Memoirs, journal, and correspondence of Thomas Moore

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librars of tift Stfaintts Stfioal

THE GIFT OF
. GEORGE W. BERRIAN

OF SORTH ANDOVER

• •T'y*s-

MEMOIRS,

JOURNAL, AND CORRESPONDENCE

or

THOMAS MOORE.

VOL. I.

CTIm Anthor** AiaignMS herfil>jr ^t% Nolle* that th^ r«Hienre to theniielVM tb« lifht of

TniMlailoii or this Work.)

^

■**^0WM

<5>

MEMOIRS,

JOURNAL, AND CORRESPONDENCE

OP

THOMAS MOORE.

KDITKD BT

THE BIGHT HONOURABLE

LORD JOHN RUSSELL, M.V.

SiiiraC adhuc amor.** — HoR.

VOI^ I.

LONDON:
LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, AND LONGMANS;

AND

LITTLE, BROWN. & CO., BOSTON, U.S.

18.j3.

' I ..

(lo'^c)

*^* The Copyright of this work is protected in France by Regis-
tration at Paris, purgoaiit to the Convention for the establishment of
International Copyright signed at Paris, 3rd November, 1851.

ST- '-I Tit!

PREFACE.

In the will of the late Thomas Moore^ written in 1828^
there occurs the following passage : —

^* I also confide to mj yalued friend Lord John Buseell, (having
obtained his kind promise to undertake this service for me,) the task of
looking over whatever papers, letters, or journals I maj leave behind
me, for the purpose of forming jfrom them some kind of publication,
whether in the shape of memoirs or otherwise, which may afford the
means of making some provision for mj wife and family.**

Llany years have elapsed since this paper was 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 himself, 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
yarious correspondents, but especially to his mother.

I have arranged these materials in the foUowing order :
I have placed first the Memoir of his Life. I have then

VI TREFACE.

given upwards of four hundred lettent^ extended over tho
period from IBOO to I8I89 with respect to which there i«
neither memcnr nor journal With these letters there itf
inserted a short account of his duel with Mr. Jeffrey,
written by himself. I have next proceeded with 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-k>ading the work with letters and anecdotes
not worth preserving, and the danger of losing the indi-
vidual likeness by softening or obliterating 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 diiily
current of his life, and the lesser traits of his character. I
know at least, that while I have often been wearied by tlie
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
which profuse details give to the story. Indeed it may be
observed, that the greatest masters of fiction introduce
small circumstances and homely remarks in oi*der to give
life and probability to stories, which otherwise would

•*-

PKEFACE,

VII

Btrike 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 Robinson Crusoe might have retained in his me-
mory; and Swift makes lus Gulliver carefully minute
In his measurements of Lilliput houses and Brobdignag
com. This attention to little circumstances gives a hue
of reality even to these wondrous and fanciful fictions,
and makes Don Quixote, Robinson Crusoe, and Gulliver
better known to us than Homer, Virgil, and Shakspeare.
But if tlus 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.

Returning to biography, I will 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 possClBS 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 acqusuntance with our language,
increases the nimibcr of readers. In the new world

Till PREFACE.

millions are added cveiy 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 w^ill neither be subject to conquest by a superior
state like the Greeks, nor exposed to the invasion of barba-
rians like the Bomans. To them the English will ever be
a living language, and among them the names of Byron,
Scott, Moore, CampbeU, Rogers, 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 thing 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 psun by the publication of his papers. The world
can well bear a great deal of scandal of the times of Charles
the Second, which the gossiping pen of Pepys 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 threail, and lives along the line.*'
In performing the task I have undertaken, I had two

PREFACE,

IX

considerations to guide me: — In tlic first place^ it was plain
that Mr. Moore intended to bequeath out of the materials of
his Memoir^ 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 cluldrcn, and the death of his
sister Ellen 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 Mr. Moore's
papers, on condition of my undertaking to be the editor,
such a smn, 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 the 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 exhibit society, in his view of it, in
its best aspect It is thus with a good portrait-painter. Not

X PREFACE.

only would Sir Joshua Reynolds paint better that which
was before him 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 CJinvass, the wisest look of the
judge, the liveliest expression of the wit, and the most
brilliant glances 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, his popularity as an author,
his success in society, his attachment as a friend, Iiis 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 this work.

The most enga^ng as well as the most powerful passions
of Moore were his domestic affections. It was truly and
sagaciously observed of him 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 ;

ptmat

PREFACE.

Xi

and this is a trait in your character tliat 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 ehe 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 retsdn to his old age the accents and obedient
spirit of infancy. In the same stream, and from the same
source, flowed the waters of true, deep, touching, unclinng-
ing aflTection 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 dtuly and hourly happiness he enjoyed were sure to
inspire. Thus, whatever amusement he might £nd 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 aflections.

• Miss Godfrey, Oct. 2. 1806.

Xll 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 ofEce in the Court
of Admiralty at Bermuda, which produced the only great
pecuniary embarrassment from which he ever suffered.
When Lord IMoira 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 patropage
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 tmder such a system
as the present"*

Within a few days of giving this answer, he waj9 obliged
to write to Mr. Power, the publisher of his music, for an

* Letters to Ladj Donegal and Mr. Power, 1812.

PREFACE. Xiil

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 lus 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
Xiord 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. Kightly did Mr.
Moore understand the dignity of the laureL He never
would barter his freedom away for ^y favour from any
quarter. Although the wolf of poverty often prowled round
his door, he never abandoned his humble dwelling 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 ApoIliniB infula, texit/*

But •never did he make his wife and family a pretext for
political shabbiness ; never did he imagine that to leave a

XIV PREFACE.

disgraced name as an inheritance to his children was his
duty as a father. Neither did he^ like 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 throi^h 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
beliind him.

It b 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 obliged 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 cheerful-
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,

** AVhen equal chances arbitrate th' event,
Mj miiul inclines to hope rather than fear ;**

PREFACE. XV

and when the certaiuty of a niUfortune 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 would) have
damped my gaiety with them ; but, I don't know how it is,
as long as my conscience is sound, and that suiTering 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 his 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

XYl PREFACE.

love^ and affections^ and admiration being much Iceener
than his dislikes^ and antipathies, and averdions, 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 Lolla Rookh (sajs Bjron), but not with sufficient
attention jet, for I ride about, and lounge, and ponder, and two ot
three other things, so that my reading is very desultory, and not sc
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* ii
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, muaie^
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
Bng ! There is nothing Moore may not do, if he will but seriondy
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-tonguc<l.' lie has but one fault — and that one I daily
regret — he is not here."

Walter Scott, in his " Diary," gives the following just
account of the differences and resemblances between him-
self and Moore :

" Nov. 22. 1 825. Moore. I saw Moore (for the first time, I may
say, thb season). We had, indeed, met in public twenty years ikffCk

PREFACE.

XYU

Tliere is a miuily 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 ; Grod 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
18 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
•ort of r^[ard ; so I was curious to see what there could be in common
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 aur, 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 mot pour rire^ and so do I. It was a pity that
nothing save the total destruction of Byron*s memoirs would satisfy
hifl executors; but there was a reason — Premai nox aUa» It would
be a delightful addition to life, if Thomas Moore had a cottage within
two miles of me. We went to the theatre together, and the house
bttng luckily a good one, received Thomas Moore with rapture. I
eoold have hugged them, for it paid back the debt of the kind recep*
tion I met with in Ireland.** *

YOL. I.

* Life of Scott, vol. vi. p. 128.

a

• ■•

XVIU PK£FACE.

I have placed in the notes some other testimoniea 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 Rebellion, 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 rightly 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 1 if Mrs,
Merry were to know that 1 However, I dined with the
Consul-general yesterday, which makes the balance even.
I feel awkward with Hudson now; he has perhaps bad
reason to confirm him in his politics, and God knows I
see every reason to change mine."

* Tbe Irish Quarterly Review, No. VI. See Note A.

tma^^^ itt i • I

PREFACE. XIX

Although the view which he took of America and her
institutions was afterwards referred to by him as a mere
boyish impression, yet a similar alteration took place in his
views regarding his native country. Although nothing
could be warmer or more constant than his Jove for
Ireland, he never could look with complacency on the
attempts at revolution by force, or even on the organised
flotation of opinion winch from time to time ^turbed
the peace of his unhappy coimtry. Of his own feelings
he speaks thus in one of the dedications of the Irish
Melodies : — '^ To those who identify nationality with
treason, and who see, in every eifort for Ireland, a system
of hostility towards England ; to those too who, 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 course 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,
an4 sense enough to perceive all the danger of not
redressing them, may yet think that allusions in the least
degree 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

.aAj — a t

XX PREFACE.

society a work of this nature could ever have been in-
tended to circulate. It looks much liigher 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 the 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 with 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 Ixish
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

^ Irittli Melodies, No. YL Dedication to Lady Donegal.

PBEFACE.

xxi

fiighed, that he might not sully the white robe of his
independence^ or 'file his soul for any object of ambition or
of yanity.

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 Boman 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 10th, 1815.

a 3

^ y.- . '. T'- ••"•' "-— ^

XXll PREFACE.

in Wardour Street. His answer to a person who tried to
convert him to Protestantism was nearly in these terms ;
'^ I was bom 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, his longing for life and immortality, and his
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
Grod, Bessy; lean upon Grod." That God is love was the
summary of his belief; that a man should love his neigh-
bour as himself, 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 Bums, 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 nimibers 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

PREFACE.

XXlll

fancy and the feeling of which the spring was so abundant,
and the waters so clear, the chiarejreschey t 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
cyf 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 Bookh is the work next to the Melodies and
Sacred Songs in proof of Moorc^s title as a poet. It is a
poem rich with the most brilliant creations ; a work such
as Pope always wished 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 much 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. ^Vhether he has gained
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 reli^ous enterprize of the Crusaders,

and has restrained his own genius from wandering into the

a4

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 which properly belong to the epic poem.*

Moore has, however, taken a different course, and relin-
quishing nil 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 have sub-
jected themselves to some disadvantage by thus building
out of " airy nothing," 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 his
superstructure more easily ndsed. It is difficult to feel
for Azim and Hafed the interest which 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
Bword. It is best that every poet should attempt that

* See Note B. at the end of the Preface.

PUEFACE.

XXV

kind of poetry in which he is most likely to succeed. The
Greeks used to say of Archilochus, " If Archilochus had
written epic, Archilochus would have been equal 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
Jefirey expressed it, men would as little think 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 Kookh,
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 difiScult to give a preference to one of the poems
which compose the volume over the rest. Crabbe pre-
ferred the Veiled Prophet ; Byron the Fire- Worshippers.
Of these, the Veiled 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 Moore with the religion and the
country most dear to his heart.

XXVI PREFACE.

It may be remarked that the eatastrophe 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 exquiinte
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 would have
produced. Sweetness too much prolonged, tenderness not
varied with the sterner and more deadly passions are a
food too nulky 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 his 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 witli 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 rivids<. The strength of passion, the command of uer-

m^S^ii^Sm^

PREFACE. ZXVll

▼0U8 expression^ the power of searching the heart, the
philosophy of life which his poems disphty, are wonderfuL
In the last of these attributes only Wordsworth has
equalled or surpassed him. In all the rest he has no
equal The personification of Grreece, the Sunset at
Athens, the lines on Solitude, those on the Gladiator, on
tiie Ocean, on the Battle of Waterloo, are matchless in
oonception and in execution.

Scott is the other wonder of this age. Picturesque,
interesting, and bard-Uke as are his narrative poems, the
pathos, humour, description, character, and, aboye all,
the marvellous fertility displayed in the novels, show far
greater power : a whole region of the territory of Imagi-
nation is occupied by this extraordinary man alone and
unapproachable. Lope de Yega and many others have
shown wonderful rapidity in composition, but their works,
with very few exceptions, have died almost as soon as they
were bom. 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
b there likely to be any race of men so fastidious as to
require anything piurer, 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 his
poetry is not so powerful or so passionate as that of Byron

.^ Kmrrv^ , -Ti-^^

li^mg^^'Imib^J^BIUKStrSSlU^^S*

• ••

ZXVlll 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 (yuel gergo) which
Alfieri declares it to be, but becomes a soft and tuneable
tongue, conveying sentiments the most tender and the
most spirited, the 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 akims along the main."

Nothing can less well express rapid motion than this
verse. The word "unbending" sounds, as it means, stiflf,
resistiijg, &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 light 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 1
The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love !

How sweet to rove

Through Moma*s grove,
When the drowsy world is dreaming, love ! ^

Or,

'* Oh t had we some bright little isle of our own.
In a blue summer ocean far off and alone,
Where a leaf never dies in the sUll-blooming bowers,
And the bee banquets on through a whole year of flowers ;

PREFACE. XXIX

Where tbc sun loves to pause

With 80 fond a delay,
That the night only draws
A thin veil o'er the day ;
Where simply to feel that we breathe, that we live,
Is worth the best joy that life elsewhere can give.**

Again,

** Bat 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 illam'd all the volume, her Wellington's name."

And in the address to the Harp of his Country,

** I was but as the wind, passing heedlessly over,
And all the wild sweetness I wak*d was tby own.'*

It is the merit of these passages that they do not merely
represent a sound, but they express by sound — scenery,
action, and feeling. Lalla Rookh abounds with such pas-
sages. I know 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 LuttreU, 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
playfiilness : they are too well known to require further
notice.

Of Moore'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 with
interest. In the former of these works the history of

XXX PREFACE.

an extraordinary period ia sketched with great candour
and impartiality, however I inay differ from some of the
opinions of the author. The character and the fate of
Lord Edward Fitzgerald are made to touch the heart of
every Irish patriot. The " Memoirs of Captain Rock^
abound in wit : 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 ia
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 his 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 Lansdowne
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

rilEPACE. zxu

grew still more dim ; iiis memory failed still more ; yet
there never was a total extinction of that bright 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 dcatli 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 was in-
terred within the neighbouring churchyard of Bromham,
where the remains of two of his children had been de-
posited. The funeral was quite 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 himian 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*8 illusion given ;
The smiles of joy, the tears of woe.
Deceitful shine, deceitful flow :

There*8 nothing true but Heaven 1

** And false the light on glory*8 plume,
As fading hues of even ;
And Love, and Hope, and Beauty's bloom,
Are blossoms gathered for the tomb ;

There's nothing bright but Heaven I

** Poor wanderers of a stormy day.

From wave to wave we're driven.
And Fancy's flash and Reason's ray
Serve but to light our troubK^l way ;

There's nothing calm but Heaven I**

XXXll

NOTE A.

I HAVE extracted from the Irish Quarterly Review, No. VI.,
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*8 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 Grerald 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 :

"*ToMrs. * ♦ ♦

" * Monday morning, March Slst, 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 off, 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 I 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

mm

NOTES. XXXIU

shake hands with me, and to ask me '* How I did, Mr. Griffin,** and to
speak of ^ my fame.** My fame ! Tom Moore talk of my fame ! Ah,

the rogue ! he was humbugging, L , Fm afraid. He knew the soft

side of an author's heart, and, perhaps, he had pity on my long
melancholy-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
jou 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 Greorge, not poor real King Greorge, 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
BS it was done by squeezing it through a linen cloth ; an excellent
plan, particularly 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 ?
Fm 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, he is a
poety sir* We do all Mr. Moore*s work.** What ought I to have
done, L ? To have 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, afler 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 delightftd country ; such a
gentle shower as that through which he looked at Innisfallen — 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 silencey

VOL. I. b

XXXIV NOTES,

and wc wbispercd one another ; and my nerves thrilled as the wind
rustled in tlie creeping shrubs that f^aced the retreat of — Moore.

Oh, L 1 there's no use in talking, but I must be fine. I wonder I

ever stood it at all, and I an I^i^hman, too, and singing his songs since
I was the height of my knee — " The Veiled Prophet," »* Azim," "She
is for from the Land," ** Those Evening Bells." But the door opened,
and a young woman appeared. *^ Is Mr. Moore at home ? " ** PU 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 honcster language, and more to the purpose, 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 " Alps in the sunset ; " not handsome, perhaps,
but something in the whole cut of him that pleased me ; finished as an
actor, but without au actor's affectation ; easy as a gentleman, but
without some gentlemen's formality : in a word, as people laj when
they find their brains begin to run aground at the fog 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 sa 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 fielda, and
wished us a " good-bye," and left us to do as well as we could without
him?'"*

" Of his appearance and life in 1884, Willis gives the following sketdi ;

'<' June, 1884.
^ * 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

• Griffin's Life of Gerald Griffin, vol. i. p. 382,

■<A^t»SMB^mmmm6iA

NOTES. ZXXV

had seen of hiiii« but was surprised at the diminutiycness of his person.
He 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 Terj marked degree, and I should think no one could see Moore,
without conceiving a strong liking for him. As I was to meet him 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
court 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 he said something which,
from any one else, would have seemed peculiarly felicitous, but which
fen fix>m his lips as if his breath was not more spontaneous.

** ' Notlung but a short-hand report could retain the delicacy and
el^ance of Moore*s language, and memory itself cannot embody again
the kind of fitwt-work of imagery which was formed and melted on his
lips. His voice is soft or firm as the subject requires, but, perhaps,
the word gendemanfy describes it better than any other. It is upon a
natural key, but, if I may so phrase it, is Jused 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
difficult 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 shall find it difficult to describe. His hair,
which curied once all over it in long tendrils, unlike anybody else*s in
the world, and which, probably, suggested his soubriquet ot^Bacehug^
is diminished now to a few curls sprinkled with grey, and scattered in
a single ring above his ears. 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

nv

XXXTl 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 pencillinj^
about the comers ; 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 hidf 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
Chtuse'Cafiy 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 mnac 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 soul 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 chance 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
«* When 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*8 a health to thee, Tom Moore I** '•
* Willis*s Fencdlings by the Way, p. 861. ed. 1899.

NOTES. XXZVil

« *I remember,* writes Leigh Hunt, *it is one of my prison recol-
lections, when I was showing him and Lord Bjrron 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 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 Moore, 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 sure of present
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 b^an by talking of a duel. With me it conunenced
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 day, had he valued his
real fame as much as I did.

^ * Mr. Moore was lively, polite, bustlbg, full of amenities and acqui-
escences, into which he contrived to throw a sort of roughening of
cor^ality, Uke the crust of old port. It seemed a happiness to him to
say ^ yes.'* There was just enough of the Lrishman in him to flavour
his speech and manner. He was a little particular, perhaps, in his
ortho<ipy, but not more so than became a poet; and he appeared to me
the last man in the world to cut his country, even for the sake of hi^h
life. As to his person, all the world knows that he is as little of sta-
ture, u he is great in wit. It is said that an illustrious personage, in

b 8

• ••

XXXVUl NOTES.

a fit of plajfulness, once threatened to put him into a wino-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 Moaerr, Thomas Mooerr; I look
upon Mooerr as an active little man^ This is true. He reminds ns
(»f those active little great men who abound so remarkably in Claren*
don*s history. Like them, he would have made an excellent practical
])nrtisan, 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
])hrcnoIogist His eyes are as dark and fine, as you would wish to see
inider a set of vine-leaves : his mouth generous and good-humoured,
with 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 unrufi9ed 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 face, you can fancy as much. It was a recollection po'hapt,
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 Moore 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 chronologic^ 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
individuates 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 flute, when singing. In speaking, he is
emphatic in rolling the letter 22, perhaps out of a despair of being able
to get rid of the national peculiarity.'*

♦ Hunt's Byron and his Cotemporaries. Ed. 1828.

ir-n»

NOTES. XXXIX

** Moore deyoted his later years to the collection and revision of his
poetical works. It was whilst thus engaged that he wrote the follow-
ing statement of his own and Bums' services to the national music and
the naUonal 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 Bums, however untaught, was jet, in ear and feeling, a
musician, is clear from the skill with which he adapts his verse to the
structure and character of each different strain. Still more strikinglj
did he prove his fitness for this peculiar task, bj 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 tuttie, tattie" has been
elevated by him into that heroic strain, " Scots, wha 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 Bums, 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 giils 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
songs which bear the united names of those two sister muses, Mrs.
Arkwright* and the late Mrs. Hemans. 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, hath many branches ; and one of them

* Stephen Kemble's daughter, the composer of the music of Tenny-
son's ^* Queen of the May."

Xl NOTES.

^beautiful exceedingly** with bud, blossom, and fruit of balm and
brightness, round which is ever the murmur of bees and of birds,
hangs troilinglj along the mossy greensward when the air is calm, and
ever and anon, when blow the fitful breezes, it is uplifled in the sun-
shine, and glories wavingly alofl, 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 Bums 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 Bums in the midst of the
sources of Lyrical Poetry — when he was bom a Scottish peasant.
Now, Moore is an Irishman, and was bom 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 Bums never did — but then how many disadvantages has
he undergone, from which the Ayrshire Ploughman, in the bondage of
his poverty, was free I 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 Bums 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 Bums ; 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. L p. 272.

zli

NOTE B.

If Tm80 seldom has full jastice done him, it is because, in
comparison with the great Epic poets, he appears wanting in
grandeor. Armida, Erminia, and even Clorinda, the most
beautiful creations of his muse, belong to a less severe order of
poetrj than the Epic But let us compare bis Satan, or Pluto,
as he calls him, with the magnificent ** Arch-angel ruin'd " of
Hilton.

Cahto IV.

6.

# • # # •

• • # • #

** Siede Fluton nel mezzo, e con la destra
Sosticn lo scettro ravido e pesaute ;
N^ tanto scoglio in mar, n^ rupe alpestra,
N^ piii Calpe 8* innalza, e*l magno Atlante,
Ch* anzi lui non paresse un picciol colle ;
Si la gran fronte e le gran coma estolle.

7.

** Orrida maest^ nel fero aspetto

Terrore accresce, e piii superbo il rende :
Ro08^gian gli occhif e di veneno infetto,
Come infausta Cometa, il guardo splende ;
Gr involve il mento, e su V irsuto petto
Ispida e folta la gran barba scende ;
£ in guisa di vwagine profonda
S* apre la booca d* atro sangne inmionda.

-■n* -'. -■" . -atWKjji WJW '

xlii

NOTES.

8.

^ Qual i ftimi ralfiirei ed infiammati

Escon di Mongibello, e il puzzo, e 1 taono ;
Tal della fera bocca i neri fiati,
Tale il fetore, e le fayille Bono,** etc.

With the exception of the mountains and the cornet^ 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 tbe 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 gloss the Tuscan artist views
At evening from the top of Fiescl^,
Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands.
Rivers 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.

Ft*" Tin -asamam^

NOTES. zliii

Here all is great, and nothing is disgusting. Fresentlj our
terror at this giant spirit is mingled with respect for some moral
qualities still left ; for,

** NathleBM he so endur^dy till on the heach
Of that inflamed sea he stood, and call*d
His legions, angel forms, who laj entranced.
Thick as antumnal leaves that strew the brooks
In Yallombrosa, where th* Etrurian shades^
High OTerarch*d, embower ; or 8catter*d sedge
Afloat,*' &c.

Then, again, when thej 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 obserr*
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 appeared.
Less than Arch- angel ruin*d, and th* excess
Of glory obscured : 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. Darkened 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 daimUess courage, and considerate pride,
Waiting revenge : cruel his eye, but cast
Signs of remorse andpassionj to behold
The fellows of his crime, the followers ratheri

BOi

xliy NOTES.

(Far other once beheld in bliat) condenm'd
For ever now to have their lot in pain ;
MUlions of spirits for his fault amerc*d
Of heav V &c.

In these well-known and admirable lines, Milton lias por*
trajed a Spirit, wicked indeed and without compunction for
is crimes, but with a form still bright, and redeem'd from utter
abhorrence bj 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 k tout Tor de Yirgile." But this
is a foolish and unjust phrase. The metal of Tasso may be
silver as compared to Virgil's gold, l^ut 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

ov

THE FIRST VOLUME.

Fagt
Memoirs of Myself, begun many Years since, but nerer,

I fear, to be completed • - *i • - 1

Lbttebs, 1793^1806
Duel with Jeffbet

77

- 197

Lettebs» 1807—1818

- 215

MEMOIRS,
JOURNAL, AND CORRESPONDENCE

or

THOMAS MOORE.

MEMOIRS,
JOURNAL, AND CORRESPONDENCE

09

THOMAS MOORE.

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
nothing, 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 imcle,
Grarret Moore, was the only member of my father's family
with whom I was ever personally acquainted. When 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 were eager to advance
their claims to relationship with me ; and I was from time to
time haunted 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 was bom in
the town of Wexford, and whose maiden name was Codd,
I can speak more ftdly and satisfactorily; and my old
gouty grandfather, Tom Codd, who lived in the Com*

TOL. L B

k

2 MEMOIRS OF

market^ Wexford, is connected with some of mj earliest
remembrances. Besides being engaged in the provimon
trade, he must also, I think (from my recollection of the
machinery), have had something to do with weaving. But
though thus humble in his calling, he brought up a laige
family reputably, and was always, as I have heard, much
respected by his fellow townsmen.

It was some time in the year 1778, that Anastaoa, 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 him 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 little money
with my mother, he set up business in Aungier Street,
Na 12., at the comer of Little Longford Street; and in
that house, on the 28th of May, 1779, 1 was bom.

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 weakness 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 evidently felt we were

THOMAS MOOBE*

parting for the last time. For 00 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 mothers 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 where 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 drinking at public-houses, and was
hardly ever able to make his appearance in the school be
fore noon. He would then generally whip 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, likely 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 child ; 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 that there does
exist a registration of my birth, in the book for such purposes, be-
longing to Townsend Street Chapel, Dublin. See p. 76.

B 2

k

4 MEMOIBS OF

had just then appeared against Grattan^ reflecting seYerelj
upon his conduct on the question of simple RepeaL Tbia
short eclipse 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 peculiar
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 this 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 pool*
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 yisaU
to Miss Doddj when I used to pass with her generally three

THOMAS MOOEE.

whole days, and be made so much 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 with music fix>m — 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 cotmtry-house
of some friend of ours, whose name was, I think, Mac-
Clellan, and who, though with all such signs of wealth
about them, as a carriage, horses, coimtry-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 firom 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
Mahony, 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
woidd 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 8

k

6 MEMOIBS OF

intimate with ours, with whom I once or twice poflsed some
part of my holidays, 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
Dublin with my family, we 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 whole
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)
whether 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 his profession. So early as the year 1758, a boy had

THOMAS MOORE. 7

been entrusted to this gentleman's care, whom^ after a few
years' trial of his powers, he pronounced to be ^^ a most in-
corrigible dunce." This boy was no other than the after-
wards celebrated Bichard Brinsley Sheridan ; and so £Eur
from being ashamed of his mistake, my worthy school-
master had the good sense often to mention the dicimi-
stance, as an instance of the difficulty and rashness of
forming any judgment of the future capacity of children.

The diGumstance of my haying 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 miRtake : — ^' His talents," he is pleased
to say of me, ^' dawned 00 early, and so great attention was
paid to his educatimi by his tittor, Sheridan^ that," &c &c.

The turn toit 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 being singled
out by him on days of public examination, as one of his
most successful and popular exhibitors, — 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 little crab," said one of the
rival Cornelias, on an occasion of this 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 was bonu" This 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 MEMOIRS OF

been through his 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 hk tuition, a portrait hung
in his drawing-room. In the direction of those private
theatricals which 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 persancB himself;
and either the prologue or epilogue was generally furnished
by his pen. Among the most memorable of the theatricak
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 Bev. Dean Marley,
who was afterwards Bishop of Waterford, 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
Conolly ; and Captain Morris (I know not whether the
admirable song writer) was 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, when the masque of Comus was played
at Carton, his muse was associated with one glorious in
other walks than those of rhyme, — the prologue to the
piece being announced as " written by Mr. Whyte, and
the epilogue by the Rt Hon. Henry Grattan,"

THOMAS MOORE. 9

It has been remarked, and I think truly, that It would
be difficult to name any eminent pubUc man, who had not,
at 8<»ne time or other, tried his hand at verse ; and the
only signal exceptioii to this remark is said to have been
Mr. Pitt.

In addition to his private pnpik in the dilettante line
of theatricals, Mr. 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 Moore
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, delight, 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 walked 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 affected 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 coidd escape being made an actor, and my poor
mother, who, sangumely speculating on the speedy removal
of the Catholic 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 Kichard 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 with 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. Lefimu being, if I recollect right, indiqpooed,
the part of Jane Shore was played by Mr. Whyte's
daughter, a very handsome and well educated young per-
son, while I myself — at that time about eleven years of
age — recited the epilogue ; being kept up, as I well re-
member, to an hour so far beyond my usual bed-time, as
to be near falling asleep behind 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 cominemorate 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 Borrowea' Prirate Theatre,
Kildare Street

On Tuesday, March 16th, 1790,

Will be performed

the Tragedy of

JANE SHOBE:

Gloucester, Rev. Pbtbb Lefanu.

Lord Hastings, Counsellor Higginsoit,

etc. etc..

And Jane Shore, bj Miss Whttb.

An Occasional Pbologub, Mr. Snagg.

Epilogue, A Squeeze to St Paul's, Master Mooke.

To which will be added,

the Farce of

THE DEVIL TO PAY :

Jobson, Colonel Feehch,

etc. etc**

The commencement of my career in rhyming was so
very early as to be almost beyond the reach of memory.
But the first instance I can recal of any attempt of mine
at regular versides was on a subject which oddly enables
me to give the date with tolerable accuracy ; the theme of
my muse on this occasion haying been a certain toy very
faahionable 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
playitig 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 Gbbbh,
Went quizzing on, to show their shapes and graceful mien.**

I have been enabled to mark more certainly the date of
thb toy's reign from a circumstance mentioned to me by
I/ord Plunket concerning the Duke of Wellington, who.

12 MEMOIBS OF

at the time I am speaking of^ was one of the aid-de-camps
of the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland^ and in the year 1790,
according to Lord Plunket's account, must have been a
member of the Lish House of Conunons. " I remember,"
said Lord Plunket, ** being on a conmuttee 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 Lish-
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

lMMl^kMEM;U-)ta^i>«9d

THOMAS MOO&E. 13

them cold dinners^ and^ generally^ two or three friends^
80 that we had always a merry day of it.

Of one of those smnmers in particular I have a most
yiyid and agreeable recollection, for there were assembled
there at the same time a number of young people of our
own age, with whose families we were acquainted. Be-
rades our childish sports, we had likewise dawning within
OS all those vague anticipations of a mature 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 Byan played the part of Norah, and I was
the happy Patrick, — dressed, I recollect, in a volunteer
umform 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 days
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 Uttle adapted to me
as my regimentals. In describing the transition we were
now about to imdergo, from actors to mere school-boys, my
epilogue had the following lines : —

* About this time (1790) a general election took place, and Grattan
and Lord Henry Fitzgerald were chosen triumphantly to represent
the city of Dublin. On the day of their chairing, they passed our
house, 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 with 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 proud in consequence.

14 HEMOIBS or

^ Our Pantaloon that did so agM look,
Must now resume his youth, his task, his book.
Our Harlequin who skipped, leaped, danced, and died,
Must now stand trembling bj 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, woidd 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 full
suit of the true parti-coloured raiment But the utiiioet I
ever attained of this desire was the posBSflfdon 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 were
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, &r 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 childhood, 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.
Thou^ 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 I would have
thought no labour or difficulty too hard. As an instance
both of her anxiety about my studies and the willing
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 watchfiil 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

iA

16 MEMOIRS 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 which 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 having 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 Comeille,
is that of ** FhonnSte homme 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 oppomte
gallery, while every eye in the room was turned towards
her, and in a firm, clear tone (though 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 wrongs. The big boys were
obliged to descend from tlieir usurped elevation, while 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 imder the control of her strong, good sensQ,
as may be shown by a slight incident which now occurred
to me. 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

k

1793.J THOMAS MOORE. 17

at graj^c 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
pubUc characters ; and as I had, in my tiny way, acquired
some little celebrity by my recitations at school and else-
where> a strong wish was expressed by the editor that
there should be a drawing of me engraved for the worL
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 bom 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 I 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 was always

VOL. I.

18 MEMOIRS OF [£tat. la.

fond of society ), this talent of mine was frequently called
into play to enliven our tea-parties and suppers. In the
summer theatricals too> which I have already recorded^ my
singing of the songs of Patrick, in the Poor Soldier, —
particularly of the duet with Norah, into which I threw a
feeling far beyond my years, — was received with 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 father
to a public dinner in honour of Napper Tandy, where one
of the toasts, as well from its poetry as its politics, made
an indelible impression upon my mind, — ** May the breezes
of France blow our Irish oak into verdure 1** 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 wh<nn
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, oppbste to us, and was- a good

1792.] THOMAS MOOEE. 19

deal at our house. He belonged to the famous National
Guard, against whose assemblage (Dec. 9. 1792) a pro-
clamation was issued hj 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
unifonn a cap of liberty surmounting the Irish harp, in*
stead of a crown. This unfortunate man who, not long
after the time I am speaking of, fought a duel at Holyhead
with Major Burrow, the private secretary of the Kt 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, who 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, who was about the
same age as myself, and with whom I formed an intimacy
which lasted a good many years. My 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 the bar; and possessing
also some fortune by right of his wife, lived in a style not
only easy but el^ant ; having, besides his towa house in
York Street, a very handsome country 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 eon, 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

k

20 MB>10IBS OF [^TAT. U.

sensible and particular^ as was Mr. Burston in all respects^
should 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
Conmiittee ; — an opinion which at that time procured for
him very great popularity.

The large measure of Catholic enfranchisement which
passed in the year 1793, sweeping away, among various
other disqualifications, 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 profes^ng to
teach English himself, and indeed knowing little or no-
thing of any other language, Mr. Whyte kept always 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 uaher I
had been now for a year or two studying. It had been
for some time a matter of deliberation whether I ahoold
not be sent to a regular Latin school ; and Dr. Carres of
Copinger Lane was the one thought of for the purpose.
But there were advantages in keeping me still at Whyte's,
which my mother knew well how to appreciate. In the
first place, the person who had been for some time our
Latin usher, had — thanks to my mother's constant civilities
towards him, and perhaps my own quickness and teacbr
ableness — taken a strong fancy to me ; and not, only during
school-time^ but at oiu: own house ii: the evening, vrhert

.%a^« HI **

17934 THOMAS MOORE. 21

he was 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 was left free to advance as
fiist as my natural talent and application would carry me.
I was also enabled to attend at the same time to my
English studies with Whyte (far more fortunate, in this,
than the youths of public schools in England, whose 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 Mr. Why te'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 Und-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 sturdy '^ Old Donovan ;" and finding his pupil quite
as eager and ready at politics as at the clashes, he divided
the time we passed together pretty equally between both.
And though from the first I was naturally destined to be
of the line of politics which I have ever since pursued, —
being, if I may so say, bom a rebel^ — yet the strong

G 8

22 MEMOIBS OF L'Stat. 14.

hold which the feeling took bo early, both of my imagina-
tion and heart, I owe a good deal I think to those con-
yersations, 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
who, being herself very much in the poetical line, not
only encouraged but wrote answers to my young efiusions.
The name of Romeo (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 1 — not even Sir Lucius ©'Trigger's "Dalia"
was a more uninspiring object than my *^ Zalia" was. To
this lady, however, was my first printed composition
addressed in my own proper name, with the following
introductory epistle to the editor : —

To the Editor of the ^^Anthologta Hihemica.^

" Anngier 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— 8 M— BE.**

TO ZELIA,

ON HXB CHABOnTG THE AUTHOR WITH WBLTtTRQ TOO MUCH ON LOVB.

Then follow the verses, — and conclude thus : —

" When first she raised her simplest lays
In Cupid*s never-ceasing prabe,
The God a faithful promise gave,

That never should she feel Love*8 stings,
Never to burning passion be a slave.

But feel the purer joy thy jfriendship brings.**

179S.] THOUAS uooas. 23

The second copy of veraes is entitled " A Pastoral
Ballad," and though mere mock-birds' song, has some lines
not uomusical : —

" My gardens «re crowded with flowers,
My Tinea are all loaded with grapes ;
Nature q>ort« in my fountaiu and bowers.
And Bsiumes her moat beaatliiil ahapes.

" The shepherds admire mj lays,

When I pipe they all flock to the song ;
They deck me with laorels and bayi,
And list to me all the day long.

** Bat their lanrela and pruaea are vun,
They've no joy or delight for me now ;
For Celia despises the strain,

And that withers the wreath on my brow."

This DUgamne, the ** Anthol(^a Hibemica," — one of
the most respectable attempts at periodical literature that
have erer been Tentm^d upon in Ireland, — was set on
foot b; Afercier, the college bookseller, and carried on
for two years, when it died, as all such things die in that
coontry, for want of money and — of talent ; for the Irish
never uther fight or write well on their own soil. My
pride on seeing my own name in the first list of sub-
scribers to this publication, — " Master Thomas Moore," in
full, — was only surpassed by that of finding myself one
of its "esteemed contributors." It was in the pages of
this magaane for the months of January and February,
1793, that I first read, being then a school-boy, Rogers'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^ arc associated with every line of it in
my memory.

k

24 MEMOIRS OF [iExAT. 15.

Though I began my college course at the commence-
ment of the year 1795, I must have been entered, as I
have akeadj said, in the smnmer 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 happy and the most poetical
(for all was yet in fancy and in promise 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
port 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 feUow-commouer) about tlift
tame time with myselfl

--^»

i W ^II'*

1795.]

THOMAS MOOBE.

25

why, and cares not wherefore." Among the pieces played
by the Miss Burstons^ there was one of Haydn's first
mmple overtures^ and a sonata by him^ old-fashioned
enough^ beginning

These pieces, as well as a certain lesson of Nicolai's of the
same simple cast, I sometimes even to this 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, were two
persons, Wesley Doyle and the well-known Joe Kelly
(brother of Michael), whose musical talents were in their
several ways of the most agreeable kind. Doyle's father
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, who 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,
xnatcfa with the best. Oiu: small front and back dewing-

k

26 MEMOIBS OF L^TAT. 16.

roomSy 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," which 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 ^clat.

My eldest sister, Catherine, being at this 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 lodng 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 sum of
money, which, tc^ether with what my £Either gave for the
purpose, and whatever trifle was allowed in exchange for
the old harpsichord, made up the price of the new fnano-
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 HOOSE. 27

but I had resisted them all moet strcmgly, and, vhether
from ehyness or hopelesenees of Buccess, trou&f not be
taught ; nor was it till the piano-forte had been Bome time
in our posBession, that, taking a fancy voluntaril}' to the
task, I began to learn of mysolf

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 natuml 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 OUT hou«e was &r from spadous, the bed-room which
I occupied was but a comer 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 inmato
of our family, he and I elept together. After he lefl UB,
however, to board and lodge elsewhere, I had this little
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 myselfi of
Shenstone's at the Leasowes. Thinking it the grandest
thing in the world to be at the head of some literary insti-
tution, I oi^anised my two shop friends, Tom Ennis and
Johnny Delany, into a debating and literary society, of
which I constituted myself tiie president ; and our meet-
ingSy 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 which mine
was partitioned. When there was no company of an even-
ingy the two clerks always supped at the same time with the
£Eunily ; taking their bread and cheese^ and beer, while my
father 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 life, of a tumbler of whisky
pimch. 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 Uttle 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 his 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 annoimced 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 MOORE. 29

rim^ out of which he used to repeat the speeches of the
gallant Sarsfield with a true national relish. Those well-
known verses^ too, translated &om 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 Univerdty, 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 uds as these were natu-
rally a most tempting consideration, it was for a short time
deliberated in our family 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. My mother was a sincere and warm Catholic, and
even gave in to some of the old superstitions connected with
that fiiith, 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 sallies 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 [JEtAt; 16«

meals ; and it would be difEcult, 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 emigrS 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 teaching 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 Italian 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, conunitted me to the care of a
clergyman of the name of O'Halloran, who belonged to
Townshend Street Chapel, and bore a very high character.
Of this venerable priest, and his looks and manner, as he
sat listening 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-
fast, to perform this solemn ceremony —for solemn I then
certainly felt, — and a no less regular part of the morn-
ing's work was my breakfasting after the confession with
an old relation of my mother, Mrs. Devereux, the wife of
a West India ci^tain, who lived in a street off Townshend

•WBiMM

1796.] THOMAS MOOBE. 31

Street; and a most luxurious display of buttered toast,
eggs, beefsteak, &c. I had to regale me on those occasions.
To this 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 him 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 pcdnful and hu-
miliating. We are told that such pain and hmniliation 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 bigh 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 Boyal 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^ L 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 pitched his big wig to the deviL**

The &me of this song (however Burrowes himself and his

32 MEMOIRS OF [£tat. 16.

brother dominies might regret it) did him no harm^ of
course^ among the younger part of our college community
Having brought with me so much reputation from
Bchool; it was expected^ especially by my anxious motlier^
that I should distinguish myself equally at college ; and
in the examinations of the first year^ I didgsin. a premium^
and I believe a certificate. But here the brief career of
my college honours terminated. Afler some unavailing
efibrts (solely to please my anxious mother), and some
memento of mortification on finding myself vanquished by
competitors whom I knew to be dull fellows, ** intus et in
cute y^ 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
^lat roimd 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 Walker, who had the credit of
possessing more literary taste than most of his brotherhood,
was the examiner of our division. TVith a beating heart
I saw himj after having read the paper himself, take it to

mmmmmma'mmmmmtmmm^Jt-mmtmtmt^

1795.] THOMAS MOORE. 33

the table where the other examiners stood in conference,
and each of them I observed perused it in turn. He then
came over to the place where I sat, and, leaning across the
table, said to me in his peculiar methodistical tone, '^ Did
you write 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 should 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 third year of my couOrse, 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 proToit and senior fellows.
VOL. I. D

34 MEMOIRS OP [;Etat. 16.

accompany him to his cliambers, where, for an hour or two,
he pitted us against each other. The books for that perio<l
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
giving any decision, desiring that we should be with liini
again 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 go again 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, who kept a ragged old stall in
Stephen Street, and, borrowing from him the two quarto
volumes of Leland's Philip, 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. Returning 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 hollotc ;
but it was also in a more accurate sense of the word
hollow, as after all I did not carry off the premium. It

n*m

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 bunglingly now. 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 purpose. 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
difficulty ; our fellows, in general, knowing little more of
Latin verse than their pupils. Indeed, neither in the
English 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
scholarship, and who is said to have ascertained accurately
the site of Tempe, 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 Fococke had
actually passed through Tempe without knowing it.

D 2

36 MEMOIRS OP [^TAT. 16.

mauled by the "aucupes syllabarum" of the Engli-sh
Reviews.

Another slight circumstance, during my course, which
gave me both pleasure and encouragement, took place one
morning 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 Iltos &A Krropuip (rvyypa<l>6iv of Lucian, and, as usual,
I had prepared my translation in the best English I could
stock my memory with, — a labour which was left in
general to its own reward; as the common run of our
examiners, particularly at that early hour in the morning,
were but little awake to the niceties or elegancies of style.
Our Greek lecturer, however, on this occasion, was Magee,
— the highflying archbishop of after-days, — a man much
beyond his compeers both in learning and taste. The
usual portion of translation which each boy had to scramble
through during the lecture was about half a page or so,
lengthened out by constant interruptions from the ex-
aminer; and in this manner the operation had proceeded
on the morning I am speaking of, till the book came to
my turn, when, from the moment I commenced, Magee
stood silently listening, and allowed me to go on trans-
lating, paige after page, to the amount of perhaps four or
five ; when, expressing in a marked manner his regret at
being obliged to interrupt me, he passed the book on to
my neighbour. From Magee's high reputation, I felt this
compliment very sensibly ; nor can I help saying that his
being so alive to a sense of taste or duty — whichever it
might have been — at so early an hoiu*, on a raw candle-
light morning, was in a high degree creditable to hinL

It was, I think, towards the end of the second year of

1795.] THOMAS MOORE. 37

my course, that a crack-brained wit, Theophilus Swift, —
the same who called out, and was wounded by Col. Lennox,
after the duel of the latter with the Duke of York, —
commenced a furious pampldet war against the fellows of
our university, in consequence of some injustice inflicted,
as he thought, by them on his son. The motto to his
chief pasquinade was ^^ Worth makes the man, and want
of it the feUow;^ and the most galling part of the attack
was his exposure of the shameless manner in which the
fellows, most of them, contrived to evade that statute of
the university which expressly forbade their marrying.
This they effected by the not very seemly expedient of
allowing their wives to retain their maiden surnames, and
thus living with them as if they were mistresses. The
wife of my tutor, Burrowes, for instance, went about with
him in society by the name of Mrs. Grierson, — she being
the daughter of Grierson, the King's printer. Magee's wife
was called Mrs. Moidson ; and so on. One of the points,
indeed, enforced coarsely, but bitterly, by Swift was, that
none of these ladies were^ in the eyes of the law, really
married ; and that, in case of crim. con., their husbands
would not be entitled to damages. In speaking of the
lady of Burrowes, Swift commenced a sentence thus : — "If
I or some more youthful adventurer were to be caught in
an amour with Mrs. Letter-press," &c.

I forget whether any legal proceedings were taken by
any of the fellows ag^nst Swift. But Burrowes, my tutor,
being tempted to try his wit, in a retort upon his assailant,
published a squib in verse, with notes, for which he was pro-
secuted by Swift, and sentenced to confinement, for about a
fortnight, in Newgate [Dublin]. I remember paying him a
visit during the time of his imprisonment ; and it was un-
doubtedly a novel incident in academic history for a pupil

D 8

^sLssas=s^:€^=^. .-'i^rrrsju:

38 MEMOIRS OF [^TAT. 16.

to visit his reverend preceptor in Newgate. Swift's son
(who had been christened Dean for the honour of the
name), joined also in a literary onset with his father, and
wrote a poem called the " Monks of Trinity," which had
some smart lines. In one, where Magee was styled a
^* learned antithesis," he seems to have prefigured the sort
of scrape in which this ambitious priest got involved, some
years after, by the use of that same figure of rhetoric. In
a famous charge of his, soon after he became archbishop,
in speaking of the difiScult position of the Irish establish-
ment, between the Catholics on one side and the Dissenters
on the other, he describes it as placed " between a Church
without a religion and a religion without a Church."* Of
this pithy sentence he was made to feel the rebound pretty
sharply; and one of the ablest of Dr. Doyle's pamphlets
was written in answer to Mfigee's charge.

I am now coming to a period of my youthful days when
a more stirring and serious interest in public affairs began
to engage my attention, both from the increasing electric
state of the political atmosphere, and my own natural pre-
disposition to catch the prevailing influence. But before I
enter upon this new epoch, a few recollections of my course
of life, out of the walls of college, during the period we have
just been considering, will not perhaps be unwelcome. In
pursuance of the usual system of my mother, the person who
instructed my sister in music — Billy Warren, as we fami-
liarly called him — became soon an intimate in the family,
and was morning and night a constant visitor. The con-
sequence was that, though I never received from him any
regular lessons in playing, yet by standing often to listen

* " A church without what we can properly call a religion, and
a religion without what we can properly call a church." This, if I
recollect right, is the correct yeraion of this belligerent antithesis.

1795.1 THOMAS MOORC. 39

when he was instructing my sister^ and endeavouring con-
stantly to pick out tunes — or make them — when I was
alone^ I became a piano-forte player (at least sufficiently
so to accompany my own singing) before almost any one
was in the least aware of it.

It was at this period^ — about the second year^ I think,
of my college course, — that I wrote a short masque with
songs, which we performed before a small party of friends,
in our front drawing-room. The subject of the masque,
as well as I can recollect — for not a trace of the thing
remains — was a story of a lady (personated by my eldest
sister Elate), who, by the contrivance of a spirit (Sally
Masterson, an intimate friend of my sister), was continually
haunted in her dreams by the form of a youth (myself)
whom she had never beheld but in this visionary shape.
After having been made sufficiently wretched by thus
having a phantom which haunts her day and night, the
lady is at last agreeably surprised by finding the real
youth at her feet as full of love as herself, — having been
brought thither by the kind spirit, who knowing that he
had long loved her at a distance, took this method of pre-
paring his mistress's heart to receive him. The song sung
by the spirit I had adapted to the air of Haydn^is Spirit-
song, in his Canzonets, and the lady had a ballad be-
ginning " Delusive dream," which was very pleasingly set
to music by Billy Warren, and continued lonp to be very
popular as sung by myself at the piano- forte.*

^ At the yerj moment when I am writing these lines, my poor
sister Kate, who is here spoken of, lies suffering in a state of pro-
tracted, and I fear hopeless, illness ; and though we hare for many
years seen little of each other, the thoughts of our early days to-
gether, and of what she may now be suffering, comes OTcr my heart
with a weight of sadness which it would be difficult to describe.

B 4

TV _■

40 MEMOIRS OF [JtTAT. 16.

The notoriety I had already acquired by my little at-
tempts in literature^ as well as my own ambition to become
known to such a person^ brought me acquainted, at this
time, with Mrs. Battier, an odd, acute, warm-hearted, and
intrepid little woman, the widow of a Captain Battier,
who, with two daughters and very small means, lived, at
the time of my acquaintance with her, in lodgings up two
pair of stairs, in Fade Street ; and acquired a good deal
of reputation, besides adding a little to her small resources,
by several satirical pieces of verse, which she from time to
time published. Her satires were chiefly in the bitter
Churchill style, and struck me, — theriy at least, — as pos-
sessing no small vigour. What I should think of them
now, I know not. Of all some admired so much in her
writings, only two couplets remain at present in my me-
mory. One was, where, in speaking of the oratory of Sir
Lawrence Parsons (the late Lord Bosse), she said, —

" When Parsons drawls in one continuous hum,
Who would not wish all baronets were dumb ?**

This summary wish to silence all baronets, because one was
a bore, strikes me even now as rather comical. The other
couplet relates to Curran, and commemorates in a small
compass two of his most striking peculiarities, namely, his
very unprepossessing personal appearance, and his great
success, notwithstanding, in pursuits of gallantry. The
following is the couplet —

'* For though his monkey face might fail to woo her,
Yet, ah I his monkey tricks would quite undo her.*^

There were also six or eight lines which she wrote about
myself, and which I certainly ought not to have forgotten,
considering the pleasure which they gave me at the time.
They were written by her after one of my college exami-

1795.] THOMAS MOOUE. 41

nations^ in which it was supposed (perhaps unjustly) that
the examiner, — a dull monk of Trinity, named Prior, still
alive, — had dealt unfairly by me, in order to favour a son
of the vice-provost, who was my opponent. Of course, we
all thought the verses both just and witty.

As this lady (Mrs. Battier) was much older than my
own mother, and, though with a lively expression of coun-
tenance, by no means good-looking, it is some proof of my
value for female intellect, at that time (though I have been
accused of underrating it since), that I took great delight
in her society and always very gladly accepted her invita-
tions to tea. One of these tea-parties I have a most lively
remembrance of, from its extreme ridiculousness. There
had lately come over from some part of England one of
those speculators upon Irish hospitality and ignorance
which at that period of Dublin civilisation were not un-
frequent, — a Mrs. Jane Moore, who had come upon the
double speculation of publishing her poems, and promul-
gating a new plan for the dyeing of nankeens. Whether she
had brought letters of introduction to Mrs. Battier, or had
av^ed herself of their common pursuit (in one at least of
their avocations) to introduce herself, I cannot now say ;
but having expressed a wish to read her poems to some
competent judges, she was invited by my friend to tea for
the purpose, and I was, much to my gratification, honoured
with an invitation to meet her. I rather think that poor
Mrs. Battier was reduced to a single room by the state of
her circumstances, for I remember well that it was in the
bed-room we drank tea, and that my seat was on the bed,
where, enthroned as proudly as possible, with these old
poetesses (the new arrival being of the largest and most
vulgar Wapping mould), I sate listening while Mrs. Jane
Moore read aloud her poems, making havoc with the v'a

42 M£MOIRS OF [^TAT. 16.

and w*B still as she went, while all the politeness of our
hostess could with difficulty keep her keen satirical eyes
from betraying what she really thought of the nankeen
muse.

I remember another English impostor of the same kind,
who came out at a somewhat later period, for the purpose
of giving lectures on literature. He had brought letters
to some fellows of the college, and there was on the first
day of his proposed course a small but very select audi-
ence brought together to hear him. While waiting for the
company to coUect, some of the most literary of those
present were employed in conversing with the lecturer;
and I myself ventured to sidle up to the group, and put in
a little word now and then, though with a heart beating
from nervousness at the thought of conversing with a dis-
tinguished English lecturer. The fellow was not a whit
better than the poetical Mrs. Jane Moore. One of the
questions I ventured to put to him was, " You know, of
course. Sir, Shenstone's School-mistress ? " " Yes," he
answered, " but ha'n't seen her of some time." The lec-
ture itself was quite of a piece with this specimen. Quoting
a passage (from Lucan, I believe) which he said was
counted, by some critics, very " helegant and hingenious,"
— the passage being, according to his reading of it, " The
evens hintomb im oom the hearth does not hinter," — he
declared his own opinion that it was neither ^^ helegant nor
hingenious." It is almost incredible that such a cockney
should have contrived, thus even for once, to collect around
him an assembly among whom were some of the most
accomplished of the fellows of our imiversity.

My recollections of poor Mrs. Battier have brought back
some other events and circumstances of this period, with
which she was connected. There was a curious society

1795. J THOMAS MOOKE. 43

or club established In Dublin, which had existed I believe
for some time, but to which the growing political excite-
ment of the day lent a new and humorous interest. A
mere sketch of the plan and objects of the club (to which
most of the gay fellows of the middle and liberal class of
society belonged) will show what a fertile source it afforded
not only of fun and festivity, but of political allusion and
satire. The island of Dalkey, about seven or eight miles
from Dublin, was the scene of their summer reunions , and
here they had founded a kingdom^ of which the monarchy
was elective ; and at the time I am speaking of, Stephen
Armitage, a very respectable pawnbroker of Dublin, and
a most charming singer, was the reigning king of the
island. Every smnmer the anniversary of his coronation
was celebrated, and a gayer and more amusing scene (for
I was once the happy witness of it) could not be well
imagined. About noon on Sunday, the day of the cele-
bration, the royal procession set out from Dublin by
water; the barge of his majesty, King Stephen, being
most tastefully decorated, and the crowd of boats that
attended him all vying with each other in gsdety of oma^
ment and company. There was even cannon planted at
one or two stations along the shore, to fire salutes in
honour of his majesty as he passed. The great majority^
however, of the crowds that assembled made their way to
the town of Dalkey by land ; and the whole length of the
road in that direction swarmed with vehicles all full of gay
laughing people. Some regulations were made, if I re-
collect right, to keep the company on the island itself as
select as possible, and the number of gay parties there
scattered about, dining under tents, or in the open air
(the day being, on the occasion I speak of, unclouded

44 MEMOIRS OF [^TAT. 16.

throughout) presented a picture of the most lively and
exliilarating description.

The ceremonies performed in honour of the day by the
dignitaries of the kingdom, were, of course, a parody on
the forms observed upon real state occasions ; and the
sermon and service, as enacted in an old ruined church, by
the archbishop (a very comical fellow, whose name I for-
get) and his clergy, certainly carried the spirit of parody
indecorously far. An old ludicrous song, to the tune of
** Nancy Dawson," was given out in the manner of a
psalm, and then sung in chorus by the congregation ; as
thus, —

" And then he ap the chimney went,

The chimney went — the chimney went ;
And then he up the chimney went,
And stole away the bacon.**

There were occasionally peerages and knighthoods be-
stowed by his majesty on such ** good fellows " as were
deserving of them ; on this very day which I am describing,
Incledon the singer, who was with a party on the island,
was knighted under the title of Sir Charles Melody. My
poetical friend, Mrs. Battier, who held the high office of
poetess laureate to the monarch of Dalkey, had, on her
appointment to that station, been created Countess of
Laurel. I had myself been tempted, by the good fun of
the whole travestie, to try my hand (for the first time I
beUeve) at a humorous composition in the style of Peter
Pindar, and meant as a birthday ode to King Stephen.
Of this early jeu (Tesprit of mine, which I remember
amused people a good deal, I can recal only a few frag-
ments here and there. Thus, in allusion to the precau-
tions which George the Third was siud to be in the habit

k.

1795.] THOMAS MOORE. 45

of taking, at that time, against assassination, I thus ad-
dressed his brother monarch, Stephen, —

'* Thou rid*8t DOt, prison'd in a metal coach.
To shield from thy anointed head
Bullets, of a kindred lead,
Miu'bles, and stones, and such hard-hearted things.**

In another passage, a rather trite joke is thus with
tolerable neatness expressed, —

** George has of wealth the dev*l and all.
Him we may King of Diamonds call ;
But thou hast such persuasive arts.
We hail thee^ Stephen, King of Hearts.**

On the very morning after the celebration at which I
was present, there appeared in the newspaper which acted
as his majesty's state gazette, a highly humorous procla-
mation, oifering a reward of I know not how many hun-
dred crobanes, or Irish halfpence, to whatsoever person or
persons might have found and would duly restore his
majesty's crown, which, in walking home from Dalkey the
preceding night, and '^ measuring both sides of the road,"
according to custom, he had imfortunately let fall from his
august head.

But *'h3d nugse seria ducent in mala." Most serious
and awfrd indeed were the times which followed these gay
doings. The political ferment that was abroad through
Ireland soon found its way within the walls of our univer-
sity ; and a youth destined to act a melancholy but for-
ever-memorable part in the troubled scenes that were fast
approaching, had now begun to attract, in no ordinary
degree, the attention both of his fellow-students and the
college authorities in general. This youth was Robert
Emmet, whose brilliant success in his college studies, and

46 MEMOIRS OP C-ffiTAT. 17.

more particularly in the BCientific portion of them, had
crowned his career, as far as he had gone, with all the
honours of the course ; while his powers of oratory dis-
played at a debating society, of which, about this time
(1796-7), I became a member, were beginning to excite
universal attention, as well from the eloquence as the poli-
tical boldness of his displays. He was, I rather think by
two classes, my senior, though it might have been only
by one. But there was, at all events, such an interval
between our standings as, at that time of life, makes a
material difference ; and when I became a member of the
debating society, I found him in full fame, not only for
his scientific attainments, but also for the blamelessness of
his life and the grave suavity of his manners.

Besides this minor society, there was also another in
college, for the higher classes of students, called the His-
torical Society, established on the ruins of one bearing the
same name, which had some years before been (on account
of its politics, I believe) put down by the fellows, but
continued in defiance of them to hold its sittings outeide
the walls. Of this latter association, Charles Bushe, the
present witty Chief Justice, was, if I am not mistaken, one
of the most turbulent, as well as most eloquent, members.

Of the political tone of our small debating society,
which was held at the rooms of different resident members,
some notion may be formed from the nature of the ques-
tions proposed for discussion ; one of which was, I recol-
lect, " Whether an aristocracy or democracy was most
favourable to the advancement of science and literature ;"
while another, still more critically bearing upon the awful
position of parties at this crisis, was thus significantly put,
— ** Whether a soldier was bound on all occasions to obey
the orders of his conmianding oflScer?** On the former of

1796.] THOMAS MOORE. 47

these questions, the power of Emmet's eloquence was won-
derful ; and I feel at this moment as if his language was
still sounding in my ears. The prohibition against touch-
ing upon modem politics, which it was found afterwards
necessary to enforce, had not yet been introduced ; and
Emmet, who took, of course, ardently the side of demo-
cracy in the debate, after a brief review of the great re-
publics of antiquity, showing how much they had all done
for the advancement of literature and the arts, hastened,
lastly, to the grand and perilous example of the young
republic of France ; and, referring to the story of Caesar
carrying with him across the river only his sword and his
Commentaries, he said, " Thus France at this time swims
through a sea of blood, but while in one hand she
wields the sword against her aggressors, with the other she
upholds the interests of literature uncontaminated by the
bloody tide through which she struggles." On the other
question, as to the obligation of a soldier to obey, on all
occasions, the orders of his commanding officer, Emmet,
after refuting this notion as degrading to hrnnan nature,
imagined the case of a soldier who, having thus blindly
fought in the ranks of the oppressor, had fallen in the com-
bat, and then most powerfully described him as rushing,
after death, into the presence of his Creator, and exclaim-
ing, in an agony of remorse, while he holds forth his sword,
reeking still with the blood of the oppressed and innocent,
" Oh God, I know not why 1 have done this." In another
of his speeches, I remember his saying, " When a people,
advancing rapidly in civilisation and the knowledge of their
rights, look back after a long lapse of time, and perceive
how far the spirit of their government has lagged behind
them; what then I ask is to be done by them in such

48 MEMOIRS OP r^-TAT. 18.

a case? What, but to pull the government up to the
people."

I forget whether I myself ventured upon any oratorical
effort while in this society^ but rather think I did not ;
and the practice of giving in compositions for prizes was
not, if I recollect right, one of our usages. It must have
been about the beginning of the year 1797 that our little
society came to a natural dissolution, most of the members
having dropped off or become absorbed in the larger insti-
tutions; so that at last there not being left a sufficient
number to support the society by their subscriptions, those
who remained resolved to divide among them the small
library which had been collected (chiefly through gifts from
different members) and to declare their meetings at an end.
I have to this moment a copy of Bruce's Travels which
fell to my lot in the partition, and there is written in it,
« The gift of Sir E. Denny, Bart., to the Deb. Soc. Trin.
Coll.»'

To form any adequate idea of the feverish excitement of
the public mind at this period (1797) one must not only
have lived through it, as I did, but have been also mixed
up, as I was, with the views, hopes, and feelings of every
passing hour. Among the oldest acquaintances and friends
of my father and mother were some of those, as I have
before stated, who were the most deeply involved in the
grand conspiracy against the government ; and among the
new acquaintances of the same description added this year
to our list were Edward Hudson, one of the committee
seized at Oliver Bond's in 1798, — and the ill-fated Robert
Emmet. Hudson, a remarkably fine and handsome young
man, who could not have been, at that time, more than
two or three and twenty years of age, was the nephew of
Hudson, a celebrated Dublin dentist. Though educated

1797.] THOMAS HOOBE. 49

merely for the purposes of his profession^ he was full of
zeal and ardour for everything connected with the fine
arts ; drew with much taste himself^ and was passionately
devoted to Irish music He had with great industry col-
lected and transcribed all our most beautiful urs^ and used
to play them with much feeling on the flute. I attribute^
indeed^ a good deal of my own early acquaintance with our
music^ if not the warm interest which I have since taken
in it^ to the many hours I passed at this time of my life
tite-cL-tite with Edward Hudson, — now trying over the
sweet melodies of our country, now talking with indignant
feeling of her sufFerings and wrongs.

Previously to this period my chief companions of my
own standing had been Beresford Burston and Bond
Hall, — neither of them at all studious or clever, but Hall
full of life and good-nature, and with a natural turn for
humour which made me take great delight in him. Had 1
been at all inclined to pedantic display in conversation, the
society of this pair would have most effectually cured me
of it, as the slightest allusion to literature or science in
their presence was at once put down as something not fit
id be listened to ; and by Hall, with such good fun and
badinage as I myself very much preferred to mere learn-
ing. Indeed, such influence have early impressions and
habits upon all our after lives that I have little doubt the
common and ordinary level of my own habitual conver-
sation (which, while it disappoints, no doubt. Blues and
savaTis, enables me to get on so well with most hearty and
simple-minded persons) arises a good deal from having lived
chiefly, in my young days, with such gay, idle fellows as
Bond Hall, instead of consorting with your young men of
high coUege reputation, almost all of whom that I have
ever known were inclined to be pedants and bores.

VOL. I E

50 MEMOIRS OF [iETAT. 18.

Whether at the desire of my mother, or from my own
wish to distinguish myself — probably from a mixture of
both these motives — I went in, in this year, as a candidate
for one of the vacant scholarships, though well knowing,
of course, that my labour would be in vsun ; as though I
were to come furnished with all the learning of an Erasmus,
I should still, — being, like Erasmus, a Catholic, — have
been shut out from all chance of the prize. Among the
examiners on this occasion was Dr. Kearney, who became
soon after Provost, and was, as wiU be seen, a most kind
friend and patron of mine. It was in Horace, if I recol-
lect right, he examined me, and though seemingly well
pleased with my manner of construing and answering,
evidently winced, more than once, under my slips of pros-
ody, — being one of the few fellows of our college who
had made this branch of classical learning their study;
and when I have since read of Vincent, the head-master of
Westminster, who was said to have been killed by " false
Latin," I could not help remembering the half comic, half
lugubrious face which Kearney used to put on when any
confrision of ^' longs and shorts" occurred in lus presence.
On the list of those who were adjudged worthy of scholar-
ships I obtidned a pretty high place^ but had only the
barren honour of that place for my reward. How welcome
and usefrd would have been the sixty or seventy pounds a-
year, which I believe the scholarship was worth, to the son
of a poor struggling tradesman — struggling hard to edu-
cate his children — I need hardly point out; nor can any
one wonder that the recollection of such laws, and of their
bigoted, though, in some cases, conscientious, supporters,
should live bitterly in the minds and hearts of all who
liaye, at any time, been made their victims.

In the course of this year, though I cannot exactly say

1797.] THOMAS MOOBE. 61

at what period of it, I was admitted a member of the
Historical Society of the University, and here, as every-
where else, the political spirit so rife abroad continued
to mix witk all our debates and proceedings, notwith-
standing the constant watchfulness of the college autho-
rities, and of a strong party within the society itself which
adhered devotedly to the politics of the government, and
took part invariably with the Provost and fellows in all
their restrictive and inquisitorial measures. The most
distinguished and eloquent among these supporters of
power were a young man^ named Sargeant, of whose
fate in after days I know nothing; and Jebb, the late
Bishop of Limerick, who was then^ as he continued to be
throughout life^ highly respected for his private worth and
learning.

Of the popular side in the society, the chief champion
and ornament was Bobert Enmiet; and though every
care was taken to exclude from among the subjects of
debate all questions likely to trench upon the politics of
the day, it was always easy enough, by a side-wind of di-
gression or allusion, to bring Ireland and the prospects
then opening upon her within the scope of the orator's
view. So exciting and powerful in this respect were the
speeches of Emmet, and so little were the most distin-
guished speakers among our opponents able to cope with
his eloquence, that the Board at length actually thought
it right to send among us a man of advanced standing in
the University, and belonging to a former race of good
speakers in the society, in order that he might ananrer the
speedies of Emmet, and endeavour to obviate what they
considered the mischievous impressions produced by them.
The name of this mature champion of the higher powers
was, if I remember right, Geraghty ; and it was in reply-

B 2

i

52 TdEMOIRS OP [iF.TAT. la

ing to a ppeecli of his, one night, that Emmet, to the nc
small mortification and surprize of us who gloried in him
as our leader, became embarrassed in the middle of his
speech, and (to use the parliamentary phrase) broke down.
Whether from a momentary confusion in the thread of his
argument, or possibly from diffidence in encountering an
adversary so much his senior (for Emmet was as modest as
he was high-minded and brave) he began, in the full career
of his eloquence, to hesitate and repeat his words, and then,
after an effi^rt or two to recover himself, sat down.

A struggle in which I myself was, about tliis time,
engaged with the dominant party in the society may be
worth dwelling on for a few moments, — the circumstances
attending it being, in no small degree, perhaps character-
istic as well of the good as the bad qualities of my own
character at that time of life. Besides the medals given
by the society to the best answerers in liistory, there was
also another for the best compositions sent in at stated
periods, either in prose or verse. These productions were
all to be delivered in anonymously, and on the night when
they were to be read aloud for the judgment of the
society, a reader for each was appointed by rotation from
among the members. Taking it into my head to become
a candidate for this medal, I wrote a burlesque sort of
poem, called an "Ode upon Nothing, with Notes by
Trismegistus Bustifustius, etc. etc." My attempts at
hiunorous writing had not been many, and the fun scat-
tered throughout this poem was in some parts not of the
most chastened description. On the night when it was to
be read, whether by mere accident or from a suspicion
that the poem was by me, I was voted by the society to
be the reader of it; and as I performed my task con
amore, — though tremblingly nervous during the whole

1797.J THOMAS MOOUE. S3

operation^ — and in some degree acted as weU as read the
composition^ its success was altogether complete ; applause
and laughter greeted me throughout, and the medal was
voted to the author of the composition triumphantly. I
then acknowledged myself in due form, and the poem was
transcribed into the book of the society appointed to
receive all such prize productions.

Being now open to the cool inspection of the members,
the objectionable nature of some parts of this extravaganza
began to be more seriously viewed, — at least by the party
opposed to me in politics — my own side, of course, seeing
nothing wrong whatever in the matter, — and at length
notice was regularly given of a motion to be brought for-
ward in the following week *' for the expunging of certain
passages in a composition entered on the books of the
society, entitled * An Ode upon Nothing, etc. etc.' " On
the night appointed the charge was brought forward with
all due solemnity by a scholar, I think, of the name of
Whitty, — one whom, in enumerating the ablest of the
party opposed to us, I omitted before to mention. At
the conclusion of his elaborate charge I rose to answer
him, and having prepared myself for the occasion, de-
livered myself of a speech which amused exceedingly my
auditors on both sides. Speaking as the friend of Doctor
Trismegistus Rustifustius, I stated that immediately on
receiving notice of this motion, I had waited on the Doctor
himself to learn his feelings on the subject, and to take
instructions as to the line he wished me to adopt in his
defence. The description of my interview with this ideal
personage, and the ludicrous message which I represented
him to have sent by me to his critics and censors, excited
roars of laughter throughout, — though not a trace of them

now remains in my memory, — and I sat down amidst

s 3

54 MEMOIRS OP l^TAT. 18.

triumphant cheers. In proportion, however, as my own
party was pleased with the result, they were in like de-
gree doomed to be disappointed by the turn which the
affair afterwards took. In order to do away witli the
effect of my speech, two or three of the gravest and most
eloquent of the antagonist party rose in succession to
answer me ; and the first of them (who was, I rather
think. Sergeant) began by saying in a complimentary
strain, ** I well knew what we were to expect from that
quarter; I was fully prepared for that ready display of
wit and playMness which has so much amused and diverted
the attention of the society from the serious, etc. etc"
This tone of candour disposed me to listen to the speeches
of my accusers with respect; and the solemn earnestness
with which they pointed out the ill consequences of
affording encouragement to such productions, by not only
conferring upon them rewards, but even suffering them to
remain as models on the society^s books, all fell with duo
weight upon my mind. Accordingly, in the few sentences
which I spoke in reply, I freely acknowledged the serious
impression which my accuser's words had made upon me,
as well as the sincere pain I should feel at being thought
capable of deliberately ofiending against those laws pre-
scribed alike by good morals and good taste. I do not
pretend to remember accurately the words which I used,
but such was in substance their import; and though I
disappointed not a little, by this concession, the more
ardent spirits of my own faction, who had looked forward
to a tough party struggle on the occasion, I was certainly
not made to feel by the other side that they took any
very overweening credit to themselves for the result, or at
all abused their triumph ; for immediately on hearing my
speech, they voluntarily, if I recollect right, withdrew

k

1797.] THOMAS MOOBE. 55

their motion, without pressing it to a division, and the
whole terminated without anj further discussion. This,
at least, is the strong impression produced on my memory;
and I remember also that as soon as the excitement of the
affair had passed away, I myself, in order to prevent any
recurrence to the subject, took an opportunity of quietly
removing the composition fix>m the books.

In the autumn of this year (1797) the celebrated news-
paper called " The Press " was set up by Arthur O'Con-
nor, Thomas Addis Emmet, and other chiefs of the
United Irish conspiracy, with the view of preparing and
ripening the public mind for the great crisis that was fast
approaching. This memorable paper, according to the
impression I at present retain of it, was far more distin-
guished for earnestness of purpose and intrepidity, than
for any great display of literary talent ; the bold letters
written by Emmet (the elder) imder the signature of
^^ Montanus," being almost the only compositions I can
now call to mind as claiming notice for literary as well as
for political merit. But it required but a small sprinkling
of the former ingredient to make treason at that time
palatable ; and 1 can answer from the experience of my own
home for the avidity with which every line was devoured.
It used to come out, I think, three times aweek ; and on
the evenings of publication, I always read it aloud to my
father and mother during supper. It may easily be con-
ceived that, between my ardour for the cause, and my grow-
ing consciousness of a certain talent for writing, I was not a
little eager to see something of my own in these patriotic and
popular columns. But my poor mother's constant anxiety
about me, — a feeling far more active than even her zeal
for the public cause, — made me fearful of hazarding any-

s 4

''»•'

56 MEMOIRS OF IJEtat. 18.

thing that might at all agitate or disturb her ; the aspect
of the times being, in itself, sufficiently trying to her,
without the additional apprehension of my being involved
in their dangers. I had ventured indeed, one night, to
pop a small fragment of mine into the letter-box of the
paper, — a short imitation of Ossian. But this passed off
quietly, and nobody was, in ant/ sense of the phrase, the
wiser for it. I soon ventured, however, on a much bolder
flight ; and without communicating my secret to any one
but Edward Hudson, addressed a letter ^^ to the students
of Trinity College," written in a turgid, Johnsonian sort
of style, but seasoned with plenty of the then favoiuite
condiment, treason ; and committed it tremblingly to the
chances of the letter-box. I hardly expected that it would
make its appearance; but, lo and behold, on tlie next
evening of publication, when seated, as usual, in my little
comer by the fire, I unfolded the paper for the purpose of
reading it to my father and mother, there was my own
letter staring me full in the face, occupying a conspicuous
station in the paper, and of course one of the first and
principal things that my auditors wished to hear. I pos-
sessed then, I take for granted, the power which I have
often experienced on far more trying occasions, of ap-
pearing outwardly at my ease while every nerve witliin
me was trembling with emotion. It was thus that I ma-
naged to get through this letter without awakening the
least suspicion in my auditors that it was my own com*
position. I had the gratification, too, of hearing it much
praised by them ; and might have been tempted, I think,
into avowing myself the author^ had I not found that the
language and sentiments of it were considered by both to
be " very bold." I was not destined, however, to remain
long concealed. On the following day, Edward Hudson,

1797.] THOMAS MOORE. 57

— the only person, as I have said, intrusted with the
secret, — called to pay us a morning visit, and had not
been long in the room conversing with my mother, when,

looking significantly at me, he said, " Well, you saw .'*

Here he stopped; but my mother's eye had followed his
with the rapidity of lightning, to mine, and at once she
perceived the whole truth. " That letter was yours, then,
Tom ?" she instantly said to me, with a look of eagerness
and apprehension, and I of course acknowledged the fact
without further hesitation ; when she most earnestly en-
treated of me never again to venture on so dangerous a
step, and as any wish of hers was to me a law, I readily
pledged the solemn promise she required of me.

A few days after, in the course of one of those strolls
into the coimtry which Emmet and I used often to take
together, our conversation turned upon this letter, and I
gave him to imderstand it was mine; when with that
almost feminine gentleness of manner which he possessed,
and which is so often found in such determined spirits, he
owned to me that on reading the letter, though pleased
with its contents, he could not help regretting that the
public attention had been thus drawn to the politics of
the University, as it might have the effect of awakening
the vigilance of the college authorities, and frustrate the
progress of the good work (as we both considered it)
which was going on there so quietly. Even then, boyish
as my own mind was, I could not help being struck with
the manliness of the view which I saw he took of what
men ought to do in such Jimes and circumstances, namely,
not to talk or torite about their intentions, but to act.
He had never before, I think, in conversation with me,
alluded to the existence of the United Irish societies,
in college, nor did he now, or at any subsequent time.

^mm^mAm

58 MEMOIBS OF L^TAT. IS.

make any proposition to mo to join in them^ a forbearance
which I attribute a good deal to his knowledge of the
watcliful anxiety about me which prevailed at home, and
his foreseeing the difficulty I should experience — from
being, as the phrase is, constantly " tied to my mother's
apron-strings," — in attending the meetings of the society
without being discovered.

He was altogether a noble fellow, and as full of ima-
gination and tenderness of heart as of manly daring. He
used frequently to sit by me at the piano-forte, while I
played over the lurs from Bunting's Iiish collection ; and
I remember one day when we were thus employed, his
starting up as if from a reverie while I was playing the
spirited air '^ Let Erin remember the Day," and exclaim-
ing passionately, " Oh that I were at the head of twenty-
thousand men marching to that air."

The only occasion on which, at this fearful period, I
received any direct intimation of the existence of United
Irish societies in college was once in returning from
evening lecture, when • * * *, a man now holding a very
high legal station, and of course reformed from all such
bad courses, happening to accompany me a part of the
way home, not only mentioned the fact of such associations
being then organised in college, but proposed to me to
join the lodge to which he himself belonged. Nothing
more passed between us on the subject; but it will be
seen, at a subsequent period, how fatal might have proved
the consequences of this short conversation, both to myself
and to all connected with me.

While thus, in political matters, such abundant fuel for
excitement surrounded me, I was also in another direction
of feeling thrown in the way of impressions and temptii-
tions, to any of which my time of life, vivacity of fancy,

1797.J THOMAS MOOBfi. 59

and excitable temperament^ rendered me peculiarly sus-
ceptible.

I had long before this begun by translating the odes
attributed to Anacreon^ — I say "attributed," because
there are but slight grounds, I fear, for considering them
to be his, — and had eyen, so far back as the beginning of
1794, published a paraphrase of the fifth ode in the
Anthologia Hibemica. But it was now that the notion of
undertaking a translation of the whole of the odes occurred
to me, and I had at this time made considerable progress
in the work. I had been also in the -habit of frequently
availing myself of a permission, of which I was not a little
proud, to read in Marsh's library during the months when
it was closed to the public, a privilege I obtained through
my acquaintance with the son of the librarian. Dean
Cradock ; and to the many solitary hours which I passed,
both about this time and subsequentiy, in hunting through
the dusty tomes of this old library, I was indebted for
much of the odd, out-of-the-way sort of reading that may
be found scattered through some of my earlier works.

The line of study that at this time chiefly attracted me
was that which accorded most, not only with the task on
which I was engaged, but unluckily also with one of the
feelings then most dominant over my mind. I say " one
of the feelings," for it would be difficult to conceive a much
greater variety of excitement than that with which, at this
most combustible period of life, I was beset. The great
Irish conspiracy, in which almost all the persons most
intimately known and valued by us were embarked, —
though of more than the mere outiine of its objects and
organisation we were ourselves ignorant, — was then awfully
hastening to its denouement; and, vague and imsearchable
as was the future which it promised, this very uncertainty

60 MEMOIBS OF [JET AT. 18.

but rendered It the more exciting^ as well as more capable
of being heightened by a young and prospective fancy.
Then the constant rumours and alarms that every succeed-
ing day gave rise to, — some of them involving the safety
of friends in whom we were deeply interested, — all this
was fully sufficient to furnish no oixlinary amount of
stimulus, without taking into account any of the other
sources of excitement to which I was exposed. The new
stirrings of literary ambition, accompanied by the sense of
pride and pleasure which the first exercise of power of any
kind is sure to afford ; the delight with which my early
attempts at composition were welcomed by her whom it
was mj/ delight to please, — my dear and exceUent mother ;
the bursting out of my latent passion for music, which was
in reality the source of my poetic talent, since it was
merely the effort to translate into words the different
feelings and passions which melody seemed to me to ex-
press ; — all this formed such a combination of mental stimu-
lants as few, I think, of the same period of life have ever
been surroimded by; nor can I conceive a youth much
more delightful and interesting to have ever fallen to any
one's lot

My first tutor, Burrowes, having a little before this time
retired on a good living — the euthanasia of most of the
monks of old Trinity, — I was placed under a lay fellow
of the name of Phipps, a civil and zealous man, though far
more collegiate in mind and manners than the destined
Dean * whom I had left. Being also, however, a niuch
more warm-hearted person, he took a very kind and active
interest in all my concerns; and showed this interest,
by a step which though at the time not a little painful to

* Burrowes was, some time after, made a Dean.

1797.] THOMAS MOORE. 61

me, I afterwards IcarnccI to appreciate as it deserved,
liequesting a few minutes with my father and mother^ he
advised confidentiallj and strenuously that I should avoid
being seen so much in public with Robert Emmet ; hint-
ing at the same time that our intimacy had been much
noticed^ and that there were circumstances which rendered
it highly imprudent. Though not aware at that time of the
extent to which Emmet was implicated in the Irish con-
spiracy, we knew quite enough to enable us to under-
stand this friendly warning, though if I recollect right, we
but in a very slight degree acted upon it.

There was now left, however, but little time either for
caution or deliberation, as the fearful drama of " The Plot
Discovered," in all its horrors, soon after commenced ; and
one of the first scenes the curtain rose upon, was that for-
midable Inquisition held within the walls of our college
by the bitterest of all Orange politicians, the Lord Chan-
cellor Fitzgibbon. I must say in fairness, however, that
strong and harsh as then appeared the measure of setting
up this sort of tribunal, with the power of exanuning wit-
nesses on oath, in a place dedicated to the instruction of
youth, yet the facts that came out afterwards in the course
of evidence but too much justified even this inquisitorial
proceeding ; and to many who like myself were acquainted
only with the general views of those engaged in the con-
spiracy, without knowing, except in a few instances, who
those persons were, or what were their plans and resources,
it wa3 really most startling and awful to hear the dis-
closures which every new succeeding witness brought
forth.

There were a few, — -*and among that nmnber were poor
Bobert Emmet, John Brown, and the two Corbets, —
whose total absence from the whole scene, as well as the

62 MEMOIRS OF I JET AT. 18.

dead silence that daily followed the calling out of their
names^ proclaimed how deep had been their share in the
transactions now about to be inquired into. But there was
one joong friend of mine whose appearance among the sus-
pected and examined^ quite as much surprised as it deeply
and painfully interested me. This was Dacre Hamilton,
the son of a Protestant lady, a widow, with very small
means, but of highly respectable connections ; and he him-
self, in addition to his scholarship and talents, being one of
the most primitiyely innocent persons with whom I was
acquainted ; and accordingly producing often among those
who were intimate with him that sort of amusement mixed
with affection, which the Parson Adams class of character
is always certain to inspire. He and Emmet — both of
them my seniors in the University — had long been inti-
mate and attached friends; their congenial fondness for
mathematical studies being, I think, a far stronger bond of
sympathy between them than their politics. For what-
ever interest poor Dacre Hamilton may have taken specu-
latively in the success of the popular cause, he knew quite
as little, I believe, of the definite objects of the United
Irishmen, and was as innocent of the plans then at work
for their accomplishment as I can truly allege I was my-
self. From his being called up, however, on this first day
of the inquiry, when, as it appeared, all the most im-
portant evidence was brought forward, there can be little
doubt that, in addition to his intimacy with Enunet, the
College authorities must have had some information which
led them to suspect him of being an accomplice in the con-
spiracy. In the course of his examination some questions
were put to him which he refused to answer (most pro-
bably from their tendency to involve or criminate others),
and he was dismissed, poor fellow, with the melancholy

•<--«wft'*J-'

Mrii

1797.] THOMAS MOORE. 63

certainty that his future prospects were all utterly blasted;
it being already known that the punishment for such con*
tumacy was to be not merely banishment from the Uni-
versity^ but exclusion from all the learned professions.

The proceedings, indeed, of the whole day had been
such as to send me home to my anxious parents with no
very agreeable feelings or prospects. I had heard cTidence
given compromising cTcn the lives of some of those friends
whom I had been most accustomed to regard both with
affection and admiration ; and what I felt even still more
than their danger, — a danger ennobled at that time in my
eyes, by the great cause in which it had been incurred, —
was the d^rading spectacle exhibited by those who had
appeared in evidence ag^nst them ; persons who had them-
selves, of course, been implicated in the plot, and now
came forward, either as volunteer informers, or else were
driven by the fear of the consequences to secure their own
safety at the expence of their associates and friends.

I remember well the gloom that hung over our family
drcle on that evening, as we talked over the events of the
day and discussed the probability of my being among those
who would be called up for examination on the morrow.
The deliberate conclusion to which my dear honest father
and mother came was, that overwhelming as the conse-
quences were to all their prospects and hopes for me, yet
if the questions leading to the crimination of others which
had been put to almost all examined on that day, and
which poor Dacre Hamilton alone refused to answer,
should be put also to me, I must in the same manner and
at all risks return a similar refusal

I forget whether I received any intimation on the
following morrow that I should be one of those examined
in the course of the day, but I rather think that some such

64 MEMOIRS OF [£tat. 18.

notice was conveyed to me ; — and at last, my awful turn
came, and I stood in presence of the terrific tribunal
There sat the formidable Fitzgibbon, whose name I had
never heard connected but with domineering insolence and
cruelty; and by his side the memorable ** Paddy" Dui-
genan, — memorable, at least, to all who lived in those
dark times for his eternal pamphlets sounding the tocsin of
}>ersecution against the Catholics.

The oath was profiered to me. " I have an objection,
my lord," said I in a clear firm voice, " I have an ob-
jection to taking this oath." -r- " What's your objection,
sir?" he asked sternly. ** I have no fear, my lord, that
anything I might say would criminate myself, but it
might tend to affect others ; and I must say that I despise
that person's character who could be led under any
circumstances to criminate his associates." This was
lumed at some of the revelations of the preceding day,
and, as I learned afterwards, was so felt. " How old
are you, sir ?" I told him my age, — between seventeen
and eighteen, though looking, I dare say, not more than
fourteen or fifteen. He then turned to his assessor, Duige-
nan, and exchanged a few words with him in an under
voice. " We cannot," he resumed, agjun looking towards
me, " We cannot allow any person to remain in our Uni-
versity, who would refuse to take this oatL" — " I shall,
then, my lord," I replied, " take the oath, still reserving
to myself the power of refusing to answer any such ques-
tions as I have described." — ** We do not sit here to argue
with you, sir," he rejoined, sharply, upon which I took the
oath, and seated myself in the witness's chair.

The following were the questions and answers that then
ensued ; and I can pretty well pledge myself for their
almost verbal accuracy, as well as for that of the conversa

•^'Cr-r'

•^tr^^mmmkammmmmmm^f^'m^^H'mmamimm

MMiflMfl

1797.J THOMAS MOOftE. 65

tion which preceded them. After having adverted to tlic
proved existence of United Irish Societies in the Univer-
rity, he asked, " Have you ever belonged to any of these
sodeties?*' — " No, my lord." ** Have you ever known
of any of the proceedings which took place in them?"
" No, my lonL" " Did you ever hear of a proposal at
toy of their meetings for the purchase of arms and
ammunition?" " No, my lord." " Did you ever hear
of a proposition made in one of these societies with respect
to the expediency of assassination?" " Oh no, my lord."
He then turned again to Duigenan, and after a few words
with him, resumed : ** When such are the answers you
are able to give, pray what was the cause of your great
repugnance to taking the oath?" " I have already told
you, my lord, my chief reasons ; in addition to which, it
was the first oath I ever took, and it was, I think, a very
natural hesitation." I was told afterwards that a fellow
of the college, named Stokes (a man of liberal politics,
who had alleged, as one of the grounds of his dislike to
this inquisition, the impropriety of putting oaths to such
young men) turned round, on hearing this last reply, to
some one who sat next him, and said, '^ That's the best
answer that has been given yet"

I was now dismissed without any further questioning,
and, though tolerably conscious in my own mind, that I
had acted with becoming firmness and honesty, I yet could
not feel quite assured on the subject, till I had returned
among my young friends and companions in the body of
the hall, and seen what sort of verdict their Ipoks and
manner would pass on my conduct. And here I had
certainly every reason to feel satisfied; as all crowded
aroimd me with hearty congratulations, not so much, I
could see, on my acquittal by my judges^ as on the manner

TOL. I. F

:^^^^f^!^!^P|WH

66 MEMOIRS OF r^TAT. 19.

in which I had acquitted myself. Of my reception at
liome, after the fears entertained of so very different a
result^ I will not attempt any description; it was all
that such a home alone could furnish.

• ««««•

It was while I was confined with this illness^ that the
long and awfully expected explosion of the United Irish
conspiracy took place ; and I remember well, on the night
when the rebels were to have attacked Dublin (May,
1798), the feelings of awe produced through the city, by
the going out of the lamps one after another, towards
midnight The authorities had, in the course of the day,
received information of this part of the plan, to wliicli the
lamp-lighters must, of course, have been parties ; and I
saw from my window, a small body of the yeomanry accom-
panying a lamp-lighter through the streets to see that he
performed his duty properly. Notwithstanding this, how-
ever, through a great part of the city where there had not
been time to take this precaution, the lights towards mid-
night all went out.

Among tiie many fearful and painful events that had,
before then, succeeded each other so rapidly, there was
none that had more surprised and shocked us than the
apprehension of our manly and accomplished young friend,
Hudson, among the delegates assembled at Oliver Bond's.
That meeting was, if I recollect right, to be the last before
the delegates should disperse each to his allotted quarters,
for the great general outbreak; and the watchword of
admisfliou (which Keynolds betrayed to the Grovemment)
was, " Where's M*Cann? Is Ivers from Carlow come ?"
Major Sirr was, I believe, the officer who knocked at the
door and gave this watchword ; and I have heard from
authority on which I could depend, that when he entered

:»* at-affTrtSi^' — ^

1798] THOMAS MOORE. 67

the room, my poor friend Hudson fainted ; showing how
little a stout heart and Herculean frame (both of wliich
Hudson possessed) may be proof against sudden alarm, or
exempt their owner from such outward signs of feminine
weakness.

Of the events that occurred between this period and
my first departure to London as a Templar, I shall not
attempt any regular detail ; but merely state, as they rise
in my mind, whatever scattered recollections of that in-
terval may occur to me. I have not mentioned, I believe,
that among the efforts made by my dear mother to provide
me with means of instruction, she had employed a French
master, named La Fosse, to attend me ; a most civil and
intelligent poor emigrant, who, like all my other teachers,
become a sort of friend in the family, and was always wel-
come to a share of our tea and bame'^freac of an evening.
When 1 had been about five months taking lessons of him,
he proposed to me to write a short essay in French upon a
subject which he suggested ; and not long after I began to
try my hand at French verse ; and, among other daring
attempts in that line, ventured a Conte in the manner of
La Fontaine, in which I proceeded to the extent of about
thirty or forty verses. There were at this time some emi-
grant officers of the Trish Brigade in Dublin, and two of
them, named Blake and Buth, were constant visitors at our
house. From Blake, who played remarkably weU on the
Spanish guitar, I took some lessons on that instrument,
but never made any progress with it.

Among the young men with whom I formed an intimacy
in college, some were of the same standing with myself,
others more advanced. One of the latter, Hugh George
Macklin, — or, as he was called from his habits of boasting
on all subjects, Hugo Grotius Braggadocio, —had attained a

T 2

68 MEMOIRS OP IJEtjlt. 19.

good deal of reputation both in his collegiate course, and in
the Historical Society, where he was one of our most showy
speakers. He was also a rhymer to a considerable extent ;
and contrived, by his own confession^ to turn that talent
to account, in a way that much better poets might have
envied. Whenever he found himself hard run for money,
— which was not unfrequently, I believe, the case, — his
last and great resource, after having tried all other expe-
dients, was to threaten to publish his poems ; on hearing
which menace, the whole of his friends flew instantly to
Ids relief. Among the many stories relative to his boasting
powers, it was told of him that, being asked once, on the
eve of a great public examination, whether he was well
prepared in his conic sections, — '* Prepared,*' he exclaimed,
** I could whistle them." In a mock accoimt, written some
time after, of a night's proceedings in our Historical Society,
one of the fines enforced for disorderliness was recorded as
follows : — " Hugo Grotius Braggadocio, fined one shilling,
for whistling conic sections."

My life from earliest childhood had passed, as has been
seen, in a round of gay society ; and the notice which my
songs and my manner of singing them had attracted led
roe still more into the same agreeable, but bewildering,
course. I was saved, however, from all that coarser dissipa-
tion into which the frequenting of men's society (parti-
cularly as then constituted) would have led me ; and this I
owed partly to my natural disposition, which always induced
me (especially in my younger days) to prefer women's
society infinitely to men's ; and partly to the lucky habit,
which I early got into, of never singing but to my own ac-
companiment at the pianoforte. I thus became altogether
dependent on the instnunent, even in my convivial songs ;
and, except in a few rare cases, never sung a song at a

ittMRUM

1798.] THOMAS MOOBE. 69

dinner-table in my life. At suppers, indeed, and where
there were ladies to listen and a pianoforte to run to^
many and many have been the songs I have simg, both gay
and tender ; and, at this very moment, I could sing " Ob
the merry days that are gone,** while thinking of those
times.

It was in the year 1798 or 1799 (I am not certain which)
that I took my degree of bachelor of arts, and left the
University. Owing to rumours which had for some time
prevailed, apprehensions had been felt in our home circle
that the lord chancellor would object to admitting to de-
grees some of those who had been smnmoned to the Visit-
ation; and it was hot without a feeling of nervousness
that I now presented myself before him. As soon as ho
saw me he turned round to the provost, who was seated by

his side, and said, " Is not that ." I could hear no

more of his question, but the provost answered him in the
affirmative ; and I could perceive that there was at least
notlung imfriendly in the inquiry he had made about me.
This, at the time, was an exceeding relief; and I had
afterwards, indeed, good grounds for believing that the
impression I had made upon him at the Visitation was far
from being imfavourable.

That the provost himself, Dr. Kearney, was kindly dis-
posed towards me, I had, through many years, very gra-
tifying proofs ; as an acquaintance from this time com-
menced between us, which was to me not only honourable
(considering all the circumstances), but also useful, and in
a high degree agreeable. His house was the resort of the
best society in Dublin ; and his wife and daughters were
lively, literary, and fond of music ; while he himself, in
addition to his love of letters, had a fund of dry drollery

^^•ii.

70 MEMOIRS OF [.JEtxt, 19.

about hinij which rendered him a most amusing and agree-
able companion.

I had at this time made considerable progress in mj
translation of the Odes of Anacreon ; and having selected^
if I recollect right, about twenty, submitted them to the
perusal of Dr. Kearney, with the view that, should they
appear to him worthy of a classical premium, he should
lay them before the Board of the University. The opinion
he gave of their merits was highly flattering ; but he, at
the same time, expressed his doubts whether the Board
could properly confer any public reward upon the trans-
lation of a work so amatory and convivial as the Odes of
Anacreon. He strongly advised me, however, to complete
the translation of the whole of the odes, and publish it,
saying that he had little doubt of its success. ^^ The
young people," he added, " will like it."

With my early friend and companion, Beresford Burston,
I still continued on intimate terms ; but we had both of
us now begun to form acquaintances in the world, and in
widely different lines, which detached us a good deal from
each other. There was, indeed, no sympathy in our tastes,
as regards either literature or society ; and there remained,
therefore, little more than the habits of early intimacy to
keep up much intercourse between us. So early as the
year 1795 or 1796, his father had entered both our names
at the Middle Temple; and, as I left college before liim,
I was the sooner ready to proceed to London to keep my
terms.

Among the kind and agreeable acquaintances which I
formed in Dublin, either now or after my first short visit
to London, were the families of Mr. Grierson, the Bang's
printer, and of Joe Atkinson, the lively and popular secre-
tary of the Ordnance Board. The Griersons, with a fine

?'Bt::fflr;i-^

1798.] THOMAS MOOBE. 71

house in Harcourt Street^ and a handsome countiynseat at
Rathfamham^ lived at the full stretch of their income^ or
rather^ I should say, a good deal beyond it, in a constant
course of hospitality and gaiety. The Atkinsons, at a
somewhat more regulated pace, but still with no less taste
for social enjoyments, lived very much the same sort of
dinging, dancing, and dinnering life. It was also at this
time, or perhaps a few months after, on my return from
London, that I became acquainted with Sir George Shee*
and lus lady, — very amiable people, and she an accom-
plished musician, — and was by them asked (to me a most
eventful ciitsumstance) to meet Lord Clare, the arch-foe
of my friends the rebels, at dinner. There was no other
company, if I recollect right, at dinner, except some per-
sons belonging to Sir George's own family, and, as Lord
Clare, therefore, must have been apprised that I had been
asked to meet him, the circiunstance was the more
remarkable. I took but little share, at that time of my
life, or, indeed, for many years after, in general conversa-
tion, owing to a natural shyness which, hackneyed as I have
been since in all sorts of society, and, little as it may
appear in my manner, has, strange to say, never left me.
Of course the presence of such a man as Lord Clare was
not very likely to untie my tongue ; but in the course of
dinner he, with very marked kindness, asked me to drink
a glass of wine with him. I met him once afterwards in
the streets, when he took off his hat to me ; and these two
circumstances, slight as they were in themselves, yet fol
lowing so closely upon my trying scene before him in the
Visitation Hall, were somewhat creditable, I think, to
both parties.

* Tben holding some oiEcial station in Dablin.

T 4

72 MEMOIRS OP iJET^T. 19.

All this time my poor father's business continued to be
carried on ; nor, to do my fine acqusdntances justice, did
any one of them CTcr seem to remember that I had emerged
upcm them from so humble a fireside. A serious drain was
now, howeyer, to be made upon our scanty resources ; and
my poor mother had long been boarding up eyery penny,
she could scrape together towards the expenses of my
journey to London, for the purpose of being entered at
the Temple. A part of the small sum which I took with
me was in guineas, and I recollect was carefully sewed up
by my mother in the waistband of my pantaloons. There
was also another treasure which she had, imknown to me,
sewed up in some other part of my clothes, and that was
a scapular (as it is called), or small bit of cloth blessed by
the priest, which a fcmd superstition inclined her to believo
would keep the wearer of it from harm* And thus, with
this charm about me, of whidi I was wholly unconscious^
and my little packet of guineas, of which I felt deeply the
responsibiUty, did I for the first time start from home for
the great world of London.

My journey was in so far marked by adventure, that I
met with a travelling companion in the stage-coach, who,
I have little doubt, belonged to the swindling fraternity,
and conceived that in me he had found (in a small way) a
fitting salg'ect for his vocation. I have all my life looked
younger than my years justified, and must then have
appeared a mere schoolboy. When we stopped on our
way at Coventry to sleep, he enquired of the waiter
whether his portmanteau had arrived ; and when informed
that it had not, expressed great disappointment. Then,
looking at my portmanteau, which was nearly as large as
myself, he seemed to speculate on a friendly share of its
contents. But I thought it wiser to bear the inconvenience

1799.J THOMAS MOORE. 73

of wanting toilet myself than to run the risk of sharing
with him my whole stock of worldly treasures. I had
been consigned to an old friend of ours named Masterson^
then living in Manchester Street, Manchester Square, and
to reach them was my first and inunediate object, notwith-
standing all the persuasions of my companion, who had
set Ids heart, he sidd, at our dining together at our inn
(Charing Cross), and then going to one of the theatres in
the evening. " You ought to see a little of London," he
said, " and 111 show it you." Allowing him to remain
under the impresdon that all this was likely to happen, I
yet ventured to say that I must ^rst visit those friends
whom I have mentioned; and to this he considerately
acceded, saying that he would himself, after we had break-
fasted, walk with me part of the way. To this, not know-
ing how to get rid of him, I Very imwillingly assented ;
md accordingly, arm in arm with that swindler (aa I have
no doubt the fellow was), I made my first appearance in
the streets of London.

The lodging taken for me by my friends, the Mastersons^
was a front room up two pair of stairs, at Ko. 44. George
Street, Portman Square, for which I paid six shillings
a-week. That neighbourhood was the chief resort of those
poor French emigrants who were then swarming into
London; and in the back room of my floor was an old
eur^, the head of whose bed was placed tite-h-tke with
mine ; so that (the partition being very thin) not a snore
of his escaped me. I found great convenience, however,
in the French eating-houses, which then abounded in that
vicinity, and of which their cheapness was the sole attrac-
tion. A poor emigrant bishop occupied the floor below
me; and, as he had many callers and no servant, his
resource, in order to save trouble, was having a squ^e

74 MEMOIRS OF I J:tat. 19.

board hung up In the hoU^ on one side of which was
written in large characters^ " The Bishop 's at home," and
on the other, ^^ The Bishop 's gone out ; " so that callers
had but to look up at this placard to know their fate.

I had already, through the introductions I brought with
me from Ireland, made several acquaintances, all of whom
(being chiefly Irish) were very kind to me, and some
occasionally asked me to dinner. Of this latter serviceable
class was Martin Archer Shee ; while his brother-in-law
Nugent, an engraver, and not very prosperous, poor fellow 1
was always a sure card of an evening for a chat about
literature and a cup of tea. There was also a Dublin
apothecary, named M^Mahon, who had transported himself
and gallipots to London, and whose wife, at least, I ought
not to forget, as, on some trifling difficulty arising respect-
ing my fees at the Middle Temple (the money I brought
with me, though painfully scraped together, being insuffi-
cient for the purpose), she took me aside one evening, and
telling me in confidence of a small sum which she had laid
by for a particular use, said it should be at my service
until I was able to repay her. I got through my difficulty,
however, without encroaching upon her small means ; but
such generous ofiers come too rarely in this world to allow
themselves to be forgotten.

I have no very clear recollection of the details of this,
my first, visit to London, nor even of its duration. All
that I do recollect, — and that most vividly, — is the real
delight I felt on getting back to dear home again. One of
the forms of my initiation into the Middle Temple was a
dinner, which, according to custom, I had to give to a small
party of my brother Templars. But not being acquainted
with a single creature around me, I was much puzzled how
to proceed. I was soon relieved, however> from this diffi-

1799.J THOMAS MOORE. 75

culty by a young fellow who had, from the first, I saw,
observed my proceedings (most probably with a view to
this ceremony), and who, addressing me very politely,
offered to collect for me the number of diners generally
used on such occasions* I was much pleased, of course, to
be relieved from my difficulty, and between this new friend
of mine to provide the guests, and my poor self to pay the
reckoning, we got through the ceremony very lawfully ;
and I never again saw a single one of my company. All
this, as I find from the dates of some old letters in the year
1799, took place during the same period I made acquaint-
ance with Peter Pindar, at the house of a Mrs. Ccdogan.
Though I had long enjoyed his works, and was delighted,
of course, to find myself, face to face with such a lion, I
thought him coarse both in manners and conversation, and
took no pains to know anythmg more of him.

Having gone through all the forms of mj initiation at the
Temple, and likewise arranged through the medium of
one of my earliest friends. Dr. Hume, that Stockdale, of
Piccadilly, was to be the publisher of my translation of
Anacreon as soon as the work was ready, I returned with
delight to my dear Dublin home.

It was, I believe, on my next visit to England, that,
having through the medium of another of my earliest and
kindest friends, Joe Atkinson, been introduced to Lord
Moira, I was invited to pay a visit to Donington Park, on
my way to London. This was of course, at that time, a
great event in my life ; and among the most vivid of my
early English recollections is that of my first night at
Donington, when Lord Moira, with that high courtesy for
which he was remarkable, lighted me, himself, to my bed-
room; and there was this stately personage stalking on
before me through the long lighted gallery, bearing in his

76

MEMOIBS OF THOMAS MOOBE. T^Etat. 19.

hand my bed-candle, which he delivered to me at the door
of my apartment I thought it all exceedingly fine and
grand, but at the same time most uncomfortable ; and little
I foresaw how much at home, and at my ease, I should one
day find myself in that great house*

HEBE THE MEMOIBS END.

[Mr. Moore having mentioned a report that his baptis*
mal register was preserved, I have procured from Dublin a
certificate, of which the following is a copy. — J. R. Ed.]

<* Church of St Andrew, Wcstland Row, Dablin,

this l8t daj of November, 1852.

*' I certify that Thomas Moore, son of John and Anastasia
Moore, was baptized according to the rite of the Catholic
Church, on the 30th day of May, a.d. 1779, Sponsors being
James Dowling and Margaret Lynch, as appears from the
Baptismal Register of the United Parishes of St Andrew
St. Mark, St Peter, and St Anne, kept in the Church of
St Andrew, Westland Row, Dublin.

** Michael Barns,

. •* Curate of md Parishes."

LETTERS,

1793—1806

•<..'—«■

r-^ *L '^

LETTERS.

1793—1806.

A Case for the

Opinion of Counseller Burston.

1793 [T. M.].

" I am of opinion that the within copy of verses is a very
good attempt^ and does great honour to the young poet

'*B. BUBSTON."
27th January, 1793.

[No. 1.]

To his Mother.

August 12tb, 1793.

We all expected your arrival^ at least to night, when
your letter of to-day quashed our hopes of a sudden, and
informed us you were still in Wexford. For God's sake,
will you ever be home ? There's nothing here heard but
wishes for your return.

*^ Your absence all but ill endure,
And none so ill as

"Thomas Moorb.**

N. B. Excuse my scrap of rhyme ; for you know
poets will out with it — Poets 1 very proud, indeed ; but
don't mention it

80 LETTERS. [iExAT. 10.

[No. 2.1 To hvi Mother.

I have at length (Heaven be praised !) got something
like a home; and any commands for me will be most
thankfully attended to at No. 44. George Street. I assure
you that I felt extremely delighted after my long journey
to find myself at length a fixed star. The lodging which
Mr. Masterson provided for me is a very comfortable little
room on the second floor^ at six shillings per week ; which
they tell me is rather clieap, considering the present time of
the year, when the world is flocking to London. The woman
who keeps the house washes for Mrs. Masterson^ and
some others : this, you know, is also a convemenco to me.
My journey up was exceedingly expensive, though Mr.
M. tells me it does not exceed the usual calculation.
One circumstance, which certainly added to the expense,
was my being obliged to take the mail from Chester in-
stead of the coach, which T told you in my letter I expected
would set off next morning ; but I was mistaken : I should
have waited till the morning after that, and two days and
three nights passed alone in Chester, in the state of mind
in which I then was, would have been too much for me to
support ; so I took to the mail ; that was three guineas and
a half, which, with 1/. 16*. 6rf. from Holyhead, the guinea
for my passage, and the other contingent expenses (in which
I was obliged to conform to the other passengers) has made
the whole about eight guineas. Mr. M. tells mc that the
Parkgate way is not by the half so much. So that shall be
the way by which I shall return, for I will certidnly, with
God's will, see you in summer.

'* The summer will come when the winter's awa»
And ril be to see thee, in spite of them a'."

*sj:3f.ii.^—

•--•« -^"»*—

1799.]. LETTERS. 81

Let me have a letter immediately. Write to me that you
are all well ; that you expect to see me in summer ; and I
shall be as happy as absence from all that I hold dear will
allow me to be. Yours ever.

P. S. Mr. and Mrs. M. are uncommonly attentive. I
have not given any of my letters yet. Love to my dear
father^ my dear Catherine, and my dear little EUen. Never
was mortal in such a hurry as I am.

[No. 3.] To his Mother.

Sunday.

I have only this half sheet of paper to write upon,
dearest mother, and it will easily hold all the news I have
to tell you. I am at this moment in very ill humour with
myself for having been seduced into three days' idleness,
which has done my health and spirits no harm I confess,
but has robbed me of so much profitable addition to my
work, and added a little link to the long chain that is be-
tween us. However, I shall make up for it without diffi-
culty. I was presented this morning to Mr. Foster, who
recollected having known me before, and was civil. I go
to his house this evening. Never was anything half so
kind or good-natured as dear Lady Donegal. I must tell
you a tnut of my landlady in Bury Street. A few days
before I came here, I happened to ask her about some
tailor she knew, saying, at the same time, that I meant to
change mine, on account of his not treating me well, in
ui^ng me for the small balance of a very large bill I had
j^aid him. The good woman took that opportunity of
; filing me that all her money was at her banker's^ and

VOL. I. Q

b.<>«Ui

B2 LETTERS. [JETAT. 19.

would be much better to be employed by me than to lie
idle, and that she requested I would make use of any part
of it to any amount I might have occasion for. I could
not help crying a little at such kindness from a stranger,
told her I did not want it^ and went and thanked Grod upon
my knees for the many sweet things of this kind he so
continually throws in my way. It is now terribly long
since I heard firom home. Grod bless you alL Your own,

Tom.

[Ko. 4.] To his Mother.

5th April, 1 799.
Friday, 44. George Street, Portman Square.

I hope Warren was time enough to correct the omission
which I made with regard to my residence. You cannot
conceive how impatient I am to hear from you^ and you
ought not to let me remain long ungratified. Tell me
whether you think my lodging is very dear ; I assure you
I find it extremely comfortable ; they have my breakfast
laid as snug as possible every mornings and I dine at the
traiteur's like a prince, for eightpence or ninepence. The
other day I had soup, bouilli, rice pudding, and porter,
for ninepence halfpenny ; if that be not cheap, the deuce is
in it. I am sure you will be delighted, too, when I tell
you that Mr. Masterson has lent me a piano ; that which he
had in Ireland ; a very good one ; for Sally has one of
Longman's by hire, and-, indeed, she has made a wonderful
proficiency. She has a very nice harp also, and is begin-
ning to learn on it. Would you believe it ? Mr. M'Mahon
lA here, and as deep in the gallipots as ever ; apothecary
.and man-midwife I no less. I have dined with him, and find
him exceedingly friendly. Nugent, to whom Mr Dowling

---- ,5«i

"%'j^ir'-''

1799.] LETTERS, 83

introduced me> has been particularly attentive. I scarcely
saw any one of the persons to whom my letters were
directed^ but left the letters with my address. I have had
three or four notes from them, regretting their not having
been at home, and expressing a wish that I should call on
them, but all in the morning,

I have been but at one play since I came, for I do not
like going alone, and I have not found any one that would
accompany me. As I have not, therefore, yet much inter-
esting description to give you, I will tell you one or two
anecdotes of my journey, by which you may conjecture how
a novice like me was annoyed, and which wiU account for
the gloomy letter which I wrote to you from Chester. We
came into Holyhead at night, after a most tedious and
sickening passage. The first thing to be done was to get a
place in the Chester mail of next morning. The mail was
full, but a gentleman told me that he would wish to resign
his place, and that if I chose I might personate him, and
answer to his name. I accordingly paid him, and when the
names of the passengers were called over, answered to his.
Before I went to bed, Mr. Patrickson represented to me
strongly the danger of such counterfeiting in times like the
jK'esent, which you may be sure prevented me from much
sleep that night, but in the morning I contrived to have
my proper name inserted. Well, when I was at Chester, I
felt myself particularly unpleasant. Alone, and as sooty
as a sweep, I wandered like a culprit through the streets,
though conscious that no body knew me. While I was at
breakfast in the inn (for you know I stayed there a day)
a frantic fellow came in, who had just ridden post from
Warrington, and after chasing the maids all about the
house, and beating them, came into the room where I was,

sat down with me, told me that he had just escaped from a

o 2

*^^'*'*^?rrr'""S'^

84 LETTERS. . [JEtat. \9.

dtrait-wtustcoat^ boasted of having killed a woman and
child the night before in the theatre of Warrington, and
finally, as he had never been in Chester before^ he would
wait for me^ and we should walk through the streets to-
gether ! Well, well I with some difficulty I got rid of this
dangerous gentleman, and met very soon with one still
more so, for a sharper is surely more dangerous than a
madman. The mail set off from Chester with only two
passengers ; we took up two more at Northampton, one of
whom, though a young man, soon appeared to be, what my
father calls, an old stager. He had been on the Continent
lately, talked of his hunters (though rather shabby in his
api)earance), and was going to London then only to get rid
of a little money. When he knew that I was going to the
Temple, and had never been in London before, he thought
he had found a nice subject, and paid the most servile atten-
tions to me. ** He would shew me the pleasures of the
metropolis, we should go to the play together, dine to-
gether," &c. By the bye, it came out in conversation
that he had been up all the night previously playing cards.
In fact, he forced me to put up at the same inn (when we
arrived) at which he did ; was so glaringly civil as to offer
to carry my portmanteau for me ; ordered a room for
himself and me ; and bid the waiter take my coat, and
brush it well, while we were at breakfast When I men-
tioned my wish to go to a friend's in Manchester Street,
who, I expected, had a lodging provided for me, he advised
me to devote two or three days to seeing London. Observe,
he s^d that he had sent his portnuinteau before him, but,
strange to tell, it had not arrived! He cursed the fellow
that he gave it to — and what could he do ? He could not
go out without a clean cravat and shirt Hints upon hints
demanded the loan of them from me. I, however, did not

1799. J LETTERS. 85

open my portmanteau. When I was resolved to go to
Manchester Street he accompanied me, and extorted a
promise that I should meet him in a couple of hours. Well,
well, well I now came another embarrassment The first
question almost Mr. M. asked was, ''What have you
done with your luggage ?" " Left them at the inn." '' Did
you give them in charge to the master of the house*'"
''No.*' '' Did you get them booked?" "No." "Have
you the key of the room ?" " No." Off he sent me in a
hackney coach ; and, to be sure, I was not a little trembling
for my portmanteau. Well, weU, well, well I I got my
luggage, left word for the kind gentleman that it was not
in my power to meet him, and I have never seen him
ranee. This one circumstance will make me believe all
that I shall ever be told of the schemers of London. There
were a thousand other little traits about him, which I have
not time to detail, but they confirmed me in his character.
Give my love to my father ; mille choses a Catherine et Ellen.
Yours to eternity.

[No. 5.] To his Father.

April 29. 1799.

I received your letter just when I was hurrying out
to dinner^ but I must stop to acknowledge its reception,
and to assure you that nothing could come more season-
ably than its contents ; for the expenses of my board had
left me penniless, and as there are some fees necessary on
the first day of dining, I must have lost my term if the
remittance had been two days later, as, after Friday, it
would be impossible to serve it. Everything, however, is
now as it should be. I sat near an hour with Lord Moira
this morning, and am to dine with him on Saturday. He

Q 3

^m^mmmmmmmmm'imimra^

U ^ K ' . '

86 LETTERS. [^TAT. 19.

is extremely polite ; so indeed are all the people to whom
I had letters^ and I was mistaken when I told you they,
took little notice of them. I was on Sunday at a little
party at Lady Peshall's, and was introduced very par-
ticularly to CoLDe Bathe and Capt. Plunket (Lord Dun-
sany'g son). I have returned to my old habits of reading
and scribbling again. I stay the forenoon always at home,
and generally have a little cold dinner in my room, which
never costs me more than a shilling. But I am staying
too long; I will write to you immediately again, and will
certainly answer my little Catherine's letters. I am un-
easy that my mother's cough is not better. Remember
me affectionately to her, and believe me ever yours.

How are aunt and imcle (J. and J.)? If you ever
see Croker, ask him did he receive my letter.

[No. 6.] To his Father.

May 11. 1799.

I am distressed to the very heart at having given you
all such uneasiness ; but indeed the situation was so new
to me, that I am sure you are neither surprised nor angry
with me for having expressed myself with such querulous
irritation. You have, ere this, received another letter,
which I doubt not will amuse you ; but I hope that this
one will arrive time enough to efface any uneasy ideas that
either might have excited in your minds. I must confess
that I feel I have acted very ungenerously in not having
rather suffered a little inconvenience, than distress for a
moment, by any melancholy complainings, the hearts of
those so affectionately dear to me. I could cry for what
I have done ; but do forgive me. I feel that you live to
make me happy, and surely I should not embitter your

-*«iiC " -w

1799.] LETTERS. 87

peaoe, my dear, dear father and mother I Oh, when shall
I be able to repay your goodness I

I did not receive your letter with Mozart's introduc-
tion tiU last night; or you might have been saved the
pain which my last letter may perhaps have given you ;
but I am convinced your good sense noade you rejoice
that I had found such an independent method of resource
in my difficulties, as only for it I should have forfeited my
term. I will now go with my draft to the post office.
Everything is as it should be, but I cannot be in spirits
till I hear that your uneasiness is dissipated. Do write and
tell me sa Farewell my dearest, best of fathers. God give
you all the happiness which you merit Yours ever, ever.

CKo. 7.] To his Mother.

May 15. 1799.

My dearest Mother,
My father's letter of the 8th, which I have just re-
ceived, has affected me extremely : it shows me how un-
generous, how cowardly were my complaints; and con-
vinces me more and more of the affections of my beloved
father and mother. However, forget what I have done,
and believe that I want nothing to make me perfectly
happy but the assurance that those fears which I so
thoughtlessly excited are now completely dissipated. But
indeed, my dearest mother, I do not remember that, in the
midst of all my foolish despondence, I ever harboured the
least suspicion of your neglect ; and if I expressed anything
like it, be assured it was owing to the agitation of my
mind, which was disturbed by the novelty ^ still more than
by the perplexity y of my situation. But reproach me no
more with it. I have repented that letter (Heaven

knows I) almost enough to atone for all its imprudence.

o 4

88 * LETTEUri. [iETAT. 19.

I thank my father from my heart for his letter to
Mrs. M^M.9 and will fly with it to her immediately. I
have found a very pleasant acquaintance in Mr. Hume :
he seems already to feel a particular interest in me, and is
a man of considerable talent. I dined last week with
Miss Dodd's friend, ]VIr. Phibbs ; and to-day I dine with
our friend Harden. I need never be out of company if I
chose it; but I rather avoid it, and am reproached on all
sides with my neglect of visiting. Lady Peshall's family
have been very attentive to me, and so has Mrs. Latouche;
indeed, if I had indulged in going out often (though here
I cannot call it an indulgence), there is scarce a night that
I should not be at some female gossip party, to drink tea,
play a little crambo, and eat a sandwich. I have been
dancing after Mr. Atkinson this long time, and cannot
meet him. I will write to my father immediately, and
give him an account of my expenses, and likewise submit
to him a few ideas which have occurred to me with regard
to my future pursuits. My darling mother, shall we meet
in smnmer ? Oh I how I long for it I Tell me that you
wish it, — that you approve of it, — and I will fly to you.
Make Catherine write whenever my father writes: give
my love to little Ellen and all, not forgetting my unde
Joice, and (when you write to her) to my aunt. Heaven
preserve my father to us, my dear mother, and may we all
deserve such a protector. God bless you, and make you
happy FarewelL

[No. 8.] ' To his Father.

May 22. 1799.

Now that I know your uneasiness is done away, 1
want nothing to make me happy except that re-uniou

■-.-^«,p- ^'-a,£.^at:ff7»^-^=^

1799.J LETTERS. 89

with those I love^ which I hope is not far distant. Mr.
Gibson called on me yesterday^ and gave me a letter of
Catherine's, and Mrs. Grierson's delightful little present,
for which I shall write her a letter to-morrow. I have
called two or three times on Mr. Goulding, but have not
yet met him : before I seal this letter, I will go to him
again. I dined on Sunday with Capt. Otway ; he has
been extremely attentive to me, and purely from courtesy ;
for he b one of those men whom I certainly can have no
hold upon. Neither music, nor literature, nor any of
those things does he seem to have a relish for himself y or
to know that I am any way acquainted with them. My
Lord This and my Lady That form the whole subject-
matter of his conversation. I am to be at Mrs. Cologan's
to-morrow night, where I believe I shall meet Peter Pindar.
She is one of the first private performers on the harp. I

dined with Mr. the Sunday before last. I find him

just like other men who are indebted entirely for their
education to themselves. Having never had that idea of
subordination wUch the controul of a superior incul-
cates, and which is so very necessary to chasten self-
opinion, they gradually imagine themselves into an all-
sufficiency of knowledge, and are generally the most egotis-
ing pedants in the world. But a truce with characters ; and
now for cold calculations of another kind, — my expenses
I must confess I have not yet made such an estimate as to
enable you to judge with any kind of accuracy. My lodging
you know is six shillings a-week, and I pay the man two
shillings a-month for cleaning my shoes and brushing my
coat. Before I did this I was obliged to pay twopence
for my boots every day, and a penny for my shoes. By the
bye, I let my boots go to the extreme (though I had got
them mended), and I have bespoke a new pair, which will

90 LETTERS. iMTkT. tO.

006t me twenty-five Bhillings^ which is a low price here.
Xndeed^ I want a total refitment ; my best black coat, the
only one I have been able to wear, is quite shabby. The
usual expense of my dinner I mentioned to you already.
Half-a-crown's worth of tea and sugar serves me more
than a week. My washing I cannot accurately estimate,
but soon will, and shall inform you more precisely in
everything.

I have just been with Mr. Groulding and have got
two guineas, so that matter is settled. Gtive my love to
my mother and alL Tell my mother that my next letter
shall be to her. Farewell, my dearest father. Believe me^
yours most afiectionately.

[No. 9.] To his Mother.

Jane 11. 1799.

• • • I received a letter from Croker wfakdi
pleased me very much. Does he ever call? He is a
friend whom I am resolved to cultivate. London is grow-
ing insupportably warm, and will be a dreadfrd place to
remain in all the summer. If I return to you, you must
none of you be very inquisitive, for I am such an in-
curious creature that I have not seen half the lions of this
place. I have not yet been to this wonderful Pizarro of
Sheridan's, which is putting all London into fevers.

My father complained of my neglect of writing. The
interval between my letters was perhaps too long, but you
will perceive that I have not omitted one week. Gtive my
love to my dearest father, and bid him write his decision
immediately. Remember me to Catherine, to Ellen, to
my unde, aunt, &c

I have paid 18#. 6d. for my last term, and will have

^^ 7 • -SH.!; '.

1799.J LETTERS. 91

the flame to pay for this. Farewell, mj sweet mother.
Yours, &C.

[No. 10.] To his Mother.

Wednesday.
My dearest Mother,
I got Kate's letter, and it was very good of you to
think I should be anions at not hearing so long from
home, but lazy Kate might have stretched her commission
a little and given me a longer epistle. I think the weari-
someness of this place is b^inning almost to make me
bilious ; after all, there are few samenesses more disagree-
able than that of seeing faces you dont care two-pence
about, returning periodically and dcHnesticaUy, and mixing
themselves as if they belonged to you, with every function
of life. Oh solitude! solitude I you hold the very next
rank to the society of the few we love. I wish prudence
did not keep me away firom you, dearest mother, and I
should exchange all my fineries for Irish stew and salt fish
immediately. Your own,

Tom.

[No. 11.] To his Father.

Thnndaj, June 20. 1799.

I foigot to mention, with regard to my coat and pan-
taloons, that Mr. Nugent, if you please, will settle for
them with Mr. Herbert's money, and you may pay him.
I am wishing very much to hear from you. In reading
Warren's letter over again, I perceive what I did not ob-
serve at first ; he tells me that my mother is reconciled to
my staying during the vacation. Now, as that was, I con-
fess, my chief motive for soliciting my return, because I

92 LETTERS. I -Etat. 20.

had in a manner promised it to her ; if she be really re-
conciled to my absence, and you not very much inclined
to my going over, I will endeavour to have the same self-
denial, and all my other objections to my remaining will be
easily surmounted. I believe I will wait for your answei
to this, if something else does not determine me, for ]
should be sorry to have no arguments for my return, bul
my own inclinations. If I go, I shall leave a few of m^f
trifling poems with Hume, to get them published : it ie
more through a wish to get rid of them, than with anj
hopes of emolument : if the latter does result from them, 1
can rely on Hume for taking advantage of it. Pray lei
me hear from you immediately on receipt of this. I per-
haps may determine, however, before you write. Love tc
all. Yours, &c

[No. 12.] To his Father.

June 27. 1799.

I was not mistaken in thinking that no immediate emo-
lument would result from those poems. The booksellen
shrink from risking anything on a person who has not a
name ; so that one must, at first, sacrifice a little expense^
or be content with eternal obscurity ; and indeed I am 8€
vexed that I could almost determine to acquiesce in the
latter. I think I will set oflf to-morrow, but if I do not, I
will write. Oh father 1 I hope I may one day or othei
repay you ; but Heaven knows how 1 I am now in such a
disposition that one word frt)m you would decide me in
staying here. Perhaps I may receive your answer to my
letter, the last but one, before I go away. I will go now
to the coach office, and if there be a place to be got, I will
set off to-morrow. I shall feel happy, very happy in see-

■ I Jbi • T ~M ■'

1799.] LETTERS 93

ing you^ but indeed I shall feel disappointed at the idea of
not having in some manner lightened the burthen which is
on you. If I can add^ however^ one moment of happiness
to my poor mother's life by returning^ I shall hope that we
cannot regret it. Give my love to my sisters^ my dear
good sisters ; and believe me^ dearest father^ to be your
meet grateful and affectionate son.

LNo. 18.] To his Father.

Parkgate, Julj 2. 1799.
Dear Father^

The packet will not sail to-day^ and here I am im-
prisoned for one night more : the place is insipid^ my com-
panion is insipid^ and all these circumstances combining
with my impatience to see my beloved home^ make this
delay most dreadfully irksome to me. However^ to-
morrow morning. Captain Brown has pledged himself to
sail, and you may expect me, with Heaven's permission,
the day after to-morrow or the next, for the winds are
very uncertain, and we will hardly be over in less than
eight-and-forty hours. I hope I shall find you all well and
happy. Tell Billy Warren that I am afraid to see him, as
I bring him no new music, except that of Pizarro, which
is rather uninteresting and common. Yours, &c

Love to my mother : I am longing to meet her.

[No. u.] To his Mother.

Chester, Oct 28. 1799.

I have been detained here to-day, by not being able to
secure a place last night. However, I have taken my seat

94 LETTER8. [^tat. 20.

for to-night in the mail^ and hope to be in London early,
Wednesday morning. Poor Hobart was ahnoet shaken to
deaths during ninety-seven miles, on the outaide of the
coach. I have been with him to visit some of his Irish
friends here; and we expect to be accompanied to the
theatre to-night by Miss Beaver, a very pretty little girL
This will diversify the scene to us, and amuse our time till
the departure of the mail. I have long wished for an
opportunity of seeing the Chester theatre : there are some
good actors here. I hope you will contrive to send my
books to me very soon : tell Catherine to take Macbean's
Ancient Geography out of the bookcase in your room
and send it to me. I forgot too to put the Pastor Fido
among the books : let her look for it in my room. I do
not think I have forgot anything else of importance. The
volumes of Anacharsis, Hall, I suppose, has sent home.
Our journey was extremely pleasant; very little che-
quered by adventures, and very little disturbed by accident
I am in very good spirits, and feel very differently from
what I felt when I first travelled ; except in that affec-
tion for you, and that longing to return to you, which, in
the farthest part of the world, never could desert me.
Send me what I have mentioned, and remember me ; for
indeed I am.

Your fond and affectionatej

T. M.

[No. 15.] To his Mother.

Manchester, Thursday night, half-past Ten.

My dearest Mother,
I have been obliged to come round by Manchester,
firom being disappointed last night of a seat on to Lichfield.

1799.] LETTERS. 95

To-day I came twenty-six miles of my journey in a canal
boaty at the cheap rate of three shillings ; and> in about four
hoars hence^ I shall be off in the mail for Derby^ so as to
reach Donington to dinner to-morrow. This is the state
of my affidrs at present^ and but for the uncomfortable
hours of darkness I have before me in this night's journey^
I am as well and contented as either you or I could wish
me to be.

My canal journey to^lay was not unpleasant. Con-
trasted with the rattling of the mail^ its movement was aa
agreeable as it was new^ and our way lay through a very
pretty country. Love to father and dear girls. Yours^
my dearest mother.

LNow 16.] To his Mother.

Nov. 9. 1799.
Dear Mother^

By some strange error I did not receive Catherine's
letter till to-day^ when it was ^ven to me with the subse-
quent one from my father. I was, I confess, extremely
anxious, and they relieved me not a little. I should have
told you that I took up four guineas from IVir. Goulding,
out of which I have bought, in the extra way, a pair
of boots (six and twenty shillings) and a little writing
portfolio, which I have promised myself this long time.
I hope you have got my letter with the inclosure for
Cuming; Nugent will write to him immediately. Tell
Dr. Stevenson he may expect a letter from me very soon,
and that I dine with Incledon to-morrow, when he pro-
mises to introduce me to Irish Johnson.*

* Moore always writei the name Johnson. In the playbills it wai
Johnstone.

"HfjSHKSSHrihiMaMKiiEai

96 LETTERS. [^TAT. 20.

Hobart has taken the first floor under ine> but does not
intend to continue. I wish he would ; for I stay at home
very much^ and our breakfasting together takes off the
ennui of total solitude. I suppose I shall soon have my
books OYer> and shall pay attention to my father's wishes
with regard to Mr. Brownrigg. I am very domestic, and
have full leisure to think of all my dear friends at home.
Do not forget me, any of you. My love to Billy
Warren. Warmest remembrances to father and sisters.
Yours, yours.**

[No. 17.] To his Mother.

Nov. 14. 1799.
Dear Mama,

I have left now so many .days of this week without
writing, that my letters will come ''not single spies , but in
battalions.*^

'' Beresford Burston and I will dine together to-morrow
or the next day, I believe. He appears to me to be
drinking deep the intoxications of this place. I was out
very late last night at a party at the Honourable Mrs.
Gardiner's. She is an English woman, but has an Irish
heart. On Sunday last you know I was to dine at Incle-
don's. Johnson and I got very great : he is to introduce
me to Colman, the manager and author. I met there
too Dr. Mosely, the king's physician. He took my ad-
dress, and seemed to wish the cultivation of an acquaint-
ance: he is in the first circles. Poor Incledon is de-
plorably hoarse: we might say to him, what he himself said
to Peter Duffey (coal factor) the first time he heard him
sing, '* By the holy St. Peter, you hav'nt a note in your
*ac^'* Miss BiggR, the present heroine of Drury Lane,

-~^*- Jo^-CS^' •■^^t

rjrwmmemm

MM-mir anintf ji

1799.* LETTERS. 97

dined there^ and gave me her orders for the ensuing
evening. Lord Moira is in town. I lefl my card with
him yesterday. I am very much afraid that you did not
get my letter with the inclosure for Cuming; let me know
immediately. I have not got my breakfast yet^ and as
Shakespere says^ *^ with veins unfill'd we're apt to pout
upon the morning." Has the music-book been procured
from Mrs. Grierson's for Dr. S. ? I hope it has. Farewell,
my good mother. Believe me, with the tenderest remem-
brances to my father and my dear little girls, yours
ever.

[No. 18.] To his Mother.

Dec. 14. 1799.

I had intended to write earlier in the week, but was
wfdting for the printing of the proposals, the first proof of
which I enclose to you. I had yesterday a long visit from
a Mr. Biggin — a very famous and very respectable man
here. By the bye, it is from htm the coffee biggins take
their name, and from them he has taken his money. He
has a box at the Opera House, and promises me frequent
admission. Johnson, of Covent Garden, I hear, sings some
of my songs in company. I wish Cuming would be more
active in his drawing. Nugent has begun the head of
Anacreon. I am to be at a large party on Wednesday at
Mrs. Campbell's, and on Friday at Lady Rich's, and am
perfectly stout again. I will write very early next week,
and tell you more news. I have got ten guineas from Mr.
Goulding, and must immediately get a couple more ; but
I shall not now require such expense, for dining at home,
the hiring of a sofa, which I was obliged to do, rather
expensively, and coach-hire, were inevitable expenses. I

VOL. I. H

3r>s^

1..

^mm

98

LETTERS

[^TAT. SO.

hope, however, I shall clear at least a hundred guineas,
by Anacreon. Love to all. Yours ever.

I shall soon get the rest of the printed papers, and will
send them to you.

[No. 19.] To his Mother.

Dec 19. 1799.

I hope the printed papers, which I enclosed, went safe
and undamaged : they are very nicely executed, and that
I owe entirely to Hume, who has taken the whole nego-
ciation with the bookseller for me on himself: he has
procured that I shall be announced in the next Reviews :
every thing goes on swimmingly ; but why is not Cum-
ing^s drawing sent out before this? I will inclose him,
perhaps to-morrow, a few of the odes for his deagns ;
and pray entreat of him to lose no time, and spare no
trouble, in the execution of them. I am getting a good
number of names here, and have received two hard guineas
already from Mr. Campbell and Mr. Tinker, which I hope
wiU be lucky. They are the only guineas I ever kissed ;
and I have locked them up rcli^ously. Mr. Gardiner
sent a paper of my proposals, with a very flattering letter,
indeed, to the Duchess of Devonshire, and another to Mrs.
% Fitiherbert I must immediately send some of them to
Captun Atkinson, Grierson, the Provost, &c &c I shidl
be greatly surprised if my friends in Dublin do not make
it an ample subscription. Do not be diffident in your ap-
plications. I have learned other things here^ but shall be
long before I conquer my Irish mauvaise honte. Hume
has given me the name of Lord Cloncurry (of the Tower),
whose physician he is. I dined with Mr. Biggin on Sun-
day. I was mistaken when I told you that his money was

1799.] LETTERS. 99

made in the coffee pot business ; they were only inrcn-
tions of his. He b a man of very easy fortune, and quite
a virtuoso : he is a great chemist, mechanic, musician, and
he has imdertaken to eradicate my bilious complaint. A
charmiDg woman made the third at a very elegant dinner.
She is the most exqui^te performer I ever heard on
the piano ; and he has a beautiful organ, which she plays
in the grandest cathedral style. They have lately been at
Brussels, and collected all the newest music on the Con-
tinent. I never had such a banquet. Dearest mother, are
you quite well, and in spirits? Give my love to my best
of good fathers, to Catherine, Ellen, my unde, &c. &c.,
and believe me, yours.

I got the bill on the merchants : in the next letter I
hope to send you a new glee of mine, which Longman is
printing!

[No. 20.] Dr. Lawrence to Dr. Hume,

Dr. Lawrence's remarks on some of my Anacreon before

it was published, 1799.

Dec 20. 1799.
Dear Sir,

I return you the four odes, which you were so kind
as to communicate for my poor opinion. They are in
many parts very elegant and poetical ; and in some pas-
sages Mr. Moore has added a pretty turn not to be
found in the originaL To confess the truth, however,
they are in not a few places rather more paraphrastical
than suits my notion (perhaps an incorrect notion) of
translation. In the 53rd there is, in my judgment, no
less a sound than beautiful emendation suggested, —

H 2

100 LETTERS. [iETAT. 20.

would you suppose it ? — by a Dutch lawyer. Mr. M.
possibly may not be aware of it. I have endeavoured to
express the sense of it in a couplet interlined with penciL
Will you allow me to add, that I am not certain whether
the translation has not missed the meamng too in the
former part of that passage, which seems to me to intend a
distinction and climax of pleasure. '^ It is sweet even to
prove it among the briary paths ; it is sweet again, pluck-
ing, to cherish with tender hands, and carry to the fair,
the flower of love.*^ This is nearly literal, including the
conjectural correction of Mynheer Medenbach. If this be
right, instead of

*Tb sweet to dare the tangled fence, &c.

I would propose something to this effect:

k

*Ti8 sweet the rich perfume to prove,
As by the dewy bush you rove ;
*Tis sweet to dare the tangled fence,
To cull the timid beauty thence ;
To wipe with tender hand away
The tears that on its blushes lay *,
Then to the bosom of the fair
The flower of love in triumph bear.*

I would drop altogether the image of " the stems,
dropping with gems.'' I believe it is a confused and fidse
metaphor, unless the painter should take the figure of
Aurora from Mrs. Hastings.

There is another emendation of the same critic in the
following line, which Mr. M. may seem by acddent to
have sufficiently expressed in his phrase of '^ roses shed
their light.'' The • • • should be omitted. They

* Qv^» if it ought not to be '* lie.** The lines might run .

With tender hands the tears to brush,
That give new softness to its blush.

T.M.

1800.] LETTERS. lOl

ought to be all unnecessary to the learned reader ; and
there is one which, though it is witty enough, 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 this in very great haste, but fear that you
and Mr. Moore will find me too long, nunute, and im-
pertinent.

Believe me to be, dear Sir, very sincerely.

Your obedient, humble servant,

F. Lawbence.

[Na 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 which 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 firom him, requesting that his name
should be put down, and that I should call on him any
mormng about eleven o'clock, when he comes to town,
which win 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 ]!4rs.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 tho

n 3

i

102 LETTERS. [£tat. 90.

odes which I enclosed to him for the designs^ but to send
them back to mc with the drawings ; and all as soon as
l)Ossible. The opening of the opera is deferred every night,
on account of some misunderstanding with r^ard to the
license. This annoys me^for I expect I shall be there every
night with Mr. Biggin and Mrs. 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 affix)nted : she ought to consider
how much I have on my hands — Anacreon, tltarauffh
bass, &a &C.

[Ko. 22.] To his Mother.

Feb. 4. ISOO.

I received my father's letter yesterday, and I am sorry
to find that your enrolment is diminishing so soon ; but he
stud 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. Big^ is to show him some of the work : in short, my
list is about fifty, without including Mr. Solly, who b 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 cBne
to-morrow. I have not heard anything firom Lord Moira;
so I shall write to him very soon. Let Cuming send
me the drawings inunediately. Nugent b 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 I As the time approaches for my return, I be^ to

'TMf" ■

1800. J LETTERS. 103

be 0till more impatient for it. I find the retouching and
finiahing my Anacreon to be an increasing and ahnoet 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
xetmn* I hope it will succeed* Success makes every one
mote 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. ss.] To hU Mother.

Thursday, March 20. 1800.

My dearest Mother,
An 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 audous I
have been at not being able to write to you I 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 At up for an hour; and happy enough did
it make me to avful myself of it in writing to my own
darlings. I have not wanted for care and nurdng of the
best kind. Dr. BsuUie, 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 nde, and they first tried calomel, but that ffuled, and
they were obliged to let it form an abscess, which has now
completely dischaiged itself, and I feel as healthy, as fuU
of appetite and spirits as ever; a little weak, that's olL

H 4

104 LETTEBS. [£tat. 21.

Grod bless you. Don't be the least uneasy. I am as one
in fullhealtL*

[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 f ** Away with melan-
choly.''

[No. 25.] To his Mother.

Saturday [no dale].
My dear Mother,

I have got the Prince's name, and his permission that

I should dedicate Anacreon to him. Hurra I hurra I Yours

ever.

[No. 36.] 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. Jliis, 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
bis side. He evidentlj diminishes the illness not to alarm his mother*

1800.] LETTERS. 105

thing like an effort of literature coming 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 observing that but one of the fellows of the
university where I graduated, gave his tribute to a class*
ical undertaking of this kind. They are a cursed corpora-
tion of boobies I and if it were not for my friend, their
FroYOst, the public should know my opinion of them.
* * * I was last night in company with Godwin.

[No. 87.] To his Mother.

June 21. 1800.

I am surprised at not having heard from home near
this week past. I hope you are all well ; and. Heaven
knows I I wish I were with you. I have already begun
this piece, and only wait for the expression of your wishes
to go on with it. It may 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 yoiu* 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 music.
This is one reason that I do not wish it to be known that I
am engaged in such a thing ; 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 we shall indeed be very
happy, for you deserve to be happy, and I feel that I am,
perhaps, not unworthy of it. Farewell, my sweet mother
God bless you.

106 LETTERS. IMTAT. 21.

[No. 98.] 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 I know what you felt, and I know how you looked I
My heart is with you, though I am so delayed from
meeting you. Good God I when we do meety may it be
in happiness I 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"

[Na S9.] To his Mother.

July 19. 180a

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 rery elegant party at Lady
Dering*s, and was introduced to him. A young ^rl
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 hadehazmii^
muac I sang several things with Lord Dudley and
Miss Cramer (dster 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 heaven to me. I hope the Anacreon will soon be with
you, and the young hoy soon after them. Oh heavens I
how happy we shall meet ! God send itp — and immediately

!»-%—''-

160a] LETTERS. 107

** a speedy meeting and Moit^" as an Irishman would say.
You see how conceited Fm grown. Love toalL My heart
is with you.

[No. 80.] To his Mother.

July 2S. 1800.

I hope in a very few days to be able to leave London
and see all those I haye been so long, so tediously sepa-
rated firom. 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 (which must
always make him 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 him. I hope he will dine with you some
day ; and on that day there will not in Europe be three
more honest souls together.

[No. 810 To Ids Mother.

August 4. 1800.

I was yesterday introduced to his Royal Highness
George, Prince 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 abilities; 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 hoped when
he returned to town in the winter, we should have many

108 LETTEnS. iMTATt. 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 veiy fine ? But, my
dearest mother^ it has cost me a new coat ; for the intro-
duction was imfortunately 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 bcen^ — that the notes discovered a
great extent of reading, — and that, in short, it was a very
superior work.

Do not let any one read this letter but yourselves;
none but a father and a mother can bear such egotifing
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 Mother.

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

•: '■— j»it:

.801.] LETTERS. 109

more delightful than this housc^ — an immitable library,
where I have the honour of being bound up myself, a
charming piano, and very pleasant society. What can be
m<n€ delightful however ? I am so anxious to get to
Xiondon that I must fly away* • • •

[No. sa.] To his Mother.

London, Jan. 5. 1801.

♦ ♦ • J ^i^g jjQ^ allowed to leave Donington
Park till I had promised that, as soon as leisure allowed
me, I should return. They were, indeed, imcommonly
polite. The morning I left it, breakfast was ordered an
hoar earlier than usual to accommodate me, and Lord
Moira requested I should return as soon as I could. * * *

[Na 34.] To his Mother.

Jan. 27. 1801.

Dearest Mama,
Forgive me for only writing a billet doux^ but I Imve
written by this post to Capt. Atkinson and Lady Moira,
and have not time to say more than that I am very well,
and in high spirits. What do you think ? Lord Moira,
who 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 immediately.
Yours totally and eternally.

[No. 35.] To his Mother.

Monday, Feb. 2. 1801.

* * • I dined on Saturday in company with Suett
and Bannister. Read the piece to them. Suctt is quite
enchanted with his part, particukrly the mock bravura.

110 LETTERS. [iETAT. 21

[Na 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 swinuningly 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 I even
surpassing what they did in Dublin. Let me know if the
Steeles are in Dublin^ and write to me oftener. Sweetest,
dearest mama! keep up your spirits and health tiU we
meet^ which shall^ please Heaven I be in summer. Yours
dearly.

[Na 87.] To his Mother.

March 6. 1801
My dearest Mother,
• • *^* There b 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 afler
me to two or three places with a ticket for the '* Ancient
Music,'* which is the king's concert, and which b 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 foimd 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. ♦ • ♦

»J- ^ . A . — -"-

laOK] LETTEBS. Ill

[Ko. 88.] To his Mother.

March 18. 1801.
My dearest Mother^

Never was there any wight so idly busy as I am —
nothing but racketting : it is indeed too much^ and I in-
tend stealing 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 " I last
night went to a little supper 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. 89.] To his Mother.

March 24. 1801.

I find Grierson leaves this but tonlay : 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 707. in Hume's debt : he is now paid by
the sale of the copyright, and has left another debt of
strong obligation behind, for he is a very honest fellow.
You see how I push through these matters. Ah I 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 b (as Major Swayne says) eight miles into that ciirscd
city ! I shall soon, however, take the walk and get my
five guineas. What do you think, young Lord Forbes

112 LETTERS. IJEtat. 21.

and another young nobleman dine with me to-morrow I This
was a thing put on me, and I shall do it with a good grace.
I assure you I am sut feet high to-day after discharg-
ing my debt of 70t yesterday, and I have still some copies
on my hand to dispose of for myself. The new edition
will soon be out: it will 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 thing. Love to nlL

[No. 40.] To his Mother.

Saturday, March 28. 1801.

My dearest Mother,
• * • I was last night at a ball, which (as we say)
twept the town — everybody was there — two or three of
the Princes, the Stadtholdcr, &c. &c. You may imagine
the affability of the Prince of Wales, when his address to
me was, " How do you do, Moore ? I am glad to see you."
♦ ♦ ♦ I 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 wishes me to
undertake something on a more moderate scale for the
little theatre, which perhaps I shall do. But, please God I
I must, I think, see my dear ones in summer again. Don't
let me be forgot in your lodgings: keep a comer 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

.siz:.';

1801.] LETTERS, 113

the late routs ? This is a foolish custom adopted here, of
printing the names of the most distinguished personages
that are at the great parties^ and Mr. Moorcy I assure you^
18 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 Moira 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 polite 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 Boon^ dearest little mama, and tell me you are
welL

[No. 42.] To his Mother.

Saturday, April IS. 1801.

My dearest Mother,
I go on as usual; I am happy, careless, comical,
everything 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 Bawdon 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

IM^

114

L£TT£KS.

[iExiT. 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 long letter to Miss Catherine Little this week. Make
her answer me soon.

[Ko. 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 something far beyond
any of my past attempts. I dined en famille with Lord
Moira on Thiirsday last, and he told me every thing 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 all
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 well, happy in
spirits ; thinking hourly of the dear ones at home, and
anticipating the pleasure I shall have in rejoining them in
summer.

- — .J'. 'I T m ^^ > * • , ■« T i>:zsssaatammmmtmmBm

1801.] LETTERS. 115

[Na 44.] To his Mother.

Donington Park, Tuesday, May 5. 1801.
My time here by no means hangs heavily on me,
notwithstanding that I am so little accustomed to solitade.
I rise rather early, breakfast heartily, employ the day in

wolkiDg 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 pmre to you now from the clear air
of Donington; take it, my dear mother, and believe me
yours ever.

[No. 45.] To his Motlier.

Wedaesdftj, 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 Pork, 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 my 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

X 2

1 1 6 LETTERS. [JElTAT. 22.

have no other employment than to improve herself^ ought
surely to make correspondence with me one medium of that
improvement. I am ahnost growing anxious from this
silence^ to m^ 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 truths 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 foolishly, 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.

[No. 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 fiither. We
dined together yesterday at Mrs. Fancourt's : we have

i

laOl.] LETTERS. 117

oontriyed 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 ta,vlt, however ; and, indeed, I am very indifferent
about ity for they are not very liberal to the style of my
youthful productions. Lord Moira had one of the first
copies.

[Na 4S.] To his Mother.

June 16. 1801.
46. Wigmore Street, Carendish 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 mo. 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 nm

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

^i'^ . -m^. ■.

-- -*- ^ ^"tJ^ •

118

LETTEBS.

[jEtat. 22.

out of his way to set me down at Sir Watkin's, from Mrs.
DuATb, 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.

[Ko. 49.] To his Mother.

Not. 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 waited for, but in leaving
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 s(Mnc les-
sons in singing it. I shall tell in my next letter what I
think about her excursion to Castle Forbes. I was obliged
to come to town to try and get this music into hands.

180S.] LETTERS. 119

The second edition of Anacreon is published^ and it is
certfdnly very beautifully got up. The print is universally
thought to be like, and he is selling off hundreds of them
fflngly. There is a copy at the binder's for my dears at
home. • • •

[No. 61.] To his Mother.

Saturday, Jan. 80! 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-Edgeciunbe'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 fashionable friends at a rout last night,
the opening of the season, — 300 people. I wut 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 coining into administration

be^ns to be entertained very strongly here. Heaven

send it I I have heard from Dalby, and shall about the

end of this week go to Donington. The Ghranards seem

X 4

120 LETT£BS. IJEtat. 22.

to approve very much 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 his pub-
lication of the glees from Anacreon : it is universally read,
and hardly can be siud 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. 63.] To his Mother.

Monday, 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. While I was away, they did me
the troublesome honour of electing me into a new club
they have formed, and it was 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

-ifinfcr",

1802.] L£TT£BS. 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 aa
much as I wish, and I sometimes wish all the duchesses
and marchionesses chez le diahle. * * *

[No. 64.] To his Mother.

March 6. 1802.
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 when they are in
some war or other." Why Is Kat« so long silent? She
has not acknowledged either of the letters which I wrote
to her. I am getting quite rosy with the wr of this fine
weather. Nothing could take me to town now but Bantfs
benefit. She plays the chief man herself, and Mrs. Bil-
llngton 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 I How do
you like the way " Lady Fair " Is got up ? My best love
to dear, good father. I pray for you all every night.

[No. 65.] 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 Granard 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 LETTEBS. IJEtat. 23.

self out for it. London is most killingly gaj^ and my
spirits keep up to its gaiety. Have you got the headi»
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, which 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 Elate'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 ior fifteen guineas each. Mrs.
Fancourt, as fFowskiy 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 MooreJ^ I had a long conversation with Lord
Moira yesterday about going to Bnmswick 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 E^ate. 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

IS02.] LETTEB8. 123

most of conrse, before I arrange any plan whatsoever

abont Brunswick. Love to my good father^ dear Elate,
and Ellen. Yours, dearest mother.

[No* 67.] To hU Mother.

Saturdaj, 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 lather an tmposer
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 any tiling 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 hick it before I got up again. The deuce take
Mr. Holmes, wherever he is ; though I hope by this time,
at least, the box has arrived. I received Kate's last letter^
enclosed to me, from Egham. As soon as I can get off from

124 LETTERS. l^TAT. 23.

this place I shall^ please Heaven ! lose no time in flying to
yoiL Who could Elate 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.

Not. 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 Hutchinson 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 power than
before, he certsdnly has not less toill to do me service.
Every one has met me with smiles ; not a frown, even from
my tailor 1 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 can 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 1 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 deacL I hope they did not reach
t/ou, I never was more alive in my life.

1803.] LETTERS. 125

I am so anxious to get a lesson from dear Kate upon
the pianoforte, and to hear little Ellen warble. Well, well I
it most 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.

My dearest Mother,
• • * 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 1 Sad days we are thrown
upon : the world will never be in amity, I fear. • • •

[No. 61.J 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
really think transcribing must be the punishment for
bad poets in hell ; there is notliing so tiresome. It is now
a good while since I heard from home, but I know
my prattling correspondent is absent, and my father
jperhaps too much occupied to write: however, I hope
to day's post may tell me you are all well, and as I could
wisL 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 publishing his translation
of Camoens with Carpenter. I got some proof sheets
of it, which Lord S. sent me here, and I think it

^■r.,,M» :

^C -^ *»^ -- -—-—fa I M wt^-^iim

126 LETTERS. [JiTAT. 23.

will do him very great credit I hope, my dearest
mother, you walk out these glorious days : there 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. IVIills 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, darling mother.

[No. 62.] To Ms Mother.

Thundaj, 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 nobfy. 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 ofiered
on every side for a ticket for this, which is a fSte 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

I

1803.] LETTERS. 127

wanted it ; but Heaven be praised tbat you are not in
instant necessity for an assistance which necessity alone
could reconcile. I will do better for you^ at least as well,
by means more grateful to my feelings. The manner in
-which Mr. TVickham communicated the circumstance to
me would disgust any man with the least ispirit of inde-
pendence abont him* I accordingly, yesterday, after the
'jeceipt of my father's letter, enclosed the Ode for the Birth-
day, at the same time resigning the situation, and I slept
somider last night in consequence, than, I assure you, I
baye done for some time. It would place me on ^^ a ladder ^^
indeed, but a ladder which has but the one rank, where 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 town, 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 Crokcr, advised
me peremptorily to reject it. Carpenter's conduct is
uncommonly liberal. When I told him that my only
motive for retaining it was a very particular use to which
I had applied the stipend, he insisted I should not hesitate
upon that point, as he was ready, abstracted 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 procure it for me ; but Lord
Moira has totally relieved my mind upon the subject, by

128

LETTERS.

[^TAT. 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 work to com-
mence in about a month or two, in which I bear the
principal part. Wc 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.

k

[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 ar^ve safe. It is not by any

■^^^XJ*^' I

IJIf^

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. 1809.

My dearest Mother,
I am going to town to-morrow morning on a business
which may prove as fallacious as all the rest have been,
but which I think myself bound to foDow 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 Tiemey, offering him
the gift of a place which government had left at his
(Ticmey's) disposal. It must be something far from con-
temptible, as Lord M. told me, in confidence, Tiemey
was under obligations to him, and that this was the first
opportunity he liad 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 wider
separation would cause to your feelings, my dearest
mother : as for my own part, I should not consider any
sacrifice of either comforts or society at all 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 be 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 nothing certain of

VOL. I. K

•**-4*>

130 LETTERS. [iETAT.£4.

it yet. I take a letter to Tiemey 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 joxxi jtidgment

Poor Lord Moira met with a very disagreeable acci-
dent the other evening. As he was leaving tlie judges'
dinner at Leicester^ he fell in going down stairs and hurt
hie back, I think, 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 world.
He is indeed most amiable. I hope, however, it will 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 purse and spirits ; and God
knows but it may be a ^^ tide in my affidrs'* 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.
My 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 we had reason to expect from yourself, and which
we have had this day by your letter. Your uncle came
here yesterday for the purpose 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

:.■««- . ^ Jl^^^UJ ^ am*

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 this
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 wished
to accompany you. She returned back to Atkinson's;
he. A., does not know of this business, nor do I tliink it
right he should until it's all determined ; 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 wrote you yesterday : he is one of the
best of creatures ; he mentioned his wish to know some-
thing certain of the emoliunents of this place, which 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

LETTERS.

[iETAT. 24.

separation which this situation of yoi rs 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 I 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 you will be able to come to see
us before your departure. You will 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 Moore.

[No. 67.]

To his Mother.

k

Saturday, Sept. 10. 1803.
My dearest Mother,
I have just got my father's letter, which has made me
very happy. I am quite consoled by the idea of your
keeping up your spirits so weD, 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

"^y—- Tv^

1803.1 LETTERS. 133

behind. I could not possibly have such another opportu-
nity. • • • I mentioned to another friend of mine,
Woolriche, the surgeon, what I had asked of Atkinson,
and he said if it failed, or was not time enough, he would
contrive to manage it for me. These are Englishmen !
without any profession or ostentatious promises, but with
a soberly liberal readiness to help the man who is woithy
of being helped. Oh I the ffold mines of sweet Ireland I
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. Nothing 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 nothing in it now but hope and happiness.
Tom Hume is arrived, to my very great delight, as his
kindness will materially assist in smootliing tlie path for me.
He is a peifect enthusiast in the business, and snys that
nothing could be presented so totally free from every alloy-
ing consideration,— ?o perfectly adapted to my dis|K)sition,
constitution, and prospects ; and he is right. If I did not
make a shilling 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 8

134 LETTERS. [^TAT. 24.

objects inTaluable of themselves, abstracted from the pecu-
niary. [The rest of the letter is torn away.]

[No. 69.] To his Mother.

Sept. 1803.
My dearest Mother,
To-morrow morning Merry has fixed on for going to
Portsmouth, and to-morrow ni^t 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 him for
his readiness in supplying my wants : I don't know what
I should have done without him, as there is a nmnber of
little contingent necessities for which I should otherwise
have been obliged to trench on my himdred pounds. • • *
I think I shall find Mr. and Mrs. Merry 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 shall write to you from on board, and take
the chance of meeting some ships which may bring letters
for us to England. Among the lighter sacrifices I make,
the poor pianoforte is included. I shall be strangely at a
loss without that favourite resource of mine. However, I
must carry music in my heart with me ; and if that beats
livelily in tune, 'twill supply the want of other harmonics.
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 polished on my return ;
and the little Nell I expect to see — anything but tall and
termagant. God bless and preserve our whole circle.

1803.J LETTERS. 135

[No. 70.] To his Mother.

Portsmouth, Thursday, Sept 22. 1803.
Just arrived at Portsmouth, and the wide sea before
my eyes, I write my heart's farewell to the dear darlings
at home. Heaven send I may return to English ground
with pockets more heavy y 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 /could pre-
tend to in it ; but now all is smooth for my progress, and
Hope sings in the shrouds of the ship 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

Tom.

Urge Stevenson to send Carpenter the songs : I shall

write to him. Sweet mother, father, Kate, and NeD,

good by I

[No. 71.] To his Mother.

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

■ J* ■~~ip Wla Biigirii riii-f

136 LETTERS. [^TAT.24.

Azores, or the Western Islxmds, and though our second
week has not advanced us much, from the ahnost con-
tinual cahns we have had, yet the weather has been so
delicious 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 minutiaB 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 accomimodations 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 comimon : 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 cver^'
hope, every prospect of happiness for all of us. Love to
darling father, to my own Kate and Nell. 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 hiss for
you, my darlings, all the way from the Atlantic.

■.-r—r

1808.] L£TT£B8» 137

[Ko. 79.] To his Mather.

Norfolk, Yirginia, Not. 7. 1803.

Safe across the Atlantic^ my darling mother^ after a six
weeks passage^ during which my best consolation was the
thought 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 opportunity 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, which 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 I 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 will be a thousand
things to sweeten our reunion, and atone to us for the
sacrifice we 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, which was exhibited towards me particularly,
f*erved very much to render it not only sui)portablc, but
pleasant. • • • With Cockbum, wlio 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

itk

138 LETTERS. [iETAT.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 with 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
strong enough 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 Mr. 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 genmne civility. The introduction I
brought him from Lord Henry Stuart was of no little
weight, as it told him the light I was considered in in
England; and on my mentioning Lord Moira by accident,
I understood from him that they were old friends in
America, and that he should be happy to show his remem-
brance and love of Lord Moira by attention to any one
whom he honoured with his friendship. 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. Merry, 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
opportimity of getting to Bermudas : it is not a week's
passage, and I am so great a sailor now, I shall think

z>-»t».^^"-i;.

I60S.] LETTEBS. 139

nothing of that. 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
b^n to think it was your extreme tenderness that made
either of us imagine that I was delicate. In the course of
our passage towards the southward^ it was so hot^ that the
thermometer was at 90^ in the shade; and about five or six
days afterwards^ when we came along the American coasts
a pair of blankets was scarcely enough at nighty the
weather became so suddenly cold. Yet this violent change
has not the least affected me^ and I never was better in
healthy 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 aroimd us^ except now and then the beautiful little
fljring 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 ; nothing to be seen
in the streets but dogs and negroes, and the few ladies that
pass for white are to be sure the most imlovely 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, which looked like civilisation, and delighted me
extremely; and in the evening we had a Miss Mathews,
who played and sung very tolerably indeed ; but music
here is like 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
publication full of extracts from my Anacreon and Little's
poems, and speaking of me in the most flattering terms of
eulogium. All this is very gratifying; it would be so
naturally at any time, and is now particidarly so, from

140 LETTERS. [^TAT. 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 we all had
the resolution to enable me to make the effort, but as that
is the chief 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 which left us to return
to PortsmoutL This too I have hopes arrived safe; but my
confusion was so great, that I cannot now remember what
I wrote or what 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

^- -*4 ■ ^ _S-!

1803.] LETTERS. 141

could get Lord Moim to write a few words about me to
Hamilton, I tliink 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
tliis time furnished poor Carpenter with some means of
freeing 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 grateful to Stevenson if he accomplishes
it for me.

I liave 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 I if you saw the
vehicles the people drive about in here, white coaches ^vith
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 tluit meat is rather a scarcity there, and
that it is sometunes 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 pimishment for him. Tell
my beloved^ darling father, that if there is anything in

(^■iiaai^h^HNHiitert:^''?"'^^- ■T'.-raaf-. .^-^-^ <u».-.

142 LETTER8. [iF.TAT. 24.

the mercantile way which he can leam^ that I may assist
him or Mr. Grillespie 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 his Mother.

Norfolk, Virginia, Not. 28. 1803.
My darling Mother,
By a ship 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 imcertain
upon a point so interesting, as the little conununication 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 imcertainty at Bermuda. I must, therefore,
take every opportunity that presents itself, and it will be
very unfortimate, indeed, if some of my communications do
not reach you. I have now been here three weeks, 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 seansickness, upon ccmiing 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 which contained an enclosoie of songs for

1803.] LETTEBS. 143

Stevenson ; secondly, whether Captain Atkinson received
a letter I sent ashore by the pilot-boat, to be put in
the post-ofBce; 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 wclL Mr. and Mrs. Merry are gone to Washington,
after remiuning 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 I 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 long be united and blessed together.
In that hope I bear absence with a lighter heart, and
I entreat of you, sweet mother I to look on it with the
same cheerful 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 opportimity whatever that occurs of
writing to you, and saying how afiairs go on. My dear
father, I am sure, will often give me the consolation of
seeing his hand. Good Elate 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. [ACtat. 24.

Tell Capt. A. everything: show him my letters: he
has my heart's warmest remembrances, and I will write to
him by this or the next opportunity. I kiss you alL
God bless you. Your own,

Tom.

[No. 75.] To his Mother.

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. When 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, says Rosa," acknowledging to whom I am
indebted for the air : lest he should forget them, let my
father write to remind him. I sent too, from Portsmouth,
a letter for Capt. Atkinson, the arrival of which I am
very anxious about : mention all these points when you
write. When you write ! Oh, dear mother! think 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 Aim, and youy and all! I feel how
anxioud your hearts must be at the long interval you have
passed without 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 relief to your
solicitude. I did not regret so much the foul winds we
had afterwards, because they were fair for that vessel
which 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 this, you have seen my handwriting and are com-
forted, dear mother. The kindness of these good people,
the Ilamiltons, is fortunate and delightful to me. K 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 hospitality 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 English, which will keep me famously
aUve in my French. It is extraordinary that I cannot,
even here, acquire any accurate information with respect
to the profits of my re^trarship. One thing is certain^
tliat 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

<■-»»'■»- -fl

146 LETTERS. L^TAT. 24.

in Dublin will all be very angry that I do not write to
them by 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.
This 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
fiiend 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 hve people till
I leave them. This is a strange climate ; yesterday the
glasd 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 with
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 apply 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 agun. The captain waits for the letters ; he goes to
Cork. Ever your own.

1803.] LETTERS. 147

[No. 75.] To his Mother.

Norfolk, Virginia, Dec. 10. 1803.
My darling Mother,
You will have received, I hope, long before this
arrives, two letters which I wrote since the one I
now enclose. I am extremely unhappy at the delay,
for I know how you must have suffered in the in-
terval ; but the ship Kitson, by which 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 imlucky ? I so pleased myself with the
idea that you were by this time apprised of my safety,
for it is now near five weeks since the Kitson 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 was 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 with. If you however, my
dear mother, have got well over it, as I trust in Heaven
you have, there is nothing else which at present gives my
heart one pfunful thought : is not this delightful for you
to hear ? The expectation I expressed in all my letters,
that some of the ships of war bound for Bermuda would
touch here is gratified most fortunately. Captain Comp-
ton of the Driver is arrived, and I go with him. Nothing
could be more lucky; beside the safety and comfort of such
convoy, it saves me between twenty and thirty guineas,

which I should have to pay for passage and provision in a

& 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 Bitson 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, darling 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 Bermuda, and I
ahall have an opportunity of writing again before we go.
God bless you — Father, Kate, Nell, and all dears. • • •

[No. 76.] To hi$ Mother.

Bermuda, Jan. 19. 1S04.
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 advantnges of the situation
would be very dearly purchased. In coming from Norfolk

C^-sU-'-

1804.] LETTEUS. 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 bs wc gained
of our way. Yet I bore it all so stoutly, that, would you
believe it, dearest mother ! on the day of the worst 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 vsun to think
of sleeping from the noise and the motion, I amused my-
self in my cot by writing ridiculous verses and laughing at
theuL 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 Hamiltons at Norfolk. Mrs. Hamilton
cried, and said she never parted with any one so reluctantly.
The colonel gave me the warmest letters of introductioa
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

'fVCJ-

150 LETTERS. [iETAT. 24.

his absence from her, I enclose one of these letters, wluch
by the merest accident has returned into my possession,
and which, being to one of the young sea captains, I have
reason to think is not half so strong as some others.

These little islands of Bermuda form certmnly one of
the prettiest and most romantic spots that I could ever
luive imagined, and the descriptions which represent it as
like a place of fairy 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 tluckly covered with cedar groves, through 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
" human face divine" has degenerated wonderfully in
these countries ; and if I were a pwiter, and wished to
preserve my ideas of beauty inmiaculate, I would not
suffer the brightest belle of Bermuda to be my house-
maid. But I shall refer you for a fuller description of this
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 LETTEBS. 151

the spring months come in^ when 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 preferment. 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 acquunted with 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 fttvourable 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
will amply, dearly repay me for much more exertion than
I have yet made towards your welfare. How I shall
enjoy dear Kate's playing when I return ! The jingle

L 4

152 LETTERS. [iETAT. 24.

thcj make here upon things they call pianofortes is^ oh I
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 thenu 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 write 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 sidls soon after the one that takes this.
Best love to my adored father: I hope Providence favours
liis 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 im-
fbrtunate chance should rob you of it^ I take the oppor-

~rr- *"-

1804.] LETTERS. 153

tunitj of a ship gobg to the West Indies^ which at least
doubles the likelihood of your hearing of mj 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 time 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 3Iay 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 change 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 undertaken it. Dear, good darlings at home,
how I long to hear of you ! Oh I 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 I
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 caption; but in fiill 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 £[ate and

154 LETTERS. [^TAT. 24.

NelL God bless you. I shall take every opportunity of
writing. Yours, yours, most aflfectionately, darling
mother.

[No. 78.] To Am 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 still 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 third 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 Spwi 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. Boses are in full blow here now, and my
favorite ffreen peas smoke every day upon the table. I

1804.J LETTERS. 155

have been extremely fortunate here (aa Indeed Providence
seems to please I should be everywhere) in conciliating
frienddhip^ and interesting those around me in my welfare.
The admiral, Sir Andrew Mitchell, has insisted upon my
making his table my own during my stay here, and has
promised to take me in his ship to America, for the pur-
pose of getting a passage home to England, there being no
direct conveyance from this little comer 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 digice 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 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, with-
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 does not produce a war,
we have peaceable ministers indeed. But I must not talk

156 LETTERS. [^TJlT. 24.

to you of politics, dai-ling mother, for I have only time to
bid you kiss all the dears around you for me. Tell my
dai'ling 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,

TOBI.

[No. 79.] To his Mother.

Bermuda, March 19. 1804.
My dearest Mother,
I take every opportunity of writing that offers, though
perfectly imcertain whether 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 home 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

„, rtg- ^famm

1804.] LETTERS. 157

been as many efforts at gsdety 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 through 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 with
sail-boats. Never was anything so beautiful I 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
18 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 sliall 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 signaUpost for your
Tom, who will bring you back a sunburnt face, a heart
not the worse for the wear, and a purse, like that of most
honest fellows, as empty as — richer fellows* heads 1 Never

158 LETTERS. [iETAT. 24.

mind^ though I I am young and free^ and the world is a

field for me stilL While I have such motives for exertion

as youy my dear father^ and sisters, I may say ** warring

angels combat on my side." I shall leave this letter open,

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,

To3r.

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 amy after a passage
of nine days from Bermuda ; never was better ; and the
novelty of this strange place keeps me in a bustle of spirits
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 Miss Patterson.

1804.] LETTERS. 159

for Norfolk^ whither I shall accompany him ; and mj 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 I such people I 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 sail here,
there is more than enough of barrenness in intellect, taste^
and all in which Iieart 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 wrote 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 Sfdl 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 Kite'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. [JEtat. 24.

intermption and delay of tlie few letters I could ^spatch
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 even 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 shoxdd all
have come to me; and though set apart from the rest of the
world, we should have foimd in that quiet spot, and under
that sweet sky, quite enough to counterbalance what the
rest of the world could ^ve 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 ^stance 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
various 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 yoimg
M. Buonaparte, and felt a slight shock of an earthquake,
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 Hali£EUc I hope

■ *» ■« i r ^

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 E^ate 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 Miscellany ;
a collection of poems published by my little friend Mrs.
BiddelL But why doesn't E[ate say something about Nell ?

My first object when I return shall be to discharge my
obligations to Carpenter : as I must, for that purpose, 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. My 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, darUng mother. Kiss them all round for me,
father, E[ate, and Nell together. Your own,

T. M.

[No. 82.] To his Mother.

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 reconcilesy 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 I The mail takes twelve passengers, which generally

VOL. I. M *

162 LETTERS. [-fiTAT. CS.

consist of squalling children, 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," driving through mud
and filth, which bespatters them as they raise it, and risking
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. Jefier-
8on ; and it is only the precarious situation of Great Briton
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 1 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 foimd 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 sincercst affection possible: she loves you all
through me. 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 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.

Philadelphia, 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,
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 I 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

u 2

xai

164 LETTERS. [iETAT. 25.

looked at it, that some magic could transform it into the
waterfall 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 sliall be, please Heaven 1 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 ought
to recollect how very short a time I have been stationary
anywhere, and I shall look with hope to Halifax for the
long arrears of comfort which begin to impoverish the
treasury of my spirits, rich as it is in stores of consolation
and vivacity.

My reception at Philadelphia was extremely flattering:
it is the only place in America which 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 while 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 ^
ere come to steal away young Mister Buonaparte : this.

1804.] LETTERS. 165

perhaps^ will a little delay her arrival at Halifax^ where 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 stomach. ♦ ♦ ♦

[Na 84.] From Captain Douglas^ ILN.

Boston, June 29. 1804.
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 warm 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. Bespecting 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. Be-
member me kindly to Col. Barclay's fkmily, and believe
me, your true friend,

J. E. Douglas.

M 3

166 LETTERS. [iETAT. 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 AthenSy and there, you may ima^ne,
I found myself quite at home. I looked in vain though
for my dear gardens; there were hogs enough, but none of
Epicurus^ s herd. K 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 111 not tease you with it Two 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 this 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 delicacy or
refinement. I believe I must except the women from this
denunciation ; they are certainly flowers of every climate,
and here ** waste their 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.
Ilopkinson, 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,

** Alune by the Schujlkill a wanderer rov*d,**

ahready 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 with difficulty 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

J^MiMK

168 LETTERS. [.EiAT. 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 we might *^ condescend, indeed,
to come down to the Public Wash with the other gentlemen
in the morning I *' I saw there a poor affectionate mother
who had brought her son for the recovery of his healtli :
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 ima^nable. Oh I 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 imnoticed
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.

Greneva, Genessee Country, July 17. 1804.

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-

^ "- «3 -

1804.] LETTERS. 169

pearance. An old chief, Seenando, received me very
courteouslj, 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 Wolf, the Bear, and
the Turtle ; poor, harmless savages ! The government of
America are continuallj deceiving them into a surrender
of the lands they occupy, and are driving them back into
the woods farther and farther, till at length they will have
no retreat but the ocean. This old chief's manners were
extremely gentle and intelligent, and almost 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
imcommonly 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
does not permit the heart to rest merely in the admi-
ration of Nature, but carries it to that something less
vafjfue than Nature, that satisfactory source of all these
exquisite wonders, a Divinity I I sometimes on the way
forget myself and even you so much, as to wish 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 my
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), I 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 (/ratis
to England which has induced me to devote the expenses

170 LETTERS. [£tat. 85.

of my return to the acquisition of some knowledge re-
specting this very interesting world, which, 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 waggon : 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 powerful 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. When I say, *^ for some
time," I mean a fortnight or three weeks. Grood by.
Ood bless you, dears. Oh ! that I could know how you
are at this moment Your own,

Tom.

[Np. 87.] To his Mother.

Chippewa, Upper Canada, July 29. 1804.
Dearest Mother,
Jost 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 healthier 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 Genessee country^
and am now between Lake Erie and Lake Ontario. Such
scenery as there is around me I it is quite dreadful that
any heart, bom for sublimities, should be doomed to breathe
away its hours amidst the miniature productions of this
world, without seeing what shapes Nature can assume,
what wonders God can give birth to.

I have seized this momentary opportunity, dear
mother, for writing a line to ^ou, 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 his MotJier.

Niagara, Julj 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 three miles of
the Falls, on Saturday, July 21st, to dinner. That even-
ing walked towards the Falls, but got no farther than the
Bapids, which gave us a prelibation of the grandeur we
had to expect Next day, Sunday, July 22d, went to

172 LETTERS. [iETAT. 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 effects of the
scene ; but saw through the trees this mighty flow of
waters descending with calm 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 wliich 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. Bu'
the fonner exquisite sensation was gone. I now saw al!.
The string that had been touched by the first impulse, and
which yhwcy 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 I pity
the man who can coldly sit down to write a description
of these ineffable wonders ; 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 magnificence. Painting is
lifeless; and the most burning words of poetry have
all been lavished upon inferior and ordinary subjects.
We must have new combinations of language to describe
the Falls of Niagara."

1804.] LETTERS. 173

Chippewa, July 25.

So much for my journal; but if, notwithstanding all
this enthusiastic contempt for matter-of-fact 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
forwardecl. Ohl if the stupid scoundrel should have
neglected it. Since the day I left New 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
wings 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 will take care of us. A
thousand kisses to dear father and the girls, from their
own boy on the banks of Lake Ontario. Agtdn God bless
you, dearest mother. Ever, ever your

Tom.

[Na 89.] To his Mother.

Quebec, August 20. 1804.

My darling Mother,

After seventeen hundred miles of rattling and tossing

through woods, lakes, rivers, &c., I am at length upon the

ground which made Wolfe inmiortal, and which looks more

like the elysium of heroes than their death-place. If any

174 LETTERS. [^TAT.aS.

thing can make the beauty of the 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 politeness 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,
which 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 witL 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
this with me. I cannot write more now ; the fleet which
sails for England is on the point of sailing. 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.

1804.] LETTERS. 175

[No. 90.] To his Mother,

Windsor, Nora 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 sidling 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
on 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 foimded. 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 his aide-de-camp
to the master of the vessel 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.
AU this cannot but gratify my own sweet 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 detfdned 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.

1 76 LETTERS. [iETAT. 25.

But, still lucky, I have found him here refitting, and in
about three weeks we 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 ^rL

You must not be surprised at such a scatter-brained
letter, for I have this 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 ut-
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.

[Na 91.] To his Mother.

Pljinouth, Old England once more, Nov. 12. 1804.

I almost cry 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)' o{ those that are dearest to
me. Oh dear I 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

,«,.^ «_ j-«rJ?- J*- ■-* - «:*T^'

>«^

1804.] LETTERS. 177

*

it^ instead of lingering out months after months, without a
gleam of intelligence, vrithout 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 draw the
sponge over every pecuniary obligation I have contracted.
How few in a dmilar situation could say this I and how
grateful do I feel to Heaven, and my dear father and
mother for those means I ♦ ♦ ♦

[No. 98.] To his Mother.

Satardaj [after my return from Bermuda],

My 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 words were these : ^^ I am
very glad to see you here again, Moore. From the reports
I heard, I was afraid we had lost you. I assure you (lay-
ing his 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. 95.

up to Lord Moira, 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 notlung else could have induced me
to break the studious retirement I have adopted. I am
delighted I went. God bless you alL

fNo. 93.] To his MotJier*

27. Barj Street, St. James's,
Wednesday, Jan. 11. 1805.

My darling Mother,

I find that London itself, with all its charms, will be
anable 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. Tiglie
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 something would
be suflScient to urge me so industriously, if I were not
impelled by my anxiety to get to Lreland; and, please
Heaven I about six weeks hence will, I think, see me on
my way tluther.

'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

.^- » ^^fcr,3^^**;..^*,»^i3

1805.] LETTERS. 179

[Na 94.] To his Mather.

Wednesday, Feb. 6. 1805.
Mj dearest Mother,

If I were not so occupied, the time would go very
heavily that keeps me from you. It is extremely lucky
for me that none of my lounging friends 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 resolyed
not to indulge myself with a sight of home till I com-
pleted my task, for it ^ves me a whet of industry which
no other object could inspire : still, 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 1 would — (a
reason, by the bye, which I have sometimes been perverse
enough to let operate in quite a contrary direction), but

V 2

180 LETTERS. IXfT AT. 85.

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 I 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 sliall 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 behind, 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 bums bright, and, we flatter ourselves, so does oiu:
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 Elate. I am sure it will be popular. I should
be glad she would show it to Stevenson, to know if there

* The Donegals were then at Tunbridge. T. M

1805.] LETTEBS. 181

be any thing glaringly wrong in the haimonj. Perhaps
the second voice might be improved at the words ** We'll
sing at St Anne's our parting hjmn^" but I rather doubt
it. I cannot see the postman pass my door every morn-
ing without a little bit of a grudge to E[ate> 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 world. All in
good time ; but it is strange that people who value the
silk so much^ should not feed the poor worm 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 Lady Donegal.

Tuesday, 1805.

Ajiothcr 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
worlds by women and wine-glasses^ love and tobacco-
pipes, 111 be with you by the time the coach arrives, most
punctually: now pray, believe me this once : besides. 111
tell you what, or (as Lord Grizzle says), " shall I tell 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 esca^ie for myself, and

R 3

182 LETTEB8. [£tat. 25.

80 get off the necesrity of returning to town bo eoon as I
otherwise should do. I own I am a little terrified by
Bogers's account of your multitudinous company-keeping
at Tunbridge^ but I hope you are quieter than he repre-
sents you. I like Bogers better every time I see him.
Yours on Thursday, and always,

T. MOOBE.

[Na 98.] From Miss Godfrey.

Friday, May 24. 1805.

" Whate'er they promised or profe8s*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 fsuthless
of men I K 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 easy, yielding, gentle composition of
flesh and blood, to say nothing of being rather foolish into
the bargidn, that possibly I might be persuaded to forgivo
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.] LETTEB8. 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 well
employed, but I fear that the book will not come out this
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, would 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 :

H 4

(84 LETTEB8. L^TAT. 86.

he has endeavoured to recuan me into going with hiij^; bat
when I can resist the tme 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 darling 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 i
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 quite 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.] LETTEBS. 185

Mrs. T. * ifl ordered to the Madeiras^ which makes me de-
spair of her ; for she toill not go, and another winter will

inevitably be her death. Your own,

Tom,

[No. 101.] From Lord Moira.

Edinburgh, Sept ]2. 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 I
say that I think you ought to have sought some moro
marked name. Mine has been a life of effort, ^^ signifying
nothing;*' and its improductiveness 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-fashion
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. Believe me, my dear sir,
very faithfully yours,

MoiBA.

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.

■ ■■ I tm ^.MriMta

186

LETTERS.

[iETAT. 26.

Lady Harrington : she is very kind to mc^ and says the
more and oftcner 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,
Tliis 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 Kogers 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 Eliza 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.
God bless you all, dears, and good friendsi Your own,

Tom.

They say now Lord Powis is going as lord lieutenant.
I don't know him at alL

"v^r^T'

1806.] LETTEBS. 187

[No. 104.] To his Mother.

Donington, Monday.
My dearest Mother^
* * * I was at a beautiful little fSte champ^tre at
Mrs. Siddons's cottage on Saturday evening: it was the
most fairy scene I ever witnessed; and even the duchesses
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 concurrence 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 ferment 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-

' '■'^» ■ ^» -«^rfiMa>.»>«a*M. a... ^-m^.^^,^,^ .

188 LETTERS. r>£TAT. 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. Liord
Moira has everything in his power, and my fate now
depends upon his sincerity, which I think it profanation
to doubt, and Heaven grant he may justify my confidence.
Tiemey 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 like 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
full daylight, I pray of him. Your own,

Tom.

[No. 107.] To his Mother.

Thursday, Feb. 8. 1806.

My darling Mother,

I this morning breakfasted with Lord Moira, and have

had all 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.] LETTEB8. 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 would 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 you 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 conmiunicate
to you, and I know you will share my satisfaction at it.
God bless you, dears. Your own,

Tom.

I have hopes that Tiemey 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 that is taking

place in administration. Certainly, if Lord Moira 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 ! think how delightful if I shall

_: * -

190 LETTERS. [iETAT. 26

be enabled to elevate you all above the struggUng exi-
gencies of your present situation^ and see you sharing
prosperity with me while you are yet young enough to
enjoy it Grod bless you, dears. A Uttle 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 SO. 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 week 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 imdergone 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
afnud that you will be fool enough to be alarmed at it ;
but if you saw my cheeks at this moment, almost bursting

1806.] LETTERS. 191

with health and cheerfulness, you would even lai^h at the
little pain that I feeL Your own,

Tom.

[No. 110.] To his Mother.

Mondaj, May 5. 1806.
My dearest IMother,

Here I lie, fat and saucy, eating and drinking most
valorously, reading and writing most wisely, but not stir-
ring an inch. On Monday or Tuesday I am to be relieved
from this impalement, and after two or three days, which
it will take me to heal, I shall be quite well again. Lord
Moira sent Lord Kancliife 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
aiFord me a little sunshine, when it wiU please my surgeon
to rid me of this stitch in my aide. 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. 111.] 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.

mSmmmSiiSmmmiimmmifm

192 LETTERS. [£tat.S6.

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
mj refusal, and stating the circumstances of my present
situation ; from all which it appeared to me better to wait
till something worthier both of his generosity and my 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 relieved 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
will, 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

-— -^ ->;fc#-Z>- *»*•*#*■ *"e5rr^'

180C.] LETTERS. 1 93

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 thing
will justify me in. All around me looks bright and pro-
mising, and the re?pectability of the situation they intend
for me flatters my hopes most delightfully.

God bless you all. Eest 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,

Moira.

[No. 114.] To his Mother.

Wednesdaj, ISOii.

My dearest Mother,
I have seen Lord Moira, and presented him my father's
thanks. He told me, 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
VOJ-. I. O

;Smnm£it

194 LETTEK8. [JEtat. 27.

kindness to mc ; and I nm sure^ when he has it in Iiis
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^ aa he should not forget me ; so that,
I think, in about a fortnight I shall take flight for the
bog:». Darling mother 1 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.

Wednesdaj, July, 1806.
I certainly may say to you as Cowper says to one of his
correspondents, that " you understand trap," for nothing
was ever more skilfully anticipated than the scolding which
you know you deserved from me, and which 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 nothing on your
hands but your gloves, and nothing to distract you but
Chichester, and yet, during that whole time, 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 his side and the wind-colic
in his heart, with the dust in his eyes and the devil in his

i

1806.] LETTERS. 195

purse, 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 mtstSy between Ossidns and
Chichestersy taking a whole fortnight to consider of it, be-
fore you would even say, " How are you now, sir?" Well
— I forgive you, though I cannot help thinking it the very
refinement of Irish modesty, the very quintessence of
the bogs, to follow up such delinquency with an attack
instead of an apology ; it is like Voltaire's Huron, who,
when they send him to confession, seizes the unfortunate
])riest, whirls him out of his sentry-box, and forcing him
down upon his knees, says, ^^ Now, you must confess to
me!'' • ♦ ♦

Now as to Worthing y when am I to visit you? I
solemnly and assuredly hope to leave London for Ireland
about the latter end of next weeky or the beginning of the
following one. Lord Moira has told me that my absence
will not interfere with 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 appointments^ 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 farewell to all 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 }f ou. Ever yours,

T. M.

On Saturday, if you have got to Worthing, I think I
shall be able to go down to you : this at least imposes upon
you the task of writing to me to-morrow to let me know.

o 2

DUEL WITH JEFFREY.

isoe.

{JPrittm at a cmdinuatim oj tha JUrawjr.)

A J*

DUEL WITH JEFFREY.

1806.

Particulars of my hostile Meeting with Jeffrey in the

Year 1806.

Some letters of mj 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 good deal
of foolish mis-statement and misrepresentation.

In the month of July, 1806, 1 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 waiting
its arrival to set off to Worthing. ** I wait but for the
arrival of the Edinburgh. • • • Say 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 JEFFRET. L^tat. 27.

my bed, one morning, at the inn in Wortliing, 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 time 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 which afterwards
took place. I also well remember that, when the idea of
calling out Jefirey first suggested itself to me, the neces-
sity 1 should be under 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 y there was the identical Jefirey himself just arrived,
on a short visit to his London friends. From Kogcrs, 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
of manners ;" on which Jeffrey said, laughingly, ** I am
afraid he would not show much amenity to iwe."

The fir6t step I took towards my hostile proceeding was
to write to AVoolriche, a kind and cool-headed friend of
mine, begging of him to join me in town as soon as pos-

tl m

1806.] DUEL WITH J£FFBETt 201

eible ; 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 ; which, 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 free from a
certain Irish predilection for such encounters, or wholly
unleavened by a dash of vanity y I will not positively assert.
But if this 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 Woolrichc's answer implied delay and deliberation,
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 needlcps to sjiy 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,
Hanng now secured my second, I lost no time in drawing
up the challenge which he was 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 mj 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 h.iish and vulgar mode of

202 DUEL WITH JEFFBET. [JEtat. 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 Jefirey to
his friend Mr. Horner, and the meeting was fixed for the
following morning at Chalk Farm. Our great difficulty
now was where to procure a case of pistols ; for Hume,
though he had been once, I think, engaged in mortal
affi*ay, 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
thought likely to Aimish me with these sine^ua-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.] BUEL WITU JEFFBBT. 203

Bleep at home ; and as Hume was not the man^ either 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 off for Chalk Farm. Hume had also
taken the precaution of providing a surgeon to be within
calL On reaching the ground we found Jeffirey and his
party already arrived. I say his ''party," for although
Homer only was with him, there were, as we afterwards
found, two or three of his attached friends (and no man, I
believe, could ever boast of a greater number) who, 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 contidned the
pistols, in his hand, while Homer was looking anxiously
around.

It was agreed that the spot where we found them, which
was screened on one side by large trees, would be as
good for our purpose as any we could select ; and Homer,
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 Jei&ey
and myself together.

All this had occupied but a very few minutes. We, of

* One of these fiiends was, I think, the present worthy Lord Advo-
cate, John Murray.

mm

204 DUEL WITH JEFFBET, [^TAT.aT.

course, had bowed to each other on meeting ; but the first
words I recollect to have passed between us was Jeflfrey's
saying, on our being left together, " What a beautiful
morning it is !" " Yes," I answered with a slight smilc^
" 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 which I related to
him, as rather d 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 Homer
not knowing anything about the loading of pistols, he had

:-:d. .^

1806,] DUEL WITH JCFFBET. 205

been obliged to help him 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 (Uspatch messengers to procure some friends
to bail us; and as llVllliam 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 wish to be separated, but neither party having ex-
pressed any desire to that effect, we were all put together
in the s:ime 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 which stood beside the wall, pour-
ing volubly forth his fluent but most oddly pronounced
diction, and dressing 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 Kogers that so oflSciated. I am, however, certain
that the latter joined us at the ofiice ; and after all the
usual ceremony of biniUng over, &c. had been gone
through^ it was signified to us that we were free to depart

206 DUEL WITH JEFFRST. [-fiTAT. 27.

and that our piBtols 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 o£Bce, forgot
all about our borrowed pistols^ and left them behind us,
and^ as A^ set off immeiUately to join his wife who was
in the country, I was obliged myself to return to Bow
Street, in the coiurse of a few hours, for the purpose 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 bullet, while there
had been no bullet found in that of ]VIr. Jeffrey.

Recollecting what Hume had told me as to the task of
loading the pistols being cliicfly 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 Homer's lodgings and lay
all the circumstances before him. This I did without r
moment's delay, and was lucky enough to find him at his
chambers. I then told him exactly what the officer had
Sfud 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 I 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 put the bullet into Jeffrey's pistol, and
shall go with you instantly to the office to set the matter
right" We both then proceeded together to Bow Street,
and Homer's statement having removed the magistrate's

1806.] DUEL WITH JKFFB£T. 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, who requested it of me, (as a
sort of polemic relique, 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 could now em-
ploy, what were my feelings at that time.

[No. 116.] To Miss 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 ]VIr.
Jeffrey by my own invitation, at Chalk Farm, 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 we
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 his 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 like 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 JEFFBET. [iETAT. 27-,

What I asserted in this letter, namely, that it was
through Spencer's means the meeting had been interrupted,
was communicated to me by Rogers, and, I have no doubt,
was perfectly correct. Spencer dined alone with the Fin-
castles, and, afler 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 thein tended 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 fabehood 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.

Tuesdaj.
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 $uite that this affaijt
could have, and Heaven knows it has given me unhappi*
ness enougL 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 oflBciousness of
the persons who were sent to interrupt us. 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 Homer, 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
his name ; that he ** did not know who Mr. Homer was ; ^
in short, he refused to sign the paper; and the only effort

VOL. I, p

210 DUEL WITH JEFFREY, [iErAT. 27,

made at public explanation was a short letter on the sub-
ject from myself, wliich, of course, to those who did not
know me personally, went deservedly for nothing.

Through the kind offices of Rogers, a treaty of peace
was negociated between Jeffrey 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 particuhirs
of the final arrangement of our strife.

[No. 118.] To La^y 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 fi*ank was Humphrey Butler ;
and he told mo 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, tind
not a soul shall see it, I assure you. Lord Moira lias
written to me a very kind note, in consequence of my
communicating to liim the explanations which I had firom
Jefirey, 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 tliis 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 stait one's self
as the butt for all the wild constructions of the public;
misrepresentation, in some way or the other, is the ine\'it-
able lot of every one who stands in such a predicament ; but

3- -.' — — V-.«ti^

1806.] DUEL WITH JEFFREY. 211

the squibs against you were 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 pleasiire, 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
feelings 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 Duke 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 Tunbridge trip. I
believe it was Chichester that '' whispered the flattering
tale," but I am almost afraid to believe 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 poimds for the Sallust, and I
wait but for this forty-poimder 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 derk of the

Bank's accusation of Lord Moira. I know no more than

you have read in the pf^rs."

p 8

<4«w-;

212 DUEL WITH JEFFREY. [JEXAT. 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 apolo^es 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 purpose in his own
autograph, which concludes thus : ^* I shall always hold
myself bound to bear testimony to the fairness and spirit
with which 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 seansickness, and how
do you feel yourself in Dublin, after your brilliant career
here among the learned and the dissipated ? If it were

1806.] DUEL WITH JEFrREY. 213

not for the extreme joy which I know you feel at being
with your family again, I should grieve for the change ;
but you have contrived, God knows how I 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 history 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 the first moment he saw you in the
field of battle, pistol in hand to kill him. I believe Rogers
to be truly your friend upon this occasion. Lord Clifden
says he has heard the affair talked of by several people,
and that you had got universal credit for the manner in
which you had conducted yourself throughout the whole
of it. In short, I am quite agreeably surprised to find
the tuin it has all taken in your favour. You don't know
how liappy 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 while you live. I dare
say in Ireland, where you have beaucoup (Tenvietix, every
pains has been taken to misrepresent and blacken you.
I desired Philly 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 JEFFBBT.

L^TAT. 27.

tlian 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 understandj
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 comer, 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 tlie 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 utuation. Tell
me something of your way of life in Dublin. Adieu!
Sincerely yours.

LETTERS.

1807—1813.

r4

I I .

I.

f

i;

'•^

■ \

^ ;j

■». • - » p ^

LETTERS.

1807—1813.

[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
profoundly 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 oufffU to do ; but, indeed, if
you knew the efforts I am obliged to make to dirow some
sort of ballast into the little pleasure-boat of my existence
— if you knew how diflScult 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, " Well, I shall
return time enough to-day for the post," yet once I get
into that bewildering seraglioy 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

m-^smimi^^mm

218 LETTERS. l^TAT. 27.

make myself decent for company. I have now, however,
bid adieu to this harem, and have made up my mind for
a week'a idleness before I leave Ireland, which will be, I
hope, on Friday cf Saturday next, and then once more for
Donington, for the Muses, and for you ! — dear Donington I
dear Muses I and dear you ! Sorry am I to think, how-
ever, that both you and the MuseSy 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 sbter Philly, 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 I mix my poor
Falemian with the sediment of phials and drainings of
gallipots 1 Thirty thousand pounds might, to be sure, yild
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 which would put me into the greatest purgatory ^
matrimony or physic. The Novice of St. Dominick is
bringing out an opera heie, for which I am most wickedly
pressed to write a prologue ; but I shall nm from it^ and
leave Joe to do it.

What you communicated to me about Jeffirey 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! when^ when? I am an unfortunate rascal, that's
certain.

You may direct your answer to this to Donington,

i.-. --^...-.^-.. - - *' " «*- *

1807.] LETTERS. 219

and I have full reliance on your being my sick hearfs
nurse while I am there. God bless you. Very much yonrs,

Thomas Moohe.

I would have sailed with Miss Linwood the other nighty
only I was afraid she would give me a stitch in my side 1 1

[No. 122.] To his Mother.

Donington Park, Monday night, Marcb, 1807.

My dearest Mother,

I arrived here on Sunday 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 Birmingham, 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 forgot to bring Bunting's Irish Airs with me; get
them from 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 ll^Iiss
Owenson's too ; the Atkinsons will ^ve them to Kate for
me. Love to all dears. God bless you.

Tom.

mm

220 LETTEBS. [£tat. 27.

[No. 123.] To his Mother,

Donington Park, Thundaj, March, 1807.

My darling Mother^

It makcth me marvel much that I do not hear firom
home ; but I suppose Kate is writing such long letters to
Anne Scully, that she has not a scrap of paper left to say,
" IIow 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 Cumberland has devoted a page of his Memoirs
in the second edition to me, which pleases me more than I
can tell you. "Wliat 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, I^ughborougb,
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

1R07.1 LETTERS. 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 : *' II me donne des manchetteSy 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
people 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 arrow, 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 qud non. While
that one remains, t7 faut lien que je vive ; when that one
goes, il n^y 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 beautifuly 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 him
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 :

^'m

222 LETTEB& [.Stat. 17.

** Here lies John Shaw
Attorney at law ;
And when he diedf
The devil cried,
* Give ns your paw,
John Shaw,
Attorney at law ! ' "

Yours,

T. M.

[No. 125.] To his Mother.

Wednesday, March, 1807.
My dearest Mother,

We know nothing decisive yet about the ministiy.
The last accounts gave me rather a hope that LfOrd Moim
would stay in, though I don't know whether one would
wish him 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 will 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 I It is like a
sailor stopping to change his shirt in a storm, and after all
putting on a very ragged one. I see Lord Hardwicke is
very active in the business, so I suppose he will return to
Ireland. I got Kate's one letter in the course of three
weeks, and congratulate her much on her activity. Love
to alL Your own,

Tom.

[ifo. 126.] From Lord Moira,

London, April 9. 1807.
My dear Sir,

You will have been well aware of all the occupation

which has attended oiu* expulsion from office ; therefore, I

1807.] LETTEBS. 223

thinks you will hayc ascribed my silence to that 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 could appear ; and in the vehemence of contest all
real consideration of the point at issue will be lost. Most
sincerely do I lament that I had not the means of ob-
taining some fit situation 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 wiU send up Barrow's Travels
hither, that I may have the second volume bound corre-
spondcntly 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,

MoiBA.

[No. 127.] To his Mother.

Sunday, April, 1807.
My dearest Mother,
The time flies over me here as swift as if I was 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 family do not talk of coming
tiU June, and, if that be the case, I shall not budge. From
this to Ireland shall be my only move. Tell the Atkin-

j^qjmi^f^mmg^

224 LETTERS. ZMtat. 27-

eons that, to show them I have not forgot llieir choice
scraps, I send them one which I found in a paper of last
year, and which I think 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 enemieSy 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 amiticy 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 perishables of this world, and that it is hard even
for those who take the best care of them, to keep up 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 Tunbridge
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.] LETTER8. 225

yet If I were to try and tell you about tohatj 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 this 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 ven/ dissipated, for I pass my whole time
among knotoing-ones and black-legs ^ihe former in the library y
the latter in the rookery : it is true, I see some white 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 I 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 siud it
merely for the pleasure of transcribing that epigram, which

VOL. I. Q

226

LETTERS.

tiETAT.27.

I knew she would like, and which is written by her friend,
the man that wrote " Mille foisy^ &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 all 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. / am determined on being called
to the Irish 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. Wliat
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 this. The May thorns are bepnning
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. Grood
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 raining^ 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-hoy 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 fellows will get in again;

* Hid father.
Q 2

228

LEITEBS.

[£tat S7,

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. Why 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-wSSlA and
go into the /tn^n-tradc. But there is one thing, I assure
you, I write to you with some pleasure now, because I
want you more. Except when I actually HAVE the society
of those I love, I am never so much with them as when I
am alone ; and though this may sound very Irish, I flatter
myself it is Irish in much more than sound. All my pur-
suits, all my thoughts in solitude have a reference to my
dear and distant friends. I enjoy my own feelings best,
when I think they would sympathise in them, and am
never proud of what I do, except when I can hope they
will approve of it; but in the bustle of such society as I
hiive now, neither my feelings or my business are worthy
of being associated with such friends as you are, so that I
begin to miss you exceedingly, and am glad to fly to a quiet

1807.] LETTERS. 229

moment like this^ when I can call you back and tell you
that my heart is fit to receive you. There is another
circumstance by which you are a gainer in my present
situation^ and that is comparison. Oh the sweet happy
days of friendship and boiled mutton I how unlike were
you to the disguised hearts and dishes, the iced wines and
looks, of my present dignified society. But I am beginning
to talk too sentimentally for your wag- ship. You must
know I shall soon leave this; but I wish to Heaven either
I or you could know that I shall leave it for Tunbridge.
I am afraid, alas I that Ireland must be my destination
again, and that I must leave our friendship to take care of
itself, without any looking after, for six or seven months
longer: this is a hard case, but the softestheaxis meet with
the hardest cases in this world. I wish such precious
souls as yours and mine could be forwarded through life
with ^^ This is glass" written on them, as a warning to For-
tune not to jolt them too rudely; but if she was not blind,
she would see that we deserve more care than she takes of
us. She would see that I ought to be allowed to go to
Timbridge, and that you ought to be without ache or
ailment to receive me there. You always speak so
waggishly about your own grievances (and, indeed, other
people's) that I cannot collect from what you say of your
illness, whether you are really very bad or not; but
I sincerely hope it was more fatigue than ill-health that
you complained of. Ever yours,

T. M.

On Thursday I shall be seven and twenty round years : *
drink my health, and more sense to me.

* In fact, accorUng to the medal, twenty-eight.

U 3

INo. 133.] To Am Mother.

Uaj, 1807.
My dearest Mother,
There is a fishpond here, which Lord Moira has
always been trying to fill; but he couldn't; and it has long
furnished me with a very neat resemblance to my own
pocket, which I dare say he would like to do the same
with, but couldn't This pond however, in the late
nun, has got the start of my pocket, and is brimful at
this present writing, which will delight his lordship
eo much that I am afnud he will com« down in a hurry to
look at it. Believe me, your own,

Tom.

[No. 134.] To his Mother.

DoniugtoD Park, 'Dmnd&y night, June, 1807.
My dearest Mother,

I beg, when you write to Kate, you will scold her, for
making Melficld a pretext to avoid writing to me. I get
on here very well. The ice begins to thaw on all sides,
according as we know each other better ; and if idleness
were not the root of all evil to mo at present, I could
lounge away my lime here very ^eeably. We still have
no other man amongst us but Lord Molro and the old
Duke de I'Orgc,

I wiut but for some supplies I expect to decide upon
my movements from home. London I certmnly shall
avoid, though Carpenter presses me very hard to go there ;
and the only ezcurmon I c^i posmbly be tempted to, bo-
fore I set out for Ireland, is to Tunbridge, to see Lady
Don^^ However, even this is by no means probable at

1807.] LETTERS. 231

present^ and I think^ in about a fortnight^ you may count

upon seeing me. I wish, dearest mother, you would have

a look-out in the neighbourhood, for either two tolerable

rooms or one very excellent, large bed-room for me, where

there would be some one merely to bring me up breakfast.

I shall work very hard all the smnmer. Love to all

dears. From your own,

Tom.

[No. 135.] To his Mother,

Donlngton Park, Saturday, 1807.

l^ot one letter this long time, my darling mother. I
should think £[ate sleeps even longer than she used to do
and doesn't get up till post-time is over. (Here I was
thinking of London post-time, which I wish to Heaven you
were as well acquainted with as I am.) Dublin is again, I
find, or rather still, the seat of wrangle and illiberal conten-
tion. The Roman Catholics deserve very little, and even if
Ihcy merited all that they ask, I cannot see how it is in the
Xiature of things they should get it. They have done much
towards the ruin of Ireland, and have been so well assisted
by the Protestants throughout, that, between them, Ireland
is at this instant as ruined as it need be.

Lord Idoira is again called to town; I suppose upon
some errand quite as useless as the rest. Ho takes
Buxton in his way ; and I suppose will return here from
London to escort his lady to Edinburgh.

I should be glad they were all there now, for I thrive
in my solitude amazingly. God bless you, dearest mother.
I hope your health is better than I think it. Love to my
good father, and the girls. Your own,

Tom,
a4

232

LETTERS.

[JEtat. S8«

[No. 136.] To Miss Godfrey.

Saturday, 1807.

That rackctting old Harridan, Mother Tvwn^ is at
last dead: she expired after a gentle glare of rouge and
gaiety at Lady L. Manners' masquerade, on Friday morn-
ing, at eight o'clock ; and her ghost is expected to hauat
all the watering-places immediately. I hope I shan't meet
the perturbed spirit at Tunbridge, for this is to notify that,
in the course of to-morrowy you will see your humble ser-
vant on the ; what's the name of the place? No

matter, but there I shall be to-morrow, if Fortime have but
one smile left, or if Joddrel's barouche can hold me. Yours
most faithfully,

T. Moore.

LNo. 137. j From Miss Godfrey.

Tunbridge Wells, Aug. 30. 1807.

Well monk, hermit, philosopher, misanthrope (or what-
ever title please thine ear), what are you about? My
pen would naturally fall into its old habits of accusing
you of forgetting absent friends, and not caring for any
thing that was not stuck upon its chair before your eyes,
if I had not made an effort over myself, and taken up a
new system. I intend from this day forth and for ever-
more, to form myself upon the model of Charity, which, as
St. Paul tells us, " suffercth long, and is kind, believeth
all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things." So I
suffer your long silence and seeming forgetfulness, and yet
am kind ; and I believe that you care for us, and I hope
that you c^re for us : but as to enduring, I don't know
what to say ; it is an ugly word, and I am soiTy I wrote it

_- • ~ 3i- J»

1807.] LETTERfil. 233

down. The beautiful Miss Fawkeners came here yester-
day and went away to-day. I did not see them ; but they
told Harry Greville, who asked me if it were true, and I
said it was a lie, that you were actually married to an
attorney's daughter with a large fortune. Miss Joddrel
and her mother arrived here yesterday. The girl aaked a
thousand questions about you, and desired many pretty
things to be said to you. She is in great beauty just now,
and I thought in your little cottage you might be glad to
hear that you were regretted by your former belles ; and to
show you that you are remembered by others also, I have
cut out of a newspaper a copy of baddish sort of verses for
your edification. What are you about now ? every body
asks us, and we can tell nobody. I should like to know
for my own satisfaction, and I would keep it a most pro-
found secret if you wished it ; for when discretion and
secrecy are required from me, I am without an equal
upon this wide earth. So you live near an obelisk that I
used to drive out to with the Crookshanks when I was last
in Ireland : a dreary spot it is, as well as I recollect, with-
out tree or bush to shelter you firom sun or wind. I
grieve at your banishment from this country, for I think
you are thrown away in Ireland ; and life is so short, and
youth still shorter, that it is melancholy not to be able to
enjoy it all, and still more melancholy to be obliged to
live at all for the future in such times as these, when the
future may come so frightful to us as to give us nothing
but regrets for not having enjoyed the past while there
was any good to enjoy. And yet you were wise too, and
I have your real welfare too much at heart not to be glad
for your sake at the sacrifice you have made, but I lament
tliat it was necessary to make it. I hope nothing will
prevent your return here this winter. You are so popu-

234 LETTEBS. [^TAT. 28.

lar that I am afr^d your head will be turned at the joj
wUch your arrival in London will create among all your
friends and acquaintance. You will find them all pretty
much as you left them; hardly any chances or changes
having occurred since you turned your back upon this gay
world last summer^ except that^ for the women^ un an de
pluSf et une grace de mains are something. You have of
course seen and heard the Catalani. What do you think
of her ? She had outlived her fame in this country. Her
voice astonished at first, but when the novelty was over
they s^d she was more surprising than pleasing, and that
she sung out of time. She asked and got more for singing
at concerts than anybody ever got before. She never
went any where without her odious husband at her elbow,
who never could bear that she should sing without being
paid for it. Mr. Knight gave her some gay dinners as he
was one of her greatest admirers. I saw her at the Fin-
castles and the Berry's, where she was made much of, and
sang and appeared good-natured. La Cann6 and she
hated each other, and would never sing at the same par-
tics. Have you read Madame de Stael's new novel
Corinne ? Read it if you have not ; it will amuse you in
your cottage. You will hate the heroine, for you like to
chain women down to their own firesides ; and provided
that they are beautiful and foolish, you ask nothing more.
Now I don't quarrel with you about the fireside and the
beauty, but I think it a pity you should protect and
preach up folly. And note, I don't love Corinne myself, but
I was interested in the book, for I like a fine, exaggerated,
extravagant passion that breaks one's heart, such as one
never sees in the natural course of human affiurs. But
you can't deny, much as you are disposed to dispute
all my wise opinions, that, in the natural course of human

1808.] LETTERS. 235

aftairs things go ou dully and stupidly enough^ and that
to-day is too much the ditto of yesterday. When once I
take up the pen to write to you there is no getting rid of
it; it sticks to my fingers and keeps moving on in spite of
me ; and here I have written you a long letter about no-
tliing^ and have never told you of the miserable anxiety of
every one about our expedition to Copenhagen, which is
however the only subject that any one talks of. What
do you say to King Jerome Napoleon marrying our king's
great niece, the Princess of Wirtemberg ? Her mother wajs
daughter to the Duchess of Brunswick, and sister to the
Princess of Wales, so Ins son will be presumptive heir to
the throne of England. I hope it will be a very wet day,
and that you may be tired of books and writing when you
receive this letter, and that you may be glad of anything
to make a little variety in your life ; then perhaps you
may welcome this with all its dulncss. A thousand kind
things to you from us alL Never, while you live, forget
us. Adieu.

M.G.

[No. 138.] To Lady Donegal

Saturday, April 29. 1808.
Though I don't, much care how light and inconsider-
ate I may seem to the world in general, yet with regard
to the opinion o( friends I am not altogether so indifferent;
and therefore, though I allow the good people of Dublin
to think (as indeed I have told them) that it was the toss-
up of a tenpenny token which decided me against going to
Loudon, yet to you I must give some better signs and
tokens of rationality, and account for my change of mind

mk^-*^

236 LETTEB8. IJEtat. 28.

in somewhat a more serious mamier. As this task, how-
ever^ is very little to my taste^ seeing that I would rather
vindicate any one else than myself^ the present txpati
must serve for ^' all whom it may concern ;** and I therefore
enjoin you to make the said document known unto our
friend and cozen^ Miss Mary, not forgetting our trusty and
well-beloved Rogers^ to the end that we may be no farther
troubled therewitL In the first place, then, my motives
for going to London may be comprised under the heads of
pleasure and ambitwHy and the purest part of the former
object you must take solely to yourselves, for (though, I
confess, the taste of pleasure has not quite yet left my lips)
the strongest attraction that my Epicureanism would have
in London at present is the pleasure of being near you,
with you, and about you, — " About you, goddess, and about
you.** Well, then, there's the pleasure of the thing settled
Now, with respect to the ambitious part, I don't know
that I can be quite so explicit upon that head, for the
objects of all ambition are generally as vague as they are
distant; and luckily for the humble people of this world,
those joys that give most pleasure to the heart are easiest
defined and easiest attainable. I thought, however, that by
republishing those last poems with my name, together vrith
one or two more of the same nature which I have written,
I might catch the eye of some of our patriotic politicians,
and thus be enabled to serve both myself and the principle$
which I cherish ; for to serve one at the expense of the
other would be foolish in one way and dishonourable in
the other. Though, however rash it would be to sacrifice
myself to my cause, I would rather do it a thousand times
than sacrifice my cause to myself. How happy when the
two objects are reconciled ! Well, against these motives
of pleasiu-c and ambition, I had a sad array of most cooling
considerations ; indeed, many of the reasons why Austria

1808.] LETTERS. 237

should not go to war were the very reasons why / should
not go to London — an exhausted treasury y dilapidated
resources^ the necessity of seeking subsidies from those who
would fleece me well for it in tum^ the unprepared state
of my capitaly &c. &c. " I have here a home, where I can
live at but little expense^ and I have a summer's leisure
before me to prepare something for the next campaign^
which may enable me to look down upon my enemies^ with-
out entirely looking up to my friends ; for, let one say
what one will, looking up too long is tiresome, let the
object be ever so grand or lovely, whether the statue of
Venus or the cupola of St, Paid's." Such were my re-
flections, while I waited for the answer to a letter which
I had written to Carpenter, soimding him upon the kind
of assistance which he would be willing to give me, and
suggesting that, as it was entirely for his interest that I
should go over (to get the work through the press which
I left in his hands), I thought he ought at least to defray
my expenses. His answer was so niggardly and so chilling,
that it instantly awaked me to the folly of trusting myself
again in London without some means of commanding a
supply, and I resolved to employ this simmier in making
wings for myself against winter to carry me completely
out of the mud I have not time to add any more to this,
which I have written in a great hurry, and have not now
time to read over again ; but I trust you will be able to
make out from it very good and sufficient reasons for the
sacrifice which I have doomed myself to make in not
going to London this year. With respect to sister Mary's
intelligence of my being in love, I shall answer tliat charge
to herself, and shall only say that I wonder she is not sick
of imputing to me a sensation of which, I am sorry to say,
I have not felt one flutter these three years. Do not
forget me ; above all things do not forget me.

238 LETTERS. [iETAT. 2^

[No. 139.] To his Mother.

Wednesday, August, 1808.

Dearest Mother,

For fear you should think I love to tantalize^ I shall
say no more about my departure till I am quite fixed upon
the time ; but one thing, I hope, will give you pleasure,
and that is, that I have a task before me, which will keep
me pretty long amongst you ; but I must contrive to have
lodgings in town, as my chief bu^ness will be with the
libraries: so pray have your eye about for something
comfortable.

This next year, with a little industry and economy, will,
I expect, make me quite independent even of friends (I
mean of my debts to them) ; for I have been ofiered a
thousand pounds for a work which I think I can finish
within the year, and which I intend to dedicate to Kc^ers.
God bless you, dearest mother. Ever your own,

Tom.

I quite threw away the Melodies ; they will make that
little smooth fellow's fortune.

O Kate I the laziest Kate in Christendom I

\^The following letter only came into my hands very lately.
It relates to the marriage of Mr. Richard Joyce Coddy
Mr. Moore^s maternal uncle. I insert it here as it relates to
the same person whose death forms the subject of the letter
immediately following. He was very little older than Mr.
Moore. — J. R.]

~ til. ^t.

1809.] LETTEK8. 239

[No. 140.] To Richard J. Coddy Esq,

Donington Park, Mondaj.
My dearest Uncle,

Though my pen has been slow to congratulate you, my
heart, I assure you, has not been behind-hand in the in-
terest we must all feel in whatever regards your happiness ;
but I have been obliged to keep my vnts in sucli a hot-
house for this work, that plain prose is a thing I have
hardly time to condescend to, and I could have written
you a dozen of epithalamiums at shorter notice than one
letter. While i/ou are so well occupied vnth one fair one,
no less than nine are tormenting mcy — the nine Miss
Muses, from the cold coimtry of Parnassus, with nothing
but their wits to keep them in pin-money I Seriously, my
dear uncle, nothing has ever come nearer to my heart than
the joy I have felt at your progress to happiness in every
way. In taking to yourself what you love, you have
secured the only sweet consolation in this world for those
rude shocks which the hard comers of life must give now
and then even to him who most cautiously turns them.
Few may those comers be to yoM, dear uncle, and that
love may cover them with velvet for you is my prayer and
my confidence. I am quite anxious to see and know your
chosen one. I dare not yet say when that can be, but I
look to a happy summer amongst you with delight, and I
trust to your goodness for conciliating her kind opinion of
me. My dear mother and Kate, I know, love her, and I
am sure will come as close as she can draw them to her,
and altogether I think there will not be one inequality on
the perfect little circle of affection we shall form.

God bless you. Best and dutiful love to my dear aunt^
and believe me, my good uncle, yours most truly,

Thomas Moore.

[Xo. 141.] To his Mother.

Friday morning, 1809.
My dearest Mother,
From what I have heard of our poor Richard, I fear
you mmt prepare your heart for tlie worst; and I am
h^P7 to think that you have not been very sanguine in
your hopes for his recovery, ss thia will eoflcn your feeling
of a calamity, which, I own, requires all the eoftcniug
that j^osophy and preparation can give it, Ae for my-
eelf, he is the first dear friend it has ever been my fate to
lose ; aad though he did not bring mc close enough into
intimacy to leave any very Beneible void in my life, yet I
am too well convinced of his worth and his warmth, mid
the zeal with which he would have stood by us in every
extremity, not to feel his loss most deeply and sorrowfully.
It is for you however, dearest mother, that I most parti-
cularly feel it. Those who die as he did, are not to be
pitied; but I know how much and how justly you will
lament him. You must not> however, let it sink too
deep, darling mother; but while you mourn for the dead as
ho deserved, remember what you owe to the living. Indeed
I dread less f^m your grief than I did from your anxieti/ :
the latter had hope to keep it alive, while the former
will naturally yield to time and good sense and consola-
tion. It is for u* who are still Ictl to you to do all in our
power to make you forget the melancholy loss which you
have suffered, and as those who are deprived of one tense
have generally the remaining ones more lively and ex-
t^uisite, so I trust you vrill find in the love of those who

1810. J LETTEBS. 241

Btill live for you^ but an increased sensibility to every*
thing in which your happiness is concerned.

I mean to go out on Sunday to you^ and shall stay till
your mind has recovered a little from the first feelings of
this event. Dearest mother^ your own, ^

Tom.

[No. 142.] To lAJtdy DonegaL

Jan. 3. 1810.

I was quite sorry to hear from Rogers that you have
had another attack of those sad fainting fits which used to
annoy you so last year^ and think you are very right in
trying Baillie^ instead of your old state physician Sir
Francis. I shall be more anxious than, I fear^ you will
give me credit for, till I hear that you are recovered ; and
if you do not let me know immediately, even by a short
bulletin, how you are getting on, I will never play Paddy
O'Raiferty for you again. You will perceive by my seal
that death has been a visitor in my family ; and indeed it
is the first time that I have had to lament the loss of any
one very dear to me. My poor uncle, who went to Madeira,
with but faint hopes of recovery from a decline, died there
in four days after his arrival I am so hourly prepared
for these inroads on our social happiness, that the death of
even the healthiest friend about me could scarcely, I think,
take my heart by surprise ; and the efiect which such cala-
mities are likely to have upon me will be seen more in the
whole tenor of my life afterwards, than in any violent or
deep-felt grief of the moment : every succeeding loss will
insensibly sink the level of my spirits, and give a darker
and darker tinge to all my future hopes and feelings. This

voi^ I, B

^'WMMP^M^-M^WV^uMfci^Ma^

242 LETTERS. [iETAT. 3a

j)erhap9 is the natural process which many a heart goes
tliroiigh that has to survive its dearest connections^ thougli
I rather think it is not the commonest way of feeling those
events, but that, in general, the impression which they
make is as short as it is keen and violent ; and surely it ia
better to have one moment darkly blottedy with the chanco
of the next moment's washing it all out, than to possess
tliat kind of sensibility which puts one's whole life into
mourning. I am not doing much ; indeed, the downriglit
necessity which I feel of doing something is one of the
great reasons why I do almost nothing. These things
sliould come of their own accord, and I hate to make a
conscript of my Muse ; but I cannot carry on the war
without her, so to it she must go. London is out of the
question for me, till I have got ammunition in my pocket,
and I hope by April to have some combustibles ready.
How a poor author is puzzled now-a-days between quantity
and quality ! The booksellers won't buy him if the former
be not great, and the critics won't let him be read if the
latter be not good. Now, there are no two perfections more
difficult to attain together, for they are generally (as we
little men should wish to establish) in inverse proportion to
ejich other. However, I must do my best.

Take care of yourself for my sake, best and dearest
friend ; and with warm remembrances to our well-beloved
Mary, believe me, most faithfully yours,

Thomas Moobe.

Many a year of happiness and good health to you
both.

1810.]

LETTERS.

243

[No. 143.] To Mr. Power.

Dublin, 1810.

My dear Sir,

If you have no objection, I rather think I shall take
the liberty of drawing upon you very soon for whatever
sum you may find it convenient to accommodate me with,
and I shall discharge the obligation, partly in songs, or
entirely y as you may think fit. I shall wait your answer,
and propose, with your consent, to draw upon you either
at two months for thirty pounds, or at three for fifty : in
the latter case I shall take up twenty of the same myself,
as I should not have songs enough for the whole; and in
return for the kindness of the accommodation, I shall not
avail myself of your offer of twelve guineas, but content my-
self with ten. I have some idea of writing a song for Brar
ham, and that^ if it succeeds, shall be among the number.

I have no objection to your brother knowing this
negotiation between us, but I would rather have the tell-
ing of it to him myself, as, without some explanation, he
would liave a right to think me very extravagant of late,
knowing how much he has accommodated me in ; but the
truth is, a very expensive honour has been conferred upon
mc, in the shape of admission to our leading club house
here, which urges me more than I expected at tliia mo-
ment. Your answer as soon as possible will oblige.

Yours very truly,

TnoMAs Moohe.

You will of course consider these particulars between
us as sacred from every body except your brother: ho
already is aware that it is my intention to give you songs
occasionally, according to the promise I made you. Direct
to mc, 22. Molcsworth Street, Dublin.

B 2

I ■*' i^WBi^w»"^Pw«—»*— fW«Ui^Wi«^^l— •*;—— CBUBWT

244 LETTEB8. L^tat. 31.

[No. 144.] To his Mother.

Bury Street, Saturday, Dec 18]0.
My dearest Mother,

I arrived here on Wednesday; but was so hurried at
first that I had scarcely time to send for pen, ink, and
paper to write. I bid Power, however, to whom I wrote
about business, let you know of my arrival ; and you may
be assured of my continuing frequent and punctual as
usuaL I have written a most pathetic little letter to Con-
nor, which I would hope will make my dispatches pass
glibly through his hands. Lord Moira is out of town, and
so is Rogers. Lady Donegal, however, is at her post, and
as steady as ever. It is strange that two years should
have made so very little difference. I came into my rooms,
as if I had left them but last week; my flannel-gown
airing at the fire ; my books lying about the tables ; and
the very same little girl staring in at me from the opposite
windows. I found Miss Godfrey asleep in the evening, as
usual ; and, as usual, she wakened with a joke. I found
my landlady as fond of me ; and Carpenter as fond of himself
as ever. In short, nothing seems altered but myself.

The King has got bad again witliin these two days
past God bless you, my dearest mother. Ever your own,

Tom.

I hope you got my letters from Holyhead and Bir-
mingham.

[No. 145.] To his Mother.

Monday, Dec 1810.
My dearest Mother,

I am told that the report of the physicians is very un-
favourable, and that a regency will be proceeded on imme-

1810.] LETTERS. 245

diately, with no other change for some time^ however, than
the introduction of Lord Moira into the cabinet I left
my name this morning at Carlton House.

You would be amused if you knew all the letters and
visits I am receiving &om booksellers, music-sellers, man-
agers, &c, with offers for books, songs, plays, &c. I rather
think I may give something to Covent Grarden; but I
know you will be happy to hear that I am able to keep
myself up^ without any precipitate engagement or involv-
mcnt of any kind, and that I am not hurried or urged from
any quarter. Best love to father and the dear ^rls. From
ever your own,

Tom.

I have seen the Sheddons about my Bermuda treasury,
and they say I may expect to receive something very
shortly.

[No. 146.] To his Mother.

Wednesday, Dec. 1810.
My dearest Mother,

I am going on very quietly here, and have, as yet,
seen nobody but the Donegals.

My cough is a good deal better; and I begin to think
that the little waterfalls in Mrs. Booth's room tended con-
siderably to keep me coughing.

They say now there will be measures taken for a
regency ; but, for some time, I do not think there will be
any material change in the Ministry. Lord Moira is still
out of town.

I am liappy to find, dearest mother, by Kate's letter,

B 3

246 LETTERS. [£t<Lt. 31.

that you have got better of the illness you had after I left
you. If my letters are any medicine to you, you shall
have the doae regularly, " ae before;" and I hope, in the
course of some time, I may have sometMng cordial to mix
up with them. Ever yours,

Tom.

[No. 147.J To his Mother,

Friday, Dec. 18ia
My dearest Mother,

Tlie plot begins to thicken here very fast, and yester-
day was expected to be a hard-fought day. I have not
heard yet what was the rceult, but I think Eonie time must
yet elapae before there will be such a change of adminis-
tration OS I can take advantage of.

I have often said I waa careless about the attractions of
gay society, but I think, for the first time, I begin to feel
realty so. I pass through the rows of fine carriages ia
Bond Street, without the slightest impatience to renew my
acquaintance with those inside of them.

Best love to all dears about you. Ever affectionately
your own,

Tom.

[No. 148.] To Lady Donegal

Jan. 3. 1811.

I wonder whether you have as beautiful a day before

your eyes this moment as I have. " The green blood dimces

in the veins" of the yoimg rose trees under my window,

and the little impudent birda are peeping out as boldly

1811. J LETTERS. 247

as if it were May-day. I am afraid^ however, it is rather
a rash speculation of theirs: like Spanish patriots, they
arc bursting out too soon, and General Frost will some
night or other steal a march upon them. You may con-
clude from all this that I write to you from a garden ;
and so I do, from a garden most romantically situated at
the end of Dirty Lane, which leads out of Thomas Street,
well known in the annals of insurrection for

^ The feast of treason and the flow of punch.**

On my right is the "hanging wood" of Kilmiunham,
and from my left I catch the odoriferous breezes of a
tanyard; so that you must not be surprised if such a
sweet and picturesque situation should inspire me with
more than usual romanticity. I am certainly, some-
how or other, in most sunshiny spirits to-day; and I
believe the principal reason of it is, that I have resolved
this morning to be in Davies Street in the course of a
fortnight. DorCt tell any one, but I think my having
resolved it is the only thijig likely to prevent its taking
place. I cannot find in my heart to let you have a revo-
lution, without being up in town to attend it. You know
most Irishmen are amateurs in that line, and I have not a
doubt but John Bull soon means to give us a specimen of
his talents for it. Wliat will your friend the Duke* turn
to ? He may become a schoolmaster, like Dionysius, and
instruct young gentlemen in the **art of polite letter
writing ; " and if he will condescend to join the Quakers,
we sliall have another union of the houses of York and

• The Duke of York.
B 4

mmmuti0mtm

248 LETTERS. [JStat. 31.

Lancaster. I am afraid you will be angrj ifnth me for
laughing in this manner at such serious events and such
illustrious people^ but I cannot help it ;^ at least to-^y I
cannot help it ; and if I do not send off this letter till to-
morrow, you shall liave a most loyal and dismal postscript
to make up for my profane and ** unparliamentary'* levity.
It is some comfort to you to think that all your country-
men are not such refractory reprobates as I am^ and that
there is but little fear of our incurring much suspicion for
honesty or independence, while Messrs. B. and C. are
alive to vindicate our characters. But why do I talk
politics to you (in which we don*t agree) when there are
so many pleasant er things in which we do? One of them,
I flatter myself, is the wish to see each other, and in that
I seriously think we shall soon be gratified. Now be sure
you meet me with all your heart and soul, for my stay
will be but short. I stay a good deal at home with my
father and mother here, eating boiled veal and Irish
stew, and feeling very comfortable ; in short, very much
the same diet and feelings which I was used to in
Davies Street ; only that those about me knoio how much
I love them, which you and Mary sometimes pretended not
to know.

Rogers has not answered my letter, but I shall fire
another at him soon.

This little note is a specimen of the sort which I intend
to write to you often now ; for, indeed, it is a sad thing to be
long without knowing how this hard world deals with those
who are away from us ; and though I would willingly dis-
pense with telling you about myself, yet it is a cheap price
after all to pay for the delight of hearing from you.

Tell me something, when you write, about the poli-
tical secrets of London, and particularly say whether you

1». -w^

1811.] LETTERS, 249

have heard any thing about the Plenipo^s difference with
the Prince Regent. Ever yours,

T. M.

Best love to sister. Many happy returns of this year.

I have been waiting in awM suspense for a letter
about the tickets, but I fear that Fortune's usual blindness
to merit will leave us in the lurch as well as many other
excellent people. ^^ Call me not fool till Heaven shall send
me fortune," is as much as to say that we wise personages
need never expect a 20,000/. prize in the lottery. But
how very convenient it would be ! How much it would
brighten up all my views of politics, law, divinity, &c For
what / cared, they might send Mr. Percival to be second
in command to St. Narcissus, or employ Sheridan's nose
in bringing about a thaw for the armies in Finland ; but
there's nae sic luck for us, I fear. You are very right in
saying that every pursuit is a lottery, and my ticket-
wheel is my head, from which I draw ideas sometimes
blank enough, God knows ; but the fact is, I have kept
Cupid too long for my drawing-boy, and as he is quite
as blind as Fortune, it is no wonder that nothing capital
has come forth, but I have dismissed him this good while.

[No. 149.] To his Mother.

Satorday, Feb. ISll.
My dearest Mother,
I forgot whether I told you that my excellent friend
Douglas was among the many persons enriched by the old
Duke of Queensbury's will.* He has been left 10,000t

* Cbai-les, Duke of Qucensburj, died in December, ISia

250 LETTEBS. l«TAT. 81.

I WW him this monuiig for ibe first time tbeee ai years ;
I believe, Jioe at leaet : he has never written a line to me
during that lime, and after an hour's convcrBation to-day
he amd, *' Now, my dear little fellow, you know I'm grown
rich ; there ia at present seven hundred pounds of mine in
Coutts's bank ; here is a blank check, which you may fill
up while I am away, for as much of that as you may
want." I did not of course accept this offer, but you may
imagine what my feeling was at this unexampled instance
of a man bringing back the warmth of friendship so
unchilled, after an absence of five years. I never heard
anything like it.

I got dear Ellen's letter, wluch ia beautifully written,
and I hope she will often let me have such. Ever your
own,

Tom.

[No. 150.] To hit Mother.

Saturday, March, 1811.
My dearest Mother,

I dined with Lord Holland on Wednesday, and yester-
day with old Sheridan, who has been putting us off from
day to day aa if we were his creditors. Wc had yester-
day Lord Lauderdale, Lord Erskine, Lord Besborough,

Lord Kioniurd, &c &c. My old friend. Lady A , still

faithful in her ftuthless way, to<^ me to dinner in her
carriage. I have at last got a little bedroom about two
miles from town, where I shall fiy now and then for a
morning's work. It was quite necessary for nte, if I did
not mean to starve giuly and fashionably in London,
though, indeed, the starvation part is not very likely.

I have found a method of getting a second-hand paper,

1811.1 LETTERS. 251

or rather a second-^av paper, at rather a ehcap rate, and
I have long been wishing for it, in order to indulge
you, my darling mother, with a sight of London paper
and type once more. I send the first to-day, and direct
it to my father at Island Bridge. It is the Morning
Post, a terrible hack in politics: however, I have some
hopes of getting it exchanged soon for a more liberal
paper. Best love to all dears about you. From your
own affectionate,

Tom.

[No. 151.] To his Mother.

Saturday, April, 1811.

My dearest Mother,

I have been so busy preparing the enclosed packet for
Power, that I have hardly left myself time to say more
than that I am very impatient to hear from you; as I
long to know whether you have taken my prescription
of airing and jolting, and whether it has made you
stout again.

I am just now in a quandary of doubt about the
Icvce. To dress or not to dress, that is the question:
whether 'tis nobler keeping in my pocket seven guineas,
Avhich 'twill cost me for a waistcoat, or &c. &c. If Lord
Moira was in town I would consult him and ask him to
take me, which is another weighty point to be looked
to. I rather believe, I shall wait till there is another
levee. Ever yours, darling mother,

Tom,

252 LETTERS. iJSrsAT. 81.

[No. 152.] To his Mother*

Satordaj, Maj, 1811.

My dearest Mother^

I have been these two or three days past reo^ving most
flattering letters &om the persons to whom I sent my Melo-
logue. I was, however, much better pleased to get dear
Kate's letter with news &om home, as the long silenoe you
all kept was beginmng to make me a little uneasy.

JeflBrey, my Edinburgh friend, is in town: we haYC
called upon each other, and I am to meet him to-morrow
morning at breakfast with Rogers: to-day, I shall tonch
the two extremes of anarchy and law, for I dine with %
F. Burdett, and go in the evening to Lord EUenborougfa's.

Tell Kate I cannot give any opinion of Miss Owen-
son's novel; for one reason, t. e. because I have not read a
line of it. Ever yours, my dearest mother,

Tom.

[No. 153.] To his Mother.

May, 1811.
My dearest Mother,
I have just seen Lady Donegal, as kind and de-
lightful as ever. Her praises of you^ too, were not the
worst recommendations she returned with. She came last
night. I breakfast with her on Monday, and dine to meet
her at Rogers's on Tuesday ; and there is a person to be
of both parties whom you little dream of, but whom I
shall introduce to your notice next week.* Qt)d bless
you, my own darling mother. Ever your own,

Tom.

♦ Mr. Moore was married to Miss Dyke, on March 25. 1811, at
St. Martin*8 church, in London.

1811.] LETTEB8. 263

[No. 154.] To his Mother.

Taesdaj, May, 1811.
My dearest Mother,
You will be sorry to see this letter unfiranked; but
Connor has written to me to say, that he did not authorise
any one to tell us that the channel of the War Office was
again opened: he has added, civilly, that he regrets it
very much, &c. &c : however, do not fear, darling mother;
I shall find some ways of letting you have your two letters
a-wcek notwithstanding. It was but two days ago I got
my dear father's letter about the letting of the house. If
I thought, for an instant, that this resolution arose in any
degree from any feeling of hopelessness or disappointment
at my marriage, it would make me truly miserable ; but I
hope, and, indeed, am confident, dearest mother, that you
do me the justice to be quite sure that this event has only
drawn closer every dear tie by which I was bound to you ;
and that, while my readiness to do every thing towards
your comfort renuuns the same, my power of doing so
will be, please God ! much increased by the regularity and
economy of the life I am entering upon. Indeed, / may
be a little too alive to apprehension ; but it struck me that
there was rather a degree of coldness in the manner in
which my dearest father's last letter mentioned my mar-
riage ; and if you knew how the cordiality and interest of
all my friends has been tenfold increased since this events
you would not wonder,. my darling mother, at the anxiety
which I feel lest those, whom in this world I am chiefly
anxious to please, should in the least degree withhold that
full tribute to my conduct which my own conscience tells

. — ■ I ^mm t ■ rm »amtim>aja0»m0^i^immf

254 LETTERS. [JEtat. SJ

me I deserve, and which the warm sympathy of all mj
other friends has given such a happy and flattering sane
tion to ; but I know I am (like yourself) too tremulously
alive upon every subject connected with the afiection oi
those I love, and I am sure my father by no means mcam
to speak coldly.

With respect to letting the house, I do believe (if you
really like to leave it) that it would be the best thing you
could do. I know you want a little society, and in lodg-
ings more convenient to those you are acquainted with
you could have it Besides, I should think my fathei
might get something handsome by letting it, as that neigh-
bourhood has become so much more promising since he
took the place. All I want is, that you should not leave
it from any fear that I sliall be unable to do anything in
future towards helping you through any occasional diffi-
culties you may encounter ; for, on the contrary (even if
the present change in politics does not do all it ought to do
for me), I have every prospect of having it more in my
power to assist you, in my little way, than ever; and, if
my father wants some money now, let him only apprise
mc, and draw on Power for it without hesitation.

I have not a minute to write more: my next letter
shall go through Lord Byron. Ever yours, dearest
mother,

Tom.

[No. 155.] To his Mother,

Friday, June 21. 1811.
My dearest Mother,

I ought to have written yesterday, but T was in bed

all day after the fete, wlilch I did not leave till past six in

1811.] LETTERS. 255

the morning. Nothing waa ever half so magnificent ; it
was in reality all that they try to imitate in the gorgeous
scenery of the theatre; and I really sat for three quarters
of an hour in the Prince's room after supper, silently look-
ing at the spectacle, and feeding my eyes with the as-
semblage of beauty, splendour, and profuse magnificence
which it presented. It was quite worthy of a Prince,
and I would not have lost it for any consideration. There
were many reports previous to it (set about, I suppose, by
disappointed aspirants), that the company would be mixed,
&C. &c. ; but it was infinitely less so than could possibly
be expected from the strange hangers-on that all the Royal
Brothers have about them, and of course every thing high
and noble in society was collected there. I saw but two
unfortunate ladies in the group (mother and daughter)
who seemed to " wonder how the devil they got there,"
and everybody else agreed with them. While all the rest
of the women were outblazing each other in the richness
of their dress, this simple couple, with the most philosophic
contempt of ornament, walked about in the unambitious
costume of the breakfast-table, and I dare say congratu-
lated each other, when they went home, upon the great
difference between their becoming simplicity and the gaudy
nonsense that surrounded them. It was said that Mr.
Waithman, the patriotic linendraper, had got a card ; and
every odd-looking fellow that appeared, people said imme-
diately, " That's Mr. Waithman." The Prince spoke to
me, as he always does, with the cordial familiarity of an
old acquaintance.

This is a little gossiping for you, dearest mother, and
I expect some in return from Kate very soon. God bless
you. Ever your own,

Tom.

256 LETTERS. [.Stat. 31

[No. 156.] To his Moiher.

Monday, 1811.

My dearest Mother,
I did not write on Saturday, as I was a little nervous
about my reading to the manager ; but I came off with
him ten times better than I expected, as I have indeed
very little confidence in my dramatic powers. He was
however very much pleased, and sidd it« only fault was,
that it would be too good for the audience, that it was
in the best style of good comedy, and many more things,
which, allowing all that is necessary for politeness, are veiy
encouraging, and I begin to have some little hopes that it
may succeed. I was very much amused by Xate's asto-
nishment at my full-dated and full-signed letter. I sup-
pose I had been writing a few /ormaZ epistles before it
Kate says that Boroughcs is very curious v}yoMt franking ;
but he has rather a curious mode of doing it, as the letter
of my father's (which she says he franked the week before)
I never goty and this lost one of hers (which she says he
also franked) I paid postage for. By the bye, I had
begun to feci a little imeasy at not having heard from mj
dear father so long, and the only consolation I had was
seeing some of his directions of the newspapers at
Power's.

I am right glad to hear that little Dolly's lover, aftei

holding out as long as Saragossa, has surrendered to her at

last. Ever your own, my dearest mother,

Tom.

Do not mention my opera to any one, and bid Eatc
muzzle old Joe upon the subject.

1811.] LETTERS. 257

[No. 157.] To his Mother.

Donington Park, Friday, 1811.

My dearest Mother,
I got Kate's last letter here from town^ and am delighted
to think that you are all well and happy. Nothing can
equal the luxury of this house, especially since Monsieur^s
arrival. I can imagine that it may be surpassed, but I am
sure it seldom is : the Prince of Cond6 and the Duke of
Bourbon have come with him.

How does Herbert's play go on? Tell him I wish to
have a particular description of the situation in which he
desires to have the song introduced, and I shall endeavour to
make out something suitable to it.

If I could, I should like very much to return to Ireland
with Lord and Lady Granard; but it is not very probable.
Send the enclosed letter to Mrs. Mills: it will save her
so much postage, and I ought to have written to her.
Love to Kate, dear father, and yourself.

Tom Moobe.

[No. 158.] To Lady Donegal

Saturday, August 17. 1811.

* * # # •

The season is now, indeed, so far gone, that I should not
wonder if I were yet to have you witnesses of my first
plunge ; and oh ! if I could pack a whole audience like
you, with such taate for what is good, and such indulgence
for what is bad ; but I think there is not in the world so
stupid or boorish a congregation as the audience of an

VOL. I. 8

308 LETTERS. CiETiT. S8.

English playhouse. I have latterly attended a good deal,
and I really think that when an author makes them laugh,
he ought to feel like Fbocion when the Athenians ap-
plauded him, and aek what wretched bittse had produced
the tribute. I hare been a good deal and most loyally
alarmed, lest a certain catastrophe ^ould interrupt the
performances at the playhouses ; but I believe there is
DO fear whatever, and that I may be very well satisfied
if my piece is not dead and d — d before he is — (N. B.
before he is dead, I mean — don't mistake me). His
cooverBation latterly has been all addressed to George the
First

Your sister bids me give an account of my mode of
living, and I promise to do ao in my next letter, which
now that I am released from my joke-manufactory, shall
follow up this in closer order than I have hitlierto pre-
served ; but, in the meantime, I know I caouot tell you
too often, that 1 am more rationally happy than ever
I was ; that, to compensate the want of worldly advan-
tages, 1 have found good sense, fnmplicity, kind-hearted-
ness, the most unaffected purity, and rightneti of tkiiA-
ing upon every subject connected with my welfare or
comfort

I have no news for you. Beyers is stiU at his brother's
in Shropshire. I suppose you saw the account in the
paper of the apartments at Windsor into which the poor
King was turned loose, and suffered to range blindly and
frantic about, like FolyjAemus in his cave. I never read
anything more melancholy ; Uie mockery of tptendour
which, they said, was preserved in these preparations (that
he might knock his bead royally against velvet and satin),
made the misery of his atoation so much more glaiing and

1811.] LETTEKS. 259

frightful^ that I am quite happy to find it was all a fabri-
cation.

I shall write to dear Mary next week. I have told my
Bessy that you know it, therefore you may write wiAout
restraint Ever most truly yours,

T. M.

I would enclose this through die War Office, but the
paper is too thin for stranger eyes.

r « \

[No. 159.] From Miss Godfrey.

Killamey, Sept 22. 1811.

You are so severe upon your poor opera, that, upon
first opening your letter, we gave it up for lost, and thought
it must certainly go to the regions below. However, upon
going a little further on it was an agreeable surprise to find
it had succeeded ; and, upon turning to the Globe, the
paper which we get, we had great consolation in seeing
that it had been very well received, and was likely to go
on with great success. What more would you have?
If you had written something that had pleased yourself,
and half a dozen people of taste very much, that had been
full of sentiment and refinement, and not a vulgar joke in
it, it might have been very delightful for the above-men
tioned seven people, but the public would not have borne
it the second night You wrote to please the public and
not yourself; and if the public are pleased, upon their
heads be the sin and shame, if it be unworthy of giving
pleasure. An author who hopes for success on die stage
must fall in with popular taste, which is now at the last
gasp, and past all cure. I dare say, hexmver, that this

2

260 LETTERS. [iETAT. 32.

piece has a great deal more merit than you allow that it has,
and that whenever you could give yoiu: taskmasters the
slip you have put in something excellent in your own way.
At all events, the Globe gives us a very good account of it,
and I'll stick to that ; and I hope we shall see it next No-
vember with a great deal of pleasure, and I am sure we
shall with a great deal of interest. Pray don^t let Mr.
Arnold cheat you: it really is too bad that every body
cheats you, and makes money of your talents, and that you
sit smiling by, not a farthing the better for theni.

It gave us both great satisfaction to hear so pleasant
an account of your domestic life, as that which your last
letter to Bab contained. Be very sure, my dear Moore,
that if you have got an amiable, sensible wife, extremely
attached to you, as I am certiun you have, it is only in the
long run of life that you can know the full value of the
treasure you possess. If you did but see, as I see with
bitter regret in a very near connection of my own, the
miserable effects of marrying a vain fool devoted to fashion,
you would bless your stars night and day for your good
fortune ; and, to say the truth, you were as likely a gentle-
man to get into a scrape in that way as any I know. You
were always the slave of beauty, say what you please to
the contrary : it covered a multitude of sins in your eyes,
and I never can cease wondering at your good luck after
all said and done. Money is all that you want, and it is
very provoking to think how much that detestable trash has
to do with our happiness here below. What between my
sister's lawsuits, and settling my brother's affairs, we are
sick of the word money, and I hope I shall live to see
the day when it may never be mentioned in my hearing.
We reckon upon leaving this place towards the end of
October. We stay later than we intended on account of

1811.] LETTERS. 26i

my brother, who has not been well ; and we have great
pleasure in thinking that we have been of material service
to him in every way, and have contributed as much to the
restoration of his health as to the tranquillity of his mind.
I like this county a thousand times better than any part
of Ireland ; and the common people are delightful. They
are savages, with the strongest feelings and the most intel-
ligent minds I ever met with ; and so alive to kindness, and
so unused to it, that they seem to adore any one that treats
them with humanity. To be sure they cheat whenever
they can, and they have not the smallest value for their
own lives or the lives of others; and as they have strong
feelings of gratitude they have also strong feelings of re-
sentment, so that murder too often occurs amongst them.
But I intend to prove to your satisfaction when we meet,
that their vices are the work of the gentlemen of the
country, and their virtues all their own ; so wait till then,
and bless your good fortune in escaping my reasoning for
the present. The beauty of all this part of the country is
not to be told. The lake does not belong to this world at
all, but is certainly some little comer of heaven that broke
off, and fell down here by some accident or other : and
the musical echoes can only be produced by some of the
choirs from heaven, who fell with this little comer, but
don't choose to show themselves to mortal eyes. You
think, I dare say, in England, that we are all in an uproar
about the proclamation, and the Roman Catholic petitions.
I really don't believe that there are fifty people in all Ire-
land that think upon the subject after the meetings are
over, and the resolutions sent to the paper. There is not
depth or steadiness enough of character in Irishmen to
make great patriots of them. They talk much and do

8 8

262 I.ETTEB8. IMtAT. 91.

little : this, too, to be proved to you when ve meet. Thia
ie one of the moet Koidad Catholic counties in Ireland, yet
none of the leading ones attended the meeting, for they
condenin all violence. I must eay ve set an example of
toleration in this county worthy of a more enlightened
people. Bab has got great credit for asking the Roman
Catholic and Protestant bishop to the same party at her
house. I suppose, because she is a courtier, they expected
her to be a bigot I wish I could eay as much for the rest
of Ireland upon the same subject as I can for this coun^,
but I can't ; and, unless they all turn Mahometans, I see
no chance of their living blether like Christians. And
so now God bless you. If you intend to write soon, direct
here; if not,to ll.X>einster Street, Dublin. Bab sends you
a thousand kind things, such as loves, and fidendships, and
good wishes. And if you like to say anything Irom us
to Mrs. M., we give you a carte blanche to say eveiything
you would like for us to say to your wife, and, when the
time comes for saying it to herself, we will with pleasure.
Adieu, cher Tom,

M. Q.

rno. 160.] To Lady DoTugal.

UoDd*7,Oct.2S. 1811.
My opera has succeeded much better than I expected,
and I am glad to find that Braham is going to play it
at Bath ; but I have been sadly cheated. What a pity
that we " swans of Helicon" should be such geese I Ro-
gers is indignant, and so am I ; and we ring the changes
upon • • • and • • often enough, God knows.

1811.] LETTERS. 263

singing of them like Cadet Roussel's children^ " Vun est
volcury Tautre est fripon — ah! ah!'" &c. &C., but it all
won t do.

I suppose you have heard that I have had the magnifi-
cent offer of Lucien Bonaparte's poem to translate^ and
that I have declined it I wrote to ask Lord Moira's ad-
vice about the matter^ and his answer contained one thing
most comfortably important in my opinion, as showing his
thoughtfulness about my future interests ; he bid me, in
case I should find the poem imobjectionable in its politi-
ctil doctrines, to mention the circumstances to M^Mahon,
and get the Prince's assent to my translating it, adding,
that if I could wait till he arrived in town, he would men-
tion it to the Prince himself.

The Prince, it is said, is to have a villa on Primrose
Hill, and a fine street, leading direct from it to Carlton
House. Tliis is one of the " primrose paths of dalliance "
by which Mr. Percival is, I fear, finding his way to the
Prince's heart.

I have nothing more to say now, but that I am as
tranquil and happy as my heart could wish, and that I
most anxiously long for the opportunity of presenting some-
body to you. If you do not make haste, I shall have two
somebodies to present to you. Ever yours,

T. MOOBE.

[No. 161.] To Mr. Longman,

Wednesday, Bury Street, St. Jame8*8, 1811.
My dear Sir,

I am at last come to a determination to bind myself to

your service, if you hold the same favourable dispositions

s 4

264 LETTERS. [JStat.32.

towards me as at our last conversation upon business. To-
morrow I should be very glad to be allowed half an hour's
conversation with you, and, as I dare say^ I shall be up all
night at Cariton House, I do not think I could reach your
house before four o'clock.

I told you before that I never could work without a re-
tainer. It will not, however, be of that exorbitant nature
which your liberality placed at my disposal the first time
I had the honour of applying to you ; and I still b^, as
before, that our negotiations may be as much as possible
between ourselves. Whatever may be the result of them,
I shall always acknowledge myself indebted for the atten-
tion I have already experienced from you, and beg you to
believe me^ dear sir, faithfully yours,

Thomas Moore.

[No. 162.] To his Mother.

ISll.

My dearest Mother,
I find the Master of the Bolls is in town, and, if pos-
sible, I shall go in to meet him. There is so much call for
the opera, that I have made a present of it to little Power
to publish ; that is, nominally I have made a present of it to
him, but I am to have the greater part of the profits not-
withstanding. I do it in this way, however, for two rea-
sons — one, that it looks more dignified, particularly after
having made so light of the piece myself; and the second^
that I do not mean to give anything more to Carpenter,
yet do not think it worth breaking with him till I have
something of consequence to give Longman. Little Power

*-r- ■» -

1812.] LETTERS. 265

is of wonderful use to me^ and^ indeed^ I may say, is the

first liberal man I have ever had to deal with. I hope both

for his own sake and mine^ that his business will prosper

with him. Ever your own,

Tom.

[No. I6d.] To Lady Donegat

Saturday, Jan. 4. 1812.
I did not like to write to you during the first mo-
ments of your unhappiness^ because indeed there is nothing
harder than to know what to say to friends who are in
sorrow, and the best way is to feel with them and be silent.
Even now, I am afraid if I speak honestly, I shall confess
that a selfish feeling is predominant with me, and that I
am much more grieved by your absence, which is my dis-
tress, than the cause of it, which is yours. This after all,
however, is very natural, and I am sure you will give me
more credit for sincerity in missing you whom I know and
love, than in moiuning over your brother whom I scarcely
was lucky enough to be even acquainted with. Most
happy shall I be to see you back once more from a country
which could have but little charms for you at any time,
but which the sadness and perplexity you have met there
now must render particularly gloomy and disagreeable. I
shall be the more happy at your taking your leave of it for
ever, as I have every hope and thought of being able to
live in England myself; and the more I narrow my circle
of life, the more seriously I should want such friends as
you in it. The smaller the ring, the sooner a gem is missed
out of it : so that I own I shall not be guite easy till you
are onc^e more upon English ground.

266 LETTERB. L-StAT.SL

I have been living very quiet and very hi^py, with
the exception of those little apprehenaona which I muet
naturally fed at the approaching trial of poor Bessy's
strength. She is very delicate indeed, but her SfMnts and
reedution are much better than they were at first.

I was going to talk to you about being god-mother,
but 08 you will not be here at the time, we shall wiut till
the next, though I sincerely hope they will come " like
angel yis,ita,/ew and Jar between."

Rogers has been at Lord Kobert Spencer's this fort-
night pnst, but I have this instant got a note from him
asking me to a t6te-&-tSte dinner.

On Sunday last I dined at Holland House. Lord
Moira took me there and brought me bock. There is no
guessing what the Prince means to do : one can as little
anticipate his measures as those of Buonaparte, but for a
very different reason. I am sure the powder in his Royal
Highness's h^ b much more settled th&n any thing in his
head, or indeed heart, and would stand a puff of Mr. Pei^
cival'a much more stoutly. At the same time I must say,
that there are not the same «gns of his jilting Lord
Moira, as there are of his deserting the rest of the party.
Lord M. is continually at Carlton House, and there was a
reserve among the other statesmen at Holland House on
Sunday in talking before him, as if they oonmdered him
more in the penetralia of the sanctuuy than themselves :
it was only in groups after dinner that they let out their
Buepidons upon the subject. Lord Moira has not, for a long
time, been so attentive to me as since his last return to
London.

I never am let to write half so much as I wish;
but now that I have lim>ken the chilling ice which the

1812. J

LETTERS. 267

last sad misfortune cast between our communications,

you shall hear from me constantly. Ever your attax^ed

friend,

Thomas Moobe.

[No, 164.] To his Mother*

Saturday, 1812.

My dearest Mother.

I never had such a flattering ^ but embarrassing scene as
yesterday. I dined at Lord Holland's, and there were the
Duke of Bedford, Lord Grey, Lord Morpeth, &c. Their
whole talk was about my poem, without having the least
idea that I had written it : their pr^es, their curiosity
about the author, their guesses, &c., would have been ex-
ceedingly amusing to me, if there had been no one by in the
secret ; but Lord Holland knew it, which made me a good
deal puzzled how to act. Nothing for a long time has
made such a noise. The copy I had for you has been for-
cibly taken away from me by Lord Holland this morn-
ing ; but I dare say it will be in the papers to-day or to-
morrow, and at all events I will not close this letter till I
try whether I can get Rogers's copy, or Lord Byron's,
for you.

Rogers has this instant sent me a present of a most
beautiful reading-desk, which puts the rest of my room's
furniture to the blush. God bless my darling mother.
Ever your own,

Tom.
I am going to dine with Croker on Monday.

* On the appearance of hia Parody of the Princess Letter.

[So. Its.] To Ladt/ Doneffol

SMurdar, 1612.

I take advantage of a frank, and have but one moment
to say that I am a papa 1 and, contrary to my express in-
tentions, it is a little girL * It is well for you that I have
not time now to tell all 1 feel about your neglect of my
last letter. You I foi^ve a little, because you don't like
writing i but it ia so unlike dear Mary, that I am afmd I
am beginning to be foi^otten. The Ben-ys and C. Moore
hear continually, and Bt^ers, indeed, very often taunts
me with the preference shown to them; but I tell him I
have no doubt they deserve it, however I may lament
that I have lost such valued ground to them. WiU you be
god>mother to my little gir! ? I would not add to your
responsibilities in the child line, if the god-father, who is
rich and generous, did not oak to stand for the very pur-
pose of taking care of the little one, if any thing should
happen to us. Therefore it is the high, precious, keart-feU
ianction (the honour I would say, if it were not too cold a
word), the sanctifUcUion which your name would g^ve to
my present happy tie. This is what I want, and what I
am sure you will grant me.

I hardly know what I write, but I shall be more col-
lected next time. We are all dcnng well. Ever yoor
attached friend,

Thohab Moobe.

* Mr. Moore's eldwt danghter, Anne Jane Barbara, was bom on tlis
4th February, 1813.

1812.] LETTERS. 269

[No. 166.] To Lady Donegal.

1812.

I wrote to you last week; at least I sent a letter
directed to you, which, I dare say, like the poor poet's
" Ode to Posterity," will never be delivered according to
its address. Instead of directing to Leinster Street, as you
bid me, I have dispatched it to KiUamei/, with the same
idea of shortness that the Irishman had when he said, ^^ my
name is Tim, but they call me O'Brallaghan for shortness,^
1 dare say it will be some weeks before it reaches you,
which, however, I hope it wiU do at last, as there were
some little family details in it not quite fit for the eyes of
the uninitiated : for instance, there is an account of a
hirthy and rumours of a ckristeninffy and a modest request
that you would take the poet's first production under your
patronage ; seriously, I have been imreasonable enough to
ask that you would allow me to give your name to my little
daughter; and I have at the same time told you, that I
would not have added to your responsibilities in this way,
only that the god-father, who is rich enough to buy all
Parnassus, has token the worldly risk entirely upon him-
self, and left only the spiritual and godly responsibilities to
your ladyship, who will, I am sure, be as mlling as you are
able to undertake it.

I also threatened you with a little overflowing of my
heart on the subject of your silence to me ; but this I feel
too deeply to venture upon in a letter. Charles Moore
tells me that you are certainly coming in April, and
Charles IVfoore has been indebted to my anxiety to know
something about yop, for two or three visits, which other-
wise I might not perhaps have paid him; for, after all,
though I can bear participation in what I value, I am very

270 LETTERS. r^TAT. 81

impatient of monopoly, and nothing but my real wish tc
know that you are well and happy could make me suhmil
to inquire news of you from a person who so totally en-
grosses your attention. You never before left a letter d
mine so long imanswered as the one I last sent to Leinstei
Street.

One thing is pretty certain, that you will soon be rid ol
me. In Lord Moira's exclusion from all chances of power,
I see an end to the long hope of my life ; and my intention
is to go far away into the country, there to devote the
remainder of my life to the dear circle I am forming around
me, to the quiet pursuit of literature, and, I hope, of good-
ness. It will make me very unhappy to be forgotten by
you, but not half so much so as I should be if I thonght
I deserved it. I have not time for more. Ever your
sincere friend,

Thos. Moobb.

I have not time to look over this, but I fear there u
a little spleen in it ; and the truth is, that the political
events of these few days, so suddenly breaking up all the
prospects of my life, have sunk my spirits a little, so for-
give me if I am either imjust or ill-natured.

[Kg. 167.] To Miss Godfrey.

Friday, Mardi 6. 1812.
Your letters have made ample amends for your silence,
and I am always ready to believe, at a minute's notice, the
kindest assurances of recollection whicb yon can make me ;
indeed, I cannot hear them renewed too often, and I should
not wonder if there were at the bottom of all my com*

^- - Jft-- J*

1812.] LETTERS. 271

plaiiiings a little lurking wish to draw these kind profes-
sions from you rather than any serious supposition that I
am really either forgotten or supplanted. No^ I believe I
have a ninety-nine years lease of your hearts^ which is
pretty nearly as long a term as I shall want them for; and
you may set up the sign of the Angel over them afterwai^ds.
I suppose I can tell you nothing in politics that you have
not heard already; but I dare say I should give a very
different colouring to my intelligence. Your correspondent
is one of the livery-servants in politics, and his senti-
ments of course take the colour of YAsfacinffs; but J, thank
Heaven ! (and it consoles me for my poverty) am free to call
a rascal a rascal wherever I find him, and never was I
better disposed to make use of my privilege. You seem
to think, both Lady Donegal and you, that the late events
are likely to depress my spirits ; and I am not sorry that
you did think so, because the affectionate things it has
made you say to me are too sweet to be lost ; but I rather
believe, if you were here to see with what a careless spirit
I bear it all, you would be of opinion that consolations and
condolences are thrown away upon me. The truth is, I
feel as if a load were taken off me by this final termination
to all the hope and suspense which the prospect of Lord
Moira's advancement has kept me in for so many years.
It has been a sort oi WilUo^-the^Wisp to me all my life, and
the only thing I regret is that it was not extinguished
earlier, for it has led me a sad dance. My intention now
is, as I have told you already, to live in the coimtry upon
the earnings of my brains, and to be as happy as love,
literature, and liberty can make me. I think of going
somewhere near Lord JVIoira's for the sake of the library ;
and though I shall have but few to talk to me, I will try
to make many talk of me. This now shall be my on)y

272

I

nmbition, and I mean to U7 the whole lever of i
to it. Lord Moira has behaved with all that delics
niindodncra, which those who know him well expect
him. '\\'hcn he told the P. that in a very short
BhouJil make hia bow and quit the conntTT, this 1
gentleman began to blubber (as he did once when
told that 13rummcl did not like the cut of his co
said, " You'll desert me then, Moira ? " *« No, ai
he; " when the friends and counsels you have choa
have brought jour throne to totter beneath you, 1
then see me by your side to sink, if it should ac
God, under its rulna with you I" He is certunl
to Vienna.

(ThLadyD.)

Your answer about my little girl was so loiur (
and manmia was so impatient to have her made a CI
(seeing, as she said, that " children always thrive bett
it"), that I was obliged to take my chance for yoi
sent ; but not wishing to presmne too mnch, we ha
placed you in the van of responsibility, but mereli
you bring up the rear in the following long anny of 1
" Anne Jane Barbara Moore."

We are all well, at least pretty well, for poor Bi
sadly altered in looks ; indeed, so totally, that, thoui
says nothing juls her, I cannot think how health c
compatible with such pale emaciation, and am therefoi
a little anxious about her. I hope you will come 1
we leave London. Ever most aincerely yours,

Thomab Moo]

i ^

[No. 168.] To his Mother,

Friddj night, 1812.

My dearest Motter,

After long wishing and wiuting, I got a letter from
my dear father to-day, and I quite jumped at it with im-
patience, after the long wlence you have all kept I Lope
now however, aince I have told you of the convenience
of inclosing to Lord Byron, that you will let me hear a
little oftener about you; for, indeed, all this time that
Kate has been with you, you have been three writers in
family, and I am but one ; besides / write for the public,
and Kate and Nell have little other authorship than
godsiping now and then to me, which I hope they will
afford me oftener.

I think of taking a little tour the beginning of next
week, to look for some rural retreat somewhere, as I am
quite weary of London, and I find my friend Dalby la
confined with an illness which may prevent him for some
time investigating the neighbourhood of Donington for me.

I wish, whenever you have a good opportunity, dew
mother, you would send me the remainder of my books,
as I am collecting a library, and am resolved to get all
together that I can. Tell Kate she muat leave her
Boilcau to me in her wilL I owe her many books still,
and, oa soon as I can get an opportunity, I will send her
Lord Byron's book (which is evejy thing now), and one or
two more new publications.

My Lord Byron liked so well the way I conducted my
otDii affair with him, that he chose me as his friend llio
other (Liy in a similar business, and I had the happiness
of bringing him through it without going to extremities.
When I say that " he liked so well," &c, I don't mean that

TOL. I. T

274 XETTEBB. iMtAT. St.

he gave that tm a reason for employing me, bat I think it
wns a tribute that amounted to pretty mncb the same
thing, and I waa flattered by it accordingly.

I am quite sorry, my darling mother, to 6nd that yon
have had your winter cold; but the sweet eeaaon that we
feci now will, I trust, quite restore yon.

I shall take care and not write anything in the papers.
Poor Hunt is up for his last article but one against the
Prince. God bless you, darling mother. Ever your own,
TOK.

[No. 189.] To hit Mother.

IS12.

My dearest Mother,
I have not had an answer from Dalby yet, but am in
the some mind about retiring lometnhere, and I should
prefer Donington both from the society and the Ubrary.
Lord Moira told me himself that he meant to withdraw
entirely from politics, so that I look upon all hope titun
him in this way as C(nnpletely extinguished, and must only
look to myself for my future ht^piness and independence ;
indeed, I rather think, from the appearance of the tJmet^
that the best of the great ones hold their places and po^
sessions by a very precarious tenure, and he that has
nothing to fall from is the only one that has nothing to
fear. I don't know whether I told you before, (and if I
did not, it waa my uncertainty about it for stmie time
which prevented me,) that the Powers give me between
them Jive hundred a-year for my music ; the agreement ia
for seven years, and as much longer as I choose to say.
This you will own (however precuious, as depending on
theirsuccess in business) is very comfortable aa long as it lasts.

/

1812.] LETTERS. 275

and shows what may be done with my talents^ if exerted.
You will not mention this much. As soon as I have leisure
to finish a long poem I have in hand^ I shall get a good
sum for it, which will, I hope, enable me not only to pay
my debts, but to assist my dearest father with something
towards his establishment. So you see, darling mother, my
prospect is by no means an unpromising one, and the only
sacrifice 1 must make is the giving up London society,
which involves me in great expenses, and leaves me no
time for the industry that alone would enable me to sup-
port them : this I shall do without the least regret.

My friend Lord Byron's poem is doing wonders, and
there is nothing talked of but him every where ; he certainly
is * * * [ The rest of the letter has been lostl

[No. 170.] From Mr, DaJhy.

Castle Donington, March 31. 1812.
]VIy dear Moore,
Your determination to quit the great city, and take
up your residence among humble villagers equally delights
and surprises me. From the hint you gave me in your
first letter, that you intended to explain your plan to Lord
Moira, I formed a hope that you would be made to abide
in the very centre of attraction, the house at the Park, with
your books all around you. This, however, was not by
any means the cause of my delaying to give you an answer
in due time. One of the worst colds I ever had, in com-,
bination with a long series of the worst weather I ever
remember, absolutely prevented me from making that in-
dustrious search after a house for you in this neighbour-
hood, which I no less wished, than you seemed to require

T 2

276 LETTEB8. [^xat. M.

me to make. I could, indeed, at once have said tliat there
is no house in Donington to be had for you, that is, which
would suit you ; but this " not satisfactory " answer wa«
what I could not, in obedience to my own feelings, think
of sending you. As soon as my present unwelcome visitor,
tluit has detained me in the house for the last fortnight,
has taken its leave, I intend to form a complete circle with
a radius — (when a poet talks of " ratio/ surely one that
fancies himself sometliing of a mathematician may indulge
himself with his "circle and radius") — of three mil«
round the library at the Park, and industriously examine
every point of the whole superficial contents to find out a
house, neither too large nor too small, with a garden to it,
that will do for the residence of a poet By the bye, you
don't say whether it must be a flower-garden or a potato-
garden ; and, between the poet and the Irishman, I am at
a loss to determine whicL This you must determine for
yourself; and therefore you may, in good earnest you
may, depend upon it, that the moment I haye found a
house which appears to me in any manner suitable for you,
I shall give you information.

I have had two or three letters from Lord Moin
since the restrictions expired, but he does not say one
word of his disappointments. I am, dfiar Moore, most
sincerely yours,

Jno. Dalby.

Lord Byron writes a worse hand than I ever saw be-
fore. It is almost impossible to believe that V^n gliah
Bards and Scotch Beviewers was originally written in so
vile a hand.

1812.] LETTERS. 277

[No. 171.] To Mr. Power.

Wednesday, May 23. 1812.
My dear Sir,

I send you the commencement of our fifth number,
and I am glad we have begun so auspiciously, as I think
it will make a very pretty and popular duet.

Many thanks for your inquiry at the inn, but we have
got our things. They were carried by mistake to Derby.*

I have written two more verses to the inclosed air, as I
mean now to finish as I go on.

You cannot imagine what a combustible state this country
is in — all the common people's heads are full of revolution.
Yesterday the bells of this and the neighbouring villages
were ringing all day for the change of Ministry. Prny,
let me know everything curious that comes to your know-
ledge in music, literature, and politics. Bessy sends best
regards. Ever yours,

Thomas Moore.

[No. 172.] From Lady Donegal and Miss Godfrey.

May, 1812.

The sight of your handwriting does one good ; and the
general joy which even a line from you difiuses through-
out the house, would, I think, give you pleasure if you
could witness it But as you cannot, you must take my
word for it We are happy to find that your journey waa
performed without accident, and that Bessy is so much
pleased with her new habitation, though I dare say that its
greatest charm is its distance from London, and seclusion
from the " haunts of man." I hope that your fxiends will

« Mr. Moore settled at Kegworth in the spring of 1812.

T 8

•"^^BBj^S*^ "^** ■■

278 LETTERS. [JEtat. 82.

not officiously break in upon you ; but I hear that Lord
Byron meditates a visit to Kegworth, as Rogers has told
you in the enclosed note. He (Rogers) talks of you both
in the most amiable manner^ and Lord Moira and Lady
Loudon ♦ • • Asusual^hereaml^thepoor/^tf a2i?r, to
tell you the rest, for she was obliged to go off in the midst
of what she was saying, and I must supply her place as well
as I can ; and so, as she was saying, everybody that you
care about speaks and thinks and feels about you precbely
in the very way you would like. And for that most un-
grateful of Bessys, she has made the most favourable impres-
sion upon all those hearts she was in such a hurry to run
away from. I hope you are all unpacked and settled com-
fortably by this time ; and that you both find every thing
exactly as you like it should be in tlus best of all possible
w^orlds. You have a happy talent of persuading yourself
that you intend to write the longest letters containing the
fullest details of every interesting particular about your-
self to your intimate friends in the course of next weeJu
But for my part, I have long heard talk of those long
letters and that next week ; as to seeing them, I have never
yet had that pleasure. However, to be just to you, you
are not near so bad as you were before you married, and I
live in hopes of Bessy's making you wiser and better every
day. I dare say you are almost mad with delight and fit
to be tied, at the thoughts of Mr. Wortley's success. The
poor departed Ministers were thunderstruck, for he was
their supporter through many a year of hard labour to
keep their places. Lord Wellesley, they say, will move
heaven and earth to make up a Ministry with Lord Hol-
land, Lord Moira, Lord Lansdowne, and Canning. His
first measure, to ^ve the Catholics all they ask ; his second,
to send every soldier he can lay his hands on to Spain, and

181S.] LETTERS. 279

to make a sublime effort there ; and his thirds to tax us
within an inch of our lives. If we live to tell the story,
we shall tell it grandly, and you had better get ready your
epic poem for the occasion. If we die, we shall die like
demi-gods, but what'll become of your poem ?

Yesterday, at the levee. Lord Cholmondeley and Lord
Hertford were leaning on a writing-table which broke, and
down they came : that good honest man, that nobody cares
for because he is honest. Lord Sidmouth, caught at the
table to prevent the fall, and got his hands all over ink.
" Well," he swd, " I did hope to have gone out of office
with clean hands." In the Prince's interview with Lord
Wellesley and Canning, when he was trying to persuade
them to join with the relics of Percival, he tried all ways
to soften them, and finding them inflexible upon the Ca-
tholic question, he rubbed his hands and siud, ^' I must
try then to get Liverpool and Eldon to give up this point."
Bab thinks you may enclose once more to Lord Glen-
bervie when you have a large packet, but he is tottering
with the rest, and I suppose only holds his place till ar-
rangements are made. She has got two packets from
Power for you ; they came yesterday ; but she has not yet
been able to get a large frank for them, but will for Mou«
day*s post

I am in a violent hurry, so make the best of my blots
and scratches, and give our love, downright, honest love, to
Bessy; and we send the ditto to yourself, wishing you
places and pensions in this new order of things. Yours
ever,

Bab will really write soon.

v4

MVSmSSC^i^

- ■> ■ *

280

LETTEBS.

[.£tat. 81

[Na 178.]

To Mus Godfrey.

Kegworth, Wednesdaj, 1812.

Tills 18 not " the long letter next week,** so don't mis-
take it for it. Campbell, you know, says that " ooming
events cast their shadow before ; " so this is only the thaiam
of the coming letter, which you shall have, please pen and
ink, before next Tuesday. The first glass of wine of mjf
own that I've drunk since I came here was the day be-
fore yesterday to the late Ministry, and (as we say in
Irchiiid) " sweet bad luck to them.** I feel more in-
diftcrent about chances and changes than ever I did in my
life, which makes it more likely, perhaps, that I shall get
something good out of them, for Fortune is one of those
ladies who are piqued by indifference, and generally makes
her advances to those who could contriye to do Tery well
without her.

I took Bessy yesterday to Lord Moira's, and she was
not half so much struck with its grandeur as I expected.
She said, in coming out, " I like Mr. Roger8*s house ten
times better; " but she loves everything by association, and
she was very happy in Rogers*s house. By the same
rule, I think ^^. Davies Street would excel, in her eyes,
every mansion in the Lady's Almanack.

Good by. I was very near forgetting though, that you
have kept me in sad suspense about a packet (one of
those that were sent to you) which comes from Bermuda,
and which, I shrewdly suspect, contains money ; if you had
had a suspicion of tliis, I know you would have contrived,
somehow or other, to put wings to it for me ; but I dare
say you sent it flying yesterday. Good by again. Ever
yours,

Thomas Moo be.

■^r~~ A.

1812.] LETTEBS. 281

I am Borry the old Woodman* is going out; but we
shall get somebody else perhaps.

Since I wrote the above, I have received the packet
from you, and it is money indeed I Bessy imputes this
luck entirely to a little robin redbreast that has haunted
us these two days.

[No. 174.] To his Mother.

Kegworth, TVednesday, 1812.

My dearest Mother,

You missed one letter from me last week on account
of my bustle in town, but now that I am returned (and
right happy to get back), you shall have your weekly dues
as regular as ever. I came yesterday morning, very
much fatigued indeed with sitting up all night, and I
found Besssy and the little one pretty welL Bab had been
very ill during my absence, on account of something wrong
they gave her to eat at Dalby's, but she is now getting
round again.

I dined with Lord Moira again a day or two before I
left town, and from what I could collect from him and
others, I do not think there is much probability of his
going over to Ireland. He will not go without full powers
of emancipation, and those they will not give him. The
Chancellor is the dire stumbling-block in the way both of
him and the Catholics.

This little trial of London has only made me love my
quiet home and books better. Indeed, I want but you,
darling mother, and my good father and Ellen with me to
confine all my desires within this dear circle. My friends
in London were astonished at mjfat Ever your own,

Tom.
* Lord Glenberrie.

282 L£TT£BS. [iBTAT. 33.

[No. 175.] To his Mother,

Tuesday, 1812.

My dearest Mother,

I dined with Lord Moira yesterday, and I fear I shall
be obliged to go there again to-morrow. I say ** I fear^
because I do not like to leave Bessy alone ; and, besidesj
she is always so anxious about my returning at nights,
which are now growing dark: however, to-morrow is
Lady L.'s birthday, and as they will most probably be off
in a day or two more, I think I shall go. I believe I told
you about her kindness in imdertaking to consult her own
physician in London about Bessy's health. She is to call
upon us the day after to-morrow, for the purpose of hearing
accurately from Bessy herself the state of her health, and
getting Dr. Clarke's opinion upon it when she arrives in
town. I got the paper my dear father sent me with
Curran's speech. I am delighted to find that Lord Moira
is regaining so fast the popularity which he lost for a
moment with the Catholics ; and, indeed, from the general
aspect of affairs, I don't think it at all improbable that we
shall see him lord lieutenant of Ireland this next year.

I have had a very kind letter from my friend Colonel
Hamilton. Bessy was to have written to-day, but she
has Mary Dalby with her, and therefore only sendfl her
love. Ever your own,

Tom.

Let me know whether my letters go regularly now.

[No. 176.] To Mr. Power.

Friday, 1812.

My dear Sir,

I got the parcel yesterday, which I find you had sent

off before you received my letter through Lord Glenbervie.

1812.] LETTERS. 283

I shall therefore dispatch this by poet, lest there should
occur any delay in its reaching you ; and I have to ask
pardon for having omitted answering two or three ques-
tions in your former letters. In the first place, with respect
to a subject for the engraving to this number, I agree with
you that the Minstrel Boy would be a very good subject^
and more simple than Love, Wit, and Valour, which
occurred to me as offering a tolerable field for the fancy of
a good artist ; but the other is, as you say, very national,
and I should suppose you mean the boy to be taken when
fallen on the ground and tearing away the strings of his
harp. The title of " Merrily oh ! " I would have as follows :
" The Tyrolese Song of Liberty ; a national air, arranged
with English words, and dedicated to Miss Rawdon :" but
I should like to sec it as arranged for a single song before
you print it, if that be not already done, or at least a proof
of it.

With respect to which of the songs I mean for the
Booky that is entirely as you may think proper yourself;
you are the best judge of the mode in which they will
tell to most advantage. The order of the Melodies I shall
think over against Tuesday, when I will send you those
back you may wish for, through Lord Glenbervie. Let
me know by letter to-morrow, which of the manuscripts
you sent you wish returned.

If you have a verse of " Oh I see those Cherries," begin-
ning " Old Time thus fleetly," it is aU I have written or
intend to write to it.

I shall finish the number of the Melodies this month.
I am sorry to find that there is no air in it at all likely to
suit my own singing, which does not tell well for the
number. When I write to your brother, I will bid him
send me some more : there is one lately published by him
with words of Curran's, but it is no great things.

284 LETTERS. [JBtat. SX

I looked over Grardiner^s preface as you deared me,
and if the subject you were thinking of be a New Yersion
of the Psahns, I am afndd that is a task that would be
Bure to bring disgrace upon me, for I sgree with Dr.
Johnson, that such a work must ^^ necessarily be bad." But
I'll tell you what I should be very glad to undertake with
Stevenson, and that is, a series of Sacred Songs, Duets,
&c ; the words by me, and some of the airs. If you think
this would do, I shall very readily join him in it.

I am still without any further intelligence about Ixnd
Moira's plans. Ever yours, my dear sir,

Thomas Moobe.

[No. 177.] To Mr. Power.

Thursday, June, 1812.

I send you the Tyrolese air, which I have juat written

words to, and I think it goes beautifully. Pray let me

know whether anything more is done with Stevenson ; if

not, I shall send you up a letter, winch you must forward

to him with my songs to be arranged. The second Terse

of " Cease, oh I cease," is to be thus :

** Say, oh I say no more that lover*8 pains are 8weet»
I never, never can believe the fond deceit.
Thou lov*8t the wounded heart,

/ love to wander free ;
So, keep thou Cupid^s dart,
And leave his wings to me.**

This wiU sparkle better in the page. Ever yours,

T.M.

[No. 17SJ To Mr. Power.

Thursday, June 12. 1812.
My dear Sir,

I hope you got my little parcel last week with the

Tyrolese air, and that I soon shall hear from you about

*T- - *j7r

"y-.^^ ■^^^J ^

1812.] LETTERS. 285

Stevenson. I got the proofs you sent through Lord Glen-*
bervie ; but unfortunately it waa most deceitful intelligence
that Joe Atkinson gave me about the War OflSce being
again opened to me, for it is as shut as ever ; and all I can
do is to send my packet back to Lord Glenbcrvie, and get
him to frank it to teland. You shall have the proofs at
the same time. I wish we could get the Irish airs your
brother has. Pray write to him about them.

What an unexpected turn these long delayed arrange-
ments have taken 1 I cannot suppose, however, that the
House of Commons will allow these invalided gentlemen
to go on with the Ministry. The tone in which you write
about my political expectations is as liberal as usual, and
very cheering to me. I do not think I ever met any one
who feels so rightly about me as you do.

Do you think do the Americans mean seriously to put
a few hundreds a year in my pocket ?

Within this week past I feel something like settle-
ment to business ; and ten days shall seldom pass over my
head without your seeing some proofs of my industry.

Mrs. Power is very good-natured to think of little
Nanny, and Bessy means very soon to write her a long
account of all our domestic felicities. You certainly must
come down to us : we have already a room which is called
Mr. Power's room.

Believe me, with the best regards of Bessy and myself
to Mrs. Power and you, ever sincerely yours,

Thomas Moobe.

[No. 179.] To Mr. Power.

Thursday nigbt, 1812.

My dear Sir,
I am sincerely sorry to put any drag upon the wheel of
a business, which seemed to run so glibly and prosperously

286 LETTERS. [^TAT. M.

to-day ; but, upon mentioning the kind o£ farms which we
had used in our agreement to the friend with whom I con-
sult about everything of this kind, he made me fed the
very great irreguhirity I had been guilty of, in putting
myself totally in the power of your brother and you, whDe
I had not a line in return to give me the least claim or
binding upon t/ou. I need not tell you how much I wish
our compact to depend solely upon the good-will and con-
venience of all those concerned in it; but still it is rather
sinking me into a comparative nothingness in the arrange-
ment to make me write a formal agreement to your terms,
without letting me have one line in writing from you to
guarantee an equal observance of the stipulations on yonr
side. Indeed, I am well convinced that it is only from
oversight that you or your brother could have proposed
such a very unequal arrangement, and I therefore feel less
hesitation in begging that you will both return me the
letter I have written you, and let us strike out some moile
of giving a form to our agreement, in which the securities
may be somewhat more regular and reciprocaL I am^
my dear Sir, most sincerely yours,

Thomas Mooke.

[No. 180.] To Lady Donegal.

Kegworth, June, IS 12.

This is merely an experiment to try how I can get at
you through the Woods and Forests *, and as soon as I
have cleared the vista, we shall have many a peep at each
otlier. We arrived here safe and tired, though, I must
say, I never made a journey with less fatigue, for we had

* Through a kind friend of mine, Lord Glenbervie, we long con-
^nued to enjoy this privilego.

1812.] LETTEBS. 287

the inside of the stage to ourselves^ and it was like travel-
ling in the family coach. Bessy is quite pleased with our
new house, and runs wild about the large garden, which is
certainly a delightful emancipation for her after our very
limited domain at Brompton. But we are still in all the
horrors of settling, and if a life could be found worse than
that of " buttoning and unbuttoning," it would be pack-
ing and unpacking. We talk often over your kindness to
us the morning we came away, and / think often of your
kindness to me every morning I have ever seen you. God
bless you for it all ; and, as I intend now to go to church
every Sunday, jou shall have many a prayer offered up
for you; none of your worn-out devotions, that have been
hacked till they are good for nothing, but bran-new
prayers, that (at least in church) are very little the worse for
the wear. Love to dear Mary and your sister, from theirs

and yours ever,

T. M.

[No. 181.] From Miss Godfrey,

June, 1812.

I had much rather be hang'd than write to you, for
you treat my letters with the utmost contempt, and always
answer them to Bab, which is as much as to say, '* I im-
plore you not to write to me any more." But yet, being
as good-natured a fool as you ever had the pleasure of
knowing, I will give you a few lines, because Eogers says
you want to know the whys and the wherefores, and the
on dits of all these late political follies. It will puzzle me
to tell you whi/ Lord M., from a high-flown sense of
honour, quite above the common flight of common under-
standings, has thought it right, and loyal, and patriotic to

I

288 LETTERS. [^TAT. 33.

keep in a set of Ministers^ whom he has hitherto appeared
to thmk knaves and fools, and to be the champion of Lord
Yarmouth, &c., for whom he feels a thorough contempt.
And when he thought the salvation of the coimtry de-
pended upon the Catholic Emancipation, and the repeal of
the Orders of Council, in short, upon a total change of
men and measures, why he sacrificed his poor dear country
and only thought of saving Lord Hertford's and Lord
Yarmouth's places, and all in the name of honour, is what
I never can tell you ; at least, I can only tell you that
his friends say it was all honour ; that Lord Yarmouth
had behaved particularly ill to him, and that he felt it was
9k point of honour not to allow the Prince to dismiss liim,
lest it might be supposed he was actuated by personal
pique ; that it would be acknowledging that he believed
in the influence of the house of Hertford over the Prince
if he recommended their dismissal ; that Lord Grey and
Lord Grenville insisted upon it in so high a tone, that
yielding to them was lowering the Prince ; so that, over
and above his own tremendous honour, he took the Prince's
also under his protection — c^etoit bien peu de chose. There
he made his stand. And I am firmly persuaded tliat he
acted a most disinterested part, and that he has been the
dupe of his own honourable feelings, and the Prince's tears.
To tliese he must believe he has sacrificed his country, for
he has long said these Ministers and their measures were
ruining it. He may set up for a pattern of an honourable
man and devoted friend, but as to a patriot or statesman,
I suppose he cannot. Do you think he can ? The Op-
position are also condemned for not coming in without
saying a word of the household ; and, after arranging the
JVIinistry, they might have dismissed the household with
impunity, for the Prince would then have been afraid to

■es — ■ ■ 1*

181«.] LETTERS. 289

object. Lord Ellenborough says^ they have lost the game
with four by honoure and the odd trick in their hand. Mr.
Sheridan is accused of having acted so unaccountable a
part> that he thinks it right to come forward with explana-
tions in the House of Commons. Lord Yarmouth says he
told him he intended to resign the moment the Opposition
came in^ on purpose that he might inform them of it.
Sheridan says he heard him make such a declaration, but
it appeared to him to arise from the pettish feeling of the
moment, and that he was not authorised to repeat it Lord
Yarmouth says he was. So the story is to be told in the
House of Commons. In the mean time I am now per-
suaded that the ministers we have arc as good as any
others. They manage their own aiSiirs so well, that I
live iu hopes of their outwitting Buonaparte as they have
outwitted the Opposition. And as to patriots, I don't
believe in the existence of any such creatures. Don't
write any more good things. Lord Moira says the P.
must no longer be trampled on, — that he must be kept up
to the people. There are some ill-natured remarks now
and then upon potato-heads, and sneers at the word
honour, which grieve me, for I think highly of the man —
but, alas for the statesman 1 1 I might just as well have
spared you all this, for you may read it in the papers.
'Rogers put it into my head to write, though I have but
little to say. Our kindest remembrances to Bessy. Yours

sincerely,

M. G.

There was a fine scene about the ribbon that the P.
took off his own shoulders to put on Lord Moira's at the
installation. Tears ensued.

VOL. I.

290

LETTEHS.

[^TAT. 33.

fSo, 18S.] To Miss Godfrey.

Monday, June 22. 1812.

You must take every line I write to you now as pure
matter of friendship^ without one grain of self-interested-
ness in it, for my Lord Glenbervie has given me free
leave to make use of him on my own account^ and so I am
now independent of you, and might crack my fingers at
you, if it were not for a little sneaking kindness that makes
me think of you even when you are not doing me services ;
a sort of repose, in which you so seldom indulge yourself,
that I ought to avail myself of every such short opportunity
as you allow me for the display of my disinterestedness.

I thank you very much for the pamphlet, and if you
think the Quarterly Review will come within the limits of
Lord G.'s privilege and good-nature. Power shall now
and then trouble you with one for me. I would not ask
you to send me the Edinburgh, because that is growing
too heavy to be franked.

They are preparing at Donington for Lord Moira,
but I should suppose he is tied too fast by the ribbon to
come away; and, in the mean time, I meet very good
company at the Park, both ancients and modems, Greeks
and Persians ; and the best of it is, I have the privilege of
bringing home as many of them as I please to a vimt
with me.

I have heard nothing whatever of Lord Byron, and I
dare say he will return to London without my seeing him.
Lord Tamworth called upon me yesterday, but I was at
church I

From what I see of this place, I have the pleasure to
tell you that I think we shall be able to live very cheaply
in it. There is no fear of my gettmg too fat with eating ;

1812.] LETTEBS. 291

the market is bs bad nearly as that of Bermuda^ where
they ring a bell to announce the event of their going to
kill a creatur.

Bessy is plagued with headaches. You never say
anything about your health, but I think often of those vile
attacks you have^ and wish you would tell me whether
they are less frequent. Ever yours,

Thomas Moobe.

I shall write to Rogers this week, but I am ill myself
to-day with a pain, something like rheumatism, in my
shoulder : it may, however, be a strain which I have got
in hoisting little Barbara. How is your little Barbara ?

[No. 183.] From Lord Glenbervie.

London, June 25. 1812.

Dear Sir,
I can assure you it will give me very sincere pleasure
to be in any respect instrumental in enabling you to
continue, with your accustomed periodical regularity, the
exercise of that tender office in which your filial afiection
has been so long engaged. I request that you will not de-
prive your mother of the comfort of hearing from you as
often as formerly from any scruple in making me the chan-
nel of your correspondence. I lost, too early in life, the
blessing you have still the happiness to possess, to have per-
sonally experienced the gratification you seem so worthy of
enjoying. I have, however, ample domestic observation to
confirm what our earliest feelings teach us, that there is no
sentiment so tender, so permanent, and so pure as the re-
ciprocal sympathy of filial and maternal love. Believe me>

dear sir, most sincerely yours,

Glenbervie.
c 3

292

LETTERS.

C^TAT. 33.

[No. 184.]

To Edward T. DaltoUy Esq.

Kegworth, Monday, June 29. 1812.
My dear Dalton^

Do not think that I did not deeply /ce/ your letter be-
cause I have been slow in acknowledging it. I am one of
the ruminating animals^ you know> and chew the cud of a
letter long after others would have swallowed and for-
gotten it. Really and sincerely the most solid benefit you
could do me (and I know no one who would be more ready
to do me one) could not affect me more strongly than the
kind^ prompt, and cordial feeling with which you received
the intelligence of my marriage. It has been a happy mar-
riage indeed, my dear Dalton, and I doubt whether I could
have arrived at a wife by any other process that would
have made me equally sure of her attachment, purity, and
di^terestedness. You know we found, with some degree
of pleasure upon both sides, that Mrs. Dalton and she had
taken a strong fancy to each other, even at the distance by
which they were then separated ; and it will give me the
most heartfelt pleasure to see tliem side by side, a sort of
companion pictures in friendship to you and me, I don't
know when this time will arrive, but, whenever it does, it
will be sure to make me happy.

I am ashamed to say a word about the '^ olim promissum
carmen ^ for the club, except that I own it cooled my zeal
a little to find that Power and Corry have never heaid a
syllable about it; and as I know, of course, that they would
be among the first of the elite^ I thought that nothing but
your abandonment of the idea could have kept them fipom
knowing something about it. I have written a song very
lately, which I think would suit Mrs. Dalton, and I in-
tended it should accompany this letter, but I find I must

1812.] LETTERS. 293

write again to you in a day or two about some business
with Stevenson^ and the song shall go then.

What a mess you must have made of poor M. P., In
Dublin ! They are playing it^ I see^ at the Lyceum again.

I wish (as you have so often thought of retirement in
England) that you would come and live near us here, and
let us be happy and musical together. Lord Moira's
library, which I will insure you the use of, and the use of
my voice as a third, now and then, in our old favourites,
Haydn and Mozart, would make a country life pass, not
only pleasantly but profitably. Living here is as cheap as
any poet or musician could wish ; and, for myself, I see eveiy
prospect of being able, in a few years, to \i^just to my
friends as well as grateful, and gradually to emancipate
myself from debts of all kinds. But I am forgetting all
this time your plaguy plan, which of course will keep you
in Ireland, and puts an end to the vision of having you here
completely.

Our little child, which is quite a fairy y and was very
puny at first, is getting as fat and merry as a young sucking
cherub.

You shall hear from me again very soon, and in the
meantime believe me ever, your sincere friend,

Thomas Moore.

I did intend to send this to Corry for you, but as it is
doubtful whether he is in Dublin, you shall pay postage
for it.

[No. 185.] From Miss Godfrey.

1812.

I have not much to say to you, but as I have said

nothing to you since I received your last note, which was

u 8

294

LETTEBS.

[-ffiTAT. 33.

a very amiable production, I feel disposed to give you a
few lines to-day as I can get a frank. Your retirement
will soon be broke in upon, I suppose, by your great
neighbours, who are either gone, or just going, to Doning-
ton. You will also soon see Rogers, who will tell you all
about this gay world that you have so wisely quitted.
You will still like, I hope, to hear something of us poor
fools who yet remain in it. I wish you had pitched yo\ir
tent within reach of Tunbridge, that you and Bessy might
make us a visit there. We mean to go there about the
middle of August. I dare say you feel much more
indifferent about politics, and all the ambitious pursuits of
men, now that you have got out of their way, than you
did when you were in the midst of the bustle; and if
Heaven has blessed you with a fine large tree and a seat
tmder it, you sit there rejoicing on a fine evening with
your wife at your side, your child at your feet, and a book
in your hand, and wondering at poor foolish man that can
wish for more; and many is the word of contempt you
bestow upon your poor fellow-creatures who keep toiling
on their weary way. I am sure these are the moments in
which men think themselves wisdom itself; and I believe
they are right, but why abuse the rest of mankind? Dear
Tom, look upon us all with kindness from under the shade
of your oak tree. May one venture to hint to you, how
the rest of the world employ themselves? Ill try, and you
can but go to sleep, or bum my letter. There are people
whose spirits are greatly revived by this war in the north,
and who foresee all sorts of happy results. One cause of
hope is the part Bemadotte takes. They say he has
formed a very fine Swedish army, and that he directs the
Bussian campaign. It is the first time that Buonaparte
has had one of his own generals opposed to him, which at

1812.J LETTERS. 295

least makes a change in the state of things. In Spain^ Lord
Wellington has got a carte blanche, and he is for the
future to pursue his own plans^ unchecked hj Ministers at
home. He complains that the English papers give too
much information to the enemy, who have no other intelli-
gence from Spain but what they get through this channeL
I saw a French gentleman yesterday, who is lately arrived
in this coimtry, and I am told one may believe everything
he says. He gave a very entertaining account of Buona-
parte^s impatience to have the English papers translated to
him. While his secretary is translating them, he stands
looking over his shoulders, reading every word as fast as
he writes; not a word must be omitted upon any accoimt,
not even the paragraphs against himself. This gentle-
man, and a Russian, who has arrived within the last week,
say nothing can equal the enthusiastic admiration tliat is
felt for Lord Wellington all over the Continent, and that
they can take back no present to their friends which
would be half so much liked as a print of him. I wonder
if Lord Moira will talk to you about his unfortimate
negotiation, and I should like to know if he has yet
any suspicion how much he was the Prince's dupe. If
one may judge from the outside of things, he appears
to have been treated with the most mortifying neglect
also. The Thursday after his negotiation with the Oppo-
sition ended, when he had accepted the Garter, and the
present Ministers secured their places, there was a drawing-
room at which the whole house of Moira was ; the Prince
went about inviting company to Carlton House that
evening, but never asked any one of that family; which,
considering all the tears he shed at the reconciliation,
might have been expected as a thing of course. On the

Friday, Lord M. went to the levee, and was installed The

u 4

H*Mr««Mi

296

LETTERS.

[£ta.t. S3^

next day the Prince had a great dinner of what he called
friends^ to which Lord M.^ was not invited. And three
times that day^ both before and after dinner, he declared
that if Lord Grenville had heen forced upon him he should
have abdicated. This was his expression. A friend of
ours was there, and asked if this declaration was to be kept
a secret, and one of the Princes who was present told
him not, that the Regent wished to have it known. This
is an absolute fact, and shows what a dupe poor Lord M.
was. The Prince also, as we heard the other day, now
declares that he never did hold out any hope to the Irish
Catholics; and he says he has written to Lord Kenmare to
tell him so, and to beg he will contradict the report of
such a declaration in their favour ever having been made
to him. And he desires to have his letter and Lord
Kenmare's answer published in the Dublin Evening Post.
I think it is hardly possible that this can be true, but yet
we were assured that it came from himself. This is all
that I have to tcU you at present, but I dare say Rogers
will have a thousand amusing anecdotes for you.

My sisters both desire their kindest remembrances to
you and Bessy, and so do L Ever sincerely yours,

U.Q.

[No. 186.] To William Gardiner, Esq.

Tuesday, July, 1812.
My dear Sir,

I have but just time to thank you for your beautiful
book, which I am playing through with the greatest
delight. The subjects are most tastefully selected, and
admirably arranged. Your copy for Lord Moira I will
willingly take chaige of, and you had better lose no time

1812*] LETTERS. 297

in sending it, as it is doubtful how long they will stay at

Donington Park.

I find I shall have an opportunity of forwarding your

Sermons to you in the course of the week. Yours very

truly,

Thomas Moobe.

[No. 187.] To Mr. Power.

Wednesday, Aug. 13. 1812.

My dear Sir,

I was in hopes I should be able to send to you the
ballad for Mr. Ashe to-day, in order that Stevenson might
have it to take with him to Cheltenham to-morrow. I
have not, however, been able to please myself in it ; but
by to-morrow's post I think I shall at least succeed so far
as to send you one verse, which you can forward after him,
if he is gone, and I can write the remainder afterwards,
one verse being quite enough for him to set ta In the
meantime I shall write at the other side some words, which
I think, with a gay and elegant air, might be made popular.
I could add a third verse if it was thought absolutely
necessary ; but the idea is so completely put into the two,
that I had much rather leave it as it is, and I think there
is enough of it. Bid Stevenson take pains with it, and not
repeat too often the last line. Am I to see him here?
If he does not think it worth while to take Kegworth in
his wanderings, I shall never have a good opinion either of
his tcute or \na friendship.

Best regards to Mrs. Power from us both. Bessy has
just had visits from Lady Tamworth and Lady Rumbold.
We are unluckily in the thick of fine people here. Ever
sincerely yours,

Thomas Moore.

298 LETTEBS. IMtat. 3S.

1.

** She has beaut j — but still you must keep jour heart cool ;
She has wit — but you must not be caught so :
Thus Reason a vises — but Reason*s a fool.
And *tis not the first time I have thought to,

Dear Fanny I
*Tis not the first time I have thought so.

2.

^ She is lovel —then love her, nor let the bliss fly,
*Tis the charm of youth^s vanishing season :
Thus Love has advis*d me, and who will deny
That Love reasons much better than Reason,

Dear Fanny I
Love reasons much better than Reason.**

My name may be put to these words. I Intend to
alter the second line of the second verse.*

[No. 188.] To Mr. Power.

1812.

My dear Sir,

I send you the song for Braham In this parceL I feel
almost sure he will like it. You had better take my copy
to him, and tell him that what I have put as bass now
must be turned into accompaniment. He may alter as he
likes, and, as soon as I know he approves of it, you shall
have the second verse, which I will make applicable to any
purpose he may wish it for, I am just going into Ash-
bourne with this parcel, and to get my bill changed : if
I succeed, I will send it by the morning's post. Yours
ever, T. M.

First Verse.
" Has sorrow thy young days shaded.
As clouds o*er the morning fleet ?
Too fast have those young days faded,

That even in sorrow were sweet.
Does Time with his cold wind wither

Each feeling that once was dear f
Come, child of misfortune I hither,
m weep with thee, tear for tear.

* It does not sppear^hat the verse was ever altered. It is not so
melodious as Moore*s lines usually are.

-xpc -ri» r'«.'-.

1812.] L£TTEBS. 299

[No. 189.] To Miss Godfrey.

Kegworth, 1812.

I have only time to say two words^ and that is to beg
you will send me a kiss a-piece by Bogers, who^ you
know^ is coming down to me on Sunday next. I forget
who the man was that set fire to his house ailer the Con-
stable Bourbon had been in it ; but I believe I shall do
the same by mine (though from a diiferent reason) after
this memorable visit. I shall be so happy to have had a
right good, excellent friend imder my oton roof I

The Moiras are come, and I am just going to do the
nonours of the country to them. Millions of thanks for
your last letter. I knew your head was bad, though you
would not tell me of it. Ever yours,

T.M.

N. B. This is really only a note ; but such a letter as
will follow it !

[No. 190.] To his Mother.

Kegworth; 1812.

My dearest Mother,

I know you must be anxious about your little grand-
daughter's (only think — your grand-daughter I !) getting
over her weaning, and I have great delight in telling yau
that she hardly seems to have missed the nurse at all, but
has taken to the bread and milk as naturally as if she aad
it were old acquaintances.

I believe I shall have to fly up to London in a day or
two about some business with Power and Stevenson, and
I shall avail myself of the opportunity of calling upon the

300 LSTTEBS. [.£tat. SS.

Sheddons about my deputy at Bermuda, though I rather
think now there will be no American war.

A draft which I sent out to Colonel Hamilton some
time ago (in pajrmcnt of money which he quite forced
upon me when I was going upon my tour in America)
shared the fate of my other arrears from my old deputy,
and was never paid; so that I have been obliged, since his
arrival, to produce forty pounds t Nothing could be more
kind about it than my old friend the colonel, for he never
mentioned the circumstance, and it was only by a round-
about way I found out that he had not been paid.

God bless my darling mother. Lady Loudoun and
Lord M. called upon us on their way to town, and
brought us pine-apples, &c. How shockingly Lord M»
has been treated in the Edinburgh Review. It quite goes
to my heart to think of his having exposed himself to such
profanation of abuse. Ever your own,

Tom.

[No. 191.] To his Mother.

Donington Park, ThurklAy night, 1812.
My dearest Mother,
To-day I drove Bessy over to our own house to see
dear little Barbara, whom we found quite well and in high
spirits. I think it would have pleased you to see my wife
in one of Lord Moira's carriages, with his servant ridin<y
after her, and Lady Loudoun's crimson travelling doak
round her to keep her comfortable. It is a glorious triumph
of good conduct on both sides, and makes my heart hap-
pier and prouder than all the best worldly connections
could possibly have done. The dear girl and I sometimes
look at ach other with astonishment in our splendid room

1812.] LETTEBS. 301

here^ and she says she is quite sure it must be all a dream.
Indeed, Lady Loudoun's attentions are most kind and
delicate. We think of going on with Rogers the day
after to-morrow to see Matlock, which is a most beautiful
place, within four-and-twenty miles of this.

God bless you, my darling mother. Ever your own,

Tom.

[No. 192.] To hii Mother.

E^^worth, ThorscUy, 1812.

My dearest Mother,
I am just returned from a most delightful little tour
with Rogers. We left Donington on Sunday (poor
Bessy being too ill and too fatigued with the ceremonies of
the week to accompany us), and went on to Matlock, where
I was much charmed with the sceneiy, and from thence
proceeded to Dove Dale, which delighted me still more.
It is the very abode of GeniL I parted with Rogers at Ash-
bourne, and came home yesterday eyening. I found Bessy
by no means well, but the little thing in high spirits. We
are both right glad to be quietly at home again. Nothing
could equal the kind attentions of Lord M. and Lady
Loudoun ; the latter gave Bessy the most cordial advice
about her health. The day we were coming away Lord
M. took me aside, and asked me in his own delicate man-
ner about the state of my pecuniary afiairs; and when I
told him that I had every prospect of being comfortable,
he swd, ** I merely inquired with respect to any present
exigence, as I have no doubt there will soon be a change
in politics, which will set us all on our legs.*' This was
very pleasant, as being a renewal of his pledge to me.

302 LETTERS. [£tat. 83.

though I fear the change he looks to ia farther off than he
thinks. Ever your own^

Tom.

I am afraid, on account of my tour, you will be stinted
to one letter this week.

[No. 193.] To William Garditier, Esq.

Wednesdaj night, twelve o'clock.
My dear Sir,

I send you my hist parting words. To-morrow morn-
ing we are off, and be assured that we leave some of our
best recollections with you. Hall the carrier will take
you your books on Saturday, and I hope they may arriTe
safe.

I am in your debt for my comforts the last winter,
but I hope to pass through Leicester at no very distant
period, when this and higher matters shall be settled
between us.

I can scarcely see to write, so weary with the fatigues
of packing, bill-paying, &c. &c. Bessy joins in best re-
membrances to you, with yours very truly,

Thomas Moore.

[No. 194.] To Edward Dalton, Esq.

Tuesday, Sept. 19. 1812.
My dear Dalton,

This evening we are off; and if you knew the de-
mands I have had upon eveiy thought and moment during
the last week, you would not have written me so cross a
letter. I did not enumerate to you the various obstacles

1813.] LETTEBS. 303

there were to my going to Beau-Pare, because I thought
you would give him credit for wishing it heartily, and for
not allowing mere " laziness" or ** want of stimulus/' to
prevent me. In the first place there was my sister, who
came up, at very great risk, to have a few days of us,
before our departure. In' the next place there was little
Power from London, fuU of fuss and fury, about
Cymon, Sacred Melodies, his brother, &c. &c. ; and in
the last and chief place there was my daily and hourly
anxiety about our little girl, lest the efibrts making to
prepare her for the journey, by air and exercise, might
expose her to cold and bring on a relapse of the complaint.
Notwithstanding all this, and the ofience I knew it would
give my sister, to leave her after the efibrt she had made
to come out of a sick bed to take leave of us, your letter
was in such a tone of accusation, that I had made up my
mind to set off on Sunday for Beau-Pare (of which Corry
and Joe Atkinson will be my witnesses), when the arrival
of little Power from London on Saturday totally put it
out of my power, and has made my last moments here one
uninterrupted paroxysm of bustle, wrangling, and anxiety.
Now that I have explained everything, I must say you
owe me a kind and prompt atonement for the unreasonably
angry tone of your last letter; and let me have it by
return of post, directed to Mayfield Cottage, Ashbourne,
Derbyshire. Be particular in telling me all about your
health, and believe me, with best regards to Mrs. D., ever
yours,

T. Moose.

304 LETTEBS; iJEftAX. 3S«

[Na 195.] To Edward T. Daltan, Esq.

Tirandftj, 1818.

My dear Dalton,

Just when I received your letter, and almost ever since,
I have been occupied by a job which has taken up all my
thoughts and time ; but now I am free to think of goblets
and flowers agdn, without the amari aUqittd of business to
embitter them ; and the first thing I shall do will be your
Charter Glee, if I can get time enough to anticipate that
consummation of all Baviuses and Moeviuses — Mason.
At all events, I will write the words; and even though they
should not be time enough to get the dip in the baptismal
font of your club, they will do for the ceremony of con-
Jirmation. I have not a moment now to say more. I am
off to-morrow night to Donington, where I shall not, how-
ever, make any long stay.

The beginning of next week you shall have a Plenipo
letter from me. Best remembrances to Mrs. D. from
hers and yours ever and ever,

T. Moore.

[No. 196.] To Mr. Power.

Wednesday, Oct 1. 1812.
My dear Sir,

I have only time to tell you that I arrived safe and
sleepy yesterday morning, and to ask a thousand pardons
for having left you so much in the style of a schemer, for
I find I did not even pay for my washing^ and the salt-fish
gave likewise leg-bail for itself; but I don't know which
it was, my shortness of time or of money that occasioned
these oversights ; whichever it was, I am sure you will
foi^ve me.

1812.] LETTERS. 305

I have found here a letter from your brother announ-
cing to me the intelligence that he has had his little child
christened Thomas Moore: what do jou think of that?
Yours y if a little prl, will of course be Miss Melody Power ^
to keep him in countenance.

I have found Bessy and the little thing only pretty
well ; but (notwithstanding you made me so comfortable)
I am right glad to get back.

You shall soon have more Melodies. Ever yoursj

T. Moose.

[Ka 197.] To Edward T. DalUm^ Esq.

Wednesday, Oct. 7. isr2.
My dear Dalton,

I was in London when your letter arrived here, oi
it should have been answered sooner, and now and then
I have been dreaming of answering it in person at Kil-
kenny ; but it has been only dreaming, for the thing would
be quite impracticable. I would not give a rush to go
without taking Bessy with me, and that would be '^ double,
double toil, and trouble," which I never could attempt;
besides, she is not in a portable state at present ; but how
I should have delighted to exchange places with the dear
girl, and see her in the boxes and myself on the stage.

I, of course, saw a good deal of Stevenson in London,
and, if he " in aught may be believed," we may expect him
down here to pass some days with us : he is as boyish and
paradoxical as ever, and makes the grave matter-of-fact
Englishmen stare wherever he goes. I have one or two
inert subjects to play him off upon here, and expect a good
deal of amusement from it. I see the run of Code's piece
is already interrupted after only six or seven nights in Be*

VOL. J. X

•'["■

■ k.-

tw,..^. |■^,■l■vaa)■l.l.>lvnlKl
lull imi- KKJIIT way dt' thin
tliiit few lnke the wrong
in their hearts as well as
fiunt negotiation, I believe,
the lonl lieutenancy of Irel:
tlicir dilute, and I only hnpt
prove, that, though he forge
his country. I don't know '
eincc Bessy and I were on n
it would give you, I aiu sun
kind, the fiiniiliiir, and cord
Lord Moira and Lady Loi:
has written to her since she
degree of good feeling and g
hearty manner she writes, th
respect and love her; for she
of being cold and high, vrhicl
instance more amiable and w
I am flattered more ihn
Dalton's anxictv tn <tp* •>"' =■

18120 LETTERS. 307

it but right to sound little Power with regard to the pro-
priety of giving copies, and he did not seem to wish it.
This must also be an answer to jour request of a song for
Kilkenny, though I doubt whether I have one that would
suit your purpose.

Tell Power that I called on my fellow-labourer Cardon
when I was in town, and was sorry to find that he had
been very ill, and obliged to go to the country. If I haye
a right to make any request of the manager, it is that he
will not too hastily determine this to be the last season :
tell him this, and with my hearty good wishes to him and
all his merry men, and a hope that I may be sometimes
remembered over their claret, believe me, my dearest
Dalton, ever your attached friend,

Thomas Moore.

My Bessy's best regards to you and Mrs. Dalton,

[No. 198.] To his Mother.

Kegworth, Thursdaj, 1812.

My dearest Mother,
Bessy has received your letter, and if you could witness
the pleasure it gave both her and me, you would think it
was the only one thing in this world which we wanted to
make us quite happy ; but there is still more wanting, and
that is the delight of our being all together in love and
quiet ; and, please Gkxl ! I trust that happiness is not very
far distant ; though on every account it would be impru-
dent of me to break in upon the leisure and profitable
retirement I am enjoying at present I shall let you pay
the postage of this letter, as I shall not trouble Corry till
my next. I feel a little compunction about him, as his

X 3

308

LETTERS.

IJEtjlt. 33.

letters do not go flree ; but their postage is all paid by the
board. However, once or twice a week will not break
the Great Linen Board of Ireland. You shall have a
letter from Bessy herself with my next, but to-day she is
very busy preparing for a tea and supper party which she
gives to-morrow evening to some of the Natives here. 1
um much afraid that Lord Moira has ruined his reputation
as a statesman. The only thing that can save liim is
(what I suppose he reckons upon) the present Ministry
giving up the Catholic question ; in which case he will, of
course, go to Ireland. But if they deceive his hopes in
tliis respect, I look upon him as a gone man with the
Catholics, the country, and, what is worse, himself, I
shall send a letter for Kate with my next packet. God
bless my dearest mother and father. With the best love
and duty of our hearts, believe me, ever your own,

Tom.
Love to dear Nell.

[No. 199.]

To Mr. Power.

Tueadaj, 1812.

My dear Sir,

I suppose you have heard this (to me) very important
news of Lord Moira's being appointed governor-general
of India. Himself, Lady Loudon, and the three eldest
children are to sail in January next What effect this
will have upon my destinies I cannot at present conjec-
ture, but it must be something very tempting indeed
which would take me so far from all I have hitherto loved
and cultivated. He could, of course, get me something
at home by exchange of patronage, but I cannot brook
the idea of taking anything under the present men ; and.

1812.] LETTERS. 309

therefore, it will be either India or nbthing with me. If
he goes off without me, which is most probable, all I have
left for it IB, hand in hand with you, to make my own
independence, and, I trust, contribute to yours: there
will be an end then to all expectation from patronage, and
our plan will be the only object to attract all my attention
and energy. I am at present, as you may suppose, in
rather a fidgetting suspense, and shall be till my fate is
decided one way or the other, which cannot be till I see
Lord Moira himself, and he intends, I find, coming down
here in a fortnight.

I inclose you the last letter I had from your brother.
You perceive he still clings to the id6a of separate deeds.
Did you tell him I had written a poem to prefix to my
picture ? I am glad he is thinking of an engraving from
it ; and think it was not a bad plan to induce him to let
us have it,

Bessy and I have been passing these five last days
very merrily at the high sheriff's, eating turtle and turbot,
singing, dancing, &c.

I am going to attack Savouriia Dcilish : it is a hazard-
ous effort after Campbell, but I will put my shoulders to
it. Best regards to Mrs. Power, from hers and yours

ever,

T. MOOBE.

[No. 200.] From Miss Godfrey,

Nov. 2. 1812.

You may say what you will against it, but I maintain

that there is nothing like my vituperative style (I return

you your own hard word, not a bit the worse for wear,

as I never made use of it since), for after all I am indebted

to it for a very cross, scolding, amiable note, which all

X 3

.

my former begging and pruylng, aad humbly eutn
had not been able to extort from you. So I gi*
wiumiug that I aholl scold and grow] without eha
remorse for the rest of my life, whenever I have any
to carry by it with yoii. And I recommend the
amiable practice to Beeey'ij couaideration : if she do
rule you with an iron rod, woe be to her I We arc
great anxiety to know what the govemor-genen
commander-in-chief of India will do for you. ^
make you viceroy over him? or poet-laureate of i
Indies? But do tell ua Beriously whether he hi
anything to you, and whether you have any hopes,
forming any plans. Pray do not keep us long in bus
na you know how impatient we ehall bo to hear,
earnestly hope he may not think of taking you to
with him, but that he may serve you, as I euppi
might do, by some exchange of patron^e at homi
ijhort, tell us all about it, and soon, or the grotd shall
again ; for you know better than I can tell you, witl
warm hearts we enter into all your hopes and fears;
need not for ever repeat, what you have so oflen
and so well believe. I thinV poor Lord Moira must
his splendid baulshment with a heart loaded with 8(
and regrets. At hia time of life, giving up frienc
couiilry and old habits must be a painful effort, ai
thing in all probability but the ruinetl state of his i
and the disappointment he must feci from the P:
conduct, could have decided him to accept of a place
he may suspect is given to him to get rid of him.
were young, and had never hoped for place and
unil dislinction under a Prince for whom he has sac
so much, it would have been a very fine thing to
been commander-in-chief and governor-general of '.

1812.] LETTERS. 311

but as it is I pity him. How severely the Edinburgh
Keview treated him. Bab had a letter from Bogers
some time since, dated from the Dunmore's: he seemed
very much pleased with his tour. ♦ ♦ ♦ J hope you
are advancing in your poem, and that you are not
refining its life and soul out. I wish we could hear
it I dare say it will be very beautifrd. We heard of
your being in London from Mr. Blachfoid. Why didn't
you put yourself into the stage and come here for a day
or two ? Our house is in so backward a state that we are
afraid we must remain on here till after Christmas. Don't
you think the mighty Buonaparte begins to tremble?
'What do you say to the success of Ministers in the elec-
tions ? The Opposition have certainly lost ground with
the people. I am with the people upon the occasion, and
am quite come round to Ministers. I wish you would
come round with me : there is no use in sticking to a set of
men who can't play their own game. As you said nothing
about Bessy's health in your last, we hope she is quite
welL Pray, say very kind things to her. FarewelL Let
us hear very soon from you. God bless you.

M.G.

[No. 201.] To Miss Godfrey.

Fridaj, Nov. 6. 1812.

I take the opportunity of an inclosure to Lord Glen-
bcrvie to say a word or two in answer to my dear Mary's
letter which I received yesterday. I have, as yet, had no
communication whatever from Lord Moira on the subject
of his appointment, which proves at least that he has no
idea of taking me with him, because little men require
some time for preparation as well as gpreat men, and he is

X 4

312 L £TT £KS. IJEtat. SX

to sail the beginning of January. Neither do I think it
very probable (eaten up ob his patronage will be by the
hungry pack of followers who surround lum) that he ¥riU
be able to procure me anything at home worth my oc^
ceptance : what^s morc^ if he were able> I doubt whether I
would accept it My reasons for this another time. But^
notwithstanding my expectations are so far from sanguine,
I cannot help feeling a good deal of anxiety till the tlung
is determined one way or other.

Poor Lord Moira I his good qualities have been the
ruin of him.

^ Qae lea vertus sont dangereuses
Dana un homme sofu jvgement^

They must keep him out of the reach of all Indian
princes f or the Company's rights will be in a bad way. A
shake by the hand from a tawny prince-regent, and a
plume of herorCs feathers to wear upon birthdays, would
go near to endanger our empire in India. This is too
severe, but it is wrung from me by his criminal gullibility
to such a as the Prince.

I have not a moment more to lay about me at my

friends, or you should come in for a lash or two. Do you

think you ever do ? No, by the pure and holy flame of

friendship, never / And so good-by to both of you. Ever

your attached,

T. M.

[No. 202.] To his Mother.

Friday, 1812.

My dearest Mother,

I have heard nothing more about Lord Moira's plans

yet : his stay in India is to be but three years, and I should

181S.J LETTEBS. 313

hope that that time will be sufficient to bring his finances
round again. I have had a letter from the Donegals, full
of anxiety about my hopes and views upon the subject. I
do not think myself that Lord Moira (eaten up as his
patronage must be by the hungry pack of followers he has
about him) will be able to offer me anything of that im-
portance that would tempt me to go so far from home;
but, certainly, if he offered me any place of great emolu-
ment, I do not think I should be just either to myself or
any of those who depend upon me to refuse it In this,
however, my darling mother, I shall consult your wishes
first and chiefly. You will never find me otherwise than
your obedient and affectionate Tom; and though I took one
important step of my life without consulting you, it was
one which I knew you would approve when it could be
explained to you ; and you shall always guide me as you
did when I was a baby at your apron-string.

My good Bessy is quite at my disposal in everything,
though naturally not without her fears of the unknown
seas and distant regions. I shall let you know the moment
I hear anything.

We are quite anxious about poor Kate. Ever yoiu«,

T. MOOBE.

[No. 208.] From Lord Moira.

London, Nor. 13. IS12.

My dear Sir,
The inference you drew from my acceptance of the
appointment to India was too just. The Catholic claims,
— I write confidentially — if they cannot be overborne,
are to be bafiled. I can take no part in such a system:
and it is to me desirable to be out of the wav when the

unavoidable consequeucca of such policy bIuJI break
I coiJd not support the Prince ngaiiist my principle
my feelings ; it would be the extreme of distress to
go into ranks hostile to lum ; and I could not hope i
should be Buffered to remiun in any retreat. It is be
should escape these difficulties. I have undertake
task oa ft imlitary engagement ; the functions of gOT<
general being, in truth, expletive to the other. No
tiation upon it passed between me and Mimrters; i
is only within a week that I have had the formal
of those whose otSces give them interference wit
buuness. I told them that if the Catholic question
forward before my departure, as would probably t
case, it would have the most energetic support I coul<
it : to which they answered it wae only what the;
for granted.

We shall be at the Pork next week : in the 1
ning of it, if a severe cold of Lady Loudon's aha
hinder travelling so soon. Present my complime
Mrs. Moore; and believe me, my dear sir, fait
yours,

Uoi

[Mo. 104.]

To Mr. Power.

Nor. IS. t
My dear Sir,
I have but just got your letter, and have only ti
sny, that if you can let me have but three or four p
by return of post, you will oblige me. I would not
made tliis hasty and importunate demand on you,
have foolishly let myself run dry without trying my

.- -^-jtJi - ■:^=-

1812.1 LETTERS. 315

resources^ and I have been the week past literally without
one sixpence. Ever, with most sincere good-will, the
penniless

T. M.

[No. S05.] To Jus Mother.

1812.

Mj dearest Mother,

I have heard nothing more since I wrote last The
newspapers have all had it that I am gcnng to India, and
some of them have been kind enough to give me a salary
of four thousand a-year. I believe, however, the fact is,
what was in the Morning Chronicle of yesterday, that
Lord Moira has not yet made any appointments. We
expect him down here every day, and then all uncertunty
will be cleared up. In the meantime, my darling mother,
I think you need not have the slightest dread of my
being tempted out to India, as I am quite sure Lord M.
will not be able (even if he be willing) to offer me any-
thing important enough to justify me in submitting to
such banishment. I wish he would only let me live
at the Park while he is away, and I should be satisfied.
However, there is no speculating upon what he will do
till I see him, and it is as likely as anything that he
will do nothing.

We arc still very anxious about Kate. My Bessy is
much better, and the little thing breasts this frosty weather
as hardy and rosy as a young winter-cherub, if there he
such an animaL Love to alL Ever your own,

Tom.

316 LETTERS. [^TAT. 33.

[No. 206.] To Mr. Power.

Langlej Priory, Thursday, Nor. 18. 1812.

My dear Sir,

It was most UDgracious of me to send you such a hurried
and begging scrawl as I did yesterday, after receiving such
letters from you as never had their equal for kindness and
solidity of friendship ; but the truth is we have been kept
on a visit at a house where we have been much longer
than I wished or intended, and simply from not having a
sliilling in our pockets to give the servants in going away.
So I know you will forgive my teazing you — and now to
rcturn to your letters with respect to my India hopes. I
cannot at all express to you how deeply, and tlioroughly^
I feel the prompt and liberal kindness which you have
shown on this occasion : I shall necer forget it. I do not
think it at all probable, however, that I shall have to
dmw upon the rich Bank of Friendship I possess in you ;
for Lord Moira's not having sent me any communication
aA yet shows, that at all events he does not look to taking
me out with him in any situation, for such an intention
would require my being apprised of it in time to prepare.
However, he is expected here on Monday, and I shall
then know alL

My being here at a distance from my manuscripts makes
it impossible for me to send you any inclosure, but as soon
as I return, I shall attack business industriously again.

You may laugh at my ridiculous distress in being kept
to turtle- eating and claret — drinking longer than I wish,
and merely because I have not a shilling in my pocket —
but however paradoxical it sounds, it is true. Best regards
to Mrs. Power. Ever yours, my deai' sir,

Thomas Moore.

1812.] LETTERS. 317

You will not get this till Saturday, but I dare say
between this and then I shall hear from you.

[No. 207.] To Mr. Power.

Tuesday, 1812.

Your contribution of ten pounds came very seasonably,
and was just sufficient to release me from my turtle-eating
confinement and pay about a month's house expenses at
home. I gained one point beside the turtle at the High
Sheriff's ; for upon my singing one song that pleased him
very much, he said, " By GtxJ I 111 exempt you from the
militia to-morrow ;" and he did accordingly, on the next day
(which was the meeting for the purpose), with " military
commission y^ under my statement with respect to Bermuda,
and I am exempt. I had a long letter from Lord Moira on
Friday last, and (what you will think very extraordinary)
there was not a single word in it about me, or any expect-
ations I might have from him. It was merely and solely
to explain to me why he had taken the appointment, the
little negotiation he had with Ministers upon the subject
(it being the act entirely of the Prince), the utter hopeless-
ness of justice being done to Ireland^ and his own determin-
ation, expressed to Ministers, to give the Catholic cause
his most energetic support if it should be brought on
before his departure. All this elaborate explanation shows
not only his own sensibility upon the subject, but certainly
proved very flatteringly the anxiety he felt with respect
to my good opinion of his conduct. I cannot, however,
but thinjc it very singular that, after the renewed pledges
and promises he made me so late as the last time he was
here, he should not give the remotest hint of either an

n

318 LETTERS. IM

intention, or even a wish, to do aoTtlung for me.
be exceedingly mortified, indeed, if be should gt
without giving me an opportunity of at least r
eomething, which is moat probably the way I woul<
any offer he could make me ; but I ^oold like to 1
least tliis gratification. However, as he tells me
end of his letter that he will be here the beginning
week, I must suspend all further opinion till he
For one reason, however, I shall moat heartily rej
his appointment, and that is, for its having broagb
your friendship, my dear sir, and exhibited it to me i
fulnese of heart, as was never before Burpaseed. I
you your letters. With respect to " Fortune may i
I shell like to talk to Stevenson about it : but ij
determined not to come down, we must only let it t
chance. By-the-bye, you mentioned hie saying "
could not be better." Had you it to show him, or
it? I shall make a search to-day, and shall let you
more about it in my nest I like the way he has dt
Bongs you sent very much. You may place them j
you please, putting the grave and gay alternately,
think you had better begin with " Oh the Shamrocl
if you like better, " The Minstrel Boy." I should
rcBerve for the last places (in the hope that we m
Bometluug better), "The Valley lay smiling,"" One B
at Parting," and " Oh 1 bad I a bright little Isle." I ol
the latter for its music only, as the words are amoi
happiest, but the air is not elegant. The defident 1
" If e'er I forget Thee " is " That e'en the past en
boyhood may be."

The following is the second veroe of " Oh I see
Cherries :" —

1812.J LETTERS. 319

** Old Time tliuB fleetly bis course is ninniDg,
(If bards were not moral, how maids would go wrong),
And thus thj beauties, now Bunn*d and sunning.
Would wither if left on their rose-tree too long.
Then love while thou*rt lovely, e*en I should be glad
So sweetly to save thee from ruin so sad :
But, oh I delay not, we bards are too cunning .
To sigh for old beauties, when young may be had.**

Yours ever, mj dear sir, most faithfully^

Thomas Moore.

All I say to you about Lord M. isj of coursej in
confidence.

[No. 208.] To his Mother,

Tuesday, 1812.

My dearest Mother,

Lord Moira arrived at the Park yesterday eveningy
and I am just now preparing to call upon him, so that we
soon shall be put out of suspense, though I have made up
my mind pretty well to expecting verj/ little. Captain
Thomson, an old American comrade of his, has been ap-
pointed private secretary; and that, you know, was the
place which all my friends would have it, right or wrong,
was to be mine. Indeed, when I say, I expect very little,
I mean that I expect nothing ; for, as he disclaims all con-
nection with Ministers, there is nothing to be looked for
to his interest with them, even if I were inclined to wish
that he should exert it for me ; and, as to Lidia, he will
oiler me no situation important enough to tempt me to
emigrate to such a distance ; so that I am most likely to
remain as I am ; and, please God ! there is no fear of me.

We are so anxious about Kate. Bessy is even more

320 LETTERS. [yETAT.M.

than If for she has a deep horror of what KAte has to go
through. Ever your own,

Tom.

[No. 209.] To his Mother.

Thursday, 1 812.

My dearest Mother,
I have as yet only seen Lord Moira for a moment;
he was shooting in his fields, and merely said, *^ You see a
school-boy taking his holiday ;'' and he must be most happy
to get a little repose and relaxation after London.

We were so delighted to hear of darling ICate's happy
delivery. God send they may both continue well !

I am just now setting off with Sir John StevenscA
(who came down to me, accompanied by Power, on Tues-
day) for a concert and ball at Leicester.

I am quite sure Lord Moira will do nothing whatever
for me. Your own, own,

Tom.

CNa 210.] To Lady Donegal^

Toeidaj, 1812.

I have but just time to tell you that I have at last
had an interview with Lord Moira. He has fought very
shy of me ever since he came here. I had heard that he
had nothing left to give, the Boyal Family having jiut upon
him three clerks, the only remaining places of his house-
hold that he had to dispose of; so that I was well pre-
pared for what occurred between us. He began by telling
me that he " had not been oblivious of me — had not been
oblivious of me ! " After this devil cf a word there was

1812.] LETTERS. 321

but little heart or soul to be expected from him. He was
sorry, however, to add that all the Indian patronage he'
was allowed to exercise here was already exhausted ; if,
however, on his going to India, he should find anything
worth my going out for, he would let me know. In the
meantime, he had a right to expect that Ministers would
serve his friends here, in exchange for what he could do to
serve their friends in India, and that he would try to get
somethilfg for me through this channel. To this I replied,
that, ^' from his hands I should always be most willing to
accept anything, and that perhaps it might yet be in his
power to serve me ; but that I begged he woifld not take
the trouble of applying for me to the patronage of Minis-
ters, as I would rather struggle on as I was than take
anything that would have the effect of tying up my tongue
under such a system as the present.*^

Thus the matter rests, and such is the end of my long-
cherished hopes from the Earl of Moira, K. G. &c. He
has certainly not done his duty by me : his manner^ since
his appointment, has been even worse than his deficiencies
of matter ; but (except to such friends as you) I shall
never complain of him. He served my father when my
father much wanted it, and he and his sister took my dear
Bessy by the hand most cordially and seasonably ; for all
this I give him complete absolution ; and, as to disappoint-
ment, I feel but little of it, as his late conduct had taught
me not to rely much upon him.

If you can read this, you will be very ingenious : I
shall write more legibly very soon ; and, with best love to
my dearest Mary, I am ever yours,

•T. Moore.

VOL. I.

322 LETTERS. [-«TAT. 83.

[No. an.] To Mr. Power.

Dec. 4. 1812.
My dear Sir,

Stevenson left us this morning, and we had great
difficulty indeed in getting all his distracted comnioditied
together for him. He copied out, " Oh, fair I oh, purest P
yesterday, and wrote rather a pretty glee to some words I
selected for him. He also tried a song to Rogers's ^^ Once
more, enchanting Girl ;" but he fdled in it completelj. I
had not the least idea that the Spanish things had not been
done by him in town, and therefore was careless about
looking over them with him, knowing how little they re-
quired ; but upon examining them since he went away, I
find they are just in the same state as when I wrote
them. I must, therefore, send him the only two of them
that will want correction. We dined at my friend the
rector's yesterday, which took up almost all of the little
time we had after your departure.

On Saturday I was equally unlucky at Lord Moira's,
as on the former day. Lord M. was out shooting, and
Lady Loudon ill ; but this morning he has at last written
me a note, expressing his expectation that I would have
stayed and dined last week ; and sending us a lai^
basket of hares, venison, pea-fowl, &c. We regretted it
did not come while you were here to share it with us ; the
more so, as this basket of game is all, I am sure, I shall
ever get from his lordship. I hope you found Mrs.
Power welL Ever yours,

T. M.

1818.3 LETTERS. 823

[No. 212.] To Mr. Power.

Kegworth, 1812

My dear Sir,

Many thanks for your truly eloquent letter. I have
since written to Lord Moira (in order to put the matter
upon record), the substance of what I said to him, and have
added that, with respect to his promise of letting me know
if anything good bhould occur in India, I must beg he
would dismiss that too entirely from his thoughts, as it Wiis
too late in the day for me to go on expectinfjy and that I
must now think of working out my own independence by
industry. Between ourselves, my dear friend, I have not
so much merit in these refusals as I appear to have, for I
could see very plainly, through Lord Moira's manner, that
there was very little chance of his making any proper
exertion for me whatever, and, putting conscience out of
the question, policy itself suggested to me that I might as
well have the merit of declining what it was quite impro-
bable would ever have been done for me. After this, what
do you think of his lordship ? I cannot trust myself with
speaking of the way he has treated me. Gratitude for the
past ties up my tongue.

I certainly never wrote a second verse to Mrs. AsheV
song; but here is one fresh from the mint, and not bad
either :

'* If hnply these eyes have a soul underneath.

By whose flame their expression is lighted ;
A mind that will long like an evergreen breathe,

When the flower of the features is blighted.
And if soul be the tie of those fetters of bliss,

Which last when all others are breaking ;
Oh I talk not of beauty — but love me for this,

And ril think of you sleeping and waking;
Dear youth I

I will think of you sleeping and waking.**

T 2

324 LETTERS. [^TAT. 33.

If I had had the air I might perhaps have suited the
words to it better. Let these words be copied correctly,
and call the song ^' I'll think of you sleeping and waking."

" Savourna Deilish" is on the anvil. You shall have it
this w^eek.

I have had another letter with another proposal from
your brother, but there is no time now to enter upon it
When I write next, you shall know it. Ever yours, with
best regards and anxious wishes for Mrs. P.,

Thomas Moobe.

I have got a tolerably pretty air out of Crotches book
for the Melodies, which I have half written words ta

[No. 213.J To Mr. Power,

Sunday, Dec. 21. 1812.
My dear Sir,

The above is the air from Crotch, and it has puzzled
me more than any air we have had since the commence-
ment of the Melodies, except perhaps the " Fairy Queen."
It is to be sure a most irregular strain. The only way I
could get over the difficulty was by those convenient triple
rhymes, " Wearily," &c. ; but I find it very hard to find
ones equally tripping and graceful for the second verse.
The above has taken me four days in twisting and altering,
and I am yet far from satisfied. I mean it as the song of
a Leprechaun ; little Irish fairies, you know, that will stay
as long as one looks at them, but the moment you look
aside they are off. My next shall certainly be " Savourna
Deilish," and then Lochaber^ which Crotch gives as an
Irish air. If the Tyrolese air be not in hand, pray let
Mr. Bennison alter the melody to the way I had it

1812.] LETTERS. 326

originally (see at the bottom of the music lines on the
other side); as, though I took Stevenson's advice in
changing it for the glee, I feel it is much more charac-
teristic for the song as I had it at first.

I had a very pleasant and good-natured letter from
Stevenson in answer to mine. He says he hopes to meet
me in London in March. I mean to send him the two
Spanish airs to Ireland, if you have no objection, as he has
promised to send them back by return of post I did not
like venturing them to Sandbach till I knew he was there,
and then it was too late.

I shall be much obliged by your sending the Quar-
terly Review with the parcel you are making up, and
pray send to Carpenter for my Edinburgh one, and let it
come too. You will find I shall be very busy in my
vocation from this on't, and few weeks, if awy, shall pass,
without your seeing some proofs of my activity. I do not
forget the four original songs I have to do yet, but I sup-
pose you will not be very angry if you do not get them
till January : you are always in advance^ and /, alas I in
arrears ; but time will make all even. Yours ever, with
best regards to Mrs. P.,

Thos. Moore.

[No. 2U.] To E. T. Daltoiiy Esq.

Friday, 1812.

My dear Dalton,
I am quite distressed at the serious tone in which you
speak of my silence. I flattered myself that you were so
sure of your place in my heart and mind, that however
you might be angry with me (and I own deser^-edly so)
for not writing to you on this occasion, you would impute

Y 3

326 LETTERS. [iEXAT. 33

it to anything but the least little shade of change in my
most fixed and never-altering regard for you. A doud or
two should not make the barometer sink, and it will not
be mi/ fault if it does not remain up to clear, settled^ sun-
skin// weather between you and me for ever. I have
written to two persons on the subject of my interview
with Lord Moira (Bryan and P. Crampton), and I should
not have repeated the detail to the latter, if I did not know
that the two channels had no sort of communication with
each other, and that they would each serve as a conduit
for the statement in very opposite directions. I most
heartily hate a dry repetition of " says he " and ** says I,"
and it is entirely my wish that all my friends should know
the particulars. Even now, my dearest Dal ton, all I shall
do IS to refer 1/ou to one of the above channels or conduits;
Bryan's pipe, I believe, being nearest to you. My writing
so soon to Bryan upon the subject arose from his having
launched a most wrongful sarcasm at me for a flourishing
little tirade which I gave him in one of my letters about
the unambitious happiness of my present life, and the in-
dependence I felt of all places, princes, and patrons. To
this he answered by asking me, " whether the graj>e8 were
not rather sour?" This was before Lord Moira had the
least prospect of coming into power ; and though I had
perfectly made up my mind as to what should be my con-
duct on such an event, I did not like to boast any further
of a virtue which was so little likely to be put to the test.
As soon, however, as I had done what I thought right, I
felt, I own, a little impatient to give my very best prac-
tical refutation of Bryan's sarcasm, and hence arose my
speedy communication to him. You need not mention to
him my telling you this. I have no doubt he meant it
sincerely, and even kindly, though certainly his letter in

I81S.] LETTERS. 327

approbation of what I liave done is much slower in coming
than his suspicion of what I would do. As to Crampton,
my letter to him waa in answer to a very anxious and
urgent inquiry which he wrote to me on the subject. So
now, my dear Dalton^ I hope I have explained enough to
convince you, that it is not from any preference of others
for my confidential communications, that the circmn-
stances should have reached you from anybody but
myself.

I am happy to tell you that Lord Moira has shown
no disapprobation whatever of the tone in which I have
thought it right to decline his interest for me with Minis-
ters ; so far from it, I have within these few days received
a present from him of fifteen dozen of excellent wine.
Tell Stevenson this. I know he will be glad to hear that
my threatened abandonment of the black-strap is defen-cd
a little longer.

I mean to be in town about April or May to pass a
month. If you will let me know your movements in time,
I shall shape mine to meet them. Bessy expects to be
confined in February, and as soon as she is well enough
to be left alone, it is my intention to go to town.

I most anxiously wish to hear (and so does Bessy)
that your dear Olivia is well over her crisis. Stevenson
did seem to like my wife, and it shows his taste, for she
is a girl " comme il y en a peu.^*

I don't see why you should not come and take me up
here in your way to London. Ever yours,

T. MOOKK.

T 4

328 LETTERS. [^rAT as.

[KO.S15.] To his Mother,

Kegworth, Tuesday, Dec. 1812.
My dearest Mother,

We have been very much affected, indeed, by poor
Kate's loss; and the only consolation we can either feel or
suggest, is its having occurred before the poor child could
have taken any more than its natural hold upon her affec-
tions. A little time hence it would have been a sad loss
indeed, as we can well feel when we look at little Barbara,
whose rosy cheeks, however, and dancing eyes forbid us,
thank Heaven I to have any such apprehensions.

The Moiras set off for town yesterday; they called
here in passing, and Lady Loudon was very kind, indeed,
to Bessy. Lord M. told me he had given orders for game,
&c. to be brought to me ; and Lady L. made me a present
of a book, which she recollected me expressing a wish for
about five or six months ago, with her own name in it. I
was glad of all this for one reason, because I had written
Lord Moira a letter since I saw him last, repeating the
substance of what I had said in our interview ; and, also,
begging him to dismiss from his mind, as I should from
mine^ his promise with respect to considering of a place for
me in India, as it was too late in the day for me to go on
expectinffy and I must now think of working out my own
independence by industry. The letter, though written
respectfully and gratefully, was in a tone which he must
have felt a good deal, and which, therefore, I thought
might possibly displease him ; but, if it did, he concealed
it, and was full of kindness.

My chief uneasiness at the misfortune that has hap-

1812.] LETTERS. 329

pened at home, dearest mother, is the shock that it has
given you, and my fears that it may hurt you ; but, for
God's sake, let no such circumstance rob us of one moment
of your dear health or happiness.

I hope my father got my letter desiring him to draw
upon Power in the Strand ( Mr. James Power, 34. Strand),
for twenty-five or thirty pounds, whichever he chooses, or
indeed, for the whole fifty, if necessary ; but I rather think
T shall be able to send him the remainder in cash about
the beginning of January. Ever your own,

Tom.

[No. 216.] To his Mother.

Kegworth, Tuesday, 1812.

My dearest Mother,

I had a very kind letter from Rogers on Sunday, in-
closed in one from Lord Byron. Rogers has seen a good
deal of Lord Moira, and gives a lamentable account of his
low spirits, and the sort of self-consciousness of failure
there hangs about him. I pity him most sincerely.
Rogers tells me that he hears nothing but praises of my
conduct ; which is very pleasant to be told, though I want
nothing but my^ own heart and conscience to tell me I
have acted rightly.

Dalby went up to London yesterday to take leave of the
Moiras : I believe, only for Bessy's state, I should have
paid them the same mark of respect myself. Good by,
my own darling mother. Ever your own,

Tom.

Our little Barbam is growing very amusing. She
\^wliat they call) started yesterday in walking; that is, got

330 LETTERS. L-^TAT.M.

up off the ground by herself^ and walked alone to a great
distance, without any one near her. Bessy's heart was
almost flying out of her mouth all the while with fiight,
but I held her away, and would not let her assist the
young adventurer.

[No. 217.] To Mr. Power.

Tuesday, 1813.

My dear Sir,

I received the proofs, &c. and shall make a parcel of
them to-morrow for you, with " Merrily oh 1 " The alter-
ation I wish in the latter is not of much consequence ;
indeed, though the other is the reiil and most characteristic
melody, I rather think the way it is will be most easy and
popular. I shall also send you to-morrow a very pretty
Sicilian air, which I met with this last week, and which
turned me aside from my Melodies. The words are at
the other side, and I hope you will like them.

Bessy is in expectation of a letter to-day announcing
tlie happy result of Mrs. Power's Christmas-box. She
thanks you very much for the music.

You will be glad to hear that Bessy has consented to
my passing next May in town alone. To take her would
be too expensive ; and, indeed, it was only on my repre-
senting to her that my songs would all remain a dead letter
with you, if I did not go up in the gay time of the year
and give them life by singing them about, that she agreed
to my leaving her. This is quite my object. I shall
make it a whole month of company and exhilntiony which
will do more service to the sale of the songs than a whole
year's advertising.

I have a plan when I retui*n to London for good (that

1813.] LETTERS. 331

is, for our grand project) which I hinted once to you, and
which cannot fail to make money, both by itself and the
publication that will result from it, — which is a series of
lectures upon poetry and music, with specimens given at
the pianoforte by myself; very select you know, by sub-
scription among the highest persons of fashion : it would
do wonders. Ever yours,

T. Moore.

[No. 218.] To Mr. Power.

Friday, 1818.

My dear Sir,
I dare say you will be surprised at not hearing from
me so long, but the truth is I have been stealing a week or
ten days from you to do a little job *, which I think will get
me out of Carpenter's debt, and, if I can make a good
bargain with him, put money in my pocket. I have
collected all the little squibs in the political way which I
have written for two or three years past, and am adding a
few new ones to them for publication. I publish them, of
course, anonymously, and you must keep my secret. Car-
penter being the Prince's bookseller, is afraid to pubUsh
them himself, but gets some one else. I am much mistaken
if they do not make a little noise. What a pity it is that
such things do not come from our bookshop in the Strand,

* In the year 1818, Mr. Moore published the " Intercepted Letteri<,
or the Twopenny Post Bag." The dedication to " Stephen Woolriche,
Esq.," is dated the 4th of March of that year. The work is reprinted
in the collection published by Longman of Mr. Moore^s Poetical
Works. It is full of fun and humour, without ill-nature.

332 LETTERS. l^TAT. M.

but these would not keep^ and there is no fear but I shall
find more against that is opened. I consider every little
reputation I can makc^ my dear sir, as going towards the
fund I am to throw into our establishment, and though I
shall, of coui-se, deny the trifles I am now doing, yet, if
they are liked, I shall be sure to get the credit of them.

In the mean time I have not been idle in the musical
way, but have an original song nearly ready for you, and
after I have dispatched my politics, you shall see what a
fertile month I shall make February. I would not have
turned aside for my present job, only that I found I had a
little time over, and that, indeed (as I have already said),
everything that I can get fame by tells towards our future
prospects ; it is like establishing a credit.

We were of course delighted to hear of Mrs. Powers
safe arrival of a boy ; we had been indeed sincerely and un-
affectedly anxious about her.

I shall send your copy of Walker's answer when I
have something to send with it ; or do you want it imme-
diately ?

What I inclose for Carpenter is the beginning of my
squibs. It is to be called " Intercepted Letters, or the
Twopenny Post Bag."

Will you find out for me how many ponies Lady B.
Ashley gave the Princess Charlotte; or, at least, how
many the latter drives. Ever yours,

Thomas Moore.

[No. 219.J To his Mother,

Friday, 1818.

My dearest Mother,
I am sending a good many letters off to-day, and have
only time to say God bless you. I got my darling father's

1813.J LETTERS. 333

letter yesterday, aiid am delighted to find that you ai-e
recovering your fatigue and anxiety. My poor uncle
Garret I I had a letter from him about six weeks ago,
asking me to get his two sons out in Lord Moira's suite.

My cold is quite well, and poor Bessy, though she gets
but little sleep at night, is keeping up pretty welL Ever

your own,

Tom.

[No. 220.] To his Mother,

Friday, 1813.

Mv dearest Mother,

T had a long letter yesterday firom Rof^ers, who is
returned from his northern tour. He says, with reference
to my interview with Lord Moira, " You have acted, my
dear Moore, quite nobly and like yourself." He assigns a
number of excuses for Lord Moira's conduct, which indeed
are all very just; and even what I most complained of (the
Fliyness and distance he kept with me) appears to Rogers,
and even now to myself, as the very natural result of his
inability. Rogers has told Lord Holland the circum-
stances, who thinks of it all as we do.

Bessy is doing I think very well now : much better.

[No. 221.] To his Mother.

Friday, 1813.

My dearest Mother,

We got my darling father's letter a day or two ago, and

Bessy was delighted at its being such a long one. I am

almost sorry that you are letting poor Kilmainham Lodge,

and 1 would enter my protest agunst it, only that I think,

by getting into town, your spirits, my dearest mother, will

334 LETTERS. C-fiTAT. 3S.

have a much better chance of being kept alive. As to
paying me back any of what you have had, don^t think
about it ; when I want it very badly, I will tell you. I
forgot, in my two or three last letters, to ask of my father
what was the date of the bill he drew upon Carpenter.
Let him write to tell me on receipt of this, and not mind
paying postage at any time.

You shall have immediate intelligence when poor Bessy
is over her confinement. We have had repeated letters
from Stevenson's friend, Mrs. Ready, of the most cordial
description. She is within forty or fifty miles of us, and
is very earnest indeed in her invitations to us to go there.
Nothing could be more seasonable than her invitation, for
I wanted exactly such a quiet place to leave Bessy at
when I go to town. There are people enough immediately
near us that would be too glad to have her, but there is
not one of them without some objections, except the
Peach's, at Leicester, and they, I believe, will be away
from home. Ever your own,

Tom.

[No. 222.] To Mr, Power.

Tuesday, 1813.

My dear Sir,

Having broke the neck of my job for Carpenter, I am
returning to my other pursuits, and yesterday wrote a little
song, which I hope you will think pretty. I shall give you
the words at the other side, and you shall have the air on
Friday.

Walter Scott's Bokeby has given me a renewal of
courage for my poem, and once 1 get it brilliantly off my
hands, we may do what we please in literature afterwards.

1813.] LETTERS. 335

Bogers's criticisms have twice upset all I have done, but I
have fairly told him he shall see it no more till it is finished.
Did you ever see much worse songs than those in Rokeby ?
Ever yours, my dear sir, most truly,

Thomas Moore.
1.

** The brilliant black eye

May, in triumph, let fly
Its darts without caring who feels *em ;

But the sofl eye of blue,

Tho* it scatter wounds too,
Is much better pleased when it heals *em,
Dear Jessy.

2.

*^ The black eye may say,

* Come and worship my ray ;
By adoring, perhaps, you may move me I
But the blue eye, half hid.
Says from under its lid,
* I love, and am yours if you love me I*
Dear Jessy.

3.

" Oh I tell me, then, why.

In that lovely blue eye,
No soft trace of its tint I discover f

Oh ! why should you wear

The only blue pair
That ever said * No* to a lover f
Dear Jessy."

[No. 228.J To Mr. Power.

Monday, 1813.

My dear Sir,
As I shall have a pretty large packet to send to-
morrow for Lady Donegal through my old Woodman, I
write now in answer to yours of yesterday. I should have

mmmtaoi

336 LETTERS. t^TAT. 33.

sent you the music of " The brilliant black eje " on Friday^
but I found I had put it in the wrong time, and have beeo
obliged to copy it over again. You shall have it next
Friday, with another I am about

From the state of my poem, and the industry I mean
to carry it on with this year, I think we need not look to a
more distant period than next year (18 14) for the concunence-
ment of our book-concern ; as the poem (if it succeeds
well enough to encourage you to the undertaking) will be
the last thing I shall put out of my own hands. I should
like therefore, with your permission, to make the ZHcthn/oay
of Music my object this year, for two reasons, first, be-
cause, being prose, it will enable me to give my fancy more
undistractedly to my poem ; and secondly, because, being
a kind of mixed work between literature and music, it
would be a good thing to begin with, and would slide us
quietly from your present business into the other. All
this, however, we shall discuss more fully together in April,
and in the mean time I shall continue to make my notee
and preparations for the Dictionary.

Bessy stiU up. Ever yours,

T. Moore

[No. 224.] To Mr. Power.

My dear Sir,
I send you the " Rose Tree," which are the prettiest
words I've written for some time ; also the Finland air.

Ever yours,

T. MOOBB,

[No. ssa.] To Mr. Power.

Thund^, 1813.

My dear Sir,
I have only time to inclose a little duet, and to eay
that I have been tUsappointed in not hearing from you for
BO long a time. I told you a little ^& about the Examiner,
and the reason was (as I had not Been the paper) I had no
idea he would have taken notice of what I thought a very
foolish thing, and was ashamed to acknowledge even to
^ou ; that ia, " Little Man and little Soul," the only iquib
I have Bcnt Perry Mnce I left town. The other thing
about Sir J. Murray is not mine ; and, bad as the former
one is, I am sorry atill more he could impute such a dull
thing to me as this parody on Sir J. Murray's letter; there
is hardly one bit of fon throughout it Ever yours,

T. MOOBE.

[No. »6.] To Mitt Dalby.

Tueadaj, Harcb 16. 1813.
My dear Mary,
About fflx o'clock this morning my Bessy produced a
little girl about the size of a twopenny wax dolL* NoUiing
could be more favourable than the whole proceeding, and
the mamma is now eating buttered toast and drinking tea,
aa if nothing had happened. Ever yours,

T. MOOBB.
I have been up all lugbt, and am too fitted to write
more.

■ AnMtadk Utrj, bom U Kegworth, March 16. 18IS.

338 LSTTEB8. [Atat. SS.

[No. S27.] To his Motlier,

Tuesdaj, 181S.

My dearest Mother,

I have written to Corry to send me a piece of Irish
linen, and, by whatever opportunity he sends it, you can
let me have my Boileau that Kate left, and some of my
other books, particularly the three volumes of Heyne's
Virgil: he will let you know, I dare say, when he finds
the opportunity.

I inclosed a dispatch for my Bermuda deputy to Croker
yesterday, to send out for me. I was glad to see a pretty
good list of ships taken the other day, but I find the
admiral and squadron have gone there later this year than
ever they did before, which was very uncivil of them.

Little Bab is somewhat restless with her eye-teeth, but
is otherwise quite welL Poor Bessy is very weak, but is
altogether much better than she was with Barbara. Ever
vour own,

Tom.

Do you get my two letters a-week regularly ?

[No. *28.] To his Mother.

Tuesday, 1818.

My dearest Mother,

As I gave you a long letter last time, I may the better
put you off with a short one now, particularly as I have
so many to write this morning.

Bessy is getting on amazingly, and already looks better
than she has done for a long time ; indeed, she says she has
not felt so well since her marriage.

1 do not know whether I told you that our worthy

1813.] LETTERS. 339

friend the rector has offered to be godfather to the little
girl: it was his own free offer, and is a very flattering
testimony of his opinion of us. Ever your own,

Tom.

I suppose Lord Moira is off. Carlo Doyle has sent me,
as a keepsake, four very pretty volumes of French music

[No. 229.] To Mr, Pmoer,

March 23. 1813.
My dear Sir,

I received the proofs yesterday, and shall send them
back under cover to Lord Glenbervie to-morrow. You
will hardly believe that the two lines which I had (with
many hours of thought and glove tearing) purposed to in-
sert in the vacant place, displeased me when I wrote them
down yesterday, and I am still at work for better. Such
is the easy pastime of poetry ! You shall have four more
Melodies ready this week, so that you will not be delayed
for me. I agree with Stevenson in not very much liking
the air from Crotch, but I cannot at all understand why
your brother, when he communicated this piece of intelli-
gence, did not send a better air in its stead from his
boasted Connemara stock. Perhaps some will come with
the proofs : if so, for God's sake ! lose no time in sending
them, as I again say I am far from satisfied with the
number as it is.

You are very good to think so much about poor Bessy.

It was my intention to ask of you and Mrs. Power to
do us the favour of standing sponsors for the little girl^ as
it would create a hind of relationship between us^ and
draw closer (if they require it) those ties which, I trust,

x 2

340 LETTERS. [JEtat. 3S.

will long keep us together. But I am obliged to confine
the request to Mr$. Power, and leave you for some future
and (I hope) very-far-off little child; for our rector.
Doctor Parkinson, very kindly offered^ of himself, to be
godfather, and it is such a very flattering tribute of his
good opinion to us, that I could not hesitate in accepting
it. I have a long letter to write to you about my schemes
for going to town: my heart almost failed me about it;
but it appears to me so very useful a measure for the cent-
cem^ that, after much fidgetting consideration of the
subject, I have devised a plan, which I think will enable
me to do it without much distressing any of us.

I am afraid the Post Bag will not da It is impossible
to make things good in the very little time I took about
that, and Carpenter, with his usual greediness, has put a
price on it far beyond what it is worth ; so that, I suppose,
it will go to sleep. I have, however, taken pretty good
care, in the preface, to throw it off my shoulders, and the
only piece of waggery I shall ever be guilty of again is a
Collection of Political Songs to Irish airs, which, yon
know, I mentioned once to you, and which I should like
very much to do. Your brother would be afraid to dbplay
them in Dublin, I think ; but what say you ? More to-
morrow. Ever yours,

T. Moore.

[No* 230.] To Mr. Power.

Sunday, I813,

My dear Sir,

I received the Melodies yesterday evening, and ain very

well satisfied with the whole number^ except (and it is

a dreadful exception) the fur of "Oh I doubt ine not,"

1813.] LETTERS. 341

which ii3 played the very deuce with by the omission of
Stevenson's flat B. As it stands now, it is quite disgrace-
ful to him and all of us, and it is by no means my fault I
sisked Mr. Benison indeed whether it would do with the
omission of the flat, but I left the decision entirely to him,
without examining the music myself, and he ought to
have known enough to see that the air and harmony agree
together like cat and dog, as they are at present. One
ought to leave nothing to another's eye, but I am always
too diffident of my own opinion in the musical part Now
we are in this scrape, however, you must be industrious in
getting out of it, and the flat must be put in with a pen
in every copy you send out, and if you could recall those
that are gone for the purpose of correction, it would be
advisable. The flat must be marked at the words ^' season "
and '^ reason," and in the accompaniment of the fourth bar,
where it occurs with C. This latter correction must be
made too in the second voice of the duet There is an
F to be made sharp too in the single voice setting, at the
words ^^ only shook." It wns Stevenson's devilish whim
of putting in the flat that originally made all this bungling,
and it departs so much from the true setting of the air,
that I really think it would be right to have a little slip
printed with an explanation of the whole mistake, which
you can insert in binding, or let lie between the leaves of
those that are bound. Write me word immediately whether
you think it worth while, and I will send it off to you by
the next morning's post

We got the parcel too late last night for me to look
over the airs till this morning, or I should not have let a
post pass without apprising you of this mistake.

God bless you, my dear friend. Ever yours,

T. MOOBE,
s 3

342 LETTERS. IMtat. 33.

[No. 231.] To his Mother,

Tuesday, March, 1813

My dearest Mother,

* • ♦ •

You know it was this day week she lay in. Well,
on Sunday morning last, as I was at breakfast in my study,
there came a tap at the room-door and^in entered Bessy,
with her hair in curl, and smiling as gaily as possible. It
quite frightened me, for I never heard of any one coming
downstairs so soon, but she was so cheerful about it, that
I could hardly scold her, and I do not think she has in the
least suffered for it. She said she could not resist the
desire she had to come down and see how her crocuses and
primroses before the window were getting on.

My father's letter yesterday gave us great pleasure.

I am sending notice of quitting, to my landlord, this
month. Ever your own,

Tom.

[No. 232.] To his Mother.

Kegwortb, Thuraday night, 1813.
My dearest Mother,
I write this over night, because I am obliged to go
early in the morning to Donington Park, as I want to con-
sult the library for many things before we set oSi Only
think of my anonymous book : it goes into the^fifth edition
on Saturday or Monday. This puts me quite at ease
about the money my father has had, and I insist that he
will dismiss it entirely from his mind. Little Statia went
through her christening very well, and we had the rector,
curate, and Mary Dalby to dinner afterwards. You have,

1818.] LETTERS. 843

of course^ long perceiyed that they are both^ Barbara and
she^ little Protestants.

I have great hopes that this will be a prosperous year
with me, and that I shall gradually be able to get rid of
all my debts. Mrs. Beady (who seems to be a most
warm-hearted person), upon my writing to her that we
were quitting our house, and meant to look out for a
pleasanter one and a cheaper, wrote back that she was
most happy to hear it, and that we need not look further
than Oakhanger Hall (her place) for a residence, that she
was fitting up half of the house to receive us, and that
we must make it our home as long as we lived in the
country. Was not this unexampled kindness ? She also
offered herself as sponsor to the little child, and begged
we would defer the christening till we came to her, when
their son-in-law, the new dean of Exeter (who, with his
wife, is to meet us there) would perform it ; but this was
impossible, as we had already godfathers, godmothers, and
parson provided.

There never was anything like the rapid sale of my
Post Bag. There was great pndse of it in a very clever
paper of Sunday last, which, if it is not gone astray, I will
send you in the morning. Ever your own,

Tom.

[No* 233.] To Mr. Power.

Tueflday, 1813.

My dear Sir,
I send the proofs; and, by the next time of my in-
closing, I shall have four Melodies more for you. In order
to give you a little idea of the difficulty I have in pleasing
myself, I have written down at the top of the proof as

z 4

344 LETTEB8. {.

iiuny of the rejected couplets as I could remeinlM
arc not one third of thoec I have manufactured for
pose ; so tliat you sec I do not write Bonge quite i
ofl our friend the Knight compoecs them. Tear c
liDce before you send tlicm to the printer.

With reelect now to my going to town, I m
premise, tliat it is chiefly from my persuasion of yo'
itig it very much that I am so anxious to effect it ; I
though of course there ia nothing 1 should like
much better, yet, in the present state of my reec
should consider it proper (if only my own grM
were concerned) to sacrifice my wishes to pnidenc
undcrstmid me, my dear sir, I say this, not from (
gar idea of enhancing, or making a compliment
going; I hope you think me too eenuble to lu
such silly notion ; but it id for the purpose of im]
on your mind how much I begin to set btuineat, :
interests of our concent, above every other consid
cither of plcusure or convenience. In this respect
and feel that you will find me iniprove every year.

Now you know it has always been my inter
give notice to my landlord this month, and Mrs.
(Stevenson's friend) has given UB so many an
pressing invitntions to psisd the summer with her
mean to take her at her word ; and indeed am qmti
1o have siich a place to leave Bessy in while I un i:
for she would not like staying at home (besides the
of house expense while she is out), and there an
tions to every one of the places to which she has h
vifcd in this neighbourhood. So that the offer of
((H-ct, goody retreat as Kcady's is every way com
Wlint do you tliink of this P Having arranged all t!
will observe there will be left scarcely two monthi

1818.] LETTEBS. 345

reimuning six, to occupy this house ; and my idea is, before
we start, to sell off whatever furniture we do not mean to
move, to employ the intervening time in looking out for a
house both cheaper and pleasanter elsewhere; and so to
have done with this entirely. I have sucked pretty well out
of the library, and shall be able, I think, to wean myself of
it without injury ; indeed, I have got quite sufficient mate-
rials out of it for my poem ; and as to my musical works,
it has nothing to assist me there, so that I now coiudder
myself free to choose where I can live cheapest and most
retired during the remainder of my rural exile* We are
too much in the midst of my fine acquaintances here, and
are obliged to keep up an appearance which might be dis-
pensed with in a more retired dtuation. Now turn these
things over in your mind for me* I am at my wits' ends
for the supplies f and would give a good deal to have a little
conversation with you about the best means of getting
through the difficulties which this next month, April, haa
in store for me. This is what I hinted I should like to run
up for a day or two soon to talk with you about, and I
think it not unlikely I shall ; but, observe me, I do not in-
tend to let you suffer one minute's inconvenience by my
derangement The sale of my immoveables here will pay
all bills, and get me up to town ; but your brother's bill,
my aunt's, my father's ! ! do not be alarmed ; I am safe
from all these but your brother's ; but I want (if I can) to
take them from the shoulders they are on to my own.
There is my rent too, which, I believe, I ought to pay im-
mediately. Ever yours,

T. MOOKE.

346 LETTERS. [iBTAT. 33.

[No. 2»4.] To his Mother.

Kegworth, Wednesdaj^ 1813.

My dearest Mother,

We are just returned, and I have missed my regular
day of writing ; but Sir Charles Hastings (Lord Moira's
cousin) came over for us to Donington on Monday, and
made us go to Wellesley Park, his place, and dine and
sleep there : indeed, he wanted us to stay a month, and it
was only by promising we should go agwi that he let ua
away at all. Lady Hastings was very kind to Bessy.

We brought Mary Dalby with us to stay a week.
I shall write again on Friday. Love to dearest fiither
and Nell. Ever your own,

Tom.

[No. 235.] To his Mother.

Thursday night, 1813.

My dearest Mother,

We have had a very kind invitation from Honeyboume
(Joe Atkinson's brother-in-law, who lives within twelve
or thirteen miles of us) to go and pass some days with him.
On Monday we are asked to dine at Rain's, and though
we sent an apology, saying we expected some visitors,
they wrote back again to request we would bring the
visitors ; so that I don't know how we are to get off: but,
without a carriage, these distant trips to dinner are veiy
bad proceedings.

Mary Dalby has left us, and Barbara says, *' Koapsch
gone.^^ Our green paling is up — our gravel walks are
nearly made, and we begin to look very neat and snug.

1813.] LETTERS. 347

Poor Bci^sy is not very well these two or three days
past, but Barbara is quite stout.

Good nighty my darling mother. Ever your own,

Tom.

[No. 236.] To Mr. Power.

1818.

My dear Sir,

I send you the four more Melodies. You see I have
changed my mind about '^ Oh I had I a bright little Isle ;"
the fact is, I thought the words too pretty for the air, and
have been at the bother of writing two convivial verses
for it, which now go for nothing, as I hit upon a second
verse to the former words, which makes it altogether (I
iDiU say) so pretty a poem, that I think it will grace our
pages more than the convivial one. Mind, when I praise
my own things in this way, it is only by comparison toith
my own ; and in this way I have seldom done anything
I like better than the words of " Oh I had I," &c.

I am very glad you sent me " You remember Ellen ;"
as I have been in gieat perplexity between " One Bumper"
and " The Valley lay smiling ;" but what you now have
are certain, and arranged as I wisL

Did I send you the names of ^^ Ellen ^ and ^^ The Minstrel
►Boy ?" I must look for them. Ever yours,

T. Moore.

[No. 237.] To Mr. Power

Thuwday, 1818.

My dear Sir,

I have been thinking ever since I got your last very

kind letter, what plan I could hit upon for something

348

LETTBB8.

[ JStat. 33.

popular for you ; and I tlunk I have it There is one Hr.
Tom Brown, whose name now would bring him (I well
know) any sum of money, and you shall skim the cream of
his celebrity ; these shall be ready for publication, soon
after my book (not before for the world). •* The First
Number of Convivial and Political Songs, to Airs original
and selected, by Thos. Brown the Younger, Author of the
* Twoj>enny Post Bag.'" Ever yours,

T. Moors.

[N0.23S.]

To Mr. Power.

Wednesday, 1813.

My dear Sir,

With respect to the Siianish airs, I like the title you

propose for the Song of War very well, but not the other.

I think it would be better, perhaps, to put •* Vivir en

Cadcnas, a celebrated Spanish air," &c. As to the worde,

I certainly did not intend to put any more verses, but if

they are too short as they are, or, if you wish it, of course

I shall lose no time in writing more, and, while I wait

yoiu* answer, I shall be trying what I can do. Ever

yours,

Thomas Moorb.

Did I tell you that Murray has been offering me, through
Lord Byron, some hundreds (number not spedfied) a
year to become editor of a Review like the B^dinburgh and
Quarterly? Jefirey has fifteen I I have, of course, not
attended to it.

1818.] LETTERS. M9

[No. 239.] To Mr. Power.

— 1813.

My dear Sir,
I send you a second verse to " Vivir en Cadenas," and
I am glad that I have written it, for I think it is not had.
I have written it under the notes, as I suppose it will be
engraved with the music. Here follows the second verse
to " Oh ! remember the Time : **

** They tell me, you lovers from Erin*8 green isle

Every hour a new pamion can feel ;
And that soon^ in the light of some lovelier smile,

You*ll forget the poor Maid of Castile.
Bat they know not how brave in the battle yon are.

Or they never could think you would rove ;
For *tis adways the spirit most gallant in war,

That is fondest and truest in love.**

With respect to Murray's proposal, I feel (as I do
every instance of your generodty) the kindness and readi-
ness with which you offer to yield up our scheme to what
you think my superior interest ; but, in the first place, I
do not agree with you, tliat this plan with Murray would
be more for my ultimate advantage than that extensive
one which I look forward to with you; and, in the next
place, I do not think I would accept now ten thousand
pounds for anything that would interfere with the finish-
ing of my poem, upon which my whole heart and industry
are at last fidrly set, and for this reason, because, antiei'
pated as I have already 'been in my Eastern subject by
Lord Byron in his late poem, the success he has met with
will produce a whole swarm of imitators in the same
Eastern style, who will completely fly-hUno all the novelty
of my subject On this account I am more anxious than

riM»«*«»

350 LETTERS. t^TAT. SS.

I can tell you to get on with it, and it quite goes between
me and my sleep.

I have not time now to write more ; but good night,
and God bless you ! Ever yours most sincerely,

Thobias Moobe.

[No. «iO.] To Mr. Power.

Monday, 1813.

My dear Sir,

I write to you with " Going, going," in my ears, and
it has occurred to me, as the product of the sale is very
uncertun, and it is a great object for us to be off on Thurs-
day, it is just possible that, after paying our bills, we may
not have money enough to carry us on^ for we have been
obliged to get clothes, &c., and even I (from being disap-
pointed by Campbell) have been compelled to employ a
Donington tailor. All these things must of course be
discharged before we go, and as it is of some moment to
us (from what I told you about the income tax) to get
away immediately, I should be glad^ for certainty's sake,
that you could contrive to send me a few pounds by to-
morrow's post. I have great hopes we shall not want it,
and in that case I will send it back to you.

I am sorry you have altered your own arrangement
about the music^ as I dare say it is better than mine.

I was going to say I would send " The Valley lay
smiling" to-morrow^ but I have great fears that Bessy has
put it up; therefore, to make sure, inclose a proof to-
morrow, and you shall have it back, with the words on
Thursday. I expect " Savouma Deilish " back from your
brother every day, and then we shall be quite done. The
Lord send us safe out of Kegworth. Ever yours^

I818.] LETTEBS. 351

Fix think of tou Waking and Slskpimo.

'* You love me, you say, for the light of my eye«i,

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, Tm afraid.

Are jewels that spoil in the keeping.
So love me for something less likely to fade,

And m think of you waking and sleeping :
Dear youth !

m think of you waking and sleeping."

Here is a verse, my dear 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," which 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 his Mother.

1818.

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 well, except that
the parrot has bit one of little Bab's fingers.

I must contrive some way of sending you my Post

kMMBMtal*

352 LETTSBS. IMtav. SS.

Bag : it is now in the eeventh edition ; but I am sony
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 live together. I was sorry to find my father say-
ing that his hand be^ns to shake. Grod send him long
health to bless us alL Ever your own,

Tom.

[No. 949.] To his Mother.

Ashbourne, Satordaj night, 181^

My dearest Mother,

Within these few hours I have succeeded in taking 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 pay
twenty pounds a-year rent, and the taxes about three or
four more.

Mrs. Ready has brought us on here in her baroudie,
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 bustied 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 CottAj^c, near Ashbourne.

1813.] LETTERS. 353

[No. 248.] To Mr. Power.

Majfield, Ashbourne, Derbyshireii
Tuesdaj, July 1. 1813.

My 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, within twenty-four

hours' drive of town, and I hope, before the summer is

over, we shall see you at Mayfield. 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. MOOBE.

I have had a most flattering letter from Whitbread,
entreating me earnestly to write something for Drury
Lane,

[No. 244.] To Mr. Power.

Mayfield Cottage, Thursday eveninff,
July 17. 1813.

My dear Sir,

I thought to have sent you a song by this post, but L
cannot finish it without a pianoforte. I am, however, to
get one upon hire next week, 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.
BecoUect 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. I. A A

M£k

mm*

354 LETTEBS. ZJEtat, S4.

Bitting-room for myself, so you may suppose I have 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 you 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 ^ve it, means to let it
lie in his desk, and I am to pay it off by instahnents ; be
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 bis
hands till I can gradually get out of his debt. We are
resolved to take our furniture with us, whenever we go to
London, as this buying and re-buying is a very losiog
concern. You shall next week have the first symptoms d
my returning industry for the shop, and I must do some-
tlung 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 tat
three or four months total liberty from you ; aa I am ooa-
vinced, with your spirit and our imited views, you wooU
see how amply such time lost in one way would be made
up to us in another ; but I dread your brother^ and whik

1813.] 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 alsa 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 what 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 Mcath, who
was chairman of the first meeting of Dalton's Amateur Glee
Club, expressing the delight which the members all felt at
*^ my composition," and conmaunicating 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 firstfnuts of our co-operation.

Did you see the quotation of ^' Oh I 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 countenance; 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 yours,

T. MOOBE.

I dare say, from the explanation you give me, that the

A A 2

MP

356

LETTERS.

[£tat. 3

arrangement of " Oh, doubt me not 1 " i8 quite correct ; bi
it ia the most discordant correct thing I erer heard in n
life.

[No. 240.] To Mr. Power.

Jul/ 14. 1813.
My dear Sir,
I send you the words to the Finland song with th
second verse I have just finished ; and, before the end o
the week, you shall have something else of my promises
performances. What you offer about the opera is vei]
tempting indeed ; particularly as I have (since I wrote U
you last) plucked up courage enough to look into th
dreadful little book you gave me at parting, and find, U
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 yoiu
debt ! Tliough I felt that this must be the case, yet thi
actual proofs of it staring before my face, in black and
white, quite staggered me for a day or two. I am noin
however a little recovered from the shock, and though thie
state of our accounts makes your proposal doubly tempt-
ing, yet I fear I could not possibly undertake both mj
poem and an opera this year, and do all that justice to bott
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 othen
in the way of business, that, if I did not consider the suc^
cess of the poem a very material circumstance in youi
favour as well as my own, I should not feel justified ii
giving a moment to it away from any tajsk it is your wisl
I should undertake; and it is principally from my desin

1813.] LETTERS. 357

to get the poem forward^ that I have chosen a number of
the Melodies bs 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 this
year, whether I am lucky enough to finish the poem ox
not, you shall hear 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 hiip connected with
us ; but I shall be very grated, indeed, for your keeping
off as much of his annoyance from me as possible. If you
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 this number.

I have never yet been in any situation so retired and
suited to business as our present little 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 Mrs. Power firom Bessy and
from ever yours,

T. MOOBE.

Your poor dear little girl I

aa8

,am^m^m^

358 LETTERS. [iRTlXV S4

[No. 247.] To his Mather.

Mayfield, Thundaj nigiit, 1813L

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
ahready beginning to assume looks of comfort. The expense
of remiuning at the inn^ while it is preparing, is the woi^
part of the business. My darling mother, how you would
delight, I know, to see us when we are settled I I haTe
taken such a fancy to the little place, and the rent b 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 Ellen, 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. 248.] To his Mother.

Mayfield Cottage, Monday nigbt, isia.

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 LETTEBS. 359

you all embracing one another. To-morrow we ehall re-
move from the inn to the house of the farmer from whom
we have the cottage^ and in a few days more I expect we
shall sleep imder 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 stiU it will take a good sum 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 hU Mother,

Mayfield, Fridaj 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 lliat left us at home !
This is terrible phlebotomising. However, quiet and
economy will bring these matters roimd again alsa If
any of you had come with us (and I wish to Gkid 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-

AA 4

360

[

lierberts, &c. &&, and we most poeitivel^ come
troveiliog dreases. Beny'a going was out of the c
and I asBured him I feared it was equally so m
Kotwithstanding this, Mr. Cooper was dispatched j
partj in Lady Fitzherbert's cairinge, between ei
nine o'clock, to bring me by persuasion or force,
how. It would not do, however ; I sent him bac
and got quietly to my bed. The children are doi
well, and I am, as usual, stout and hearty. Crod I
dearest mother. Ever your own.

■;{■■

[No. 9S0.] To Miu DaU>y.

HajGeld Cottage, Ai
Iliundaf evening
My dear Mary,

We hod the courage to take possesaion od 1
week last, after having served an ejectment on tht
who have been the only tenants here for some tin
Isn't it odd that we should have the luck alwayi
into haunted houses ? This lonely, secluded little
not at all a bad residence for ghosts; but for
mattei^of-iact bam at Kegworth to pretend to be 1
was too much affectation. Within these few di
place begins to look habitable about us; my po<
sages have rused their heads from the pockio]
and very creditable churs, tables, Stc, ore begin
take their places round the walls.

Bessy is highly delighted with her little cottaj
whenever any new improvement is made, she says,
Mary Dolby will like this when she comes I " W
Dot yet found out the Matchette, but there were
three stray ladies the other evening reconnoitii

1813.] LETTERS, 361

cottage when we were out^ and making a sort of offer
at a vidit^ who» we 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 write to you very soon^ but (whether it is an
invention of her laziness or not, I don't know) she says
the agreement was that /should write the first letter: so
now you have it, and now let us hear from you. I have
near a dozen epistles to scribble this evening. Ever yours
faithfully,

Thomas Moobe.

[No. 251.] To his Mother.

Thursday evening, 1813.

My dearest Mother,

We have this day got our curtains up and our carpets
down, and begin to look a little civilised. It is a very
sweet spot indeed, and I do not recollect whether I told
you that I only pay twenty pounds a-year for it ; and the
taxes will be about three or four more. This is not ex-
travagant, and, though it be a little nutshell of a thing,
we have a room to spare for a friend, or for you, darling
mother, if you could come and visit us. How proud
Bessy would be to have you, and make much of you !

We heard, a day or two ago, of our little Statia, that she
is thriving finely. The only drawback on my dear Bessy's
happiness is the being removed from her little child so
far. She has hardly had time to get acquainted with
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.

302 LETTERS. [

licet love to Tiither and Nell from ua both.

eaya elie will not write till the hoiue is settles
your own,

[No. !5a.]

To Lady Donegal.

Aibboumc, Dcrbjsbir«, Saturday ni
I am settled at kut, and I would not write till
tell you 80. I have got a emitll niral cottage on
fit'lda, near the pretty town of Ashbourne; rent
poimda a-year, and taxes about three more. 1 1:
time at ihia moment to say anything else, but tha
every prospect of quiet and happineas, I have re
very flattering letter from Whitbread, apologising
cultivating or courting my acquaintance while I
town, and requesting me to undertake something fo
Lane.

Your little god-daugbtcr is growmg the aweei
most interesting little thing in the world. Bess
best rcincmbraucea. More in a day or two. £■
dially yours.

CNo, 353.]

To hit Mother.

My dearest Mother,

I sent you the Examiner the other day, with tw<
in it which, you will sec, he imputes to me : he
right in one of them, the only thing I have given
Morning Chronicle since I left town.

You cannot think how our cottage is admii'ed ;

1813.] LETTERS. 363

ever I am able to purchase it, I shall make a beautiful
thing of it Ever your own,

Tom.

Barbara is at this moment most buailj 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 handling and
viewing with great admiration.

[Nor 254.] To his Mother.

May field, Tharsday eveiuDg, 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. Riun 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 paling : 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 passion for my

poetry. Ever your own,

Tom.

[No. 255.] 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.

^ttm

364 LETTERS. [-ETAT. S

«

' I I had a long letter from Lord Byron yesterday : his la

tiling, the Giaour, is very much praised, and deserved!
80 ; indeed, I think he will dethrone Walter Scott Eve
my darling mother, your own,

Tom.

[No. 256.] To Air Power.

Castle Donington, Friday, 18:

My dear Sir,
I took the opportunity of a lift to come on here foz
Lust rummage of the library before the bad weather sets i
and I have got more for my purpose out of it, b/'makii
it a business in this way, than I should, in an idle, saunte
ing way, if I were in its neighbourhood for twelve montl
I only write now to acknowledge your last letter, whi
was forwarded to me hither. I shall give up the correcti<
in the letter-press, as it is so inconvenient, but I think
shall avail myself of the new plate and the erratum : mo
of this, however, next week. I shall also have a consult
tion with you about a point which I perceive your mil
is a good deal set upon, and that is, my living in or ne
London. I certainly fear that embarrassments woi]
soon gather round me there, and my own wish is to st
here at least till you and I fix upon some plan of c
operation ; but in this, as on every other point, I am ve
much inclined to listen to your counsel ; and therefore i
shall have some talk about it. At all events, I shall st
here till I finish my poem ; but my reason for a^tatu
the question now is, that I had some idea of agreeing wi
the landlord for a short term of years of this place ;
think over the matter now, and let mc know your whc

1813.] LETTERS. 865

mind and wishes. Next week you shall have another
song. Ever yours,

T. MOOBE.

[No. 257.] To his Mother.

May field Cottage, Monday night, 1813.

]M[y dearest Itfother,
It is very hite, 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. Power.

Oct. 23. 1813.
]tfy 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 IVfr. Joseph Strutt's, who sent his car-
riage and four^^ us and back agsdn with us. There
are three brothers of them, and they are supposed to have
a million of money pretty equally divided between them.
They have fine families 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 presents, rings, fans, &e. &c. My sing-

3G6 LETTERS. IJEtas. 34

ing produced some little sensation at Derby, and ereiy one
to whom I told your intention of publishing my songs col-
lectively seemed delighted.

I 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 abundantiy for it afterwards. This
poem has hitherto paralysed all my efforts for yoUj but it
shall do so no longer than this year, I promise you. You
are right in referring your brother to the advertisement of
the fifth number for this year's work, and 111 make it a
good one too, depend upon it. I suppose yoa. 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 mare 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 this new en-
gagement with Stevenson may not involve you in too
much difficulty or imeasiness ; 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 peiliape 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,J LETTERS. 367

them or not : indeed^ this latter task I should rather like
than not, so command me ; only I wish he and I could be
together when he is setting 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 Mr. Power.

Monday nighty 1813.

My 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, with 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 question 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 aU such words, and I do not
well see how you are to settle the matter with him. I
wish you would, when you write, give me some explona-

t

I .•
■ »

368 LETTERS. [JEt

tion upon this subject^ before I employ myself in an;;
words for Sir John.

^ Who Bays the Age of Song is o'er.
Or that the mantle, finely wrought.

Which hung around the Bard of yore»
Has faU*n to earth, and faU*n uncaught ?

It if not to : the harp, the strain.
And souls to feel them, sfiff remain.

^ Muse of our Isle descend to-night,

With all thy spells of other years,—
The lay of tender, calm delight ;

The song of sorrow, steeped in tears ;
The war-hymn of the brave and free.

Whose every note is victory I
And oh I that airy Harp of mirth.

Whose tales of love, and wine, and bliaa,
Make us forget the grovelling earth.

And all its care on nights like this I *"

I am very anxious Stevenson should set this we
his own sake as well as the sake of the words ; partici
as I am told there is an Opposition Club forming; n{
this, under the auspices of Warren, and professedly t
exclusion of Stevenson. I was very sorry to see b
newspaper (the Morning Chronicle), that you have
your point against Walker in Chancery. Do you
much about it ? I hope not most sincerely, as you
so many other things to plague you.

I have got rather a pretty Irish ur, which^ wi
little of my manufacturing, will do for our next nui
and you shall have it, with some other things, soon.

Best regards to Mrs. Power from Bessy, and
\ most affectionately,

V Thomas Mooi

^ I wish you would take the trouble of calling

i Sheddon before eleven some morning with this letter

1813.] LETTERS. 369

have inclosed him Croker's letter (principally to show I
have such a friend at the Admiralty) and not wishing to
leave it in his hands have begged him 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. Unfortimately, I en-
tered into a negotiation with my deputy (through the
Sheddons) to sell him, for an immediate simi, 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. Power.

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
agidn immediately to do away your misapprehension, as

VOL. L B B

370

[.

whether you decline the propoaal or not, I kn
would wish to do it on true grounds, and in thia I
doubt yon are quite mietaken. I will venture no
upon Stevenfion'a proposal ; at least I ought not, \
aa I have so much myselft to object to bis having
deal too; but I must own, I think, two hundred
exclunve of bis great works, ta a very fair offer,
much, perhaps, as you ought to ^ve, though I
regret exceedingly the diaeolution of my alliant
him. The foUowii^ is the correctod passage whicl
you to have engraved in the first verse of " Thro
Isle:"

" Where'er they put,

A triple gnu
Shoot* up, irith detrdropa •treuning.

At tottij greea

Ai emerkld, teen
Throngh purest crjital glesming."*
* This puasge hu been mltered thns, since the letterpi
printed oiT, in order to get rid of an ankwuil double rhjni
BBvoun a little of doggrel.

I wish the note engraved underneath, if it i
done conveniently.

The preface, song, and duet you shall have in the
of this week. Ever yours,

T. Mo*

[No. Sfll.] To kit Mother.

Majfield Cottage, Sstnrilaj :
My dearest Mother,
We returned from Derby the evening before yes)
just in time for me to appear in my dignified ol
steward at the Asbboume Ball. It was a tolerab
ball, and they eaid I acquitted myself ver^ properl
was, however, a very disagreeable office, as I was a

1813.] LETTEES. 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 Anastafiia.

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 BaU 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 anything else;
for it strikes everybody almost that sees her, how like 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 her
ejorits.

Little Baboo is quite wellj and is, I think, improving in
her looks.

BB 3

I

,li!:

3T2 LETTERS.

The fifth number of the Irish jrelodiea is
were so bard run for aire, that I fctir it will
popular OS the otberg. Ever your own.

[No. S83.]

To kit Mother.

Thundaj night, ~
My dcorcat Mother,

I am just returned from the great and grai
Dinner at Ashbourne, where I aasure you the
high lionour, drank my liealth with three tim
and, after the epeoch I mode in acknowledgmem
most vociferoualy. It is really very flattering
with such respect in one's neighbourhood: a
reserved for me nest to the president, the chief i
of the placo.

Barbara has been to all the festivities, and enjo
^ery much. We have slept the two nights pai
Belcher's, the clergyman's, there.

Tlicre was a general dinner this evening a
young girls and lads of Ashbourne, in the princip
it was a very gay scene ; but I am quite tired :
iiiglit, dearest mother. Ever your own,

END OF THE FIBST VOLDME,

39, Paternosteb Row :
January 1853.

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