, infused also a thorough and ardent passion for poor Ire- land's liberties, and a deep and cordial hatred to those who were then lording over and trampling her down. Such feelings were, it is true, common at that period among almost all with whom my family much associated, but In none had they taken such deep and determined root as in stui'dy " Old Donovan ; " and finding his pupil quite as eager and ready at politics as at the classics, he divided the time we passed together pretty equally between both. And though from the first I was natvu^ally destined to be of the line of politics which I have ever since pursued, — being. If I may so say, born a rebel, — yet the strong c 3 22 MEMOIRS OF L^TAT. 14. hold which the feehng took so early, both of my imagina- tion and heart, I owe a good deal I think to those con- versations, during school hours, with Donovan. It was in this year (1793) that for the first time I enjoyed the honour and glory (and such it truly was to me) of seeing verses of my own in print. I had now indeed become a determined rhymer ; and there was an old maid, — old in my eyes, at least, at that time, — Miss Han- nah Byrne, who used to be a good deal at our house, and Avho, being herself very much in the poetical line, not only encouraged but wrote answers to my young effusions. The name of Homeo (the anagram of that of Moore) was the signature which I adopted in our correspondence, and Zelia was the title under which the lady wrote. Poor Hannah Byrne ! — not even Sir Lucius O'Trigger s "Dalia" was a more uninspiring object than my " Zalia" was. To this lady, however, Avas my first printed composition addressed in my own proper name, with the following introductory epistle to the editor : ' — To the Editor of the "Anthologia Hibernica.^'' "Aungier Street, Sept. 11. 1793. " Sir, — If the following attempts of a youthful muse seem worthy of a place in your Magazine, by inserting them you will much oblige a constant reader, «Th— M— S M— EE." TO ZELIA, ON HER CHARGING THE AUTHOR WITH WRITING TOO MUCH ON LOVE. Then follow the verses, — and conclude thus : — " When first she raised her simplest lays In Cupid's never-ceasing praise. The God a faithful promise gave, That never should she feel Love's stincs. Never to burning passion be a slave. But feel the purer joy thy friendship brings." 1793.] THOMAS MOORE. 23 The second copy of verses is entitled " A Pastoral Ballad," and though mere mock-birds' song, has some lines not mmauslcal : — " My gardens are crowded with flowers, My vines are all loaded with grapes ; Nature sports in my fountains and bowers, And assumes her most beautiful shapes. " The shepherds admire my lays, When I pipe they all flock to the song ; They deck me with laurels and bays, And list to me all the day long. " But their laurels and praises are vain, They've no joy or delight for me now ; For Celia despises the strain, And that withers the wreath on my brow." This magazine, the " Anthologia Hibernica," — one of the most respectable attempts at periodical literature that have ever been ventured upon in Ireland, — was set on foot by Merciei', the college bookseller, and carried on for two years, when it died, as all such things die in that country, for want of money and — of talent ; for the Irish never either fight or write avcU on their own soil. ]My pride on seeing my own name in the first list of sub- scribers to this publication, — " IMaster Thomas Moore," in full, — was only surpassed by that of finding myself one of its "esteemed contributors." It w^as in the pages of this magazine for the months of January and February, 1793, that I first read, being then a school-boy, Eogers's " Pleasures of Memory," little dreaming that I should one day become the intimate friend of the author; and such an impression did it then make upon me, that the par- ticular type in which it is there printed, and the very colour of the paper, are associated with every line of it in my memory. c 4 24 3MEM0IKS OF [.Etat. 15. Though I began my college course at the commence- ment of the year 1795, I must have been entered, as I have already said, in the summer of the preceding year, as I recollect well my having had a long spell of holidays before the term commenced ; and if I were to single out the part of my life the most hajjpy and the most poetical (for all was yet in fancy and in [jromise with me), it would be that interval of holidays. In the first place, I was not a little proud of being a student of Trinity College, Dublin, which was in itself a sort of status in life ; and instead of Master Thomas Moore, as I had been designated the year before among the " Anthologian " subscribers, I now read myself Mr. Thomas Moore, of Trinity College, Dublin. In the next place, I had passed my examinations, I believe, creditably ; — at least, so said my old master, Whyte, who, in publishing soon after, in a new edition of his works, some verses which I had addressed to him a short time before leaving school, appended to them a note of his own manufacture, stating that the author of the verses had " entered college at a very early age, with distinguished honour to himself as well as to his able and worthy preceptor." This favourable start of mine gave, of course, great pleasure to my dear father and mother, and made me happy In seeing them so. During a great part of this happy vacation I remained on a visit with my young friend Burston*, at his father's country seat; and there, in reading Mrs. RadclifFe's romances, and listening, while I read, to Haydn's music, — for my friend's sisters played tolerably on the harpsichord, — dreamt away my time in that sort of vague happiness which a young mind conjures up for itself so easily, — « pleased, it knows not * Young Burston entered college (as a fellow-commoner) about the same time with myself. 1795.] THOMAS MOORE. 25 why, and cares not wherefore." Among the pieces played by the Miss Burstons, there was one of Haydn's first simple overtures, and a sonata by liim, old-fashioned enough, beginning K —I®— I® F-j©'- ^BBlB^E: k^Br" IftjJ ff^laMg lagggE These pieces, as well as a certain lesson of Nicolai's of the same simple cast, I sometimes even to tlais day play over to myself, to remind me of my young reveries. Before I enter upon the details of my college life, a few particulars, relating chiefly to the period immediately pre- ceding it, may be here briefly mentioned. Among the guests at my mother's gay parties and suppers, Avere two persons, Wesley Doyle and the well-known Joe Kelly (brother of Michael), Avhose musical talents were in their several ways of the most agreeable kind. Doyle's flither being a professor of music, he had received regular in- structions in the art, and having a very sweet and touching voice, was able to accompany himself on the piano- forte. Kelly, on the other hand, w^ho knew nothing of the science of music, and at that time, indeed, could hardly write his own name, had taken, when quite a youth, to the profession of the stage, and having a beautiful voice and a handsome face and person, met with considerable success. He and Doyle were inseparable companions, and their duets toge- ther were the delight of the gay supper-giving society in which they lived. The entertainments of this kind given by my joyous and social mother could, for gaiety at least, match with the best. Our small front and back drawing- 26 MEMOIRS OF L^TAT. 16. rooms, as well as a little closet attached to the latter, were on such occasions distended to their utmost capacity ; and the supper-table in the small closet where people had least room was accordingly always the most merry. In the round of singing that followed these repasts my mother usually took a part, having a clear, soft voice, and singing such songs as " How sweet in the woodlands," Avhich was one of her greatest favourites, in a very pleasing manner. I was also myself one of the performers on such occasions, and gave some of Dibdin's songs, which were at that time in high vogue, with no small eclat. My eldest sister, Catherine, being at tliis period (1793-4) about twelve or thirteen years of age, it was thought time that she should begin to learn music. The expense of an instrument, however, stood for some time in the way of my mother's strong desire on the subject. My poor father, from having more present to his mind both the difficulty of getting money and the risks of losing it, rather shrunk from any expenditure that was not absolutely necessary. My mother, however, was of a far more sanguine nature. She had set her heart on the education of her children ; and it was only by economy that she was able to effect her object. By this means it was that she contrived to scrape together, in the course of some months, a small simi of money, which, together with what my father gave for the purpose, and whatever trifle was allowed in exchange for the old harpsichord, made up the price of the nevr piano- forte which we now bought. The person employed to instruct my sister in music was a young man of the name of Warren (a nephew of Dr. Doyle), who became afterwards one of the most popular of our Dublin music-masters. There had been some attempts made by Wesley Doyle and others, to teach me to play, 1795.] THOMAS MOOEE. 27 but I had resisted them all most strongly, and, whether from shyness or hopelessness of snccess, icould not be taught ; nor Avas it till the piano-forte had been some time in om" possession, that, taking a fancy voluntarily to the task, I began to learn of myself. Not content with my own boyish stirrings of ambition, and the attempts at literature of all kinds to which they impelled me, I contrived to inoculate also Tom Ennis and Johnny Delany (my father's two clerks) with the same literary propensities. One of them, Tom Ennis, a man between twenty and thirty years of age, had a good deal of natural shrewdness and talent, as well as a dry vein of Irish humour, which used to amuse us all exceedingly. The other, John Delany, was some years younger, and of a far more ordinary cast of mind ; but even him, too, I suc- ceeded in galvanising into some sort of literary vitality. As our house was far from spacious, the bed-room which I occupied was but a corner of that in which these two clerks slept, boarded off and fitted up with a bed, a table, and a chest of drawers, with a bookcase over it ; and here, as long as my mother's brother continued to be an inmate of our family, he and I slept together. After he left us, however, to board and lodge elsewhere, I had this httle nook to myself, and proud enough was I of my own apart- ment. Upon the door, and upon every other vacant space which my boundaries supplied, I placed inscriptions of my own composition, in the manner, as I flattered myself, of Shenstone's at the Leasowes. Thinking it the grandest thing in the world to be at the head of some literarv insti- tution, I organised my two shop friends, Tom Ennis and Johnny Delany, into a debating and htcrary society, of which I constituted myself the president ; and our meet- ings, as long as they lasted, were held once or twice a week, 28 MEMOIRS OF L^TAT. 16. in a, small closet belonging to the bed-room off whicli mine Avas partitioned. When there was no company of an even- ing, the two clerks always supped at the same time with the family ; taking their bread and cheese, and beer, while my fother and mother had their regular meat supper, with the usual adjunct, never omitted by my dear father through the whole of his long and hale Hfe, of a tumbler of whisky punch. It was after this meal that my two literary asso- ciates and myself, used (unknown, of course, to my father and mother) to retire, on the evenings of our meetings, to the little closet beyond the bed-room, and there hold our sittings. In addition to the other important proceedings that occupied us, each member was required to produce an original enigma, or rebus, in verse, which the others were bound, if possible, to explain ; and I remember one night, Tom Ennis, who was in general very quick at these things, being exceedingly mortified at not being able to make out a riddle which the president (my august self) had proposed to the assembly. After various fruitless efforts on liis part, we were obliged to break up for the night leaving my riddle still unsolved. After I had been some hours asleep, however, I was awakened by a voice from my neighbour's apartment, crying out lustily, " a drum, a drum, a drum ;" while at the same time the action was suited to the word by a most vigorous thumping of a pair of fists against my wooden partition. It was Tom Ennis, who had been lying awake all those hours endeavouring to find out the riddle, and now thus vociferously announced to me his solution of it. This honest fellow was (like almost all those among whom my early days were passed) thoroughly, and to the heart's core, Irish. One of his most favourite studies was an old play in rhyme, on the subject of the Battle of Augh- 1795.] THOMAS MOOEE. 29 rim, out of wliicli he used to repeat the speeches of the e-allant Sarsfiekl with a tme national rehsh. Those well- known verses, too, translated from the Florentine bishop, Donatus, " Far westward lies an isle of ancient fame," were ever ready on his lips. Though by the bill of 1793 Catholics were admitted to the University, they were still (and continue to be to this present day), excluded from scholarships, fellowships, and all honours connected with emolument ; and, as with our humble and precarious means, such aids as these were natu- rally a most tempting consideration, it was for a short time deliberated in our ftimily circle, whether I ought not to be entered as a Protestant. But such an idea could hold but a brief place in honest minds, and its transit, even for a moment, through the thoughts of my worthy parents, only shows how demoralising must be the tendency of laws which hold forth to their victims such temptations to du- plicity. INIy mother was a sincere and Avarm Catholic, and even gave in to some of the old superstitions connected with that faith, in a manner remarkable for a person of her natural strength of mind. The less sanguine nature and quiet humour of my father led him to view such matters with rather less reverent eyes; and though my mother could seldom help laughing at his sly salHes against the priests, she made a point of always reproving him for them, saying (as I think I can hear her saying at this moment), " I declare to God, Jack Moore, you ought to be ashamed of yourself." We had in the next street to us (Great Stephen Street) a friary, where we used to attend mass on Sundays, and some of the priests of which were frequent visitors at our house. One in particular. Father Ennis, a kind and gentle-natured man, used to be a constant sharer of our 30 MEMOIRS OF IJEtAt. lO. meals ; and It would be difficult, I think, to find a priest less meddling or less troublesome. Having passed some time in Italy, he was able, in return for the hospitality which he received, to teach me a little Italian ; and I had also, about the same time, a regular master, for the space of six months, in French, — an intelligent emigre named La Fosse, who could hardly speak a word of English, and who, on account of my quickness in learning, as well as my mother's hospitable attentions to him, took great delight in teacliing me. To such a knowledge of the two lan- guages as I thus contrived to pick up, I was indebted for that display of French and Itahan reading (such as it was) which I put forth about five or six years after, in the notes to my translation of Anacreon. I cannot exactly remember the age at which I first went to confession, but it must have been some three or four years before I entered the University ; and my good mo- ther (as anxious in her selection of a confessor for me as she was in every step that regarded my welfare, here or hereafter), instead of sending me to any of our friends, the friars of Stephen Street, committed me to the care of a clergyman of the name of O'HaUoran, who belonged to Townshend Street Chapel, and bore a very high character. Of this venerable priest, and his looks and manner, as he sat Hstening to me in the confessional, I have given a de- scription, by no means overcharged, in the first volume of my Travels of an Irish Gentleman. It was, if I recollect right, twice a year that I used to sally forth, before break- fiist, to perform this solemn ceremony — for solemn I then certainly felt, — and a no less regular part of the morn- ing's work Avas my breakfasting after the confession with an old relation of my mother, ]Mrs. Devereux, the wife of a AVest India captain, who Hved in a street off Townshend 1795.] THOMAS MOOEE, 31 Street; and a most luxurious display of buttered toast, eggs, beefsteak, &c. I bad to regale me on those occasions. To tliis part of the morning's ceremonies I look back, even now, with a sort of boyish pleasure ; but not so to the try- ing scene which had gone before it. Notwithstanding the gentle and parental manner of the old confessor, his posi- tion, sitting there as my judge, rendered liim awful in my eyes ; and the necessity of raking up all my boyish pecca- dilloes, my erring thoughts, desires, and deeds, before a person so little known to me, was both painful and hu- miliating. We are told that such pain and humiliation are salutary to the mind, and I am not prepared to deny It, the practice of confession as a moral restraint having both sound arguments and high authority in its favour. So irk- some, however, did it at last become to me, that, about a year or two after my entrance into college, I ventured to signify to my mother a wish that I should no longer go to confession; and, after a slight remonstrance, she sensibly acceded to my wish. The tutor under whom I was placed on entering Col- lege was the Rev. — Burrowes, a man of considerable reputation, as well for classical acquirements as for wit and humour. There are some literary papers of his in the Transactions of the Royal Irish Academy ; and he enjoyed the credit, I believe deservedly, of having been the author. In his youth, of a celebrated flash song, called " The night before Larry was stretched,''' i. e. hanged. Of this classical production I remember but two lines, where, on the " Dominie " (or parson) proposing to administer spiritual consolation to the hero, — " Larry tipped him an elegant look, And pitch'd his big wig to the devil." The flune of this song (however Burrowes himself and lils 32 MEMOIRS OF [^TAT. 16. brother dominies miglit regret it) did liim no liarra, of course, among the younger part of our college community. Having brought with me so much reputation from school, it was expected, especially by my anxious mother, that I should distinguish myself equally at college ; and in the examinations of the first year, I did gain a premium, and I believe a certificate. But here the brief career of my college honours terminated. After some unavailing efforts (solely to please my anxious mother), and some memento of mortification on finding myself vanquished by competitors whom I knew to be dull fellows, " iritus et in cMfe,"and who have, indeed, proved themselves such through life, I resolved in the second year of my course to give up the struggle entirely, and to confine myself thenceforth to such parts of the course as fell within my own tastes and pur- suits, learning just enough to bring me through without disgrace. To my mother this was at first a disappoint- ment ; but some little successes which I met with out of the direct line of the course, and which threw a degree of eclat round my progress, served to satisfy in some degree her fond ambition. It was a rule at the public examina- tions that each boy should produce, as a matter of form, a short theme in Latin prose upon some given subject ; and this theme might be written when, where, or by whom it pleased the Fates ; as the examiners seldom, I believe, read them, and they went for nothing in the scale of the merits of the examined. On one of these occasions, I took it into my head to deliver in a copy of English verse, instead of the usual Latin prose, and it happened that a Fellow of the name of A¥alker, who had the credit of possessing more literary taste than most of his brotherhood, was the examiner of our division. With a beating heart I saw him, after having read the paper himself, take it to 1795.] THOMAS MOORE. 33 the table where the other examiners stood in conference, and each of them I observed perused it in turn, lie then came over to the phice where I sat, and, leaning across the table, said to me in his peculiar methodistical tone, " Did you Avrite those verses yourself?" " Yes, sir," I quietly answered ; upon which, to my no small pride and delight, he said, " Upon my word the verses do you much credit, and I shall lay them before the Board*, with a recom- mendation that you shall have a premium for them." He did so ; and the reward I received from the Board was a copy of the " Travels of Anacharsis," in very handsome binding, — the first gain I ever made by that pen which, such as it is, has been my sole support ever since. The distinction, I rather think, must have been one of rare occurrence ; as I recollect that when I waited upon the Vice-Provost (Hall) to receive my certificate of the honour, he took a long time before he could satisfy his classical taste as to the terms in which he shoidd express the pecu- liar sort of merit for which I was rewarded ; and, after all, the result of his cogitations was not very felicitous, the phrase he used being "propter laudabilem in versibus componendis progressum." About the tliird year of my course, if I remember right, an improvement was made in our quarterly examinations by the institution of a classical premium distinct from that which was given for science ; and myself and a man named Ferral (who was said to have been a tutor before he en- tered college) were on one occasion competitors for this prize. At the close of the examination, so equal appeared our merits, that the examiner (Usher) was unable to decide between us, and accordingly desired that we should * The provost and senior fellows. VOL. I. D 34 MEMOIRS OF C^Etat. 16. accompany him to his cliambers, where, for an hour or two, he pitted us against each other. The books for that period of the course were the Orations of Demosthenes and Virgil's Georgics; and he tried us by turns at all the most difficult passages, sending one out of the room while he was questioning the other. At length, his dinner- hour having arrived, he was obliged to dismiss us without o-ivino- any decision, desiring that we should be with liim ao-ain at an early hour next morning. On considering the matter as I returned home, it struck me that, having sifted so thoroughly our power of construing, he was not likely to o^o ao-ain over that ground, and that it was most pro- bably in the history connected with the Orations he would examine us in the morning. Acting forthwith upon this notion, I went to an old friend of mine in the book line, one Lynch, Avho kept a ragged old stall in Stephen Street, and, bori'owing from him the two quarto volumes of Leland's Pliilip, contrived to skim their con- tents in the course of that evening, notwithstanding that a great part of it was devoted to a gay music-party at a neighbour's. When we reappeared before Usher in the morning, the line of examination which he took was exactly what I had foreseen. Keturning no more to the text of either of our authors, his questions were solely directed to such events of the reign of Philip as were connected with the Orations of Demosthenes; and as the whole was floating freshly in my memory, I answered promptly and accurately to every point ; while my poor competitor, to whom the same lucky thought had not occurred, was a complete blank on the subject, and had not a word to say for himself. The victory was, of course, mine kolloic ; but it was also in a more accurate sense of the word hollow, as after all I did not carry off the premium. It 1795.] THOMAS MOORE. 35 was necessary, as part of the forms of the trial, that we should each give in a theme in Latin verse. As I had never in my life written a single hexameter, I was resolved not to begin bunglingiy 7ww. In vain did Usher repre- sent to me that it was a mere matter of form, and that with my knowledge of the classics I was sure to make out something good enough for the piu'pose. I was not to be persuaded. It was enough for me to have done well what I had attempted ; and I determined not to attempt any- thing more. The premium accordingly went to my oppo- nent, on his producing the required quantum of versicles ; and as my superiority over him in the examination had been little more than accidental, his claim to the reward was nearly as good as my own. That the verses were meant as a mere form, — and a very bungling form too, — may be believed without any difhculty ; our fellows, in general, knowing little more of Latin verse than their pupils. Indeed, neither in the Eno;lish nor the Latin Parnassus did these learned worthies much distinguish themselves. Dr. Fitzgerald, one of the senior fellows in my time, was the author of a published poem called " The Academic Sportsmen," in which was the following remarkable couplet, — " The cackling hen, the interloping goose, The playful kid that frisks about the house ;" and Dr. Browne, — a man, notwithstanding, of elegant scholai'ship, and who is said to have ascertained accurately the site of Tempo, though never in Greece *, — was rash enough to publish some Latin poems, which, as containing numerous false quantities, were of course miserably * He proved, if I recollect right, in this Essay, that Pococke had actually passed through Tempe without knowing it. D 2 36 MEMOIRS OF [iETAT. IG. mauled by the "aucupes sylltibarum" of the EngUsh Ke\iews. Another slight circumstance, during my course, which gave me both pleasure and encouragement, took place one mornino- at one of those comfortless Greek lectures which are held at so early an hour as six o'clock, and which, from not being a resident member of the college, I was seldom able to attend. Our Greek task at that period was the Xltos BsL laropcav av With tender hands the tears to brush, That give new softness to its blush. T. M. 1800,] LETTERS. lOl oimlit to be all unnecessarv to the learned reader ; and there is one Avhich, though it is witty enougli, is a little too open to be missed by the unlearned reader of either sex, especially as it is marked with italics. The first line of the note will be alone sufficient. It is upon the 29th ode I scribble tliis in very great haste, but fear that you and Mr. Moore will find me too long, minute, and im- j^ei'tinent. Believe me to be, dear Sir, very sincerely, Your obedient, humble servant, F. Lawrence. [No. 21.] To his Mother. Jan. 6. 1800. I have just received a very interesting letter from my father, in which, though he has not been very eloquent, he has enclosed eight pounds or so. I wrote to you on Satur- day a letter Avhich I am sure you did not understand ; however, it is now no matter, as the business is settled. I wrote to the Marquis of Lansdowne, to Bath, enclosing my' state letter of introduction, with some plausible apologies and compliments, and a paper of my proposals. I received a very polite answer from him, requesting that his name should be put down, and that I should call on him any morning about eleven o'clock, when he comes to town, which will be very shortly. Dr. Lawrence has read my Anacreon ; paid wonderful attention to it ; and has written a Greek ode himself, which he allows me to publish. I have got Mrs.Fitzherbert''s name, and Mr. Biggin pro- mises me the Duke of Bedford's. Everything goes on delightfully. Tell Cuming not to let a creature see the II 3 y' 102 LETTERS. [.E TAT. 20. odes which I enclosed to him for the designs, but to send them back to me with tlie drawings ; and all as soon as possible. The opening of the opera is deferred every night, on account of some misunderstandino; with resrard to the license. This annoys me, for I expect I shall be there every night with Mr. Biggin and INIrs. Birom. I am become this lady's pupil in thorough bass. My next shall positively be to my dear Catherine: she must not, however, be affronted : she ought to consider how much I have on my hands — Anacreon, tliorough bass, &c. &c. [No. 22.] To his Mother. Feb. 4. 1800. I received my father's letter yesterday, and I am sorry to find that your enrolment is diminishing so soon ; but he said that he enclosed me the list of subscribers, and I found no such thing in the letter. I have got the Duke of Bedford's name, and I believe shall have his interest, for Mr. Biggin is to shoAV him some of the work : in short, my list is about fifty, without including Mr. Solly, who is very attentive to me, or Major Archdall, with whom I have dined two or three times, and who has introduced me to a Mr. Cope, of Manchester Square, with whom I am to dine to-morrow. I have not heard anything from Lord Moira ; so I shall write to him very soon. Let Cuming send me the drawings immediately. Nugent is very much ad- vanced in the engraving from the Provost's picture. What- ever damp I might have felt at the idea of the subscription slackening was, I assure you, my dear mother, infinitely compensated by being told that your health was better than it had been : Heaven preserve it long to make us happy ! As the time approaches for my return, I begin to 1800.] LETTERS. 103 be still more Impatient for it. I find the retonclilng and finishing my Anacreon to be an increasing and almost end- less labour. I am at it night and day ; it will soon be in the press,, and shall fly over before me, to harbinger my return. I hope it will succeed. Success makes every one more welcome, but it cannot make me more so to you, can it, my dear mother? Give the warmest remembrances of my soul to my good, good father. [No: 23.] To his Mother. Thursday, March 20. 1800. My dearest Mother, All is well again, and I am again quite stout. Once more laid on my back, under the physicians, I have once more shaken them off, and am drinking bottled porter and old port wine every day. Dearest mother, how anxious I have been at not being able to write to you ! and I know now that you are all tremble and anxiety at the long in- terval there has been between my letters ; indeed, the last I wrote was just caught in a lucid interval of ease, when I was allowed to sit up for an hour; and happy enough did it make me to avail myself of it in writing to my own darhngs. I have not wanted for care and nursing of the best kind. Dr. Baillie, the first physician here, has at- tended me every second day, and Woolriche, the surgeon, twice a-day. I shall in my next letter tell you fully what was the matter with me. It began like my old pain, in the side, and they first tried calomel, but that failed, and they were obliged to let it form an abscess, which has now completely discharged itself, and I feel as healthy, as full of appetite and spirits as ever ; a little weak, that's all. H 4 104 LETTERS. [iETAT. 21. God bless you. Don't be the least uneasy. I am as one in full health. * [No. 24.] To his Mother. May 14. 1800. * * * I am just going out to dinner, and then to two parties in the evening — Mrs. Harwood's and Dr. Grant's. This is the way we live in London, no less than three every evening. Vive la bagatelle! " Away with melan- choly." [No. 25.] To his Mother. Saturday [no date]. My dear Mother, I have got the Prince's name, and his permission that I should dedicate Anacreon to liim. Hurra ! hurra ! Yours ever. [No. 26.] To his Mother. June 9. 1800. * * * How I long to return to you : as soon as the books are published and distributed, you shall see me. I have written a Greek ode, which is now before the tribunal of Dr. Lawrence, and, if he approve of it, I shall have it prefixed to the Anacreon. Tliis, I hope, will astonish the scoundrelly monks of Trinity, not one of whom, I per- ceive, except the Provost and my tutor, have subscribed to the work. Heaven knows they ought to rejoice at any- * Moore had in fact been in great danger from a large abscess in his side. He evidently diminishes the iUness not to alarm his mother. 1800.] LETTERS. 105 tliino- like an effort of literature cominoj out of their leaden body ! I can do without them ; but tell Phipps that I will not put F. T. C. D. after his name, as I should be ashamed of the world's observins^ that but one of the fellows of the university where I graduated, gave liis tribute to a class- ical undertaking of this kind. They are a cursed corpora- tion of boobies ! and if it were not for my friend, their Provost, the public should know my opinion of them. * * * I was last night in company with Godwin. [No, 27.] To his 3fother. June 21. 1800. I am surprised at not having heard from home near this week past. I hope you are all Avell ; and. Heaven knows ! I wish I wei'e with you. I have already begun tliis piece, and only wait for the expression of your wishes to go on with it. It mai/ succeed and it may not ; but still, my dearest mother, you will feel that I have made the effort, and then I shall fly to your arms " like a young bridegroom, dancing to his love." I have been obliged to adopt a particular plot prescribed to me, so that I must be considered as connected in the writing as well as the miisic. This is one reason that I do not wish it to be known that I am eno-aged in such a tliino; ; but if a hundred or two hun- dred pounds be the result of it, why, we shall have no reason to regret it. At all events, we shall meet, I hope, in the course of a month, and wc shall indeed be very happy, for you deserve to be happy, and I feel that 1 am, perhaps, not unworthy of it. Farewell, my sweet mother God bless you. 106 LETTEES. [^TAT. 21. [No. 28.] To his Mother July 5. 1800. My dearest Mother, * * * I hope you got my Anacreon, which I enclosed to Cocke. How did you look at it ? What did you feel ? Oh ! I know what you felt, and I know how you looked ! My heart is with you, though I am so delayed from meeting you. Good God ! when we do meet, may it be in happiness! Write to me, my dear father and mother; tell me you are in health and content, and I shall then be as happy as absence from you will allow me. Farewell. " Forget me not." [No. 29.] To his Mother. July 12. 1800. I am trying every day to be off to you, but dis- tributing this book is taking up my time ; and waiting to be introduced to the Prince. I met his brother. Prince William, the other night, at a very elegant party at Lady Dering's, and Avas introduced to him. A young girl told me, that he had been asking her questions about me and my birth, parentage, &c., with all the curiosity of the royal family. I was obliged that night to sing every one of my songs twice. The day before yesterday I was at a splendid dejeuner of Sir John Coghill's : we had charming music. I sang several things with Lord Dudley and Miss Cramer (sister to Sir J. Coghill). These people I Was introduced to by Lord Lansdowne. I got your welcome letter ; any account from my dear ones at home is hdaven to me. I hope the Anacreon will soon be with you, and the young hoy soon after them. Oh heavens ! how happy we shall meet ! God send it, — and immediately ISOO.] LETTERS. 107 " a speedy meeting and soon,^'' as an Irishman would say. You see bow conceited I'm grown. Love to all. My heart is Avith you. [No. 30.] To his 3Iother. July 28. 1800. I hope in a very few days to be able to leave London and see all those I have been so long, so tediously sepa- rated from. I am delighted to find by my father's letter, that Hume has made your mind so happy in regard to me. He is certainly an inestimable young man. I never met with any one more capable of friendship, or more adapted to cherish it. He has a peculiar delicacy (wliich must always make liim an amiable companion), never to touch upon any thing grating to one's feelings. I could write a volume about him, and even if he had not one estimable quality, still gratitude for his interest in my welfare should tie me to liim. I hope he will dine with you some day ; and on that day there will not in Europe be three more honest souls together. -^o^ [No. 31.] To his Mother. August 4. 1800. ■ I was yesterday introduced to his Royal Highness George, Pi'ince of Wales. He is beyond doubt a man of very fascinating manners. When I was presented to him, he said he was very happy to know a man of my ahilities; and when I thanked him for the honour he did me in permitting the dedication of Anacreon, he stopped me and said, the honour was entirely his, in being allowed to put his name to a work of such merit. He then said that he lioped ^hen he returned to town in the winter, we should have many , 108 LETTERS. [iETAT. 21. opportunities of enjoying each other's society ; that he was passionately fond of music, and had long heard of my talents in that way. Is not all this very fine ? But, my dearest mother, it has cost me a neio coat ; for the intro- duction was unfortunately deferred till my former one was grown confoundedly shabby, and I got a coat made up in six hours : however, it cannot be helped ; I got it on an economical plan, by giving two guineas and an old coat, whereas the usual price of a coat here is near four pounds. By the bye, I am still in my other tailor's debt. To change the topic, I have heard Lord Moira's opinion of my Anacreon (not from himself, for, when I saw him, he very elegantly thanked me for a vast deal of gratification which it had given him) ; but he had spoken a vast deal of it to a gentleman who told me : said there were scarce any of the best poets who had been so strictly grammatical in language as I had been, — that the notes discovered a great extent of reading, — and that, in short, it Avas a very superior work. Do not let any one read this letter but yourselves ; none but a father and a mother can bear such eofotisiniT vanity ; but I know who I am writing to — that they are interested in what is said of me, and that they are too partial not to tolerate my speaking of myself. * * * [No. 32.] To his 3Iother. Jan. 3. 1801. My dearest Mother, Still at Donington ; but I am sure I shall leave it to- morrow. Lord Moira wishes me to stay, but I shall promise in a little time to return here, which is the best way to escape pleasantly. There cannot be anything .801.] LETTEES. 109 more deliglitful than this house, — an inunitable library, where I have the honour of being bound up myself, a charming piano, and very pleasant society. What can be more deUghtful however? I am so anxious to get to London that I must fly away. * * * [No. 33.] To his Mother, London, Jan. 5. 1801. * * * I ^vas not allowed to leave Doni no-ton Park till I had promised that, as soon as leisure allowed me, I should return. They were, indeed, vincommonly polite. The morning I left it, breakfast was ordered an hour earlier than usual to accommodate me, and Lord IVIoira requested I should return as soon as I could. * * * [No. 34.] To his Mother. Jan. 27. 1801. Dearest Mama, Forgive me for only writing a billet doux, but I have written by this post to Capt. Atkinson and Lady JNIoira, and have not time to say more than that I am very well, and in high spirits. What do you think ? Lord Moira, A\ ho came to town but yesterday, called on me in person to-day, and left his card: is not this excellent? I got dear Catherine's letter, and shall answer it immediatelv. Yours totally and eternally. [No. 35.] To his Mother. I Monday, Feb. 2. 1801. * * * I dined on Saturday in company with Suett and Bannister. Read the piece to them. Suett is quite enchanted with his part, particularly the mock bravura. 110 LETTEES. [iETAT. 21. [No. 36.] To his Mother. March 1. 1801. My dearest Mother, You may imagine I do not want society here, when I tell you that last night I had six invitations. Everything goes on swimmingly with me. I dined with the Bishop of Meath on Friday last, and went to a party at Mrs. Crewe's in the evening. My songs have taken such a rage ! even surpassing what they did in Dublin. Let me know if the Steeles are in Dubhn, and write to me oftener. Sweetest, dearest mama ! keep up your spirits and health till we meet, wliich shall, please Heaven ! be in summer. Yours dearly. [No. 37.] To his Mother. March 6. 1801 My dearest Mother, * * * * There is not a night that I have not three parties on my string, but I take Hammersley's advice, and send showers of apologies. The night before last, Lady Harrington sent her servant after me to two or three places with a ticket for the " Ancient Music," which is the king's concert, and wlilch is so select, that those who go to it ought to have been at Court be- fore. Lady Harrington got the ticket from one of the Princesses, and the servant at last found me where I dined. You may be assured I hurried home and dressed for it im- mediately. These attentions from such great people are no harm, and they are flattering. * * * 1801.] LETTERS. Ill [No. 38.] To his Mother. March 18. 1801. My dearest Mother, Never was there any wight so Idly husy as I am — nothing but racketting : it is indeed too much, and I in- tend steahng at least a fortnight's seclusion, by leaving word at my door that I am gone to the country. I must " tie up the knocker, say I'm sick — I'm dead ! " I last night went to a little su2:)per after the opera, where the - Prince and Mrs. Fitzherbert were : I was introduced to her. * * * I dine with Lord Moira to-morrow, and go in the evening with Lady Charlotte to an assembly at the Coun- tess of Cork's. I assure you I am serious in the idea of being at least for a fortnight incog. * * * [No. 39.] To his Mother. March 24. 1801, I find Grierson leaves this but to-day : he has been so occupied with business that I have seen very little of him. I never told you that, at the time I came here, I found I was near 70/. in Hume's debt : he is now paid by the sale of the copyright, and has left another debt of strong ohligation behind, for he is a very honest fellow. You see how I push through these matters. Ah ! my dear mother, with the favour of Heaven, there is no fear of me ; if you are but happy, I have everything I can wish for. I have not been able to get down so far as Keinvan's yet : it is (as Major Swayne says) eight miles into that cursed city ! I shall soon, however, take the Avalk and get my five guineas. What do you think, yomig Lord Forbes 112 LETTERS. [^TAT. 21. and another young nobleman dine icith me to-morrow ! This was a thing pw^ on me, and I shall do it with a good grace. I assure you I am six feet high to-day after discharg- ing my debt of 70/. yesterday, and I have still some copies on my hand to dispose of for myself. The new edition will soon be out : it w^ill be got up very handsomely : perhaps if I send you over twenty copies of the last which I have, you may pick up so many guineas there for them ; but the manner of sending them is the tiling. Love to all. [No. 40.] To his Mother. Saturday, March 28. 1801. My dearest Mother, * * * I was last night at a ball, which (as we say) swept the toion — everybody was there — two or three of the Princes, the Stadtholder, &c. &c. You may imagine the affability of the Pi'ince of Wales, when his address to me was, " How do you do, Moore ? I am glad to see you." * * * J kept my piece back too long. I am afraid they will not have time to bring it out this season, and it is too expensive for Colman's theatre. He has read it, however ; is quite delighted with it ; and Avishes me to undertake something on a more moderate scale for the little theatre, which perhaps I shall do. But, please God ! I must, I think, see my dear ones in summer again. Don't let me be forgot in your lodgings: keep a corner for Tom. Love to you all — to the whole rookery. [No. 41.] To his Mother. Wednesday, April 1. 1801. How d'ye do, my dearest mother ? Did you see my name in the paper among the lists of company at most of 1801.] LETTERS. 11 Q the late routs ? This Is a foolish custom adopted here, of printing the names of the most distinguished personages tliat are at the great parties, and Mr. Moore, I assure you, is not forgotten. I have an idea of going down to Don- ington Park, to seclude myself for about a month in the'^ library there : they are all in town, but Lord jMoira tells me I may have an apartment there, whenever I wish. 'Tis a long time since I heard from you. Are you all well and happy ? Grierson has not left tliis yet. I dined yes- terday with George Ogle, and he was there. 1 met the Prince at supper at Lady Harrington's, on Monday night ; he is always very pohte to me. You cannot think how much my songs are liked here. Monk Lewis was " in the greatest agonies " the other night at Lady Donegal's, at having come in after my songs : " 'Pon his honour, he had come for the express purpose of hearing me." Write to me soon, dearest little mama, and tell me you are well. [No. 42.] To his Mother. Saturday, April 18. 1801. My dearest Mother, I go on as usual ; I am happy, careless, comical, everytliing I could wish ; not very rich, nor yet quite poor. All I desire is that my dear ones at home may be as contented and easy in mind as I am. Tell me are you all happy and comfortable ? I do not hear from you half often enough. The other day I dined with the Dowager Lady Donegal : we had music in the even- ing. Lady Charlotte Rawdon and I were obliged to sing my little glees three times. I go to Donington in about a week, I think : about that time my poems will be all VOL. I. 1 114 LETTERS. [^TAT. 21. printed. I suppose Captain A. told you they are coming out as " The poetical works of the late Thos. Little, Esq." You shall have a copy over immediately. I wrote a Ions: letter to Miss Catherine Little this week. Make her answer me soon. [No. 43.] To his Mother. Saturday, April 25. 1801. My dearest Mother, I am expecting every day to leave town, and on Tuesday I hope to effect it. I look to a new vein of imagination entirely in the solitude of Donington. I have seldom, never indeed, been two days alone, and I expect that in such a situation, with the advantage of so fine a library, I may produce sometliing far beyond any of my past attempts. I dined en famille with Lord Moira on Thursday last, and he told me every tiling was prepared at Donington for my reception. * * * I hope the post will be convenient enough to allow my regular correspondence ; indeed, I have no doubt of it, and my darling dears shall hear from the Hermit of the Castle aU the progress of his fanciful lucubrations. What delays my little Catherine's letter ? I am anxious for it. I shall let you know the day before I leave town, in what manner you are to direct your letters to me. I am weU, happy in spirits; thinking hourly of the dear ones at home, and anticipating the pleasure I shall have in rejoining them in summer. 1801.] LETTERS. 115 [No. 44.] To Ms Mother. Donlngton Park, Tuesday, May 5. 1801. My time here by no means hangs heavily on me, notwithstanding that I am so little accustomed to solitude. I rise rather early, breakfast heartily, employ the day in walking or hunting among old books, dine off two courses, no less ; in the evening sing down the sun like a true Pythagorean, and then seasonably take to my pillow, where I sleep sweetly, nor dream of ambition though be- neath the roof of an earl. Such is my diary. * * * My love comes more pure to you now from the clear air of Donington ; take it, my dear mother, and believe me yours ever. [No. 45.] To his Mother. Wednesday, May 13. 1801, * * * It Is now a fortnight since I came to Doning- ton: it has not by any means seemed tedious to me; and I think another week will be the conclusion of my visit. I shall let you know particularly when I leave it. [No. 46.] To his Mother. Donington Park, May 21. 1801. I am now more than three weeks at Donington, and in that time have received but one short letter from home, — this is not fair. I am sure ?wy regularity ought to be a little better rewarded. My father I excuse. I trust and hope from my soul he has business to keep him from writing; but the little idle gipsy, Catherine, who can 1 2 116 LETTERS. [^TAT. 22. have no other employment than to Improve herself, ought surely to make correspondence with me one medium of that improvement. I am almost growing anxious from this silence, to me so very gloomy; and I sometimes dread that all is not right at home, or the common occupations of the day could never so interrupt your writing to me. Tell me truth, my darling mother, are you all happy and in health? Make Catherine write to me oftener: there are a thousand little nothings of the day's news which I should like to hear, and which it is her province more immediately to communicate. Let her not mind postage either; I throw away many a shilling foollslily, which I should much rather bestow on a little intelligence from dear home. I never committed a murder till I came to Donington, but I've been shooting young rooks every morning for this week past. You cannot imagine how rosy I am grown : these good hours would make an Adonis of me, so that, in pity to the Chloes, I must dissipate when I go to town again. I shall, I believe, make out the month here : next Wednesday I look to leaving Donington, and I think not sooner. Good by, dear mother. Your own, Tom. Lno. 47.] To his Mother. Saturday, June 6. 1801. My dearest Mother, * * * My little poems are very much admired here, and have increased my fame. I hope I shall soon get my shirts and cravats. Atkinson is as cordial and friendly as I could expect almost from my father. "We dined together yesterday at Mrs. Fancourt's : we have 1801.] LETTERS. 117 contrived Indeed not to separate in our enjoyments since he came. You cannot imagine how much my name is gone about here : even of those poems my bookseller sells at the rate of twenty copies a-day ; and the shabby demand of Ireland for fifty copies (which Grierson has written over) will surely appear very contemptible to this. It is not his fault, however ; and, indeed, I am very indifferent about it, for they are not very liberal to the style of my youthful productions. Lord Moira had one of the first copies. [No. 48.] To his Mother. June 16. 1801. 46. Wigmore Street, Cavendish Square. My dearest Mother, I know you will forgive my irregularities in writing at present, when you know that I am as well as possible, and as happy as good spirits and a vast deal of pleasant company can make me. The night before last I was at the most splendid ball that has been given this season, at the Duchess of Devonshire's ; and I returned at four this morning from another, given by Sir Watkin W. Wynne. This work will soon be over, so you need not dread my having too much of it. Carpenter has thought it most prudent to defer publishing my book till Christmas : the only inconvenience attending this is, that I must be drawing on him in the meantime, without anything going on to liquidate it ; but this he has no objection to. I am only afraid it will delay my visit to dear home beyond what I expected, as my only plan now is to go to Don- ington, to Lord Moira's, where I shall be at less expense than in town. Lord Moira, last night, went a great round I 3 118 LETTERS. [^TAT. 22. out of his way to set me down at Sir Watkln's, from Mrs. Duff's, where we met at a large rout. He is uncom- monly kind and attentive. I think* the reports about him have again died away. Love to father, dear Kate, and Nell. Yours ever, dearest mother. [No. 49.] To his Mother. Nov. 26. 1801. My dearest Mother, * * * I find the papers here have all been quot- ing passages from my Anacreon for public notice. This your readers of the ''^Packet'''' in Dublin never could spy out, though they could be lynx-eyed to anything they thought unfavourable. Accordingly, we never heard of this from them. * * * [No. 50.] To his Mother. Monday, Jan. 4. 1802. My dearest Mother, This letter I know has been ivaited for, but in leavinGr Donington I was hurried into the omission of it. I arrived in town yesterday with Curran, who kept me in an uninterrupted fit of laughter all the way. We had a dance at the Park the night before I left it, and I footed it away merrily till four o'clock in the morning. Tell Kate that I, immediately on receiving her letter, copied out the song for Lady Elizabeth, and gave her some les- sons in singing it. I shall tell in my next letter what I think about her excursion to Castle Forbes. I was oblio;ed to come to town to try and get this music into hands. 1802.] LETTEES. 119 The second edition of Anacreon is published, and it is certainly very beautifully got up. The print is universally thought to be like, and he is selling off hundreds of them singly. There is a copy at the binder's for my dears at home. * * * [No. 51.] To his Mother. Satui'day, Jan. 30. 1802. My dearest Mother, I am flying off to the Temple this instant to eat my dinner; it's about two miles and a half, so I have little time to write. I don't know which, Kate or I, is gene- rally in the greatest hurry. I go in the evening to a Blue Stocking supper at Lady Mount-Edgecumbe's ; it is the first this season, and I shall be initiated. The Hon. Mrs. Darner, the Misses Berry, &c. &c., form the coterie. I met all my old fashionalile friends at a rout last night, the opening of the season, — 300 people. I wait my answer from Dalby, Lord Forbes' tutor, to arrange my plans for leaving London ; it is necessary to me for some time. Love to all dears at home^ Tell me how Hobart's play comes on. Tell him I have attempted something, but don't like what I have done. I had rather write merely the words, and Stevenson compose the music. * * * [No. 52.] To his Mother. Monday, Feb. 1. 1802. The idea of Lord Moira's coming into administration begins to be entertained very strongly here. Heaven send it ! I have heard from Dalby, and shall about the end of this week go to Donington. The Granards seem 1 4 120 LETTERS. [^TAT. 22. to approve very miicli of my resolution in leaving the seductions of London for a month or two of study. You may have some idea of the increasing popularity that follows my Anacreon, when I assure you that on Saturday last Carpenter sold ten copies of the new edition in the course of the day ; and so, more or less, every day. I am going to a rout at Lady Talbot's to-night. There is a volume of designs from the Anacreon, I hear, preparing for publication by some eminent artist. I break- fast with Monk Lewis to-morrow morning in order to go to see them. Tell Stevenson he could not at present choose anything more likely to catch the public than liis pub- lication of the glees from Anacreon : it is universally read, and hardly can be said to have been known till now. I do not hear from you half so often as I should wish. Bid Kate never to wait for a frank, and to write very often. Dear, darling mother, your own boy, Tom. [No. 53.] To his Mother. IMonday, March 4. 1802, My darling Mother, I don't know how I let Saturday pass without a letter, but I believe I was in a little fuss about a civil kind of scrape that the good nature of some of my fashionable friends brought me into. ^Vliile I was away, they did me the troublesome honour of electing me into a new club they have formed, and it Avas on Saturday that I thought- I had to pay my subscription. However, I have more time for it than I imagined, and, when the debt is discharged, I must get quietly out of the business, highly sensible of the honour they have done to my pocket. I am deferring too 1802.] LETTERS. 121 long my letter to my dear uncle, but to-morrow I think it shall be done. The people will not let me stay at home as much as I wish, and I sometimes wish all the duchesses and marcliionesses chez le diahle. * * * [No. 54.] To his Mother. March 6. 1 802. Dearest Mother, I find, by to-day's paper, that we are all at loggerheads again. I believe what my countryman says is true, " that the French can never be at peace but Avhen they are in some war or other." Why is Kate so long silent ? She has not acknowledged either of the letters which I wrote to her. I am getting quite rosy with the air of this fine weather. Nothintr could take me to town noAV but Bayitis benefit. She plays the chief man herself, and Mrs. Bil- lington la prima donna ; there's a treat ! I have some shows myself here ; I went last night to look at the satellites of Jupiter, through a telescope, with Dalby ; and this morn- ing I was introduced to Dalby's sweetheart ! How do you like the Avay " Lady Fair " is got up ? My best love to dear, good father. I pray for you all every night. [No. 55.] To his Mother. Saturday, May 1. 1802. My dearest Mother, It is very, very long since I heard from home : what is my little Kate about ? The Granards are still lingering here. * * * Lady Granai*d is uncommonly kind. I think I should rather wish Kate to go with them to Castle Forbes, if I can (as I expect) help her to rig her- 122 LETTERS, [^TAt. 23. self out for it. London is most killingly gay, and my spirits keep up to its gaiety. Have you got the lieads by Maurice Fitzgerald ? I dine to-day with Lady Donegal and her sister; none but the trio of us. The day of the great illuminations I breakfasted with the Lord Mayor, dined with Lord Moira, and went in the evening to Mrs. Butler's, the Duchess of Athol's, Lady Mount-Edge- cumbe's, and Lady Call's, Avliich was a ball, where I danced till five in the morning. [No. 56.] To his Mother. Thursday, June 3. 1802. My dearest Mother, I this morning received Kate's account of your dance, but she did not tell me who were of the party. The Union Masquerade on Monday was rather a Bartholomew Fair business, though tickets sold ^ov fifteen guineas each. Mrs. Fancourt, as Woivski, was the best dressed and supported character I ever saw. I accompanied her as Trudge. The Morning Post of to-day, I see, speaks of her, though they do not know her name, and says she was attended by " Anacreon Moore.''^ I had a long conversation with Lord Moira yesterday about going to Brunswick with Lord Forbes : it is his wish decidedly, and he begged me to con- sider, what beyond my expenses would make it unneces- sary for me to draw on this country. Do not breathe a word of this. I am still looking out for some one to take charge of the dresses for Kate. I am going to publish Memory. It depends now upon Lord Moira how soon I shall visit my dear, dear home ; it may be immediately, it may not be for two months or so. See you all, I 1S02.] LETTERS. 123 must of course, before I arrange any plan whatsoever about Brunswick. Love to my good father, dear Kate, and Ellen. Yours, dearest mother. [No. 57.] To his Mother. Saturday, July 18. 1802. * * * I am happy to learn that the Catch Club have done themselves so much justice by their tri- bute to Stevenson. I wish he were here ; he would soon, I think, put down Kelly. Poor Mick is rather an z'mposer than a composer. He cannot mark the time in writing three bars of music : his understrappers, however, do all that for him, and he has the knack of pleasing the many. He has compiled the Gipsy Prince extremely well, and I have strong hopes of its success. [No. 58.] To his Mother. Monday, Sept. 20. 1802. My dearest Mother, I have been kept very busily employed in viewing all the beauties of this country, which are, indeed, extremely interesting; and I hope in a very short time to describe them to you by word of mouth. I had the courage the other day to descend into a coal-pit, 360 feet depth: never was anything so true a picture of the infernal regions; very few, except those condemned to work in them, venture to visit them. I was let down in a bucket, and, indeed, expected to kick it before I got up again. The deuce take INIr. Holmes, Avherever he is ; though I hope by this time, at least, the box has arrived. I received Kate's last letter, enclosed to me, from Egliam. As soon as I can get off from 124 J LETTERS. L'^TAT. 23. this place I shall, please Heaven ! lose no time in flying to you. yfho could Kate have been with at Seapoint ? Love to dearest father, and my little girls. The Atkinsons have quite flattered me by the account they gave of Ellen. Good by, dearest mother. [No. 59.] To his Mother. Nov. 17. 1802. My dearest Mother, I have come to town just time enough to see Lord Moira, with whom I dined yesterday at the Cocoa Tree. Lord Hutcliinson was of the party. Lord Moira expresses very warm regret at the disappointment I have met with; and I feel not a doubt that, as he has now more poioer than before, he certainly has not less loill to do me service. Every one has met me with smiles ; not a frown, even from my tailor ! My chief anxiety now is about the money I owe my dear uncle. Do bid him write, and set my mind at ease. Let him not consult his delicacy, but say fairly whether he is pressed for it, as I cari make an effort to pay him immediately. Dearest mother, is it not a pity, when I am brought so near you, that I must deny myself the gratification of instantly being amongst you ; but I must work off" these scores, and, thank Heaven ! I have it abun- dantly in my power. I think I shall go to Donington : there I shall be still nearer home ; and when seeing you all is to be the crown of my task, it cannot fail to sweeten and accelerate my labours. I find they have had frequent reports here that I was dead. I hope they did not reach you. I never was more alive in my life. 1803.] LETTERS. 125 I am so anxiovis to get a lesson from dear Kate upon the pianoforte, and to hear little Ellen warble. Well, well ! it must be enough for me to know you are all well, for some time at least. God bless you, and my father, and sweet girls. [No> 60.] To his Mother. Thursday night, March 24, 1803. Mj dearest IMother, * * * I have had a letter from Lord Forbes since he went. From what he says, his uncle's opinion seems to be that war is inevitable ! Sad days we are thrown upon : the world wiU never be in amity, I fear. * * * [No. 61.] To his Mother. Sunday morning, April 17. 1803. My dearest Mother, I have been busier than you imagine all this last week, transcribing part of my work for the press. I do reaUy think transcribing must be the punislunent for bad poets in hell ; there is nothing so tiresome. It is now a good while since I heard from home, but I know my prattling correspondent is absent, and my father perhaps too much occupied to Avrite : however, I hope to day's post may teU me you are all well, and as I could wish. I would very gladly give up my solitude now, but I have still a vast deal to do, and must stay a little longer. Lord Strangford is pubhsliing his translation of Camoens with Carpenter. I got some proof sheets of it, which Lord S. sent mc here, and I think it 126 LETTERS. [yETAT. 23. will do lilm very great credit. I hope, my dearest mother, you walk out these glorious days : thei'e never was such fine weather in the memory of any one about me, at the time of the year. Nobody has told me whether the notes to my uncle and Mrs. Mills arrived : pray, bid my father mention. I believe I told you I had a letter from Lewis. There are no less than three families about this country who are teazing me to spend the spring at their houses : so, you see, I am not without my usual resources. Good by, darhng mother. [No. 62.] To his Mother. Thursday, May 13. 1803. Lady Granard left town on Monday. I sent by her a little inclosure of five pounds for Ellen's music. I hope I shall be able to follow it up more nohly. There is nothing but masquerades going on here. I was at Mrs. Orby Hunter's, in the character of a little Irish boy just come to London, and had a vast deal of fun. I go to-morrow night to Martindale's ; there are twenty guineas offered on every side for a ticket for this, which is a fete given by one of the Clubs. I am going as Lingo. [No. 63.] To his Mother. Friday, May 20. 1803. My dearest Mother, Yesterday I received my good father's letter: it was quite a cordial to me, and decided my conduct in- stantly. Never could I have had the faintest idea of accepting so paltry and degrading a stipend, if I had not the urging apprehension that my dears at home 1803.] LETTERS. 127 wanted it ; but Heaven be praised that you are not in instant necessity for an assistance which necessity alone could reconcile. I will do better for you, at least as xvell, by means more grateful to my feelings. The manner in which Mr. Wickham communicated the circumstance to me would disgust any man with the least spirit of inde- pendence aboiit him. I accordingly, yesterday, after the receipt of my ftxther's letter, enclosed the Ode for the Birth- day, at the same time resigning the situation, and I slept sounder last night in consequence, than, I assure you, I have done for some time. It woidd place me on " a ladder" indeed, but a ladder which has but the one rank, Avhere I should stand stationary for ever. Feeble as my hopes are of advancement under government, I should be silly to resign them, without absolute necessity, for a gift which would authorise them to consider me provided for, and leave me without a chance of any other or further ad- vantage : it would " write me down an ass " and a poet for ever ! Having considered the matter much since I came to tOAvn, and found every instant fresh reason to be disgusted with it, I consulted every one I met with upon the subject, and every one, except Croker, advised me peremptorily to reject it. Carpenter's conduct is uncommonly liberal. ^Vlien I told him that my only motive for retaining it was a very particidar use to which I had applied the stipend, he insisted I should not hesitate upon that point, as he was ready, absti^acted from our business -account, to pay a hundred a-year for me till I could discharge him and pay it myself. So you see my resources. The only thing I was anxious about was Lord Moira and my dear inestimable friend Atkinson, whose interest had been so actively employed to pi-ocure it for me ; but Lord Moira has totally relieved my mind upon the subject, by 128 LETTERS. [iETAT. 24. assuring me, that whatever resolution I adopted should meet with his concurrence ; and I trust that Atkinson's good sense and liberality will in the same way induce him to for- give the necessity which obliges me to decline the favour as totally incompatible with my feelings. I shall write to him to-morrow. There is a very promising periodical icork to com- mence in about a month or two, in which I bear the principal part. We have all advanced fifty pounds each, and I expect it will very soon double the income of the laureateship to me : so why should I burthen my mind with a situation whose emolument is so contemptible, compared to the ridicule which Is annexed to it. Love to the dear girls when you write. God bless you, good father and mother, and your own, Tom Moore. I send this by post, lest any accident happen. I should be glad, if you have no objection, that you would send this letter to Captain Atkinson, as I have not time to write to him till to-morrow ; and I wish him to be as soon as possible apprised of my resignation. [No. 64.] To his Mother. Saturday, July 16. 1803. My dearest Mother, I was gratified with a letter from my father, which, I must confess, is rather a singular pleasure ; but I always console myself with the Idea that he is more profitably employed. I have agreed for the piano for dear Kate : it will be sent off in a few days to Liverpool, and from thence to Ireland. I hope it will arrive safe. It is not by any 1803.] LETTERS. 129 means as good as I could wish for her, but it is sweet toned, and of course much better than the wretched machine she has at present. I think, as soon as you have received the new one, you had better sell the old trumpery, if any one will give a guinea for it. On Tuesday next I shall be off to Donington. Good by, sweet mother. [No. 65.] To his Mother. Twelve o'clock, Sunday night, Aug. 7. 1803. ]\Iy dearest IMother, I am going to town to-morrow morning on a business which may prove as fallacious as aU the rest have been, but which I think myself bound to follow up, as it will possibly in the end be productive of something, even if it be not itself a desirable object. Lord Moira told me to- day that he had had a letter from Tierney, offering him the gift of a place wliich government had left at liis ( Tierney 's) disposal. It must be sometliing far from con- temptible, as Lord M. told me, in confidence, Tierney was under obligations to hun, and that this was the first opportunity he had of, in any manner, repaying them. I fear, however, it is a situation not in either of these coun- tries ; and I fear it solely from the violence which a loider separation would cause to your feehngs, my dearest mother: as for my own part, I should not consider any sacrifice of either comforts or society at aU to be avoided, if it promised me a permanent subsistence and the means of providing for those I love. I have hopes that even if it he necessary to leave this country, the place may be considerable enough to allow you all to accompany me. This would be delightful ; but I know notliing certain of VOL. 1. K 130 LETTEES. [^TAT. 24. it yet. I take a letter to Tierney from Lord Moira, and the circumstances will of course be explained to me. Be assured, however, that I will do nothing without the total concurrence of your feelings as well as jowv judgment Poor Lord Moira met with a very disagreeable acci- dent the other evening. As he Avas leaving the judges' dinner at Leicester, he fell in going down stairs and hurt his back, I tliink, very seriously : for he has been in very great pain ever since, and cannot rise from a sofa without assistance. It is a pity that hearts like his should be perplexed by such common casualties of life, which should be only reserved for the every-day pedlars of this w^orld. He is indeed most amiable. I hope, however, it wiU not long be troublesome. This journey is a new expense and perplexity to me, which I, of course, could by no means foresee. However I am very well able for it both in pm-se and spirits ; and God knows but it maybe a "tide in my affairs " which will " lead to fortune." Fortune or not, I am still the same, your own devoted Tom. [No. 66.] From his Father. Dublin, Aug. 16. 1803. INIy dearest Tom, I regretted very much not having written to you on the receipt of your letter of the 7th, but I wished to have a fuller account of the situation of this appointment, which Ave had reason to expect from yourself, and wliich we have had this day by your letter. Your uncle came here yesterday for the pui*pose of disclosing the whole secret to your mother, so that we only anticipated what you had done of yourself to-day. There could be no such deception carried on with her, where you, or indeed any 1803.] LETTERS. 131 one of her family, were concerned, for she seems to know everything respecting them by Instinct. It would not be doing her the justice she well deserves to exclude her from such confidence. Her fears are greatly removed and re- lieved by the various accounts we have of this island, pos- sessing good air and almost every other advantage that can possibly be wished for : there is nothing unpleasant in it but the distance, and Heaven knows that ought to be reckoned a blessing to be almost any distance from these two countries at present. Poor Kate came to town to- day in consequence of my having written to her on tills business, for there is no one ought to be more interested in your affairs than her, and my poor child knows it. However, after all that was natural for her to feel on such a separation, she was quite delighted, and said she Avished to accompany you. She returned back to Atkinson's; he, A., does not know of this business, nor do I tlilnk it right he should until it's all detennincd ; for though he is, I believe, one of the best of men, he blabs a little too much. However you know when and how to let him know of it. Your uncle Joice Avrote you yesterday : he is one of the best of creatures ; he mentioned liis wish to know some- thing certain of the emoluments of tills place, wliich was very natural, but your letter of this day clears up that point. For my particular part I think with you, that there is a singular chance, as well as a special interference of Providence, in your getting so honourable a situation at this very critical time. I am sure no one living can pos- sibly feel more sensibly than your poor mother and me do at losing that comfort we so long enjoyed, of at least hearing from you once every week of your life that you were absent from us ; for surely no parents had ever such happiness in a child ; and much as we regret the wide K 2 132 LETTEES. [^TAT.24. separation which tliis situation of yours will for some time cause between us, we give you our full concurrence, and may the Almighty God spare and prosper you as you deserve. Your own good sense, I hope, will always direct you. It will be most material, and I hope what you will be able to accomplish, that of being called to the bar either here or in London ; for it would give you not only sanc- tion and consequence at present, but give you an honour- able profession after. I need not suggest those things to you, for T am sure you will not leave any thing undone. I should be glad you would now write to us more frequently, as you may suppose our anxiety about you will be every day increasing, and I hope yovi will be able to come to see us before your departure. You Avill hear from me again in a post or two. Your mother joins me in love to you, and I am, my dearest child, your ever affectionate, John Mooke. [No. 67.] To his Mother. Saturday, Sept. 10. 1803. My dearest Mother, I have just got my father's letter, Avliich has made me very happy. I am quite consoled by the idea of your keeping up your spirits so well, and I entreat of you to let nothing depress them in my absence, for I shall come home, please that Heaven which watches over me, better stocked in constitution as well as pocket than I ever should become by loitering here. I find Bermuda is a place where physicians order their patients when no other air will keep them alive. I am still uncertain about the time of my going, but I pray that Merry may not leave me 1803.] LETTERS. 133 behind. I could not possibly have such another opportu- nity. * * * I mentioned to another friend of mine, Woolriche, the surgeon, Avliat I had asked of Atkinson, and he said if it failed, or was not time enovigh, he would contrive to manage it for me. These are Eno;lislimen ! without any profession or ostentatious promises, but with a soberly liberal readiness to help the man who is worthy of being helped. Oh ! the gold mines of sweet Ireland ! God Almighty bless you and keep you in health and happiness till I return. I will write again on Monday. Your own, Tom. [No. 68.] To his Mother. Monday, Sept. 12. 1803. My dearest Mother, I enclose you a note I received from Merry yesterday, by which you will perceive that everything is in train for my departure. Notliing could be more lucky. I shall have just time to prepare myself; and all difficulties are vanishing very fast before me. Heaven smiles upon my project, and I see notliing in it now but hope and happiness. Tom Hume is arrived, to my very great delight, as his kindness Avill materially assist in smoothing the path for me. He is a perfect enthusiast in the business, and says that nothing could be presented so totally free from every alloy- ing consideration, — so perfectly adapted to my disposition, constitution, and prospects ; and he is right. If I did not make a sliilling by it, the new character it gives to my pursuits, the claim it affords me upon government, the ab- sence I shall have from all the frippery follies that would hang upon my career for ever in this country, all these are K 3 134 LETTERS. [^.TAT.24. objects Invaluable of themselves, abstracted from the pecu- niary. [The rest of the letter is torn away.] [No. 69,] To his Mothei'. Sept. 1803. My dearest Mother, To-morrow morning INIerry has fixed on for going to Portsmouth, and to-morrow night I shall follow him. We may be detained there a long time before the ship sails. Tell my dear uncle that I cannot sufficiently thank hun for his readiness in supplying my wants : I don't know what I should have done without hun, as there is a number of little contin2:ent necessities for which I should otherwise have been obliged to trench on my hundred pounds. * * * I think I shall find Mr. and ]\Irs. IVIerry very agreeable companions. They are but lately married, and she has been a fine woman. Our passage they seem to fear will be tedious ; but I shaU write to you from on board, and take the chance of meeting some ships Avliich may bring letters for us to England. Among the lighter sacrifices I make, the ])Oor pianoforte is included. I shall be strangely at a loss without that favourite resource of mine. However, I must carry music in rny heart with me ; and if that beats livelily in tune, 'twill supply the want of other hannonies. In case of my finding that I shall stay long in the island, an instrument shall be sent after me. I hope to find Kate advanced in all that is elegant and pohshed on my return ; and the little Nell I expect to see — anything but tall and termagant. God bless and preserve our whole cu'cle. 1803.J LETTEES. 135 [No. 70.] To his Mother. Portsmouth, Thursday, Sept. 22. 1803. Just arrived at Portsmouth, aucl the wide sea before my eyes, I Avrite my heart's farewell to the dear darlings at home. Heaven send I may return to English ground with pockets viore heavy, and spirits not less light than I now leave it with. Everything has been arranged to my satisfaction. I am prepared with every comfort for the voyage, and a fair breeze and a loud yo-yo-ee ! are all that's now wanting to set me afloat. My dear father should write to Carpenter, and thank him for the very friendly assistance he has given me : without that assistance the breeze would be fair in vain for me, and Bermuda might be sunk in the deep, for any share that I could pre- tend to in it ; but now all is smooth for my progress, and Hope sings in the shrouds of the sliip that is to carry me. Good by. God bless you all, dears of my heart ! I will write again if our departure is delayed by any circum- stance. God bless you again, and preserve you happy till the return of your Toji. Urge Stevenson to send Carpenter the songs : I shall write to him. Sweet mother, father, Kate, and Nell, good by ! [No. 71.] To his Motlier. Oct. 10. 1803. My own dear Mother, There is a ship in sight which we suppose to be home- ward bound, and with that expectation I prepare a few lines, which I trust in Heaven will reach you safe, and find you all well and happy. Our voyage hitherto has been remarkably favourable. In the first week we reached the K 4 136 LETTERS. [iETAT. 24. Azores, or tlie Western Islands, and though our second week has not advanced us much, from the ahuost con- tinual cahns we have had, yet the weather has been so delicioiis that there is but little to complain of, and in an- other fortnight we hope to be landed in America. We are at present in latitude 33° or thereabouts, and in longi- tude 38°. Though this you cannot well understand your- self, yet you will find many who can explain it, and I know all minutiae about my situation must be interesting to you now. I have had but one day's sickness, which I feel has been of service to me ; and though we are now in as warm a climate as I shall have to encounter, I find not the least inconvenience from the heat, but am convinced it will agree most perfectly with me. Nothing could possibly be more pleasant than the accommodations of this ship ; and though I shall never feel much passion for voyaging, yet it scarcely could be made less disagreeable than it is to us. The table we sit down to every day is splendid, and we drink Madeira and claret in common : but I am be- ginning to gossip with you, when I have hardly time to say what is necessary. Make Stevenson give all the songs he can possibly make out to Carpenter. I hope the packet I sent through Erche, from Portsmouth, has arrived safe. Keep up your spirits, my sweet mother ; there is every hope, every prospect of happiness for all of us. Love to darling father, to my own Kate and NeU. I am now near two thousand miles from you, but my heart is at home. God bless you. The ship is brought to, and our lieutenant is just going aboard, so I must stop. Your own, Tom. I wrote a line to Carpenter by a ship we met off the Western Islands : I hope he has got it. Here is a kiss for you, my darhngs, all the way from the Atlantic. 1803.] LETTEKS, 137 [No. 72.] To his Mother. Norfolk, Virginia, Nov. 7. 1803. Safe across the Atlantic, my darling mother, after a six weeks passage, during which my best consolation was the tliought and remembrance of home, and the dear hope that I should soon be assured of what I anxiously persuaded my- self, that you were all well and happy. We met a ship off the Western Islands, which was bound for Lisbon, and I took the ojjportunity of sending a letter by it, with, I fear, but very little chance or expectation of your ever receiving it : if, however, it has been so lucky as to reach you, you have some part of that solicitude removed, wliicli you must, dear mother, most cruelly feel at such a new and painful trial of your fortitude. Heaven send that you have not suffered by it ! Keep up your spirits, my own dear mother : I am safe, and in health, and have met friendship and attention from every one. Everything promises well for your dear absent boy ; and, please God ! there w ill be a thousand things to sweeten our reunion, and atone to us for the sacrifice Ave are making at present ; so let me entreat of you not to yield to those anxieties, which I now guess by myself how strongly you must suffer under. Our passage was rather boisterous upon the whole, and by no means kept the flattering promise the first week of it gave us; but the comfort of our accommodations and the kindness of the captain, wliicli was exhibited towards me particularly, served very much to render it not only supportable, but pleasant. * * * With Cockburn, who is a man of good fashion and rank, I became extremely intimate ; and, the day we landed, he took a seal from his watch, wliich he begged I would wear in remembrance of him. Never was 138 LETTERS. [^TAT. 24. there a better hearted set of fellows than the other officers of the ship : I really felt a strong regret at leaving them, — the more so, as it then, for the first time, appeared to me, that I was going among strangers, who had no common medium of communion Avith me, and who could not feel any of those prepossessing motives, for partiality, which those to whom my name is best known have always found strono; enou2;h to make them kind and attentive, almost at first sight, to me. This, I assure you, weighed heavy on me the night I quitted the ship, and though I knew I was to be presented to the British consul here, under the auspices of Mi\ Merry, and so might be tolerably sure of every attention, yet I dreaded meeting some consequen- tial savage, who would make me regret the necessity of being under an obligation to him. I was, however, most agree- ably disappointed. I found the Consul, Colonel Hamilton, a plain and hospitable man, and his wife full of homely, but comfortable and genuine civility. The introduction I brought him from Lord Henry Stuart was of no little w^eight, as it told him the light I was considered in in England; and on my mentioning Lord Moira by accident, I understood from liim that they were old friends in America, and that he should be happy to shoAV his remem- brance and love of Lord Moira by attention to any one whom he honoured with his fiiendship. I shall, of course, mention all this when I write to Lord M. I am now lodged at the Consul's with Mr. and Mrs. JNIerry, where we have been entertained these two days, in a manner not very elegant, but hospitable and cordial. * * * They will set off in a day or two for Washington, and on Wed- nesday next (this is Sunday) I think I shall have an opportunity of getting to Bennudas : it is not a Aveek's passage, and I am so great a sailor now, I shall think 1803.] LETTEKS. 139 notliing of tliat. Colonel Hamilton will give me letters to every one of consequence in the islands. I am much more hardy, dear mother, than I ever imagined ; and I begin to tliink it was your extreme tenderness that made either of us unagine that I was delicate. In the course of our passage towards the southward, it was so hot, that the thennometer was at 90° in the shade ; and about five or six days afterwards, when we came along the American coast, a pair of blankets was scarcely enough at night, the weather became so suddenly cold. Yet this violent change has not the least affected me, and I never was better in health, or had a more keen appetite. I often thought of my dear father's " sea-room " when we were rolling about in the vast Atlantic, with nothing of animated life to be seen around us, except now and then the beautiful httle flying fish, fluttering out of the water, or a fine large turtle floating asleep upon the surface. This Norfolk, the capital of Virginia, is a most strange place ; notliing to be seen in the streets but dogs and negroes, and the few ladies that j^ass for white are to be sure the most unlovely pieces of crockery I ever set my eyes upon. The first object I saw on entering Colonel Hamilton's drawing-room was a harp- sichord, wliich looked like civilisation, and delighted me extremely ; and in the evening we had a Miss JNIathews, who played and sung very tolerably indeed ; but music here is Hke whistling to a wilderness. She played some of dear Kate's lessons, which brought the tears into my eyes with recollection. I saw some of my own songs among the music-books, and this morning I met with a periodical pubhcation full of extracts from my Anacreon and Little's poems, and speaking of me in the most flattering terms of eulogium. All tliis is very gratifying ; it Avoidd be so- naturally at any time, and is now particularly so, from 140 LETTERS. [J3TAT.24. the very few hopes I had of being cheered or welcomed by any of those little pleasures or gratifications I have been accustomed to so long. They tell me that the people of Bermuda are very musical, and I find Admiral Mitchell and his squadron winter there, so that I shall not be very much at a loss for society; and as I intend to devote all my leisure hours to the completion of my work, my time may be filled up not unpleasantly. From what I have heard, however, since I came closer to the channels of correct information, I strongly suspect that we shall not, dearest mother, be long separated. I am delighted that w^e all had the resolution to enable me to make the effort, but as that is the cliief point, and almost the only one I ever expected to attain by the step, I believe I shall not find enough, otherwise advantageous, to induce me to absent myself long from my home-opportunities of advancement. My foot is on the ladder pretty firmly, and that is the great point gained. When I was leaving Portsmouth, just on the instant of my coming away, I folded up a packet in a hurry, which I enclosed to Jasper Erche, but (I believe) forgot to direct it inside. There were some songs in it for Stevenson to arrange. I anxiously hope it arrived safe. At the same time I had a letter written to Captain Atkinson, but not having time to fold it ashore, I was obliged to send it back by the boat Avhich left us to return to Portsmouth. This too I have hopes arrived safe ; but my confusion was so great, that I cannot now remember Avhat I wrote or w^hat I did. Explain all this to my dear good friend Atkinson, and tell him he shall hear from me by the next opportunity. It astonishes me to find that Colonel Hamilton does not recollect him, for he knows Doyle and Marsh, and all Lord Moira's old cronies. If Atkinson 1803.] LETTERS. 141 could get Lord IMolra to write a few words about me to Hamilton, I think it would be of singular service to me while I remain at Bermuda. Show him this letter, and give him with it the warmest remembrances of my heart. I trust Stevenson has not forgotten me, and that he has by this time furnished poor Carpenter with some means of freeino' himself from the incumbrances I feel he has sub- mitted to for me. If any delay has taken place, do, dear mother, conjure him from me to give all the assistance he can in collecting my songs, and forwarding the publication of them. This business I have very much at heart, and shall be extremely gratefid to Stevenson if he accomplishes it for me. I have this instant received an invitation to dinner from one of the Yankees of this place: if the ambassador and his lady go, of course / will. Oh ! if you saw the vehicles the people drive about in here, white coaches with black servants, and horses of no colour at all ; it is really a most comical place. Poor Mrs. Merry has been as ill- treated by the musquitoes as she is by every one else. They have bit her into a fever. I have escaped their notice entirely, and sleep with a fine net over my bed. The weather now is becoming too cold for them, and indeed a little too much so for me. I shall be glad to escape to the mild climate of Bermuda, which I still hear is the sweetest and most healthy spot in the world ; but I am sorry to find that meat is rather a scarcity there, and that it is sometimes no fish, no dinner. He that can't feed well, however, upon good poultry, fish, and fruit of all kinds, ought to be condemned to eat roast mutton all the days of his life; and this, my dear mother, in your mind and mine, would be sufficient punishment for him. Tell my beloved, darling father, that if there is anything in 142 LETTERS. [iETAT. 24. the mercantile way which he can learn, that I may assist him or Mr. Gillespie in here, they shall find me a steadier fellow than I am afraid I have hitherto appeared (at least to Mr. G.), and I shall manage for them like a solid man of business. Seriously, though I know nothing at present about the trade here, it is not impossible but something may occur to Mr. Gillespie in which I may be made useful * * * [No. 73.] To Ms Mother. Norfolk, Virginia, Nov. 28. 1803. My darling Mother, By a sliip which sailed last week for England, I wrote you the first account of my arrival at Norfolk, safely and prosperously, as I could wish. Heaven speed the letter to you, my sweet mother ! It is very painful to be uncertain upon a point so interesting, as the little communication we are allowed must be to us all ; but it is impossible to answer for the arrival of my letters, and I shall be doomed to still more uncertainty at Bennuda. I must, therefore, take every opportunity that presents itself, and it will be very unfortunate, indeed, if some of my communications do not reach you. I have now been here three Aveeks, wait- ing for a ship, to take me to Bermuda. I could scarcely have hoped, dear mother, to bear the voyage and the climate so well, as (thank Heaven!) I hitherto have done. Since I left England, I have had but one day's illness, which was the mere ordinary sea-sickness, upon coming on board. There are two or three points I am very anxious about: first, whether you got the packet I sent from Portsmouth, folded in a hurry, and, I believe, not properly directed, but wliich contained an enclosure of songs for I 1803.] LETTERS. 143 Stevenson ; secondly, whether Captain Atkinson received a letter I sent ashore by the pilot-boat, to be put in the post-office; and again, whether you, dear mother, got the letter I wrote you on the passage, by a ship bound for some part of the Continent. If these have been fortunate, all is weU. Mr. and Mrs. Merry are gone to Wasliington, after remaining here more than a fortnight. I am lodged at Col. Hamilton's, the British consul, from whom I have experienced all possible kindness and hospitality; and if any of the squadron off this station touch here in their way from Halifax to Bermuda (where they are to winter), I shall be the luckiest fellow in the world, for I am sure of a passage with them, without expense, and most com- fortably. Dear darlings at home ! how incessantly I think of you: every night I dream that I am amongst you : sometimes I find you happy and smiling as I could wish: sometimes the picture is not so pleasant, and I awake imhappy, but surely Heaven protects you for me, and we shall meet, and Iouq- be united and blessed too;ether. In that hope I bear absence with a lighter heart, and I entreat of you, sweet mother! to look on it with the same cheerfid confidence — the same consoling dependence on that God of all pure affection, who sees how we love each other, and has, I trust, much prosperity in store for us. I shall lose no opportunity whatever that occurs of writing to you, and saying how affairs go on. My dear father, I am sure, w^ill often give me the consolation of seeing his hand. Good Kate and Nell too must not be idle, but show me that their thoughts are frequently employed upon me. I write this merely as a duplicate of my last letter, to tell you of my arrival, and let you know how I am at present situated : never was my health or spirits better. 144 LETTERS. [iETAT. 24. Tell Capt. A. everything: sIioav him my letters: he has my heart's warmest remembrances, and I will write to liim by this or the next opportunity. I kiss you aU. God bless you. Your own^ Tom. [No. 75.] To his Blother. Norfolk, Dec. 2. 1803. Again, my dearest mother, I avail myself of an op- portunity which just offers for Ireland, and again I repeat what I have said in my former letters, lest they should be so dreadfully unfortunate as not to reach you. I arrived here this day month in perfect health ; am lodged at the British consul's, where I have found the most cordial hospitality, and only wait an opportunity of getting to Bermuda. Wlien I was leaving Portsmouth I sent off a packet for you, with songs enclosed for Stevenson. I trust they have arrived safe, and that Stevenson has lost no time in assisting Carpenter's publication. I left with the latter some words to be written under the title of " Come, tell me, saysEosa," acknowledging to whom I am indebted for the air : lest he should forget them, let my father write to remind liim. I sent too, from Portsmouth, a letter for Capt. Atkinson, the arrival of wliich I am very anxious about : mention all these points when you write. AVlien you write ! Oh, dear mother ! tliink it is now three months since I had the sweet consolation of seeing any memorial of home. This is a long period, and much may have happened in it ; but I hope, I trust, I depend on Heaven that it has preserved you all well and happy for me, and that we shall not long be this dreary distance asunder. My good Father ! how often, how 1803.] LETTERS. 145 dearly, I think of liim, and you, and all I I feel how anxious your hearts must be at the long interval you have passed Avithout hearing of me, but the letter I wrote to you in the third week of our passage, and sent by a ship bound for some part of the Continent, if it reached in any reasonable time, must have been a happy rehef to your solicitude. I did not regret so much the foul winds we had afterAvards, because they were fair for that vessel wliich bore some tidings of comfort to my dear home. Oh, if the wretches have been neglectful, and not forwarded the letter ! But I will hope the best, and think that, long before tliis, you have seen my handwriting and are com- forted, dear mother. The kindness of these good people, the Hamiltons, is fortunate and delightful to me. If I were not so completely thrown upon it though I should be more gratified by, and enjoy it more pleasantly : but is it not a most lucky thing, when I am obliged to remain here, to be received cordially by a family whose hospitahty is of that honest kind which sets one at home and at ease, as much as is possible in such a situation. I have been obliged to get a servant, and am fortunate enough to have one who can- not speak a word of Enghsh, wliich wiU keep me famously alive in my French. It is extraordinary that I cannot, even here, acquire any accurate information with respect to the profits of my registrarship. One thing is certain, that a Spanish war alone can make it worth a very long sacrifice of my other opportunities, and our government has so long hesitated upon that point, that it seems now more doubtful than ever. However, I am too far from the source of information to guess how politics stand at present. Perhaps we are at this moment engaged in a Spanish war ; if so, tant mieux 'pour Jeannette. I know that my friends VOL. I. L 146 LETTEES. [^TAT. 24. in Dublin Avill all be very angry that I do not write to them bj» the same opportunities I have found for writing to you, but I can't help that ; till I have satisfied myself pretty well with respect to your certainty of hearing from me, I confess I cannot think much about any one else. Tliis is, however, the third letter I have written since my arrival, and the winds and waves must be cruel indeed if they do not suffer at least one of them to reach you. The next opportunity I shall make use of to write to my dear friend Atkinson. Tell him so, and give him my warmest remembrances : they are not the less warm for being Transatlantic. Absence is the best touchstone of affection : it either cools it quite, or makes it ten times warmer than ever it was ; and I can never judge how I love people till I leave them. This is a strange climate ; yesterday the glass was at 70°, and to-day it is down to 40°. I consider myself very hardy to bear it so well : my stomach has seldom been in such good order, nor my whole frame more braced and healthy. If Bermuda agrees so perfectly Avith me, I shall return to you the better for my trip. Return to you ! how I like to say that, and think it, and pray for it. Dear mother, kiss Kate and Nell for me. I need not bid Kate read, but I bid little Ellen, and they must both a]iply closely to their music. I expect such a treat from them when I go home ; for, indeed, there is a sad dearth of that luxury in these parts. God bless you again and again. Tlie captain waits for the letters ; he goes to Cork. Ever your own. i 1803.] LETTERS. 147 [No. 75.] To his Mother. Norfolk, Virginia, Dec. 10. 1803. My darling IMotlier, You will have received, I hope, long before this arrives, two letters which I wrote since the one I now enclose. I am extremely mihappy at tlie delay, for I know how you must have suffered in the in- terval ; but the ship Ritson, by Avliich I sent the enclosed letter soon after I landed, returned yesterday so much damaged by the bad weather that she could not get on to England, and had been obliged to put back. Can any thing be more unlucky ? I so pleased myself with the idea that you Avere by tliis time apprised of my safety, for it is now near five Aveeks since the Ritson sailed, and to have the letter come back to me thus is quite dreadful. God grant, my dearest and beloved mother, that you have had resolution to combat the solicitude you must have en- dured so long. I Avas perfectly happy in the hopes that a quick passage would have attended the ship which bore you the intelligence of my arrival, and every thing else has turned out so fortunate with me, that this is the only subject of regret I have met Avith. If you hoAve\'er, my dear mother, have got Avell over it, as I trust in Heaven you have, there is nothing else which at present gives my heart one painful thought : is not this delightful for you to hear ? The expectation I expressed in all my letters, that some of the ships of Avar bound for Bermuda Avould touch here is gratified most fortunately. Captain Comp- ton of the DriA'er is ai-rived, and I go Avith him. IS^othino- could be more lucky ; beside the safety and comfort of such convoy, it saves me between tAventy and tliirty guineas, Avliich I should have to pay for passage and proA'ision in a L 2 148 LETTERS. [^TAT. 24. merchantman. He gives me a very favourable account of Bermuda, and I have no doubt of passing my time very pleasantly there. Every thing is succeeding to my utmost wishes, and my spirits are as wild as ever you have wit- nessed them. Till this cursed Ritson returned with my poor dear letter, I had not one uneasy thought, for even my regrets at the distance that separates us was softened by the hope that you would soon hear of my safety, that you would be happy in the promise of good fortune that awaits us, and that no very distant day would see us in the possession of all our hearts wish for. I have not time, darhng mother, to say more, for the ship that takes this goes away in a few hours. In less than a week, I think, Captain Compton sails for Bennuda, and I shall have an opportunity of writing again before we go. God bless you — Father, Kate, Nell, and all dears. * * * [No. 7G.] To his Mother. Bermuda, Jan. 19. 1804. My darling Mother, Here have I been more than a week, without any opportunity of sending a letter even to take its chance at sea in some of the cruisers, since none have arrived or left this during that time ; and it gives me so much uneasiness to think you should be long without hearing of me, that I am hardly so selfish as to bestow a thought upon my own privation. Yet indeed, dearest mo- ther, it is a very cruel privation to have been now near five months without a whisper of intelligence from home ; and if every thing here was as prosperous as I have been flattered into supposing, this dreadful anxiety would em- bitter it all ; and the brightest advantages of the situation would be very dearly purchased. In coming from Norfolk 1804.] LETTERS. 149 hither we had most tremendous weather : you may guess what it must have been to an inexperienced sailor, when all the officers of the ship declared they seldom, scarcely ever, had encountered such serious and continual gales of wind. The passage, however, was pretty short for this season of the year ; we made it in seven days, though for three days of that time we remained without venturing to set a stitch of sail, and of course lost as much as we gained of our way. Yet I bore it all so stoutly, that, Avould you believe it, dearest mother ! on the day of the Avorst gale we had, I eat the heartiest dinner of beefsteaks and onions that ever I have made in my life ; though, as during the whole time of the passage, we were obliged to be tied to the table at dinner; and at night, when the ship was rolling her sides into the water, and when it was in vain to think of sleeping from the noise and the motion, I amused my- self in my cot by writing ridiculous verses and laughing at them. Sailors, to be sure, think nothing of all these storms ; but I do say, for a novice, it requires a little philosophy to be so cool and careless in such new and uncomfortable situations. Indeed, there has never been a severer winter than this upon the coast of America, and often, very often, darling mother, have I dreaded that you would see some accounts of the storms and the accidents that have hap- pened, and that your heart, already too apt to catch at an intimation of danger, would find in these accounts too much food for its solicitude. I felt some regret, indeed not a little, in leaving the Plamiltons at Norfolk. Mrs. Hamilton cried, and said she never parted with any one so reluctantly. The colonel gave me the warmest letters of introductioii to every one that could be serviceable or amusing to me here ; and as I know dear mother loves to see anything which flatters her boy, and shows he is not neglected in L 3 150 LETTERS. [^TAT. 24. Ills absence from lier, I enclose one of these letters, wliich by the merest accident has returned into my possession, and which, being to one of the young sea captains, I have reason to tliink is not half so strong as some others. These little islands of Bermuda form certainly one of the prettiest and most romantic spots that I could ever have imagined, and the descriptions which represent it as like a place of faiiy enchantment are very little beyond the truth. From my window now as I write, I can see five or six different islands, the most distant not a mile from the others, and separated by the clearest, sweetest coloured sea you can conceive ; for the water here is so singularly transparent, that, in coming in, we could see the rocks under the ship quite plainly. These little islands are thickly covered with cedar groves, tlu'ough the vistas of which you catch a few pretty white houses, which my poetical short-sightedness always transforms into temples ; and I often expect to see Nymphs and Graces come tripping from them, when, to my great disappointment, I find that a few miserable negroes is all " the bloomy flush of life " it has to boast of. Indeed, you must not be surprised, dear mother, if I fall in love with the first pretty face I see on my return home, for certainly the " hiunan face divine" has degenerated wonderfully in these countries ; and if I were a painter, and wished to preserve my ideas of beauty immaculate, I would not suffer the brightest belle of Bermuda to be my house- maid. But I shall refer you for a fuUer description of tliis place to a letter I have written to my good friend Atkin- son ; and to come to the point which is most interesting to us, dear mother, I shall tell you at once that it is not worth my while to remain here ; that I shall just stop to finish my work for Carpenter, which will occupy me till 1804. J LETTEES. 151 the spring months come In, wlien the passages home are always delightfully pleasant, and that then I shall get upon the wing to see my dear friends once more. I per- fectly acquit those whose representations have induced me to come out here, because I perceive they were totally ignorant of the nature of the situation. Neither am I sorry for having come ; the appointment is respectable, and evi- dently was considered a matter of great patronage among those who had. the disposal of it, which alone is sufficient to make it a valuable step towards prefennent. But this is all ; so many courts have been established, that this of Bermuda has but few prize causes referred to it, and even a Spanish war would make my Income by no means worth staying for. I have entered upon my business, however, and there are two American ships for trial, whose wit- nesses I have examined, and whose cause will be decided next month : it is well to be acquainted wdth these things. I have seen too a little more of the world, have got an insight into American character and affairs, have become more used to inconveniences and disappointments, have tried my nerves and resolution a little, and I think very considerably improved my health, for I do not remember ever to have been more perfectly well than I am at pre- sent. All these advantages are to be calculated, and as they reconcile me completely to the step I have taken, I have hopes that my darling father and you will consider it in the same favourable light, and not feel much dis- appointment at the damp our expectations have expe- rienced. Please Heaven ! I shall soon embrace you all, and find you in health and happiness once more ; and this w^ll amply, dearly repay me for much more exertion than I have yet made towards your welfare. How I shall enjoy dear Kate's playing Avhen I return ! The jingle L 4 152 LETTEES. [iETAT. 24. they make here upon tilings they call pianofortes is, oh ! insupportable. I hope Carpenter has not forwarded my books to America, for, if he has, they run a risk of being lost; let dear father inquire about them. In one of the last English newspapers, I was shocked beyond measure at reading of poor Biggin's death: it made me feel the horrors of absence, which keeps one from know- ing these calamities till they come by surprise, and without any preparation to soften their impression. It made me resolve almost not to look into another English paper till I return. In closing my letter now, it is a very uncomfortable feeling to think that, perhaps, not a word I have written will reach you ; however. Heaven speed it ! I will Avrite by as many chances as I can find, let the letters be ever so short, in order to make it more likely that you will receive some of them ; and, accordingly, I shall reserve Atkinson's letter for another ship, which sails soon after the one that takes this. Best love to my adored father: I hope Providence favours his exertions for the dear ones about him. Darling Kate and Ellen have my heart with them always. There is a little thing here very like Nell, only much darker, and I go very often to look at her. God bless you, sweet mother, for your own, own affectionate, T.M. [No. 77.] To his Mother. Bermuda, Jan. 24. 1804. My dearest Mother, I have written you a long letter, which I sent by the way of Norfolk from this place ; but for fear any un- fortunate chance should rob you of it, I take the oppor- 1804.] LETTERS. 153 t unity of a ship going to the West Indies, wliich. at least doubles the likelihood of your hearing of my arrival in Bermuda in health and in spirits, dear mother, as good as I have had ever to boast of. As I have every hope that you will receive the letter I sent to Norfolk, and as I am given but a moment's tune for the dispatch of a few words at present, I shall merely repeat the most important things I have to say, and tell you that in May or June I expect to sail for England ! yes, darling mother, to see and embrace you once more, since there is nothing here worth staying for, and I have acquired every advantage which I looked to in the excursion. You cannot conceive how much the chano-e of scene and climate has improved my health ; and though the pe- cuniary value of the situation is not enough to authorise my stay here, yet I have derived quite enough of pleasure and instruction from the step to make me by no means regret having midertaken it. Dear, good darlings at home, how I long to hear of you ! Oh ! think what a painful in- terval it is, sweet mother, to have been five months with- out a word from home. I could hardly have hoped to bear it so well, but we shall all meet soon again, please Heaven ! and be happy ; and the talking over the past will sweeten the present, and the absence we have endured will endear us more closely to each other. It is now near twelve o'clock. I have just returned from a grand turtle feast, and am full of callipash and Madeira : the ship that takes this is to depart before daybreak, and I shall hardly be time enough to send it to the captain ; but in full trust and expectation that you will receive the other letter I have written, in which I have told a few more particulars, I shall kiss you, in fancy, dear mother, and have done, giving a thousand loves to good father, and my own Kate and 154 ■ LETTERS. [^TAT. 24. Nell. God bless you. I shall take every opportunity of writing. Yours, yours, most affectionately, darling mother. [No. 78.] To his Mother. St. George's, Bermudas, Feb. 17. 1804. My dearest Mother, Every ship that comes, I look with impatience to, as bringing me some intelligence from some friends at home ; but I am stiU disappointed, and it is now five months since I saw the last dear paper that brought the odour of home on it to me. I begin to fear that it is not unlikely I may be on my return to England before any news of you can reach me ; for, unfortunately, I did not know myself, nor therefore could I instruct you in, the most frequent and safe method of forwarding letters to me. The address I gave you, however, in everything I wrote from Norfolk (Col. Hamilton, His Britan. Majesty's Consul, Norfolk, Virginia) ought soon to bring me something, and I hope in Heaven it may. From Norfolk I sent you several letters, and this is now the tliird I have written from Bermudas. In the former one I told you of my resolution to return in the spring, unless some appearances, much more flattering than the present, should make it expedient for me to remain a little longer ; though that I scarcely look to, as even a war with Spain would render my situation by no means adequate to the sacrifice I make in absence. My health has never been more perfect or regular than at present; indeed, it is almost impossible to be ill in such a delicious climate as this island enjoys in the winter. Eoses are in full blow here now, and my favorite green peas smoke every day upon the table. I 1804.J LETTERS. 155 have been extremely fortunate here (as 'ncleecl Providence seems to please I slionld be everywhere) in conciliating friendship, and interesting those around me in my welfare. The admiral. Sir Andrew ISIitchell, has insisted upon my making liis table my own during my stay here, and has promised to take me in his ship to America, for the pur- jDOse of getting a passage home to England, there being no direct conveyance from this little corner thither. They threaten me here with an impeachment, as being in a fair way to make bankrupts of the whole island. There has been nothing but gaiety since I came, and there never was such a furor for dissipation known in the town of St. George's before. The music parties did not long keep up, because they found they were obliged to trust to me for their whole orchestra ; but the dances have been innumer- able, and still continue with very great spirit indeed. The women dance in general extremely well, though, like Dogberry's " writing and reading," it " comes by nature to them," for they never have any instruction, except when some flying dancing-master, by the kindness of fortune, happens to be wrecked and driven ashore on the island. Poor creatures ! I feel real pity for them : many of them have hearts for a more favourable sphere ; but they are here thrown together in a secluded nook of the world, where they learn all the corruptions of human nature, Avith- out any one of its consolations or ornaments. The ship by which I send this letter goes to Providence, in the Bahamas, an express having arrived from that place to the admiral for a reinforcement, as they dread an attack from the remains of the French army of St. Domingo, who are at this moment actually preparing at Cuba for a descent. If this conduct of the Spaniards docs not produce a war, we have peaceable ministers indeed. But T must not talk 156 LETTERS. [iETAT. 24. to you of politics, darling mother, for I have only time to bid you kiss all the dears around you for me. Tell my darling father, that I shall be able to talk to him about "West India trade on my return. Throw your arms about his neck for me, and bless the dear girls from their own remembering and affectionate brother. God bless you all, for yours truly and ever, Tom. [No. 79.] To Ms Mother. Bermuda, March 19. 1804. My dearest Mother, I take every opportunity of writing that offers, though perfectly uncertain Avhether my letters will ever reach you. This is now the fifth time I have written since my arrival in Bermuda, besides a letter to Atkinson, one to Carpenter, &c. &c., which I beg you will apprise the latter of, in case any accident should have interrupted my com- munications. Oh ! darling mother, six months now, and I know as little of liome as of things most remote from my heart and recollection. There is a ship expected here daily from England, and I flatter myself with hopes you may have taken advantage of the opportunity, and that to-morrow, perhaps, may bring me the intelligence I pine for. The signal post, which announces when any vessels are in sight of the island, is directly before my window, and often do I look to it with a heart sick " from hope deferred." I am, however, well and in spirits ; the flow of health I feel bids defiance to melancholy ; and though now and then a sigh for home comes over me, I soften it with sweet hopes, and find in the promises of my sanguine heart enough to flatter away such thoughts. There have I 1804.] LETTERS. 157 been as many efforts at gaiety here as I could possibly have expected in so secluded a nook of the world. We have a ball or two every week, and I assure you the wea- ther is by no means too hot for them ; for we have had some days so cold, that I almost expected to see a fall of snow, miraculous as that would be in a region so near the sun as this is. A week or two since I rode into (what they call) the country parts of the island : nothing could be more enchanting than the scenery they showed me. The road lay for many miles tlu'ough a thick shaded alley of orange trees and cedars, which opened now and then upon the loveliest coloured sea you can imagine, studded with little woody islands, and all in animation Avitli sail-boats. Never was anything so beautiful ! but. Indeed, the mission I went upon was by no means so romantic as my road. I was sent to swear a man to the truth of a Dutch invoice he had translated. " Oh ! what a falling off is there." Indeed I must confess that the occupations of my place are not those of the most elegant nature : I have to examine all the skippers, mates, and seamen, who are produced as witnesses in the causes of captured vessels. I should not, you may be sure, think a moment of the in- conveniences of the situation, if the emoluments were any- thing like a compensation for them ; but they are not ; and accordingly, dear mother, you will soon have me with you again. About May, I dare say, I shall be able to leave Bermuda ; and I shall endeavour, if my purse will compass it, to see a little more of America than before I had an opportunity of doing ; so that, about the end of summer, darling mother, you may look to the signol-post for your Tom, who will bring you back a sunburnt fiice, a heart not the worse for the wear, and a purse, like that of most honest fellows, as empty as — richer fellows' heads ! Never 158 LETTERS. [^TAT. 24. mind, tlioiigli ! I am young and free, and the world is a field for me still. While I have such motives for exertion as you, my dear father, and sisters, I may say " warri- angels combat on my side." I shall leave this letter op( in case I have anything further to add, as the brig which is to take it, I find, does not sail till to-morrow. I have but just time to close my letter in a hurry, as the vessel is on the point of sailing. God bless you, my sweet mother, my own dear father, and good, good little girls. Write to Carpenter to say I sent a letter to him last month, and that I shall be the bearer of my work to him myself. Give my dearly remembered Joice the best wishes of my heart ; and to all those who love or recollect me, say every thing kind that you can imagine me to feel. Again Heaven bless you all, for your own, Tom. I enclose some letters for people here : the English one you will get franked, and that to Switzerland you must have put into the Foreign Office in London, not in Dublin. I kiss you, darlings. [No. 80.] To his Mother. New York, May 7. 1804. My dearest Mother, I have but just time to say, here I am, after a passage of nine days from Bermuda ; never was better ; and the novelty of this strange place keeps me in a bustle of sj)irits and curiosity. The oddest things I have seen yet, how- ever, are young Buonaparte and his bride.* My plans are not settled yet. Captain Douglas, of the Boston frigate, who brought me here, sails in a few days * M. Jerome Buonaparte and INIiss Patterson. 1804.] LETTERS. 159 for Norfolk, whither I shall accompany him ; and my in- tention is, if I can manage it, to come up by land through the States, and rejoin him at Halifax, from whence I be- lieve he will be sent to England, — a fine opportunity for me, and I anxiously hope it may occur so. I go to the theatre this evening, and to a concert to-morrow evening. Such a place ! such people ! barren and secluded as poor Bermuda is, I think it a paradise to any spot in America that I have seen. If there is less barrenness of soil here, there is more than enough of barrenness in intellect, taste, and all in which heaj-t is concerned. * * * I have no more time ; my heart is full of the prospect of once more seeing and embracing you, dear mother, good father, and my own Kate and Ellen. God bless you. I wrote to Carpenter and Lord Moira by the same ship. Your own Transatlantic Tom. [No. 81.] To his Mother. Aboard the Boston, Sandy Hook, thirty miles from New York, Friday, May 11. 1804. My darling Mother, I Avrote to you on my arrival at New York, where I have been near a week, and am now returned aboard the frigate, which but waits a fair wind to sail for Norfolk. The Halifax packet Is lying along side of us, and I shall take the opportunity of sending this letter by her. At New York I was made happy by my father's letter of the 25th January, and dear Kate's of the 30th, which make four in all that I have received from home. I had so very few opportunities at Bermuda, and they were attended with so much uncertainty, that I fear you may have suf- fered many an anxious moment, darling mother, from the 160 LETTERS. [-Etat. 24. interruption and delay of the few letters I could dispatch to you. But, please Heaven ! we shall soon have those barriers of distance removed ; my own tongue shall tell you my " travel's history," and your heart shall go along with me over every billow and step of the way. When I left Bermuda I could not help regretting that the hopes which took me thither could not be e\^en half realised, for I should love to live there, and you would like it too, dear mother ; and I think, if the situation would give me but a fourth of what I was so deludingly taught to expect, you should all have come to me; and though set apart from the rest of the world, we should have found in that quiet spot, and under that sweet sky, quite enough to counterbalance what the rest of the world could give us. But I am still to seek, and can only hope that I may find at last. The environs of New York are pretty, from the num- ber of little fanciful wooden houses that are scattered, to the distance of six to eight miles round the city ; but when one reflects upon the cause of this, and that these houses are the retreats of the terrified, desponding inha- bitants from the wilderness of death which every autumn produces in the city, there is very little pleasure in the prospect; and, notwithstanding the rich fields, and the vai'ious blossoms of their orchards, I prefer the barren, breezy rock of Bermuda to whole continents of such dearly purchased fertility. While in New York, I employed my time to advan- tage in witnessing all the novelties possible. I saw young M. Buonaparte, and felt a slight shock of an earthqiiake, which are two things I could not often meet with upon Usher's Quay. From Norfolk I intend going to Balti- more and Washington ; if possible also to Philadelphia and Boston, from thence to Halifax. From Halifax I hope 1804.] LETTERS. 161 to set sail in the cabin where I now write this letter for the dear old isles of the Old "World again ; and I think it probable, that twelve months from the time I left England will very nearly see me on its coasts once more. I thank dear Kate for the poem she has sent me : it is written, I believe, by a Mr. William Smith, some of whose things (extremely pretty) are in the Metrical INIiscellany ; a collection of poems pnblished by my little friend Mrs. Kiddell. But why doesn't Kate say something about Nell? My first object when I return shall be to discharge my obligations to Carpenter : as I must, for that pui-pose, se- clude myself entirely, the less you say about the time of my return the better. The completion of the work I have in hand will much more than extricate me from all en- gagements I am under. INIy dear uncle shall not want his money one moment after my arrival : tell him so, with my heart's truest and affectionate remembrances. God bless you, darling mother. Kiss them all round for me, father, Kate, and Nell together. Your own, T. M. [No. 82.] To his Motlier. Baltimore, Wednesday, June 13. 1804. I am now, dearest mother, more than three hundred miles from Norfolk. I have passed the Potomac, the Rappahannock, the Occoquan, the Potapsio, and many other rivers, with names as barbarous as the inhabitants : every step I take not only reconciles, but endears to me, not only the excellencies but even the errors of Old Eng- land. Such a road as I have come ! and in such a convey- ance ! The mail takes twelve passengers, which generally VOL. I. M 162 LETTERS. [.Etat. Co. consist of squalling cliildren, stinking negroes, and repub- licans smoking cigars ! How often it has occurred to me that nothing can be more emblematic of the government of this country than its stages, filled with a motley mix- ture, all "hail fellow well met," drivino; throujxh mud and filth, which bespatters them as they raise it, and riskino- an upset at every step. God comfort their capacities! as soon as I am away from them, both the stages and the government may have the same fate for what I care. I stopped at Washington with Mr. and Mrs. Merry for near a week : they have been treated with the most pointed incivility by the present democratic president, Mr. Jeffer- son ; and it is only the precarious situation of Great Britain which could possibly induce it to overlook such indecent, though, at the same time, petty hostility. I was pre- sented by Mr. Merry to both the secretary of state and the president. * * * I hope, my darling mother, that all I write to amuse you may meet your eye, and find your heart in a mood to enjoy it. Oh yes, be happy, my own mother! be you but well and happy, and no sorrow can come near any of us. I know, in saying this, I speak for all; for my dearest, beloved father, and the sweet, good girls ; we all hang on you equally. Never did Heaven form a heart more kind than I have found in Mrs. Hamilton of Norfolk, and she has caught the way to my heart by calling herself my mother. She sends a pair of ear-rings by me to Kate with the sincerest affection possible : she loves you all through me. I s^all leave this place for PhiladeljDhia on to-morrow, or the day after. I shall see there poor Edward Hudson, who, if I am rightly informed, has married the daughter of a very rich bookseller, and is taken into part- nership by the father. Surely, surely, this country must 1804.] LETTERS. 163 have cured him of republicanism. Farewell, my sweet mother ; Heaven preserve you to me, and to the dear ones about you, who have always my heart and soul with them. Yours and theirs for ever. I was going to tell you about writing to me, but that is unnecessary, for in less than six weeks I hope to sail from Halifax for England. I am going to the northward just in right time, before the violent heat sets in, and the Halifax summer is delicious. Philadelpliia, June 16. 1 have brought this letter on with me from Baltimore, as there was no opportunity likely to occur from thence. I travelled all night in one of the most rumbling, wretched vehicles. Oh dear ! I am almost tired of thus jogging and struggling into experience. I have seen Edward Hudson : the rich bookseller I had heard of is Pat Byrne, Avhose daughter Hudson has married : they are, I believe, doing well. I dine with them to-day. Oh, if Mrs. Merry were to know that ! However, I dined with the Consul- general yesterday, which makes the balance even. I feel awkward with Hudson now ; he has perhaps had reason to confirm him in his politics, and God knows I see every reason to change mine. Good by, sweet mother. Your own everywhere. [No. 83.] To his Mother. Passaick Falls, June 26. 1804. My dearest Mother, I must write to you from this spot, it is so beautiful. Nothing can be more sweetly romantic than the cascade of the Passaick ; and yet I could not help wishing, while I M 2 164 LETTERS. [^TAT. 25. looked at It, that some magic could transform it into the watei'faU of Wicklow, and then but a few miles should lie between me and those I sigh for. Well, a little lapse of time, and I shall be, please Heaven ! in your arms. But there have ships come, darling mother, from Dublin, and I have received no letters ; none with a date more recent than January : perhaps they have been sent on to Col. Hamilton, and I shall get them at Halifax. God send I may ; but till then I cannot feel at ease. Not a line has reached me from Carpenter since I left England. I some- times forget the contingencies and accidents which delay and embarrass the forwarding of letters, and almost begin to think myself neglected by those at home ; but I ouglit to recollect how very short a time I have been stationary anywhere, and I shall look Avith hope to Halifax for the long arrears of comfort wliich begin to impoverish the treasury of my spirits, rich as it is in stores of consolation and vivacity. My reception at Pliiladelphia was extremely flattering : it is the only place in America Avhich can boast any lite- rary society, and my name had prepossessed them more strongly than I deserve. But their affectionate attentions went far beyond this deference to reputation ; I was quite caressed Avhile there ; and their anxiety to make me known, by introductory letters, to all their friends on my way, and two or three little poems of a very flattering kind, which some of their choicest men addressed to me, all went so warmly to my heart, that I felt quite a regret in leaving them ; and the only place I have seen, which I had one wish to pause in, was Philadelphia. The Boston frigate, in which I expect to return, is now watching the French frigates (off New York), which are come to steal away young Mister Buonaparte : this. 1804.] LETTERS. 165 perhaps, will a little delay lier arrival at Halifax, wliere I hope to be in less than a fortnight. Never was I in better health ; I drink scarcely a drop of wine, which is a plan I am determined to adhere to, as I have always found wine heating and injurious to my stomacL * * * * * [No. 84.] From Captain Douglas ) R.N. Boston, June 29. 1 804. My dear Friend, Before I received yours last evening, the boat set off for New York : however, I am extremely happy to find, after all you have experienced (respecting break-neck roads and break -heart girls), that you are as well as can be expected. Now, my good fellow, allow me to advise you not to be too careless about the icarm reception you received at Philadelphia: in my opinion, those new acquaintances ought always to be treated with the greatest respect and attention. I wish you had come down yesterday, as I do think few of your friends would feel much more gratified by taking you by the hand than myself. Eespecting your Niagara expedition, I think you may yet have time ; as Capt. Bradley says, before he left Halifax, he was in- formed that the next ships would not be ready to sail before the first week in August. If you think you can get to Halifax on or before the last day of July, I would advise you to go ; but, at the same time, do not risque losing your passage with me, as that will deprive me of a satisfaction and advantage I should ever regret. Re- member me kindly to Col. Barclay's family, and believe me, your true friend, J. E. Douglas. M 3 166 LETTERS. [^TAT. 25. [No. 85.] To his Mother. Saratoga, July 10. 1804. My darling mother, I hope, has received the letter I wrote from the Passaick Falls. Since that I have passed a week in New York, but was afraid to write from thence, through fear you might be uneasy at my being there in so warm a season. Till the day before I left it, there was no appearance of any infection : on that day, some reports of yellow fever were made, and indeed I have no doubt the visitation of this calamity will be as dreadful this year, as any that has preceded. I have now come two hundred miles from New York, and if anything can add to the blessing of the health which I feel, it is the idea of having left such pestilence behind me. Oh that you could see the sweet country I have passed through ! The passage up the Hudson river gave me the most bewil- dering succession of romantic objects that I could ever have conceived. When it was calm, we rowed ashore and visited the little villages that are on the river : one of these places they have called Athens, and there, you may imagine, I found myself quite at home. I looked in vain though for my dear gardens; there were hoijs enough, but none of Epicurus''s herd. If you, or sweet Kate, could read Latin, I would quote you here what I allude to ; but you have not *' been at the great feast of languages, or stolen the scraps,^'' so rU not tease you with it. Tavo or three days ago I was to see the Coho Falls on the Mohawk river, and was truly gratified. The immense fall of the river over a na- tural dam of thirty or forty feet high, its roar among the 1804.] LETTERS. 167 rocks, and the illuminated mist of spray which rises from its foam, were to me objects all new, beautiful, and im- pressive. I never can forget the scenery of tlais country, and if it had but any endearing associations of the heart (to diffuse that charm over it, without which the fairest features of nature are but faintly interesting), I should regret very keenly that I cannot renew often the enjoy- ment of its beauties. But it has none such for me, and I defy the barbarous natives to forge one chain of attachment for any heart that has ever felt the sweets of dehcacy or refinement. I believe I must except the xoomcn from this denunciation ; they are certainly flowers of every climate, and here " waste then* sweetness " most deplorably. Dear mother, I know you will be pleased with a little poem I wrote on my way from Philadelphia ; it was written very much as a return for the kindnesses I met with there, but chiefly in allusion to a very charming little woman, Mrs. Hopkinson, who was extremely interested by my songs, and flattered me with many attentions. You must observe that the Schuylkill is a river which runs by, or (I believe) through, Philadelphia. [Here follows, " Alone by the Schuylkill a wanderer rov'd," already published.] I am now near the spot where the accomplished but ill-fated Burgoyne incurred the first stain which the arms of England received from the rebel Americans. The country around here seems the very home of savages. Nothing but tall forests of pine, through which the narrow, rocky road Avith diflSculty finds its way ; and yet in this neighbourhood is the fashionable resort, the watering-place for ladies and gentlemen from all parts of M 4 168 LETTERS. [yElAT. 25. the United States. At Bell Town Springs, eight miles from this, there are about thirty or forty people at present (and, in the season, triple that number), all stowed together in a miserable boarding house, smoking, drinking the waters, and performing every necessary evolution in concert. They were astonished at our asking for basins and towels in our rooms, and thought Ave might '^ condescend, indeed, to come down to the Public Wash with the other gentlemen in the morning ! " I saw there a poor affectionate mother who had brought her son for the recovery of his health : she sat beside him all day with a large fan, to cool his " feverish brow," and not a moment did she rest from this employment ; every time I passed I saw her at it with the sweetest patience imaginable. Oh ! there is no love like mother's love ; the sight made me think of home, and recalled many circumstances which brought the tears of recollection and gratitude into my eyes. I enclose you a scrap from a New York paper of last week, which will show you I do not pass unnoticed over this waste, and it will please our dear Kate's friend, Mrs. Smith, to see her poem selected even in America. God bless you all. Love to my darling father, and the good girls. From your own devoted son, Tom. [No. 86.] To his Mother. Geneva, Genessee Country, July 17. 180-1. I just pause a moment on my way to give one word to my dearest mother. I hope the letter I wrote, four or five days since, from Seenectady, will find its way to you. Since then I have been amongst the Oneida Indians, and have been amused very much by the novelty of their ap- 1804.] LETTERS. 1G9 pearance. An old chief, Seenandoj received me yeiy courteovisly, and told us as well as he could by broken English and signs, that his nation consisted of 900, di- vided into three tribes, entitled the AVolf, the Bear, and the Turtle ; poor, harmless savages ! The government of America are continually deceiving them into a surrender of the lands they occupy, and are driving them back into the woods farther and farthei', till at length they will have no retreat but the ocean. This old chief's manners were extremely gentle and intelligent, and ahnost inclined me to be of the Frenchman's opinion, that the savages are the only well-bred gentlemen in America. Our journey along the banks of the Mohawk was uncommonly interesting : never did I feel my heart in a better tone of sensibility than that which it derived from the scenery on this river. There is a holy magnificence in the immense bank of woods that overhang it, which docs not permit the heart to rest merely in the admi- ration of Nature, but carries it to that something less vague than JVature, that satisfactory source of all these exquisite wonders, a Divinity ! I sometimes on the way forget myself and even you so much, as to Vv'ish for ever to remain amidst these romantic scenes ; but I did not forget you ; you were all inseparable from the plans of hap- piness which at that moment might have flattered ray fancy. I can form none into which you are not woven, closely and essentially. To-morrow we shall set out for the Falls of Niagara ! After seeing these (which I shall consider an era in my life), 1 shall lose no time in reaching Halifax, so as to be ready for the sailing of the frigate. I told you in a former letter, that it is this lucky opportunity of a passage gratis to England which has induced me to devote the expenses 170 LETTERS. [^TAT. 25. of my return to the acquisition of some knowledge re- specting this very interesting world, Avliich, with all the defects and disgusting peculiarities of its natives, gives every promise of no very distant competition with the first powers of the Eastern hemisphere. We travel to Niagara in a loaggon : you may guess at the cheapness of the inns in this part of the country, when I tell you that, the other night, three of us had supper, beds, and breakfast, besides some drink for two or three Indians who danced for us, and the bill came to something less than seven shillings for all. I must own the accommodations are still lower than their price ; no- thing was ever so dirty or miserable ; but powerfid curi- osity sweetens all difficulties. I shall not have an oppor- tunity to write again for some time, but I shall send you thoughts enough, and you must imagine them the dearest and most comfortable possible. AVhen I say, " for some time," I mean a fortnight or three weeks. Good by. God bless you, dears. Oh ! that I could know how you are at this moment. Your own, Tom. [No. 87.] To his Mother. Chippewa, Upper Canada, July 22. 1804. Dearest Mother, Just arrived within a mile and half of the Falls of Niagara, and their tremendous roar at this moment sound- ing in my ears. We travelled one whole day through the wilderness, where you would imagine human foot had never ventured to leave its print ; and this rough work has given a healtliier hue to my cheek than ever it could boast in the Eastern hemisphere of London. If you look 1804.] LETTERS. 171 at the map of North America, you will be able to trace my situation. I have passed through the Gencssee country, and am now between Lake Erie and Lake Ontario. Such scenery as there is around me ! it is quite dreadful that any heart, born for sublimities, should be doomed to breathe away its hours amidst the miniature productions of tliis world, without seeing Avhat shapes Nature can assume, what wonders God can give birth to. I have seized this momentary opportunity, dear mother, for writing a line to you, which I will entrust to the waggoner who returns to Geneva, from which place I last wrote to you. Heaven send you may receive all the letters. I feel they would interest even a stranger to me, then what must they be to you ! Love to dear father and girls. Your own, Tom. I am now on British ground; we arrived yesterday evening to dinner, and drunk the King's health in a bumper. Just going to see the Falls. Good by. [No. 88.] To Ms Mother. Niagara, July 24. 1804. My dearest Mother, I have seen the Falls, and am all rapture and amaze- ment. I cannot give you a better idea of what I felt than by transcribing what I wrote off hastily in my journal on returning. " Arrived at Chippewa, within tlii-ee miles of the Falls, on Saturday, July 21st, to dinner. That even- ing walked towards the Falls, but got no farther than the Rapids, which gave us a prclibation of the grandeur we had to expect. Next day, Sunday, July 2 2d, went to 172 LETTERS. [^TAT. 25. visit the Falls. Never shall I forget the impression I felt at the first glimpse of them which we got as the carriage passed over the hill that overlooks them. We were not near enough to be agitated by the terrific eifects of the scene ; but saw tlu'ough the trees this mighty flow of waters descending with cahn magnificence^ and received enough of its grandeur to set imagination on the wing ; imagination which, even at Niagara, can outrun reality. I felt as if approaching the very residence of the Deity ; the tears started into my eyes ; and I remained, for mo- ments after we had lost sight of the scene, in that delicious absorption which pious enthusiasm alone can produce. We arrived at the New Ladder and descended to the bottom. Here all its awful sublimities rushed full upon me. But the former exquisite sensation Avas gone. I now saw all. The string that had been touched by the first impulse, and which fancy would have kept for ever in vibration, now rested at reality. Yet, though there was no more to imagine, there was much to feel. My whole heart and soul ascended towards the Divinity in a swell of devout admiration, which I never before experienced. Oh ! bring the atheist here, and he cannot return an atheist ! I pity the man who can coldly sit down to write a description of these ineffable wondei's ; much more do I pity him who can submit them to the admeasurement of gallons and yards. It is impossible by pen or pencil to convey even a faint idea of their ma2;nificence. Paintino; is lifeless ; and the most burning words of poetry have all been lavished upon inferior and ordinary subjects. We must have new combinations of lansfuao-e to describe the Falls of Niagara." 1804.] LETTERS. 173 Chippewa, July 25. So much for my journal; but if, notwitlistanding all this enthusiastic contempt for matter-of-fiict description, you still should like to see a particular account of the Falls, Weld, in his Travels, has given the most accurate I have seen. On the Sunday morning before I left Chip- pewa, I wrote you a letter, darling mother, which I en- trusted to the waggoner (who was going back) to have it forwarded. Oh ! if the stupid scoundrel should have neglected it. Since the day I left Xew York (July 4.) this is the fourth letter I have written to you. How dreadfully provoking if they have miscarried. Never was I in better health than I have been during my journey. This exercise is quite new to me, and I find the invigorat- ing effects of it. My heart, too, feels light with the idea that the moment is approaching when I shall fly on the wlnsTs of the wind to the dear embrace of all that is dear to me. God bless you, loves. I pray for you often and fervently ; and I feel that Heaven toill take care of us. A thousand kisses to dear father and the girls, from their own boy on the banks of Lake Ontario. Again God bless you, dearest mother. Ever, ever your Tom. [No. 89.] To his Motlier. Quebec, August 20. 1804. ISIy darling Mother, After seventeen hundred miles of rattling and tossing through woods, lakes, rivers, &c., I am at length upon the ground wliich made Wolfe immortal, and which looks more like the elysium of heroes than their death-place. If any 174 LETTERS. [^TAT. 25. tiling can make the beauty of tlie country more striking, it is the deformity and oddity of the city which it sur- rounds, and which lies hemmed in by ramparts, amidst this delicious scenery, like a hog in armour upon a bed of roses. In my passage across Lake Ontario, I met with the same pohteness which has been so gratifying, and indeed convenient, to me all along my route. The captain refused to take what I know is always given, and begged me to consider all my friends as included in the same compliment, Vv^hich a line from me would at any time entitle them to. Even a poor watchmaker at Niagara, who did a very neces- sary and difficult job for me, insisted I should not think of paying him, but accept it as the only mark of respect he could pay to one he had heard of so much, but never ex- pected to meet with. This is the very nectar of life, and I hope, I trust, it is not vanity to which the cordial owes all its sweetness. No; it gives me a feeling towards all mankind, which I am convinced is not unamiable : the im- pulse which begins with self, spreads a circle instantane- ously around it, which includes all the sociabilities and benevolences of the heart. Dearest mother ! you will feel tills with me. I cannot write more now ; the fleet which sails for England is on the point of saiHng. To-morrow or next day I am off for Halifax, where I shall bid my last adieu to America, and fly home to my darlings once more. Love to all. Your own boy. 1S04.] LETTERS. 175 [No. 90.] To his Motlier. Windsor, Nova Scotia, Sept. 16. 1804. My darling Mother, I arrived at Halifax last Tuesday week, after a pas- sage of thirteen days from Quebec. I wrote to you while at Quebec ; but from what I have since heard of the time of the fleet's sailing from there, it is likely this letter may reach you first. Well, dears of my heart! here am I at length, with the last footsteps upon American ground, and Qn tiptoe for beloved home once more. Windsor, where I write this, is between forty and fifty miles from Halifax. I have been brought hither by the governor of Nova Scotia, Sir J. Wentworth, to be at the first examination of a new university they have founded. This attention is, as you may suppose, very singular and flattering; indeed, where have I failed to meet cordiality and kindness ? They have smoothed every step of my way, and sweetened every novelty that I met. The governor of Lower Canada, when I was on the point of leaving, sent liis aide-de-camp to the master of the vet;-sel which was to take me, and begged it as a favour he would defer sailing for one day more, that I might join a party at his house the next day. All this cannot but gratify my own SAveet mother, and she will not see either frivolity or egotism in the detail. All along my route I have seized every opportunity of writing to you, and it will be more than unfortunate if my letters do not reach you. You cannot imagine how anxious I have been lest I should lose the opportunity of the Boston frigate home ; for I have been unavoidably detained a month beyond my time, and the orders of service are im- perious. I know that with all Douglas's friendship, he could not wait for me, and I almost gave up the hope. 176 LETTERS. [^TAT. 25. But, still lucky, I have found him here refitting, and in about three iceehs tve shall sail for England. How my heart beats with delight to tell you this. I have got Kate's letter of the 29th. God bless her ! dear, good girl. You must not be surprised at such a scatter-brained letter, for I have tliis instant heard that the packet leaves Halifax before I return thither, and I scribble these dithyr- ambics (just risen from dinner) to send into town by a gentleman who goes in the morning. Tell Carpenter I am coming with a volume of poetic travels in my pocket ; and tell Kate I have learnt some of the " Chansons des Voyageurs'''' in coming down the St. Lawrence, which I hope before three months, at the vit- most, to sing for her. Love to good father and girls, and good by. Sweet mother, your own, Tom. There is a nephew of Lord St. Vincent's sent out here on the same wild-goose chase with myself; so it is beyond a doubt they thought them good appoint- ments. [No. 91.] To his Mother. Plymouth, Old England once more, Nov. 12. 1804. I almost ciy with joy, my darling mother, to be able once more to write to you on English ground. After a passage of eight-and-twenty days, here I am, without a blemish either in heart or body, and within a few hundred miles (instead of thousands^ of those that are dearest to me. Oh dear ! to think that in ten days hence I may see a letter from home, written but a day or two before, warm from your hands, and with your very breath almost upon t 1804.] LETTERS. 177 itj instead of lingering out months after months, without a gleam of intelligence, without any thing but dreams — • [here the letter is torn]. If the idleness I have had was voluntary or intentional, I should deserve to pay for it; but without giving me any thing to do, my friends have increased the necessity of my doing something. However, there is one satisfying idea : which is, that I am not at a loss for employment, and that I have it within my own power, in the course of two or three months, to di'aw the sponge over every pecuniary obligation I have contracted. How few in a similar situation could say this ! and how grateful do I feel to Heaven, and my dear father and mother for those means I * * * [No. 92.] To his Mother. Saturday [after my return from Bermuda]. IVIy darling Mother, I have only just time to tell you that the Prince was extremely kind to me last night, at a small supper party at which I met him : every one noticed the cordiality with which he spoke to me. His Avords were these : " I am very glad to see you here again, Moore. Fi*om the reports I heard, I was afraid we had lost you. I assure you (lay- ing liis hand on my shoulder at the same time) it was a subject of general concern." Could anything be more flattering ? I must say I felt rather happy at that moment. The idea of such reports having reached him — his remem- bering them upon seeing me, and expressing them so cordially — was all pleasant, and will, I know, gratify my dear father and mother's hearts. I saw him afterwards go VOL. I. N 178 LETTERS. [iETAT. 25. up to Lord Molra, and pointing towards me, express, I suppose, the same thing. It was at Lord Harrington's. I enclose you the in- vitation I received from Lord Petersham, because it is friendly, and because notliing else could have induced me to break the studious retirement I have adopted. I am delighted I went. God bless you all. [No. 93.] To his Mother. 27. Bury Street, St. James's, Wednesday, Jan. 11. 1805. My darling Mother, I find that London itself, with all its charms, will be unable to seduce me from my present virtuous resolutions. I work as hard as a Scaliger all the mornings; and a dinner now and then with Lady Donegal or Mrs. Tighe is the utmost excess I allow myself to indulge in. I have often thought, and what I feel now confirms me in it, that I never was in such even spirits, as when employed to some purpose of utility. I don't know though that even the worldly necessity I am under of doing sometliing would be sufficient to urge me so industriously, if I were not impelled by my anxiety to get to Ireland; and, please Heaven ! about six weeks hence will, I think, see me on my way thither. 'Tis a long time since I have heard from you. The Moiras are just come to town. God bless my dear father and mother, and spare them to their Tom. I have just finished the epistle to Kate, and have talked politics to her in it. 1805.] LETTERS. 179 [No. 94.] To his Mother. Wednesday, Feb. 6. 1805. My dearest Motlier, If I were not so occupied, tlie time would go very heavily that keeps me from you. It is extremely lucky for me that none of my lounging fiiends are in town, or I should not have half the leisure I now enjoy, nor look forward to so speedy a release from my business. Though it has been a great sacrifice, I am happy that I resolved not to indulge myself with a sight of home till I com- pleted my task, for it gives me a whet of industry which no other object could insjiire : stUl, where are dear Kate's letters ? I have just finished an epistle to Lady Donegal : no one deserves such a compliment better ; she is the kindest creature in the world. Poor Mrs. Tighe has had a most dreadful attack of fever, and a very serious struggle for life : her surmounting it gives me great hopes that she has got stamina enough for recovery. Are you quite well, darling mother ? It is long indeed since I heard from you ; and perhaps you will complain the same of me ; but I am such a stout fellow, there is no need for anxiety about me. God bless you all. Your own, Tom. [No. 95.] To Miss Godfrey. Tuesday, 1805. I write to-day, merely because I said I would — (a reason, by the bye, which I have sometimes been perverse enough to let operate in quite a contrary direction), but N 2 180 LETTERS. [^TAT. 25. it is now half past five o'clock, and I have been all the day beating my brains into gold-beater's leaf, wherewith to adorn and bedaub the Honourable Mr. Spencer, and the last sound of the bell-man is now fading most poetically upon my ears, so God bless you ! Heaven reward you both for the pleasant feelings and sweet recol- lections you have given me to enliven my task and my solitude ; they are quite a little Tunbridge lamp ^ to me, and will throw the softened light of remembrance over every thing I shall do or think of. God bless you both again and again. I shall not attempt to tell you the feel- ings I have brought away with me, but if I have left one sentiment beliind, of the same family, of the remotest kin to those you have given me, I am but too happy. I have not stirred out these two days. The weather is very dreary and " suits the scribbling habit of my soul ;" but my fire burns bright, and, we flatter ourselves, so does our poetry ; so that between the two, and the sweet, comfort- able recollection of my friends at Ramsgate, I contrive to keep both heart and fingers at a proper degree of tem- perature, just a little below salamander heat. Ever your own, and dear Lady Donegal's, T. M. [No. 96.] To his Mother. Saturday, March 30. 1805. My darling Mother, I gave Mrs. Tighe the little glee yesterday to copy and send to Kate. I am sure it will be popvilar. I should be glad she would show it to Stevenson, to know if there * The Donegals were then at Tunbridge. T. M. 1805.] LETTERS. 181 be any thing glaringly wrong in the harmony. Perhaps the second voice might be improved at the words " We'll sing at St. Anne's our parting hymn," but I rather doubt it. I cannot see the postman pass my door every morn- ing without a little bit of a gi'udge to Kate, that he brings nothing from her to me. I have now " sighed away Sun- days " more than once since I saw any thing from home but my dear good father's letter. Every one that I ever knew in this big city seems de- lighted to see me back in it : this is comfortable, and if the flowers strewed before me had a little gold leaf on them, I should be the happiest dog in the Avorld. All in good time ; but it is strange that people who value the silk so much, should not feed the jjoor loorm who wastes himself in spinning it out to them. Lady Donegal is the dearest creature in the world. God bless you all. Your own, Tom. [No. 97.] To Ladg Donegal. Tuesday, 1805. Another devilment has just come across me that will prevent my leaving town to-morrow : but on the day after, by all that's least brittle and breakable in the world, by women and wine-glasses, love and tobacco- pipes, I'll be with you by the time the coach arrives, most punctually: now pray, believe me this once: besides, I'll tell you what, or (as Lord Grizzle says), " shall I teU you what I am going to say?" General Phipps has made a dinner for me, to meet George Colman in the beginning of next week: now, by stopping in town to-morrow, I shall open a little loophole of escape for myself, and N 3 182 LETTERS. [.Etat. 25. SO get ofF the necessity of returning to town so soon as I otherwise should do. I own I am a little terrified by Kogers's account of your multitudinous company-keeping at Tunbridge, but I hope jow are quieter than he repre- sents you. I like Rogers better every time I see him. Yours on Thm'sday, and always, T. Moore. [No. 98.] From Miss Godfrey. Friday, May 24. 1805. " Whate'er they promised or profess'd, In disappointment ends ; In short, there's nothing I detest So much as all my friends." But most of all, you Thomas Moore, the most faitliless of men ! If I had any spirit at all, but I have not, I would not write you another line. But what can a poor woman do, if the heart will still dictate, and the hand still obey. I would have you to know, however, that the heart dictates nothing but rage and anger and scolding, and luckily the hand can only make use of a pen upon the occasion. Lady Charlotte has bit you, and what use is there in my writing to you : so here I " whistle you down the wind to prey at fortune." However, if you should beg and pray, prostrate yourself in the dust, and put on sackcloth and ashes, why, I am such an eas}^, yielding, gentle composition of flesh and blood, to say nothing of being rather foohsh into the bargain, that possibly I might be persuaded to forgive you. I should blush for my weakness. But then weak- ness is very feminine, and blushing not unbecoming. So if you should ask pardon, and I should forgive you, and 1805.] LETTEES. 183 blush afterwards for my weakness, I shall only look the better for it, that's all. It is very near a fortnight since I wrote to you, and it is very near a month since I heard from you. I hope at least that your time has been weU employed, but I fear that the book will not come out tliis year. I am quite impatient for it : so pray tell me how far you are advanced. For us, in this gay world, we go on much as you left us : there are more assemblies, but nothing very pleasant : very few calls ; much talk of impeachments, French fleets, and such like matter of fact subjects, which you, mounted in your highest heaven of invention, woiild not con- descend to listen to. Mr. William Lamb is to be married to Lady C. Ponsonby, and Lord Cowper to Miss Lamb, and Miss Call to Mr. Bathurst, and very probably I told you all this before. I suppose conscience smote you about the two hundred and eighty, and you had not courage to write to me. Adieu. If you don't answer this, it is the last speech and dying words of the much insulted, cruelly treated, and extremely ill-used, &c. &c. M. G. Remember me affectionately to Lady Charlotte, though I don't flatter myself that I shall evermore behold her hand- writing. [No. 99.] To his Mother. Saturday, Aug. 17. 1805. My dearest Mother, Kate's letter has given me a vast deal of pleasure, as it shows me how comfortably you coalesce with my dear uncle's family. Tom Hume goes off at last to-morrow : N 4 184 LETTERS. L^TAT. 26. he has endeavoured to reason me into going with him ; but when I can resist the true feelings that impel me to it, the false reasons he brings for such a step have been easily re- sisted ; and false they are, for I am bound, not only by agreement but by honour to Carpenter, to finish this work without any unnecessary delay, and as long as he has the slightest objection, I should consider myself trifling with both if I interrupted it. I am getting on very nicely, and I know my darhng mother sacrifices with willingness a little present gratification to the pleasure of seeing me with a mind unburdened by any sense of duty unperformed — don't you, dearest mother ? Pray let me know in some of your letters what yourself, Kate, and Ellen, are chiefly in want of in the useful way: I should not like to take you any unnecessary, baubles, but wish to turn my galanteries to account : you must not be delicate in telling me, for 1 shall not be so in saying whether I can compass what you want. God bless you. Ever your own, Tom. [No. 100.] To his Mother. Thursday, Aug. 22. 1805. My dearest Mother, I think I shall on Monday go for a couple of days to Tunbridge again : these little trips are of service to me, though, indeed, I am now qviite stout and well. I am quite happy at having corresponded with my darling father's wishes in retaining my situation at Bermuda. I have no doubt that it will turn out something; to me : the men I have appointed are of the most respectable in the island; and I shall get a friend of mine to write to the new governor, and beg him to have an eye to my little in- terests in that part of the world. Heaven bless all. Poor 1805.] LETTERS. 185 Mrs. T. * is ordered to the MadeiraSj whicli makes me de- spair of her ; for slie icill not go, and another icinter will inevitably be her death. Your own, Tom. [No. 101.] From Lord Moira. Edinburgh, Sept. 12. 1805. My dear Sir, With very sincere satisfaction I accept the distinction you are kindly disposed to offer to me by the dedication of your work. It is not the parade of false modesty when 1 say that I tliink you ought to have sought some more marked name. Mine has been a Hfe of effort, " signifying nothing ; " and its unproductiveness has lasted so long, that folks have made up their minds to consider the cha- racter as barren in its nature. At all events, the time has gone by; so that I am only one of the out-of-fasliion pieces of furniture fit to figure in the steward's room. Your dedication will be a memorial of me, which will keep me from total oblivion. Judge, therefore, how I am bound to estimate the compliment. BeHeve me, my dear sir, very faitlifuUy yours, Moira. Thomas Moore, Esq. [No. 102.] To his Mother. Nov. 2. 1805. My dearest Mother, It is now near six o'clock, and I have hardly time to say How d'ye do? I have been sitting this hour past with * Tighe. 186 LETTERS. t^TAT. 26. Lady Harrington : slie Is very kind to me, and says the more and oftener she sees me in Ireland, the better. The whole town mourns with justice the death of Nelson: those two men (Buonaparte and he) divided the world between them — the land and the water. We have lost ours. I got my dear father's letter, and forgive Tom Hume for the many kind affectionate things my charge has produced from you. Your own, Tom. [No. 103.] To his Mother. Nov. 8. 1805. My dearest Mother, This weather is only fit for poets, lovers, and murderers : there is hardly light enough to pursue any other calling. It is now but four o'clock, and I can scarcely see to write a line. I am just going to dine third to Rogers and Cumberland : a good poetical step-ladder we make — the former is past forty and the latter past seventy. I wish I could hope to dance at EHza A.'s ball. I have not capered much since I left Bermuda; though I forget myself — at Tunbridge, my toe had a few fantastic sallies. J I God bless you all, dears, and good friends. Your own, ^1 Tom. " They say now Lord Powis is going as lord lieutenant. I don't know him at all. 1806.] LETTERS. 187 [No. 104.] To his Mother. Donington, Monday. My dearest Mother, * * * I was at a beautiful little fete champetre at Mrs. Siddons's cottage on Saturday evening: it was the most fairy scene I ever witnessed; and even the dvichesses and countesses looked romantic in the illuminated walks. Bless you, darling mother. Ever your own, Tom. [No. 105.] To his Mother. Wednesday, Jan. 22. 1806. Dearest Mother, The town has been a good deal agitated to-day by various reports about Mr. Pitt's death. It still seems uncertain ; but every one appears to agree that he cannot live. What a strange concui*rence of circumstances we have witnessed within this short period. Something bright, I hope, will rise out of the chaos ; and if a gleam or two of the brightness should fall upon me, why. Heaven be praised for it ! I am quite stout again, but have not yet ventured upon wine. Nothing ever was like the fennent of hope, anxiety, and speculation that agitates the political world at this moment. They say the King will certainly offer the premiership to Addington, but it is strongly expected that Addington will refuse it. Good by. God bless you all. Your own, Tom. 188 LETTERS. [/Etat. 26. [No. 106.] To his Mother. Tuesday, Feb. 6. 1806. My darling Mother, I am quite in a bewilderment of hope, fear, and anxiety : the very crisis of my fortune is arrived. Lord Moira has everything in his power, and my fate now depends upon his sincerity, wliich I think it profanation to doubt, and Heaven grant he may justify my confidence. Tierney goes to Ireland, so there a hope opens for dear father's advancement. In short, everything promises brilliantly ; light breaks in on all sides, and Fortune looks most smilingly on me. " If that I prove her haggard," no hermit or misanthrope has ever fled further or more heartily /-from the commerce of mankind than I shall from the * patronage of grandees. But this sounds hke doubt of Lord Moira, which I hate myself for feeling. I have not seen him yet, nor do I expect it for some days ; but the Instant anything turns out one way or other, you shall know it. God bless us all, and turn this dawn of our hopes into fuU daylight, I pray of him. Your own, Tom. [No. 107.] To his Mother. Thursday, Feb. 8. 1806. My darling Mother, I this morning breakfasted Avith Lord Moira, and have had aU my doubts about his remembrance of me most satisfactorily removed: he assured me in the kindest manner that he had not for an instant lost sight of me ; 1806.] LETTEES. 189 that he had been a good deal burdened by the friends of others (alluding to the Prince) ; but that he still had a very extensive patronage, and Avould certainly not forget me. What gave me most pleasure of all, and what I am sure will gratify you, dearest mother, is his saying that he could now give me a situation immediately, but that it would require residence abroad, and he added, " We must not banish yon to a foreign garrison." I answered, " that, as to occupations, I was ready to undertake any kind of business whatever." — " Yes," says he ; " but we must find that business at home for you." I deferred writing till to-day that I might have this interview to communicate to you, and I know you will share my satisfaction at it. God bless you, dears. Yom- own, Tom. I have hopes that Tierney will go chancellor of the exchequer to Ireland, which will give me an oppor- tunity of putting in a word for father. [No. 108.] To his Mother. Wednesday, Feb. 14. 1806. My dearest Mother, I can hardly trust or listen to the hopes which every one is forcing upon me now from the change tliat is taking place in administration. Certainly, if Lord ISIoira comes in, I may look with confidence to something good. He has so often assured me (and particularly once, when he believed he was just about to join the government, and when I could not doubt of his sincerity), that I cannot let my heart mistrust his interest in my advancement for an instant. Darling mother ! tliink how delightful if I shall 190 LETTERS. [^TAT. 26 be enabled to elevate you all above the struggling exi- gencies of your present situation, and see you sharing prosperity with me while you are yet young enough to enjoy it. God bless you, dears. A little time will de- termine the success of my friends, and their goodwill towards me. I am quite stout again. Your own, Tom. My best congratulations to dear uncle and aunt on their new relation. [No. 109.] To his Mother. April 30. 1806. My dearest Mother, I cannot help now thinking of the poor Negro, who said, when he was going to be hanged, what a hard tiling it was for a poor man " to die and he no sick." With all the feelings of health about me, and such roses and even lilies in my face as there never were there before, I am obliged to lie up again for a Aveek or so, in order to give the coup de grace to my maladies ; in short, the abscess, though quite well, would not close, and I have within these two hours undergone a little operation for the pur- pose of closing it, which has given me more pain than I have felt yet, and will confine me for about eight days. It is a good thing to know, however, that, at the end of those eight days, I shall be turned out sound and perfect as I ever have been in my life. I have received a letter from Mrs. Tighe, and shall answer it when I get off my back. Now that I have written this letter, I feel almost afraid that you will be fool enough to be alarmed at it ; but if you saw my cheeks at this moment, almost bursting I 1806.] LETTERS. 191 with health and cheerfulness, you would even laugh at the little pain that I feel. Your own, Tom. [No. 110.] To his Mother. Monday, May 5. 1806. M-Y dearest Mother, Here I lie, fat and saucy, eating and di'inking most valorously, reading and writing most wisely, but not stir- ring an inch. On Monday or Tuesday I am to be relieved from tliis impalement, and after two or three days, which it will take me to heal, I shall be quite well again. Lord Moira sent Lord RancliiFe to me this morning, to ask me to dinner ; but of course I can't go, I am glad to see that the elements are taking the op- portunity of my illness (or rather confinement), and are amusing themselves with all sorts of rain, hail, and incle- mency ; for that makes me hope that they will be able to afford me a little sunshine, when it will please my surgeon to rid me of this stitch in my side. In order that you may understand this joke, I must inform you that I have at this moment a large skein of cotton passed through my side in the most seampstress-like manner possible. God bless you all. Best love to dear uncle and aunt. Your own, Tom. [No. ill.] To his Mother. Thursday, May 8. 1806. My dearest Mother, Lord Moira sent Lord Rancliffe to me the other day, to say that he had a small appointment to give away. 192 LETTERS. [^TAT. 26. which I might have till something better offered. I weighed the circumstances well, and considered both the nature of the gift and the advantages it would bring to me : the result of which deliberation was, that I determined to decline the offer. I wrote, however, a very long letter to Lord Moira upon the subject, explaining the reasons of my refusal, and stating the circumstances of my present situation ; from all Avhich it appeared to me better to wait till something worthier both of his generosity and 7nj/ am- bition should occur : at the same time I suggested how much less difficulty there would be in finding some appoint- ment for my dear father, which, while it reheved my mind from one of its greatest causes of anxiety, would make me even much more devoted and grateful to him than any favour conferred on myself. The enclosed note is in an- swer to my letter; and it gives me much pleasure, as showing me both his approbation of my bold and manly language about myself, and his attention to the solicitude which I expressed about my father. Good by. God bless you all. I believe I shall be let out to-morrow. Your own, Tom. [No. 112.] To his Mother. Monday, May, 1806. My dearest Mother, I missed one letter this last week, for which I cry " peccavi ;" but I enclose something now to you, which Avill, I think, make you feel very happy ; and I hope that, by the time this reaches you, Atkinson will be returned and at hand to arrange every thing about my father's 180e.] LETTEES. 193 appointment. You must not say a word to any one about this promise of Fox's, as it would be wrong on many accounts. I believe I told you the kind things the Prince said to me about my book. I feel uncommon spirits, which I hope every tiling will justify me in. All around me looks bright and pro- mising, and the respectability of the situation they intend for me flatters my hopes most delightfully. God bless you all. Best love to dear uncle and aunt. You may tell them of Fox's promise. Your own, Tom. "Why does not saucy Kate write to me about my book ? [No. 113.] From Lord Moira. June 21. 1806. My dear Sir, I have completed the arrangement for your father's being fixed in the barrack-mastership at Dublin. Let me know his Christian name, that the warrrant may be made out. Faithfully yours, MoiEA. [No. 114.] To his Mother. Wednesday, ISOfi. ISIy dearest Mother, I have seen Lord Moira, and presented him my father's thanks. He told mc, that it is one of the Irish commissioner- ships I am to have, and that these will not be arranged till those in England are settled. He spoke with the utmost VOL. I. O 1 94 LETTEKS. [^TAT. 27. kindness to me ; and I am sure, wlien he lias it in his power, I need not doubt his good-will to serve me. He said, at the same time, that there was nothing to prevent my visiting Ireland, as he should not forget me ; so that, I think, in about a fortnight I shall take flight for the bog?. Darling mother ! how happy I shall be to see you ! — it will put a new spur on the heel of my heart, which will make life trot, for the time at least, sixteen miles an hour. I trust in Heaven that you are recovering, and that I shall find you as you ought to be. Ever your own, Tom. Love to uncle and aunt. [No. 115.] To Miss Godfrey. Wednesday, July, 1806. I certainly may say to you as Cowper says to one of his correspondents, that " you understand trap," for notliing was ever more skilfully anticipated than the scolding which you know you deserved from me, and wliich you were resolved to be beforehand with. Sheridan himself could not manage an impeachment against money-defaulters with a more unblushing brow of innocence, than you have assumed in charging me with neglect ; after your having remained a fortnight at Worthing, with notliing on your hands but your gloves, and nothing to distract you but Cliichester, and yet, during that whole tim^e, not feeling one twitch of the pen (a disorder too that I know you to be at other times so subject to), nor thinking it necessary to bestow one moment of your idleness upon the " poor forsaken gander'"' whom you left hissing hot upon the pave- ment of London, with a pain in liis side and the wind-coHc in his heart, with the dust in his eyes and the devil in. his 1806.] LETTERS. 195 pui-se, and in short with every malady, physical, pthisi- cal, and quizzical, that could shake the nerves of a gentle- man, or excite the compassion of a lady; and there are you, between sunbeams and mists, between Ossians and Chichestei's, taking a whole fortnight to consider of it, be- fore you Avould even say, " How are you now, sir ? " Well — I forgive you, though I cannot help tliinking it the very refinement of Irish modesty, the very quintessence of the bogs, to follow up such dehnquency with an attack instead of an apology ; it is like Voltaire's Huron, who, when they send him to confession, seizes the unfortunate priest, wliirls him out of liis sentiy-box, and forcing him down upon his knees, says, " Now, you must confess to me ,'' " * * * Now as to Worthi7ig, when am I to visit you ? I solemnly and assuredly hope to leave London for Ireland about the latter end of next week, or the beginning of the folloioing one. Lord Moira has told me that my absence will not interfere Avitli anything that he has in prospect for me ; that the commissionership intended for me is to be in Ireland; and that, if there are any such aj)pointments, I am to have one of them. Such are my plans, and such my hopes. I wait but for the arrival of the Edinburgh Review, and then " a long farew^ell to aU my greatness." London shall never see me act the farce of gentlemanship in it any more, and, " like a bright exhalation in the evening," I shall vanish and be forgotten. Say how and when "I am to go to y ou. Ever yours, T. M. On Saturday, if you have got to Wortliing, I think I shall be able to go down to you : tliis at least imposes upon you the task of writing to me to-morrow to let me know. o 2 ll II I 1 DUEL WITH JEFFREY. 1806. ( Written as a continuation of the Memoir.^ o 3 t ¥ DUEL WITH JEFEIIEY. 1806. Particulars of my hostile Meeting with Jeffeey in the Year 1806. Some letters of my own, written in the year 1806, having lately fallen into my hands, which contain allusions to my hostile meeting, in that year, with my now sincerely re- garded and valued friend Jeffrey, I suspend the regular course of the Memoir of myself commenced in these pages, in order, while yet all the circumstances are fresh in my memory, to note down some authentic particulars of a transaction concerning: which there has been a cfood deal of foolish mis-statement and misrepresentation. In the month of July, 1806, I had come up to London from a visit to Donington Park, having promised my dear and most kind friend, the late Dowager Lady Donegal, to join her and her sister at Worthing. The number of the Edinburgh containing the attack on my " Odes and Epistles " had been just announced, and, as appears by the following passage in one of my letters, I was but Avaiting its arrival to set off to Worthino-. " I wait but for the arrival of the Edinburgh. * * * g^y how and when I am to come to you." The Review did not, however, reach me in London ; for I have a clear recollection of having, for the first time, read the formidable article in o 4 200 DUEL WITH JEFFREY. L^TAT. 27. my bed, one morning, at the inn in Worthing, where I had taken up my sleeping quarters, during my short visit to the Donegals. Though, on the first perusal of the article, the contemptuous language applied to me by the reviewer a good deal roused my Irish blood, the idea of seriously noticing the attack did not occur to me, I think, till some tune after. I remember, at all events, having talked over the article with my friends. Lady Donegal and her sister, in so light and careless a tone, as to render them not a little surprised at the explosion Avhich afterwards took place. I also well remember that, when the idea of calling out Jeffrey first suggested itself to me, the neces- sity I should be imder of proceeding to Edinburgh for the purpose, was a considerable drawback on my design, not only from the difficulty I was likely to experience in find- ing any one to accompany me in so Quixotic an expe- dition, but also from the actual and but too customary state of my finances, which rendered it doubtful whether I should be able to compass the expense of so long a journey. In this mood of mind I returned to London, and there, whether by good or ill luck, but in my own opinion the former, there was the identicalJeffrey himself just arrived, on a short visit to his London friends. From Rogers, who had met Jeffrey the day before at dinner at Lord Fin- castle's, I learned that the conversation, in the course of the day, having happened to fall upon me. Lord F. was good enough to describe me as possessing " great amenity M manners ;" on which Jeffrey said, laughingly, " I am afraid he would not show much amenity to me.'''' The first step I took towards my hostile proceeding was to Avrite to Woolriche, a kind and cool-headed friend of mine, begging of him to join me in town as soon as pos- 1806.] DUEL WITH JEFFREY. 201 sible ; and intimating in a few words the nature of the services on which I wanted him. It was plain from his answer that he considered me to be acting from the im- pulse of anger ; wliich, though natural to conclude, was by no means the case ; for, however boyish it might have been of me to consider myself bound to take this sort of notice of the attack, there was, certainly, but little, if any, mixture, either of ill-temper or mere personal hostility, with my motives. That they were equally fi*ee from a certain Irish predilection for such encounters, or wholly unleavened by a dash of vanity, I Avill not positively assert. But if tliis sort of feeling did mix itself with my motives, there certainly could not have been a more fitting punish- ment for it than the sort of result that immediately fol- lowed. As Woolriche's answer implied delay and dehberation, it did not suit, of course, my notions of the urgency of the occasion ; and I accordingly applied to my old friend Hume, who without hesitation agreed to be the bearer of my message. It is needless to say that feeling, as I then did, I liked him all the better for his readiness, nor indeed am I at all disposed to like him a whit the less for it now. Having now secured my second, I lost no time in drawing up the challenge which he Avas to deliver ; and as actual combat, not parley, was my object, I took care to put it out of the power of my antagonist to explain or retract, even if he was so disposed. Of the short note which I sent, the few first lines have long escaped my memory ; but after adverting to some assertion contained in the article,"* accusing me, if I recollect right, of a deliberate intention to corrupt the minds of my readers, I thus proceeded : " To this I beg leave to answer. You are a liar ; yes, sir, a liar ; and I choose to adopt this huish and vulgar mode of 202 DUEL WITH JEFFKEY. L^tat. 27. defiance, in order to prevent at once all equivocation be- tween us, and to compel you to adopt for your own satis- faction, that alternative which you might otherwise have hesitated in affording to mine." I am not quite sure as to the exact construction of this latter part of the note, but it was as nearly as possible, I think, in this form. There was of course but one kind of answer to be given to such~ a cartel. Hume had been referred by Jeffrey to his friend Mr. Horner, and the meeting was fixed for the followino- morning at Chalk Farm. Our great difficulty now was where to procure a case of pistols ; for Hume, though he had been once, I tliink, engaged in mortal affray, was possessed of no such implements; and as for me, I had once nearly blown off my thumb by discharging an over-loaded pistol, and that was the whole, I believe, of my previous acquaintance with fire-arms. William Spencer being the only one of all my friends whom I thouo-ht likely to furnish me with these sine-qua-nons, I hastened to confide to him my wants, and request his assistance on this point. He told me if I would come to him in the evening, he would have the pistols ready for me. I forget where I dined, but I know it was not in com- pany, as Hume had left to me the task of providing powder and bullets, which I bought, in the course of the evening, at some shop in Bond Street, and in such large quantities, I remember, as would have done for a score of duels. I then hastened to Spencer, who, in praising the pistols, as he gave them to me, said, " They are but too good." I then joined Hume who was waiting for me in a hackney coach, and proceeded to my lodgings. We had agreed that for every reason, both of convenience and avoid- ance of suspicion, it would be most prudent for me not to 1806.] DUEL WITH JEFFREY. 203 sleep at liorac ; and as Hume was not the man, cither then or at any other part of his life, to be able to furnish a friend with an extra pair of clean sheets, I quietly (having let myself in by my key, it being then between twelve and one at night) took the sheets off my own bed, and, huddling them up as well as I could, took them away with us in the coach to Hume's. I must have slept pretty well ; for Hume, I remember, had to wake me in the morning, and the chaise being in readiness, we set oif for Chalk Farm. Hume had also taken the precaution of providing a surgeon to be within call. On reaching the ground we found Jeffrey and his party already arrived. I say his " party," for although Horner only was with him, there were, as we afterwards found, two or three of liis attached friends (and no man, I believe, could ever boast of a greater number) v/ho, in their anxiety for his safety, had accompanied him, and were hovering about the spot.* And then was it that, for the first time, my excellent friend Jeffrey and I met face to face. He was standing with the bag, which contained the pistols, in liis hand, while Horner was looking anxiously around. It was agreed that the spot where we found them, wdiich was screened on one side by large trees, would be as good for our purpose as any we could select ; and Plorner, after expressing some anxiety respecting some men whom he had seen suspiciously hovering about, but who now ap- peared to have departed, retired with Hume behind the trees, for the purpose of loading the pistols, leaving Jeffrey and myself together. All this had occupied but a very few minutes. We, of * One oftliese friends was, I tliink, the present worthy Lord Advo- cate, John Murray. 204 DUEL WITH JEFFREY. [J]:tat. 27. course, had bowed to each otlier on meeting ; but the first words I recollect to have passed between us was Jeffrey's saying, on our being left together, " What a beautiful morning it is !" " Yes," I answered Avith a slight smile, " a morning made for better purposes ; " to which his only response was a sort of assenting sigh. As our assistants were not, any more than ourselves, very expert at warlike matters, they were rather slow in their proceedings ; and as Jeffrey and I walked up and down together, we came once in sight of their operations : upon wliich I related to him, as rather a propos to the purpose, what Billy Egan, the Irish barrister, once said, when, as he was sauntering about in like manner while the pistols were loading, his antagonist, a fiery little fellow, called out to him angrily to keep his ground. " Don't make yourself unaisy, my dear fellow," said Egan ; " sure, isn't it bad enough to take the dose, without being by at the mixing up ?" Jeffrey had scarcely time to smile at this story, when our two friends, issuing from behind the trees, placed us at our respective posts (the distance, I suppose, having been previously measured by them), and put the pistols into our hands. They then retired to a little distance ; the pistols were on both sides raised ; and we waited but the signal to fire, when some police-officers, whose approach none of us had noticed, and who were within a second of being too late, rushed out from a hedge behind Jeffrey; and one of them, striking at Jeffrey's pistol with his staff, knocked it to some distance into the field, while another running over to me, took possession also of mine. We were then replaced in our respective carriages, and conveyed, crest- fallen, to Bow Street. On our way thither Hume told me, that from Horner not knowing anytliing about the loading of pistols, he had 1806.] DUEL WITH JEFFEET. 205 been obliged to help liim in the operation, and in fact to take upon himself chiefly the task of loading both pistols. When we arrived at Bow Street, the first step of both parties was to dispatch messengers to procure some friends to bail us; and as William Spencer was already acquainted with the transaction, to him I applied on my part, and re- quested that he would lose no time in coming to me. In the meanwhile we were all shown into a sitting-room, the people in attendance having first enquired whether it was our Avish to be separated, but neither party having ex- pressed any desire to that effect, we Avere all put together in the same room. Here conversation upon some literary subject, I forget what, soon ensued, in which I myself took only the brief and occasional share, beyond which, at that time of my life, I seldom ventured in general society. But whatever was the topic, Jeffrey, I recollect, expatiated upon it with all his peculiar fluency and eloquence ; and I can now most vividly recall him to my memory, as he lay upon his back on a form wliich stood beside the wall, pour- ing volubly forth his fluent but most oddly pronounced diction, and di'essing this subject out in every variety of array that an ever rich and ready wardrobe of phraseology could supply. I have been told of his saying, soon after our rencontre, that he had taken a fancy to me from the first moment of our meeting together in the field ; and I can truly say that my liking for him is of the same early date. Though I had sent for William Spencer, I am not quite sure that it was he that acted as my bail, or whether it was not Rogers that so officiated. I am, however, certain that the latter joined us at the office ; and after all the usual ceremony of binding over, &c. had been gone through, it was signified to us tliat we were free to depart 206 DUEL WITH JEFFREY. [^Etat. 27. and that our pistols should be restored to us. Whether unluckily or not, it is hardly now worth while to consider; but both Hume and myself, in quitting the office, forgot all about our borrowed pistols, and left them behind us, and, as he set off immediately to join his wife who was in the country, I was obliged myself to return to Bow Street, in the course of a few hours, for the pui-pose of getting them. To my surprise, however, the officer re- fused to deliver them up to me, saying, in a manner not very civil, that it appeared to the magistrate there was something unfair intended; as, on examining the pistol taken from me, there was found in it a buUet, wliile there had been no bullet found in that of Mr. Jeffrey. Recollecting what Hume had told me as to the task of loading the pistols being chiefly left to him, and observing the view taken by the officer, and, according to his account by the magistrate, I felt the situation in which I was placed to be anything but comfortable. Nothing remained for me, therefore (particularly as Hume had taken his departure), but to go at once to Horner's lodgings and lay all the circumstances before him. This 1 did without a moment's delay, and was lucky enough to find liim at his chambers. I then told him exactly what the officer had said as to the suspicion entertained by the magistrate that something unfair was intended ; and even at this distance of time, I recollect freshly the immediate relief which it afforded me when 1 heard Horner (who had doubtless observed my anxiety) exclaim, in his honest and manly manner, " Don't mind what these fellows say. I myself saw your friend piit the bullet into Jeffrey's pistol, and shall o-o with you instantly to the office to set the matter ri^-ht." We both then proceeded together to Bow Street, and Horner's statement having removed the magistrate's 1806.] DUEL WITH JEFFEET. 207 suspicions, the officers returned to me the pistols, together with the bullet which had been found in one of them ; and this very bullet, by-the-bye, I gave afterwards to Car- penter, my then publisher, Avho requested it of me, (as a sort of polemic rehque, I suppose), and who, no doubt, has it still in his possession. The following letter, which I wrote immediately to Miss Godfrey (she and her sister. Lady Donegal, being among the persons whose good opinion I was most anxious about), will show, better than any words I coidd now em- ploy, what were my feehngs at that time. [No. 116.] To 3Iiss Godfrey. Monday. I have just time to tell you that this morning I was fool enough (as I know you will call it) to meet ]\Ir. Jeffrey by my own invitation, at Chalk Fann, and that just as we were ready to fire, those official and officious gentle- men, the Bow Street runners appeared from behind a hedge, and frustrated our valorous intentions, so that Ave are bound over to keep the peace for God knows how long. William Spencer is the cause of this very ill-judged inter- ruption, though he had pledged liis honour to keep the matter as secret as the grave. I never can forgive him ; for at this moment I would rather have lost a limb than that such a circumstance had happened. And so there is all my fine sentimental letters which I wrote yesterday for posthumous delivery to your sister, you, &c. &c., all gone for nothing, and I made to feel very hke a ninny indeed. Good by. I have not yet had time to read your letter. Best love to Lady Donegal and your sister. Ever your Tom Fool till death. 208 DUEL WITH JEFFREY. [^tat. 27. ^7hat I asserted in this letter, namely, that it was thi'ough Spencer's means the meeting had been interrupted, was communicated to me by Kogers, and, I have no doubt, was perfectly correct. Spencer dined alone with the Fin- castles, and, after dinner, told all the circumstances of the challenge, the loan of the pistols, &c., to Lord Fincastle, who (without, as it appears, communicating his purpose to Spencer) sent information that night of theintended duel to Bow Street. The manner in which the whole affair was misrepresented in the newspapers of the day is too well known to need any repetition here ; but I have been told, and I think it not improbable, that to a countryman of my own (named Q ), who was editor of one of the evening papers, I owed the remarkable concurrence in falsehood which per- vaded all the statements on the subject. The report from Bow Street was taken first (as I have heard the story) to the office of the paper in question, and contained a state- ment of the matter, correctly, thus : — " In the pistol of one of the parties a bullet was found, and nothing at all in the pistol of the other." Thinking it a good joke, doubt- less, upon literary belligerents, my countryman changed without much difficulty, the word "bullet" into "pellet;" and in this altered state the report passed from him to the offices of all the other evening papers. By another letter of my own, written on the following day, to Lady Donegal, I am enabled to give to my narra- tive not only authenticity, but a good deal of the freshness of the feeling of the moment to which it refers. 1806.] DUEL WITH JEFFREY* 209 [No. 117.] To Lady Donegal. Tuesday. You will see that I am doomed inevitably to one day's ridicule, by the unfortunate falsehood which they have in- serted in all the morning papers, about the loading of our pistols ; but, of course, a contradiction will appear to- morrow, signed by our seconds, and authorised by the ma- gistrate. This is the only mortifying suite that this affair could have, and Heaven knows it has given me unhappi- ness enough. Do not scold me, dearest Lady Donegal ; if the business was to be again gone through I should feel it my duty to do it ; and all the awkwardness that results from it must be attributed to the ill-judged officiousness of the persons who were sent to interrupt iis. To be sure, there cannot be a fairer subject for quizzing, than an author and a critic fighting with pellets of paper. God bless you. Tell every one as industriously as you can the falsehood of to-day's statement, and stem, if possible, the tide of ridi- cule till our contradiction appears. Love to your dear sisters. Ever your attached, T. M. The statement announced in this letter was regularly drawn up, signed by Horner, and authorized by the ma- gistrate ; but, alas ! never appeared. My friend Hume (now again my friend, though his conduct on that occa- sion caused a severance between us for more than thirty years) took fright at the ridicule which had been brought upon the transaction, said that he did not like to expose liis name ; that he " did not know who Mr. Horner was ; " in short, he refused to sign the paper ; and the only effort VOL. I. p 210 DUEL WITH JEFFREY. [iETAT. 27. made at public explanation was a short letter on the sub- ject from myself, which, of course, to those who did not knoAV me personally, went deservedly for nothing. Through the kind offices of Rogers, a treaty of peace was negociated between Jeffi'ey and myself; I mean those formalities of explanation which the world requires, for in every other respect we already understood each other. In the two letters that follow will be found some particulars of the final arrangement of our strife. [No. 118.] To Lady Donegal. Aug. 29. 1806. I have been looking for a frank (like that best of all thrifty good girls. Miss J* * *), in order to send you back Hayley's letter, which is as pretty a specimen of the old gentleman's twaddling as I could wish to see. But the last person I asked for a frank was Humphrey Butler ; and he told me if I had applied before the Union he could have given me one, — which, however satisfactory it was, made me resolve to keep Hayley's letter from you a little longer, and I shall return it the instant I get a cover, and not a soul shall see it, I assure you. Lord Moira has Avritten to me a very kind note, in consequence of my communicating to liim the explanations which I had from Jeffrey, and he assures me " he feels uncommon satisfac- tion that it has terminated so pleasantly." If I were just now seated upon the couch, with my legs turned up, I could show you this letter; but, as I am not, I must only give you an extract from it, thus : — ''I feel perfectly for you how disagreeable it is to be obliged to start one's self as the butt for all the wild constructions of the public ; misrepresentation, in some way or the other, is the inevit- able lot of every one who stands In such a predicament ; but 1806.] DUEL WITH JEFFREY. 211 the squibs against you Avere only momentary, and a fair tribute to the spirit with which you vindicated your character will remain.''^ This high Spanish approbation of my conduct has given me much pleasure, as I know it will to you; indeed, nothing can be more gratifying than the generous justice which every friend whose opinion I value has done to my feehngs upon this occasion. I was particularly happy to hear that Horner, the other day, at Holland House, spoke warmly in praise of what he called " the mixture of feeling and fortitude which my conduct exhibited." I met your friend the Dulvc of York, and the Duke of Cambridge, in a dinner party of eight only the other day at Harry Greville's. In short, I do nothing but dine ; yesterday at Ward's, to-day at Lord Cowper's, &c. Some- body told me, and made my heart, flutter not a little, that you are coming to town before your Tuubridge trip. I beUeve it was Chichester that " whispered the flattering tale," but I am almost afraid to beheve it. I should in that case see you once before I go to bury myself among my St Chrysostoms and Origens, and to shake hands with a dearer father than whole centuries of such fathers. Car- penter is to give me forty pounds for the Sallust, and I wait but for this forty-pounder to discharge me at one single shot to Dublin. Best love to dear Mary (why shouldn't I call her Mary, as well as that old ridiculous Hermit ?), and to sister Philippa, too, a thousand remembrances. Ever yours, most truly, T. M. I suppose you have heard of this officious clerk of the Bank's accusation of Loi-d Moira. I know no more than you have read in the papers." P 2 212 DUEL WITH JEFFREY. [^tat. 27. [No. 119.] To Lady Donegal Monday, August, 1806. I have the pleasure to tell you that this morning I had a pacific meeting with Mr. Jeffrey at Rogers's, and re- ceived from him the most satisfactory apologies for the intemperance of his attack upon me. He acknowledged that it is the opinion, not only of himself but his friends, that the Review contained too much that was exception- able, and that he is sincerely sorry for having written it. He has given me a statement to this pui-pose in his own autograph, wliich concludes thus : " I shall always hold myself bound to bear testimony to the fairness and spirit with wliich you have conducted yourself throughout the whole transaction." Is not this all pleasant ? I know you will be glad to hear it. The letter which you will see in to-morrow's Post was a very necessary step, and will put an end to every misconstruction of the affair ; so that (for the first time since I took the business into contemplation) I feel " my bosom's lord sit lightly on his throne," and the sooner I receive your congratulations upon the subject the better. Ever yours, T. M. I have now done with these bulletins, and shall write you letters hereafter. [No. 120.] From Miss Godfrey. Tunbridge, Oct. 2. 1806. Well, how are you after your sea-sickness, and how do you feel yourself in Dublin, after your briUiant career here among the learned and the dissipated ? If it were 1806.] DUEL -SVITn JEFFREY. 213 not for the extreme joy whicli I know j^ou feel at being Avith your family again, I shonld grieve for the change ; but you have contrived, God knows how ! amidst the plea- sures of the world, to preserve all your home, fireside affections true and genuine as you brought them out with you; and this is a trait in your character that I think be- yond all praise : it is a perfection that never goes alone, and I believe you will turn out a saint or an angel after all. We have had the whole liistory of your affair with Jeffrey from Rogers, even to the slightest particulars. If I had never known you, the story would have interested me, the way he tells it. He makes you out a perfect hero of romance, and your conduct quite admirable. But what pleased me most was, to hear that Jeffrey took a great fancy to you from tlie first moment he saw you in the field of battle, pistol in hand to kiU liim. I believe Rogers to be truly your friend upon this occasion. Lord Clifden says he has heard the fiffair talked of by several people, and that you had got universal credit for the manner in wliich you had conducted yourself throughout the whole of it. In short, I am quite agreeably surprised to find the turn it has aU taken in your favour. You don't know how happy we feel at it, for I am sure you don't know to this good day how much we care for you. But never take a pistol in your hand again wliile you live. I dare say in Ireland, where you have beaucoup cCenvieux, every pains has been taken to misrepresent and blacken you. I desired PhiUy to write Rogers's whole account of it to Miss Crookshank, that she may tell your friend Joe of it, and spread it about in her society; for it is in that line of life that the prejudices against your writings, and the envy of your talents, are the strongest. The old ones have more morality, and the young ones more pretensions r 3 214 DUEL WITH JEFFEEY. L^tat. 27. than one finds in the higher ranks of life. All I want is to have justice done to you, perhaps a little more than justice. But I would have all the world to understand, that I am a very moral woman ; and I must honestly con- fess to you by the way, that all my illusions about the beautiful Susan have vanished, and left not a wreck be- hind them. We are all very tame this year, and neither blindman's buff, or puss in a corner, have yet made their appearance amongst us ; but as Souza is expected, there is no knowing how soon the revels may begin. The place is quite full, and many more people of our acquaintance than were here last year ; but we would give them all rank and file for you, and there's the sea rolling away between us, as satisfied as if it were doing the thing in the world we liked the best. Philly was offended with you for leaving her name out in your last letter. I suppose your sister is quite delighted to have you with her. I hope you found her and all the rest of your family happy and comfortable in their new situation. Tell me something of your way of life in Dublin. Adieu ! Sincerely yours, M.G. I LETTERS. 1807—1818. p4 LETTERS. 1807—1818. [No. 121.] To Miss Godfrey. Dublin, Monday, Feb. 23. 1807. I am quite ashamed of myself — at which you ought to be very much delighted, because it humiliates me most profoviudly before you, and gives you ten times more merit in my eyes then I would condescend to allow you if I felt that I had exactly done what I ought to do ; but, indeed, if you knew the efforts I am obliged to make to throw some sort of ballast into the little pleasure-boat of my existence ■ — if you knew how difficult I find it to square the gains and losses of time, and set off the savings of the morning against the expenditures of the night, you would not be very hard upon me, but would be very glad to hear that I have contrived to study about three hours and a half every day since I came here. And though I have said every morning, in going to old Patrick's Library, " "VYell, I shall return time enough to-day for the post," yet once I get into that bewildering seraglio, what with making real love to one, flirting with some, and merely throwing my eye upon others, the whole day has passed in dalli- ance, and I have hardly had time enough afterwards to 218 LETTEES. L^TAT. 27. make myself decent for company. I have now, liOAvever, bid adieu to this harem, and have made up my mind for a week's idleness before I leave Ireland, which will be, I hope, on Friday or Saturday next, and then once more for Donington, for the Muses, and for you ! — dear Donington ! dear Muses ! and dear you ! Sorry am I to think, how- ever, that both you and the Muses, however you may visit my thoughts, must be equally invisible to me ; and I would willingly give up the society of my whole Nine just to be, as I could wish, with my Two in Davies Street. By my Two here I mean you and your sister Pliilly, for Lady Donegal has long forgotten me. I suppose you have been amused a good deal by the reports of my marriage to Miss * * *^ the apothe- cary's daughter. Odds pills and boluses ! mix my poor Falernian with the sediment of pliials and drainings of gallipots ! Thirty thousand pounds might, to be sure, gild the pill a little ; but it's no such thing. I have nothing to do with either Sal. Volatile, or Sail * * * ; and I don't know iDliich would put me into the greatest purgatory, matrimony or physic. The Novice of St. Dominick is bringing out an opera heie, for Avhich I am most wickedly pressed to write a prologue ; but I shall run from it, and leave Joe to do it. Wliat you communicated to me about Jeffrey pleases me extremely, because it justifies my conduct most amply, and does honour to both of us. I have written nothing: since I came here, except one song, which every body says is the best I have ever composed, and I rather prefer it myself to most of them. When am I to sing it to you ? Oh ! icheji, when ? I am an unfortunate rascal, that's certain. You may direct your answer to this to Donington, 1S07.] LETTERS. 219 and I have full reliance on your being my sick hearts nurse wliile I am there. God bless you. Very much yours, Thomas Moore. I would have sailed with 3Iiss Limvood the other nisht, only I Avas afraid she would give me a stitch in my side ! ! [No. 122.] To his Mother. Donington Park, Monday night, March, 1807. My dearest Mother, I arrived here on Svmday to dinner, after a very plea- sant journey, during which Crampton recovered from his trance, and gave us the plots of all the new pantomimes, &c. I parted with him at Binninghnm, and gave a sigh towards London as I turned out of the road ; but it is all for the better. I am here re-established in all my for- mer comforts, and though most of my old friends are gone, yet the two or three that remain know me well enough to be attentive. I was a little dismayed at entering, as the place never before in my time looked half so deserted ; but I am quite comfortable now, and shall not stir from this except for Ireland, unless some good star should shine out upon the London road to justify, by golden reasons, my resignation of solitude. I foro-ot to brin"; Buntin2;'s Irish Airs with me : cret them fi'om Power ; and if any one that you know is coming, they can bring them for me as far as Lichfield, and send them from thence by the coach to Derby. Get Miss Owenson's too ; the Atkinsons will give them to Kate for me. Love to all dears. God bless you. Tom. 220 LETTERS. C^Etat. 27. [No. 123.] To his Mother. Donington Park, Thursday, March, 1807. My darling Mother, It maketh me marvel much that I do not hear from home ; but I suppose Kate is writing such long letters to Anne Scully, that she has not a scrap of paper left to say, " How d'ye do " on to me. I have not heard yet from Mrs. Tighe, but of course you have sent to inquire, and will let me know how she is. The day before yesterday (St. Patrick's) was kept here with great festivity : of course I bled freely for the saint ; a kind of blood that works more miracles than even St. Januarius's. I am, indeed, quite tranquil and happy here, and shall not feel the least wish to leave it till summer, if I find that I can with any de- cency remain. I danced away among the servants on Tuesday night with a pretty lacemaker from the village, most merrily. Old Cumberlarud has devoted a page of his Memoirs in the second edition to we, which pleases me more than I can tell you. \Vlaat he says is so cordial, considerate, and respectful, and he holds such a high and veteran rank in literature. God bless you. Yours, Tom. [No. 124.] To Miss Godfrey. Donington Park, Loughborough, Friday morning, March, 1807. Though I think you do not care much to know " my whereabout," or I should have had a letter here as I peti- tioned, yet I cannot help telling you that here I am, and 1807.] letter's. 221 here shall be, for God knows how long. I am made very comfortable, and it certainly is friendly of Lord Moira to do me these little kindnesses ; but the main point is still wanting : " 11 me donne des mancJiettes, et je rCai point de chemise." I read much more than I write, and think much more than either; but what does it all signify? The j)eople of Dublin, some of them, seemed very sorry to lose me ; but I dare say by this time they treat me as the air treats the arroio, fill up the gap and forget that it ever passed that way. It is a dreadful thing not to be neces- sary to one's friends, and there is but one in the world now to whom I am anything like a sine qua non. While that one remains, il faut lien que je vive ; when that one goes, il ny a plus de necessite. You see I have brought no wife with me from Ireland, notwithstanding all that the kind match-makers of this world did for me. I was very near being married the other night here at a dance the servants had to commemorate St. Patrick's Day. I opened the ball for them with a pretty lacemaker from the village, who was really quite beautiful, and seemed to break hearts around her as fast as an Irishman would have broken heads. So you see I can be gay. Have you met with old Cumberland's second edition ? He has spoken of me in a way that I feel very grateful for, and if you ever see him, I wish you would tell liim so. How go on Spenser and Rogers, and the rest of those agreeable rattles, who seem to think life such a treat that they never can get enough of it ? Write to me immediately upon receiving this ; and to bribe you, after such a stupid letter, I will write you an epitaph that will make you laugh, if you never heard it before ; 222 LETTERS. [^TAT. 27. " Here lies John Shaw Attorney at law ; And when he died, The devil cried, ' Give us your paw, John Shaw, Attorney at law ! ' " Yours, T. M. [No. 125.] To his Mother. Wednesday, March, 1807. My clearest Mother, We know nothing decisive yet about the ministry. The last accounts gave me rather a hope that Lord Moira would stay in, though I don't know whether one would wish hun for his own sake to continue, after his public vow not to serve with the Duke of Portland : if however, as it is said, the Prince takes the part of the new arrange- ment, he win most certainly stay in. It is all a bad business for the country. Fine times, to be sure, for chang- ing ministry, and changing to such fools too ! It is like a sailor stopping to change his shirt in a storm, and after all putting OH a very ragged one. I see Lord Hardwicke is very active in the business, so I suppose he AviU return to Ireland. I got Kate's one letter in the course of three weeks, and congratvilate her much on her acti\dty. Love to all. Your own, Tom. [No. 126.] From Lord Moira. London, April 9. 1807. My dear Sir, You will have been well aware of all the occupation which has attended our expulsion from office ; therefore, I 1807.] LETTERS. 223 think, you will have ascribed my silence to thai cause, and not have charged me with inattention. Had you been here on the spot, your pen might have been exercised with great effect in displaying the importance of the con- stitutional question which we have been defending. The matter, however, will now be at an end before any pub- lication coidd appear ; and in the vehemence of contest all real consideration of the point at issue wiU be lost. Most sincerely do I lament that I had not the means of ob- taining some fit sitviation for you before we were turned out. Perhaps your prospects are not worse now than they were; for my own patronage afforded nothing of a kind to suit you, and my colleagues had too many objects of their own to fulfil. I will thank you if you will send up Barrow's Travels hither, that I may have the second volume bound corre- spondently with that which is at Donington ; and I shall be obliged if you will examine if there be a quarto edition (the Princeps) of Ossian in the library. I have the honour, dear sir, to be your very obedient servant, MoiRA. [No. 127.] To his Mother. Sunday, Aj^ril, 1807. Mv dearest Mother, The time flies over me here as swift as if I Avas in the midst of dissipation, which is a tolerable proof that I am " arm'd for either field," for folly or for thought, for fid- dlers or philosophers. The fiimily do not talk of coming till June, and, if that be the case, I shall not budge. From tliis to Ireland shall be my only move. Tell the Atkin- 224 LETTERS. [iETAT. 27- sons that, to show them I have not forgot their choice scraps, I send them one which I found in a paper of last year, and wliich I tliink too good to be lost. I am anxious to hear whether my packet of letters, which I entrusted to Jane, arrived safe. Good by. I have been writing letters since eight o'clock, and my breakfast is coming up. Ever your own, Tom. [No. 128.] To Lady Donegal. Donington Park, Monday, April 27. 1807. " We are commanded (says Cosmo de Medici) to for- give our enemies, but I cannot find that we are any where ordered to forgive our friends.'''' Now, though this is a very deep and good saying of Cosmo's, yet it is not at all applicable to you ; for, notwithstanding that I did suspect you of a sort of leze amitie, a kind of compassing and ima- gining the death of our friendship, yet I now entirely ac- quit you, and hope every thing from your loyalty in future. As to absence, I have said very often, and I be- lieve to you among others, that recollections are too like the other peiishables of this world, and that it is hard even for those who take the best care of them, to keep uj) a stock without a supply now and then ; so that, though I feel I am strong in that article at present, yet I trust for all our sakes I shall be able to open shop in Tunbrldge this year, and shall come back " laden with notions,^'' as the Americans call their fancy goods. I suppose you will only allow love to come under the head of fancy goods, but I am afraid all the feelings of our heart have but too much of her manufacture in them. I am here very busy, and 1807.] LETTERS. 225 yet if I were to try and tell you about ichat, it would puzzle me a little : only this I must inform you " to God's pleasure and both our comforts," that I am not writing love-verses. I begin at last to find out that politics is the only thing minded in tliis country, and that it is better even to rebel against government, than have nothing at all to do with it ; so I am writing politics : but all I fear is, that my former ill-luck will rise up against me in a new shape, and that as I could not write love without getting into , so I shall not be able to write politics without getting into treason. As to my gaiety and dissipation, I am to be sure vein/ dissipated, for I pass my whole time among knowing-ones and Mack-legs, the former in the library/, the latter in the rookery : it is true, I see some xcldte legs now and then upon the lawn, but I have nothing at all to do with them, I assure you. I had a long letter from America the other day ; and what do you think ? My Epistles were, in January last, going through their third edition there ! and Carpenter is only just now getting out his second, of which I have seen some proof-sheets, and they are very beautiful. My cor- respondent tells me that, to the last edition that had come out in America, there was prefixed " some account of the author," but he had not yet seen it. A pretty account, I dare say, it is ; but there is some glory in being even abused so generally ; and I have that at least in common with most of the great men who have lived, just as I am little like Horace, and love dozing in the morning like Mon- taigne : it is comfortable to resemble great men in any- thing. Tell Miss Godfrey that I cry ''peccavi,^^ and beg pardon for what I said in my last billet, but that I said it merely for the pleasure of transcribing that epigram, which VOL. L Q 223 LETTERS. [iETAT, 27. I knew she would like, and wliich is written by her friend, the man that wrote " Mille fois" &c. I shall send her a palinode in a day or two, that is (for fear she should expect any thing great from this hard Greek word) my recantation, justification, and renunciation of the aforesaid and aU other errors thereunto belonging and ap- pertaining, and what not. You must know I have been reading law very hard, and you must not wonder at its breaking in in my style. I am determined on being called to the Irisli bar next year. Best remembrances to your dear sisters, and believe me, yours most truly, Thomas Moore. [No. 129.] To his Mother. Wednesday, April, 1807. My dearest Mother, I take both exercise and your Spa in plenty. "What put it into Kate's head, or rather into her hand, to write me such a beautiful letter last time ? I never saw anything like it ; it was quite a picture. Seriously, it was very nice writing, and if she keeps to that the girl may do. Sweet weather tliis. The May thorns are beginning to open their eyes. The new ministers are in full blossom of folly and prosperity, and the snows and the Parliament have dissolved away. I wish I were in Dublin now, and I would make speeches on the hustings for Grattan. Good by. God bless you all. Ever your own, Tom. 1807.] LETTERS. 227 [No. 130.] To his Mother. April, 1807. My dearest Mother, I don't know what your Irish skies have been doing all this month (I suppose rainiiig, as usual), but here we have had the severest frost and snow till yesterday, when I think a change in the administration of the weather took place : before then it was what Dr. Duigenan would call a white-boy administration, for we had nothing but snow. My " Pastor Fido," Dalby, has been prevented from coming to see me as he used to do, by his wife's illness, which is a great loss to me ; but the time never hangs heavy, and reading, writing, walking, playing the pianoforte, occupy my day sufficiently and delightfully, without either "the tinkling cymbal " of talk, or " a gallery of moving pictures " about me. You need not mind Miss Owenson's airs ; for I can do without them till I go to Ireland. God bless you, dearest mother. I got Kate's letter on Monday. Ever your own. Tom. Best love to the barrack-master. * [No. 131.] To his Mother. Saturday, April, 1807. I send an inclosure for Power, which you will for- ward to him immediately. Carpenter is preparing a second edition of the Poems, to be printed splendidly by Ballan- tyne, of Edinburgh. I hope these jf6?//o?f5 will get in again; * Hid father. a 2 228 LETTERS. [^TAT £7. but if the King dissolves Parliament, their chance, I fear, is but indifferent. However, my resolution is taken, and I care no longer about them. If I am to be poor, I had rather be a poor counsellor than a poor poet ; for there is ridicule attached to the latter, which the former may- escape: so make up your minds to having me amongst you. I shall exchange all my books for a law library, and knock down my music with the first volume of Coke upon Lyttleton. Wliy does not Nell write to me? She promised when I came away. God bless you all. Your own, Tom. [No. 132.] To Miss Godfrey. Tuesday night, May 26. 1807. These good people are come down upon me at last ; so there is an end at once to all my musings and medita- tions. They have brought so many Misses with them too, that my muse, I think, must shut up her paper-vsxiWs, and go into the Zm T. M. 1813.] LETTERS. 351 I'll think of you Waking and Sleeping. " You love me, you say, for the light of my eyes, And if eyes would for ever shine clearly. You need not, perhaps, give a reason more wise. For loving me ever so dearly. But beauty is fleeting, and eyes, I'm afraid. Are jewels that spoil in the keeping. So love me for something less likely to fade, And I'll think of you waking and sleeping : Dear youth ! I'll think of you waking and sleeping." Here is a verse, my clear sir, which I hope Stevenson will be able to make something of; it will require that mixture of lightness and feeling which no one knows better than his knightship. You ought to have had it by yester- day's post, but I got a sudden summons the day before to dine at the Park and celebrate the Prince's birthday, which, you may suppose, I did with all due solemnity and sincerity ; the wine was good, and my host was good, so I would have swallowed the toast if it had been the devil! The second verse of the above song ends, " I'll think of you sleeping and waking, dear youth," wliich I think makes a good burden and title. I expect my Quarterly from you ; send it by the coach immediately. Ever yours, T. M. [No. 241.] To Ids Mother. 1813. My dearest Mother, I am going to send this through my old channel. Lord Glenbervie, because there is some music in it which I wish to arrive at its destination as soon as possible. I had a letter yesterday from Bessy ; they are all Avell, except that the parrot has bit one of little Bab's fingers. I must contrive some way of sending you my Post 352 LETTERS. [^TAT. 33. Bag : it is now in the seventh edition ; but I am sorry to find that Carpenter has not kept the secret of its being mine as faithfully as he ought. I have been busy ever since I came to town about the Melodies, and have not appeared or visited any one yet. I hope, my own dear mother, that you are all as well and happy at home as my heart wishes you to be, though this you can hardly be. However, take care of yourself and keep up your spirits, my darling mother : I hope we may yet all Hve together. I was sorry to find my father say- ing that his hand begins to shake. God send him long health to bless us all. Ever your own, Tom. [No. 242.] To his Mother. Ashbourne, Saturday niglit, 1813, My dearest Mother, Within these few hours I have succeeded in takino- a cot- tage ; just the sort of thing I am likely to like, — secluded, and among the fields, about a mile and a half from the pretty town of Ashbourne, in Derbyshire.* We are to j^ay twenty pounds a-year rent, and the taxes about three or four more. Mrs. Ready has brought us on here in her barouche, and we have had a very pleasant journey of it. Bessy bids me make a thousand apologies to dear Nell for not writing, but she has been so bustled about she has not had a moment. You must direct to me now, Mayfield, Ashbourne, Derbyshire. Best love to all from your own, Tom. * Mayfield Cottage, near Ashbourne. I 1813.] LETTERS. 353 [No. 243.] To Mr. Poioer. Majfield, Aslibourne, Derbyshire, Tuesday, July 1. 1813. JVIy dear Sir, I have great pleasure in telling you that I have got a cottage very much to my liking, near the pretty town of Ashbourne. I am now, as you wished, witliin twenty-four hours' drive of town, and I hope, before the summer is over, we shall see you at Mayficld. I have much to do, and many efforts to make, before I can put the cottage in a state to receive us. More in a day or two. Ever yours, T. Moore. I have had a most flattering letter from ^Miitbrcad, entreating me earnestly to Avrite something for Drury Lane. [No. 244.] To Mr. Power. May field Cottni>-e, Thursday evening, July 17. 1813. My dear Sir, I thought to have sent you a song by this post, but 1 cannot finish it without a pianoforte. I am, however, to get one upon liire next Aveek, and in the mean time I am touching up the preface. It will not be quite as long as Twiss's. I think it is better for me to pay half-a-guinea a month for a pianoforte, than venture upon a new one. Recollect I am in your debt eight or nine pounds upon the last one. This is the first day I have been able to establish a VOL. 1. A A 354 LETTERS. [^TAT. 34. sitting-room for myself, so you may suppose I heave not been able to do much. I hope you liked the second verse of the Finland song. I have one or two old things of mine to send you, when I get the pianoforte. Poor M. P., I see, is on again. Ever yours. T. Moore. [No. 245.] To Mr. Power. 1813. My dear Sir, I have drawn upon yovi again, as I dare say before this you know. I am also, with your permission, going to take another liberty with your name, and that is (do not be frightened) to draw upon you at six months for fifty pounds. It is merely as a matter of form, for the uphol- sterer at Derby, to whom I am to give it, means to let it lie in his desk, and I am to pay it off by instalments ; he did not demand this of me, and therefore, if you dislike it, there is no necessity ; but I should feel more comfortable, and less under obligation to him, if he had this in his hands till I can gradually get out of his debt. AVe are resolved to take our furniture with us, whenever we go to London, as this buying and re-buying is a very losing concern. You shall next week have the first symptoms of my returning industry for the shop, and I must do some- thing every week now, to make out my task for the year, which is nearly at an end. Indeed, if I had no one but yourself to deal with, I should not scruple now to ask for three or four months total liberty from you ; as I am con- vinced, with your spirit and our united views, you would see how amply such time lost in one way would be made up to us in another ; but I dread your brother, and while 1S13.] LETTERS. 355 I should not like to ask the favour of him, I feel that he would not have the same prospective interest in granting it, so that my best way is to do as much as I can, and then, after the Book, I am " yours till death." Indeed I am not quite sure that this Book (at least a great part of it) must not be yours also. I am still writing away songs in it, and how the property of them is to be managed, God and you only know. But no matter ; you cannot have too much for Avhat you merit of me ; and if you can but get me through my debts to friends gradually, and keep this cottage over my head, you may dispose of me and mine as you please. An operatic drama will be the first thing the moment the Book goes to press, and I will set my shoulders to it, you may be sure. I have had a letter from Lord IMeatli, who was chairman of the first meeting of Dalton's Amateur Glee Club, expressing the delight wliich the members all felt at " my composition," and communicating to me my unanimous election as honorary member. I had a letter from Corry, dated the morning of the meeting, saying that great things were expected from the glee, as Stevenson said he had never been so lucky in anything : so I wish you joy of the firstfruits of our co-operation. Did you see the quotation of -" Oh ! had I a bright little Isle," in the Chronicle, with the praise of " exquisitely beautiful," before it. Best regards to Mrs. Power. I fear very much, from what you hint about her, that Bessy and she are keeping each other in ccuntenance ; but Provi- dence, I hope, will look after us. A good peace with France and a good piece at Drury Lane will do wonders for us. Ever vours, T. Moore. I dare say, from the explanation you give me, that the A A 2 356 LETTERS. [/Etat. .-54. arrangement of " Oli, doubt me not ! " is qnlte correct ; but it is the most discordant correct thing I ever heard in my Hfe. [No. 24 G.] To Mr. Power. July 14. 1813. My dear Sir, I send you the words to the Finland song with the second verse I have just finished ; and, before the end of the week, you shall have something else of my promised performances. What you offer about the opera is very tempting indeed ; particularly as I have (since I wrote to you last) plucked up courage enough to look into the dreadful little book you gave me at parting, and find, to my infinite horror, that I have no more to draw this year, but that, at the end of it, I shall be ten pounds in your debt ! Though I felt that this must be the case, yet the actual proofs of it staring before my face, in black and white, quite staggered me for a day or two. I am now however a little recovered from the shock, and though this state of our accounts makes your proposal doubly tempt- ing, yet I fear I could not possibly undertake both my poem and an opera this year, and do all that justice to both which it is your interest as well as mine that I should ; for, believe me, that I consider your interest very much in the anxiety I feel about my poem ; so much, indeed, do I con- sider my duty towards you to be paramount to all others in the way of business, that, if I did not consider the suc- cess of the poem a very material circumstance in your favour as Avell as my own, I should not feel justified in giving a moment to it away from any task it is your wish I should undertake ; and it is principally from my desire 1813.] LETTERS. 357 to get the poem forward, that I have chosen a number of the Melodies as my musical work for this year ; because I shall naturally feel less solicitude about such an old esta- blished job than I should about anything new we should embark in ; and you may depend upon it that, after tliis year, whether I am lucky enough to finish the poem or not, you shall liear no more about it as standing in the way of anything you wish me to undertake. With respect to your brother, I fear he will make me suffer for the pains I took to get him connected with us ; but I shall be very grateful, indeed, for your keeping off as much of his annoyance from me as possible. If t/ou are displeased with my advertisement, or the intention expressed in it, you have but to say so, and it shall be altered; but I dare say I shall have your sanction in not troubling my head about any criticism or objection of his ; so that I may leave entirely to yourself the explanation you think proper to make, both with respect to this year's works and the announcement we agreed to put forth in the advertisement. Pray tell me how soon you think the numerous delays he is throwing in your way will enable you to bring out tliis number. I have never yet been in any situation so retired and suited to business as our present httle cottage, and I think I shall live in it for ever, if something better than ordinary does not turn up for me. Best remembrances to ISIrs. Power from Bessy and from ever yours, T. MooiiE. Your poor dear little girl ! A A 3 358 LETTERS. [^TAT. 34r [No. 247.] To his Mother. May field, Tluirsday night, 1813. My dearest Mother, Dear Bessy and I are quite busy in preparing our little cottage, which was in a most ruinous state, but which is already beginning to assume looks of comfort. The expense of remaining at the inn, while it is preparing, is the worst part of the business. My darling mother, how you would delight, I know, to see us when we are settled ! I have taken such a fancy to the little place, and the rent is so low, that I really think I shall keep it on as a scribbling retreat, even should my prospects in a year or two induce me to live in London. I wish I had a good round sum of money to lay out on it, and I should make it one of the prettiest little things in England. Bessy still begs a thousand pardons of EUen, but her bustle increases upon her, and she must only atone by long, long letters when she gets into the cottage. Mind, you must direct, " May- field Cottage, Ashbourne, Derbyshire." Ever your own, Tom. [No. 2.48.] To his Mother. Mayfield Cottage, Monday niglit, 1813. My dearest Mother, I got my dear father's letter yesterday, and I assure you we both heartily sympathise in the impatience which you feel for our meeting : but, darling mother, it would be (I am sure you are convinced) the height of imprudence for me to go to such expense, and indulge in so much idleness as a trip to Ireland would now entail on me. Next spring it is almost certain that I shall be able to see 1813.J LETTERS. 359 you all embracing one another. To-morrow we shall re- move from the inn to the house of the farmer from whom we have the cottage^ and in a few clays more I expect we shall sleep under our own roof To-day, while my dear Bessy was presiding over the workmen, little Barbara and I rolled about in the hay-field before our door, till I was much more hot and tired than my little playfellow. The farmer is doing a vast deal more for us in the way of repairs, but still it will take a good sura from myself to make the place worthy of its situation ; and, luckily, the Post Bag has furnished me with tolerable supplies for the purpose. God bless my own dear ones at home. Ever your Tom. [No. 249.] To his Mother. Mayfield, Friday night, Sept. 29. 1813. My dearest Mother, We arrived, as I anticipated in my last, between five and six on Monday evening. It was a most lovely evening, and the cottage and garden in their best smiles to receive us. The very sight of them seemed new life to Bessy, and, as her appetite is becoming somewhat better, I hope quiet and care will bring her round again. I paid the forty-second pound to the post-boy that left us at home ! This Is terrible phlebotomising. However, quiet and economy will bring these matters round again also. If any of you had come with us (and I wish to God you had) you would have been amused to see how company and racket meet me everywhere. A neighbour of ours (Ack- royd) came breathless after our chaise, to say that he had a musical party that night. Sir "W. Bagshaw, the Fitz- A A 4 360 LETTERS. [ZEtat. 34. herberts, &c. &c., and we must positively come in our travelling dresses. Bessy's going was out of the question, and I assured bim I feared it was equally so with me. Notwithstanding this, Mr. Cooper was dispatched from the party in Lady Fitzherbert's carriage, between eight and nine o'clock, to bring me by persuasion or force, or any- how. It would not do, however ; I sent him back alone, and got quietly to my bed. The children are doing very well, and I am, as usual, stout and hearty. God bless my dearest mother. Ever your own, Tom. [No. 250.] To Miss Dalhy. Mayfield Cottage, Ashbourne, Thursday evenmg, 1813. My dear Mary, We had the courage to take possession on Tuesday week last, after having served an ejectment on the ghosts, who have been the only tenants here for some time past. Isn't it odd that we should have the luck always to get into haunted houses ? This lonely, secluded little spot is not at aU a bad residence for ghosts; but for our old matter-of-fact barn at Kegworth to pretend to be haunted was too much affectation. Within these few days the place begins to look habitable about us; my poets and sages have raised their heads from the packing-cases, and very creditable chairs, tables, &c., are beginning to take their places round the walls. Bessy is higlily delighted with her little cottage, and whenever any new improvement is made, she says, " How Mary Dalby will like this when she comes ! " We have not yet found out the Matchetts, but there were two or tlu-ee stray ladies the other evening reconnoitring the 1813.] LETTERS. 361 cottage ^Yllen we were out, and making a sort of offer at a visit, who, Ave believe, are friends of the Matchett's : they were of the Cooper family. Bessy and I had a day at Dovedale together, before we left Ashbourne, and it was a very happy day indeed. She shall Avrite to you very soon, but (whether it is an invention of her laziness or not, I don't know) she says the agreement Avas that / should write the first letter : so noAV you have it, and noAV let us hear from you. I have near a dozen epistles to scribble this evening. Ever yours faithfully, Thomas Moore. [No. 251.] To his Mother. Thursday evening, 1813. My dearest Mother, We have this day got our curtains up and our carpets doAvn, and begin to look a Httle civilised. It is a very SAveet spot indeed, and I do not recollect Avhethcr I told you that I only pay twenty pounds a-year for it ; and the taxes Avill be about three or four more. This is not ex- travagant, and, though it be a little nutshell of a thing, Ave have a room to spare for a friend, or for you, darling- mother, if you could come and visit us. Hoav proud Bessy Avould be to have you, and make much of you ! We heard, a day or two ago, of our little Statia, that slic is thriving finely. The only draAvback on my dear Bessy's happiness is the being removed from her little child so far. She has hardly had time to get acquainted Avith it yet ; but it would have been a great pity to take her away from a nurse that seemed to be doing her so much justice. 362 LETTERS. [^TAT. 34. Best love to father and Nell from us both. Bessy says she iv'dl not write till the house is settled. Ever your own, Tom. [No. 252.] To Lachj Donegal. Ashbourne, Derbyshire, Saturday night, 1813. I am settled at last, and I would not write till I could tell you so. I have got a small rural cottage among the fields, near the pretty town of Ashbourne; rent twenty pounds a-year, and taxes about three more. I have not time at this moment to say anything else, but that I have every prospect of quiet and happiness. I have received a very flattering letter from Whitbread, apologising for not cultivating or courting my acquaintance while I was in town, and requesting me to undertake sometliing for Drury Lane. Your little god-daughter is growing the sweetest and most interesting little thing in the world. Bessy sends best remembrances. More in a day or two. Ever cor- dially yours, T. M. [No. 253.] To his Mother. 1813. My dearest Mother, I sent you the Examiner the other day, with two things in it which, you will see, he imputes to me : he is only right in one of them, the only tiling I have given to the Morning Chronicle since I left town. You cannot think how our cottage is admired ; and, if 1813.] LETTERS. 363 ever I am able to purchase it, I shall make a beautiful thing of it. Ever 3- our own, To:.i. Barbara is at this moment most busily engaged about a pair of new top-boots, which I have on for the first time since I came from London, and which she is haudhng and viewing with great admiration. [No. 254.] To his Mother. Mayfiekl, Thursday evening, 1813. My dearest Mother, We are to dine out (for the first time) to-morrow : In- deed the natives here are beginning to visit us much faster than I wish. ]Mrs. Rain called upon Bessy yesterday : they have a fine place here called Wooton Hall. Our cottage is upon a kind of elevated terrace above the field, which has no fence round it, and keeps us in constant alarm about Bab's falling over, so that I shall be obliged to go to the expense of pallnr/ : it will cost me, I dare say, ten pounds, for the extent in front Is near sixty yards. I find I am a great favourite with this celebrated Madame de Stael, that has lately arrived, and is making such a noise in London : she says she has a j^assion for my poetry. Ever your own, Tom. [No. 235.] To his Mother. Thursday, 1813. My dearest Mother, We are going to-morrow to return the visit of the Bains : our neighbours, the Coopers, lend us their carriage. You see we fall on our legs wherever we are thrown. 364 LETTERS. [iETAT. 34. I had a long letter from Lord Byron yesterday : his last i tiling, the Giaour, is very much praised, and deservedly so ; indeed, I tliink he will dethrone Walter Scott. Ever, my darling mother, your own, Tom. [No. 256.] To Mr Poioer. Castle Donlngton, Friday, 1813. My dear Sir, I took the opportunity of a lift to come on here for a last rummage of the library before the bad weather sets in, and I have got more for my purpose out of it, by making it a business in this way, than I should, in an idle, saunter- ing way, if I were in its neighbourhood for twelve months. I only write now to acknowledge your last letter, wliich was forwarded to me hither. I shall give up the correction in the letter-press, as it is so inconvenient, but I think I shall avail myself of the new plate and the erratum : more of this, however, next week. I shall also have a consulta- tion with you about a point wliich I perceive your mind is a good deal set upon, and that Is, my living in or near London. I certainly fear that embarrassments would soon gather round me there, and my own wish is to stay here at least till you and I fix upon some plan of co- operation ; but in this, as on every other point, I am very much inchned to listen to your counsel ; and therefore we shall have some talk about it. At all events, I shall stay here till I finish my poem ; but my reason for agitating the question now is, that I had some idea of agreeing Avith the landlord for a short term of years of this place; so tliink over the matter now, and let me know your whole 1813.] LETTERS. 365 mind and wishes. Next week you shall have another song. Ever yours, T. Moore. [No. 257.] To his 3Iother. Majfield Cottage, Monday night, 1813. IMy dearest ISIother, It is very late, and I have been obliged to leave you last of half a dozen letters, so that you will come off very badly. We dined out to-day at the Ackroyds, neighbours of ours. You would have laughed to see Bessy and me in going to dinner. We found, in the middle of our walk, that we were near half an hour too early for dinner, so we set to practising country dances, in the middle of a retired green lane, till the time was expired. Ever your own, Tom. [No. 258.] To Mr. Puicer. Oct. 23. 1813. My dear Sir, Bessy and I have been on a visit to Derby for a week. I was indeed glad to have an opportunity of taking her for change of air, as she was very ill before we went. We were on a visit at ]\Ir. Joseph Strutt's, who sent his car- riage and four fur us and back again witli us. There are three brothers of them, and they are supposed to have a million of money pretty equally di%'ided between them. They have fine fimiilies of daughters, and are fond of literature, music, and all those elegancies which their riches enable them so amply to indulge themselves with. Bessy came back full of pi'csents, nngs, fans, &c. &c. My sing- 366 LETTERS. [^TAT. 34. ing produced some little sensation at Derby, and every one to whom I told your intention of publishing my songs col- lectively seemed delighted. 1 have had another application about Drury Lane In consequence of a conversation at Holland House, and am beginning already (without, however, stopping the progress of my poem) to turn over a subject in my mind. You must be very indulgent to me for a few months, and I promise to make up abundantly for it afterwards. Tliis poem has liitherto paralysed all my efforts for you, but it shall do so no longer than tliis year, I promise you. You are right in referring your brother to the advertisement of the fifth number for this year's work, and I'll make it a good one too, depend upon it. I suppose you have seen the Monthly Review of June on the Melodies. I am promised a sight of it. It gave me much pain to hear of your vexations and your illness. I feel more than a partner to you, and no- thing can affect either your health or welfare without touching me most deeply. As yet I have only added to your incumbrances, but I trust my time for lightening the load is not far distant. I only hope that tliis new en- gagement with Stevenson may not involve you in too much difficulty or uneasiness ; but (however you may smile at the oft-repeated and still-distant speculation) I am quite sure it will be in my power, after the sale of my Book, to withhold long enough from my share of the annuity to let your resources take breath and refreshment, and by writing the words of an oratorio for Stevenson I may perhaps do something towards rendering him more valuable, or a set of songs for him to compose. I shall be most happy to write, leaving it to the merit they may possess and your discre- tion in the use of my name, whether I shall acknowledge 1813.] LETTERS. 367 them or not : indeed, this latter task I should rather like than not, so command me ; only I wish lie and I could be too;ether when he is settino; them. I think the title of the Finland air had better be, " A Finland Love Song, arranged for Three Voices, by Thomas Moore, Esq." Ever yours, T. Moore. [No. 259.] To JSIr. Power. ■ Monday night, 1813. JSIy dear Sir, I received your letter, and yesterday, in the box from Miss Lawrence, got the books and music, for which I thank you very much : the Melodies are bound very neatly. What you tell me about the depredations committed on you is most mortifying indeed ; I only hope that the loss being spread over so many years will be felt less by you than if it came all at once together. We must be more careful in our book concern. I have this last week written a charter glee for Steven- son to set for a new musical society that is about to open, Avith great eclat, in Dublin. Dalton is the great pro- moter of it, and the Duke of Leinster gives his pa- tronage. I send you the words on the other side, and a (juestion has occurred to me which puzzles me not a little. If I have understood you right, your brother is not to have, or at least has not yet, any share in your agreement with Stevenson. Now, what is to be done about the words I write for Stevenson? as your brother certainly has a claim upon all such words, and I do not well see how you are to settle the matter with liim. I wish you would, when you write, give me some cxplana- 368 LETTERS. [^TAT. 3^. tlon upon tills subject, before I employ myself in any more words for Sir John. " Who says the Age of Song is o'er, Or that the mantle, finely wrought, Which hung around the Bard of yore. Has fall'u to earth, and ftilFn uncaught ? It is not so : the harp, the strain. And souls to feel them, still remain. " Muse of our Isle descend to-night, AVith all thy spells of other years, — The lay of tender, calm delight ; The song of sorrow, steep'd in tears ; The war-hymn of the brave and free, Whose every note is victory ! And oh ! that airy Harp of mirth. Whose tales of love, and wine, and bliss, Make us forget the grovelling earth. And all its care on nights like this ! " I am very anxious Stevenson should set this well, for his own sake as well as the sake of the words ; particularly as I am told there is an Opposition Club forming against this, under the auspices of Warren, and professedly to the exclusion of Stevenson. I was very sorry to see by the newspaper (the Morning Chronicle), that you have lost your point against Walker in Chancery. Do you care much about it ? I hope not most sincerely, as you have so many other things to plague you. I have got rather a pretty Irish air, which, with a little of ray manufacturing, will do for our next number, and you shall have it, with some other things, soon. Best regards to Mrs. Power from Bessy, and yours most affectionately, Thomas Moore. I wish you would take the trouble of calling upon Sheddon before eleven some morning with this letter, as I 1813.] LETTEES. 369 have inclosed him Crolier's letter (principally to show I have such a friend at the Admiralty) and not wishing to leave it in his hands have begged liim to return it to you, when he has read it ; so just deliver the packet to him, and wait till he has done with it. I have written to ask Croker's advice about my Ber- muda place, and he has, in a long letter, repeated and enforced what he said before, that my going out myself is the only way of seeing myself done justice to there ; but the remedy is worse than the disease. Unfortunately, I en- tered into a negotiation vath my deputy (through the Sheddons) to sell him, for an immediate sum, the whole profits of the office during the war, and I very much fear he is keeping back my share, in order to diminish my opinion of the emoluments, and prevent me from setting too high a price on the situation. Even his uncles, the Sheddons, are displeased with him. [No. 260.] To Mr. Poioer. 1813. IVIy dear Sir, I luckily received your last parcel yesterday morning, time enough to inclose you back your letters with the proofs. I hope you did not answer Dalton's letter yester- day, for you have quite mistaken one part of it ; that which relates to the arranging of my compositions. He by no means intends to exclude the arranging of them ; but taking that task as a matter of course, says that, in addition to those, he will arrange whatever of any kind or of anybody else's you may publish, and adds that this he thinks must be an object to you. If you have written, pray write again immediately to do away your misapprehension, as VOL. I. B B 370 LETTERS. [iETAT. 34. whether you decline the proposal or not, I know you would wish to do it on true grounds, and in this I have no doubt you are quite mistaken. I will venture no opinion upon Stevenson's proposal ; at least I ought not, perhaps, as I have so much myself, to object to his having a good deal too ; but I must own, I tliink, two hundred a-year, exclusive of his great works, is a very fair offer, and as much, perhaps, as you ought to give, though I should regret exceedingly the dissolution of my alliance with him. The following is the corrected passage wliich I wish vou to have engraved in the first verse of " Thro' Erin's Isle : " " Where'er they pass, A triple grass Shoots up, with dewdrops streaming, As softly green As emerald, seen Through purest crystal gleaming." * * This passage has been altered thus, since the letterpress was printed off, in order to get rid of an awkward double rhyme, which savours a little of doggrel. I wish the note engraved underneath, if it can be done conveniently. The preface, song, and duet you shall have in the course of this week. Ever yours, T. Moore. [No. 261.] To his Mother. Mayfield Cottage, Saturday night. My dearest Mother, We returned from Derby the evening before yesterday, just in time for me to appear in my dignified office of steward at the Ashbourne Ball. It was a tolerably gay ball, and they said I acquitted myself very properly. It was, however, a very disagreeable office, as I was obhged 1813.] LETTERS. 371 to consult rank more than beauty, and dance off the two first sets with the two ugliest women in the room. Mr. Strutt, while we were with him, made me a present of a beautiful box for my letters, and gave Bessy a very fine ring, a nice ivory fan, and a very pretty antique bronze candlestick, so that we lost nothing by our visit. We shall now shut up for the winter: this place is much too gay to give ourselves up to. Bessy is quite well, and little Barbara in great spirits. We are very uneasy at not hearing of Anastasia. Barbara calls me Tom, and I try in vain to break her of it, because she hears her mother call me so. Ever your own, Tom. [No. 262.] To his Mother. Monday night, 1813. My dearest Mother, You cannot imagine what a sensation Bessy excited at the Ball the other night ; she was very prettily dressed, and certainly looked very beautiful. I never saw so much ad- miration excited : she was very much frightened, but she got through it very well. She wore a turban that night to please me, and she looks better in it than anytliing else ; for it strikes everybody almost that sees her, how Hke the form and expression of her face are to Catalani's, and a turban is the thing for that kind of character. She is, however, not very well ; and unfortunately she is again in that condition in which her mind always suffers even more than her body. I must try, however, and keep up lier spirits. Little Baboo is quite well, and is, I tliink, improving in her looks. B B 2 ' 372 LETTERS. [^TAT. 34. The fifth number of the Irish Melodies is out. We were so hard run for airs, that I fear it will not be so popular as the others. Ever your own, Tom. V [No. 263.] To his Mother. Thursday night, 1813. My dearest Mother, I am just returned from the great and grand Pubhc Dinner at Ashbourne, where I assure you they did me high honour, drank my health with three times tliree, and, after the speech I made in acknowledgment, shouted most vociferously. It is really very flattering to meet with such- respect in one's neighbourhood : a place was reserved for me next to the president, the chief magistrate of the place. Barbara has been to all the festivities, and enjoyed them very much. We have slept the two nights past at Mr. Belcher's, the clergyman's, there. There was a general dinner this evening of all the young girls and lads of Ashbourne, in the principal street : it was a very gay scene ; but I am quite tired : so good night, dearest mother. Ever your own, Tom. END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. London : Spottiswoodes and Shaw, New-street- Squiire. i ..■^ :^ ^fi. -^6^ .^^w - 2»> ,^3 /j> ^1^: UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on tjie last date stamped below. a- teee id-ure Form L9-Series 444 ^>-rm '^:si> ,->->*'a*'->>> JTu J^£> ? 2r >^1^. UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY i^'"r i^'O^l AA 000 382 010 7 ilsfi* >^^ w^ ^" ►^,^ iBavv^ u>. ^ >i2 Eid^WJM^j 'j":i^' ^«^^^>^.^ i 'i