"My dear Moore,"'When Rogers' must not see the enclosed, which I send for your perusal. I am ready to fix any day you like for our visit. Was not Sheridan good upon the whole? The 'Poulterer' was the first and best.[70]"Ever yours," &c.
"My dear Moore,
"'When Rogers' must not see the enclosed, which I send for your perusal. I am ready to fix any day you like for our visit. Was not Sheridan good upon the whole? The 'Poulterer' was the first and best.[70]
"Ever yours," &c.
1."When T * * this damn'd nonsense sent,(I hope I am not violent),Nor men nor gods knew what he meant.2."And since not ev'n our Rogers' praiseTo common sense his thoughts could raise—Whywouldthey let him print his lays?3.* * * *4.* * * *5."To me, divine Apollo, grant—O!Hermilda's first and second canto,I'm fitting up a new portmanteau;6."And thus to furnish decent lining,My own and others' bays I'm twining—So gentle T * *, throw me thine in."
1.
"When T * * this damn'd nonsense sent,(I hope I am not violent),Nor men nor gods knew what he meant.
2.
"And since not ev'n our Rogers' praiseTo common sense his thoughts could raise—Whywouldthey let him print his lays?
3.
* * * *
4.
* * * *
5.
"To me, divine Apollo, grant—O!Hermilda's first and second canto,I'm fitting up a new portmanteau;
6.
"And thus to furnish decent lining,My own and others' bays I'm twining—So gentle T * *, throw me thine in."
On the same day I received from him the following additional scraps. The lines in italics are from the eulogy that provoked his waggish comments.
"TO ——
1."'I lay my branch of laurel down.'"Thou 'lay thy branch of laurel down!"Why, what thou'st stole is not enow;And, were it lawfully thine own,Does Rogers want it most, or thou?Keep to thyself thy wither'd bough,Or send it back to Dr. Donne—Were justice done to both, I trow,He'd have but little, and thou—none.2."'Then thus to form Apollo's crown."A crown! why, twist it how you will,Thy chaplet must be foolscap still.When next you visit Delphi's town,Enquire amongst your fellow-lodgers,They'll tell you Phoebus gave his crown,Some years before your birth, to Rogers.3."'Let every other bring his own.'"When coals to Newcastle are carried,And owls sent to Athens as wonders,From his spouse when the * *'s unmarried,Or Liverpool weeps o'er his blunders;When Tories and Whigs cease to quarrel,When C * *'s wife has an heir,Then Rogers shall ask us for laurel,And thou shalt have plenty to spare."
1.
"'I lay my branch of laurel down.'
"Thou 'lay thy branch of laurel down!"Why, what thou'st stole is not enow;And, were it lawfully thine own,Does Rogers want it most, or thou?Keep to thyself thy wither'd bough,Or send it back to Dr. Donne—Were justice done to both, I trow,He'd have but little, and thou—none.
2.
"'Then thus to form Apollo's crown.
"A crown! why, twist it how you will,Thy chaplet must be foolscap still.When next you visit Delphi's town,Enquire amongst your fellow-lodgers,They'll tell you Phoebus gave his crown,Some years before your birth, to Rogers.
3.
"'Let every other bring his own.'
"When coals to Newcastle are carried,And owls sent to Athens as wonders,From his spouse when the * *'s unmarried,Or Liverpool weeps o'er his blunders;When Tories and Whigs cease to quarrel,When C * *'s wife has an heir,Then Rogers shall ask us for laurel,And thou shalt have plenty to spare."
The mention which he makes of Sheridan in thenote just cited affords a fit opportunity of producing, from one of his Journals, some particulars which he has noted down respecting this extraordinary man, for whose talents he entertained the most unbounded admiration,—rating him, in natural powers, far above all his great political contemporaries.
"In society I have met Sheridan frequently: he was superb! He had a sort of liking for me, and never attacked me, at least to my face, and he did every body else—high names, and wits, and orators, some of them poets also. I have seen him cut up Whitbread, quiz Madame de Staël, annihilate Colman, and do little less by some others (whose names, as friends, I set not down) of good fame and ability.
"The last time I met him was, I think, at Sir Gilbert Heathcote's, where he was as quick as ever—no, it was not the last time; the last time was at Douglas Kinnaird's.
"I have met him in all places and parties,—at Whitehall with the Melbournes, at the Marquis of Tavistock's, at Robins's the auctioneer's, at Sir Humphrey Davy's, at Sam Rogers's,—in short, in most kinds of company, and always found him very convivial and delightful.
"I have seen Sheridan weep two or three times. It may be that he was maudlin; but this only renders it more impressive, for who would see
"From Marlborough's eyes the tears of dotage flow,And Swift expire a driveller and a show?
"From Marlborough's eyes the tears of dotage flow,And Swift expire a driveller and a show?
Once I saw him cry at Robins's the auctioneer's,after a splendid dinner, full of great names and high spirits. I had the honour of sitting next to Sheridan. The occasion of his tears was some observation or other upon the subject of the sturdiness of the Whigs in resisting office and keeping to their principles: Sheridan turned round:—'Sir, it is easy for my Lord G. or Earl G. or Marquis B. or Lord H. with thousands upon thousands a year, some of it eitherpresentlyderived, orinheritedin sinecure or acquisitions from the public money, to boast of their patriotism and keep aloof from temptation; but they do not know from what temptation those have kept aloof who had equal pride, at least equal talents, and not unequal passions, and nevertheless knew not in the course of their lives what it was to have a shilling of their own.' And in saying this he wept.
"I have more than once heard him say, 'that he never had a shilling of his own.' To be sure, he contrived to extract a good many of other people's.
"In 1815, I had occasion to visit my lawyer in Chancery Lane, he was with Sheridan. After mutual greetings, &c., Sheridan retired first. Before recurring to my own business, I could not help enquiringthatof Sheridan. 'Oh,' replied the attorney, 'the usual thing! to stave off an action from his wine-merchant, my client.'—'Well,' said I, 'and what do you mean to do?'—'Nothing at all for the present,' said he: 'would you have us proceed against old Sherry? what would be the use of it?' and here he began laughing, and going over Sheridan's good gifts of conversation.
"Now, from personal experience, I can vouch that my attorney is by no means the tenderest of men, or particularly accessible to any kind of impression out of the statute or record; and yet Sheridan, in half an hour, had found the way to soften and seduce him in such a manner, that I almost think he would have thrown his client (an honest man, with all the laws, and some justice, on his side) out of the window, had he come in at the moment.
"Such was Sheridan! he could soften an attorney! There has been nothing like it since the days of Orpheus.
"One day I saw him take up his own 'Monody on Garrick.' He lighted upon the Dedication to the Dowager Lady * *. On seeing it, he flew into a rage, and exclaimed, 'that it must be a forgery, that he had never dedicated any thing of his to such a d——d canting,' &c. &c. &c—and so went on for half an hour abusing his own dedication, or at least the object of it. If all writers were equally sincere, it would be ludicrous.
"He told me that, on the night of the grand success of his School for Scandal, he was knocked down and put into the watch-house for making a row in the street, and being found intoxicated by the watchmen.
"When dying, he was requested to undergo 'an operation.' He replied, that he had already submitted to two, which were enough for one man's lifetime. Being asked what they were, he answered, 'having his hair cut, and sitting for his picture.'
"I have met George Colman occasionally, andthought him extremely pleasant and convivial. Sheridan's humour, or rather wit, was always saturnine, and sometimes savage; he never laughed, (at least thatIsaw, and I watched him,) but Colman did. If I had tochoose, and could not have both at a time, I should say, 'Let me begin the evening with Sheridan, and finish it with Colman.' Sheridan for dinner, Colman for supper; Sheridan for claret or port, but Colman for every thing, from the madeira and champagne at dinner, the claret with alayerofportbetween the glasses, up to the punch of the night, and down to the grog, or gin and water, of daybreak;—all these I have threaded with both the same. Sheridan was a grenadier company of life-guards, but Colman a whole regiment—oflight infantry, to be sure, but still a regiment."
It was at this time that Lord Byron became acquainted (and, I regret to have to add, partly through my means) with Mr. Leigh Hunt, the editor of a well-known weekly journal, the Examiner. This gentleman I had myself formed an acquaintance with in the year 1811, and, in common with a large portion of the public, entertained a sincere admiration of his talents and courage as a journalist. The interest I took in him personally had been recently much increased by the manly spirit, which he had displayed throughout a prosecution instituted against himself and his brother, for a libel that had appeared in their paper on the Prince Regent, and in consequence of which they were both sentenced to imprisonment for two years.It will be recollected that there existed among the Whig party, at this period, a strong feeling of indignation at the late defection from themselves and their principles of the illustrious personage who had been so long looked up to as the friend and patron of both. Being myself, at the time, warmly—perhaps intemperately—under the influence of this feeling, I regarded the fate of Mr. Hunt with more than common interest, and, immediately on my arrival in town, paid him a visit in his prison. On mentioning the circumstance, soon after, to Lord Byron, and describing my surprise at the sort of luxurious comforts with which I had found the "wit in the dungeon" surrounded,—his trellised flower-garden without, and his books, busts, pictures, and piano-forte within,—the noble poet, whose political view of the case coincided entirely with my own, expressed a strong wish to pay a similar tribute of respect to Mr. Hunt, and accordingly, a day or two after, we proceeded for that purpose to the prison. The introduction which then took place was soon followed by a request from Mr. Hunt that we would dine with him; and the noble poet having good-naturedly accepted the invitation, Horsemonger Lane gaol had, in the month of June, 1813, the honour of receiving Lord Byron, as a guest, within its walls.
On the morning of our first visit to the journalist, I received from Lord Byron the following lines written, it will be perceived, the night before:—
"May 19. 1813."Oh you, who in all names can tickle the town,Anacreon, Tom Little, Tom Moore, or Tom Brown,—For hang me if I know of which you may most brag,Your Quarto two-pounds, or your Twopenny Post Bag;* * * *But now to my letter—to yours 'tis an answer—To-morrow be with me, as soon as you can, sir,All ready and dress'd for proceeding to spunge on(According to compact) the wit in the dungeon—Pray Phoebus at length our political maliceMay not get us lodgings within the same palace!I suppose that to-night you're engaged with some codgers,And for Sotheby's Blues have deserted Sam Rogers;And I, though with cold I have nearly my death got,Must put on my breeches, and wait on the Heathcote.But to-morrow at four, we will both play the Scurra,And you'll be Catullus, the R——t Mamurra."Dear M.—having got thus far, I am interrupted by * * * *. 10 o'clock."Half-past 11. * * * * is gone. I must dress for Lady Heathcote's.—Addio."
"May 19. 1813.
"Oh you, who in all names can tickle the town,Anacreon, Tom Little, Tom Moore, or Tom Brown,—For hang me if I know of which you may most brag,Your Quarto two-pounds, or your Twopenny Post Bag;* * * *But now to my letter—to yours 'tis an answer—To-morrow be with me, as soon as you can, sir,All ready and dress'd for proceeding to spunge on(According to compact) the wit in the dungeon—Pray Phoebus at length our political maliceMay not get us lodgings within the same palace!I suppose that to-night you're engaged with some codgers,And for Sotheby's Blues have deserted Sam Rogers;And I, though with cold I have nearly my death got,Must put on my breeches, and wait on the Heathcote.But to-morrow at four, we will both play the Scurra,And you'll be Catullus, the R——t Mamurra.
"Oh you, who in all names can tickle the town,Anacreon, Tom Little, Tom Moore, or Tom Brown,—For hang me if I know of which you may most brag,Your Quarto two-pounds, or your Twopenny Post Bag;* * * *But now to my letter—to yours 'tis an answer—To-morrow be with me, as soon as you can, sir,All ready and dress'd for proceeding to spunge on(According to compact) the wit in the dungeon—Pray Phoebus at length our political maliceMay not get us lodgings within the same palace!I suppose that to-night you're engaged with some codgers,And for Sotheby's Blues have deserted Sam Rogers;And I, though with cold I have nearly my death got,Must put on my breeches, and wait on the Heathcote.But to-morrow at four, we will both play the Scurra,And you'll be Catullus, the R——t Mamurra.
"Dear M.—having got thus far, I am interrupted by * * * *. 10 o'clock.
"Half-past 11. * * * * is gone. I must dress for Lady Heathcote's.—Addio."
Our day in the prison was, if not agreeable, at least novel and odd. I had, for Lord Byron's sake, stipulated with our host beforehand, that the party should be, as much as possible, confined to ourselves; and, as far as regarded dinner, my wishes had been attended to;—there being present, besides a member or two of Mr. Hunt's own family, no other stranger, that I can recollect, but Mr. Mitchell, the ingenious translator of Aristophanes. Soon after dinner, however, there dropped in some of our host's literary friends, who, being utterstrangers to Lord Byron and myself, rather disturbed the ease into which we were all settling. Among these, I remember, was Mr. John Scott,—the writer, afterwards, of some severe attacks on Lord Byron; and it is painful to think that, among the persons then assembled round the poet, there should have beenoneso soon to step forth the assailant of his living fame, whileanother, less manful, was to reserve the cool venom for his grave.
On the 2d of June, in presenting a petition to the House of Lords, he made his third and last appearance as an orator, in that assembly. In his way home from the House that day, he called, I remember, at my lodgings, and found me dressing in a very great hurry for dinner. He was, I recollect, in a state of most humorous exaltation after his display, and, while I hastily went on with my task in the dressing-room, continued to walk up and down the adjoining chamber, spouting forth for me, in a sort of mock heroic voice, detached sentences of the speech he had just been delivering. "I told them," he said, "that it was a most flagrant violation of the Constitution—that, if such things were permitted, there was an end of English freedom, and that ——"—"But what was this dreadful grievance?" I asked, interrupting him in his eloquence.—"The grievance?" he repeated, pausing as if to consider—"Oh, that I forget."[71]It is impossible, of course, to convey an idea of the dramatic humour with which he gave effect to thesewords; but his look and manner on such occasions were irresistibly comic; and it was, indeed, rather in such turns of fun and oddity, than in any more elaborate exhibition of wit, that the pleasantry of his conversation consisted.
Though it is evident that, after the brilliant success of Childe Harold, he had ceased to think of Parliament as an arena of ambition, yet, as a field for observation, we may take for granted it was not unstudied by him. To a mind of such quick and various views, every place and pursuit presented some aspect of interest; and whether in the ball-room, the boxing-school, or the senate, all must have been, by genius like his, turned to profit. The following are a few of the recollections and impressions which I find recorded by himself of his short parliamentary career:—
"I have never heard any one who fulfilled my ideal of an orator. Grattan would have been near it, but for his harlequin delivery. Pitt I never heard. Fox but once, and then he struck me as a debater, which to me seems as different from an orator as an improvisatore, or a versifier, from a poet. Grey is great, but it is not oratory. Canning is sometimes very like one. Windham I did not admire, though all the world did; it seemed sad sophistry. Whitbread was the Demosthenes of bad taste and vulgar vehemence, but strong, and English. Holland is impressive from sense and sincerity. Lord Lansdowne good, but still a debater only. Grenville I like vastly, if he would prune his speeches down to an hour's delivery. Burdett is sweet and silvery as Belial himself, and I think the greatest favourite in Pandemonium; at least I always heard the country gentlemen and the ministerial devilry praise his speechesupstairs, and run down from Bellamy's when he was upon his legs. I heard Bob Milnes make hissecondspeech; it made no impression. I like Ward—studied, but keen, and sometimes eloquent. Peel, my school and form fellow (we sat within two of each other), strange to say, I have never heard, though I often wished to do so; but from what I remember of him at Harrow, heis, orshouldbe, among the best of them. Now I donotadmire Mr. Wilberforce's speaking; it is nothing but a flow of words—'words, words, alone.'
"I doubt greatly if the English have any eloquence, properly so called; and am inclined to think that the Irishhada great deal, and that the Frenchwillhave, and have had in Mirabeau. Lord Chatham and Burke are the nearest approaches to orators in England. I don't know what Erskine may have been at the bar, but in the House I wish him at the bar once more. Lauderdale is shrill, and Scotch, and acute.
"But amongst all these, good, bad, and indifferent, I never heard the speech which was not too long for the auditors, and not very intelligible, except here and there. The whole thing is a grand deception, and as tedious and tiresome as may be to those who must be often present. I heard Sheridan only once, and that briefly, but I liked his voice, his manner, and his wit: and he is theonly one of them I ever wished to hear at greater length.
"The impression of Parliament upon me was, that its members are not formidable asspeakers, but very much so as anaudience; because in so numerous a body there may be little eloquence, (after all, there were buttwothorough orators in all antiquity, and I suspect stillfewerin modern times,) but there must be a leaven of thought and good sense sufficient to make themknowwhat is right, though they can't express it nobly.
"Horne Tooke and Roscoe both are said to have declared that they left Parliament with a higher opinion of its aggregate integrity and abilities than that with which they entered it. The general amount of both in most Parliaments is probably about the same, as also the number ofspeakersand their talent. I exceptorators, of course, because they are things of ages, and not of septennial or triennial re-unions. Neither House ever struck me with more awe or respect than the same number of Turks in a divan, or of Methodists in a barn, would have done. Whatever diffidence or nervousness I felt (and I felt both, in a great degree) arose from the number rather than the quality of the assemblage, and the thought rather of thepublic withoutthan the persons within,—knowing (as all know) that Cicero himself, and probably the Messiah, could never have altered the vote of a single lord of the bedchamber, or bishop. I thoughtourHouse dull, but the other animating enough upon great days.
"I have heard that when Grattan made his first speech in the English Commons, it was for some minutes doubtful whether to laugh at or cheer him. Thedébûtof his predecessor, Flood, had been a complete failure, under nearly similar circumstances. But when the ministerial part of our senators had watched Pitt (their thermometer) for the cue, and saw him nod repeatedly his stately nod of approbation, they took the hint from their huntsman, and broke out into the most rapturous cheers. Grattan's speech, indeed, deserved them; it was achef-d'oeuvre. I did not hearthatspeech of his (being then at Harrow), but heard most of his others on the same question—also that on the war of 1815. I differed from his opinions on the latter question, but coincided in the general admiration of his eloquence.
"When I met old Courtenay, the orator, at Rogers's, the poet's, in 1811-12, I was much taken with the portly remains of his fine figure, and the still acute quickness of his conversation. It washewho silenced Flood in the English House by a crushing reply to a hastydébûtof the rival of Grattan in Ireland. I asked Courtenay (for I like to trace motives) if he had not some personal provocation; for the acrimony of his answer seemed to me, as I had read it, to involve it. Courtenay said 'he had; that, when in Ireland (being an Irishman), at the bar of the Irish House of Commons, Flood had made a personal and unfair attack uponhimself, who, not being a member of that House,could not defend himself, and that some years afterwards the opportunity of retort offering in the English Parliament, he could not resist it.' He certainly repaid Flood with interest, for Flood never made any figure, and only a speech or two afterwards, in the English House of Commons. I must except, however, his speech on Reform in 1790, which Fox called 'the best he ever heard upon that subject.'"
For some time he had entertained thoughts of going again abroad; and it appeared, indeed, to be a sort of relief to him, whenever he felt melancholy or harassed, to turn to the freedom and solitude of a life of travel as his resource. During the depression of spirits which he laboured under, while printing Childe Harold, "he would frequently," says Mr. Dallas, "talk of selling Newstead, and of going to reside at Naxos, in the Grecian Archipelago,—to adopt the eastern costume and customs, and to pass his time in studying the Oriental languages and literature." The excitement of the triumph that soon after ensued, and the success which, in other pursuits besides those of literature, attended him, again diverted his thoughts from these migratory projects. But the roving fit soon returned; and we have seen, from one of his letters to Mr. William Bankes, that he looked forward to finding himself, in the course of this spring, among the mountains of his beloved Greece once more. For a time, this plan was exchanged for the more social project of accompanying his friends, thefamily of Lord Oxford, to Sicily; and it was while engaged in his preparatives for this expedition that the annexed letters were written.
LETTER 121. TO MR. MURRAY.
"Maidenhead, June 13. 1813."* * * I have read the 'Strictures,' which are just enough, and not grossly abusive, in very fair couplets. There is a note against Massinger near the end, and one cannot quarrel with one's company, at any rate. The author detects some incongruous figures in a passage of English Bards, page 23., but which edition I do not know. In thesolecopy in your possession—I mean thefifthedition—you may make these alterations, that I may profit (though a little too late) by his remarks:—For 'hellishinstinct,' substitute 'brutalinstinct;' 'harpies' alter to 'felons;' and for 'blood-hounds' write 'hell-hounds.'[72]These be 'very bitter words,by my troth,' and the alterations not much sweeter; but as I shall not publish the thing, they can do no harm, but are a satisfaction to me in the way of amendment. The passage is only twelve lines."You do not answer me about H.'s book; I want to write to him, and not to say any thing unpleasing. If you direct to Post Office, Portsmouth, tillcalledfor, I will send and receive your letter. You never told me of the forthcoming critique on Columbus, which is nottoofair; and I do not think justice quite done to the 'Pleasures,' which surely entitle the author to a higher rank than that assigned him in the Quarterly. But I must not cavil at the decisions of theinvisible infallibles; and the article is very well written. The general horror of 'fragments' makes me tremulous for 'The Giaour;' but you would publish it—I presume, by this time, to your repentance. But as I consented, whatever be its fate, I won't now quarrel with you, even though I detect it in my pastry; but I shall not open a pie without apprehension for some weeks."The books which may be marked G.O. I will carry out. Do you know Clarke's Naufragia? I am told that he asserts thefirstvolume of Robinson Crusoe was written by the first Lord Oxford, when in the Tower, and given by him to Defoe; if true, it is a curious anecdote. Have you got back Lord Brooke's MS.? and what does Heber say of it? Write to me at Portsmouth. Ever yours, &c."N."
"Maidenhead, June 13. 1813.
"* * * I have read the 'Strictures,' which are just enough, and not grossly abusive, in very fair couplets. There is a note against Massinger near the end, and one cannot quarrel with one's company, at any rate. The author detects some incongruous figures in a passage of English Bards, page 23., but which edition I do not know. In thesolecopy in your possession—I mean thefifthedition—you may make these alterations, that I may profit (though a little too late) by his remarks:—For 'hellishinstinct,' substitute 'brutalinstinct;' 'harpies' alter to 'felons;' and for 'blood-hounds' write 'hell-hounds.'[72]These be 'very bitter words,by my troth,' and the alterations not much sweeter; but as I shall not publish the thing, they can do no harm, but are a satisfaction to me in the way of amendment. The passage is only twelve lines.
"You do not answer me about H.'s book; I want to write to him, and not to say any thing unpleasing. If you direct to Post Office, Portsmouth, tillcalledfor, I will send and receive your letter. You never told me of the forthcoming critique on Columbus, which is nottoofair; and I do not think justice quite done to the 'Pleasures,' which surely entitle the author to a higher rank than that assigned him in the Quarterly. But I must not cavil at the decisions of theinvisible infallibles; and the article is very well written. The general horror of 'fragments' makes me tremulous for 'The Giaour;' but you would publish it—I presume, by this time, to your repentance. But as I consented, whatever be its fate, I won't now quarrel with you, even though I detect it in my pastry; but I shall not open a pie without apprehension for some weeks.
"The books which may be marked G.O. I will carry out. Do you know Clarke's Naufragia? I am told that he asserts thefirstvolume of Robinson Crusoe was written by the first Lord Oxford, when in the Tower, and given by him to Defoe; if true, it is a curious anecdote. Have you got back Lord Brooke's MS.? and what does Heber say of it? Write to me at Portsmouth. Ever yours, &c.
"N."
TO MR. MURRAY.
"June 18. 1813."Dear Sir,"Will you forward the enclosed answer to the kindest letter I ever received in my life, my sense of which I can neither express to Mr. Gifford himself nor to any one else? Ever yours,"N."
"June 18. 1813.
"Dear Sir,
"Will you forward the enclosed answer to the kindest letter I ever received in my life, my sense of which I can neither express to Mr. Gifford himself nor to any one else? Ever yours,
"N."
LETTER 122. TO W. GIFFORD, ESQ.
"June 18. 1813."My dear Sir,"I feel greatly at a loss how to write to you at all—still more to thank you as I ought. If you knew the veneration with which I have ever regarded you, long before I had the most distant prospect of becoming your acquaintance, literary or personal, my embarrassment would not surprise you."Any suggestion of yours, even were it conveyed in the less tender shape of the text of the Baviad, or a Monk Mason note in Massinger, would have been obeyed; I should have endeavoured to improve myself by your censure: judge then if I should be less willing to profit by your kindness. It is not for me to bandy compliments with my elders and my betters: I receive your approbation with gratitude, and will not return my brass for your gold by expressing more fully those sentimentsof admiration, which, however sincere, would, I know, be unwelcome."To your advice on religious topics, I shall equally attend. Perhaps the best way will be by avoiding them altogether. The already published objectionable passages have been much commented upon, but certainly have been rather strongly interpreted. I am no bigot to infidelity, and did not expect that, because I doubted the immortality of man, I should be charged with denying the existence of a God. It was the comparative insignificance of ourselves andour world, when placed in comparison with the mighty whole, of which it is an atom, that first led me to imagine that our pretensions to eternity might be over-rated."This, and being early disgusted with a Calvinistic Scotch school, where I was cudgelled to church for the first ten years of my life, afflicted me with this malady; for, after all, it is, I believe, a disease of the mind as much as other kinds of hypochondria."[73]
"June 18. 1813.
"My dear Sir,
"I feel greatly at a loss how to write to you at all—still more to thank you as I ought. If you knew the veneration with which I have ever regarded you, long before I had the most distant prospect of becoming your acquaintance, literary or personal, my embarrassment would not surprise you.
"Any suggestion of yours, even were it conveyed in the less tender shape of the text of the Baviad, or a Monk Mason note in Massinger, would have been obeyed; I should have endeavoured to improve myself by your censure: judge then if I should be less willing to profit by your kindness. It is not for me to bandy compliments with my elders and my betters: I receive your approbation with gratitude, and will not return my brass for your gold by expressing more fully those sentimentsof admiration, which, however sincere, would, I know, be unwelcome.
"To your advice on religious topics, I shall equally attend. Perhaps the best way will be by avoiding them altogether. The already published objectionable passages have been much commented upon, but certainly have been rather strongly interpreted. I am no bigot to infidelity, and did not expect that, because I doubted the immortality of man, I should be charged with denying the existence of a God. It was the comparative insignificance of ourselves andour world, when placed in comparison with the mighty whole, of which it is an atom, that first led me to imagine that our pretensions to eternity might be over-rated.
"This, and being early disgusted with a Calvinistic Scotch school, where I was cudgelled to church for the first ten years of my life, afflicted me with this malady; for, after all, it is, I believe, a disease of the mind as much as other kinds of hypochondria."[73]
LETTER 123. TO MR. MOORE.
"June 22. 1813."Yesterday I dined in company with '* *, the Epicene,' whose politics are sadly changed. She is for the Lord of Israel and the Lord of Liverpool—a vile antithesis of a Methodist and a Tory—talks of nothing but devotion and the ministry, and, I presume, expects that God and the government will help her to a pension."Murray, the αναξ of publishers, the Anac of stationers, has a design upon you in the paper line. He wants you to become the staple and stipendiary editor of a periodical work. What say you? Will you be bound, like 'Kit Smart, to write for ninety-nine years in the Universal Visiter?' Seriously he talks of hundreds a year, and—though I hate prating of the beggarly elements—his proposal may be to your honour and profit, and, I am very sure, will be to our pleasure."I don't know what to say about 'friendship.' I never was in friendship but once, in my nineteenth year, and then it gave me as much trouble as love. I am afraid, as Whitbread's sire said to the king, when he wanted to knight him, that I am 'too old:' but, nevertheless, no one wishes you more friends, fame, and felicity, than Yours," &c.
"June 22. 1813.
"Yesterday I dined in company with '* *, the Epicene,' whose politics are sadly changed. She is for the Lord of Israel and the Lord of Liverpool—a vile antithesis of a Methodist and a Tory—talks of nothing but devotion and the ministry, and, I presume, expects that God and the government will help her to a pension.
"Murray, the αναξ of publishers, the Anac of stationers, has a design upon you in the paper line. He wants you to become the staple and stipendiary editor of a periodical work. What say you? Will you be bound, like 'Kit Smart, to write for ninety-nine years in the Universal Visiter?' Seriously he talks of hundreds a year, and—though I hate prating of the beggarly elements—his proposal may be to your honour and profit, and, I am very sure, will be to our pleasure.
"I don't know what to say about 'friendship.' I never was in friendship but once, in my nineteenth year, and then it gave me as much trouble as love. I am afraid, as Whitbread's sire said to the king, when he wanted to knight him, that I am 'too old:' but, nevertheless, no one wishes you more friends, fame, and felicity, than Yours," &c.
Having relinquished his design of accompanying the Oxfords to Sicily, he again thought of the East, as will be seen by the following letters, and proceeded so far in his preparations for the voyage as to purchase of Love, the jeweller, of Old Bond Street, about a dozen snuff-boxes, as presents for some of his old Turkish acquaintances.
LETTER 124. TO MR. MOORE.
"4. Benedictine Street, St. James's, July 8. 1813."I presume by your silence that I have blunderedinto something noxious in my reply to your letter, for the which I beg leave to send beforehand a sweeping apology, which you may apply to any, or all, parts of that unfortunate epistle. If I err in my conjecture, I expect the like from you, in putting our correspondence so long in quarantine. God he knows what I have said; but he also knows (if he is not as indifferent to mortals as thenonchalantdeities of Lucretius), that you are the last person I want to offend. So, if I have,—why the devil don't you say it at once, and expectorate your spleen?"Rogers is out of town with Madame de Staël, who hath published an Essay against Suicide, which, I presume, will make somebody shoot himself;—as a sermon by Blinkensop, inproofof Christianity, sent a hitherto most orthodox acquaintance of mine out of a chapel of ease a perfect atheist. Have you found or founded a residence yet? and have you begun or finished a poem? If you won't tell me whatIhave done, pray say what you have done, or left undone, yourself. I am still in equipment for voyaging, and anxious to hear from, or of, youbeforeI go, which anxiety you should remove more readily, as you think I sha'n't cogitate about you afterwards. I shall give the lie to that calumny by fifty foreign letters, particularly from any place where the plague is rife,—without a drop of vinegar or a whiff of sulphur to save you from infection."The Oxfords have sailed almost a fortnight, and my sister is in town, which is a great comfort—for, never having been much together, we are naturally more attached to each other. I presume the illuminations have conflagrated to Derby (or wherever you are) by this time. We are just recovering from tumult and train oil, and transparent fripperies, and all the noise and nonsense of victory. Drury Lane had a largeM.W., which some thought was Marshal Wellington; others, that it might be translated into Manager Whitbread; while the ladies of the vicinity of the saloon conceived the last letter to be complimentary to themselves. I leave this to the commentators to illustrate. If you don't answer this, I sha'n't say whatyoudeserve, but I thinkIdeserve a reply. Do you conceive there is no Post-Bag but the Twopenny? Sunburn me, if you are not too bad."
"4. Benedictine Street, St. James's, July 8. 1813.
"I presume by your silence that I have blunderedinto something noxious in my reply to your letter, for the which I beg leave to send beforehand a sweeping apology, which you may apply to any, or all, parts of that unfortunate epistle. If I err in my conjecture, I expect the like from you, in putting our correspondence so long in quarantine. God he knows what I have said; but he also knows (if he is not as indifferent to mortals as thenonchalantdeities of Lucretius), that you are the last person I want to offend. So, if I have,—why the devil don't you say it at once, and expectorate your spleen?
"Rogers is out of town with Madame de Staël, who hath published an Essay against Suicide, which, I presume, will make somebody shoot himself;—as a sermon by Blinkensop, inproofof Christianity, sent a hitherto most orthodox acquaintance of mine out of a chapel of ease a perfect atheist. Have you found or founded a residence yet? and have you begun or finished a poem? If you won't tell me whatIhave done, pray say what you have done, or left undone, yourself. I am still in equipment for voyaging, and anxious to hear from, or of, youbeforeI go, which anxiety you should remove more readily, as you think I sha'n't cogitate about you afterwards. I shall give the lie to that calumny by fifty foreign letters, particularly from any place where the plague is rife,—without a drop of vinegar or a whiff of sulphur to save you from infection.
"The Oxfords have sailed almost a fortnight, and my sister is in town, which is a great comfort—for, never having been much together, we are naturally more attached to each other. I presume the illuminations have conflagrated to Derby (or wherever you are) by this time. We are just recovering from tumult and train oil, and transparent fripperies, and all the noise and nonsense of victory. Drury Lane had a largeM.W., which some thought was Marshal Wellington; others, that it might be translated into Manager Whitbread; while the ladies of the vicinity of the saloon conceived the last letter to be complimentary to themselves. I leave this to the commentators to illustrate. If you don't answer this, I sha'n't say whatyoudeserve, but I thinkIdeserve a reply. Do you conceive there is no Post-Bag but the Twopenny? Sunburn me, if you are not too bad."
LETTER 125. TO MR. MOORE.
"July 13. 1813."Your letter set me at ease; for I really thought (as I hear of your susceptibility) that I had said—I know not what—but something I should have been very sorry for, had it, or I, offended you;—though I don't see how a man with a beautiful wife—his ownchildren,—quiet—fame—competency and friends, (I will vouch for a thousand, which is more than I will for a unit in my own behalf,) can be offended with any thing."Do you know, Moore, I am amazingly inclined—remember I say butinclined—to be seriously enamoured with Lady A.F.—but this * * has ruined all my prospects. However, you know her; is sheclever, or sensible, or good-tempered? eitherwoulddo—I scratch out thewill. I don't ask as to her beauty—that I see; but my circumstances are mending, and were not my other prospects blackening, I would take a wife, and that should be the woman, had I a chance. I do not yet know her much, but better than I did."I want to get away, but find difficulty in compassing a passage in a ship of war. They had better let me go; if I cannot, patriotism is the word—'nay, an' they'll mouth, I'll rant as well as they.' Now, what are you doing?—writing, we all hope, for our own sakes. Remember you must edite my posthumous works, with a Life of the Author, for which I will send you Confessions, dated, 'Lazaretto,' Smyrna, Malta, or Palermo—one can die any where."There is to be a thing on Tuesday ycleped a national fête. The Regent and * * * are to be there, and every body else, who has shillings enough for what was once a guinea. Vauxhall is the scene—there are six tickets issued for the modest women, and it is supposed there will be three to spare. The passports for the lax are beyond my arithmetic."P.S.—The Staël last night attacked me most furiously—said that I had 'no right to make love—that I had used * * barbarously—that I had no feeling, and was totally insensible tola belle passion, andhadbeen all my life.' I am very glad to hear it, but did not know it before. Let me hear from you anon."
"July 13. 1813.
"Your letter set me at ease; for I really thought (as I hear of your susceptibility) that I had said—I know not what—but something I should have been very sorry for, had it, or I, offended you;—though I don't see how a man with a beautiful wife—his ownchildren,—quiet—fame—competency and friends, (I will vouch for a thousand, which is more than I will for a unit in my own behalf,) can be offended with any thing.
"Do you know, Moore, I am amazingly inclined—remember I say butinclined—to be seriously enamoured with Lady A.F.—but this * * has ruined all my prospects. However, you know her; is sheclever, or sensible, or good-tempered? eitherwoulddo—I scratch out thewill. I don't ask as to her beauty—that I see; but my circumstances are mending, and were not my other prospects blackening, I would take a wife, and that should be the woman, had I a chance. I do not yet know her much, but better than I did.
"I want to get away, but find difficulty in compassing a passage in a ship of war. They had better let me go; if I cannot, patriotism is the word—'nay, an' they'll mouth, I'll rant as well as they.' Now, what are you doing?—writing, we all hope, for our own sakes. Remember you must edite my posthumous works, with a Life of the Author, for which I will send you Confessions, dated, 'Lazaretto,' Smyrna, Malta, or Palermo—one can die any where.
"There is to be a thing on Tuesday ycleped a national fête. The Regent and * * * are to be there, and every body else, who has shillings enough for what was once a guinea. Vauxhall is the scene—there are six tickets issued for the modest women, and it is supposed there will be three to spare. The passports for the lax are beyond my arithmetic.
"P.S.—The Staël last night attacked me most furiously—said that I had 'no right to make love—that I had used * * barbarously—that I had no feeling, and was totally insensible tola belle passion, andhadbeen all my life.' I am very glad to hear it, but did not know it before. Let me hear from you anon."
LETTER 126. TO MR. MOORE.
"July 25. 1813."I am not well versed enough in the ways of single woman to make much matrimonial progress."I have been dining like the dragon of Wantley for this last week. My head aches with the vintage of various cellars, and my brains are muddled as their dregs. I met your friends the D * * s:—she sung one of your best songs so well, that, but for the appearance of affectation, I could have cried; he reminds me of Hunt, but handsomer, and more musical in soul, perhaps. I wish to God he may conquer his horrible anomalous complaint. The upper part of her face is beautiful, and she seems much attached to her husband. He is right, nevertheless, in leaving this nauseous town. The first winter would infallibly destroy her complexion,—and the second, very probably, every thing else."I must tell you a story. M * * (of indifferent memory) was dining out the other day, and complaining of the P——e's coldness to his old wassailers. D * * (a learned Jew) bored him with questions—why this? and why that? 'Why did the P——e act thus?'—'Why, sir, on account of Lord * *, who ought to be ashamed of himself.'—'And why ought Lord * * to be ashamed of himself?'—'Because the P——e, sir, * * * * * * * *.'—'And why, sir, did the P——e cutyou?'—' Because, G——d d——mme, sir, I stuck to my principles.'—'Andwhydid you stick to your principles?'"Is not this last question the best that was ever put, when you consider to whom? It nearly killed M * *. Perhaps you may think it stupid, but, as Goldsmith said about the peas, it was a very good joke when I heard it—as I did from an ear-witness—and is only spoilt in my narration."The season has closed with a dandy ball;—but I have dinners with the Harrowbys, Rogers, and Frere and Mackintosh, where I shall drink your health in a silent bumper, and regret your absence till 'too much canaries' wash away my memory, or render it superfluous by a vision of you at the opposite side of the table. Canning has disbanded his party by a speech from his * * * *—the true throne of a Tory. Conceive his turning them off in a formal harangue, and bidding them think for themselves. 'I have led my ragamuffins where they are well peppered. There are but three of the 150 left alive, and they are for theTowns-end(query, might not Falstaff mean the Bow Street officer? I dare say Malone's posthumous edition will have it so) for life.'"Since I wrote last, I have been into the country. I journeyed by night—no incident, or accident, but an alarm on the part of my valet on the outside, who, in crossing Epping Forest, actually, I believe, flung down his purse before a mile-stone, with a glow-worm in the second figure of number XIX—mistaking it for a footpad and dark lantern. I can only attribute his fears to a pair of new pistols wherewith I had armed him; and he thought it necessary to display his vigilance by calling out to me whenever we passed any thing—no matter whether moving or stationary. Conceive ten miles, with a tremor every furlong. I have scribbled you a fearfully long letter. This sheet must be blank, and is merely a wrapper, to preclude the tabellarians of the post from peeping. You once complained of mynotwriting;—I will 'heap coals of fire upon your head' bynotcomplaining of yournotreading. Ever, my dear Moore, your'n (isn't that the Staffordshire termination?)"BYRON."
"July 25. 1813.
"I am not well versed enough in the ways of single woman to make much matrimonial progress.
"I have been dining like the dragon of Wantley for this last week. My head aches with the vintage of various cellars, and my brains are muddled as their dregs. I met your friends the D * * s:—she sung one of your best songs so well, that, but for the appearance of affectation, I could have cried; he reminds me of Hunt, but handsomer, and more musical in soul, perhaps. I wish to God he may conquer his horrible anomalous complaint. The upper part of her face is beautiful, and she seems much attached to her husband. He is right, nevertheless, in leaving this nauseous town. The first winter would infallibly destroy her complexion,—and the second, very probably, every thing else.
"I must tell you a story. M * * (of indifferent memory) was dining out the other day, and complaining of the P——e's coldness to his old wassailers. D * * (a learned Jew) bored him with questions—why this? and why that? 'Why did the P——e act thus?'—'Why, sir, on account of Lord * *, who ought to be ashamed of himself.'—'And why ought Lord * * to be ashamed of himself?'—'Because the P——e, sir, * * * * * * * *.'—'And why, sir, did the P——e cutyou?'—' Because, G——d d——mme, sir, I stuck to my principles.'—'Andwhydid you stick to your principles?'
"Is not this last question the best that was ever put, when you consider to whom? It nearly killed M * *. Perhaps you may think it stupid, but, as Goldsmith said about the peas, it was a very good joke when I heard it—as I did from an ear-witness—and is only spoilt in my narration.
"The season has closed with a dandy ball;—but I have dinners with the Harrowbys, Rogers, and Frere and Mackintosh, where I shall drink your health in a silent bumper, and regret your absence till 'too much canaries' wash away my memory, or render it superfluous by a vision of you at the opposite side of the table. Canning has disbanded his party by a speech from his * * * *—the true throne of a Tory. Conceive his turning them off in a formal harangue, and bidding them think for themselves. 'I have led my ragamuffins where they are well peppered. There are but three of the 150 left alive, and they are for theTowns-end(query, might not Falstaff mean the Bow Street officer? I dare say Malone's posthumous edition will have it so) for life.'
"Since I wrote last, I have been into the country. I journeyed by night—no incident, or accident, but an alarm on the part of my valet on the outside, who, in crossing Epping Forest, actually, I believe, flung down his purse before a mile-stone, with a glow-worm in the second figure of number XIX—mistaking it for a footpad and dark lantern. I can only attribute his fears to a pair of new pistols wherewith I had armed him; and he thought it necessary to display his vigilance by calling out to me whenever we passed any thing—no matter whether moving or stationary. Conceive ten miles, with a tremor every furlong. I have scribbled you a fearfully long letter. This sheet must be blank, and is merely a wrapper, to preclude the tabellarians of the post from peeping. You once complained of mynotwriting;—I will 'heap coals of fire upon your head' bynotcomplaining of yournotreading. Ever, my dear Moore, your'n (isn't that the Staffordshire termination?)
"BYRON."
LETTER 127. TO MR. MOORE.
"July 27. 1813."When you next imitate the style of 'Tacitus,' pray add, 'de moribus Germanorum;'—this last was a piece of barbarous silence, and could only be taken from theWoods, and, as such, I attribute it entirely to your sylvan sequestration at Mayfield Cottage. You will find, on casting up accounts, that you are my debtor by several sheets and one epistle. I shall bring my action;—if you don't discharge, expect to hear from my attorney. I have forwarded your letter to Ruggiero; but don't make a postman of me again, for fear I should be tempted to violate your sanctity of wax or wafer."Believe me ever yoursindignantly,"BN."
"July 27. 1813.
"When you next imitate the style of 'Tacitus,' pray add, 'de moribus Germanorum;'—this last was a piece of barbarous silence, and could only be taken from theWoods, and, as such, I attribute it entirely to your sylvan sequestration at Mayfield Cottage. You will find, on casting up accounts, that you are my debtor by several sheets and one epistle. I shall bring my action;—if you don't discharge, expect to hear from my attorney. I have forwarded your letter to Ruggiero; but don't make a postman of me again, for fear I should be tempted to violate your sanctity of wax or wafer.
"Believe me ever yoursindignantly,
"BN."
LETTER 128. TO MR. MOORE.
"July 28. 1813."Can't you be satisfied with the pangs of my jealousy of Rogers, without actually making me the pander of your epistolary intrigue? This is the second letter you have enclosed to my address, notwithstanding a miraculous long answer, and a subsequent short one or two of your own. If you do so again, I can't tell to what pitch my fury may soar. I shall send you verse or arsenic, as likely as any thing,—four thousand couplets on sheets beyond the privilege of franking; that privilege, sir, of which you take an undue advantage over a too susceptible senator, by forwarding your lucubrations to every one but himself. I won't frankfromyou, orforyou, ortoyou—may I be curst if I do, unless you mend your manners. I disown you—I disclaim you—and by all the powers of Eulogy, I will write a panegyric upon you—or dedicate a quarto—if you don't make me ample amends."P.S.—I am in training to dine with Sheridan and Rogers this evening. I have a little spite against R., and will shed his 'Clary wines pottle-deep.' This is nearly my ultimate or penultimate letter; for I am quite equipped, and only wait a passage. Perhaps I may wait a few weeks for Sligo, but not if I can help it."
"July 28. 1813.
"Can't you be satisfied with the pangs of my jealousy of Rogers, without actually making me the pander of your epistolary intrigue? This is the second letter you have enclosed to my address, notwithstanding a miraculous long answer, and a subsequent short one or two of your own. If you do so again, I can't tell to what pitch my fury may soar. I shall send you verse or arsenic, as likely as any thing,—four thousand couplets on sheets beyond the privilege of franking; that privilege, sir, of which you take an undue advantage over a too susceptible senator, by forwarding your lucubrations to every one but himself. I won't frankfromyou, orforyou, ortoyou—may I be curst if I do, unless you mend your manners. I disown you—I disclaim you—and by all the powers of Eulogy, I will write a panegyric upon you—or dedicate a quarto—if you don't make me ample amends.
"P.S.—I am in training to dine with Sheridan and Rogers this evening. I have a little spite against R., and will shed his 'Clary wines pottle-deep.' This is nearly my ultimate or penultimate letter; for I am quite equipped, and only wait a passage. Perhaps I may wait a few weeks for Sligo, but not if I can help it."
He had, with the intention of going to Greece, applied to Mr. Croker, the Secretary of the Admiralty, to procure him a passage on board a king's ship to the Mediterranean; and, at the request of this gentleman, Captain Carlton, of the Boyne, who was just then ordered to reinforce Sir Edward Pellew, consented to receive Lord Byron into his cabin for the voyage. To the letter announcing this offer, the following is the reply.
LETTER 129. TO MR. CROKER.
"Bt. Str., August 2. 1813."Dear Sir,"I was honoured with your unexpected[74]and very obliging letter, when on the point of leaving London, which prevented me from acknowledging my obligation as quickly as I felt it sincerely. I am endeavouring all in my power to be ready before Saturday—and even if I should not succeed, I can only blame my own tardiness, which will not the less enhance the benefit I have lost. I have only to add my hope of forgiveness for all my trespasses on your time and patience, and with my best wishes for your public and private welfare, I have the honour to be, most truly, your obliged and most obedient servant,"BYRON."
"Bt. Str., August 2. 1813.
"Dear Sir,
"I was honoured with your unexpected[74]and very obliging letter, when on the point of leaving London, which prevented me from acknowledging my obligation as quickly as I felt it sincerely. I am endeavouring all in my power to be ready before Saturday—and even if I should not succeed, I can only blame my own tardiness, which will not the less enhance the benefit I have lost. I have only to add my hope of forgiveness for all my trespasses on your time and patience, and with my best wishes for your public and private welfare, I have the honour to be, most truly, your obliged and most obedient servant,
"BYRON."
So early as the autumn of this year, a fifth edition of The Giaour was required; and again his fancy teemed with fresh materials for its pages. The verses commencing "The browsing camels' bells are tinkling," and the four pages that follow the line, "Yes, love indeed is light from heaven," were all added at this time. Nor had the overflowings of his mind even yet ceased, as I find in the poem, as it exists at present, still further additions,—and, among them, those four brilliant lines,—
"She was a form of life and light,That, seen, became a part of sight,And rose, where'er I turn'd mine eye,The Morning-star of memory!"
"She was a form of life and light,That, seen, became a part of sight,And rose, where'er I turn'd mine eye,The Morning-star of memory!"
The following notes and letters to Mr. Murray, during these outpourings, will show how irresistible was the impulse under which he vented his thoughts.
"If you send more proofs, I shall never finish this infernal story—'Ecce signum'—thirty-three more lines enclosed! to the utter discomfiture of the printer, and, I fear, not to your advantage."B."
"If you send more proofs, I shall never finish this infernal story—'Ecce signum'—thirty-three more lines enclosed! to the utter discomfiture of the printer, and, I fear, not to your advantage.
"B."
"Half-past two in the morning, Aug. 10. 1813."Dear Sir,"Pray suspend theproofs, for I ambittenagain, and havequantitiesfor other parts of the bravura."Yours ever, B."P.S.—You shall have them in the course of the day."
"Half-past two in the morning, Aug. 10. 1813.
"Dear Sir,
"Pray suspend theproofs, for I ambittenagain, and havequantitiesfor other parts of the bravura.
"Yours ever, B.
"P.S.—You shall have them in the course of the day."
LETTER 130. TO MR. MURRAY.
"August 26. 1813."I have looked over and corrected one proof, but not so carefully (God knows if you can read it through, but I can't) as to preclude your eye from discovering someomission of mine orcommission of your printer. If you have patience, look it over. Do you know any body who can stop—I meanpoint—commas, and so forth? for I am, I hear, a sad hand at your punctuation. I have, but with some difficulty,notadded any more to this snake of a poem, which has been lengthening its rattles every month. It is now fearfully long, being more than a Canto and a half of Childe Harold, which contains but 882 lines per book, with all late additions inclusive."The last lines Hodgson likes. It is not often he does, and when he don't he tells me with great energy, and I fret and alter. I have thrown them in to soften the ferocity of our Infidel, and, for a dying man, have given him a good deal to say for himself."I was quite sorry to hear you say you stayed in town on my account, and I hope sincerely you did not mean so superfluous a piece of politeness."Oursixcritiques!—they would have made half a Quarterly by themselves; but this is the age of criticism."
"August 26. 1813.
"I have looked over and corrected one proof, but not so carefully (God knows if you can read it through, but I can't) as to preclude your eye from discovering someomission of mine orcommission of your printer. If you have patience, look it over. Do you know any body who can stop—I meanpoint—commas, and so forth? for I am, I hear, a sad hand at your punctuation. I have, but with some difficulty,notadded any more to this snake of a poem, which has been lengthening its rattles every month. It is now fearfully long, being more than a Canto and a half of Childe Harold, which contains but 882 lines per book, with all late additions inclusive.
"The last lines Hodgson likes. It is not often he does, and when he don't he tells me with great energy, and I fret and alter. I have thrown them in to soften the ferocity of our Infidel, and, for a dying man, have given him a good deal to say for himself.
"I was quite sorry to hear you say you stayed in town on my account, and I hope sincerely you did not mean so superfluous a piece of politeness.
"Oursixcritiques!—they would have made half a Quarterly by themselves; but this is the age of criticism."
The following refer apparently to a still later edition.
LETTER 131. TO MR. MURRAY.