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MEMOIRS, 
 
 JOTJRNAL, AND CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 OF 
 
 THOMAS MOORE. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 (The Author's A ssignees hereby give Notice that they reserve to themselves the right of 
 Translation of this Work.) 
 

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 AWD I.rrTt,K,BROvm,*fcC" H0ST0K,1I. V. 
 
Jl 
 
 MEMCOIIR'S, 
 
 VOJC.I. 
 
 ,',/,-„.x 
 
 ^A.r -'ley. 
 
 L O N D O M , 
 LONGMJlN, BROWN, GB-EI;N,& LOTSrOMAJTr 
 
 PATEtlWOUTllK. ROW, 
 AND LITTLE, BROWN, Sc C9 BOSTON, U S 
 
MEMOIRS, 
 
 JOURNAL, AND CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 THOMAS MOORE. 
 
 EDITED BT 
 THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 
 LORD JOKm RUSSELL, M.P. 
 
 ' Spiral adhue amor." — Hob. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, AND LONGMANS; 
 
 AUD 
 
 LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., BOSTON. U.S. 
 1853. 
 
*^* The Copyright of this work is protected in France by Regis- 
 tration at Paris, pursuant to the Convention for the establishment of 
 International Copyright signed at Paris, 3rd November, 1851. 
 
 A 
 
 O/^' 
 
 London : 
 Si'OTTiswooDEs and Shaw, 
 
 New-street- Square. 
 
 C/^" 
 
PEEFACE. 
 
 In the will of the late Thomas Moore, written in 1828, 
 there occurs the following passage : — 
 
 " I also confide to my valued friend Lord John Russell, (having 
 obtained his kind promise to undertake this service for me,) the task of 
 looking over whatever papers, letters, or journals I may leave behind 
 me, for the purpose of forming from them some kind of publication, 
 whether in the shape of memoirs or otherwise, which may afiford the 
 means of making some provision for my wife and family." 
 
 Many 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 twenly years old, A Journal, begun in 1818, 
 and extending to the years 1846-7. Letters to and from 
 various correspondents, but especially to his mother. 
 
 I have arranged these materials in the following order : 
 I have placed first the Memoir of his Life. I have then 
 
VI PEEFACE. 
 
 given upwards of four hundred letters, extended over the 
 period from 1800 to 1818, with respect to which there is 
 neither memoir nor journal. "With these letters there is 
 inserted a short account of his duel with Mr. Jeffrey, 
 written by himself. I have next proceeded 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-loading 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 daily 
 current of his life, and the lesser traits of his character. I 
 know at least, that while I have often been wearied by the 
 dull letters of insignificant men, I have been far more in- 
 terested by the voluminous life of a celebrated man, than I 
 should have been by a more general and compendious 
 biography. The lives of Sir "Walter Scott and Madame 
 de Genlis derive much of their interest from the reality 
 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 order to give 
 life and probability to stories which otherwise would 
 
PREFACE. Vll 
 
 Strike the imagination as absurd and inconceivable. Thus 
 Dante brings before us a tailor threading his needle, - 
 and the crowds which pass over a well known bridge in 
 order to carry his readers with him on his strange and 
 incredible journey. Thus Cervantes describes places and 
 persons like oiie who has himself seen them. Thus like- 
 wise Defoe remarks every trifling circumstance which a 
 real Eobinson Crusoe might have retained in his me- 
 mory; and Swift makes his Gulliver carefully minute 
 in his measurements of LiUiput houses and Brobdignag 
 corn. This attention to little circumstances gives a hue 
 of reality even to these wondrous and fanciful fictions, 
 and makes Don Quixote, Robinson Crusoe, and Gulliver 
 better known to us than Homer, Virgil, and Shakspeare. 
 But if this is the mode in which these great masters 
 have imparted an interest to imaginary events, it is a 
 proof that in slight, but characteristic, details is to be found 
 the source of sympathy in the story of a real life. 
 
 Eeturning 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 possess a biography of 
 any such man of a former time in full and honest detail?" 
 Let us not forget likewise that our literature is spreading 
 every year both in the old world and in the new. In our 
 own country the diflfusion of knowledge, and in foreign 
 countries the greater acquaintance with our language, 
 increases the number of readers. In the new world 
 
vm PEEPACB. 
 
 millions are added every year to the number of those 
 whose government and institutions are American, but 
 whose literature is English. Among these increasing mil- 
 lions there wiU in all probability be communities holding 
 aloft the literature of England through the ocean of time. 
 They wiU neither be subject to conquest by a superior 
 state hke the Greeks, nor exposed to the invasion of barba- 
 rians like the Romans. To them the English will ever be 
 a living language, and among them the names of Byron, 
 Scott, Moore, Campbell, Eogers, Wordsworth, and Crabbe 
 wiU 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 pain 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 thread, and lives along the line." 
 
 In performing the task I have undertaken, I had two 
 
PREFACE, IX 
 
 considerations to guide me : — In the first place, it was plain 
 that Mr. Moore intended to leave out of the materials of 
 his Memoir, Letters, and Joiirnal, " the means of making 
 some provision for his wife and &mily." 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 
 kiad of publication, whether in the shape of memoirs or 
 otherwise, " he meant to leave much to my discretion. 
 
 With respect to the first of these considerations, the 
 melancholy loss of all his children, and the death of his 
 sister 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 ofiered for Mr. Moore's 
 papers, on condition of my undertaking to be the editor, 
 such a sum, as with the small pension allowed by the 
 Crown, would enable Mrs. Moore to enjoy for the re- 
 mainder of her life the moderate income which had latterly 
 been the extent and limit of 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 canvass, the wisest look of the 
 judge, the Hvehest 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 afilictions, his popularity as an author, 
 his success in society, his attachment as a friend, his love 
 as a son and a husband, are reflected in these volumes. 
 StiU there are some remarks which an editor may be 
 allowed to make by way of introduction to this work. 
 
 The most engaging as well as the most powerful passions 
 of Moore were his domestic affections. It was truly and 
 sagaciously observed of hhn by his friend. Miss Godfrey, 
 " You have contrived, God knows how ! amidst the plea- 
 sures of the world, to preserve all your home fireside affec- 
 tions true and genuine as you brought them out with you ; 
 
PREFACE. XI 
 
 and this Is a trait in your character that I think beyond 
 all praise ; it is a perfection that never goes alone ; and I 
 believe you will turn out a saint or an angel after all." * 
 
 Twice a week during his whole life, except during his 
 absence in America and Bermuda, he wrote a letter to his 
 mother. If he had nothing else to teU her, these letters 
 conveyed the repeated assurance of his devotion and at- 
 tachment. His expressions of tenderness, however simple 
 and however reiterated, are, in my estimation, more valu- 
 able than the brightest jewels of his wit. They flow from 
 a heart uncorrupted by fame, unspoilt by the world, and 
 continue to retain to his old age the accents and obedient 
 spirit of infancy. In the same stream, and from the same 
 source, flowed the waters of true, deep, touching, unchang- 
 ing affection for his wife. From 1811, the year of his 
 marriage, to 1852, that of his death, this excellent and 
 beautiful person received from him the homage of a lover, 
 enhanced by all the gratitude, all the confidence, which 
 the daily and hourly happiness he enjoyed were sure to 
 inspire. Thus, whatever amusement he might find in 
 society, whatever sights he might behold, whatever literary 
 resources he might seek elsewhere, he always returned to 
 his home with a fresh feeling of delight. The time he 
 had been absent had always been a time of exertion and 
 of exile; his return restored him to tranquillity and to 
 peace. Keen as was his natural sense of enjoyment, he 
 never balanced between pleasure and happiness. His 
 letters and his journal bear abundant evidence of these 
 natural and deep-seated affections. 
 
 » Miss Godfrey, Oct. 2. 1806. 
 
Xll PEBFACE. 
 
 His affections as a father were no less genuine, but were 
 not equally rewarded. The deaths of some of his children 
 at an early period, of his remaining daughter and of his 
 sons at a more advanced age, together with some other 
 circumstances, cast a gloom over the latter years of his life, 
 which was never entirely dispelled. 
 
 Another characteristic quality of Moore, was his love of 
 independence. Unfortunately for him he entertained, as 
 a young man, expectations of advancement and compe- 
 tency, if not wealth, from a patron. Lord Moira, who 
 assumed that character, seems to have meant kindness, 
 and perhaps to have done all in his power to help the 
 rising poet, but his attempts were not altogether success- 
 ful. He procured for Mr. Moore an office in the Court 
 of Admiralty at Bermuda, which produced the only great 
 pecuniary embarrassment from which he ever suffered. 
 When Lord Moira went to India, he lamented he could 
 not take Mr. Moore with him, but made some indis- 
 tinct offer of exchanging some portion of his patronage 
 to help his friend at home. Mr. Moore's answer was 
 prompt and conclusive. Whatever he might have done 
 had employment immediately under Lord Moira been 
 offered to him, he replied to this last proposal, " I would 
 rather struggle on as I am, than take anything that would 
 have the effect of tying up my tongue under such a system 
 as the present." * 
 
 Within a few days of giving this answer, he was obliged 
 to write to Mr, Power, the publisher of his music, for an 
 
 * Letters to Lady Donegal and Mr. Power, 1812. 
 
PKEFACE. XIU 
 
 advance of three or four pounds as he had not sixpence in 
 his house. 
 
 liord Moira, who seems to have esteemed Moore's cha- 
 racter, was not offended by his spirit ; continued to open 
 to him his library and his house at Donington, and was 
 in fact of more use to him by that kindness than if he 
 had carried him to the East Indies to waste his genius 
 In the details of office. It must also be recorded that 
 Lord Moira had given his father an office in Dublin, 
 which for many years relieved Mr. Moore from a burthen 
 he could hardly have supported. It may, however, with 
 truth be averred, that while hterary men of acknowledged 
 talent have a claim on the government of their country, to 
 save them from penury or urgent distress, it is better for 
 literature that eminent authors should not look to political 
 patronage for their maintenance. It is desirable that they 
 who are the heirs of fame should preserve an independence 
 of position, and that the rewards of the Crown should not 
 bind men of letters in servile adherence. Rightly did Mr. 
 Moore understand the dignity of the laurel. He never 
 would barter his freedom away for any favour from any 
 quarter. Although the wolf of poverty often prowled round 
 his door, he never abandoned his humble dweUing 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 ApoUinis 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 PEEFACE. 
 
 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 suiFer for his want of fortune. Mingling careful 
 economy with an intense love of all the enjoyments of 
 society, he managed, with the assistance of his excellent 
 wife, who carried on for him the detail of his household, 
 to struggle through all the petty annoyances attendant on 
 narrow means, to support his father, mother, and sister, 
 besides his own family, and at his death he left no debt 
 behind him. 
 
 It is true that Mr. Moore had a small office at Bermuda, 
 and that in his latter days he received a pension of 3007. 
 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 suiFered, 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, 
 
 " When equal chances arbitrate tli' event, 
 My mind inclines to hope rather than fear ;" 
 
PEEFACE. XV 
 
 and when the certainty of a misfortune left no room for 
 doubt he could write in this tone to Miss Godfrey : — 
 " Your friends, the Fudges, are nearly out of hand. It 
 was well this shock did not come upon me sooner, as it 
 might perhaps (though I doubt whether it would) have 
 damped my gaiety with them ; but, I don't know how it is, 
 as long as my conscience is sound, and that suffering 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 
 
XVI • PREFACE. 
 
 love, and affections, and admiration being much keener 
 than his dislikes, and antipathies, and aversions, he derived 
 from this constitution of his nature a degree of happiness 
 to which few men can attain. To the good qualities 
 of Moore both Byron and Scott, his great cotemporaries, 
 have borne witness. 
 
 " I have read Lalla Rookh (says Byron), but not with suflBcient 
 attention yet, for I fide about, and lounge, and ponder, and two or 
 thi;ee other things, so that my reading is very desultory, and not so 
 attentive as it used to be. I am very glad to hear of its popularity, 
 for Moore is a very noble fellow in all respects, and will enjoy it 
 without any of the bad feelings which success — good or evil — some- 
 times engenders in the men of rhyme. Of the poem itself, I will tell 
 you my opinion when I have mastered it. I say of the poem, for I 
 don't like the prose at all ; in the meantime, the ' Fire- worshippers ' is 
 the best, and the 'Veiled Prophet' the worst of the volume." 
 
 Lord Byron says elsewhere, 
 
 " Moore has a peculiarity of talent, or rather talents — poetry, music, 
 voice, all his own ; and an expression in each, which never was, nor 
 will be, possessed by another. But he is capable of still higher flights 
 in poetry. By the bye, what humour, what — everything, in the ' Post 
 Bag ! There is nothing Moore may not do, if he will but seriously 
 set about it. In society he is gentlemanly, gentle, and, altogether, 
 more pleasing than any individual with whom I am acquainted. For 
 his honour, principle, and independence, his conduct to Hunt speais 
 ' trumpet-tongued.' He 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. 1825. Moore. I saw Moore (for the first time, I may 
 say, this season). We had, indeed, met in public twenty years ao-o. 
 
PEEFACE. Xvii 
 
 There is a manly frankness, with perfect ease and good breeding about 
 iim, which is delightful. Not the least touch of the poet or the 
 pedant. A little, very little man— less, I think, than Lewis, and 
 something like him in person ; God knows, not in conversation ; for 
 Matt., thftugh a clever fellow, was a bore of the first description ; 
 moreover, he looked always like a schoolboy. Now Moore has none 
 of this insignificance. His countenance is plain, but the expression 
 is very animated, especially in speaking or singing, so that it is far more 
 interesting than the finest features could have rendered it. I was 
 aware that Byron had often spoken, both in private society and in his 
 journal, of Moore and myself in the same breath, and with the same 
 sort of regard ; so I was curious to see what there could be in 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 air, and remind me always of the feUow 
 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 mol pour rire, and so do L It was a pity that 
 nothing save the total destruction of Byron's memoirs would satisfy 
 his executors; but there was a reason — Prematnox alia. 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 
 being luckily a good one, received Thomas Moore with rapture. I 
 could have hugged them, for it paid back the debt of the kind recep- 
 tion I met with in Ireland." * 
 
 * Life of Scott, vol. vi. p. 128. 
 VOL. I. a 
 
XVIU PREFACE. 
 
 I have placed in the notes some other testimonies to 
 the merit of Moore, for which I am indebted to a cotem- 
 porary publication.* 
 
 The independence of his character, and the fastidious- 
 ness of his taste, aifected 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 liim 
 of republicanism." 
 
 In another letter he says, — "I have seen Edward 
 Hudson : the rich bookseller I had heard of is Pat Byrne, 
 whose daughter Hudson has married ; they are, I believe, 
 doing well. I dine with them to-day. Oh ! if Mrs. 
 Merry were to know that ! However, I dined with the 
 Consul-general yesterday, which makes the balance even. 
 I feel awkward with Hudson now; he has perhaps had 
 reason to confirm him in his politics, and God knows I 
 see every reason to change mine." 
 
 » The Irish Quarterly Review, No. VI. See Note A. 
 
PEEFACE. 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 liis 
 views regarding his native country. Although nothing 
 could be warmer or more constant than his love for 
 Ireland, he never could look with complacency on the 
 attempts at revolution by force, or even on the organised 
 agitation of opinion which from time to time disturbed 
 the peace of his unhappy country. Of his own feelings 
 he speaks thus in one of the dedications of the Irish 
 Melodies : — "To those who identify nationality with 
 treason, and who see, in every effort 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 
 (lilie 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 poHtical 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, 
 and 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 
 
XX PREFACE 
 
 society a work of this nature could ever have been in- 
 tended to circulate. It looks much higher for its audience 
 and readers : it is found upon the pianofortes of the rich 
 and the educated — of those who can afford to have their 
 national zeal a little stimulated, without exciting much 
 dread of 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 pohtical 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 disHke. The 
 language used to move an ignorant mass was abhorrent to 
 his taste ; the machinery of meetings and societies suited 
 ill with his love of domestic quiet ; the fierce denunciations 
 uttered by impassioned orators jarred with his feelings 
 of kindness and goodwill to mankind. 
 
 On the other hand, his spirit of independence revolted 
 against a proposition by which a seat in Parliament was 
 offered him in the days when Mr. O'Connell ruled 
 supreme over the minds of the great majority of the Irish 
 people. If I am not mistaken, he expressed to Mr. 
 O'ConneU himself his manly determination not to bend 
 his political will to any one. Thus, in the midst of an 
 agitation purely Irish, the most gifted of Irish patriots 
 held aloof, foregoing the applause in which he would have 
 delighted, and the political distinction for which he often 
 
 * Irish Melodies, No. VI. Dedication to Lady Donegal. 
 
PREFACE. XXI 
 
 sighed, that he might not sully the white robe of his 
 independence, or 'file his soul for any object of ambition or 
 of vanity. 
 
 An equal devotion to truth marked his literary cha- 
 racter. The liberal opinions of the Whigs, combined 
 with the literary tastes of the chief members of that party 
 naturally led him to espouse their cause, and live in their 
 society. Yet in his Life of Sheridan he did not hesitate 
 to question their policy, and to blame their great leader, 
 Mr. Fox, when his own judgment led him to withhold 
 his assent, or refuse his approbation. For he loved to 
 examine history for himself, and to state fearlessly the 
 opinions which he formed impartially. It is not my pur- 
 pose here to defend those opinions, or to impugn them; 
 it is enough to say that he did not frame them from any 
 motives of interest, or suppress them from any personal 
 regard. 
 
 On his religious opinions I shall touch very briefly. He 
 was bred a Eoman Catholic, and in his mature years he 
 published a work of some learning in defence of the chief 
 articles of the Roman Catholic faith. Yet he occasionally 
 attended the Protestant Church ; he had his children bap- 
 tized into that Church ; and M'hen 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 Koman Catholic Church, 
 and when in London attended the Roman Catholic chapel 
 
 * See Letter to Lady Donegal, April lOtli, 1815. 
 a 3 
 
Xxii PREFACE. 
 
 in "Wardour Street. His answer to a person who tried to 
 convert Mm to Protestantism was nearly in these terms : 
 " I was born and bred in the faith of my fathers, and in 
 that faith I intend to die." In that intention he persevered 
 to the end. Of two things all who knew him must have 
 been persuaded : the one, his strong feelings of devotion, his 
 aspirations, 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 aU men. In the last days of 
 his life he frequently repeated to his wife, " Lean upon 
 God, Bessy ; lean upon God." That God is love was the 
 summary of his belief; that a man should love his neigh- 
 bour as 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 Burns, of 
 Campbell, and of Tennyson, but no one poet can equal 
 Moore in the united excellence and abundance of his pro- 
 ductions. Lord Byron writes, upon reading one or two of 
 the numbers of the Irish Melodies, then recently published, 
 " To me, some of Moore's last Erin sparks, ' As a Beam o'er 
 the Face of the Waters,' ' When He who adores Thee,' 
 ' Oh ! blame not,' and ' Oh ! breathe not his Name,' are 
 worth all the epics that ever were composed." 
 
 When we remember that to these early Irish Melodies 
 were added so many numbers of Irish Melodies, National 
 Melodies, and wSacred Songs, each full of the most exquisite 
 poetry, it is impossible not to be lost in admiration at the 
 
 i 
 
PEEFACE. XXiii 
 
 fancy and the feeling of wMch the spring was so abundant, 
 and the waters so clear, the chiare,frescke, e dolci acque, which 
 seemed to flow perennially from an inexhaustible fountain. 
 In mentioning fancy and feeling, I have mentioned what 
 appear to me the two qualities in which Moore was most 
 rich. His was a delightful fancy, not a sublime imagina- 
 tion; a tender and touching feeling, not a rending and 
 OTcrwhelming passion. The other quality most remarkable 
 is the sweetness of the versification, arising from the happy 
 choice of words, and the delicacy of a correct musical ear. 
 Never has the English language, except in some few songs 
 of the old poets, been made to render such melody ; never 
 have the most refined emotions of love, and the most 
 ingenious creations of fancy been expressed in a language 
 so simple, so easy, so natural. 
 
 LaUa Rookh is the work next to the Melodies and 
 Sacred Songs in proof of Moore'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. Whether 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 religious enterprize of the Crusaders, 
 and has restrained his own genius from wandering into the 
 
 a4 
 
XXIV PKEFACE. 
 
 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 aU surpass him in the simplicity 
 and grandeur which properly belong to the epic poem.* 
 
 Moore has, however, taken a different course, and relin- 
 quishing all the advantages to be derived from an historical 
 subject, has sought in the abundant spring of his own 
 imagination, the tales upon which his poem is founded. 
 Some few hints, indeed, he has borrowed from Eastern 
 legends, and recorded revolutions, and in one of his letters 
 he says that Mr. Rogers furnished him with the subject of 
 his poem. But the whole narrative of the Veiled Prophet 
 and the Fire-Worshippers is in fact his own creation. 
 
 It must be owned that Spenser and Moore 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 raised. It is difficult to feel 
 for Azim and Hafed the interest wliich the name of 
 Achilles inspired in the Greeks, and that of Goffredo in 
 the Italians. But neither Spenser nor Moore were made to 
 wear the heavy armour of the epic poet : light and easy 
 movement, weapons that might be thrown to a distance, 
 and dazzle the beholder as they glittered in the air, fitted 
 them better than the broad shield and the ponderous 
 sword. It is best that every poet should attempt that 
 
 * See Note B at ihe end of the Preface. 
 
PREFACE. XXV 
 
 kind of poetry in wliioh he is most likely to succeed. The 
 Grreeks used to say of ArchUochus, " If Archilochus had 
 written epic, ArohUochus 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 
 Jeffrey expressed it, men woidd 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 ardom*, and such descriptions 
 of blind and fierce fanaticism as are found in Lalla Bookh, 
 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 obaoure. 
 
 It is diflScult 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 PKEFACE. 
 
 It may be remarked that the catastrophe of the two 
 poems is too nearly similar. Mokanna and Hafed are 
 both insurgents ; both are defeated ; both seek death to 
 avoid captivity after the destruction of their armies, and 
 the ruiQ of their cause. One, indeed, is a monster, and the 
 other a hero ; but the similarity of situation is undeniable. 
 
 Paradise and the Peri is a short poem of exquisite 
 beauty, and perhaps the most perfect in the volume. 
 
 The Loves of the Angels is another work rich with the 
 same freight of tenderness and fancy which are the true 
 property of Moore. There is a falling off in the third of 
 the stories, which together compose the poem, and alto- 
 gether the effect is not that which a single tale would have 
 produced. Sweetness too much prolonged, tenderness not 
 varied with the sterner and more deadly passions are a 
 food too milky for our un-childlike nature. 
 
 I will not enter into the question of the propriety of 
 Moore's earlier poems. Horace is very licentious, yet his 
 odes are the delight of our clerical instructors and solemn 
 critics. Prior is not very decent, but 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 with those of other amatory 
 poets, who have allowed their fancy to roam beyond the 
 limits which morality and decorum would prescribe. 
 
 Two of Moore's cotemporaries must be placed before 
 him in any fair estimate of the authors of the first part of 
 the nineteenth century. Byron rose as a poet above all 
 his rivals. The strength of passion, the command of ner- 
 
PEEFACE. XXVll 
 
 vous expression, the power of searcMng the heart, the 
 philosophy of life which his poems display, 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 Greece, the Sunset at 
 Athens, the lines on Solitude, those on the Gladiator, on 
 the Ocean, on the Battle of "Waterloo, are matchless in 
 conception and in execution. 
 
 Scott is the other wonder of this age. Picturesque, 
 interesting, and bard-like as are his narrative poems, the 
 pathos, humour, description, character, and, above all, 
 the marvellous fertility displayed in the novels, show far 
 greater power : a whole region of the territory of Imagi- 
 nation is occupied by this extraordinary man alone and 
 unapproachable. Lope de Vega and many others have 
 shown wonderful rapidity in composition, but their works, 
 with very few exceptions, have died almost as soon as they 
 were born. The fertility of Voltaire is wonderful, but 
 great part of what he has written is so objectionable on the 
 score of religion or morality, that even his wit does not 
 furnish salt enough to keep from corruption the intellectual 
 food he has lavished in such abundance. But the novels of 
 Scott will furnish entertainment to many generations ; nor 
 is there likely to be any race of men so fastidious as to 
 require anything purer, so spoilt by excitement as to need 
 anything more amusing, 'or so grave as to scorn all delight 
 from this kind of composition. When these two great men 
 have been enumerated, I know not any other writer of his 
 time who can be put in competition with Moore. If his 
 poetry is not so powerful or so passionate as that of Byron 
 
XXVrn 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 Enghsh 
 language is no longer that jargon {fiuel gergd) 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 skims along the main." 
 
 Nothing can less well express rapid motion than this 
 verse. The word " unbending " sounds, as it means, stiff, 
 resisting, &c., and thus clashes violently with the idea of 
 rapid and easy motion, which Pope seeks to convey. 
 Much better has Scott said, 
 
 " E'en the light harebell raised its head, 
 Elastic from her airy tread." 
 
 But in fifty instances Moore has done better stiU. Thus, 
 
 " The young May moon is beaming, love ! 
 The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love ! 
 
 How sweet to rove 
 
 Through Morna's grove. 
 When the drowsy world is dreaming, love ! 
 
 Or, 
 
 " Oh ! had we some bright little isle of our own, 
 In a blue summer ocean far off and alone. 
 Where a leaf never dies in the still-blooming bowers, 
 And the bee banquets on through a whole year of flowers ; 
 
PEEFACE. XXIX 
 
 Where the sun loves to pause 
 
 With so 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, 
 
 " But oh ! how the tear in her eyelids grew bright, 
 When, after whole pages of sorrow and shame, 
 She saw History write. 
 With a pencil of light. 
 That illum'd all the volume, her Wellington's name." 
 
 And In the address to the Harp of his Country, 
 
 " I was hut as the wind, passing heedlessly over. 
 And all the wild sweetness I wak'd was thy own.'' 
 
 It is the merit of these passages that they do not merely 
 represent a sound, but they express by sound — scenery, 
 action, and feeling. LaUa Eookh 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 '?) 
 "Bj moonlight, in the Persian tongue. 
 Along the streets of Ispahan." 
 
 The political squibs are excellent, from their ease and 
 playfulness : they are too well known to require further 
 notice. 
 
 Of 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 PEEFACE. 
 
 an extraordinary period is sketched with great candour 
 and impartiality, however I may 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 is 
 a book of which any one of us might be proud." Ireland, 
 wliich 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 bim 
 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 EUen, 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 eifects of 
 which he never recovered. The light of his intellect 
 
PBEFACE. XXXI 
 
 grew still more dim ; liis memory failed still more ; yet 
 there never was a total extinction of that bright flame. 
 To the last day of his Hfe, he would inquire with anxiety 
 about the health of his friends, and would sing, or ask his 
 wife to sing to him, the favourite airs of his past days. 
 Even the day before his death he "warbled," as Mrs. 
 Moore expressed it ; and a fond love of music never left 
 him but with life. 
 
 On the 26th of February, 1852, he expired calmly and 
 without pain, at Sloperton Cottage. His body was in- 
 terred within the neighbouring churchyard of Bromham, 
 where the remains of four 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 human frailty, and the troubles 
 
 and anxieties of a combatant in this world's strife. If so, 
 
 let him recollect the author's own beautiful words : 
 
 " This world is all a fleeting show, 
 For man's illusion given ; 
 The smiles of joy, the tears of woe. 
 Deceitful shine, deceitful flow : 
 
 There's nothing true but Heaven 
 
 " And false the light on glory's plume. 
 
 As fading hues of even ; 
 And Love, and Hope, and Beauty's bloom. 
 Are blessings gather'd for the tomb ; 
 
 There's nothing bright but Heaven ! 
 
 " Poor wanderers of a stormy day, 
 
 From wave to wave we're driven. 
 And Fancy's flash and Reason's ray 
 Serve but to light our troubled way ; 
 
 There's nothing calm but Heaven ! " 
 
XXXll 
 
 NOTE A. 
 
 I HATE 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's country did not forget him ; and fancying that the author 
 of Captain Rock, and the Life of Sheridan, must possess that stuff, of 
 which popular patriots and members of Parliament are made, the 
 electors of Limerick determined to offer to him the representation of 
 their city. In the latter part of the year 1832, when Gerald Griffin 
 was about to leave his native country for London, it was resolved that 
 he (the Irish poet and novelist) should convey, to the poet of Ireland, 
 the invitation of the people of Limerick. Gerald, who was accom- 
 panied to Sloperton by his brother Daniel, thus describes the visit, in 
 a letter to his fair Quaker friend : 
 
 " ' To Mrs. # * * 
 
 " ' Monday morning, March 31st, 1833. 
 " ' Pitman's, Senior, Taunton. 
 " ' My dear L . Procrastination — it is all the fruit of procras- 
 tination. When Dan and I returned to the inn at Devizes, after our 
 first sight and speech of the Irish Melodist, I opened my writing case 
 to give L an account of our day's work : then I put it 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 ! and I spoke to him, and he spoke to me, and it was 
 not to bid me " get out of bis way," as the King of Prance did to the 
 man who boasted that his majesty had spoken to him ; but it was to 
 
NOTES. XXXIU 
 
 stake hands with me, and to ask me " How I did, Mr. GriflSn,'' and to 
 speak of " my fame." My fame ! Tom Moore talk of my fame ! Ah, 
 
 the rogue ! he was humbugging, L , Tm 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 wUI 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 BeUard, at least for that of fancy, wit, and patriotism. I will 
 tell you then, although Dan has told you before, for the subject cannot 
 be tiresome to an Irishwoman. I will tell you how we hired a great, 
 grand cabriolet, and set off — no, pull in a little. I should first tell 
 you how we arrived at the inn at Devizes, late in the evening, I forget 
 the exact time, and ordered tea (for which, by the bye, we had a pro- 
 digious appetite, not having stopped to dine in Bath or Bristol), when 
 the waiter (a most solid-looking fellow, who won Dan's heart by his 
 precision and the mathematical exactness of all his movements) 
 brought us up, amongst other good things, fresh butter prepared in a 
 very curious way. I could not for a long time imagine how they did 
 it. It was in strings just like vermicelli, and as if tied in some way 
 at the bottom. King George, not poor real King George, but Peter 
 Pindar's King George, was never more puzzled to know how the apple 
 got into the dumpling ; but at last, on applying to the waiter, he told 
 us it was done by squeezing it through a linen cloth ; an excellent 
 plan, 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 ? 
 I'm afraid I exposed myself, as they say. Well, we asked the waiter, 
 out came the important question, " How far is Sloperton Cottage from 
 Devizes?" "Sloperton, sir? that's Mr. Moore's place, sir, he is a 
 poet, 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, after making 
 our arrangements for the following day, went to bed and slept soundly. 
 And in the morning it was that we hired the grand cabriolet, and set 
 off to Sloperton ; drizzling rain, but a delightful country ; such a 
 gentle shower as that through which he looked at 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 silence, 
 
 VOL. I. b 
 
XXXIV NOTES. 
 
 and we whispered one another ; and my nerves thrilled as the wind 
 rustled in the creeping Arubs that graced the retreat of — Moore. 
 
 Oh, L ! there's no use in talking, hut I must be fine. I wonder I 
 
 ever stood it at all, and I an Irishman, too, and singing his songs since 
 I was the height of my knee — " The Veiled Prophet," '• A zim," " She 
 is far from the Land," " Those Evening Bells." But the door opened, 
 and a young woman appeared. " Is Mr. Moore at home ? " " I'll see, 
 sir. What name shall I say, sir?" Well, not to be too particular, 
 we were shown upstairs, when we found the nightingale in his cage^ 
 in honester language, and more to the 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 fuU 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 an actor's affectation ; easy as a gentleman, but 
 without some gentlemen's formality : in a word, as people say when 
 they find their brains begin to run aground at the fag end of a mag- 
 nificent period, we found him a hospitable, warm-hearted Irishman, 
 as pleasant as could be himself, and disposed to make others so. And 
 is this enough ? And need I tell you the day was spent delightfully, 
 chiefly in listening to his innumerable jests and admirable stories, and 
 beautiful similes — beautiful and original as those he throws into his 
 songs — and anecdotes that would make the Danes laugh ? and how 
 we did all we could, I believe, to get him to stand for Limerick ; and 
 how we called again the day after, and walked^with him about his 
 little garden ; and how he told us that he always wrote walking, and 
 how we came in again and took luncheon, and how I was near for- 
 getting that it was Friday (which you know I am rather apt to do in 
 pleasant company), and how he walked with us through the fields, and 
 wished us a " good-bye," and left us to do as well as we could without 
 him?'"* 
 
 " Of his appearance and life in 1834, Willis gives the following sketch : 
 
 '"June, 1834. 
 " ' I called on Moore with a letter of introduction, and met him at 
 the door of his lodgings. I knew him instantly from the pictures I 
 
 * Griffin's Life of Gerald Griflin, vol. i. p. 389. 
 
NOTES. XXXV 
 
 had seen of him, but was surprised at the diminutiveness 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 very 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 anyone else, would have seemed peculiarly felicitous, but which 
 fell from his lips as if his breath was not more spontaneous. 
 
 " ' Nothing but a short-hand report could retain the delicacy and 
 elegance of Moore's language, and memory itself cannot embody again 
 the kind of frost-work of imagery which was formed and melted on his 
 lips. His voice is soft or firm as the subject requires, but, perhaps, 
 the word gentlemanly describes it better than any other. It is upon a 
 natural key, but, if I may so phrase it, is fimed with a high-bred 
 afiectation, 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 di.stinctly before 
 me while I write, but I shall find it difficult to describe. His hair, 
 which curled once all over it in long tendrils, unlike anybody else's in 
 the world, and which, probably, suggested his soubriquet of " Bacchus" 
 is diminished now to a few curls sprinkled with grey, and scattered in 
 a single ring above his 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 
 
XXXVl KOTES. 
 
 a pear], and is surrounded by a semicircle of lines drawn close about 
 it, like intrenchments against Time. His eyes still sparkle like a 
 champagne bubble, though the invader has drawn his pencillings 
 about the corners ; and there is a kind of wintry red, of the tinge of an 
 October leaf, that seems enamelled on his cheek, the eloquent record 
 of the claret his wit has brightened. His mouth is the most charac- 
 teristic feature of all. The lips are delicately cut, slight and change- 
 able as an aspen ; but there is a set-up look about the lower lip — a 
 determination of the muscle to a particular expression, and you fancy 
 that you can almost see wit astride upon it. It is written legibly with 
 the imprint of habitual success. It is arch, confident, and half dif- 
 fident, as if he was disguising his pleasure at applause, while another 
 bright gleam of fancy was breaking on him. The slightly-tossed nose 
 confirms the fun of the expression, and altogether it is a face that 
 sparkles, beams, radiates. 
 
 "'We went up to coffee and Moore brightened again over his 
 Chasse-cafe, and went glittering on with criticisms on Grisi, the deli- 
 cious songstress now ravishing the world, whom he placed above all but 
 Pasta, and whom he thought, with the exception that her legs were 
 too short, an incomparable creature. This introduced music very 
 naturally, and with a great deal of difficulty 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 eflfect is only equalled by 
 the beauty of his] own words ; and, for one, I could have taken him 
 into my heart with delight. He makes no attempt at music. It is a 
 kind of admirable recitative, in which every shade of thought is sylla- 
 bled and dwelt upon, and the sentiment of the song goes through your 
 ■blood, warming you to the very eyelids, and starting your tears, if you 
 have a 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's a health to thee, Tom Moore !" '* 
 
 * Willis's Pencillings by the Way, p. 361. ed. 183!>. 
 
NOTES. XXXYll 
 
 " ' I remember,' writes Leigh Hunt, ' it is one of my prison recol- 
 lections, when I was showing him and Lord Byron the prison garden, 
 a smart shower came on, which induced Moore to button up his coat, 
 and push on for the interior. He returned instantly, blushing up to 
 the eyes. He had forgotten the lameness of his noble friend. " How 
 much better you behaved," said he to me afterwards, "in not hastening 
 to get out of the rain ! I quite forgot, at the moment, whom I was 
 walking with." I told him that the virtue was involuntary on my part, 
 having been occupied in conversation with his lordship, which he was 
 not ; and that to forget a man's lameness involved a compliment in it, 
 which the sufferer could not dislike. " True,'' says he, "but the devil 
 of it was, that I was forced to remember it by his not coming up. I 
 could not in decency go on, and to return was very awkward." His 
 anxiety appeared to me very amiable.' 
 
 "'Amiable' is the proper expression, a genuine kindness of heart 
 that was ever genial and ready. Hunt, with his usual flowing, and 
 graceful, and facile pen, thus describes his impression of Moore's social 
 qualities : 
 
 " ' I thought Thomas 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 began by talking of a duel. With me it commenced 
 in as gallant a way, though of a different sort. I had cut up an Opera 
 of his (The Blue Stocking), as unworthy of so great a wit. He came 
 to see me, saying I was very much in the right, and an intercourse 
 took place, which I might have enjoyed to this day, had he valued his 
 real fame as much as I did. 
 
 " ' Mr. Moore was lively, polite, bustling, full of amenities and acqui- 
 escences, into which he contrived to throw a sort of roughening of 
 cordiality, like the crust of old port. It seemed a happiness to him to 
 say " yes." There was just enough of the Irishman in him to flavour 
 his speech and manner. He was a little particular, perhaps, in his 
 orthoepy, but not more so than became a poet; and he appeared to me 
 the last man in the world to cut his country, even for the sake of high 
 life. As to his person, all the world knows that he is as little of sta- 
 ture, as he is great in wit. It is said that an illustrious personage, in 
 
 b 3 
 
xxxviii K^OTES. 
 
 a fit of playfulness, once threatened to put him into a wine-cooler ; a 
 proposition which Mr. Moore took to be more royal than polite. A 
 Spanish gentleman, whom I met on the Continent, and who knew him. 
 well, said, in his energetic English, which he spoke none the worse for 
 a wrong vowel or so : ' Now there's Mooerr, Thomas Mooerr; I look 
 upon Mooerr as an active little man" This is true. He reminds u3 
 of those active little great men who abound so remarkably in Claren- 
 don's history. Like them, he would have made an excellent practical 
 partisan, and it would have done him good. Horseback, and a little 
 Irish fighting, would have seen fair play with his good living, and kept 
 his look as jvivenile as his spirit. His forehead is long and full of cha- 
 racter, with " bumps" of wit, large and radiant, enough to transport a 
 phrenologist. His eyes are as dark and fine, as you would wish to see 
 under a set of vine-leaves : his mouth generous and good-humoured, 
 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 unruffled with care and passion ; but fes- 
 tivity is the predominant expression. When Mr. Moore was a child, 
 he is said to have been eminently handsome, a Cupid for a picture ; and 
 notwithstanding the tricks which both joy and sorrow have played 
 with his face, you can fancy as much. It was a recollection perhaps, 
 to this efiect, 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 chronological in image. 
 When conscience comes, a. man's impulses must take thought ; but, till 
 then, poetry is only the eloquent and irresistible development of the 
 individual's nature ; and Mr. Moore's wildest verses were a great deal 
 more innocent than could enter into the imaginations of the old liber- 
 tines who thought they had a right to use them. I must not, in this 
 portrait, leave out his music. He plays and sings with great taste on 
 the pianoforte, and is known as a, graceful composer. His voice, 
 which is a little hoarse in speaking (at least, I used to think so) softens 
 into a breath like that of the flute, when singing. In speaking, he is 
 emphatic in rolling the letter R, perhaps out of a despair of bein" able 
 to get rid of the national peculiarity.'* 
 
 * Hunt's Byron and his Cotemporaries. Ed. 1828. 
 
NOTES. XXXIX 
 
 "Moore deroted 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 Burns' services to the national music and 
 the national song- writing. All that he here states of the great Scotch- 
 man applies with equal truth to himself as author of the Irish 
 Melodies: — 
 
 " ' That Burns, however untaught, was yet, in ear and feeling, a 
 musician, is clear from the skill with which he adapts his verse to the 
 structure and character of each different strain. Still more strikingly 
 did he prove his fitness for this peculiar task, by the sort of instinct 
 with which, in more than one instance, he discerned the local and 
 innate sentiment which an air was calculated to convey, though pre- 
 viously associated with words expressing a totally difierent 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 effii- 
 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 Burns, in these his higher inspirations, should not 
 materially contribute to elevate the character of English song-writing, 
 and even to lead to a reunion of the gifts which it requires, if not, as 
 of old, in the same individual, yet in that perfect sympathy between 
 poet and musician which almost amounts to identity, and of which, in 
 our own times, we have seen so interesting an example in the few 
 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 wbicb is ever the murmur of bees and of birds, 
 hangs trailingly along the mossy greensward when the air is calm, and 
 ever and anon, when blow the fitful breezes, it is uplifted in the sun- 
 shine, and glories wavingly aloft, as if it belonged even to the loftiest 
 region of the Tree which is Amaranth. This is a fanciful, perhaps 
 foolish, form of expression, employed' at present to signify Song- writ- 
 ing. Now of all the song-writers that ever warbled, or chanted, or 
 sung, the best, in our estimation, is verily none other than Thomas 
 Moore. True that Robert Burns has indited many songs that slip into 
 the heart, just like light, no one knows how, filling its chambers 
 sweetly and silently, and leaving it nothing more to desire for perfect 
 contentment. Or let us say, sometimes when he sings, it is like listening 
 to a linnet in the broom, a blackbird in the brake, a laverock in the 
 sky. They sing in the fulness of their joy, as nature teaches them — 
 and so did he ; and the man, woman, or child, who is delighted not 
 with such singing, be their virtues what they may, must never hope to 
 be in Heaven. Gracious Providence placed Burns in the midst of the 
 sources of Lyrical Poetry — when he was born a Scottish peasant. 
 Now, Moore is an Irishman, and was born in Dublin. Moore is a 
 Greek scholar, and translated — after a fashion — Anacreon. And 
 Moore has lived much in towns and cities — and in that society which 
 will suffer none else to be called good. Some advantages he has en- 
 joyed which Burns never did — but then how many disadvantages has 
 he undergone, from which the Ayrshire Ploughman, in the bondage of 
 his poverty, was free ! You see all that at a single glance into their 
 poetry. But all in humble life is not high — all in high life is not 
 low ; and there is as much to guard against in hovel as in hall — in 
 " cauld clSy bigging, as in marble palace." Burns sometimes wrote like 
 a mere boor — Moore has too often written like a mere man of fashion. 
 But take them both at their best — and both are inimitable. Both are 
 national poets — and who shall say, that if Moore had been born and 
 bred a peasant, as Burns was, and if Ireland had been such a land of 
 knowledge, and virtue, and religion as Scotland is — and surely with- 
 out offence, we may say that it never was, and never will be — though 
 we love the Green Island well — that with his fine fancy, warm heart, 
 and exquisite sensibilities, he might not have been as natural a lyrist 
 as Burns ; while, take him as he is, who can deny that in richness, in 
 variety, in grace, and in the power of art, he is superior to the 
 Ploughman.' " * 
 
 Recreations of Christopher North, vol. i. p. 272. 
 
xH 
 
 NOTE B. 
 
 If Tasso seldom has full justice done him, it is because, in 
 comparison with the great Epic poets, he appears wanting in 
 grandeur. Armida, Erminia, and even Clorinda, the most 
 beautiful creations of his muse, belong to a less severe order of 
 poetry than the Epic. But let us compare his Satan, or Pluto, 
 as he calls him, with the magnificent " Arch-angel ruin'd " of 
 Milton. 
 
 Canto IV. 
 
 6. 
 
 ^ * * * * 
 
 " Siede Pluton nel mezzo, e con la destra 
 Sostien lo scettro ruvido e pesaiite ; , 
 Ne tanto scoglio in mar, ne rupe alpestra, 
 Ne piu Calpe s' innalza, e '1 magno Atlante, 
 Ch' anzi lui non paresse un picciol coUe ; 
 Si la gran fronte e le gran coma estolle. 
 
 r. 
 
 " Orrida maestb, nel fero aspetto 
 
 Terrore accresce, e pift superbo il rende : 
 Rosseggian gli occhi, e di veneno infetto, 
 Come infausta Cometa, il guardo splende ; 
 GV involve il mento, e su 1' irsuto petto 
 Ispida e folta la gran barba scende ; 
 E in guisa di voragine profonda 
 S' apre la bocca d' atro sangue immonda. 
 
xlii NOTES. 
 
 8. 
 
 " Qual i fumi sulfurei ed infiammati 
 
 Escon di Mongibello, e il puzzo, e '1 tuono ; 
 Tal della fera bocca i neri fiati, 
 Tale il fetore, e le faville sono," etc. 
 
 With the exception of the mountains and the comet, all the 
 images here produced tend to produce disgust rather than terror. 
 The look " infected with poison," " the great beard enveloping 
 his chin, and spreading thick and bushy over his shaggy breast," 
 the " mouth filthy with black blood," " the stench and the sparks 
 of his dark breath," all these compose the features of as foul 
 and noisome a fiend as can well be described — but not Satan. 
 Now let us look at the contrast which Milton's picture presents 
 to us. First, the outward and physical appearance of him who 
 has contested with the Almighty the supremacy of Heaven 
 is presented to us : 
 
 " The superior fiend 
 Was moving toward the shore : his ponderous shield, 
 Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round, 
 Behind him cast ; the broad circumference 
 Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb 
 Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views 
 At evening from the top of Fiesole, 
 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. 
 
NOTES. xliii 
 
 Here all is great, and nothing is disgusting. Presently our 
 terror at this giant spirit is mingled with respect for some moral 
 qualities still left ; for, 
 
 " Nathless he so endur'd, till on the beach 
 Of that inflamed sea he stood, and call'd 
 His legions, angel forms, who lay entranc'd. 
 Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks 
 In Vallombrosa, where th' Etrurian shades, 
 High overarch'd, embower ; or scatter'd aedge 
 Afloat," &c. 
 
 Then, again, when they were assembled to hear him, they 
 beheld, not a foul fiend with dirty beard,~and filthy sulphurous 
 breath, fit only to frighten the nursery, but 
 
 " Thus far these beyond 
 Compare of mortal prowess, yet observ'd 
 Their dread commander : he, above the rest 
 In shape and gesture proudly eminent, 
 Stood like a tow'r ; his form had yet not lost 
 All her original brightness ; nor appear'd 
 Less than Arch-angel ruin'd, and th' excess 
 Of glory obscur'd : as when the sun, new risen, 
 Looks through the horizontal misty air, 
 Shorn of his beams ; or from behind the moon. 
 In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds 
 On half the nations, and with fear of change 
 Perplexes monarchs. Darken'd so, yet shone 
 Above them all, th' Arch-angel : but his face 
 Deep scars of thunder had entrench' d, and care 
 Sat on his faded cheek, but under brows 
 Of dauntless courage, and considerate pride, 
 Waiting revenge : cruel his eye, but cast 
 Signs o{ remorse and passion, to behold 
 The fellows of his crime, the followers rather, 
 
xliv. NOTES. 
 
 (Far other once beheld in bliss) condemn'd 
 For ever now to have their lot in pain ; 
 Millions of spirits for his fault amerc'd 
 Of heav'n,'' &c. 
 
 In these well-known and admirable lines, Milton has por- 
 trayed a Spirit^ wicked indeed and without compunction for 
 his crimes, but with a form still bright, and redeem'd from utter 
 abhorrence by fortitude in bearing pain, by dauntless courage, 
 and by pity for his followers, over whom he is immeasurably 
 raised as the sole cause of their rebellion. 
 
 Struck by similar contrasts, Boileau has spoken of one who 
 prefers " le clinquant de Tasse a tout I'or de Virgile." But this 
 is a foolish and unjust phrase. The metal of Tasso may be 
 silver as compared to Virgil's gold, but it is not tinsel. A true 
 poet, surpassed by very few, one of the glories of the glorious 
 literature of Italy, he only loses when, leaving the regions of 
 chivalry, of valour, and of love, he attempts to rise to the 
 heights of Homer, Virgil, Dante, or where 
 
 " daring Milton sits sublime.'' 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 Page 
 Memoirs of Myself, begun many Years since, but never, 
 I fear, to be completed - - - - - 1 
 
 Letters, 1793—1806 - - - - - 77 
 
 Duel with Jeffrey - - - - - 197 
 
 Letters, 1807—1813 - - - - - 215 
 
MEMOIES, 
 JOURNAL, AT^D CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 OP 
 
 THOMAS MOORE, 
 
MEMOIRS, 
 JOURNAL, AND CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 OP 
 
 THOMAS MOORE. 
 
 Memoiks of Myself, begun many Years since, but 
 ncTcr, I fear, to be completed. — T. M. (1833.) 
 
 Or 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 w^ith them. My uncle, 
 Garret 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 born in 
 the town of Wexford, and whose maiden name was Codd, 
 I can speak more fully and satisfactorily; and my old 
 gouty grandfather, Tom Codd, who lived in the Corn- 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
2 MEMOIKS OP 
 
 market, Wexford, is connected with, some of my earliest 
 remembrances. Besides being engaged in the provision 
 trade, he must also, I think (from my recollection of the 
 machinery), have had something to do with weaving. But 
 though thus humble in his calling, he brought up a large 
 family reputably, and was always, as I have heard, much 
 respected by his fellow townsmen. 
 
 It was some time in the year 1778, that Anastasia, the 
 eldest daughter of this Thomas Codd, became the wife of 
 my father, John Moore, and in the following year I came 
 into the world. My mother could not have been much 
 more than eighteen (if so old) at the time of her marriage, 
 and my father was considerably her senior. Indeed, I 
 have frequently heard her say to 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 coiirt, by the way, 
 where I afterwards went to school. On his marriage, 
 however, having received I rather thinlj some little money 
 with my mother, he set up business in Aungier Street, 
 No. 12., at the corner of Little Longford Street; and in 
 that house, on the 28th of May, 1779, I was born. 
 
 Immediately after this event, my mother indulged in 
 the strange fancy of having a medal (if such it could be 
 called) struck off, with my name and the date of the birth 
 engraved on it. The medal was, in fact, nothing more 
 than a large crown-piece, which she had caused to be 
 smoothed so as to receive the inscription ; and this record 
 of my birth, which, from a 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 MOOEE. 3 
 
 parting for the last time. For so unusual a mode of com- 
 memorating a child's age I can only account by the state 
 of the laws at that periodj 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 ia 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. 
 
 B 2 
 
4 MEMOiBS or > 
 
 had just then appeared against Grattan, reflecting severely 
 upon his conduct on the question of simple Repeal. This 
 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 hfe, were taken from this factious piece 
 of doggerel, aimed at himself during one of those fits of 
 popular injustice, to which all fame derived from the popu- 
 lace is but too likely to be exposed. 
 
 One of the persons of those early days to whom I look 
 back with most pleasure, was an elderly maiden lady, pos- 
 sessed of some property, whose name was Dodd, and who 
 lived in a small neat house in Camden Street. The class 
 of society she moved in was somewhat of a higher level 
 than ours ; and she was the only person to whom, during 
 my childhood, my mother could ever trust me for any time, 
 away from herself. It was, indeed, from the first, my poor 
 mother's ambition, though with no undue aspirings for her- 
 self, to secure for her children an early footing in the 
 better walks of society ; and to her constant attention to 
 this object I owe both my taste for good company, and 
 the facihty I afterwards found in adapting myself to that 
 sphere. "Well, indeed, do I remember my Christmas visits 
 to Miss Dodd, when I used to pass with her generally three 
 
THOMAS MOOEE. 5 
 
 •whole daysj 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 from — they knew not where ! If 
 the pleasure, indeed, of the poet lies in anticipating his 
 own power over the imagination of others, I had as much 
 of the poetical feeling about me while lying hid under that 
 table as ever I could boast since. 
 
 About the same time, or it might be a year or two later, 
 I was taken by my mother on a visit to the country-house 
 of some friend of ours, whose name was, I think, Mac- 
 Clellan, and who, though with all such signs of wealth 
 about them, as a carriage, horses, country-house, &c., 
 left on my memory the impression of being rather vulgar 
 people. 
 
 Though I was, by all accounts, a very quick child, I was 
 still perfectly a child ; nor had the least consciousness of 
 being diiferent from any other child in this respect. One 
 tribute, however, to my precociousness struck my fancy 
 too much to be unheeded or forgotten by me. A Captain 
 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 
 would often, to my great amusement, ask me, " Well, 
 Tom, what news from your friends on the lulls ? It was a 
 fine moonlight night, and I know you were ^mong them." 
 
 I have said that Miss Dodd was the only person to whom 
 my mother would trust me for any time away from herself; 
 but there was also a family of the name of Dunn, long 
 
 B 3 
 
6 MEMOIES OF 
 
 intimate with ourSj with whom I once or twice passed 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 sununit by the hands of some little girl of 
 the party. A great many years after, when I was in 
 DubUn 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 DubUn, — the grammar school of the well- 
 known Samuel Whyte, whom a reputation of more than 
 thirty years' standing had placed, at that time, at the head 
 of his profession. So early as the year 1758, a boy had 
 
THOMAS MOOEE. t 
 
 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 Richard Brinsley Sheridan ; and so far 
 from being ashamed of his mistake, my worthy school- 
 master had the good sense often to mention the circum- 
 stance, as an instance of the difficulty and rashness of 
 forming any judgment of the future capacity of children. 
 
 The circumstance of my having happened to be under 
 the same schoolmaster with Sheridan, though at so distant 
 an interval, has led the writer of a professed memoir of my 
 life, prefixed to the Zwickau edition of my works, into 
 rather an amusing mistake : — " His talents," he is pleased 
 to say of me, " dawned so early, and so great attention loas 
 paid to his education by his tutor, Sheridan, that," &c. &c. 
 
 The turn for recitation and acting which I had so very 
 early manifested was the talent, of all others, which my 
 new schoolmaster was most inclined to encourage ; and it 
 was not long before I attained the honour of 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, stiU 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 sUghtly ac- 
 quainted with our family, " if that is the case, he must 
 have been four years old before he was born." 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 
 
MEMOIRS OF 
 
 been througli 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 his 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 personce himself; 
 and either the prologue or epilogue was generally furnished 
 by his pen. Among the most memorable of the theatricals 
 which he assisted in, may be mentioned the performance 
 of the " Beggar's Opera," at Carton, the seat of the Duke 
 of Leinster, on which occasion the Rev. Dean 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 
 ConoUy ; 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 MOOKE. 9 
 
 It has been remarked, and I think truly, that it would 
 be difficult to name any eminent pubHc man, ■who had not, 
 at some time or other, tried his hand at verse ; and the 
 only signal exception to this remark is said to have been 
 Mr. Pitt. 
 
 In addition to his private pupils in the dilettante line 
 of theatricals, 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 aU 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 simimoned 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 MEMOIES OF 
 
 Whyte's connection, indeed, with theatrical people was 
 rather against his success in the way of his profession ; as 
 many parents were apprehensive, lest, being so fond of the 
 drama himself, he might inspire too much the same taste 
 in his pupils. As for me, it was thought hardly possible 
 that I could escape being made an actor, and my poor 
 mother, who, sanguinely speculating on the speedy removal 
 of the 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 Richard Brinsley Sheridan. This lady, who had 
 a good deal of the talent of her family, with a large alloy 
 of affectation, was, like the rest of the world at that time, 
 strongly smitten with the love of acting; and in some 
 private theatricals held at the house of a Lady Borrowes, 
 in DubHn, had played the part of Jane Shore with con- 
 siderable success. A repetition of the same performance 
 took place at the same little theatre in the year 1790, 
 when Mrs. Lefanu being, if I recollect right, indisposed, 
 the part of Jane Shore was played by Mr. Whyte's 
 daughter, a very handsome and 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 commemorate the im- 
 portant event by transcribing a part of the play-bill on 
 the occasion, as I find it given in the second edition of 
 my Master's Poetical "Works, printed in Dublin 1792 : — 
 
THOMAS MOOEE. 11 
 
 " Lady Borrowes' Private Theatre, 
 
 Kildare Street. 
 
 On Tdesdat, March 16t.h, 1790, 
 
 Will be performed 
 
 the Tragedy of 
 
 JANE SHORE: 
 
 Gloucester, Rev. Peter Lefanu. 
 
 Lord Hastings, Counsellor Higginson, 
 
 etc. etc.. 
 
 And Jane Shore, by Miss Whttb. 
 
 An Occasional Pbologue, Mr. Snagg. 
 
 Epilogue, A Squeeze to St. Paul's, Master Moobe. 
 
 To which will be added, 
 
 the Faroe of 
 
 THE DEVIL TO PAY : 
 
 Jobson, Colonel French, 
 
 etc. etc." 
 
 The commencement of my career in rhyming was so 
 very early as to be ahnost beyond the reach of memory. 
 But the first instance I can recal of any attempt of mine 
 at regular versicles was on a subject which oddly enables 
 me to give the date with tolerable accuracy ; the theme of 
 my muse on this occasion having been a certain toy very 
 fashionable about the year 1789 or 1790, called in French 
 a " bandalore," and in English a " quiz." To such a 
 ridiculous degree did the fancy for this toy pervade at 
 that time all ranks and ages, that in the public gardens 
 and in the streets numbers of persons, of both sexes, were 
 playing it up and down as they walked along ; or, as my 
 own very young doggrel described it, — 
 
 " The ladies too, when in the streets, or walking in the Green, 
 Went quizzing on, to show their shapes and graceful mien." 
 
 I have been enabled to mark more certainly the date of 
 this toy's reign from a circumstance mentioned to me by 
 Lord Plunket concerning the Duke of Wellington, who. 
 
12 MEMOIES OP 
 
 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 Irish House of Commons. " I remember," 
 said Lord Plunket, " being on a committee with him ; and, 
 it is remarkable enough. Lord Edward Fitzgerald was also 
 one of the members of it. The Duke (then Captain Wel- 
 lesley, or "Wesley?) was, I recollect, playing with one of 
 those toys called quizzes, the whole time of the sitting of 
 the committee." This trait of the Duke coincides perfectly 
 with aU that I have ever heard about this great man's 
 apparent frivohty at that period of his hfe. LuttreU, 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 WeUesley's vacant face, 
 " Well, let who will get on in this world, yoii certainly 
 wiU not." So Uttle promise did there appear at that time 
 of even the most ordinary success in Hfe, 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 simimer months, 
 my father generally took a lodging for us, either at Irish- 
 town or Sandymount, to which we young folks were 
 usually sent, under the care of a female servant, with occa- 
 sionally, visits from my mother during the week, to see that 
 all was going on well. On the Sundays, however, she and 
 my father came to pass the day with us, bringing down 
 
THOMAS MOOEE. 13 
 
 with, them cold dinners, and, generally, two or three friends, 
 so that we had always a merry day of it. 
 
 Of one of those summers in particular I have a most 
 •vivid and agreeable recollection, for there were assembled 
 there at the same time a number of young people of our 
 own age, with whose families we were acquainted. Be- 
 sides our childish sports, we had likewise dawning within 
 us all those vague anticipations of a 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 Ryan played the part of Norah, and I was 
 the happy Patrick, — dressed, I recollect, in a volunteer 
 imiform 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 little adapted to me 
 as my regimentals. In describing the transition we were 
 now about to undergo, 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 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 " Our Pantaloon that did so aged look, 
 Must now resume his youth, his task, his book. 
 Our Harlequin who skipp'd, leap'd, danced, and died, 
 Must now stand trembling by his tutor's side." 
 
 In repeating the two last lines of kind farewell, — 
 
 " Whate'er the course we're destined to pursue. 
 Be sure our hearts will always be with you," 
 
 it was with great difficulty I could refrain from blubbering 
 outright. 
 
 The harlequin here described was myself; and of all 
 theatrical beings harlequin was my idol and passion. To 
 have been put in possession of a real and complete harle- 
 quin's dress, would have made me the happiest of mortals, 
 and I used sometimes to dream that there appeared some- 
 times at my bedside a good spirit, presenting to me a fuU 
 suit of the true parti-coloured raiment. But the utmost I 
 ever attained of this desire was the possession of an old 
 cast-off wand, which had belonged to the harlequin at Ast- 
 ley's, and which I viewed with as much reverence and 
 dehght 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 oiir 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 httle pony for me, on which I always rode down on 
 those evenings ; and at the hour when I was expected. 
 
THOMAS MOOEE, 15 
 
 there generally came with my sister a number of young 
 girls to meet me, and full of smiles and welcomes, walked 
 by the side of my pony into the town. Though such a 
 reception was, even at that age, rather intoxicating, yet 
 there mingled but little of personal pride in the pleasure 
 which it gave me. There is, indeed, far more of what is 
 called vanity in my now reporting the tribute, than I felt 
 then in receiving it; and I attribute very much to the 
 cheerful and kindly circumstances which thus surrounded 
 my 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. 
 Though kept closely to my school studies by my mother, 
 who examined me daily in all of them herself, she was in 
 every thing else so fuU 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 watchful and active, and on one 
 occasion exhibited itself in a way that was rather discon- 
 certing to me. On our days of public examination which 
 were, if I recollect, twice a year, there was generally a 
 large attendance of the parents and friends of the boys ; 
 and on the particular day I allude to, all the seats in the 
 
16 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 " Vhonrdte homme trompe" namely, " we dire 
 mot" — and was submitting vsithout 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 breals- 
 ing the silence, and saw her stand forth in the opposite 
 gallery, while every eye in the room was turned towards 
 her, and in a firm, clear tone (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 their 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 under the control of her strong, good sense, 
 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 
 
1792. J THOMAS MOOKE. 17 
 
 at graphic embellishment (and a most wretched one it was) 
 that yet had appeared in Dublin. Among the engravings 
 prefixed to the numbers were, occasionaUy, portraits of 
 public 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 work. 
 My mother, however, though pleased, of course, at the 
 proposal, saw the injudiciousness of bringing me so early 
 before the public, and, much to my disappointment, refused 
 her consent. 
 
 Having expatiated more than enough on my first efforts 
 in acting and rhyming, I must try the reader's patience 
 with some account of my beginnings in music, — the only 
 art for which, in my own opinion, I was born with a real 
 natural love ; my poetry, such as it is, having sprung out 
 of my deep feeling for music. While I was yet quite a child, 
 my father happened to have an old lumbering harpsichord 
 thrown on his hands, as part payment of a debt from some 
 bankrupt customer; and when I was a little older, my 
 mother, anxious to try my faculties in aU. 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 jimiping than to music, and our tune 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. C 
 
18 MEMOIRS OF [^TAT. 13. 
 
 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 indeUble impression upon my mind, — " May the breezes 
 of France blow our Irish oak into verdure ! " I recollect 
 my pride too, at the hero of the night, Napper Tandy, 
 taking me, for some minutes, on his knee. 
 
 Most of these patriot acquaintances of ours, of whom 
 I have just spoken, were Protestants, the Catholics being 
 still too timorous to come forward openly in their own 
 cause, — and amongst the most intimate, was a clever, 
 drunken attorney, named Matthew Dowling, who lived 
 in Great Longford Street, opposite to us, and was a good 
 
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 by the government ; and was one 
 of the few who on that day ventured to make their ap- 
 pearance. I recollect his paying us a visit that memorable 
 Sunday, having engraved upon the buttons of his green 
 uniform a cap of liberty surmounting the Irish harp, in- 
 stead of a crown. 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 Et. Hon. 
 
 Hobart, was in the year 1798 taken up for treason. 
 
 In looking lately over the papers of Lord Edward Fitz- 
 gerald, I found a note or two addressed to his family by 
 poor Dowling, 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 elegant ; having, besides his town 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 son, was of course an object of great solici- 
 tude to his parents ; and my mother used always to look 
 upon it as a most flattering tribute to me, that a man so 
 
 c 2 
 
20 MEMOIES OF [iETAT. 14. 
 
 sensible and particular, as was Mr. Burston in aU 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 
 Committee ; — 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 disquaUfications, those which excluded persons of 
 that faith from the University and Bar, left my mother free 
 to indulge her long-cherished wish of bringing me up to 
 the profession of the law. Accordingly, no time was to be 
 lost in preparing me for college. Though professing to 
 teach English himself, and indeed knowing little or no- 
 thing of any other language, Mr. Whyte kept 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 usher I 
 had been now for a year or two studying. It had been 
 for some time a matter of deUberation whether I should 
 not be sent to a regular Latin school ; and Dr. Carr's of 
 Copinger Lane was the one thought of for the purpose. 
 But there were advantages in keeping me still at Whyte's, 
 which my mother knew well how to appreciate. In the 
 first place, the person vvho had been for some time our 
 Latin usher, had— thanks to my mother's constant civilities 
 towards him, and perhaps my own quickness and teach- 
 ableness — taken a strong fancy to me ; and not only during 
 school-time, but at our own house in the evening, where 
 
1793. J THOMAS MOOEE. 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 
 fast as my natural talent and application would carry me. 
 I was also enabled to attend at the same time to my 
 English studies with Whyte (far more fortunate, in this, 
 than the youths of pubHc 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. Whyte's ; and 
 I accordingly remained there till the time of my entering 
 the University in 1794. 
 
 The Latin usher of whom I have here spoken, and 
 whose name was Donovan, was an uncouth, honest, hard- 
 headed, and kind-hearted man, and, together with the 
 Latin and Greek which he did his best to pour into me, 
 infused also a thorough and ardent passion for poor Ire- 
 land's liberties, and a deep and cordial hatred to those 
 who were then lording over and trampling her down. 
 Such feelings were, it is true, common at that period 
 among almost all with whom my family much associated, 
 but in none had they taken such deep and determined root 
 as in sturdy " Old Donovan ; " and finding his pupil quite 
 as eager and ready at politics as at the classics, he divided 
 the time we passed together pretty equally between both. 
 And though from the first I was 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 
 
 c 3 
 
22 MEMOIRS OF L^TAT. 14. 
 
 hold which the feeling took so early, both of my imagina- 
 tion and heart, I owe a good deal I think to those con- 
 versations, during school hours, with Donovan. 
 
 It was in this year (1793) that for the first time I 
 enjoyed the honour and glory (and such it truly was to 
 me) of seeing verses of my own in print. I had now 
 indeed become a determined rhymer ; and there was an old 
 maid, — old in my eyes, at least, at that time, — Miss Han- 
 nah Byrne, who used to be a good deal at our house, and 
 who, being herself very much in the poetical line, not 
 only encouraged but wrote answers to my young effusions. 
 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 ! — not even Sir Lucius O'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 "Anthologia Hibernica.''^ 
 
 "Aiingier Street, Sept. U. 1793. 
 " Sir, — If the following attempts of a youthful muse 
 seem worthy of a place in your Magazine, by inserting 
 them you will much oblige a constant reader, 
 
 "Th— M— s M— KE." 
 TO ZELIA, 
 
 ON HER CHARGING THE AUTHOR WITH WHITING TOO MUCH ON LOVE. 
 
 Then follow the verses, — and conclude thus : — 
 
 " When first she raised her simplest lays 
 In Cupid's never-ceasing praise, 
 The God a faithful promise gave. 
 
 That never should she feel Love's stings, 
 Never to burning passion be a slave. 
 But feel the purer joy thy friendship brings." 
 
1793.] THOMAS MOOEE. 23 
 
 The second copy of verses is entitled " A Pastoral 
 Ballad," and though mere mock-birds' song, has some lines 
 not unmusical : — 
 
 " My gardens are crowded with flowers, 
 My vines are all loaded with grapes ; 
 Nature sports in my fountains and bowers, 
 And assumes her most beautiful shapes. 
 
 " The shepherds admire my lays, 
 
 When I pipe they all flock to the song ; 
 They deck me with laurels and bays, 
 And list to me all the day long. 
 
 " But their laurels and praises are vain. 
 They've no joy or delight for me now ; 
 For Celia despises the strain. 
 
 And that withers the wreath on my brow." 
 
 This maga2dne, the ''Anthologia Hibemica," — ^one of 
 the most respectable attempts at periodical literature that 
 have ever been ventured upon in Ireland, — was set on 
 foot by Mercier, the college bookseller, and carried on 
 for two years, when it died, as all such things die in that 
 country, for want of money and — of talent ; for the Irish 
 never either fight or write well on their own soil. My 
 pride on seeing my own name in the first list of sub- 
 scribers to this pubhcation, — " 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 magazine for the months of January and February, 
 1793, that I first read, being then a school-boy, Eogers's 
 " Pleasures of Memory," little dreaming that I should one 
 day become the intimate friend of the author; and such 
 an impression did it then make upon me, that the par- 
 ticular type in which it is there printed, and the very 
 colour of the paper, are associated with every line of it in 
 my memory. 
 
 c 4 
 
24 MEMOIES OF [.Etat. 15. 
 
 Though I began my college course at the commence- 
 ment of the year 1795, I must have been entered, as I 
 have already said, in the summer of the preceding year, 
 as I recoUect weU 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 aU 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 
 part of this happy vacation I remained on a visit with my 
 young friend Burston*, at his father's country seat; and 
 there, in reading Mrs. Eadcliflfe's romances, and listening, 
 while I read, to Haydn's music, — for my friend's sisters 
 played tolerably on the harpsichord, — dreamt away my 
 time in that sort of vague happiness which a young mind 
 conjures up for Itself so easily, — " pleased, it knows not 
 
 * Young Burston entered college (as a fellow-commoner) about the 
 same time with myself. 
 
1795.] THOMAS MOOEE. 25 
 
 why, and cares not wherefore." Among the pieces played 
 by the Miss Burstons, there was one of Haydn's first 
 simple overtures, and a sonata by 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 KeUy 
 (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. 
 KeUy, 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, 
 match with the best. Our small front and back drawing- 
 
26 MEMOIES OF [.S^TAT. 16. 
 
 rooms, as well as a little closet attached to the latter, were 
 on such occasions distended to their utmost capacity ; and 
 the supper-table in the small closet where people had least 
 room was accordingly always the most merry. In the 
 round of singing that followed these repasts my mother 
 usually took a part, having a clear, soft voice, and singing 
 such songs as " How sweet in the woodlands," 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 eclat. 
 
 My eldest sister, Catherine, being at this period (1793-4) 
 about twelve or thirteen years of age, it was thought time 
 that she shovild begin to leam 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 diflSculty 
 of getting money and the risks of losing it, rather shrunk 
 from any expenditure that was not absolutely necessary. 
 My mother, however, was of a far more sanguine nature. 
 She had set her heart on the education of her children ; 
 and it was only by economy that she was able to effect her 
 object. By this means it was that she contrived to scrape 
 together, in the course of some months, a small sum of 
 money, which, together with what my father gave for the 
 purpose, and whatever trifle was allowed in exchange for 
 the old harpsichord, made up the price of the new piano- 
 forte which we now bought. 
 
 The person employed to instruct my sister in music was 
 a young man of the name of Warren (a nephew of Dr. 
 Doyle), who became afterwards one of the most popular of 
 our Dublin music-masters. There had been some attempts 
 made by Wesley Doyle and others, to teach me to play. 
 
1795.] THOMAS MOOKE. 27 
 
 but I had resisted them all most strongly, and, whether 
 from shyness or hopelessness of success, would not be 
 taught ; nor was it tiU the piano-forte had been some time 
 in our possession, that, taking a fancy voluntarily to the 
 task, I began to learn of myself. 
 
 Not content with my own boyish stirrings of ambition, 
 and the attempts at literature of all kinds to which they 
 impelled me, I contrived to inoculate also Tom Ennis and 
 Johnny Delany (my father's two clerks) with the same 
 literary propensities. One of them, Tom Ennis, a man 
 between twenty and thirty years of age, had a good deal 
 of natural shrewdness and talent, as well as a dry vein of 
 Irish humour, which used to amuse us all exceedingly. 
 The other, John Delany, was some years younger, and of 
 a far more ordinary cast of mind ; but even him, too, I suc- 
 ceeded in galvanising into some sort of literary vitality. 
 
 As our house was far from spacious, the bed-room which 
 I occupied was but a corner of that in which these two 
 clerks slept, boarded off and fitted up with a bed, a table, 
 and a chest of drawers, with a bookcase over it ; and here, 
 as long as my mother's brother continued to be an inmate 
 of our family, he and I slept together. After he left us, 
 however, to board and lodge elsewhere, I had this Httle 
 nook to myself, and proud enough was I of my own apart- 
 ment. Upon the door, and upon every other vacant space 
 which my boundaries supplied, I placed inscriptions of my 
 own composition, in the manner, as I flattered myself, of 
 Shenstone's at the Leasowes. Thinking it the grandest 
 thing in the world to be at the head of some literary insti- 
 tution, I organised my two shop friends, Tom Ennis and 
 Johnny Delany, into a debating and literary society, of 
 which I constituted myself the president ; and our meet- 
 ings, as long as they lasted, were held once or twice a week. 
 
28 MEMOIRS OF L^TAT. 16. 
 
 in a small closet belonging to the bed-room off which mine 
 was partitioned. When there was no company of an even- 
 ing, the two clerks always supped at the same time with the 
 family ; taking their bread and cheese, and beer, while my 
 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 
 punch. It was after this meal that my two literary asso- 
 ciates and myself, used (unknown, of course, to my father 
 and mother) to retire, on the evenings of our meetings, to 
 the little closet beyond the bed-room, and there hold our 
 sittings. In addition to the other important proceedings 
 that occupied us, each member was required to produce an 
 original enigma, or rebus, in verse, which the others were 
 bound, if possible, to explain ; and I remember one night, 
 Tom Ennis, who was in general very quick at these things, 
 being exceedingly mortified at not being able to make out 
 a riddle which the president (my august self) had proposed 
 to the assembly. After various fruitless efforts on 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 announced to me his solution 
 of it. 
 
 This honest fellow was (like almost all those among 
 whom my early days were passed) thoroughly, and to the 
 heart's core, Irish. One of his most favourite studies was 
 an old play in rhyme, on the subject of the Battle of Augh- 
 
1795.] THOMAS MOOEE. 29 
 
 rim, out of which he used to repeat the speeches of the 
 gallant Sarsfield with a true national relish. Those well- 
 known verses, too, translated from the Florentine bishop, 
 Donatus, " Far westward lies an isle of ancient fame," 
 were ever ready on his lips. 
 
 Though by the biU of 1793 Catholics were admitted to 
 the University, they were stiU (and continue to be to this 
 present day), excluded from scholarships, fellowships, and 
 all honours connected with emolument ; and, as with our 
 humble and precarious means, such aids as these were natu- 
 rally a most tempting consideration, it was for a short time 
 deliberated in our 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 faith, in a manner remarkable for a person of her 
 natural strength of mind. The less sanguine nature and 
 quiet humour of my father led him to view such matters 
 with rather less reverent eyes; and though my mother 
 could seldom help laughing at his sly 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 MEMOIES OF [^TAT, X6. 
 
 meals; and it would be difficult, I think, to find a priest 
 less meddling or less troublesome. Having passed some 
 time in Italy, be was able, in return for the hospitality 
 which he received, to teach me a little Italian ; and I had 
 also, about the same time, a regular master, for the space 
 of six months, in French, — an intelligent emigre named 
 La Fosse, who could hardly speak a word of EngUsh, 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, committed me to the care of a 
 clergyman of the name of O'HaUoran, who belonged to 
 Townshend Street Chapel, and bore a very high character. 
 Of this venerable priest, and his looks and manner, as he 
 sat 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 captain, who lived in a street off Townshend 
 
1795.] THOMAS MOOEE. 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 painful and hu- 
 miliating. We are told that such pain and humiliation are 
 salutary to the mind, and I am not prepared to deny it, 
 the practice of confession as a moral restraint having both 
 sound arguments and high authority in its favour. So irk- 
 some, however, did it at last become to me, that, about a 
 year or two after my entrance into college, I ventured to 
 signify to my mother a wish that I should no longer go to 
 confession ; and, after a slight remonstrance, she sensibly 
 acceded to my wish. 
 
 The tutor under whom I was placed on entering Col- 
 lege was the Kev. — 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 Eoyal Irish Academy ; and he enjoyed 
 the credit, I believe deservedly, of having been the author, 
 in his youth, of a celebrated flash song, called " The night 
 before Larry was stretched,^'' i. e. hanged. Of this classical 
 production I remember but two lines, where, on the 
 " Dominie " (or parson) proposing to administer spiritual 
 consolation to the hero, — 
 
 " Larry tipped him an elegant look, 
 And pitch'd his big wig to the devil." 
 
 The fame of this song (however Burrowes himself and his 
 
32 MEMOIRS OF [jiTAT. 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 
 school, it was expected, especially by my anxious mother, 
 that I should distinguish myself equally at college ; and 
 in the examinations of the first year, I did gain a premium, 
 and I believe a certificate. But here the brief career of 
 my college honours ternunated. After some unavailing 
 efforts (solely to please my anxious mother), and some 
 memento of mortification on finding myself vanquished by 
 competitors whom I knew to be dull fellows, " intus et in 
 cMfe,"and who have, indeed, proved themselves such through 
 life, I resolved in the second year of my course to give up the 
 struggle entirely, and to confine myself thenceforth to such 
 parts of the course as fell within my own tastes and pur- 
 suits, learning just enough to bring me through without 
 disgrace. To my rnother 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 
 6clat round my progress, served to satisfy in some degree 
 her fond ambition. It was a rule at the public examina- 
 tions that each boy should produce, as a matter of form, a 
 short theme in Latin prose upon some given subject ; and 
 this theme might be written when, where, or by whom it 
 pleased the Fates ; as the examiners seldom, I believe, 
 read them, and they went for nothing in the scale of the 
 merits of the examined. On one of these occasions, I 
 took it into my head to deliver in a copy of English verse, 
 instead of the usual Latin prose, and it happened that a 
 Fellow of the name of Walker, who had the credit of 
 possessing more literary taste than most of his brotherhood, 
 was the examiner of our division. "With a beating heart 
 I saw him, after having read the paper himself, take it to 
 
1795.] THOMAS MOOEE. 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 Ycrses 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 aU, 
 the result of his cogitations was not very felicitous, the 
 phrase he used being "propter laudabUem in versibus 
 componendis progressum." 
 
 About the third year of my course, if I remember right, 
 an improvement was made in our quarterly examinations 
 by the institution of a classical premium distinct from that 
 which was given for science ; and myself and a man named 
 Ferral (who was said to have been a tutor before he en- 
 tered college) were on one occasion competitors for this 
 prize. At the close of the examination, so equal appeared 
 our merits, that the examiner (Usher) was unable to decide 
 between us, and accordingly desired that we shoiild 
 
 * The provost and senior fellows. 
 TOL. I. D 
 
34 MEMOIES or [iETAT. 16. 
 
 accompany him to Ms chambers, where, for an hour or two, 
 he pitted us against each other. The books for that period 
 of the course were the Orations of Demosthenes and 
 Virgil's Georgics; and he tried us by turns at all the 
 most difficult passages, sending one out of the room while 
 he was questioning the other. At length, his dinner- 
 hour having arrived, he was obliged to dismiss us without 
 giving any decision, desiring that we should be with liim 
 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 Leiand'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 hollow; 
 but it was also in a more accurate sense of the word 
 hollow, as after p.ll I did not carry off the premimu. It 
 
1795.] THOMAS MOORE. 35 
 
 was necessary, as part of the forms of the trial, that we 
 should each give in a theme in Latin verse. As I had 
 never in my life written a single hexameter, I was resolved 
 not to begin 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 playfvil 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 Pococke had 
 actually passed through Tempe without knowing it. 
 
 D 2 
 
36 MEMOIES OF [JEtat. 16. 
 
 mauled by the "aucupes syllabarum" of the English 
 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 Has Ssi lerropiav a-vyypa<psiv 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, page 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 hour, on a raw candle- 
 light morning, was in a high degree creditable to him. 
 
 It was, I think, towards the end of the second year of 
 
1795.] THOMAS MOOEE. 37 
 
 ray 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 pamphlet 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 fellow;" 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 Grieirson, the King's printer. Magee's wife 
 was called Mrs. Moulson ; 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, reaUy 
 married ; and that, in case of crim. con., their husbands 
 would not be entitled to damages. In speaking of the 
 lady of BTirrowes, 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 against 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 3 
 
38 MEMOIRS OF [^TAT. 16. 
 
 to visit Ms 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 difficult position of the Irish estabHsh- 
 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 rehgion 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 Magee'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 — BiUy "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 version of this belligerent antithesis. 
 — J.K. 
 
1795.] THOMAS MOORE. 39 
 
 when he was instructing my sister, and endeavouring con- 
 stantly to pick out tunes — or mahe 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 Kate), 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 fuU 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's Spirit- 
 song, in his Canzonets, and the lady had a baUad be- 
 ginning " Delusive dream," which was very pleasingly set 
 to music by BiUy Warren, and continued lonp to be very 
 popular as sung by myself at the piano-forte. * 
 
 * At the very 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 over my heart 
 with a weight of sadness which it would be difficult to describe. 
 
 D 4 
 
40 MEMOIRS OF [iETAT. 16. 
 
 The notoriety I had ah-eady 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, — then, 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 B.osse), 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 ! 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 MOORE. 41 
 
 nations, in wMch 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-looldng, 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 
 availed 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 purpos,e, 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 u's 
 
42 MEMOIES OP [^TAT. 16. 
 
 and w's still as she went, while all the politeness of our 
 hostess could with difficulty keep her keen satirical eyes 
 from betraying Avhat she reaUy 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 collect, 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 1 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 university. 
 
 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.] THOMAS MOOEE. 43 
 
 or club established in Dublin, which had existed I believe 
 for some timCj 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) wiU show what a fertile source it aiForded 
 not only of fun and festivity, but of poHtical 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 reining king of the 
 island. Every summer 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 gaiety of orna- 
 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 DaJkey 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 [-aETAT. 16. 
 
 throughout) presented a picture of the most lively and 
 exhilarating 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 up 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 
 believe) at a humorous composition In the style of Peter 
 Pindar, and meant as a birthday ode to King Stephen. 
 Of this early jeu d'esprit 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 said to be in the habit 
 
1795.] THOMAS MOORE. 45 
 
 of taking, at that time, against assassination, I thus ad- 
 dressed his brother monarch, Stephen, — 
 
 " Thou rid'st not, prison'd in a metal coach, 
 To shield from thy anointed head 
 Bullets, of a kindred lead, 
 Marbles, 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 hvunorous procla- 
 mation, offering 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 unfortunately let fall from his 
 august head. 
 
 But "has nugse seria ducent in mala." Most serious 
 and awful 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 feUow-students and the 
 college authorities in general. This youth was Kobert 
 Emmet, whose brilliant success in his college studies, and 
 
46 MEMOIRS OP [iETAT. 17. 
 
 more particularly in the scientific 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 foimd 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 
 coUege, 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 poHtics, I believe) put down by the fellows, but 
 continued in defiance of them to hold its sittings outside 
 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 commanding officer?" On the former of 
 
1"96.] THOMAS MOOEE. 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 modern 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 hterature 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 human 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 stUl with the blood of the oppressed and innocent, 
 " Oh God, I know not why I 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 or r^TAT. 18. 
 
 a case? What, but to puU the governmeiit 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 reooUect right, one of our usages. It must have 
 been about the beginning of the year 1797 that our httle 
 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 Brace'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. 
 CoU." 
 
 To form any adequate idea of the feverish excitement of 
 the public mind at this period (1797) one must not only 
 have Hved 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 iU-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.] TBOMAS MOOEE. 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 airs, 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-a-tete 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 I 
 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 
 to 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 
 savans, 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 college reputation, almost all of whom that I have 
 ever known were inclined to be pedants and bores, 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
50 MEMOIES OF [^TAT. 18. 
 
 "WTiether 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 vain ; as though I 
 were to come furnished with all the learning of an Erasmus, 
 I should stiU, — 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 weU 
 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 kiUed by " false 
 Latin," I could not help remembering the half comic, half 
 lugubrious face which Kearney used to put on when any 
 confusion of " longs and shorts" occurred in his presence. 
 On the list of those who were adjudged worthy of scholar- 
 ships I obtained a pretty high place, but had only the 
 barren honour of that place for my reward. How welcome 
 and useful 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 — strugghng 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 
 have, at any time, been made their victims. 
 
 In the course of this year, though I cannot exactly say 
 
1797.] THOMAS MOOEE. 51 
 
 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 with aU 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 aU 
 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 Robert Emmet; and though every 
 care was taken to exclude from among the subjects of 
 debate aU 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 answer the 
 speeches 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-r 
 
 E 2 
 
52 MEMOIRS OP [iETAT. 18- 
 
 ing to a speech of his, one night, that Emmet, to the no 
 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 effort or two to recover himself, sat down. 
 
 A struggle in which I myself was, about this 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 Hfe. Besides the medals given 
 by the society to the best answerers in history, there was 
 also another for the best compositions sent in at stated 
 periods, either in prose or versCi 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 Rustifustius, etc. etc." My attempts at 
 humorous 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 
 
n97.J THOMAS MOORE. 53 
 
 operation, — and in some degree acted as well 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 
 
 E 3 
 
54 MEMOIRS OF [^TAT. 18. 
 
 triumjphant 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 with 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, Sargeant) 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 playfulness 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 iU 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 due 
 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 offending 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 
 
1797.] THOMAS MOOEE. 55 
 
 their motion, without pressing it to a division, and the 
 whole terminated without any 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, iQ order to prevent any 
 recurrence to the subject, took an opportunity of quietly 
 removing the composition from 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) under 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 sprinkhng 
 of the former ingredient to make treason at that time 
 palatable ; and I 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 
 httle 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- 
 
 E 4 
 
56 MEMOIRS OF [jEtat. 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 any 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 
 biit 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 favourite 
 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 the next 
 evening of publication, when seated, as usual, in my little 
 corner 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 within 
 me was trembHng 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 MOOEE. 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, 
 Tbm ?" 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 country which Emmet and I used often to take 
 together, our conversation turned upon this letter, and I 
 gave him to understand 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 times and circumstances, namely, 
 not to talk or write 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, 
 jn college, nor did he now, or at any subsequent time. 
 
58 MEMOIRS OF C^TAT. 18, 
 
 make any proposition to me to join in them, a forbearance 
 which I attribute a good deal to his knowledge of the 
 watchful 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 feUow, 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 airs from Bunting's Itish 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 aU 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 tempta- 
 tions, to any of which my time of life, vivacity of fancy. 
 
1797.] THOMAS MOOEE. 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 even, 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 pemaission, of which I was not a little 
 proud, to read in Marsh's hbrary 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 subsequently, in hunting through 
 the dusty tomes of this old library, I was indebted for 
 much of the odd, out-of-the-way sort of readiflg that may 
 be found scattered through some of my earHer works. 
 
 The Hue 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 woxild 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 outline of its objects and 
 organisation we were ourselves ignorant, — was then awfully 
 hastening to its denouement ; and, vague and unsearchable 
 as was the future which it promised, this very uncertainty 
 
60 MEMOIRS 01* [^TAT. 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 fuUy sufificient to furnish no ordinary 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 dehght with which my early 
 attempts at composition were welcomed by her whom it 
 was my delight to please, — my dear and excellent mother ; 
 the bursting out of my latent passion for music, which was 
 in reality the source of my poetic talent, since it wa^ 
 merely the effort to translate into words the different 
 feelings and passions which melody seemed to me to e:^- 
 press ; — all this formed such a combination of mental stimu- 
 lants as few,' I think, of the same period of Hfe have ever 
 been surrounded 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 much 
 more warm-hearted person, he took a very kind and active 
 interest in aU 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 MOOEE. 61 
 
 me, I afterwards learned to appreciate as it deserved, 
 B,eq[uesting a few minutes with my father and mother, he 
 advised confidentially 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 examining 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 
 jroceeding; 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 was really most starthng and awful to hear the dis- 
 closures which every new succeeding witness brought 
 forth. 
 
 There were a few, — and among that number were poor 
 Robert Emmet, John Brown, and the two Corbets, — 
 whose total absence from the whole scene, as well as the 
 
62 MEMOIRS OP [iETAT. 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 young 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 primitively 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 poUtics. 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 accomphshment 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 Emmet, the 
 CoUege 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 disnaissed, poor feUow, with the melancholy 
 
1797.] THOMAS MOOBE. 63 
 
 certainty that Hs 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 evidence 
 given compromising even 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 stiU 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 degrading spectacle exhibited by those who had 
 appeared in evidence against 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 weU the gloom that hung over our family 
 circle 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 or [^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 
 persecution against the Catholics. 
 
 The oath was proffered to me. " I have an objection, 
 my lord," said I in a clear firm voice, " I have an ob- 
 jection to taking this oath." — ■ " 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 
 aimed 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, again looking towards 
 me, " We cannot allow any person to remain in our Uni- 
 versity, who would refuse to take this oath." — " I shall, 
 then, my lord," I replied, " take the oath, still res^'-ving 
 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- 
 
1797.J THOMAS MOOEE. 65 
 
 tion which preceded them. After having adverted to the 
 proved existence of United Irish Societies in the Univer- 
 sity, he asked, " Have you ever belonged to any of these 
 societies?" — "No, my lord." "Have you ever known 
 of any of the proceedings which took place in them?" 
 " No, my lord." " Did you ever hear of a proposal at 
 any 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 looks and 
 manner would pass on my conduct. And here I had 
 certainly every reason to feel satisfied ; as all crowded 
 around me with hearty congratulations, not so much, I 
 could see, on my acquittal by my judges, as on the manner 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
66 MEMOIRS OF [^TAT. 19. 
 
 in which I had acquitted myself. Of my reception at 
 home, 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 T was confined with this iUness, 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 which 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 the many fearful and painful events that had, 
 before then, succeeded each other so rapidly, there waa 
 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 
 admission (which Reynolds betrayed to the Government) 
 Avas, " Where's M'Cann ? Is Ivers from Carlow come?" 
 Major Sirr was, I believe, the oflScer who knocked at the 
 door and gave this watchword ; and I have heard from 
 authority on which I could depend, that when he entered 
 
1798.] THOMAS MOOKE. 67 
 
 the room, my poor friend Hudson fainted ; showing how 
 little a stout heart and Herculean frame (both of which 
 Hudson possessed) may be proof against sudden alarm, or 
 exempt their owner from such outward signs of feminine 
 wealcness. 
 
 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 beheve, 
 that among the eiForts 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, 
 became a sort of friend in the family, and was always wel- 
 come to a share of our tea and barne-breac of an evening. 
 When I 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 cither 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 ofiicers of the Irish Brigade in DubUn, and two of 
 them, named Blake and Ruth, were constant visitors at our 
 house. From Blake, who played remarkably well 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 
 
 p 2 
 
68 MEMOIRS OP [;Etat. 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 uufreqLuently, 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 
 his 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 account, 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 Grrotius Bra^adocio, fined one shilling, 
 for whistHng 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 
 me 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 instrument, even in my convivial songs ; 
 and, except in a few rare cases, never sung a song at a 
 
1798.] THOMAS MOORE. 69 
 
 dinner-table in my life. At suppers, indeed, and where 
 there were ladies to hsten and a pianoforte to run to, 
 many and many have been the songs I have sung, both gay 
 and tender ; and, at this very moment, I could sing " Oh 
 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 summoned to the Visit- 
 ation; and it was not without a feeling of nervousness 
 that I now presented myself before him. As soon as he 
 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 
 nothing unfriendly 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 unfavourable. 
 
 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 droUery 
 
 r 3 
 
70 MEMOIRS OF [^lAT. 19. 
 
 about him, which rendered him a most amusing and agree- 
 able companion. 
 
 I had at this time made considerable progress in my 
 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 shoidd 
 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, " wiU like it." 
 
 With my early friend and companion, Beresford Burston, 
 I stiU 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, bis father had entered both our names 
 at the Middle Temple ; and, as I left college before lim, 
 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 Kind's 
 printer, and of Joe Atkinson, the lively and popular secre- 
 tary of the Ordnance Board. The Griersons, with a fine 
 
1798.] THOMAS MOOEE. 71 
 
 house in Harcourt Street, and a handsome country-seat at 
 Rathfamhamj 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 
 singing, 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 his lady, — very amiable people, and she an accom- 
 plished musician, — and was by them asked (to me a most 
 eventful circumstance) 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 circumstalice 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 aU 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. 
 
 * Then holding some official station in Dublin, 
 r 4 
 
72 MEMOIRS OP [-Etat. 19. 
 
 All this time my poor father's business continued to be 
 carried on ; nor, to do my fine acquaintances justice, did 
 any one of them ever seem to remember that I had emerged 
 upon them from so humble a fireside. A serious drain was 
 nowj however, to be made upon our scanty resources ; and 
 my poor mother had long been hoarding up every 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, unknown 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 fond superstition inclined her to believe 
 would keep the wearer of it from harm. And thus, with 
 this charm about me, of which I was whoUy unconscious, 
 and my little packet of guineas, of which I felt deeply the 
 responsibility, 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 swindhng fraternity, 
 and conceived that in me he had found (in a small way) a 
 fitting subject 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.] THOMAS MOOEE. 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 immediate object, notwith- 
 standing all the persuasions of my companion, who had 
 set his heart, he said, 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 I'U show it you." Allowing him to remain 
 under the impression that all this was likely to happen, I 
 yet ventured to say that I must first 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 unwillingly assented ; 
 and accordingly, arm in arm with that swindler (as 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 No. 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 
 cur^i the head of whose bed was placed t&te-a-t^te 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 square 
 
74 MEMOIRS OF Lai;TAT. 19. 
 
 board hung up in the hall, 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 iatroductions 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 ! 
 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 insufli- 
 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 offers 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. AU 
 that I do recoUect, — 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'] THOMAS MOOKE. 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. Cologan. 
 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 anything more of him. 
 
 Having gone through aU the forms of my 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 MEMOIKS OF THOMAS MOOEE. L-^'-TAT. 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. 
 
 HEEE THE MEMOIRS END. 
 
LETTERS. 
 
 1793—1818. 
 
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. BuESTOnr." 
 
 27th January, 1793. 
 
 [No. ].] To Ms Mother. 
 
 August 12th, 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, 
 wiU 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 Mooee." 
 
 N. B. Excuse my scrap of rhyme ; for you know 
 poets wiU out with it. — Poets ! very proud, indeed ; but 
 don't mention it. 
 
80 LETTERS. [^TAT. 19. 
 
 [No. 2.] To his 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 Jixed 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 cheap, 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 convenience to me. 
 My journey up was exceedingly expensive, though Mr. 
 M. teUs 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 I 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 \l. \Qs. 6d. 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. teUs 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 certainly, with 
 God's wUl, see you in summer. 
 
 " The summer will come when the winter's awa, 
 And I'll be to see thee, in spite of them a'." 
 
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 aU the news I have 
 to teU 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 trait 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 
 urging me for the small balance of a very large biU I had 
 paid him. The good woman took that opportunity of 
 telling me that all her money was at her banker's, anc* 
 
 VOL. I. G 
 
8'2 LETTERS. [^TAT. 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 God 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 from home. God bless you all. Your own, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 [No. 4.] To his Mother. 
 
 5th April, 1799. 
 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 
 Avhether 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 morning, 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 wiU be delighted, too, when I teU 
 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 
 is here, and as deep in the gallipots as ever ; apothecary 
 and man-midwife ! no less. I have dined with him, and find 
 him exceedingly friendly. Nugent, to whom Mr. Dowling 
 
1799.] I.ETTEES. 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 will 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 
 present, 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 
 
 G 2 
 
84 LETTERS. [^TAT. 19. 
 
 strait-waistcoat, 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 ! 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 
 appearance), 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 said that he had sent his portmanteau 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.] 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 ! 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 
 yoil 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, well, well, well ! 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 
 since. 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 
 fo 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 
 
 G 3 
 
86 LETTERS. [iETAT. 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 Col. De Bathe and Capt. Plunk et (Lord Dun- 
 eany's 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 aifectionately to her, and believe me ever yours. 
 
 How are aunt and uncle (J. and J.)? If you ever 
 see Croker, ask him did he receive my letter. 
 
 [No. 6.3 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 
 uritation. 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 
 
1799-] LETTERS. 87 
 
 paace, my dear, dear father and mother ! Oh, when shall 
 I be able to repay your goodness I 
 
 I did not receive your letter with Mozart's introduc- 
 tion till 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 made 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 so. Farewell my dearest, best of fathers. God give 
 you aU. the happiness which you merit. Yours ever, ever. 
 
 [No. r.] 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 assiu:ance 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, of my situation. But reproach me no 
 more with it. I have repented that letter (Heaven 
 knows !) almost enough to atone for aU its imprudence. 
 
 Q 4 
 
88 LETTERS. [^TAT. 19. 
 
 I thank my father from my heart for his letter to 
 Mrs. M'M., 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, Mr. 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 summer ? Oh ! how I long for it ! Tell me that you 
 wish it, — that you approve of it, — and I wiU fly to you. 
 Make Catherine write whenever my father writes : give 
 my love to Httle EUen and all, not forgetting my xmcle 
 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-union 
 
1799.J LETTERS. 89 
 
 with those I loye, 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 httle 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 wiU go to him 
 again. I dined on Sunday with Capt. Otway ; he has 
 been extremely attentive to me, and purely from courtesy ; 
 for he is 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, or 
 to know that 1 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 beheve 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 which the controul of a superior incul- 
 cates, and which is so very necessary to chasten self- 
 opinion, they gradually imagine themselves into an all- 
 sufiiciency 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 lodgiag 
 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 obHged 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 wiU 
 
90 LETTERS. [^TAT. 20. 
 
 cost me twenty-five shillings, wMch is a low price here. 
 Indeed, 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. Goulding and have got 
 two guineas, so that matter is settled. Give 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. 
 
 June 11. 1799. 
 * * * I received a letter from Croker which 
 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 dreadful 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. Give my 
 love to my dearest father, and bid him write his decision 
 immediately. Eemember me to Catherine, to EUen, to 
 my uncle, aunt, &c. 
 
 I have paid I8s. Qd. for my last tenn, and will have 
 
1799-] LETTERS. &1 
 
 the same to pay for this. Farewell, my sweet mother. 
 Yoursj &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 anxious 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 beginning 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 domestically, and mixing 
 themselves as if they belonged to you, with every function 
 of life. Oh solitude ! solitude ! you hold the very next 
 rank to the society of the few we love. I wish prudence 
 did not keep me away from 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. 
 
 Thursday, June 20. 1799. 
 I forgot to mention, with regard to my coat and pan- 
 taloons, that Mr. Nugent, if you please, will settle for 
 them mth 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 LETTEES. I^TAT. 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 answer 
 to this, if something else does not determine me, for I 
 should be sorry to have no arguments for my return, but 
 my own inohnations. If I go, I shall leave a few of my 
 trifling poems with Hume, to get them published : it is 
 more through a wish to get rid of them, than with any 
 hopes of emolument ; if the latter does result from them, I 
 can rely on Hume for taking advantage of it. Pray let 
 me hear from you immediately on receipt of this. I per- 
 haps may determine, however, before you write. Love to 
 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 booksellers 
 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 so 
 vexed that I could almost determine to acquiesce in the 
 latter. I think I wUI set off to-morrow, but if I do not, I 
 will write. Oh father ! I hope I may one day or other 
 repay you ; but Heaven knows how ! I am now in such a 
 disposition that one word from 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- 
 
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 
 most grateful and aiFectionate son. 
 
 LNo. 13.] To his Father. 
 
 Parkgate, July 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 aJl 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 wUl 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, 8ec. 
 
 Love to my mother : I am longing to meet her. 
 
 [No. 14.] To Ms 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 LETTERS. [iETAT. 20. 
 
 for to-night in the mail, and hope to be in London early, 
 Wednesday morning. Poor Hobart was ahnost shaken to 
 death, during ninety-seven miles, on the outside 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 affectionate, 
 
 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, 
 from 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 
 boat, at the cheap rate of three shillings; and, in about /owt- 
 hours 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 affairs 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-day was not unpleasant. Con- 
 trasted with the rattling of the mail, its movement was as 
 agreeable as it was new, and our way lay through a very 
 pretty country. Love to father and dear girls. YourSj 
 my dearest mother. 
 
 [No. 16.] To Ms Mother. 
 
 Nov. 9. 1799. 
 Dear Mother, 
 
 By some strange error I did not receive Catherine's 
 letter tUl to-day, when it was given 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 Mr. 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. 
 1 hope you have got my letter with the inclosure for 
 Cuming; Nugent will write to him immediately. TeU 
 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 writes the name Johnson. In the playbills it was 
 Johnstone. 
 
96 LETTEES. IMtat. 20. 
 
 Hobart has taken the first floor under me, 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 over, and shall pay attention to my father's wishes 
 with regard to Mr. Brownrigg. I am very domestic, and 
 have fuU leisure to think of all my dear friends at home. 
 Do not forget me, any of you. My love to BUly 
 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 wiU 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 
 sack." Miss Biggs, the present heroine of Drury Lane, 
 
1799.] LETTERS. 97 
 
 dined there, and gave me her orders for the ensuing 
 evening. Lord Moira is in town. I left 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 imfGJ.'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. BeHeve 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 
 waiting for the printing of the proposals, the first proof of 
 which I enclose to you. I had yesterday a long visit from 
 a ]VIr. Biggin — a very famous and very respectable man 
 here. By the bye, it is from him 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 
 JMrs. Campbell's, and on Friday at Lady E-ich's, and am 
 perfectly stout again. I will write very early next week, 
 and tell you more news. I have got ten guineas from IVIr. 
 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 
 
98 LETTERS. [iETAT. 20, 
 
 hope, towever, I shall clear at least a hundred guineas, 
 by Auacreon. Love to all. Yoiurs ever. 
 
 I shall soon get the rest of the printed papers, and will 
 send them to you. 
 
 [No. 19.] To Ms 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 designs ; 
 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. CampbeU and Mr. Tinker, which I hope 
 wiU be lucky. They are the only guineas I ever kissed ; 
 and I have locked them up religiously. Mr. Gardiner 
 sent a paper of my proposals, with a very flattering letter, 
 indeed, to the Duchess of Devonshire, and another to Mrs. 
 Fitzherbert. I must immediately send some of them to 
 Captain Atkinson, Grierson, the Provost, &c. &c. I shall 
 be greatly surprised if my friends in Dublin do not make 
 it an ample subscription. Do not be diffident in your ap- 
 pHcations. 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 inven- 
 tions of his. He is a man of very easy fortune, and quite 
 a virtuoso : he is a great chemist, mechanic, musician, and 
 he has undertaken to eradicate my bilious complaint. A 
 charming woman made the third at a very elegant dinner. 
 She is the most exquisite 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 uncle, &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. [^TAT. 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 pencU. 
 Will you allow me to add, that I am not certain whether 
 the translation has not missed the meaning 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 bands, 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 
 
 'Tis sweet to dare the tangled fence, &c. 
 I would propose something to this effect: 
 
 'Tis 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 false 
 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 accident to 
 have sufficiently expressed in his phrase of " roses shed 
 their light" The * * * should be omitted. They 
 
 * Query, 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. 101 
 
 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 suflScient. 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, minute, and im- 
 pertinent. 
 
 Belieye me to be, dear Sir, very sincerely. 
 
 Your obedient, humble servant, 
 
 F. Lawkence. 
 
 [No. 21.] To his Mother. 
 
 Jan. 6. 1800. 
 
 I have just received a very interesting letter from my 
 father, in which, though he has not been very eloquent, he 
 has enclosed eight pounds or so. I wrote to you on Satur- 
 day a letter 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 from him, requesting that his name 
 should be put down, and that I should call on him any 
 morning about eleven o'clock, when he comes to town, 
 which 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 Mrs.Fitzherbert's name, and Mr. Biggin pro- 
 mises me the Duke of Bedford's. Everything goes on 
 delightfully. Tell Cuming not to let a creature see the 
 
 H 3 
 
102 LETTEES. [iETAT. 20. 
 
 odes whicli I enclosed to him for the designs, but to send 
 them back to me with the drawings ; and all as soon as 
 possible. The opening of the opera Is deferred every night, 
 on account of some misunderstanding with regard 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 affronted : she ought to consider 
 how much I have on my hands — Anacreon, thorough 
 bass, &c. &c. 
 
 [No. 22.] To his Mother. 
 
 Feb. 4. 1800. 
 I received my father's letter yesterday, and I am sorry 
 to find that your enrolment is diminishing so soon ; but he 
 said that he enclosed me the list of subscribers, and I 
 found no such thing in the letter. I have got the Duke of 
 Bedford's name, and I believe shall have his Interest, for 
 Mr. Biggin is to show him some of the work : in short, my 
 list is about fifty, without including Mr. Solly, who is very 
 attentive to me, or Major Archdall, with whom I have 
 dined two or three times, and who has introduced me to a 
 Mr. Cope, of Manchester Square, with whom I am to dine 
 to-morrow. I have not heard anything from Lord Moira ; 
 so I shall write to him very soon. Let Cuming send 
 me the drawings immediately. Nugent Is very much ad- 
 vanced in the engraving from the Provost's picture. What- 
 ever damp I might have felt at the idea of the subscription 
 slackening was, I assure you, my dear mother, infinitely 
 compensated by being told that your health was better 
 than it had been : Heaven preserve it long to make us 
 happy ! As the time approaches for my return, I begin to 
 
1800.] LETTERS. 103 
 
 be still more impatient for it. I find the retouching and 
 finishing my Anacreon to be an increasing and almost end- 
 less labour. I am at it night and day ; it will soon be in 
 the press, and shall fly over before me, to harbinger my 
 return. I hope it will succeed. Success makes every one 
 more welcome, but it cannot make me more so to you, can 
 it, my dear mother ? Give the warmest remembrances of 
 my soul to my good, good father. 
 
 [No. 23.] To his Mother. 
 
 Thursday, March 20. 1800. 
 IMy dearest Mother, 
 AH is well again, and I am again quite stout. Once 
 more laid on my back, under the physicians, I have once 
 more shalren them off", and am drinking bottled porter and 
 old port wine every day. Dearest mother, how anxious I 
 have been at not being able to write to you ! and I know 
 now that you are all tremble and anxiety at the long in- 
 terval there has been between my letters ; indeed, the last 
 I wrote was just caught in a lucid interval of ease, when I 
 was allowed to sit up for an hour ; and happy enough did 
 it make me to avail myself of it in writing to my own 
 darhngs. I have not wanted for care and nursing of the 
 best kind. Dr. Baillie, the first physician here, has at- 
 tended me every second day, and Woolriche, the surgeon, 
 twice a-day. I shall in my next letter tell you fuHy what 
 was the matter with me. It began like my old pain, in 
 the side, and they first tried calomel, but that faUed, and 
 they were obliged to let it form an abscess, which has now 
 completely discharged itself, and I feel as healthy, as full 
 of appetite and spirits as ever ; a little weak, that's all. 
 
 H 4 
 
104 LETTERS. [^TAT. 21. 
 
 God bless you. Don't be the least uneasy. I am as one 
 in fuU health. * 
 
 [No. 24.] To his Mother. 
 
 May 14. 1800. 
 
 * * * I am just going out to dinner, and then to two 
 parties in the evening — Mrs. Harwood's and Dr. Grant's. 
 This is the way we live in London, no less than three 
 every evening. Vive la bagatelle ! " Away with melan- 
 choly." 
 
 [No. 25.] To his Mother. 
 
 Saturday [no date]. 
 My dear Mother, 
 I have got the Prince's name, and his permission that 
 I should dedicate Anacreon to him. Hurra ! hurra ! Yours 
 ever. 
 
 [No. 26.] To his Mother. 
 
 June 9. 1800. 
 * * * How I long to rettirn 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. This, I hope, wiU astonish the 
 scoundrelly monks of Trinity, not one of whom, I per- 
 ceive, except the Provost and my tutor, have subscribed to 
 the work. Heaven knows they ought to rejoice at any- 
 
 ' Moore had in fact been in great danger from a large abscess in 
 his side. He evidently diminishes the illness not to alarm his mother. 
 
1800.] XETTEES. 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 namCj 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 ! and if it were not for my friend, their 
 Provost, the public should know my opinion of them. 
 * * * I was last night in company with Godwin. 
 
 [No, 27.] To his 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 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 ma^ succeed and it may not; but stUl, 
 my dearest mother, you wUl feel that I have made the 
 effort, and then I shall fly to your arms " like a young 
 bridegroom, dancing to his love." I have been obliged to 
 adopt a particular plot prescribed to me, so that I must be 
 considered as connected in the writing as weU 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 aU events, we shall meet, I hope, 
 in the course of a month, and we shall indeed be very 
 happy, for yow deserve to be happy, and I feel that 1 am, 
 perhaps, not unworthy of it. Farewell, my sweet mother 
 God bless you. 
 
106 LETTERS. [^TAT. 21. 
 
 [No. 28,] To Ms Mother 
 
 July 5. 1800. 
 
 My dearest Mother, 
 * * * I hope you got my Anacreon, which I enclosed 
 to Cocke. How did you look at it ? What did you feel ? 
 Oh ! I know what you felt, and I know how you looked ! 
 My heart is with you, though I am so delayed from 
 meeting you. Good God ! when we do meet, may it be 
 in happiness! Write to me, my dear father and mother; 
 tell me you are in health and content, and I shall then be 
 as happy as absence from you will allow me. Farewell. 
 " Forget me not." 
 
 [No. 29.] To his Mother. 
 
 July 12. 1800. 
 
 I am trying every day to be oiF 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 yery elegant party at Lady 
 Dering's, and was introduced to him. A young girl 
 told me, that he had been asking her questions about me 
 and my birth, parentage, &c., with all the curiosity of the 
 royal family. I was obliged that night to sing every one 
 of my songs twice. The day before yesterday I was at a 
 splendid dejeuner of Sir John Coghill's : we had charming 
 music. I sang several things with Lord Dudley and 
 Miss Cramer (sister to Sir J. Coghill). These people I 
 was introduced to by Lord Lansdowne. I got your 
 welcome letter ; any account from my dear ones at home 
 is heaven to me. I hope the Anacreon will soon be with 
 you, and the young hoy soon after them. Oh heavens ! 
 how happy we shall meet ! God send it, — and immediately 
 
ISOO.] LETTERS. 107 
 
 " a speedy meeting and soon," as an Irishman would say. 
 You see how conceited I'm grown. Love to all. My heart 
 is with you. 
 
 [No. so.] To his Mother, 
 
 July 28. 1800. 
 
 I hope in a very few days to be able to leave London 
 and see all those I have been so long, so tediously sepa- 
 rated from. I am delighted to find by my father's letter, 
 that Hume has made your mind so happy in regard to me. 
 He is certainly an inestimable young man. I never met 
 with any one more capable of friendship, or more adapted 
 to cherish it. He has a peculiar delicacy (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. 31.] To his 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 LETTERS. [yETAT. 21. 
 
 opportunities of enjoying each other's society; that he was 
 passionately fond of music, and had long heard of my 
 talents in that way. Is not all this very fine ? But, my 
 dearest mother, it has cost me a new coat ; for the intro- 
 duction was unfortunately deferred till my former one was 
 grown confoundedly shabby, and I got a coat made up in 
 six hours : however, it cannot be helped ; I got it on an 
 economical plan, by giving two guineas and an old coat, 
 whereas the usual price of a coat here is near four pounds. 
 By the bye, I am still in my other tailor's debt. To 
 change the topic, I have heard Lord Moira's opinion of 
 my Anacreon (not from himself, for, when I saw him, he 
 very elegantly thanked me for a vast deal of gratification 
 which it had given him) ; but he had spoken a vast deal of 
 it to a gentleman who told me : said there were scarce 
 any of the best poets who had been so strictly grammatical 
 in language as I had been, — that the notes discovered a 
 great extent of reading, — and that, in short, it 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 eo-otisina: 
 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, 
 StiU at Donington ; but I am sure I shall leave it to- 
 morrow. Lord Moira Avishes me to stay, but I shall 
 promise in a little time to return here, which is the best 
 way to escape pleasantly. There cannot be anything 
 
•801.] LETTEES. 109 
 
 more delightful than this house, — an inimitable library, 
 where I have the honour of being bound up myself, a 
 charming piano, and very pleasant society. What can be 
 more delightful however? I am so anxious to get to 
 London that I must fly away. * * * 
 
 [No. 33.] To his Mother. 
 
 London, Jan. 5. 1801. 
 
 * * * I was not allowed to leave Donington 
 Park till I had promised that, as soon as leisure allowed 
 me, I should return. They were, indeed, uncommonly 
 polite. The morning I left it, breakfast was ordered an 
 hour earlier than usual to accommodate me, and Lord 
 IMoira requested I should return as soon as I could. * * * 
 
 [No. 34.] To his Mother. 
 
 Jan. 27. 1801. 
 Dearest IVTama, 
 
 Forgive me for only writing a bilkt doux, but I have 
 
 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. Suett is quite 
 enchanted with his part, particularly the mock bravura. 
 
110 LETTERS. [^TAT. 21, 
 
 [No. 36.] To his Mother. 
 
 March 1. 1801. 
 My dearest Mother, 
 You may imagine I do not want society here, when I 
 tell you that last night I had six invitations. Everything 
 goes on swimmingly with me. I dined with the Bishop of 
 Meath on Friday last, and went to a party at Mrs. Crewe's 
 in the evening. My songs have taken such a rage ! even 
 surpassing what they did in DubHn. Let me know if the 
 Steeles are in Dublin, and write to me oftener. Sweetest, 
 dearest mama ! keep up your spirits and health till we 
 meet, which shall, please Heaven ! be ia summer. Yours 
 dearly. 
 
 [No. 37.] To his Mother. 
 
 March 6. 1801 
 My dearest Mother, 
 * * * * There is not a night that I have not 
 three parties on my string, but I take Hammersley's 
 advice, and send showers of apologies. The night 
 before last. Lady Harrington sent her servant after 
 me to two or three places with a ticket for the " Ancient 
 Music," which is the king's concert, and which is so select, 
 that those who go to it ought to have been at Court be- 
 fore- Lady Harrington got the ticket from one of the 
 Princesses, and the servant at last found me where I dined. 
 You may be assured I hurried home and dressed for it im- 
 mediately. These attentions from such great people are 
 no harm, and they are flattering. * * * 
 
1801.] LETTERS. Ill 
 
 [No. 38.] To his Mother. 
 
 March 18. 1801. 
 My dearest IVlotlier, 
 
 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 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. 39.] To his Mother. 
 
 March 24. 1801. 
 I find Grierson leaves this but to-day : he has been so 
 occupied with business that I have seen very Uttle of 
 him. I never told you that, at the time I came here, I 
 found I was near 70/. in Hume's debt : he is now paid by 
 the sale of the copyright, and has left another debt of 
 strong obligation behind, for he is a very honest fellow. 
 You see how I push through these matters. Ah ! my dear 
 mother, with the favour of Heaven, there is no fear of me ; 
 if you are but happy, I have everything I can wish for. 
 I have not been able to get down so far as Keinvan's yet : 
 it is (as Major Swayne says) eight miles into that cursed 
 city ! I shaU soon, however, take the walk and get my 
 five guineas. What do you think, young Lord Forbes 
 
112 LETTERS. [^TAT. 21. 
 
 and another young nobleman dine with me to-morrow ! This 
 was a thing pa^ on me, and I shall do it with a good grace. 
 I assure you I am si:S feet high to-day after discharg- 
 ing my debt of 101. 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 alL 
 
 [No. 40.] To his Mother. 
 
 Saturday, March 28. 1801. 
 My dearest Mother, 
 * * * I was last night at a baU, which (as we say) 
 swept the town — everybody was there — two or three of 
 the Princes, the Stadtholder, &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 wUl 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 must, I think, see my dear ones in summer again. Don't 
 let me be forgot in your lodgiags: keep a corner for 
 Tom. Love to you all — to the whole rookery. 
 
 [No. 41.] To his Mother. 
 
 Wednesday, April 1. 1801. 
 How d'ye do, my dearest mother ? Did you see my 
 name in the paper among the lists of company at most of 
 
1801.] LETTERS. 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. Moore, I assure you, 
 is not forgotten. T have an idea of going down to Don- 
 ington Park, to seclude myself for about a month in the 
 library there : they are aU 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 aU well 
 and happy ? Grierson 1ms not left this yet. I dined yes- 
 terday with George Ogle, and he was there. I 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 : " Ton his honour, he 
 had come for the express purpose of hearing me." Write 
 to me soon, dearest little mama, and tell me you are 
 well. 
 
 [No. 42.] To his Mother. 
 
 Saturday, April 18. 1801. 
 My dearest Mother, 
 
 I go on as usual ; I am happy, careless, comical, 
 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 Rawdon and I were obliged to sing 
 my little glees three times. I go to Donington in about a 
 week, I think : about that time my poems wiU be aU 
 
 VOL. I. I 
 
114 LETTERS. [/Etat. 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 Hiss Catherine Little this week. Make 
 her answer me soon. 
 
 [No. 43.] To his Mother. 
 
 Saturday, April 25. 1801. 
 My dearest Mother, 
 I am expecting every day to leave town, and on 
 Tuesday I hope to effect it. I look to a new vein of 
 imagination entirely in the soHtude 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 Thursday 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 
 darUng 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 direcj^our 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. 
 
1801.] LETTERS. 115 
 
 [No. 44.] To Ms Mother. 
 
 Donington Park, Tuesday, May 5. 1801. 
 IVIy time here by no means hangs heavily on me, 
 notwithstanding that I am so little accustomed to solitude. 
 I rise rather early, breakfast heartily, employ the day in 
 
 walking or hunting among old books, dine off two 
 
 courses, no less ; in the evening sing down the sun like a 
 true Pythagorean, and then seasonably take to my pillow, 
 where I sleep sweetly, nor dream of ambition though be- 
 neath the roof of an earl. Such is my diary. * * * 
 My love comes more pure to you now from the clear au' 
 of Donington; take it, my dear mother, and beheve me 
 yours ever. 
 
 [No. 45.] To his Mother. 
 
 Wednesday, May 13. 1801. 
 * * * It is now a fortnight since I came to Doning- 
 ton: it has not by any means seemed tedious to me; 
 and I think another week will be the conclusion of my 
 visit. I shall let you know particularly when I leave it. 
 
 [No. 46.] To his Mother. 
 
 Donington Park, May 21. 1801. 
 I am now more than three weeks at Donington, and 
 in that time have received but one short letter from home, 
 — this is not fair. I am sure 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 Httle idle gipsy, Catherine, who can 
 
 I 2 
 
116 LETTERS. [^TAT. 22. 
 
 have no other employment than to improve herself, ought 
 surely to make correspondence vrith me one medium of that 
 improvement. I am almost growing anxious from this 
 silence, to me so very gloomy; and I sometimes dread 
 that all is not right at home, or the common occupations 
 of the day could never so interrupt your writing to me. 
 TeU me truth, my darling mother, are you all happy and 
 in health? Make Catherine write to me oftener: there 
 are a thousand little nothings of the day's news which I 
 should hke to hear, and which it is her province more 
 immediately to communicate. Let her not mind postage 
 either; I throw away many a shilling fooHshly, 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 father. We 
 dined together yesterday at Mrs. Fancourt's : we have 
 
1801.] LETTEES. 117 
 
 contrived indeed not to separate in our enjoyments since 
 he came. You cannot imagine how much my name is 
 gone about here : even of those poems my bookseller sells 
 at the rate of twenty copies a-day ; and the shabby demand 
 of Ireland for fifty copies (which Grierson has written 
 over) will surely appear very contemptible to this. It is 
 not his fault, however ; and, indeed, I am very indifferent 
 about it, for they are not very liberal to the style of my 
 youthful productions. Lord Moira had one of the first 
 copies. 
 
 [No. 48.] To his Mother. 
 
 June 16. 1801. 
 46. Wigmore Street, Cavendish Square. 
 
 My dearest Mother, 
 I know you wiU forgive my irregularities in writing 
 at present, when you know that I am as well as possible, 
 and as happy as good spirits and a vast deal of pleasant 
 company can make me. The night before last I was at 
 the most splendid ball that has been given this season, at 
 the Duchess of Devonshire's ; and I returned at four this 
 morning from another, given by Sir "Watkin W. Wynne. 
 This work will soon be over, so you need not dread my 
 having too much of it. Carpenter has thought it most 
 prudent to defer publishing my book till Christmas : the 
 only inconvenience attending this is, that I must be 
 drawing on him in the meantime, without anything going 
 on to liquidate it ; but this he has no objection to. I am 
 only afraid it wUl delay my visit to dear home beyond 
 what I expected, as my only plan now is to go to Don- 
 ington, to Lord Moira's, where I shall be at less expense 
 than in town. Lord Moira, last night, went a great round 
 
 I 3 
 
118 LETTERS. [^TAT. 22. 
 
 out of Ms way to set me down at Sir Watkin's, from Mrs. 
 Duif's, where we met at a large rout. He is uncom- 
 monly kind and attentive. I think the reports about him 
 have again died away. Love to father, dear Kate, and 
 NeU. Yours ever, dearest mother. 
 
 [No. 49.] To his Mother. 
 
 Nov. 26. 1801. 
 My dearest Mother, 
 * * * I find the papers here have all been quot- 
 ing passages from my Anacreon for pubhc 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 some 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. 
 
1802.] LETTERS. 119 
 
 The second edition of Anacreon is published, and it is 
 certainly very beautifully got up. The print is universally 
 thought to be like, and he is selling off hundreds of them 
 singly. There is a copy at the binder's for my dears at 
 home. * * * 
 
 [No. 51.] To his Mother. 
 
 Saturday, Jan. 30. 1802. 
 IVIy dearest Mother, 
 
 I am flying off to the Temple this instant to eat my 
 dinner; it's about two miles and a half, so I have little 
 time to write. I don't know which, Kate or I, is gene- 
 rally in the greatest hurry. I go in the evening to a 
 Blue Stocking supper at Lady Mount-Edgecumbe's ; it is 
 the first this season, and I shaU be initiated. The Hon. 
 Mrs. Damer, 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 wait my 
 answer from Dalby, Lord Forbes' tutor, to arrange my 
 plans for leaving London ; it is necessary to me for some 
 time. 
 
 Love to all dears at home. Tell me how Hobart's play 
 comes on. TeU him I have attempted something, but don't 
 like what I have done. I had rather write merely the 
 words, and Stevenson compose the music. * * * 
 
 [No. 52.] To his Mother. 
 
 Monday, Feb. 1. 1802. 
 
 The idea of Lord Moira's coming into administration 
 
 begins to be entertained very strongly here. Heaven 
 
 send it ! I have heard from Dalby, and shaU about the 
 
 end of this week go to Donington. The Granards seem 
 
 I 4 
 
120 LETTERS. [iETAT. 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 said to have been known tiU. now. I 
 do not hear from you half so often as I should wish. Bid 
 Kate never to wait for a frank, and to write very often. 
 Dear, darling mother, your own boy, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 [No. 53.] To his Mother. 
 
 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 
 
1802,] LETTERS. 121 
 
 long my letter to my dear uncle, but to-morrow I think it 
 shall be done. The people will not let me stay at home as 
 much as I wish, and I sometimes wish all the duchesses 
 and marchionesses chez le diable. * * * 
 
 [No. 54.] 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 Kate so long silent ? She 
 has not acknowledged either of the letters which I wrote 
 to her. I am getting quite rosy with the air of this fine 
 weather. Nothing could take me to town now but BantVs 
 benefit. She plays the chief man herself, and Mrs. Bil- 
 lington la ■prima donna ; there's a treat ! I have some shows 
 myself here ; I went last night to look at the satellites of 
 Jupiter, through a telescope, with Dalby ; and this morn- 
 ing I was introduced to Dalby's sweetheart ! How do 
 you like the way " Lady Fair " is got up ? My best love 
 to dear, good father. I pray for you all every night. 
 
 [No. 55.] To his Mother. 
 
 Saturday, May 1. 1802. 
 My dearest Mother, 
 It is very, very long since I heard from home : what is 
 my little Kate about ? The Granards are still lingering 
 here. * * * Lady Grranard is uncommonly kind. I 
 think I should rather wish Kate to go with them to 
 Castle Forbes, if I can (as I expect) help her to rig her- 
 
122 LETTERS. [^TAT. 23. 
 
 self out for it. London is most killingly gay, and my 
 spirits keep up to its gaiety. Have you got the heads 
 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 Motmt-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 Kate's account of your dance, 
 but she did not tell me who were of the party. The Union 
 Masquerade on Monday was rather a Bartholomew Fair 
 business, though tickets sold for Jifteen guineas each. Mrs. 
 Fancourt, as WowsM, was the best dressed and supported 
 character I ever saw. I accompanied her as Trudge. The 
 Morning Post of to-day, I see, speaks of her, though they 
 do not know her name, and says she was attended by 
 " Anacreon Moore." I had a long conversation with Lord 
 Moira yesterday about going to Brunswick with Lord 
 Forbes : it is his wish decidedly, and he begged me to con- 
 sider, what beyond my expenses would make it unneces- 
 sary for me to draw on this country. Do not breathe a 
 word of this. I am still looking out for some one to take 
 charge of the dresses for Kate. I am going to publish 
 Memory. It depends now upon Lord Moira how soon I 
 shall visit my dear, dear home ; it may be immediately, 
 it may not be for two months or so. See you all, I 
 
1802.] LETTEES. 123 
 
 must of course, before I arrange any plan whatsoever 
 about Brunswick. Love to my good father, dear Kate, 
 and Ellen. Yours, dearest mother. 
 
 [No. 57.] To his Mother. 
 
 Saturday, July 18. 1802. 
 * * * I am happy to learn that the Catch 
 Club have done themselves so much justice by their tri- 
 bute to Stevenson. I wish he were here ; he would soon, I 
 think, put down Kelly. Poor Mick is rather an zjwposer 
 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 busUy employed in viewing all 
 the beauties of this country, which are, indeed, extremely 
 interesting ; and I hope in a very short time to describe 
 them to you by word of mouth. I had the courage the 
 other day to descend into a coal-pit, 360 feet depth : never 
 was anything so true a picture of the infernal regions; 
 very few, except those condemned to work in them, venture 
 to visit them. I was let down in a bucket, and, indeed, 
 expected to kick it before I got up again. The deuce take 
 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'TEtat. 23. 
 
 this place I shall, please Heaven ! lose no time in flying to 
 you. Who could Kate have heen with at Seapoint ? Love 
 to dearest father, and my little girls. The Atkinsons have 
 quite flattered me by the account they gave of EUen, 
 Good by, dearest mother. 
 
 [No. 59.] To his Mother. 
 
 Nov. 17. 1802. 
 My dearest Mother, 
 I have come to town just time enough to see Lord 
 Moira, with whom I dined yesterday at the Cocoa Tree. 
 Lord 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 certainly has not less will to do me service. 
 Every one has met me with smiles ; not a frown, even from 
 my tailor ! My chief anxiety now is about the money I 
 owe my dear uncle. Do bid him write, and set my mind 
 at ease. Let him not consult his delicacy, but say fairly 
 whether he is pressed for it, as I can make an efibrt to pay 
 him immediately. Dearest mother, is it not a pity, when 
 I am brought so near you, that I must deny myself the 
 gratification of instantly being amongst you ; but I must 
 work off these scores, and, thank Heaven ! I have it abun- 
 dantly in my power. I think I shall go to Donington : 
 there I shall be stUl nearer home ; and when seeing you all 
 is to be the crown of my task, it cannot fail to sweeten and 
 accelerate my labours. I find they have had frequent 
 reports here that I was dead. I hope they did not reach 
 you. I never was more alive in my life. 
 
1803.] LETTERS. 125 
 
 I am so anxious to get a lesson from dear Kate upon 
 the pianoforte, and to hear little Ellen warble. Well, well ! 
 it must be enough for me to know you are aU 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 ! Sad days we are thrown 
 upon : the world will never be ia amity, I fear. » * * 
 
 [No. 61.] To his Mother. 
 
 Sunday morning, April 17. 1803. 
 My dearest Mother, 
 I have been busier than you imagiae aU this last 
 week, transcribing part of my work for the press. I do 
 reaUy think transcribing must be the punishment for 
 bad poets in hell ; there is nothing so tiresome. It is now 
 a good while since I heard from home, but I know 
 my prattling correspondent is absent, and my father 
 perhaps too much occupied to write : however, I hope 
 to day's post may tell me you are all well, and as I could 
 wish. I would very gladly give up my solitude now, 
 but I have still a vast deal to do, and must stay a little 
 longer. Lord Strangford is pubHslnng his translation 
 of Camoens with Carpenter. I got some proof sheets 
 of it, which Lord S. sent me here, and I think it 
 
126 LETTEES. [iETAT. 23. 
 
 will do him very great credit. I hope, my dearest 
 mpther, 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. Mills arrived : pray, bid my 
 father mention. I believe I told you I had a letter from 
 Lewis. There are no less than three families about this 
 country who are teazing me to spend the spring at their 
 houses : so, you see, I am not without my usual resources. 
 Good by, darling mother. 
 
 [No. 62.] To Ms Mother. 
 
 Thursday, May 13. 1803. 
 Lady Granard left town on Monday. I sent by her a 
 little inclosure of five pounds for Ellen's music. I hope I 
 shall be able to follow it up more nobly. There is nothing 
 but masquerades going on here. I was at Mrs. Orby 
 Hunter's, in the character of a little Irish boy just come to 
 London, and had a vast deal of fun. I go to-morrow 
 night to Martindale's ; there are twenty guineas offered 
 on every side for a ticket for this, which is a fete given by 
 one of the Clubs. I am going as Lingo. 
 
 [No. 63.] To his Mother. 
 
 Friday, May 20. 1803. 
 My dearest Mother, 
 Yesterday I received my good father's letter: it 
 was quite a cordial to me, and decided my conduct in- 
 stantly. Never could I have had the faintest idea of 
 accepting so paltry and degrading a stipend, if I had 
 not the urging apprehension that my dears at home 
 
1803.] LETTERS. 127 
 
 wanted it ; but Heaven be praised that you are not in 
 instant necessity for an assistance which necessity alone 
 could reconcile. I will do better for you, at least as well, 
 by means more grateful to my feelings. The manner in 
 which Mr. Wickham commimicated the circumstance to 
 me would disgust any man with the least spirit of inde- 
 pendence about him. I accordingly, yesterday, after the 
 receipt of my father's letter, enclosed the Ode for the Birth- 
 day, at the same time resigniag the situation, and I slept 
 sounder last night in consequence, than, I assure you, I 
 have 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 Croker, 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 
 busiaess-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 reheved 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. We have all advanced fifty pounds each, 
 and I expect it will very soon double the income of the 
 laureateship to me : so why should I burthen my mind 
 with a situation whose emolument is so contemptible, 
 compared to the ridicule which is annexed to it. Love to 
 the dear girls when you write. God bless you, good father 
 and mother, and your own, 
 
 Tom Moore. 
 
 I send this by post, lest any accident happen. I 
 should be glad, if you have no objection, that you would 
 send this letter to Captain Atkinson, as I have not time to 
 write to him tiU to-morrow ; and I wish him to be as 
 soon as possible apprised of my resignation. 
 
 [No. 64.] To his Mother. 
 
 Saturday, July 16. 1803. 
 My dearest Mother, 
 I was gratified with a letter from my father, which, I 
 must confess, is rather a singular pleasure ; but I always 
 console myself with the idea that he is more profitably 
 employed. 
 
 I have agreed for the piano for dear Kate : it will be 
 sent off in a few days to Liverpool, and from thence to 
 Ireland. I hope it will arrive safe. It is not by any 
 
1803.] LETTERS. 129 
 
 means as good as I could wish for her, but it is sweet 
 toned, and of course much better than the wretched 
 machine she has at present. I think, as soon as you have 
 raceived the new one, you had better sell the old trumpery, 
 if any one will give a guinea for it. On Tuesday next 
 I shall be off to Donington. Good by, sweet mother. 
 
 [No. 65.] To his Mother. 
 
 Twelve o'clock, Sunday night, Aug. 7. 1803. 
 
 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 foUow up, as it will 
 possibly in the end be productive of something, even if it 
 be not itself a desirable object. Lord Moira told me to^ 
 day that he had had a letter from Tierney, offering him 
 the gift of a place which government had left at his 
 (Tierney's) disposal. It must be something far from con- 
 temptible, as Lord M. told me, in confidence, Tierney 
 was under obligations to him, and that this was the first 
 opportunity he had of, in any manner, repaying them. I 
 fear, however, it is a situation not in either of these coun- 
 tries ; and I fear it solely from the violence which a 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 
 
130 LETTERS. [^TAT. 24. 
 
 it yet. I take a letter to Tierney from Lord Moira, and 
 the circumstances will of course be explained to me. Be 
 assured, towever, that I will do nothing without the total 
 concurrence of your feelings as well as j owe judgment. 
 
 Poor Lord Moira met with a very disagreeable acci- 
 dent the other evening. As he was leaving the judges' 
 dinner at Leicester, he fell in going down stairs and hurt 
 his 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 L 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 affairs" which wUl 
 " lead to fortune." Fortune or not, I am stiU the same, 
 your own devoted Tom. 
 
 [No. 66.] From his Father. 
 
 Dublin, Aug. 16. 1803. 
 ISIy 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 
 
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 think it 
 right he should until it's all determined ; for though he is, 
 I believe, one of the best of men, he blabs a Httle 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 emoluments of this place, which was 
 very natural, but your letter of tliis 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 jour 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 Hfe 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 
 
1 32 LETTERS. [iETAT. 24. 
 
 separation wMcli this situation of yours wUl for some time 
 cause between us, we give you our full concurrence, and 
 may tlie 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 wiU be every 
 day increasing, and I hope you will be able to come to see 
 us before your departure. You wUl hear from me again 
 in a post or two. Your mother joins me in love to you, 
 and I am, my dearest chUd, your ever aifectionate, 
 
 John Mooee. 
 
 [No. 67.] To his Mother. 
 
 Saturday, Sept. 10. 1803. 
 My dearest Mother, 
 I have just got my father's letter, which has made me 
 veri/ happy. I am quite consoled by the idea of your 
 keeping up your spirits so well, and I entreat of you to 
 let nothing depress them in my absence, for I shall come 
 home, please that Heaven which watches over me, better 
 stocked in constitution as well as pocket than I ever should 
 become by loitering here. I find Bermuda is a place 
 where physicians order their patients when no other air 
 will keep them alive, I am still uncertain about the time 
 of my going, but I pray that Merry may not leave me 
 
1803.] LETTEES, 133 
 
 behind. I could not possibly have such another opportu- 
 nity. * * « I mentioned to another friend of mine, 
 "VVoolriche, 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 wotthy 
 of being helped. Oh ! the gold mines of sweet Ireland ! 
 God -Almighty bless you and keep you in health and 
 happiness till I return. I will write again on Monday. 
 Your own, 
 
 Tom, 
 
 [No. 68.] To his Mother. 
 
 Monday, Sept. 12. 1803. 
 My dearest Mother, 
 I enclose you a note I received from Merry yesterday, 
 by which you will perceive that everything is in train for 
 my departure. 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 smoothing the path for me. 
 He is a perfect enthusiast in the business, and says that 
 nothing could be presented so totally free from every alloy- 
 ing consideration, — so perfectly adapted to my disposition, 
 constitution, and prospects ; and he is right. If I did not 
 make a 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 3 
 
134 LETTERS. [^TAT. 24. 
 
 objects invaluable of themselves, abstracted from the pecu- 
 niary. [The rest of the letter is torn away. J 
 
 [No. 69.] To his Mother. 
 
 Sept. 1803. 
 My dearest Mother, 
 To-morrow morning Merry has fixed on for going to 
 Portsmouth, and to-morrow night I shall follow him. We 
 may be detained there a long time before the ship saUs. 
 Tell my dear uncle that I cannot sufficiently thank hitn for 
 his readiness in supplying my wants : I don't know what 
 I should have done without him, as there is a number of 
 little contingent necessities for which I should other^vise 
 have been obliged to trench on my hundred pounds. * * * 
 I think I shall find Mr. and Mrs. Merry veiy agreeable 
 companions. They are but lately married, and she has 
 been a fine woman. Our passage they seem to fear wiU 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 harmonies. 
 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 tail and 
 termagant. God bless and preserve our whole circle. 
 
1803.J LETTEKS. 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 darhngs 
 at home. Heayen send I may return to Enghsh ground 
 with pockets more heavy, and spirits not less light than I 
 now leave it with. Everything has been arranged to 
 my satisfaction. I am prepared with every comfort for the 
 voyage, and a fair breeze and a loud yo-yo-ee ! are all that's 
 now wanting to set me afloat. My dear father should 
 write to Carpenter, and thank him for the very friendly 
 assistance he has given me : without that assistance the 
 breeze would be fair in vain for me, and Bermuda 
 might be sunk in the deep, for any share that /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 hitn. Sweet mother, father, Kate, and Nell, 
 
 good by ! 
 
 [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 
 
136 LETTERS. [iETAT. 24. 
 
 Azores, or the Western Islands, and thougli our second 
 week has not advanced us much, from the ahnost con- 
 tinual calms we have had, yet the weather has been so 
 delicious that there is hut httle to complain of, and in an- 
 other fortnight we hope to he 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 wiU find many who can explain it, and I 
 know all minutise 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 
 win agree most perfectly with me. Nothing could possibly 
 be more pleasant than the accommodations of this ship ; 
 and though I shall never feel much passion for voyaging, 
 yet it scarcely could be made less disagreeable than it is to 
 us. The table we sit down to every day is splendid, and 
 we drink Madeira and claret in common : but I am be- 
 ginning to gossip with you, when I have hardly time to say 
 what is necessary. Make Stevenson give all the songs he 
 can possibly make out to Carpenter. I hope the packet I 
 sent through Erche, from Portsmouth, has arrived safe. 
 Keep up your spirits, my sweet mother ; there is every 
 hope, every prospect of happiness for all of us. Love to 
 darhng father, to my own Kate and NeU. I am now near 
 two thousand miles from you, but my heart is at home. 
 God bless you. The ship is brought to, and our lieutenant 
 is just going aboard, so I must stop. Your own, 
 
 Tom. 
 I wrote a line to Carpenter by a ship we met off the 
 Western Islands : I hope he has got it. Here is a hiss for 
 you, my darUngs, all the way from the Atlantic, 
 
1803.] LETTERS. 137 
 
 [No. 72.] To Ms Mother. 
 
 Norfolk, "Virginia, Nov. 7. 1803. 
 
 Safe across the Atlantic, my darling motlier, 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 oif 
 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 ! Keep up your spirits, my own dear mother : I am 
 safe, and in health, and have met friendship and attentioil 
 from every one. Everything promises well for your dear 
 absent boy ; and, please God ! there wiU 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 suiFer 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, 
 served very much to render it not only supportable, but 
 pleasant. * * * With Cockburn, who is a man of good 
 fashion and rank, I became extremely intimate ; and, the 
 day we landed, he took a seal from his watch, which he 
 begged I would wear in remembrance of him. Never was 
 
138 LETTEES. [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 genuine 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 ofi" in a day or two for Washington, and on Wed- 
 nesday next (this is Sunday) I think I shall have an 
 opportunity of getting to Bermudas : it is not a week's 
 passage, and I am so great a sailor now, I shall think 
 
1803.] LETTEES. 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 
 begin 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 coast, 
 a pair of blankets was scarcely enough at night, the 
 weather became so suddenly cold. Yet this violent change 
 has not the least affected me, and I never was better in 
 health, or had a more keen appetite. I often thought of 
 my dear father's " sea-room " when we were rolling about 
 in the vast Atlantic, with nothing of animated life to be 
 seen around us, except now and then the beautiful Httle 
 flying fish, fluttering out of the water, or a fine large turtle 
 floating asleep upon the surface. This Norfolk, the capital 
 of Virginia, is a most strange place ; 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 unlovely pieces of 
 crockery I ever set my eyes upon. The first object I saw 
 on entering Colonel Hamilton's drawing-room was a harp- 
 sichord, which looked like civiHsation, 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 particularly so, from 
 
140 LETTEES. [^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 fiUed 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 Portsmouth. 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 
 
1803.] LETTERS. 141 
 
 could get Lord Moira to write a few words about me to 
 Hamilton, I think it would be of singular service to me 
 wHle I remain at Bermuda. Show him this letter, and 
 give him with it the warmest remembrances of my heart. 
 I trust Stevenson has not forgotten me, and that he has by 
 this time furnished poor Carpenter with some means of 
 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 ia 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 have this instant received an invitation to dinner 
 from one of the Yankees of this place: if the ambassador 
 and his lady go, of course / wiU. Oh ! if you saw the 
 vehicles the people drive about in here, white coaches with 
 black servants, and horses of no colour at aU ; it is reaUy 
 a most comical place. Poor Mrs. Merry has been as Ul- 
 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 nuld climate of Bermuda, which I stiU hear 
 is the sweetest and most healthy spot in the world ; but I 
 am sorry to find that meat is rather a scarcity there, and 
 that it is sometimes no fish, no dinner. He that can't feed 
 well, however, upon good poultry, fish, and fruit of all 
 kinds, ought to be condemned to eat roast mutton all the 
 days of his life ; and this, my dear mother, in your mind 
 and mine, would be sufficient punishment for him. TeU 
 my beloved, darling father, that if there is anything in 
 
142 LETTERS. [iETAT. 24. 
 
 the mercantile way which he can learn, that I may assist 
 him or Mr. Gillespie in here, they shall find me a steadier 
 fellow than I am afraid I have hitherto appeared (at least 
 to Mr. Gr.), 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, Nov. 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 uncertain 
 upon a point so interesting, as the little communication we 
 are allowed must be to us aU ; but it is impossible to 
 answer for the arrival of my letters, and I shall be doomed 
 to stiU more uncertainty at Bermuda. I must, therefore, 
 take every opportunity that presents itself, and it wiU be 
 very unfortunate, 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 sea-sickness, upon coming on 
 board. There are two or three points I am very anxious 
 about : first, whether you got the packet I sent from 
 Portsmouth, folded in a hurry, and, I believe, not properly 
 directed, but which contained an enclosure of songs for 
 
1803.] LETTERS. 143 
 
 Stevenson ; secondly, whetlier Captain Atkinson received 
 a letter I sent ashore by the pilot-boat, to be put in 
 the post-office ; and again, whether you, dear mother, got 
 the letter I wrote you on the passage, by a ship bound for 
 some part of the Continent. If these have been fortunate, 
 aU is well. Mr. and Mrs. Merry are gone to "Washington, 
 after remaining here more than a fortnight. I am lodged 
 at Col. Hamilton's, the British consul, from whom I have 
 experienced aU possible kindness and hospitaHty; 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 darUngs at home ! how incessantly I 
 think of you : every night I dream that I am amongst 
 you : sometimes I find you happy and smiling as I could 
 wish: sometimes the picture is not so pleasant, and I 
 awake unhappy, 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! 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 opportunity whatever that occurs of 
 writing to you, and saying how affairs go on. My dear 
 father, I am sure, will often give me the consolation of 
 seeing his hand. Good Kate and Nell too must not be 
 idle, but show me that their thoughts are frequently 
 employed upon me. 
 
 I write this merely as a duplicate of my last letter, to 
 tell you of my arrival, and let you know how I am at 
 present situated : never was my health or spirits better. 
 
144 LETTERS. [^TAT. 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. 
 
 Agaiuj my dearest mother, I avail myself of an op- 
 portunity which just oiFers 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 
 hospitaHty, 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 poiats 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 Pather ! how often, how 
 
1803.] LETTERS. 145 
 
 dearly, I think of him, and you, and all! I feel how- 
 anxious 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 
 boimd 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 kLadness of these good people, 
 the Hamiltons, is fortunate and dehghtful to me. If I were 
 not so completely thrown upon it though I should be more 
 gratified by, and enjoy it more pleasantly : but is it not a 
 most lucky thing, when I am obliged to remain here, to be 
 received cordially by a family whose hospitaUty 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 wiU keep me famously 
 alive in my French. It is extraordinary that I cannot, 
 even here, acquire any accurate information with respect 
 to the profits of my registrarship. One thing is certain, 
 that a Spanish war alone can make it worth a very long 
 sacrifice of my other opportunities, and our government 
 has so long hesitated upon that point, that it seems now 
 more doubtful than ever. However, I am too far from the 
 source of information to guess how pohtics stand at present. 
 Perha,ps we are at this moment engaged in a Spanish war ; 
 if so, tant mieux pour Jeannette. I know that my friends 
 VOL. I. L 
 
146 LETTERS. [iETAT. 24, 
 
 in DubKn will all be very angry that I do not write to 
 them b}» 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 
 friend Atkinson. Tell him so, and give him my warmest 
 remembrances : they are not the less warm for being 
 Transatlantic. Absence is the best touchstone of affection : 
 it either cools it quite, or makes it ten times warmer than 
 ever it was ; and I can never judge how I love people till 
 I leave them. This is a strange climate ; yesterday the 
 glass was at 70°, and to-day it is down to 40°. I consider 
 myself very hardy to bear it so well : my stomach has 
 seldom been in such good order, nor my whole frame more 
 braced and healthy. If Bermuda agrees so perfectly with 
 me, I shall return to you the better for my trip. Return 
 to you ! how I hke 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 again. 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 hefore 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 Ritson, 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 unlucky ? 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 Eitson 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 fortimate 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 painful 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 
 
 L 2 
 
148 LETTEE8. [iETAT. 24. 
 
 merchantman. He gives me a very favourable account 
 of Bermuda, and I have no doubt of passing my time very 
 pleasantly there. Every tiling is succeeding to my utmost 
 wishes, and my spirits are as wild as ever you have wit- 
 nessed them. TiU this cursed Ritson returned with my 
 poor dear letter, I had not one uneasy thought, for even 
 my regrets at the distance that separates us was softened 
 by the hope that you would soon hear of my safety, that 
 you would be happy in the promise of good fortune that 
 awaits us, and that no very distant day would see us in 
 the possession of all our hearts wish for. 
 
 I have not time, 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 
 shall have an opportunity of writing again before we go. 
 God bless you — Father, Kate, ISTeU, and all dears. * * * 
 
 [No. 76.] To his Mother. 
 
 Bermuda, Jan. 19. 1804. 
 My darling Mother, 
 Here have I been more than a week, without any 
 opportunity of sending a letter even to take its chance 
 at sea in some of the cruisers, since none have arrived 
 or left this during that time ; and it gives me so 
 much uneasiness to think you should be long without 
 hearing of me, that I am hardly so selfish as to bestow a 
 thought upon my own privation. Yet indeed, dearest mo- 
 ther, it is a very cruel privation to have been now near 
 five months without a whisper of intelligence from home ; 
 and if every thing here was as prosperous as I have been 
 flattered into supposing, this dreadful anxiety would em- 
 bitter it aU ; and the brightest advantages of the situation 
 would be very dearly purchased. In coming from Norfolk 
 
1804.] LETTERS. 149 
 
 hither we had most tremendous weather : you may guess 
 what it must have heen to an inexperienced sajlor, when 
 all the officers of the ship declared they seldom, scarcely 
 ever, had encountered such serious and continual gales of 
 wind. The passage, however, was pretty short for this 
 season of the year ; we made it in seven days, though for 
 three days of that time we remained without venturing to 
 set a stitch of sail, and of course lost as much as we gained 
 of our way. Yet I bore it all so stoutly, that, 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 vain to think 
 of sleeping from the noise and the motion, I amused my- 
 self in my cot by writing ridiculous verses and laughing at 
 them. Sailors, to be sure, think nothing of all these storms ; 
 but I do say, for a novice, it requires a little philosophy to 
 be so cool and careless in such new and uncomfortable 
 situations. Indeed, there has never been a severer winter 
 than this upon the coast of America, and often, very often, 
 darhng 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 
 
150 LETTEES. [iETAT. 24. 
 
 his absence from her, I enclose one of these letters, which 
 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 certainly one of 
 the prettiest and most romantic spots that I could ever 
 have imagined, and the descriptions which represent it as 
 like a place of 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 thickly 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 Hfe " 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 painter, and wished to 
 preserve my ideas of beauty immaculate, I would not 
 suffer the brightest belle of Bermuda to be my house- 
 maid. But I shall refer you for a fuUer description of 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 LETTERS. 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 wiU be decided 
 next month : it is weU to be acquainted 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 calcidated, and as 
 they reconcile me completely to the step I have taken, 
 I have hopes that my darhng father and you will consider 
 it in the same favourable light, and not feel much dis- 
 appointment at the damp our expectations have expe- 
 rienced. Please Heaven ! I shall soon embrace you all, 
 and find you in health and happiness once more ; and this 
 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 
 
 I, 4 
 
1 52 LETTERS. [^TAT. 24. 
 
 they make here upon things they call pianofortes is, oh ! 
 insupportable. I hope Carpenter has not forwarded my 
 books to America, for, if he has, they run a risk of being 
 lost; let dear father inquire about them. In one of 
 the last English newspapers, I was shocked beyond 
 measure at reading of- poor Biggin's death: it made me 
 feel the horrors of absence, which keeps one from know- 
 ing these calamities till they come by surprise, and 
 without any preparation to soften their impression. It 
 made me resolve almost not to look into another English 
 paper till I return. In closing my letter now, it is 
 a very uncomfortable feeling to think that, perhaps, 
 not a word I have written will reach you; however. 
 Heaven speed it ! I will 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 sails soon after the one that takes this. 
 Best love to my adored father: I hope Providence favours 
 his exertions for the dear ones about him. Darling Kate 
 and EUen have my heart with them always. There is a 
 little thing here very Hke Nell, only much darker, and I 
 go very often to look at her. God bless you, sweet mother, 
 for your own, own affectionate, 
 
 T.M. 
 
 [No. 77.] To his Mother. 
 
 Bermuda, Jan. 24. 1804. 
 My dearest Mother, 
 I have written you a long letter, which I sent by the 
 way of Norfolk from this place ; but for fear any un- 
 fortunate chance should rob you of it, I take the oppor- 
 
1804.] LETTERS. 153 
 
 tunity of a ship going to the West Indies, which at least 
 doubles the likelihood of your hearing of my arrival in 
 Bermuda in health and in spirits, dear mother, as good as 
 I have had ever to boast of. As I have every hope that 
 you wUl 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 May or June I expect 
 to sail for England ! yes, darling mother, to see and 
 embrace you once more, since there is nothing here worth 
 staying for, and I have acq[uired 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- 
 cimiary 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, 
 bow I long to hear of you ! Oh ! think what a painful in- 
 terval it is, sweet mother, to have been five months with- 
 out a word from home. I could hardly have hoped to bear 
 it so weU, but we shall all meet soon again, please Heaven ! 
 and be happy ; and the talking over the past wUl sweeten 
 the present, and the absence we have endured wUl 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 caUipash and Madeira : the ship that takes 
 this is to depart before daybreak, and I shall hardly be 
 time enough to send it to the captain; but in full trust and 
 expectation that you wiU receive the other letter I have 
 written, in which I have told a few more particulars, I 
 shall kiss you, in fancy, dear mother, and have done, giving 
 a thousand loves to good father, and my own Kate and 
 
154 LETTERS. [^TAT. 24. 
 
 Nell. God bless you. I shall take every opportunity of 
 writing. Yours, yours, most affectionately, darling 
 mother. 
 
 [No. 78.] To his Mother. 
 
 St. George's, Bermudas, Feb. 17. 1804. 
 My dearest Mother, 
 Every ship that comes, I look with impatience to, as 
 bringing me some intelligence from some friends at home ; 
 but I am stiU disappointed, and it is now five months since 
 I saw the last dear paper that brought the odour of home 
 on it to me. I begin to fear that it is not unlikely I may 
 be on my return to England before any news of you can 
 reach me ; for, unfortunately, I did not know myself, nor 
 therefore could I instruct you in, the most frequent and 
 safe method of forwarding letters to me. The address 
 I gave you, however, in everything I wrote from Norfolk 
 (Col. Hamilton, His Britan. Majesty's Consul, Norfolk, 
 Virginia) ought soon to bring me something, and I hope 
 in Heaven it may. From Norfolk I sent you several 
 letters, and this is now the 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 Spain would render my 
 situation by no means adequate to the sacrifice I make in 
 absence. My health has never been more perfect or 
 regular than at present ; indeed, it is almost impossible to 
 be ill in such a delicious climate as this island enjoys in 
 the winter. Koses are in fuU blow here now, and my 
 favorite green peas smoke every day upon the table. I 
 
1804.J LETTEES. ' 155 
 
 have been extremely fortunate here (as Indeed Providence 
 seems to please I should be everywhere) in conciliating 
 friendship, 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 corner thither. They 
 threaten me here with an impeachment, as being in a fair 
 way to make bankrupts of the whole island. There has 
 been nothing but gaiety since I came, and there never was 
 such a furor for dissipation known in the town of St. 
 George's before. The music parties did not long keep up, 
 because they found they were obliged to trust to me for 
 their whole orchestra ; but the dances have been innumer- 
 able, and stiU continue with very great spirit indeed. The 
 women dance in general extremely weU, though, like 
 Dogberry's " writing and reading," it " comes by nature to 
 them," for they never have any instruction, except when 
 some flying dancing-master, by the kindness of fortune, 
 happens to be wrecked and driven ashore on the island. 
 Poor creatures ! I feel real pity for them : many of them 
 have hearts for a more favourable sphere ; but they are 
 here thrown together in a secluded nook of the world, 
 where they learn all the corruptions of human nature, 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. [^TAT. 24. 
 
 to you of politics, darling mother, for I have only time to 
 bid you kiss all the dears around you for me. Tell my 
 darling father, that I shall be able to talk to him about 
 "West India trade on my return. Throw your arms about 
 his neck for me, and bless the dear girls from their own 
 remembering and affectionate brother. God bless you aU, 
 for yours truly and ever, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 [No. 79.] To his Mother. 
 
 Bermuda, March. 19. 1804. 
 My dearest Mother, 
 I take every opportunity of writing that offers, though 
 perfectly uncertain 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 
 
1804.] LETTEES. 157 
 
 been as many eiforts at gaiety here as I could possibly 
 have expected in so secluded a nook of the world. We 
 have a ball or two every week^ and I assure you the wea- 
 ther is by no means too hot for them. ; for we have had 
 some days so cold, that I almost expected to see a fall of 
 snow, miraculous as that would be in a region so near 
 the sun as this is. A week or two since I rode into 
 (what they call) the country parts of the island : nothing 
 could be more enchanting than the scenery they showed 
 me. The road lay for many mUes 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 ! but, indeed, 
 the mission I went upon was by no means so romantic as 
 my road. I was sent to swear a man to the truth of a 
 Dutch invoice he had translated. " Oh ! what a falling off 
 is there." Indeed I must confess that the occupations of 
 my place are not those of the most elegant nature : I have 
 to examine all the skippers, mates, and seamen, who are 
 produced as witnesses in the causes of captured vessels. I 
 should not, you may be sure, think a moment of the in- 
 conveniences of the situation, if the emoluments were any- 
 thing like a compensation for them ; but they are not ; and 
 accordingly, dear mother, you wiU. soon have me with you 
 again. About May, I dare say, I shall be able to leave 
 Bermuda ; and I shall endeavour, if my purse wUl 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 signal-post for your 
 Tom, who wiU 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 ! Never 
 
158 LETTERS. [^TAT. 24. 
 
 mind, though I I am young and free, and the world is a 
 
 field for me stiU. While I have such motives for exertion 
 
 as you, 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 
 
 Pleaven bless you all, for your own, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 I enclose some letters for people here : the English 
 one you wUl get franked, and that to Switzerland you 
 must have put into the Foreign Ofiice in London, not in 
 Dublin. I kiss you, darlings. 
 
 [No. 80.] To his Mother. 
 
 New York, May 7. 1804. 
 My dearest Mother, 
 I have but just time to say, here I am, after a passage 
 of nine days from Bermuda ; never was better ; and the 
 novelty of this strange place keeps me in a bustle of 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.] LETTEES. 159 
 
 for Norfolk, whither I shall accompany him ; and my in- 
 tention is, if I can manage it, to come up by land through 
 the States, and rejoin him at Halifax, from whence I be- 
 lieve he wUl be sent to England, — a fine opportunity for 
 me, and I anxiously hope it may occur so. I go to the 
 theatre this evening, and to a concert to-morrow evening. 
 Such a place ! such people ! barren and secluded as poor 
 Bermuda is, I think it a paradise to any spot in America 
 that I have seen. If there is less barrenness of soil here, 
 there is more than enough of barrenness in intellect, taste, 
 and all in which heart is concerned. ♦ * * 
 
 I have no more time ; my heart is fuU 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. 
 
 IVIy darling IMother, 
 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 sail for Norfolk. 
 The Halifax packet is lying along side of us, and I shall 
 take the opportunity of sending this letter by her. At 
 New York I was made happy by my father's letter of the 
 25th January, and dear Kate's of the 30th, which make 
 four in all that I have received from home. I had so very 
 few opportunities at Bermuda, and they were attended 
 with so much uncertainty, that I fear you may have suf- 
 fered many an anxious moment, darling mother, from the 
 
160 LETTERS. [JilTAT. 24. 
 
 interruption and delay of the few letters I could dispatch 
 to you. But, please Heaven ! we shall soon have those 
 barriers of distance removed ; my own tongue shall tell you 
 my " travel's history," and your heart shall go along with 
 me over every biUow 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 reaUsed, for I should 
 love to live there, and you would like it too, dear mother ; 
 and I think, if the situation would give me but a fourth of 
 what I was so deludingly taught to expect, you should all 
 have come to me ; and though set apart from the rest of the 
 world, we should have found in that quiet spot, and under 
 that sweet sky, quite enough to counterbalance what the 
 rest of the world could give us. But I am stiU to seek, 
 and can only hope that I may find at last. 
 
 The environs of New York are pretty, from the ntim- 
 ber of- little fanciful wooden houses that are scattered, 
 to the distance of six to eight miles round the city ; but 
 when one reflects upon the cause of this, and that these 
 houses are the retreats of the terrified, desponding inha- 
 bitants from the wilderness of death which every autumn 
 produces in the city, there is very little pleasure in the 
 prospect; and, notwithstanding the rich fields, and the 
 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 young 
 M. Buonaparte, and felt a slight shock of an earthquake, 
 which are two things I could not often meet Avith upon 
 Usher's Quay. From Norfolk I intend going to Balti- 
 more and Washington ; if possible also to Philadelphia 
 and Boston, from thence to Halifax. From Halifax I hope 
 
1804.] LETTERS. 161 
 
 to set sail in the cabin where I now write this letter for 
 the dear old isles of the Old World again ; and I think it 
 probable, that twelve months from the time I left England 
 will very nearly see me on its coasts once more. 
 
 I thank dear Kate for the poem she has sent me : it is 
 written, I believe, by a Mr. William Smith, some of whose 
 things (extremely pretty) are in the Metrical Miscellany ; 
 a collection of poems published by my little friend Mrs. 
 RiddeU. But why doesn't Kate say something about NeU ? 
 
 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, darling mother. Kiss them all round for me, 
 father, Kate, and NeU 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 reconciles, but endears to me, 
 not only the excellencies but even the errors of Old Eng- 
 land. Such a road as I have come ! and in such a convey- 
 ance ! The mail takes twelve passengers, which generally 
 
 VOL. I. M 
 
162 LETTERS. [^TAT. 25. 
 
 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 u'pset 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 / 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- 
 son ; and it is only the precarious situation of Great Britain 
 which could possibly induce it to overlook such indecent, 
 though, at the same time, petty hostility. I was pre- 
 sented by Mr. Merry to both the secretary of state and 
 the president. * * * 
 
 I hope, my darling mother, that all I write to amuse 
 you may meet your eye, and find your heart in a mood to 
 enjoy it. Oh yes, be happy, my own mother! be you 
 but well and happy, and no sorrow can come near any of 
 us. I know, in saying this, I speak for all; for my 
 dearest, beloved father, and the sweet, good girls ; we all 
 hang on you equally. Never did Heaven form a heart 
 more kind than I have found in Mrs. Hamilton of Norfolk, 
 and she has caught the way to my heart by calling herself 
 my mother. She sends a pair of ear-rings by me to Kate 
 with the sincerest affection possible : she loves you all 
 through me. I 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 imnecessary, 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 ! However, I dined with the Consul- 
 general yesterday, which makes the balance even. I feel 
 awkward with Hudson now; he has perhaps had reason 
 to confirm him in his politics, and God knows I see every 
 reason to change mine. Good by, sweet mother. Your 
 own everywhere. 
 
 [No. 83.] To his Mother. 
 
 Passaick Falls, June 26. 1804. 
 My dearest Mother, 
 I must write to you from this spot, it is so beautiful. 
 Nothing can be more sweetly romantic than the cascade 
 of the Passaick; and yet I could not help wishing, while I 
 
 M 2 
 
164 LETTERS. [^TAT. 25, 
 
 looked at it, that some magic could transform it into the 
 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 shall be, please Heaven ! in your arms. But 
 there have ships come, darling mother, from Dublin, and 
 I have received no letters ; none with a date more recent 
 than January : perhaps they have been sent on to Col. 
 Hamilton, and I shall get them at Halifax. God send I 
 may ; but till then I cannot feel at ease. Not a line has 
 reached me from Carpenter since I left England. I some- 
 times forget the contingencies and accidents which delay 
 and embarrass the forwarding of letters, and ahnost 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 
 are come to steal away yotmg 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. * * * 
 
 [No. 84.] From Captain Douglas, R.N. 
 
 Boston, June 29. 1804. 
 My dear Friend, 
 Before I received yours last evening, the boat set oif 
 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 weU 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* Respecting your 
 Niagara expedition, I think you may yet have time; as 
 Capt. Bradley says, before he left Halifax, he was in- 
 formed that the next ships would not be ready to sail 
 before the first week in August. If you think you can 
 get to Halifax* on or before the last day of July, I would 
 advise you to go; but, at the same time, do not risque 
 losing your passage with me, as that will deprive me of a 
 satisfaction and advantage I should ever regret. Re- 
 member me kindly to Col. Barclay's &mily, and believe 
 me, your true friend, 
 
 J. E. Douglas. 
 
 M 3 
 
166 LETTEKS. [^TAT. 25. 
 
 [No. 85.] To Ms Mother. 
 
 Saratoga, July 10. 1804. 
 
 My darling mother, T 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. TiU. the day before I left it, there 
 was no appearance of any infection : on that day, some 
 reports of yellow fever were made, and indeed I have no 
 doubt the visitation of this calamity will be as dreadful 
 this year, as any that has preceded. I have now come two 
 hundred miles from New York, and if anything can add 
 to the blessing of the health which I feel, it is the idea of 
 having left such pestilence behind me. Oh that you 
 could see the sweet country I have passed through ! The 
 passage up the Hudson river gave me the most bewil- 
 dering succession of romantic objects that I could ever 
 have conceived. When it was calm, we rowed ashore and 
 visited the little villages that are on the river : one of these 
 places they have called Athens, and there, you may imagine, 
 I found myself quite at home. I looked in vain though 
 for my dear gardens; there were hogs enough, but none of 
 Epicurus's herd. If you, or sweet Kate, could read Latin, I 
 would quote you here what I allude to ; but you have not 
 " been at the great feast of languages, or stolen the scraps" 
 so I'U 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 faU 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, beautifiil, 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 
 svrote 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 Uttle woman, Mrs. 
 Hopkinson, who was extremely interested by my songs, 
 and flattered me with many attentions. You must observe 
 that the Schuylkill is a river which runs by, or (I believe) 
 through, Philadelphia. 
 [Here follows, 
 
 " Alone by the Schuylkill a wanderer rov'd," 
 
 already published.] 
 
 I am now near the spot where the accomplished 
 but ill-fated Burgoyne iacurred 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 taU. 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 
 
168 LETTERS. [iElAT. 25. 
 
 the TJnlted 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 asldng 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 saw there a poor aifectionate mother 
 who had brought her son for the recovery of his health : 
 she sat beside him all day with a large fan, to cool his 
 " feverish brow," and not a moment did she rest from this 
 employment ; every time I passed I saw her at it with the 
 sweetest patience imaginable. Oh ! there is no love like 
 mother's love ; the sight made me think of home, and 
 recalled many circumstances which brought the tears of 
 recollection and gratitude into my eyes. 
 
 I enclose you a scrap from a New York paper of last 
 week, which will show you I do not pass unnoticed 
 over this waste, and it wUl please our dear Kate's friend, 
 Mrs. Smith, to see her poem selected even in America. 
 God bless you all. Love to my darHng father, and the 
 good girls. From your own devoted son, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 [No. 86.] To Ms Mother. 
 
 Geneva, Genessee Country, July 17. 1804. 
 I just pause a moment on my way to givfe one word 
 to my dearest mother. I hope the letter I wrote, four or 
 five days since, from Seenectady, wiU find its way to you. 
 Since then I have been amongst the Oneida Indians, and 
 have been amused very much by the novelty of their ap- 
 
1804.] LETTERS. 169 
 
 pearance. An old cMef, Seenando, received me very 
 courteously, 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 continually 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 wiU 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 weU-bred gentlemen in America. 
 
 Our journey along the banks of the Mohawk was 
 uncommonly interesting : never did I feel my heart in a 
 better tone of sensibility than that which it derived from 
 the scenery on this river. There is a holy magnificence 
 in the immense bank of woods that overhang it, which 
 does not permit the heart to rest merely in the admi- 
 ration of Nature, but carries it to that something less 
 vague than Nature, that satisfactory source of all these 
 exquisite wonders, a Divinity ! 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 gratis 
 to England which has induced me to devote the expenses 
 
170 LETTERS. [^TAT. 25. 
 
 of my return to the acquisition of some knowledge re- 
 specting this very interesting world, 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 teU 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 biU 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. Good by. 
 God bless you, dears. Oh ! that I could know how you 
 are at this moment. Your own, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 [No. 8?.] To his Mother. 
 
 Chippewa, Upper Canada, July 22. 1804. 
 Dearest Mother, 
 Just arrived within a mile and half of the Falls of 
 Niagara, and their tremendous roar at this moment soimd- 
 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.] LETTEES. 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 ! 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 you, which I wUl 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. Yoiur own, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 I am now on British ground; we arrived yesterday 
 evening to dinner, and drunk the Bang's health in a 
 bumper. Just going to see the Falls. Good by. 
 
 [No. 88.] 2o his Mother. 
 
 Niagara, July 24. 1804. 
 My dearest Mother, 
 I have seen the Falls, and am all rapture and amaze- 
 ment. I cannot give you a better idea of what I felt than 
 by transcribing what I wrote off hastily in my journal on 
 returning. " Arrived at Chippewa, within three miles of 
 the Falls, on Saturday, July 21st, to dinner. That even- 
 ing walked towards the Falls, but got no farther than the 
 Rapids, which gave us a preHbation of the grandeur we 
 had to expect. Next day, Sunday, July 22d, went to 
 
172 LETTERS. [^TAT. 25. 
 
 visit the Falls. Never shall I forget the impression I felt 
 at the first glimpse of them which we got as the carriage 
 passed over the hill that overlooks them. "We were not 
 near enough to be agitated by the terrific effects of the 
 scene ; but saw through the trees this mighty flow of 
 waters descending with cahn magnificence, and received 
 enough of its grandeur to set imagination on the wing ; 
 imagination which, even at Niagara, can outrun reality. 
 I felt as if approaching the very residence of the Deity ; 
 the tears started into my eyes ; and I remained, for mo- 
 ments after we had lost sight of the scene, in that delicious 
 absorption which pious enthusiasm alone can produce. We 
 arrived at the New Ladder and descended to the bottom. 
 Here all its awful sublimities rushed full upon me. But 
 the former exquisite sensation was gone. I now saw all. 
 The string that had been touched by the first impulse, and 
 which fancy would have kept for ever in' vibration, now 
 rested at reality. Yet, though there was no more to 
 imagine, there was much to feel. My whole heart and 
 soul ascended towards the Divinity in a swell of devout 
 admiration, which I never before experienced. Oh ! bring 
 the atheist here, and he cannot return an atheist ! I pity 
 the man who can coldly sit down to write a description 
 of these ineffable 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, darhng mother, which I en- 
 trusted to the waggoner (who was going back) to have it 
 forwarded. Oh ! if the stupid scoundrel should have 
 neglected it. Since the day I left 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. Again God bless 
 you, dearest mother. Ever, ever your 
 
 Tom. 
 
 [No. 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 immortal, and which looks more 
 
 like the elysium of heroes than their death-place. If any 
 
174 LETTEES. [iETAT. 25. 
 
 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 with. This is the very nectar of Hfe, 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 wiU 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, Nova Scotia, Sept. 16. 1804. 
 My darling Mother, 
 I arrived at Halifax last Tuesday week, after a pas- 
 sage of thirteen days from Quebec. I wrote to you while 
 at Quebec ; but from what I have since heard of the time 
 of the fleet's sailing from there, it is likely this letter may 
 reach you first. Well, dears of my heart ! here am I at 
 length, with the last footsteps upon American ground, and 
 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 examiaation of 
 a new university they have founded. This attention is, as 
 you may suppose, very singular and flattering ; indeed, 
 where have I failed to meet cordiality and kindness ? They 
 have smoothed every step of my way, and sweetened every 
 novelty that I met. The governor of Lower Canada, 
 when I was on the point of leaving, sent 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 
 win not see either frivolity or egotism in the detail. All 
 along my route I have seized every opportunity of writing 
 to you, and it will be more than unfortunate if my letters 
 do not reach you. You cannot imagine how anxious I 
 have been lest I should lose the opportunity of the Boston 
 frigate home; for I have been unavoidably detained a 
 month beyond my time, and the orders of service are im- 
 perious. I know that with all Douglas's friendship, he 
 could not wait for me, and I almost gave up the hope. 
 
176 LETTERS. [^TAT. 25. 
 
 But, still lucky, I have found him here refitting, and in 
 about three 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 girl. 
 
 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. 
 
 [No. 91.] To his Mother. 
 
 Plymouth, 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 EngUsh ground. After a 
 passage of eight-and-twenty days, here I am, without a 
 blemish either in heart or body, and within a few hundred 
 miles (instead of thousands) of those that are dearest to 
 rne. Oh dear ! to think that in ten days hence I may see 
 a letter from home, written but a day or two before, warm 
 from your hands, and with your very breath almost upon 
 
1804.] LETTEES. 177 
 
 it, instead of lingering out months after months, without a 
 gleam of intelligence, without any thing hut 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 similar situation could say this ! and how 
 grateful do I feel to Heaven, and my dear father and 
 mother for those means I * * * 
 
 [No. 92. J To his Mother. 
 
 Saturday \after my return from Bermuda]. 
 
 My darling Mother, 
 
 I have only just time to tell you that the Prince was 
 extremely land 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. 25. 
 
 up to Lord Molra, and pointing towards me, express, I 
 suppose, the same thing. 
 
 It was at Lord Harrington's. I enclose you the in- 
 vitation I received from Lord Petersham, because it is 
 friendly, and because nothing else could have induced me 
 to break the studious retirement I have adopted. I am 
 delighted I went. God bless you aU. 
 
 [No. 93.] To his Mother. 
 
 27. Bury Street, St. James's, 
 Wednesday, Jan. 11. 1805. 
 
 My darling Mother, 
 
 I find that London itself, with all its charms, will be 
 unable to seduce me from my present virtuous resolutions. 
 I work as hard as a Scaliger all the mornings; and a 
 dinner now and then with Lady Donegal or Mrs. Tighe 
 is the utmost excess I allow myself to indulge in. I have 
 often thought, and what I feel now confirms me in it, that I 
 never was in such even spirits, as when employed to some 
 purpose of utility. I don't know though that even the 
 worldly necessity I am under of doing something would 
 be sufficient to urge me so industriously, if I were not 
 impelled by my anxiety to get to Ireland; and, please 
 Heaven ! about six weeks hence will, I think, see me on 
 my way thither. 
 
 'Tis a long time since I have heard from you. The 
 Moiras are just come to town. 
 
 God bless my dear father and mother, and spare them 
 to their 
 
 Tom. 
 
 I have just finished the epistle to Kate, and have 
 talked politics to her in it. 
 
1805.] LETTEES. 179 
 
 [No. 94.] To his Mother. 
 
 Wednesday, Feb. 6. 1805. 
 My dearest Mother, 
 
 If I were not so occupied, the time would go very 
 hea\Tly 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 resolved 
 not to indulge myself with a sight of home till I com- 
 pleted my task, for it gives me a whet of industry which 
 no other object could 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 weU, darling mother ? It is long indeed 
 since I heard from you ; and perhaps you wiU complain 
 the same of me ; but I am such a stout feUow, there is no 
 need for anxiety about me. God bless you all. Your own, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 [No. 95.] Tc Miss Godfrey. 
 
 Tuesday, 1805. 
 
 I write to-day, merely because I said I would — (a 
 reason, by the bye, which I have sometimes been perverse 
 enough to let operate in quite a contrary direction), but 
 
 N 2 
 
180 LETTEKS, [jSiTAT. 25. 
 
 it is now half past five o'clock, and I have been aU 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 1 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 Tunhridge lamp ' to me, 
 and win throw the softened hght of remembrance over 
 every thing I shall do or think of. God bless you both 
 again and again. I shall not attempt to tell you the feel- 
 ings I have brought away with me, but if I have left one 
 sentiment 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 burns bright, and, we flatter ourselves, so does our 
 poetry ; so that between the two, and the sweet, comfort- 
 able recollection of my friends at Ramsgate, I contrive 
 to keep both heart and fingers at a proper degree of tem- 
 perature, just a little below salamander heat. Ever your 
 own, and dear Lady Donegal's, 
 
 T. M. 
 
 [No. 96.] To his Mother. 
 
 Saturday, March 30. 1805. 
 My darling Mother, 
 I gave Mrs. Tighe the little glee yesterday to copy 
 and send to Kate. I am sure it will be popular. I should 
 be glad she would show it to Stevenson, to know if there 
 
 * The Donegals were then at Tunbridge. T. M. 
 
1805.] LETTERS. 181 
 
 be any thing glaringly wrong in the harmony. Perhaps 
 the second voice might be improved at the words " "We'll 
 sing at St. Anne's our parting hymn," but I rather doubt 
 it. I cannot see the postman pass my door every morn- 
 ing without a little bit of a grudge to Kate, that he brings 
 nothing from her to me. I have now " sighed away Sun- 
 days " more than once since I saw any thing from home 
 but my dear good father's letter. 
 
 Every one that I ever knew in this big city seems de- 
 lighted to see me back in it : this is comfortable, and if 
 the flowers strewed before me had a httle gold leaf on 
 them, I should be the happiest dog in the world. AU 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. Grod bless you all. Your 
 own, Tom. 
 
 [No. 97.] To Lady Donegal. 
 
 Tuesday, 1805. 
 
 Another devihnent has just come across me that will 
 prevent my leaving town to-morrow: but on the day 
 after, by all that's least brittle and breakable in the 
 world, by women and wine-glasses, love and tobacco- 
 pipes, I'll be with you by the time the coach arrives, most 
 punctually: now pray, beheve me this once: besides, I'll 
 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 Cohnan in the beginning 
 of next week: now, by stopping in town to-morrow, I 
 shall open a little- loophole of escape for myself, and 
 
 M 3 
 
1 82 LETTERS. [^TAT. 25. 
 
 SO get off the necessity of returning to town so soon as I 
 otherwise should do. I own I am a little terrified by 
 Rogers's account of your multitudinous company-keeping 
 at Tunbridge, but I hope you are quieter than he repre- 
 sents you. I like Rogers better every time I see him. 
 Yours on Thxursday, and always^ 
 
 T. MOOEE. 
 
 [No. 98.] From Miss Godfrey. 
 
 Friday, May 24. 1805. 
 
 " Whate'er they promised or profess'd, 
 In disappointment ends ; 
 In short, there's nothing I detest 
 So much aa all my friends." 
 
 But most of all, you Thomas Moore, the most faithless 
 of men ! If I had any spirit at all, but I have not, I would 
 not write you another line. But what can a poor woman 
 do, if the heart will still dictate, and the hand still obey. 
 I would have you to know, however, that the heart 
 dictates nothing but rage and anger and scolding, and 
 luckily the hand can only make use of a pen upon the 
 occasion. Lady Charlotte has bit you, and what use is 
 there in my writing to you: so here I " whistle you down 
 the wind to prey at fortune." 
 
 However, if you should beg and pray, prostrate 
 yourself in the dust, and put on sackcloth and ashes, 
 why, I am such an easy, yielding, gentle composition of 
 flesh and blood, to say nothing of being rather fooHsh into 
 the bargain, that possibly I might be persuaded to forgive 
 you. I should blush for my weakness. But then weak- 
 ness is very feminine, and blushing not unbecoming. So 
 if you should ask pardon, and I should forgive you, and 
 
1805.] LETTEES. 183 
 
 blush afterwards for my weakness, I shall only look the 
 better for it, that's all. It is very near a fortnight since I 
 wrote to you, and it is very near a month since I heard 
 from you. I hope at least that your time has been well 
 employed, but I fear that the book will not come out this 
 year. I am quite impatient for it : so pray teU me how 
 far you are advanced. 
 
 For us, in this gay world, we go on much as you left 
 us : there are more assembhes, 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 iU-used, &c. &c. 
 
 M, G. 
 
 Remember me aifectionately to Lady Charlotte, though 
 I don't flatter myself that I shall evermore behold her hand- 
 writing. 
 
 £No. 99.] To his Mother. 
 
 Saturday, Aug. 17. 1805. 
 My dearest Mother, 
 Kate's letter has given me a vast deal of pleasure, as 
 it shows me how comfortably you coalesce with my dear 
 uncle's family. Tom Hume goes off at last to-morrow : 
 
 N 4 
 
184 LETTERS. tiETAT. 26. 
 
 he has endeavoured to reason me into going with him ; but 
 when I can resist the true feelings that impel me to it, the 
 false reasons he brings for such a step have been easHy 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 
 hoih 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 EUen, are chiefly in 
 want of in the useful way : I should not like to take you 
 any unnecessary, baubles, but wish to turn my galanteries 
 to account : you must not be delicate in telling me, for 1 
 shall not be so in saying whether I can compass what you 
 want. God bless you. Ever your own, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 [No. 100.] To his Mother. 
 
 Thursday, Aug. 22. 1805. 
 My dearest Mother, 
 I think I shall on Monday go for a couple of days to 
 Tunbridge again : these little trips are of service to me, 
 though, indeed, I am now 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.] LETTERS. 185 
 
 Mrs. T. * is ordered to the Madeiras, which makes me de- 
 spair of her ; for she will not go, and another winter will 
 inevitably be her death. Your own, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 [No. 101.] From Lord Moira. 
 
 Edinburgt, Sept. 12. 1805. 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 With very sincere satisfaction I accept the distinction 
 you are kiadly 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 more 
 marked name. Mine has been a life of effort, " signifying 
 nothing ; " and its unproductiveness has lasted so long, 
 that folks have made up their minds to consider the cha- 
 racter as barren in its nature. At all events, the time has 
 gone by; so that I am only one of the out-of-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 boimd 
 to estimate the compliment. Believe me, my dear sir, 
 very faithfully yours, 
 
 MoiEA. 
 
 Thomas Moore, Esq. 
 
 [Ko. 102.] _ To his Mother. 
 
 Nov. 2. 1805. 
 My dearest Mother, 
 It is now near six o'clock, and I have hardly time to say 
 How d'ye do? I have been sitting this hour past with 
 
 * Tighe. 
 
186 LETTERS. [^TAT. 26. 
 
 Lady Harrington : she is very kind to me, and says the 
 more and oftener she sees me in Ireland, the better. 
 
 The whole town mourns with justice the death of 
 Nelson : those two men (Buonaparte and he) divided the 
 world between them — the land and the water. We 
 have lost ours. 
 
 I got my dear father's letter, and forgive Tom Hume 
 for the many kind affectionate things my charge has 
 produced from you. Your own, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 [No. 103.] To his Mother. 
 
 Nof. 8. 1805. 
 My dearest Mother, 
 This weather is only fit for poets, lovers, and murderers : 
 there is hardly light enough to pursue any other calKng. 
 It is now but four o'clock, and I can scarcely see to write 
 a line. I am just going to dine third to Rogers and 
 Cumberland : a good poetical step-ladder we make — the 
 former is past forty and the latter past seventy. 
 
 I wish I could hope to dance at EUza 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 friends. Your own, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 They say now Lord Powis is going as lord lieutenant. 
 I don't know him at aU. 
 
1806.] LETTERS. 187 
 
 [No. 104.] To Ms Mother. 
 
 Donington, Monday. 
 My dearest Mother, 
 * * * I was at a beautiful little f^te champetre 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 
 Hve. 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 moinent. They say the King wiU certainly offer 
 the premiership to Addington, but it is strongly expected 
 that Addington will refuse it. 
 
 Good by. God bless you all. Your own, 
 
 Tom. 
 
188 LETTEES. [^TAT. 26. 
 
 [No. 106.] To Ms Mother. 
 
 Tuesday, Feb. 6. 1806. 
 My darling Mother, 
 I am quite ia a bewilderment of hope, fear, and 
 anxiety : the very crisis of my fortune is arrived. Lord 
 Moira has everything in his power, and my fate now 
 depends upon his sincerity, which I think it profanation 
 to doubt, and Heaven grant he may justify my confidence. 
 Tiemey goes. + ^Ireland, so there a hope opens for dear 
 father's advancelnent. 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 Ms 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.] LBTTEES. 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 communicate 
 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 wUl 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 
 t)ne 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. [^TAT. 26 
 
 be enabled to elevate you all above the struggling exi- 
 gencies of your present situationj and see you sharing 
 prosperity with me while you are yet young enough to 
 enjoy it. God bless you, dears. A little time will de- 
 termine the success of my friends, and their goodwOl 
 towards me. I am quite stout again. Your own, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 My best congratulations to dear uncle and aunt on 
 their new relation. 
 
 [No. 109.] To his Mother. 
 
 April 30. 1806. 
 
 My dearest Mother, 
 
 I cannot help now thinking of the poor Negro, who 
 said, when he was going to be hanged, what a hard thing 
 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 undergone a little operation for the pur- 
 pose of closing it, - which has given me more pain than I 
 have felt yet, and wiU confine me for about eight days. It 
 is a good thing to know, however, that, at the end of those 
 eight days, I shall be turned out sound and perfect as I 
 ever have been in my life. 
 
 I have received a letter from Mrs. Tighe, and shall 
 answer it when I get off my back. 
 
 Now that I have written this letter, I feel almost 
 afraid that you will be fool enough to be alarmed at it ; 
 but if you saw my cheeks at this moment, almost bursting 
 
1806.] LETTERS, 191 
 
 with health and cheerfulness, you would even laugh at the 
 little pain that I feel. Your own, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 [No. 110.] To his Mother. 
 
 Monday, May 5. 1806. 
 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 agaia. Lord 
 Moira sent Lord Eanchife 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 wiU be able to 
 afibrd me a little sunshine, when it wiU please my surgeon 
 to rid me of this stitch in my side. In order that you may 
 understand this joke, I must inform you that I have at 
 this moment a large skein of cotton passed through my 
 side in the most seampstress-like manner possible. God 
 bless you all. Best love to dear uncle and aunt. Your 
 own, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 \TSo. in.] To his Mother. 
 
 Thursday, May 8. 1806. 
 My dearest Mother, 
 Lord Moira sent Lord Rancliffe to me the other day, 
 to say that he had a small appointment to give away. 
 
192 LETTERS. [^TAT. 26. 
 
 wMcli I might have till something better offered. I 
 weighed the circumstances well, and considered both the 
 nature of the gift and the advantages it would bring to 
 me : the result of which deliberation was, that I determined 
 to decline the offer. I wrote, however, a very long letter 
 to Lord Moira upon the subject, explaining the reasons of 
 my refusal, and stating the circumstances of my present 
 situation ; from all 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 tMs reaches you, Atkinson will be returned 
 and at hand to arrange every thing about my father's 
 
1806.] LETTEES. 193 
 
 appointment. You must not say a word to any one about 
 this promise of Fox's, as it would be wrong on many 
 accounts. 
 
 I believe I told you tbe kind things the Prince said 
 to me about my book. 
 
 I feel uncommon spirits, which I hope every thing 
 wUl justify me in. All around me looks bright and pro- 
 mising, and the respectability of the situation they intend 
 for me flatters my hopes most delightfully. 
 
 God bless you all. Best love to dear uncle and aunt. 
 You may tell them of Fox's promise. Your own, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 Why does not saucy Kate write to me about my 
 book? 
 
 [No. 113.] From, Lord Moira. 
 
 June 21. 1806. 
 My dear Sir, 
 I have completed the arrangement for your father's 
 being fixed in the barrack-mastership at Dublin. Let me 
 know his Christian name, that the warrrant may be made 
 out. Faithfully yours, 
 
 MoiEA. 
 
 [No. 11*.] To his Mother. 
 
 "Wednesday, 1806. 
 
 IVIy 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 tiU 
 those in England are settled. He spoke with the utmost 
 VOL. I. o 
 
194 LETTEKS. [^TAT, 27. 
 
 kindness to me ; and I am sure, when he has it in his 
 power, I need not doubt his good-will to serve me. He 
 said, at the same time, that there was nothing to prevent 
 my visiting Ireland, as he should not forget me ; so that, 
 I think, in about a fortnight I shall take flight for the 
 bogs. Darling mother ! how happy I shall be to see you ! 
 — it will put a new spur on the heel of my heart, which 
 will make life trot, for the time at least, sixteen miles an 
 hour. I trust in Heaven that you are recovering, and that 
 I shall find you as you ought to be. Ever your own, 
 
 Tom. 
 Love to uncle and aunt. 
 
 [No. 115.] To Miss Godfrey. 
 
 "Wednesday, Julj, 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 
 
1806.] LETTERS. 195 
 
 purse, and in short with eyery malady, physical, pthisi- 
 cal, and quizzical, that could shake the nerves of a gentle- 
 man, or excite the compassion of a lady; and there are 
 you, between sunbeams and mists, between Ossians and 
 Chichesters, 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 dehnquency with an attack 
 instead of an apology ; it is like Voltaire's Huron, who, 
 when they send him to confession, seizes the unfortunate 
 priest, 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, when am I to visit you ? I 
 solemnly and assuredly hope to leave London for Ireland 
 about the latter end of next week, or the beginning of the 
 following one. Lord Moira has told me that ray 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 y 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 JEFEKEY. 
 
 1806. 
 ( Written as a continuation of the Memoir.') 
 
 o3 
 
DUEL WITH JEFEEEY. 
 
 1806. 
 
 Particulars of my hostile Meeting with Jeffrey in the 
 Year 1806. 
 
 Some letters of my own, written in the year 1806, having 
 lately fallen into my hands, which contain allusions to my 
 hostile meeting, in that year, with my now sincerely re- 
 garded and valued friend Jeffrey, I Suspend the regular 
 course of the Memoir of myself commenced in these pages, 
 in order, while yet all the circumstances are fresh in my 
 memory, to note down some authentic particulars of a 
 transaction concerning which there has been a good deal 
 of foolish mis-statement and misrepresentation. 
 
 In the month of July, 1806, I had come up to London 
 from a visit to Donington Park, having promised my dear 
 and most kind friend, the late Dowager Lady Donegal, to 
 join her and her sister at Worthing. The number of 
 the Edinburgh containing the attack on my " Odes and 
 Epistles " had been just announced, and, as appears by the 
 following passage in one of my letters, I was but 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 Eeview did not, however, 
 reach me in London ; for I have a clear recollection ot 
 having, for the first time, read the formidable article in 
 
 o 4 
 
200 DUEL WITH JEFFEET. [^tat. 27. 
 
 my bed, one morning, at the Inn in Worthing, where I 
 had taken up my sleeping quarters, during my short visit 
 to the Donegals. Though, on the first perusal of the 
 article, the contemptuous language applied to me by the 
 re\dewer a good deal roused my Irish blood, the idea of 
 seriously noticing the attack did not occur to me, I think, 
 tUl 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 Jeflfrey first suggested itself to me, the neces- 
 sity I 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 retiuned to London, and there, 
 whether by good or ill luck, but in my own opinion the 
 former, there was the identicalJeffrey himself just arrived, 
 on a short visit to his London friends. From Rogers, who 
 had met Jeffrey the day before at dinner at Lord Fin- 
 castle's, I learned that the conversation, in the course of 
 the day, having happened to fall upon me. Lord F. was 
 good enough to describe me as possessing " great amenity 
 of manners ;" on which Jeffrey said, laughingly, " I am 
 afraid he would not show much amenity to meP 
 
 The first step I took towards my hostile proceeding was 
 to write to Woolriche, a kind and cool-headed friend of 
 mine, begging of him to join me in town as soon as pos- 
 
1806.] DUEL WITH JEETEET. 201 
 
 slble ; 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, I wiU 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 "Wooh-iche'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 needless to say that feeling, as I then 
 did, I liked him aU the better for his readiness, nor indeed 
 am I at all disposed to like him a whit the less for it now. 
 Having now secured my second, I lost no time in dravping 
 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 my memory; but after 
 adverting to some assertion contained in the article, 
 accusing me, if I recollect right, of a deliberate intention 
 to corrupt the minds of my readers, I thus proceeded : 
 " To this I beg leave to answer. You are a liar ; yes, sir, a 
 liar ; and I choose to adopt this harsh and vulgar mode of 
 
202 DUEL "WITH JEFFEEY. L-^tat. 27. 
 
 defiance. In order to prevent at once all equivocation be- 
 tween us, and to compel you to adopt for your own satis- 
 faction, that alternative which you might otherwise have 
 hesitated in affording to mine." I am not quite sure as to 
 the exact construction of this latter part of the note, but 
 it was as nearly as possible, I think, in this form. 
 
 There was of course but one kind of answer to be given 
 to such a cartel. Hume had been referred by Jeffrey to 
 his friend Mr. Horner, and the meeting was fixed for the 
 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 
 affiray, 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 furnish me with these sine-qua-nons, I 
 hastened to confide to him my wants, and request his 
 assistance on this point. He told me if I would come 
 to him in the evening, he would have the pistols ready 
 for me. 
 
 I forget where I dined, but I know it was not in com- 
 pany, as Hume had left to me the task of providing 
 powder and bullets, which I bought, in the course of the 
 evening, at some shop in Bond Street, and in such large 
 quantities, I remember, as would have done for a score of 
 duels. I then hastened to Spencer, who, in praising the 
 pistols, as he gave them to me, said, " They are but too 
 good." I then joined Hume who was waiting for me in a 
 hackney coach, and proceeded to my lodgings. We had 
 agreed that for every reason, both of convenience and avoid- 
 ance of suspicion, it would be most prudent for me not to 
 
1806.] DUEL WITH JEFFKEY. 203 
 
 sleep 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 weU ; for Himie, 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 Jeffrey and his 
 party already arrived. I say his " party," for although 
 Horner only was with him, there were, as we afterwards 
 found, two or three of 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 contained the 
 pistols, in his hand, while Horner 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 Horner, 
 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 Jeffirey 
 and myself together. 
 
 All this had occupied but a very few minutes. We, of 
 
 * One of these friends was, I think, the present worthy Lord Advo- 
 cate, John Murray. 
 
204 DUEL WITH JEFFEET. [.Mtat,27, 
 
 course, had. bowed to each other on meeting ; but the first 
 words I recollect to have passed between us was Jeffrey's 
 saying, on our being left together, " What a beautiful 
 morning it is ! " " Yes," I answered with a slight smile, 
 " a morning made for better purposes ; " to which his only 
 response was a sort of assenting sigh. As our assistants 
 were not, any more than ourselves, very expert at warKke 
 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 BUly Egan, 
 the Irish barrister, once said, when, as he was sauntering 
 about in like manner while the pistols were loading, his 
 antagonist, a fiery httle 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-oflScers, 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 
 
^806.] DUEL WITH JEFFREY, 205 
 
 been obUged to help him in the operatioiij and In fact to 
 take upon himself chiefly the task of loading both pistols. 
 When we arrived at Bow Street, the first step of both 
 parties was to dispatch messengers to procure some friends 
 to bail us; and as William Spencer was already acquainted 
 with the transaction, to him I applied on my part, and re- 
 quested that he would lose no time in coming to me. In 
 the meanwhile we were all shown into a sitting-room, the 
 people in attendance having first enquired whether it was 
 our wish to be separated, but neither party having ex- 
 pressed any desire to that effect, we were all put together 
 in the same room. Here conversation upon some literary 
 subject, I forget what, soon ensued, in which I myself took 
 only the brief and occasional share, beyond which, at that 
 time of my life, I seldom ventured in general society. But 
 whatever was the topic, Jeffrey, I recollect, expatiated 
 upon it with aU 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 WiUiam Spencer, I am not quite 
 sure that it was he that acted as my bail, or whether it 
 was not Rogers that so officiated. I am, however, certain 
 that the latter joined us at the office ; and after all the 
 usual ceremony of binding over, &c. had been gone 
 through, it was signified to us that we were free to depart 
 
206 DUEL WITH JEFFEET. [^tat. 27. 
 
 and that our pistols should be restored to us. Whether 
 unluckily or not, it is hardly now worth while to consider ; 
 but both Hume and myself, in quitting the office, forgot 
 aU about our borrowed pistols, and left them behind us; 
 and, as he set off immediately to join his wife who was 
 in the country, I was obliged myself to return to Bow 
 Street, in the course of a few hours, for the purpose of 
 getting them. To my surprise, however, the officer re- 
 fused to deliver thera 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 Mr. Jef&ey. 
 
 Recollecting what Hume had told me as to the task of 
 loading the pistols being chiefly left to him, and observing 
 the view taken by the officer, and, according to his account 
 by the magistrate, I felt the situation in which I was 
 placed to be anything but comfortable. Nothing remained 
 for me, therefore (particularly as Hume had taken his 
 departure), but to go at once to Horner's lodgings and lay 
 all the circumstances before him. This 1 did without a 
 moment's delay, and was lucky enough to find him at his 
 chambers. I then told him exactly what the officer had 
 said as to the suspicion entertained by the magistrate that 
 something unfair was intended ; and even at this distance 
 of time, I recollect freshly the immediate relief which it 
 afforded me when 1 heard Horner (who had doubtless 
 observed my anxiety) exclaim, in his honest and manly 
 manner, " Don't mind what these fellows say. I myself 
 saw your friend put the bullet into Jeflfrey'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 JKPFKET. 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 stiU 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), wiU 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 teU you that this morning I was 
 fool enough (as I know you will call it) to meet Mr. 
 Jeffirey 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., aU 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 DTJEL WITH JEFrEET. [^tat. 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, after dinner, told all the circumstances of the 
 challenge, the loan of the pistols, &c., to Lord Fincastle, 
 who (without, as it appears, communicating his purpose to 
 Spencer) sent information that night of theintended duel 
 to Bow Street. 
 
 The manner in which the whole affair was misrepresented 
 in the newspapers of the day is too well known to need 
 any repetition here ; but I have been told, and I think it 
 not improbable, that to a countryman of my own (named 
 
 Q. ), who was editor of one of the evening papers, I 
 
 owed the remarkable concurrence in falsehood which per- 
 vaded all the statements on the subject. The report from 
 Bow Street was taken first (as I have heard the story) to 
 the office of the paper in question, and contained a state- 
 ment of the matter, correctly, thus : — ''In the pistol of 
 one of the parties a bullet was found, and nothing at aU in 
 the pistol of the other." Thinking it a good joke, doubt- 
 less, upon literary belligerents, my countryman changed 
 without much difficulty, the word " bullet" into " pellet;" 
 and in this altered state the report passed from him to the 
 offices of all the other evening papers. 
 
 By another letter of my own, written on the following 
 day, to Lady Donegal, I am enabled to give to my narra- 
 tive not only authenticity, but a good deal of the freshness 
 of the feeling of the moment to which it refers. 
 
1806.] DUEL WITH JEFFREY. 209 
 
 [No. 117.] To Lady Donegal. 
 
 Tuesday. 
 You will see that I am doomed inevitably to one day's 
 ridicule, by the unfortunate falsehood which they have in- 
 serted in all the morning papers, about the loading of our 
 pistols; but, of course, a contradiction will appear to- 
 morrow, signed by our seconds, and authorised by the ma- 
 gistrate. This is the only mortifying suite that this affair 
 could have, and Heaven knows it has given me unhappi- 
 ness enough. Do not scold me, dearest Lady Donegal ; 
 if the business was to be again gone through I should feel 
 it my duty to do it ; and all the awkwardness that results 
 from it must be attributed to the ill-judged officiousness of 
 the persons who were sent to interrupt 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 Horner, and authorized by the ma- 
 gistrate; but, alas! never appeared. My friend Hume 
 (now again my friend, though his conduct on that occa- 
 sion caused a severance between us for more than thirty 
 years) took fright at the ridicule which had been brought 
 upon the transaction, said that he did not like to expose 
 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 JErFEEY. [jIEtat. 27. 
 
 made at public explanation was a short letter on the sub- 
 ject from myself, which, of course, to those who did not 
 know me personally, went deservedly for nothing. 
 
 Through the kind offices of Eogers, a treaty of peace 
 was negociated between Jeffi-ey and myself; I mean those 
 formalities of explanation which the world requires, for in 
 every other respect we already understood each other. 
 In the two letters that follow wiU be found some particulars 
 of the final arrangement of our strife. 
 
 [No. 118.] To Lady Donegal. 
 
 Aug. 29. 1806. 
 I have been looking for a frank (like that best of all 
 thrifty good girls. Miss J* * *), in order to send you 
 back Hayiey's letter, which is as pretty a specimen of the 
 old gentleman's twaddling as I could wish to see. But 
 the last person I asked for a frank was Humphrey Butler ; 
 and he told me if I had applied before the Union he could 
 have given me one, — which, however satisfactory it was, 
 made me resolve to keep Hayiey's letter from you a little 
 longer, and I shall return it the instant I get a cover, and 
 not a soul shall see it, I assure you. Lord Moira has 
 written to me a very kind note, in consequence of my 
 communicating to him the explanations which I had from 
 Jeifrey, and he assures me " he feels uncommon satisfac- 
 tion that it has terminated so pleasantly." If I were just 
 now seated upon the couch, with my legs turned up, I 
 could show you this letter ; but, as I am not, I must only 
 give you an extract from it, thus : — "I feel perfectly for 
 you how disagreeable it is to be obliged to start one's self 
 as the butt for all the wild constructions of the public ; 
 misrepresentation, in some way or the other, is the inevit- 
 able lot of every one who stands in such a predicament ; but 
 
1806.] DUEL WITH JEFFEET. 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 pleasure, as I know it will to you; indeed, 
 nothing can be more gratifying than the generous justice 
 which every friend whose opinion I value has done to my 
 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 pounds for the SaUust, and I 
 wait but for this forty-pounder to discharge me at one 
 single shot to Dublin. 
 
 Best love to dear Mary (why shouldn't I call her 
 Mary, as well as that old ridiculous Hermit ?), and to sister 
 PhUippa, too, a thousand remembrances. Ever yours, 
 most truly, 
 
 T. M. 
 
 I suppose you have heard of this officious clerk of the 
 Bank's accusation of Lord Moira. I know no more than 
 you have read in the papers." 
 
 p 2 
 
212 DTJEL "WITH JEFFEEY. [^TAT, 27. 
 
 [No. ii9j To Lady Donegal. 
 
 Monday, August, 1806. 
 
 I have the pleasure to tell you that this morning I had 
 a pacific meeting with Mr. Jeifrey at Rogers's, and re- 
 ceived from him the most satisfactory apologies for the 
 intemperance of his attack upon me. He acknowledged 
 that it is the opinion, not only of himself but his friends, 
 that the Review contained too much that was exception- 
 able, and that he is sincerely sorry for having written it. 
 He has given me a statement to this 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 wiU see in 
 to-morrow's Post was a very necessary step, and will put 
 an end to every misconstruction of the affair; so that (for 
 the first time since I took the business into contemplation) 
 I feel " my bosom's lord sit lightly on his throne," and the 
 sooner I receive your congratulations upon the subject the 
 better. Ever yours, 
 
 T. M. 
 
 I have now done with these bulletins, and shall write 
 you letters hereafter. 
 
 [No. 120.] From Miss Godfrey. 
 
 Tunbridge, Oct. 2. 1806, 
 Well, how are you after your sea-sickness, and how 
 do you feel yourself in Dublin, after your brilliant career 
 here among the learned and the dissipated? If it were 
 
1806.] DUEL WITH JEFFREY. 213 
 
 not for the extreme joy -wMch I know you feel at being 
 with your family again, I should grieve for the change ; 
 but you have contrived, God knows how ! amidst the plea- 
 sures of the world, to preserve aU 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 wiU tarn out a saint or an angel after 
 aU. 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 turn it has all taken in your favour. You don't know 
 how happy we feel at it, for I am sure you don't know 
 to this good day how much we care for you. But never 
 take a pistol in your hand again while you live. I dare 
 say in Ireland, where you have ieaucoup ffenvieux, 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 teU 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 JEFFREY. L-SEtat. 27. 
 
 than one finds in the higher ranks of life. All I want is 
 to have justice done to you, perhaps a little more than 
 justice. But I would have aU the world to understand, 
 that I am a very moral woman ; and I must honestly con- 
 fess to you by the way, that all my illusions about the 
 beautiful Susan have vanished, and left not a wreck be- 
 hind them. We are all very tame this year, and neither 
 blindman's buff, or puss in a corner, have yet made their 
 appearance amongst us ; but as Souza is expected, there 
 is no knowing how soon the revels may begin. The place 
 is quite full, and many more people of our acquaintance 
 than were here last year ; but we would give them all rank 
 and file for you, and there's the sea rolling away between 
 us, as satisfied as if it were doing the thing in the world 
 we liked the best. PhiUy 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 foimd her and aU the rest of your 
 famUy happy and comfortable in their new situation. Tell 
 me something of your way of life in Dublin. Adieu ! 
 Sincerely yours, 
 
 M.G. 
 
LETTERS. 
 
 1807—1818. 
 
 p4 
 
LETTERS. 
 
 1807—1818.. 
 
 [No. 121.] To Miss Godfrey. 
 
 Dublin, Monday, Feb. 23. 1807. 
 I am quite ashamed of myself — at which you ought 
 to be very much delighted, because it humiliates me most 
 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 ought to do ; but, indeed, if 
 you knew the efforts I am obliged to make to throw some 
 sort of 'ballast into the Httle pleasure-boat of my existence 
 — if you knew how difficult I find it to square the gains 
 and losses of time, and set oif 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 seraglio, what with making real 
 love to one, flirting with some, and merely throwing my 
 eye upon others, the whole day has passed in dalli- 
 ance, and I have hardly had time enough afterwards to 
 
218 LETTEES. L^TAT. 27. 
 
 make myself decent for company. I have now, however, 
 bid adieu to this harem, and have made up my mind for 
 a week's idleness before I leave Ireland, which wiU be, I 
 hope, on Friday or Saturday next, and then once more for 
 Donington, for the Muses, and for you ! — dear Donington ! 
 dear Muses ! and dear you ! Sorry am I to think, how- 
 ever, that both you and the Muses, however you may 
 visit my thoughts, must be equally invisible to me ; and I 
 would willingly give up the society of my whole Nine just 
 to be, as I could wish, with my Two in Davies Street. By 
 my Two here I mean you and your sister 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 ! mix my poor 
 Falernian with the sediment of phials and drainings of 
 gallipots ! Thirty thousand poimds might, to be sure, gild 
 the pill a little ; but it's no such thing. I have nothing to 
 do with either Sal. Volatile, or Sail * * * j 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 run from it, and 
 leave Joe to do it. 
 
 What you communicated to me about Jeffrey pleases 
 me extremely, because it justifies my conduct most amply, 
 and does honour to both of us. I have written nothing 
 since I came here, except one song, which every body says 
 is the best I have ever composed, and I rather prefer it 
 myself to most of them. When am I to sing it to you ? 
 Oh ! when, when ? I am an unfortunate rascal, that's 
 certain. 
 
 You may direct your answer to this to Donington, 
 
1807.] LETTEES. 219 
 
 and I have full reliance on your being my sick hearts 
 nurse wlule I am there. God bless you. Very much yours, 
 
 Thomas Moore. 
 I would have sailed with Miss Linwood the other night, 
 only I was afraid she would give me a stitch in my side ! ! 
 
 [No. 122.] To his Mother. 
 
 Donington Park, Monday night, March, 1807. 
 
 My dearest Mother, 
 
 I arrived here on 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. T 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 Miss 
 Owenson's too ; the Atkinsons will give them to Kate for 
 me. Love to all dears. God bless you. 
 
 Tom. 
 
220 LETTERS. [^TAT. 27. 
 
 [No. 123.] To his Mother. 
 
 Donington Park, Thursday, March, 1807. 
 
 My darling Mother, 
 
 It maketh me marvel mucli that I do not hear from 
 home ; but I suppose Kate is writing such long letters to 
 Anne Scully, that she has not a scrap of paper left to say, 
 " How d'ye do " on to me. I have not heard yet from Mrs. 
 Tighe, but of course you have sent to inquire, and will 
 let me know how she is. The day before yesterday (St. 
 Patrick's) was kept here with great festivity : of course I 
 bled freely for the saint ; a kind of blood that works more 
 miracles than even St. Januarius's. I am, indeed, quite 
 tranquil and happy here, and shall not feel the least wish 
 to leave it tUl 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. What he says is so cordial, considerate, and 
 respectful, and he holds such a high and veteran rank in 
 literature. God bless you. Yours, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 [No. 124.] To Miss Godfrey. 
 
 Donington Park, Loughborough, 
 Friday morning, March, 1807. 
 
 Though I think you do not care much to know " my 
 whereabout," or I should have had a letter here as I peti- 
 tioned, yet I cannot help telling you that here I am, and 
 
1807.] LETTEES. 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 : " // me donne des manchettes, et je n'ai 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 qua non. While 
 that one remains, il faut Men que je vive ; when that one 
 goes, il rCy 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 coromemorate St. Patrick's Day, I 
 opened the ball for them with a pretty lacemaker from 
 the village, who was really quite beautiful, and seemed to 
 break hearts around her as fast as an Irishman would have 
 broken heads. So you see I can be gay. 
 
 Have you met with old Cumberland's second edition ? 
 He has spoken of me in a way that I feel very grateful 
 for, and if you ever see him, I wish you would tell 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 : 
 
222 LETTEES. [-ffiTAT. 27. 
 
 " Here lies John Shaw 
 Attorney at law ; 
 And when he died, 
 The devU cried, 
 ' Give us 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 ministry. 
 The last accounts gave me rather a hope that Lord Moira 
 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 wiU most certainly stay in. It is aU a bad 
 business for the country. Fine times, to be sure, for chang- 
 ing ministry, and changing to such fools too ! It is like a 
 sailor stopping to change his shirt in a storm, and after all 
 putting 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. 
 
 [No. 126.] F7-om Lord Moira. 
 
 London, April 9. 1807. 
 My dear Sir, 
 You will have been well aware of all the occupation 
 which has attended our expulsion from office ; therefore, I 
 
1807.] LETTERS. 223 
 
 tMnk, you will have 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 aU 
 real consideration of the point at issue wUl 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 will send up Barrow's Travels 
 hither, that I may have the second volume bound corre- 
 spondently with that which is at Donington; and I shaU. 
 be obliged if you wUl examine if there be a quarto edition 
 (the Princeps) of Ossian in the Hbrary. I have the 
 honour, dear sir, to be your very obedient servant, 
 
 MOIEA. 
 
 [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- 
 
224 LETTEES. [iETAT. 27. 
 
 sons that, to show them I have not forgot their choice 
 scraps, I send them one which I found in a paper of last 
 year, and 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 enemies, but I cannot find that we are any where 
 ordered to forgive our friends.'" Now, though this is a 
 very deep and good saying of Cosmo's, yet it is not at all 
 applicable to you ; for, notwithstanding that I did suspect 
 you of a sort of leze amitie, a kind of compassing and ima- 
 gining the death of our friendship, yet I now entirely ac- 
 quit you, and hope every thing from your loyalty in 
 future. As to absence, I have said very often, and I be- 
 lieve to you among others, that recollections are too like 
 the other 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.] LETTERS. 225 
 
 yet if I were to try and tell you about what, 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 refieZ -against government, than have nothing at all 
 to do with it ; so I am writing politics : but all I fear is, 
 that my former iU-luck wiU 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 polities without 
 
 getting into treason. As to my gaiety and dissipation, I 
 am to be sure very dissipated, for I pass my whole time 
 among knowing-ones and black-legs, the former in the library, 
 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 ! 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 hke Mon- 
 taigne : it is comfortable to resemble great men in any- 
 thing. Tell Miss Godfrey that I cry "peccavi," and beg 
 pardon for what I said in my last billet, but that I said it 
 merely for the pleasure of transcribing that epigram, which 
 
 VOL. L Q 
 
226 LETTEES. [^TAT.27. 
 
 I knew she would like, and which is written by her friend, 
 the man that wrote " Mille fois," &c. I shall send her a 
 palinode in a day or two, that is (for fear she should 
 expect any thing great from this hard Greek word) 
 my recantation, justification, and renunciation of the 
 aforesaid and aU other errors thereunto belonging and ap- 
 pertaining, and what not. You must know I have been 
 reading law very hard, and you must not wonder at its 
 breaking in in my style. / am determined on being called 
 to the Irish bar next year. Best remembrances to your 
 dear sisters, and believe me, yours most truly, 
 
 Thomas Mooke. 
 
 [No. 129.] To his Mother. 
 
 Wednesday, April, 1807. 
 My dearest Mother, 
 
 I take both exercise and your Spa in plenty. What 
 put it into Kate's head, or rather into her hand, to 
 write me such a beautiful letter last time ? I never 
 saw anything like it ; it was quite a picture. Seriously, 
 it was very nice writing, and if she keeps to that the girl 
 may do. 
 
 Sweet weather this. The May thorns are beginning 
 to open their eyes. The new ministers are in fuU blossom 
 of folly and prosperity, and the snows and the Parliament 
 have dissolved away. I wish I were in Dublin now, and 
 I would make speeches on the hustings for Grattan. Good 
 by. God bless you all. Ever your own, 
 
 Tom. 
 
1807.] LETTEES. 227 
 
 [No. 130.] To his Mother. 
 
 AprU, 1807. 
 Mj 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-boy administration, for we had nothing but snow. 
 My " Pastor Fido," Dalby, has been prevented from coming 
 to see me as he used to do, by his wife's illness, which is a 
 great loss to me ; but the time never hangs heavy, and 
 reading, writing, walking, playing the pianoforte, occupy 
 my day sufficiently and delightfully, without either "the 
 tinkling cymbal" of talk, or "a gallery of moving pictures" 
 about me. 
 
 You need not mind Miss Owenson's airs; for I can 
 do without them till I go to Ireland. 
 
 God bless you, dearest mother. I got Kate's letter 
 on Monday. Ever your own. 
 
 Tom. 
 
 Best love to the barrack-master. * 
 
 [No. 131.] To his Mother. 
 
 Saturday, April, 1807. 
 I send an inclosure for Power, which you wiU for- 
 ward to him immediately. Carpenter is preparing a second 
 edition of the Poems, to be printed splendidly by BaUan- 
 tyne, of Edinburgh. I hope ih^ae fellows will get in again; 
 
 * His father. 
 <i 2 
 
228 LETTERS. [^TAT. 27. 
 
 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 NeU 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 musiags and medita- 
 tions. They have brought so many Misses with them too, 
 that my muse, I think, must shut up her paper-na}ls and 
 go into the /twen-trade. 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 
 wiU approve of it ; but in the bustle of such society as I 
 have 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 gaiaer in my present 
 situation, and that is comparison. Oh the sweet happy 
 days of friendship and boiled mutton! 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 Timbridge. 
 I am afraid, alas! 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 softest hearts meet with 
 the hardest cases va. this world. 1 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 
 Tunbridge, and that you ought to be without ache or 
 aihnent 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, according to the medal, twenty-eight. 
 
 a 3 
 
230 LETTERS. [^TAT. 28. 
 
 LNo. 133.] To his Mother. 
 
 May, 1807. 
 My dearest Mother, 
 There is a fishpond here, which Lord Moira has 
 always heen tryiag to fill; but he couldn't; and it has long 
 furnished me with a very neat resemblance to mi/ own 
 pocket, which I dare say he would like to do the same 
 with, but couldn't. This pond however, in the late 
 rain, has got the start of my pocket, and is brimful at 
 this present writing, which will delight his lordship 
 so much that I am afraid he will come down ia a hurry to 
 look at it. Believe me, your own, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 [No. 134.] To his Mother. 
 
 Donington Park, Thursday night, June, 1807. 
 My dearest Mother, 
 
 I beg, when you write to Kate, you will scold her, for 
 making Melfield 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 me at present, I could 
 lounge away my time here very agreeably. We still have 
 no other man amongst us but Lord Moira and the old 
 Duke de I'Orge. 
 
 I wait but for some supplies I expect to decide upon 
 my movements from home. London I certainly shall 
 avoid, though Carpenter presses me very hard to go there ; 
 and the only excursion I can possibly be tempted to, be- 
 fore I set out for Ireland, is to Tunbridge, to see Lady 
 Donegal. However, even this is by no means probable at 
 
1807.] LETTEES. 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 summer. Love to all 
 dears. From your own, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 [No. 135.] To his Mother. 
 
 Donington Park, Saturday, 1807. 
 
 Not one letter this long time, my darling mother. I 
 should think Kate sleeps even longer than she used to do 
 and doesn't get up tUl 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.) Dublia is again, I 
 find, or rather still, the seat of wrangle and illiberal conten- 
 tion. The Eoman Catholics deserve very little, and even if 
 they merited all that they ask, I cannot see how it is in the 
 nature 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 IVIoira is again called to town; I suppose upon 
 some errand quite as useless as the rest. He 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 
 ia 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. 
 (i4 
 
232 LETTEES. [^TAT. 28. 
 
 [No. 136.] To Miss Godfrey. 
 
 Saturday, 1807. 
 That racketting old Harridan, Mother Town, 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 haunt 
 aU 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-morrow, 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 Fortune have but 
 one smile left, or if Joddrel's barouche can hold me. Yours 
 most faithfully, 
 
 T. MOOEE. 
 
 [No. 137.] 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 eifort 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, " suffereth 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 care for us : but as to enduring, I don't know 
 what to say ; it is an ugly word, and I am sorry I wrote it 
 
1807.] LETTEKS. 233 
 
 down. The beautiful Miss Fawkeners came here yester- 
 day and went away to-day. I did not see them ; but they 
 told Harry GrevUle, 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 asked 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 recoUect, with- 
 out tree or bush to shelter you from sun or wLad. 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 stUl 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 nothiag 
 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 
 that it was necessary to make it. I hope nothing will 
 prevent your return here this winter. You are so popu- 
 
234 LETTERS. [JStat. 28, 
 
 lar that I am afraid your head will be turned at the joy 
 which 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 
 haying occurred since you turned your back upon this gay 
 world last summer, except that, for the women, un an de 
 plus, et une grace de mains are something. You have of 
 course seen and heard the Catalan!. 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 said she was more surprising than pleasing, and that 
 she sung out of tune. 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 Canne and she 
 hated each other, and would never sing at the same par- 
 ties. Have you read Madame de Stael's new novel 
 Corinne ? Eead it if you have not ; it will amuse you in 
 your cottage. You wiU 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 lUce a fine, exaggerated, 
 extravagant passion that breaks one's heart, such as one 
 never sees in the natural course of human affairs. But 
 you can't deny, much as you are disposed to dispute 
 all my wise opinions, that, in the natural course of human 
 
1808.] LETTEES. 235 
 
 affairs things go on 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- 
 thing, 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 was 
 daughter to the Duchess of Brunswick, and sister to the 
 Princess of Wales, so his son wUl 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 dulness. 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 oi 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 
 London, yet to you I must give some better signs and 
 tokens of rationality, and account for my change of mind 
 
236 LETTERS. [iETAT.28. 
 
 in somewhat a more serious manner. As this task, how- 
 ever, is very Httle to my taste, seeing that I would rather 
 vindicate any one else than myself, the present expose 
 must serve for " aU 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 therewith. In the first place, then, my motives 
 for going to London may be comprised under the heads of 
 pleasure and ambition, 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 expHcit upon that head, for the 
 objects of aU 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 with 
 one or two more of the same nature which I have written, 
 I might catch the eye of some of our patriotic poUticians, 
 and thus be enabled to serve both myself and the principles 
 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 pleasure 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, dilapidated 
 resources, the necessity of seeking subsidies from those who 
 would fleece me well for it in turn, the unprepared state 
 of my capital, &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 wUl, 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. Paul's." Such were my re- 
 flections, while I waited for the answer to a letter which 
 I had written to Carpenter, sounding him upon the kiad 
 of assistance which he would be wUliag 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 summer 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 that 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. 
 
 T. M. 
 
238 LETTEES. [^TAT. 29. 
 
 [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 departiu-e 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 business 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 offered a 
 thousand pounds for a work which I think I can finish 
 within the year, and which I intend to dedicate to Rogers. 
 God bless you, dearest mother. Ever your own, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 I quite threw away the Melodies ; they will make that 
 little smooth fellow's fortune. 
 
 Kate! the laziest Kate in Christendom ! 
 
 \_The following letter only came into my hands very lately. 
 It relates to the marriage of Mr. Richard Joyce Codd, 
 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. K] 
 
1809.] LETTERS. 239 
 
 [No. 140.] To Richard J. Codd, Esq. 
 
 Donington Park, Monday. 
 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 wits in sucTi 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 you are so well occupied with one fair one, 
 no less than nine are tormenting me, — the nine Miss 
 Muses, from the cold country of Parnassus, with nothing 
 but their wits to keep them in pin-mon'ey ! 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 corners be to you, 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 Mooee, 
 
240 LETTERS. [^TAT. 30. 
 
 [No. 141.] To his Mother. 
 
 Friday morning, 1809. 
 My dearest Mother, 
 Trom what I have heard of our poor Kichard, I fear 
 you must prepare your heart for the worst; and I am 
 happy to think that you have not been very sanguine in 
 your hopes for his recovery, as this will soften your feeling 
 of a calamity, which, I own, requires all the softening 
 that philosophy and preparation can give it. As for my- 
 self, he is the first dear friend it has ever been my fate to 
 lose; and though he did not bring me close enough into 
 intimacy to leave any very sensible void in my life, yet I 
 am too well convinced of his worth and his warmth, and 
 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 wUl 
 lament him. You must not, however, let it sink too 
 deep, darling mother ; but while you mourn for the dead as 
 he deserved, remember what you owe to the living. Indeed 
 I dread less from your grief than I did from your anxiety : 
 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 us who are still left 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 sense 
 have generally the remaining ones more lively and ex- 
 quisite, so I trust you will find in the love of those who 
 
1810.J LETTERS. 241 
 
 still Hve 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 Lady 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 BaiUie, instead of your old state physician Sir 
 Francis. I shall be more anxious than, I fear, you will 
 give me credit for, tiU 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 
 0'E.afferty 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 decHne, 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 eifect 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 wiU 
 insensibly sink the level of my spirits, and give a darker 
 and darker tinge to all my futiure hopes and feelings. This 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
242 LETTERS. [iETAT. 30. 
 
 perhaps is the natural process which many a heart goes 
 through that has to survive its dearest connections, though 
 I rather think it is not the commonest way of feeHng those 
 events, but that, in general, the impression which they 
 make is as short as it is keen and violent ; and surely it is 
 better to have one moment darkly Hotted, with the chance 
 of the next moment's washing it aU out, than to possess 
 that kind of sensibility which puts one's whole life into 
 mourning. I am not doing much ; indeed, the downright 
 necessity which I feel of doing something is one of the 
 great reasons why I do almost nothing. These things 
 should 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, tiU 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 
 each 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 Mooee. 
 
 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, 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 Bra- 
 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 have 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 
 me, in the shape of admission to our leading club house 
 here, which urges me more than I expected at this mo- 
 ment. Your answer as soon as possible will oblige. 
 
 Yours very truly, 
 
 Thomas Mooee. 
 
 You will of course consider these particulars between 
 us as sacred from every body except your brother: he 
 already is aware that it is my intention to give you songs 
 occasionally, according to the promise I made you. Direct 
 to me, 22. Molesworth Street, Dublin. 
 
 B 2 
 
244 LETTERS. [.aETAT. 31. 
 
 [No. 144.] To his Mother. 
 
 Bury Streef, Saturday, Dec. 1810. 
 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 within these two days 
 past. Grod 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, witli no other change for some time, however, than 
 the introduction of Lord Moira iato 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 from booksellers, music-sellers, man- 
 agers, &c., with offers for books, songs, plays, &c. I rather 
 think I may give something to Covent Garden; but I 
 know you wiU. be happy to hear that I am able to keep 
 myself up, without any precipitate engagement or involv- 
 ment of any kind, and that I am not hurried or urged from 
 any quarter. Best love to father and the dear girls. 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 IVIother, 
 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 thiok 
 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 wUl be 
 any material change in the Ministry. Lord Moira is still 
 out of town. 
 
 I am happy to find, dearest mother, by Kate's letter, 
 
 B 3 
 
246 LETTERS, [^TAT. 31. 
 
 that you have got better of the ilhiess you had after I left 
 you. If my letters are any medicine to you, you shaU. 
 have the dose regularly, " as before ; " and I hope, in the 
 course of some time, I may have something cordial to mix 
 up with them. Ever yours, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 [No. 147.J To his Mother. 
 
 Friday, Dec. 1810. 
 My dearest Mother, 
 
 The 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 result, but I think some time must 
 yet elapse before there wUl be such a change of adminis- 
 tration as I can take advantage of. 
 
 I have often said I was careless about the attractions of 
 gay society, but I think, for the first time, I begin to feel 
 really so. I pass through the rows of fine carriages in 
 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 dances 
 
 iu the veins" of the young rose trees under my window, 
 
 and the little impudent birds are peeping out as boldly 
 
1811.] LETTERS. 247 
 
 as if it were May-day. I am afraid, however, it is rather 
 a rash speculation of theirs : Uke Spanish patriots, they 
 are bursting out too soon, and General Frost wiU some 
 night or other steal a march upon them. You may con- 
 clude from aU 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 Elilmainham, 
 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 
 beheve 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 thing 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 Hne, and I have not a 
 doubt but John Bull soon means to give us a specimen of 
 his talents for it. What 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 shall have another union of the houses of York and 
 
 * The Duke of York. 
 B 4 
 
248 LETTERS. [iETAT. 31. 
 
 Lancaster. I am afraid you wiJl be angry witli me for 
 laughing in tliis manner at such serious events and such 
 illustrious people, but I cannot help it ; at least to-day I 
 cannot help it ; and if I do not send off this letter tiU to- 
 morrow, you shall have 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 pleasanter 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 know how much 
 I love them, which you and Mary sometimes pretended not 
 to know. 
 
 Eogers 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 wlUingly 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 Loudon, and particularly say whether you 
 
1811.] LETTEBS. 249 
 
 have heard any thing about the Flenipd's difference with 
 the Prince Kegent. Ever yours, 
 
 T. M. 
 
 Best love to sister. Many happy returns of this year. 
 
 I have been waiting in awful suspense for a letter 
 about the tickets, but I fear that Fortune's usual blindness 
 to merit wUl leave us in the lurch as well as many other 
 excellent people. " Call me not fool tiU 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 aU my views of politics, law, divinity, 8ec. For 
 what / cared, they might send Mr. Percival to be second 
 in command to St. Narcissus, or employ Sheridan's nose 
 in bringiag 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 bhnd 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. 
 
 Saturday, Feb. 1811. 
 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 10,000/. 
 
 * Charles, Duke of Queensbury, died in December, 1810, 
 
250 LETTERS. [^TAT. 31. 
 
 I saw him this morning for the first time these six years ; 
 I believe, Jive at least : he has never vrritten a liae to me 
 during that time, and after an hour's conversation to-day- 
 he said, '' Now, my dear little fellow, you know I'm grown 
 rich : there is 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 ofier, but you may 
 imagiue 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 EUen's letter, which is beautifully written, 
 and I hope she wiU often let me have such. Ever your 
 own, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 [No. 150.] To his 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 as if we were his creditors. We had yester- 
 day Lord Lauderdale, Lord Erskine, Lord Besborough, 
 
 Lord Kinnaird, &c. &c. My old friend. Lady A , still 
 
 faithful in her faithless way, took me to dinner in her 
 carriage. I have at last got a little bedroom about two 
 miles from town, where I shall fly now and then for a 
 morning's work. It was quite necessary for me, if I did 
 not mean to starve gaily 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.] 
 
 LETTERS. 251 
 
 or rather a second-da^ paper, at rather a cheap 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 Ms Mother. 
 
 Saturday, April, 1811. 
 IMy 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 
 levee. To dress or not to dress, that is the question: 
 whether 'tis nobler keeping in my pocket seven guineas, 
 which 'twill cost me for a waistcoat, or &c. 8ec. 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, 
 
 T03I. 
 
252 LETTERS. [^TAT. 31. 
 
 [No.- 152.] To his Mother. 
 
 Saturday, May, 1811. 
 
 My dearest Mother, 
 
 I have been these two or three days past receiving most 
 flattering letters from the persons to whom I sent my Melo- 
 logue. I was, however, much better pleased to get dear 
 Kate's letter with news from home, as the long silence you 
 aU kept was beginning to make me a little uneasy. 
 
 Jeffrey, my Edinburgh friend, is in town: we have 
 called upon each other, and I am to meet him to-morrow 
 morning at breakfast with Rogers : to-day, I shall touch 
 the two extremes of anarchy and law, for I dine with Sir 
 F. Burdettj and go in the evening to Lord EUenborough's. 
 
 Tell Kate I cannot give any opinion of Miss Owen- 
 son's novel; for one reason, i. 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 i/ou, 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.* God bless 
 you, my own darhng mother. Ever your own, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 * Mr. Moore was married to Miss Dyke, on March 25. 1811, at 
 St. Martin's churcli, in London. 
 
1811-] LETTEES. 253 
 
 [No, 154.] To his Mother. 
 
 Tuesday, May, 1811. 
 My dearest Mother, 
 You will be sorry to see this letter unfranked; 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, civUly, that he regrets it 
 very much, &c. &c : however, do not fear, darhng mother; 
 I shall find some ways of letting you have your two letters 
 a-week 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 feehng 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 remains 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, I may 
 be a Kttle 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 cordiahty and interest of 
 all my friends has been tenfold increased since this event, 
 you would not wonder, my darhng 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 
 
254 LETTERS. [^TAT. 32, 
 
 me I deserve, and which the wann sympathy of all my 
 other friends has given such a happy and flattering sanc- 
 tion to ; but I know I am (like yourself) too tremulously 
 alive upon every subject connected with the affection of 
 those I love, and I am sure my father by no means meant 
 to speak coldly. 
 
 With respect to letting the house, I do believe (if you 
 really lilie 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 father 
 might get something handsome by letting it, as that neigh- 
 bourhood has become so much more promising since he 
 took the place. AU I want is, that you should not leave 
 it from any fear that I shall be unable to do anything in 
 future towards helping you through any occasional difii- 
 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 
 me, 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 I was in bed 
 aU day after the fete, which I did not leave till past six in 
 
1811.] LETTERS. 255 
 
 the morning. Nothing was 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 feediug 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. WhUe 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 
 difierence 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 LETTEES. [^TAT. 32. 
 
 [No. 156.] To Ms Mother. 
 
 Monday, 1811. 
 
 My dearest Mother, 
 
 I did not write on Saturday, as I was a little nerrous 
 about my reading to the manager ; but I came off with 
 him ten times better than I expected, as I have iadeed 
 very little confidence in. my dramatic powers. He was 
 however very much pleased, and said its 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 very 
 encouraging, and I begin to have some little hopes that it 
 may succeed. I was very much amused by Kate's asto- 
 nishment at my full-dated and full-signed letter. I sup- 
 pose I had been writing a i&w formal epistles before it. 
 Kate says that Boroughes is very curious ^ovX frariking ; 
 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 got, and this last one of hers (which she says he 
 also franked) I paid postage for. By the bye, I had 
 begun to feel a little uneasy at not having heard from my 
 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 DoUy's lover, after 
 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 Kate 
 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 aU well and happy. Nothing can 
 equal the luxury of this house, especially since Monsieur's 
 arrival. I can imagine that it mai/ he surpassed, but I am 
 sure it seldom is : the Prince of Conde and the Duke of 
 Bourbon have come with him. 
 
 How does Herbert's play go on? Tell him I wish to 
 have a particTilar description of the situation in which he 
 desires to have the sonff 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 Moore. 
 
 [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 1 could pack a whole audience like 
 you, with such taste 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. S 
 
258 LETTERS. [^TAT. 32. 
 
 English playhouse. I have latterly attended a good deal, 
 and I really think that when an author makes them laugh, 
 he ought to feel Hke Phocion when the Athenians ap- 
 plauded him, and ask what wretched Mtise had produced 
 the tribute. I have been a good deal and most loyally 
 alarmed, lest a certain catastrophe should interrupt the 
 performances at the playhouses ; but I believe there is 
 no 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 
 conversation 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 so in my next letter, which 
 now that I am released from my joke-manufactory, shall 
 foUow up this in closer order than I have hitherto pre- 
 served ; but, in the meantime, I know I cannot teU you 
 too often, that I am more rationally happy than ever 
 I was ; that, to compensate the want of worldly advan- 
 tages, 1 have found good sense, simplicity, kind-hearted- 
 ness, the most unaffected purity, and rightness of think- 
 ing upon every subject connected with my welfare or 
 comfort. 
 
 I have no news for you. Rogers 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 
 Eang was turned loose, and suffered to range bhndly and 
 frantic about, like Polyphemus in his cave. I never read 
 anything more melancholy ; the mockery of splendour 
 which, they said, was preserved in these preparations (that 
 he might knock his head royally against velvet and satin), 
 made the misery of his situation so much more glaring and 
 
1811.] LETTERS. 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 without 
 restraint. Ever most truly yours, 
 
 T. M. 
 
 I would enclose this through the War Office, but the 
 paper is too thin for stranger eyes. 
 
 [No. 159.] From Miss Godfrey. 
 
 Killarney, 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. Wbat 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 the stage 
 must fall in with popular taste, which is now at the last 
 gasp, and past all cure. I dare say, however, that this 
 
 s 2 
 
260 LETTERS. [jEtat. 32. 
 
 piece has a great deal more merit than you allow that it has, 
 and that whenever you could give your 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 them. 
 
 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 certain you have, it is only in the 
 long riui of hfe that you can know the fuU 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 aifairs, 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. 261 
 
 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 tiU then, 
 and bless your good fortune in escaping my reasoning for 
 the present. The beauty of aU. 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 corner 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 corner, 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 Koman CathoHo petitions. 
 I really don't beHeve that there are fifty people in all Ire- 
 land that think upon the subject after the meetings are 
 (jver, 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 
 
262 LETTERS. [iETAT. 32. 
 
 little : this, too, to be proved to you when we meet. This 
 is one of the most Roman Catholic counties in Ireland, yet 
 none of the leading ones attended the meeting, for they 
 condemn all violence. I must say we set an example of 
 toleration in this county worthy of a more enhghtened 
 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 say as much for the rest 
 of Ireland upon the same subject as I can for this county, 
 but I can't ; and, unless they aU turn Mahometans, I see 
 no chance of their hving together like Christians. And 
 so now God bless you. If you intend to write soon, direct 
 here ; if not, to 11. Leinster Street, DubHn. Bab sends you 
 a thousand kind things, such as loves, and friendships, and 
 good wishes. And if you like to say anything from us 
 to Mrs. M., we give you a carte blanche to say everything 
 you would Hke 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. G. 
 
 [No. 160.J To Lady Donegal. 
 
 Monday, Oct. 28.1811. 
 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 ! Ro- 
 gers is indignant, and so am I ; and we ring the changes 
 upon * * * and * * often enough, God knows. 
 
1811.] LETTKRS. 263 
 
 singing of them like Cadet Roussel's children, " Vun est 
 voleur, Vautre 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 unobjectionable in its politi- 
 cal 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 viUa on Primrose 
 Hill, and a fine street, leading direct from it to Carlton 
 House. This 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- 
 hody to you. If you do not make haste, I shall have two 
 somebodies to present to you. Ever yours, 
 
 T. MOOEE. 
 
 [No. 161.] To Mr. Longman. 
 
 Wednesday, Bury Street, St. James's, 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 
 
 8 4 
 
204 LETTEKS. [iETAT. 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 aU 
 night at Carlton 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 stiU beg, 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 Mooke. 
 
 [No. 162.] To his Mother. 
 
 1811. 
 
 My dearest Mother, 
 I find the Master of the RoUs 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 pubUsh ; 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 tliis 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 
 
-812.] 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. 163.] To Lady Donegal. 
 
 Saturday, Jan. 4. 1812. 
 I did not hlie 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 mourning 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 once more upon English ground. 
 
266 LETTEKS. [^TAT. 32. 
 
 I have been living very quiet and very happy, -with 
 the exception of those Httle apprehensions which I must 
 naturally feel at the approaching trial of poor Bessy's 
 strength. She is very delicate indeed, but her spirits and 
 resolution are much better than they were at first. 
 
 I was going to talk to you about being god-mother, 
 but as you will not be here at the time, we shall wait till 
 the next, though I sincerely hope they will come " like 
 angel visits,_/eM and^ar between." 
 
 Rogers has been at Lord E-obert Spencer's this fort- 
 night past, but I have this instant got a note from him 
 asking me to a t§te-^-t^te dinner. 
 
 On Sunday last I dined at Holland House. Lord 
 Moira took me there and brought me back. There is no 
 guessing what the Prince means to do : one can as Httle 
 anticipate his measures as those of Buonaparte, but for a 
 very different reason. I am sure the powder in his Royal 
 Highness's hair is much more settled than any thing in his 
 head, or indeed heart, and would stand a puff of Mr. Per- 
 cival's much more stoutly. At the same time I must say, 
 that there are not the same signs 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 talliing before him, as if they considered him 
 more in the penetralia of the sanctuary than themselves : 
 it was only in groups after dinner that they let out their 
 suspicions 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 broken the chilling ice which the 
 
1812.] .LETTEES. 267 
 
 last sad misfortune cast between our commumcations, 
 you shall hear from me constantly. Ever your attached 
 friendj 
 
 Thomas Mooee. 
 
 [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 praises, 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 wUl 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 his Parody of the Prince's Letter. 
 
268 LETTEKS. [^TAT. 32. 
 
 [No. 165.] To Lady Donegal. 
 
 Saturday, .1812. 
 
 I take advantage of a frank, and have but one moment 
 to say that I am a papa ! 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 aU I feel about your neglect of my 
 last letter. You I forgive a little, because you don't like 
 writing ; but it is so unlike dear Mary, that I am afraid I 
 am beginning to be forgotten. The Berrys and C. Moore 
 hear continually, and Rogers, 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. Will you be 
 god-mother to my little girl? I would not add to your 
 responsibilities in the child line, if the god-father, who is 
 rich and generous, did not ask 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, heart-felt 
 sanction (the honour I would say, if it were not too cold a 
 word), the sanctification which your name would give to 
 my present happy tie. This is what I want, and what I 
 am sure you wiU grant me. 
 
 I hardly know what I write, but I shall be more col- 
 lected next time. We are all doing well. Ever your 
 attached friend, 
 
 Thomas Moore. 
 
 * Mr. Moore's eldest daughter, Anne Jane Barbara, was born on the 
 4th February, 1812. 
 
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 Killarney, with the same 
 idea of shortness that the Irishman had when he said, " my 
 name is Tim, but they call me O'BraUaghanybr shortness^'' 
 I dare say it wUl be some weeks before it reaches you, 
 which, however, I hope it will 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 
 lirth, and rumours of a christening, and a modest request 
 that you would take the poet's first production under your 
 patronage ; seriously, I have been unreasonable 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 responsibUities in this way, 
 only that the god-father, who is rich enough to buy all 
 Parnassus, has taken 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 loilling 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 Moore has been indebted to my anxiety to know 
 something about you, for two or three visits, which other- 
 Avise I might not perhaps have paid him ; for, after all, 
 though I can bear participation in what I value, I am very 
 
270 LETTERS. [iETAT. 32. 
 
 impatient of monopoly, and nothing but my real wish to 
 know that you are well and happy could make me submit 
 to inquire news of you from a person who so totally en- 
 grosses your attention. You never before left a letter of 
 mine so long unanswered as the one I last sent to Leinster 
 Street. 
 
 One thing is pretty certain, that you will soon be rid of 
 me. In Lord Moira's exclusion from all chances of power, 
 I see an end to the long hope of my hfe ; 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 wiU make me very unhappy to be forgotten by 
 you, but not half so much so as I should be if I thought 
 I deserved it. I la not time for more. Ever your 
 sincere friend, 
 
 Thos. Moore. 
 
 I have not time to look over this, but I fear there is 
 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 Hfe, have sunk my spirits a Httle, so for- 
 give me if I am either unjust or iU-natured. 
 
 [No. 167.] To Miss Godfrey. 
 
 Friday, March 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 which you 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- 
 
1812.] LETTERS. 271 
 
 plainings 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 afterwards. 
 I suppose I can tell you nothing in politics that you have 
 not heard already; but I dare say I should give a very 
 diiferent colouring to my intelligence. Your correspondent 
 Is one of the livery-servants in pohtics, and his senti- 
 ments of course take the colour of ias facings; but /, 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 Will-o'-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 country 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 Moira'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 only 
 
272 LETTERS. [jiTAT. 32: 
 
 ambition, and I mean to lay the whole lever of my mind 
 to it. Lord Moira has behaved with all that deUcate high- 
 mindedness, which those who know him well expected from 
 him. "Wlien he told the P. that in a very short time he 
 should make his bow and quit the country, this precious 
 gentleman began to blubber (as he did once when he was 
 told that Brummel did not hlse the cut of his coat), and 
 said, " You'll desert me then, Moira ? " " No, sir," says 
 he ; " when the friends and counsels you have chosen shall 
 have brought your throne to totter beneath you, you wiU 
 then see me by your side to sink, if it should so please 
 God, under its ruins with you ! " He is certainly going 
 to Vienna. 
 
 {To Lady D.) 
 
 Yomr answer about my little girl was so long coming, 
 and mamma was so impatient to have her made a Christian 
 (seeing, as she said, that " children always thrive better after 
 it "), that I was obhged to take my chance for your con- 
 sent ; but not wishing to presume too much, we have not 
 placed you in the van of responsibihty, but merely made 
 you bring up the rear in the following long army of names, 
 " Anne Jane Barbara Moore." 
 
 "We are all well, at least pretty well, for poor Bessy is 
 sadly altered in looks ; indeed, so totally, that, though she 
 says nothing ails her, I cannot think how health can be 
 compatible with such pale emaciation, and am therefore not 
 a little anxious about her. I hope you will come before 
 we leave London. Ever most sincerely yours, 
 
 Thomas Mooeb. 
 
1812.] LETTERS. 273 
 
 [No. 168.] To his Mother. 
 
 Friday night, 1812. 
 
 My dearest Mother, 
 
 After long, wishing and waiting, I got a letter from 
 my dear father to-day, and I quite jmnped at it with im- 
 patience, after the long silence you have aU kept. I hope 
 now however, since 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 I write for the public, 
 and Kate and Nell have little other authorship than 
 gossiping 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 ray friend Dalby is 
 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, dear 
 mother, you would seni me the remainder of my books, 
 as I am collecting a library, and am resolved to get all 
 together that I can. TeU Kate she must leave her 
 Boileau to me in her wiU. I owe her many books stiU, 
 and, as soon as I can get an opportunity, I wUI send her 
 Lord Byron's book (which is every thing now), and one or 
 two more new publications. 
 
 My Lord Byron liked so well the way I conducted my 
 own affair with him, that he chose me as his friend the 
 other day 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 
 
 VOL. L T 
 
274 LETTEES. [iETAT. 32. 
 
 he gave that as a reason for employing me, hut I think it 
 was a tribute that amounted to pretty much the same 
 thing, and I was flattered by it accordingly. 
 
 I am quite sorry, my darling mother, to find that you 
 have had your winter cold ; but the sweet season that we 
 feel now will, I trust, quite restore you. 
 
 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, 
 
 Tom, 
 
 [No. 169.] To his Mother. 
 
 1812. 
 
 My dearest Mother, 
 
 I have not had an answer from Dalby yet, but am in 
 the same mind about retiring somewhere, and I should 
 prefer Donington both from the society and the library. 
 Lord Moira told me himself that he meant to withdraw 
 entirely from politics, so that I look upon aU hope from 
 him in this way as completely extinguished, and must only 
 look to myself for my future happiness and independence ; 
 indeed, I rather think, from the appearance of the times, 
 that the best of the great ones hold their places and pos- 
 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 was my uncertainty about it for some time 
 which prevented me,) that the Powers give me between 
 them Jive hundred a-year for my music ; the agreement is 
 for seven years, and as much longer as I choose to say. 
 This you will own (however precarious, as depending on 
 their success in business) is very comfortable as 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 itj 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 
 jg * * * j^ y/jg fggf gj^ fjig letter has been lost.^ 
 
 [No. 170.] Fi-om Mr. Dalhy. 
 
 Castle Donington, March 31. 1812. 
 ]My dear JMoore, 
 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 
 IMoira, 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 LETTERS, [^TAT. 32. 
 
 me to make. I could, indeed, at once have said that there 
 is no house in Donington to he had for you, that is, which 
 would suit you ; but this " not satisfactory " answer was 
 what I could not, in obedience to my own feelings, think 
 of sending you. As soon as my present unwelcome visitor, 
 that 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 something of a mathematician may indulge 
 himself with his " circle and radius ") — of three mUes 
 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 wHl 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 which. This you must determine for 
 yourself; and therefore you may, in good earnest you 
 may, depend upon it, that the moment I have 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 Moira 
 since the restrictions expired, but he does not say one 
 word of his disappointments. I am, dear Moore, most 
 sincerely yours, 
 
 Jno. Dalbt. 
 
 Lord Byron writes a worse hand than I ever saw be- 
 fore. It is almost impossible to beheve that English 
 Bards and Scotch Reviewers 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 wiU 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. Pray, 
 let me know everything curious that comes to your know- 
 ledge in music, literature, and politics. Bessy sends best 
 regards. Ever yours, 
 
 Thomas Mooee. 
 
 [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 hne from you diffuses 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 was 
 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 friends will 
 
 * Mr. Moore settled at Kegworth in the spring of 1812. 
 T 3 
 
278 LETTEKS. [iETAT. 32. 
 
 not officiously break in upon you ; but I hear that Lord 
 Byron meditates a visit to Kegworth, as Eogers has told 
 you in the enclosed note. He (Eogers) talks of you both 
 in the most amiable manner, and Lord Moira and Lady 
 Loudon * * * Asusual, here ami, the poor ji2« aZZer, 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 precisely 
 in the very way you would Hke. 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 this best of aU possible 
 worlds. 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 loeek. 
 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 ahnost 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 WeUesley, 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 give the Cathohcs all they ask ; his second, 
 to send every soldier he can lay his hands on to Spain, and 
 
1812.] LETTERS. 279 
 
 to make a sublime effort there ; and his third, 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'U 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 said, " 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 said, " I must 
 try then to get Liverpool and Eldon to give up this point." 
 Bab thinks you may enclose once more to Lord Grlen- 
 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 Mon- 
 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, 
 
 M. G. 
 
 Bab wiU really write soon. 
 
 V 4 
 
280 LETTEKS. [^TAT. 32. 
 
 [No. 173.] To Miss Godfrey. 
 
 Kegworth, Wednesday, 1812. 
 
 This is not " the long letter next week," so don't mis- 
 take it for it. Campbell, you know, says that " coming 
 events cast their shadow before ; " so this is only the shadow 
 of the coming letter, which you shall have, please pen and 
 ink, before next Tuesday. The first glass of wine of my 
 own that I've drunk siace I came here was the day be- 
 fore yesterday to the late Ministry, and (as we say in 
 Ireland) " sweet bad luck to them." I feel more in- 
 different 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 contrive to do very 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. Rogers'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 56. 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 this, 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. 
 
1812.] LETTERS. 281 
 
 I am sorry the old Woodman* is going out; but we 
 shall get somebody else perhaps. 
 
 Since I wrote the above, I have received the packet 
 from yoUj and it is money indeed ! Bessy imputes this 
 luck entirely to a little robin redbreast that has haunted 
 us these two days. 
 
 [No. 174.] To his Mother. 
 
 Kegworth, Wednesday, 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 Bessy 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 probabihty 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 my fat Ever your own, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 * Lord Glenbervie. 
 
282 LETTERS. [^TAT. 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 1 do not like to leave Bessy alone ; and, besides^ 
 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 beheve 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 dehghted 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 afiairs, I don't think it at aU 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 sends 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 post, 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 Hke to see 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 
 Book, 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 ! 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. [^TAT. 33. 
 
 I looked over Gardiner's preface as you desired me, 
 and if the subject you were thinking of be a New Version 
 of the Psalms, I am afraid that is a task that would be 
 sure to bring disgrace upon me, for I agree 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 Lord 
 Moira's plans. Ever yours, my dear sir, 
 
 Thomas Mooke. 
 
 [No. 177.] To Mr. Power. 
 
 Thursday, June, 1812. 
 
 I send you the Tyrolese air, which I have just 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, which you must forward 
 
 to him with my songs to be arranged. The second verse 
 
 of " Cease, oh ! cease," is to be thus : 
 
 " Say, oil! say no more that lover's pains are sweet, 
 I never, never can believe the fond deceit. 
 Thou lov'st the wounded heart, 
 
 / love to wander free ; 
 So, keep thou Cupid's dart, 
 And leave his wings to me.'' 
 
 This win sparkle better in the page. Ever yours, 
 
 T. M. 
 
 [No. 178.] To Mr. Power. 
 
 Thursday, June 12. 1812. 
 Jily dear Sir, 
 I hope you got my little parcel last week with the 
 Tyrolese air, and that I soon shall hear from you about 
 
1812.] LETTERS. 285 
 
 Stevenson. I got the proofs you sent through Lord Glen~ 
 bervie ; but unfortunately it was most deceitful intelligence 
 that Joe Atkinson gave me about the War Office 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 Glenbervie, and get 
 him to frank it to Ireland. 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 ! I cannot suppose, however, that the 
 House of Commons wUl 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 Mooee. 
 
 [No. 179.] To Mr, Power. 
 
 Thursday night, 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. [iExAT. 33. 
 
 to-day ; but, upon mentioning the kind of forms wMch we 
 had used in our agreement to the friend with whom I con- 
 sult about everything of this kind, he made me feel the 
 very great irregularity I had been guilty of, in putting 
 myself totally in the power of your brother and you, while 
 I had not a line in return to give me the least claim or 
 binding upon you. I need not teU 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 your 
 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 mode 
 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 Mooee. 
 
 [No. 180.] To Lady Donegal. 
 
 Kegworth, June, 1812. 
 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 
 other. "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- 
 tinued to enjoy this privilege. 
 
1812.] LETTEES. 287 
 
 the inside of the stage to ourselves, and it was like travel- 
 ling in the famUy 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, you shaU. have many a prayer offered up 
 for you; none of your worn-out devotions, that have been 
 hacked tiU 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 wiU give you a few lines, because Rogers 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 teU you why 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 
 
288 LETTEE9. [«TAT. 33- 
 
 keep in a set of Ministers^ whom he has hitherto appeared 
 to think 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 country 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 teU you ; at least, I can only teU you that 
 his friends say it was all honour ; that Lord Yarmouth 
 had behaved particularly ill to him, and that he felt it was 
 a point of honour not to allow the Prince to dismiss him, 
 lest it might be supposed he was actuated by personal 
 pique ; that it would be acknowledging that he beheved 
 in the influence of the house of Hertford over the Prince 
 if he recommended their dismissal ; that Lord Grey and 
 Lord GrrenviUe 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 Men peu de chose. There 
 he made his stand. And I am firmly persuaded that he 
 acted a most disinterested part, and that he has been the 
 dupe of his own honourable feelings, and the Prince's tears. 
 To these he must beheve 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 
 Ministry, they might have dismissed the household with 
 impunity, for the Prince would then have been afraid to 
 
1812.] LETTERS. 289 
 
 object. Lord Ellenborough says, they have lost the game 
 with four by honours 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 are as good as any 
 others. They manage their own affairs so well, that I 
 live ill 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 iU-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 ! ! 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 LETTEKS. [^TAT. 33, 
 
 [No. 182.] 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 moderns, 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 visit 
 with me, 
 
 1 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 ! 
 
 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 getting too fat with eating ; 
 
1812.] LETTERS. 291 
 
 the market is as 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 tUc 
 attacks you have, and wish you would tell me whether 
 they are less frequent. Ever yours, 
 
 Thomas Moore. 
 
 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 Glenhervie. 
 
 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 affection 
 has been so long engaged. I request that you wiU 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 yom-s, 
 
 Glenbervie. 
 
 D 2 
 
292 LETTERS. LEtat. 33. 
 
 [No. 184.] To Edward T. Dalton, Esq. 
 
 Kegwortli, Monday, June 29. 1812. 
 My dear Dalton, 
 Do not think that I did not deeply /eeZ your letter be- 
 cause I have been slow in acknowledging it. I am one of 
 the ruminating animalsj you know, and chew the cud of a 
 letter long after others would have swallowed and for- 
 gotten it. ReaUy 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 afiect 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 
 disinterestedness. 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 wiU give me the 
 most heartfelt pleasure to see them 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 
 wiU be sure to make me happy. 
 
 I am ashamed to say a word about the " olim pi-omissum 
 carmen^' for the club, except that I own it cooled my zeal 
 a little to find that Power and Corry have never heard 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 from 
 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 mv^t 
 
1812.] LETTERS. 29.3 
 
 ■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 every 
 prospect of being able, in a fe'W years, to \iQJust 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, 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 Mooee. 
 
 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 
 
 V 3 
 
294 LETTEKS. [^TAT. 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, wbo are either gone, or just going, to Doniag- 
 ton. You will also soon see Rogers, who will tell you aU 
 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 your 
 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 
 indiiferent about politics, and aU 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 
 under 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 feUow-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? I'll try, and you 
 can but go to sleep, or burn 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 Bernadotte takes. They say he has 
 formed a very fine Swedish army, and that he directs the 
 Russian campaign. It is the first time that Buonaparte 
 has had one of his own generals opposed to him, which at 
 
1812.] LETTEES. 295 
 
 least makes a change in the state of things. In Spain, I^ord 
 Wellington has got a carte blanche, and he is for the 
 future to pursue his own plans, unchecked by Ministers at 
 home. He complains that the EngUsh 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 country, 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 liis shoulders, reading every word as fast as 
 he writes ; not a word must be omitted upon any account, 
 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 that is 
 felt for Lord Wellington aU 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 wiU talk to you about his unfortunate 
 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 
 
296 LETTERS, [^TAT. 33, 
 
 next day the Prince had a great dinner of what he called 
 friends, to which. Lord M., was not incited. And three 
 times that day, both before and after dinner, he declared 
 that if Lord Grenville had been /orcet? 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 Kegent wished to haive 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 tell 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, 
 
 M. G, 
 
 [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 charge of, and you had better lose no time 
 
1812.] LETTERS. 297 
 
 in sending it, as it is doubtful how long they wiE. 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 Mooke. 
 
 [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 to. 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 taste or \aB friendship. 
 
 Best regards to Mrs. Power from us both. Bessy has 
 
 just had visits from Lady Tamworth and Lady Bumbold. 
 
 We are unluckily in the thick of fine people here. Ever 
 
 sincerely yours, 
 
 Thomas Mooke. 
 
298 LETTERS, [^TAT. 33, 
 
 1. 
 
 " Ste has beauty — but still you must keep your 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 so, 
 
 Dear Fanny ! 
 'Tis not the first time I have thought so. 
 2. 
 " She is level ■ — 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 
 Th t Love reasons much better than Reason, 
 
 Dear Fanny ! 
 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 j)arcel. I feel 
 almost sure he wiU 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 ? 
 Come, child of misfortune ! hither, 
 ril weep with thee, tear for tear. 
 
 *- It does not appear that the verse was ever altered. It is not so 
 melodious as Moore's lines usually are. 
 
1812.] LETTERS. 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 Rogers, who, you 
 know, is coming down to me on Sunday next. I forget 
 who the man was that set fire to his house after 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 under my own roof ! 
 
 The Moiras are come, and I am just going to do the 
 honours of the country to them. MUlions 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 foUow it ! 
 
 [xo. 190.J 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 ! !) getting 
 over her weaning, and I have great delight in telling you 
 that she hardly seems to have missed the nurse at all, but 
 has taken to the bread and milk as naturally as if she and 
 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 LETTERS. [^TAT. 33. 
 
 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 payment 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 obhged, since his 
 arrival, to produce forty pounds ! 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 darhng mother. Lady Loudoun and 
 Lord M. caUed 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, Thursday 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 riding 
 after her, and Lady Loudoun's crimson travelling cloak 
 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 aU the best worldly connectiona 
 could possibly have done. The dear girl and I sometimes 
 look at ach other with astonishment in our splendid room 
 
1812.] LETTERS. 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 his Mother. 
 
 Kegworth, Thursday, 1812. 
 M.J 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 scenery, and from thence 
 proceeded to Dove Dale, which delighted me stUl more. 
 It is the very abode of Grenii. I parted with Rogers at Ash- 
 bourne, and came home yesterday evening. 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 affairs ; and when I 
 told him that I had every prospect of being comfortable, 
 he said, " I merely inquired with respect to any present 
 exigence, as I have no doubt there wiU soon be a change 
 in politics, which will set us aU on our legs.'' This was 
 very pleasant, as being a renewal of his pledge to me. 
 
302 LETTERS. [^TAT. 33. 
 
 though I fear the change he looks to is farther oiF than he 
 thinks. Ever your own, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 I am afraid, on account of my tour, you will be stinted 
 to one letter this week. 
 
 [STo. 193.] To William Gardiner, Esq. 
 
 Wednesday night, twelve o'clock. 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 I send you my last partiag words. To-morrow morn- 
 ing we are off, and be assured that we leave some of our 
 best recollections with you. HaU the carrier wUl take 
 you your books on Saturday, and I hope they may arrive 
 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 Mooee. 
 
 [No. 194.] To Edward Dalton, Esq. 
 
 Tuesday, Sept. 19. 1812. 
 M-j dear Dalton, 
 
 This evening we are off; and if you knew the de- 
 mands I have had upon every 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 
 
1812.] LETTERS. 303 
 
 there were to my going to Beau-Paxc, 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, full 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 eiforts 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 effort 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 wiU be my witnesses), when the arrival 
 of Kttle 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 yom: last letter ; and let me have it by 
 return of post, directed to Mayfield Cottage, Ashbourne, 
 Derbyshire. Be particular in teUing me all about your 
 health, and believe me, with best regards to Mrs. D., ever 
 yours, 
 
 T. MOOEB. 
 
304 LETTERS. [^TAT. 33. 
 
 [No. 195.] To Edward T. Dalton, Esq. 
 
 Thursday, 1812. 
 
 My dear Dalton, 
 
 Just when I received your letter, and almost ever since, 
 I have been occupied by a job wMcb has taken up all my 
 thoughts and time ; but now I am free to think of goblets 
 and flowers again, without the amari aliquid 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 Bavluses and Moeviuses — Mason. 
 At all events,! 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 
 
 forgive me. 
 
1812.] LETTEES. 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 you think of that ? 
 Yours, if a little girl, 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 yours, 
 
 T. MOOEE. 
 
 [Ko. 197.] To Edward T. Dalton, Esq. 
 
 Wednesday, Oct. 7. 1812. 
 My dear Dalton, 
 
 I was in London when your letter arrived here, or 
 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 se 
 
 VOL. I. X 
 
306 LETTERS. [^TAT. 33. 
 
 quence ; Indeed, but for the base abuse of Buonaparte, 
 and the clap-trap allusions to the Spaniards, it could not 
 have stood at all, for it is pestilently bad, and Steven- 
 son's music is seldom at all worthy of him. 
 
 I had heard of your fame with the commissioners 
 before you mentioned it, and heartily congratulate you not 
 only upon your enjoyment of the sweets of place, but (much 
 more) upon your keeping yourself free from its corrup- 
 tions. Every day more and more convinces me that there is 
 but one bight way of thinking upon political subjects, and 
 that few take the wrong one who have not some flaw 
 in their hearts as well as their heads. There was some 
 faint negotiation, I believe, lately with Lord Moira, about 
 the lord lieutenancy of Ireland ; but he wiU not always be 
 their dupe, and I only hope he may hve long enough to 
 prove, that, though he forgot himself, he has never forgot 
 his country. I don't know whether I have written to you 
 since Bessy and I were on a visit at Donington Park, but 
 it would give you, I am sure, heartfelt pleasure to see the 
 kind, the fanuliar, and cordial attentions with which both 
 Lord Moira and Lady Loudon treated her. Lady L. 
 has written to her since she went to town, and there is a 
 degree of good feeling and good taste in the unformal and 
 hearty manner she writes, that wUl always make me both 
 respect and love her; for she has with others the character 
 of being cold and high, which makes her relaxation in this 
 instance more amiable and well-intentioned. 
 
 I am flattered more than I can tell you, by Mrs. 
 Dalton's anxiety to get the song I promised, and must teU 
 you how truly flattered I felt at Stevenson's saying (when 
 I sung him another I have done since), " How finely 
 Olivia would sing that ! " but, I fear, you must wait till 
 you either see them in print, or me in Dublin ; for I thought 
 
1812.] 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 your request of a song for 
 Ejlkenny, though I doubt whether I have one that would 
 suit your purpose. 
 
 Tell Power that I called on my fellow-lahourer 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 have 
 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 Mooee. 
 
 My Bessy's best regards to you and Mrs. Dalton. 
 
 [Ko. 198.] To his Mother. 
 
 Kegworth, Thursday, 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 God ! 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 2 
 
308 LETTERS. ■ L-aETAT. 33. 
 
 letters do not go free ; but their postage is all paid by the 
 board. However, once or twice a week wiU 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. I 
 am much afraid that Lord Moira has ruined his reputation 
 as a statesman. The only thing that can save him is 
 (what I suppose he reckons upon) the present Ministry 
 giving up the Catholic question ; in which case ho wUl, of 
 course, go to Ireland. But if they deceive his hopes in 
 this 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, beHeve me, ever your own, 
 
 Tom. 
 Love to dear Nell. 
 
 [No. 199.] To Mr, Power. 
 
 Tuesday, 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 
 wUl 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 nothing with me. If 
 he goes off without me, which is most probable, all I have 
 left for it is, 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 tiU 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 idea 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 Savourna DeUish : it is a hazard- 
 ous effort after Campbell, but I wiU put my shoulders to 
 it. Best regards to Mrs. Power, from hers and yours 
 
 ever, 
 
 T. Moore. 
 
 [No, 200.] From Miss Godfrey. 
 
 Nov. 2. 1812. 
 You may say what you wiU 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 
 
310 LKTTEES. [iETAT.33. 
 
 my former begging and praying, and humbly entreating, 
 had not been able to extort from you. So I give you 
 warning that I shall scold and growl without shame or 
 remorse for the rest of my hfe, whenever I have any point 
 to carry by it with you. And I recommend the same 
 amiable practice to Bessy's consideration : if she does not 
 rule you with an iron rod, woe be to her ! We arc all in 
 great anxiety to know what the governor-general and 
 commander-in-chief of India will do for you. Will he 
 make you viceroy over him? or poet-laureate of all the 
 Indies? But do teU us seriously whether he has said 
 anything to you, and whether you have any hopes, or are 
 forming any plans. Pray do not keep us long in suspense, 
 as you know how impatient we shall be to hear. We 
 earnestly hope he may not tliink of taking you to India 
 with him, but that he may serve you, as I suppose he 
 might do, by some exchange of patronage at home. In 
 short, tell us all about it, and soon, or the groivl shall begin 
 again ; for you know better than I can tell you, with what 
 Avarm hearts we enter into all your hopes and fears; and I 
 need not for ever repeat, what you have so often heard 
 and so well beHeve. I think poor Lord Moira must go to 
 his splendid banishment with a heart loaded with sorrows 
 and regrets. At his time of life, giving up friends and 
 country and old habits must be a painful effort, and no- 
 thing in all probability but the ruined state of his affairs, 
 and the disappointment he must feel from the Prince's 
 conduct, could have decided binn to accept of a place which 
 he may suspect is given to him to get rid of him. If he 
 were young, and had never hoped for place and power 
 and distinction under a Prince for whom he has sacrificed 
 so much, it would have been a very fine thing to have 
 been commander-in-chief and governor-general of India; 
 
1812.] LETTEES. 311 
 
 but as it is I pity him. How severely the Edinburgh 
 Review treated him. Bab had a letter from Eogers 
 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 
 refiniag its life and soul out. I wish we could hear 
 it. I dare say it wUl be very beautiful. We heard of 
 your being ia London from Mr. Blachford. 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 begias to tremble ? 
 What do you say to the success of Ministers ia 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. 
 
 Friday, Nov. 6. 1812. 
 I take the opportimity of an inclosure to Lord Glen- 
 bervie 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 great men, and he is 
 
 X 4 
 
312 LETTEES. [-aETAT. 33. 
 
 to sail the beginning of January. Neither do I think it 
 very probable (eaten up as his patronage wiU be by the 
 hungry pack of followers who surround him) that he wiU 
 be able to procure me anything at home worth my ac- 
 ceptance : what's more, if he were able, I doubt whether T 
 would accept it. My reasons for this another time. But, 
 notwithstanding my expectations are so far from sanguine, 
 I cannot help feehng a good deal of anxiety till the thing 
 is determined one way or other. 
 
 Poor Lord Moira I his good qualities have been the 
 ruin of him. 
 
 " Que les vertus sont dangereuses 
 Dans un homme sans jugement." 
 
 They must keep him out of the reach of all Indian 
 princes, 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 heron^s 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 guUibUity 
 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 I 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 
 
18112.] LETTEES. 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) wiU 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 wiU 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 yours, 
 
 T. MOOKE. 
 
 [No. 203.] From Lord Moira, 
 
 London, Nov. 12. 1812. 
 'M.J 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 baffled. I can take no part in such a system : 
 and it is to me desirable to be out of the way when the 
 
314 LETTERS. [^TAT. S3. 
 
 unavoidable consequences of such policy shall break forth. 
 I could not support the Prince against my principles and 
 my feelings ; it would be the extreme of distress to me to 
 go into ranks hostile to him ; and I could not hope that 1 
 should be suffered to remain in any retreat. It is better I 
 should escape these difficulties. I have undertaken my 
 task as a miHtary engagement ; the functions of governor- 
 general being, in truth, expletive to the other. No nego- 
 tiation upon it passed between me and Ministers ; and it 
 is only within a week that I have had the formal visits 
 of those whose offices give them interference with the 
 business. I told them that if the CathoUc question came 
 forward before my departure, as would probably be the 
 case, it would have the most energetic support I could give 
 it : to which they answered it was only what they took 
 for granted. 
 
 We shall be at the Park next week: in the begin- 
 ning of it, if a severe cold of Lady Loudon's shall not 
 hinder travelling so soon. Present my compliments to 
 Mrs. Moore; and believe me, my dear sir, faithfully 
 yours, 
 
 MoiEA. 
 
 [No. 204.] To Mr. Power. 
 
 Nov. 12. 1812. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 I have but just got your letter, and have only time to 
 say, that if you can let me have but three or four pounds 
 by return of post, you will obHge me. I would not have 
 made this hasty and importunate demand on you, but I 
 have foolishly let myself run dry without trying my other 
 
18^2.] LETTERS. 315 
 
 resources, and I have been the week past literally without 
 one sixpence. Ever, with most sincere good-wiU, the 
 penniless 
 
 T. M. 
 
 [No. 205.] To his Mother. 
 
 1812. 
 
 My dearest Mother, 
 
 I have heard nothing more since I wrote last. The 
 newspapers have all had it that I am going to India, and 
 some of them have been kind enough to give me a salary 
 of four thousand a-year. I beheve, 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 uncertainty 
 wUl be cleared up. In the meantime, my darling mother, 
 I think you need not have the sUghtest dread of my 
 being tempted out to India, as I am quite sure Lord M. 
 wiU. 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 wiU do 
 tUl I see him, and it is as likely as anything that he 
 wUl do nothing. 
 
 "We are 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. [iETAT. 33. 
 
 [No. 206.] To Mr. Power. 
 
 Langley Priory, Thursday, Nov. 18. 1812. 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 It was most ungracious of me to send you such a hurried 
 and begging scrawl as I did yesterday, after recei-ving 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 
 shilling in our pockets to give the servants in going away. 
 So I know you will forgive my tearing you — and now to 
 return to your letters with respect to my India hopes. I 
 cannot at all express to you how deeply, and thoroughly, 
 I feel the prompt and liberal kindness which you have 
 shown on this occasion : I shall never forget it. I do not 
 think it at all probable, however, that I shall have to 
 draw upon the rich Bank of Friendship I possess in you ; 
 for Lord Moira's not having sent me any communication 
 as 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 mj pocket — 
 but however paradoxical it sounds, it is true. Best regards 
 to Mrs. Power, Ever yours, my dear sir, 
 
 Thomas Moore. 
 
1812.] LETTEES. 3l7 
 
 You will not get this tiU 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 God ! I'll 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^' 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 CathoHc 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 think 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 
 
318 LETTERS. L-^TAT.33. 
 
 intention, or even a wisH, to do anything for me. I shall 
 be exceedingly mortified, indeed, if he should go away 
 without giving me an opportunity of at least refusing 
 something, which is most probably the way I would treat 
 any offer he could make me ; but I should like to have at 
 least this gratification. However, as he tells me at the 
 end of his letter that he wUl be here the beginning of this 
 week, I must suspend all further opinion till he comes. 
 For one reason, however, I shall most heartily rejoice at 
 his appointment, and that is, for its having brought forth 
 your friendship, my dear sir, and exhibited it to me in such 
 fulness of heart, as was never before surpassed. I return 
 you your letters. With respect to " Fortune may frown," 
 I shall like to talk to Stevenson about it: but if he is 
 determined not to come down, we must only let it take its 
 chance. By-the-bye, you mentioned his saying " that it 
 could not be better." Had you it to show him, or have 1 
 it ? I shall make a search to-day, and shall let you know 
 more about it in my next. I like the way he has done the 
 songs you sent very much. You may place them just as 
 you please, putting the grave and gay alternately, and I 
 think you had better begin with " Oh the Shamrock ! " or, 
 if you like better, " The Minstrel Boy." I should Hke to 
 reserve for the last places (in the hope that we may get 
 something better), " The Valley lay smihng," " One Bumper 
 at Parting," and " Oh ! had I a bright little Isle." I object to 
 the latter for its music only, as the words are among my 
 happiest, but the air is not elegant. The deficient hne in 
 " If e'er I forget Thee " is " That e'en the past errors of 
 boyhood may be." 
 
 The following is the second verse of " Oh ! see those 
 Cherries :" — 
 
1812.J LETTERS. 319 
 
 " Old Time thus fleetly his course is running, 
 (If bards were not moral, how maids would go wrong). 
 And thus thy beauties, now sunn'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 ! delay not, we bards are too cunning 
 To sigh for old beauties, when young may be had." 
 
 Yours ever, my dear sir, most faithfully, 
 
 Thomas Mooee. 
 
 All I say to you about Lord M. is, of course, in 
 confidence. 
 
 [Ko. 208.] To his Mother. 
 
 Tuesday, 1812. 
 
 My dearest Mother, 
 
 Lord Moira arrived at the Park yesterday evening, 
 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 veri/ 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 veri/ 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 India, 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. [yExAT. 33. 
 
 than I, for she has a deep horror of what Kate has to go 
 through. Ever your own, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 [No. 209.] To his Mother. 
 
 Thursday, ]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-hoy taking his hoHday ;" and he must be most happy 
 to get a little repose and relaxation after London. 
 
 We were so delighted to hear of darling E^ate's happy 
 delivery. God send they may hoth continue weU! 
 
 I am just now setting off with Sir John Stevenson 
 (who came down to me, accompanied by Power, on Tues- 
 day) for a concert and ball at Leicester. 
 
 I am quite sure Lord Moira wiU do nothing whatever 
 for me. Your own, own, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 [No. 210.] To Lady Donegal. 
 
 Tuesday, 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 became here. I had heard that he 
 had nothing left to give, the Royal Family having put 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 telhng 
 me that he " had not been oblivious of me — had not been 
 oblivious of me !" After this devil of a word there was 
 
1812.] LETTERS. 321 
 
 but little heart or soul to be expected from Mm. He was 
 sorry, bowever, 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 
 meantim'e, 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 
 something 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 would 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 efiect 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 maimer, 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 wiU be very ingenious : I 
 shall write more legibly very soon ; and, with best love to 
 my dearest Mary, I am ever yours, 
 
 T. MOOEE. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
322 LETTEES. [^TAT. 33. 
 
 [No. 211.] To Mr. Power. 
 
 Dec. 4. 1812. 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 Stevenson left us this morning, and we had great 
 difficulty iadeed ia getting all his distracted commodities 
 together for him. He copied out, " Oh, fair ! oh, purest !" 
 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 failed in it completely. 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 iinlucky at Lord Moira's, 
 as on the former day. Lord M. was out shooting, and 
 Lady Loudon Ul ; 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 large 
 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. 
 
1812.] LETTERS. 323 
 
 [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 should occur in India, I must beg he 
 ■ would dismiss that too entirely from his thoughts, as it was 
 too late in the day for me to go on expecting, 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 
 weU 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. Ashe's 
 song ; but here is one fresh from the mint, and not bad 
 either : 
 
 " If haply 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 I'll think of you sleeping and waking ; 
 
 Dear youth ! 
 I will think of you sleeping and waking." 
 T 2 
 
324 LETTEES, [^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 week. 
 
 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 Mooke. 
 
 I have got a tolerably pretty air out of Crotch's book 
 for the Melodies, which I have half written words to. 
 
 [No. 213.] To Mr. Power. 
 
 Sunday, Deo. 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 
 DeiUsh," 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. 325 
 
 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 tiU 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 any, 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 ! in 
 arrears ; but time will make all even. Yours ever, with 
 best regards to Mrs. P., 
 
 Thos. Moore. 
 
 [No. 214.] To E. T. Dalton, 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 deservedly so) 
 for not writing to you on this occasion, you would impute 
 
 T 3 
 
326 LETTERS. [^TAT. 33. 
 
 it to anything but tlie least little shade of change in my 
 most fixed and never-altering regard for you. A cloud or 
 two should not make the barometer sink, and it will not 
 be my fault if it does not remain up to clear, settled, sun- 
 shiny 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 Dalton, aU I shall 
 do is to refer J/OM to one of the above channels or conduits; 
 Bryan's pipe, I beHeve, being nearest to you. My writing 
 so soon to Bryan upon the subject arose from his haA^ng 
 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 aU places, princes, and patrons. To 
 this he answered by asking me, " whether the grapes 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 shoidd be my con- 
 duct on such an event, I did not Hlie 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, thbugh certainly his letter in 
 
1812.] LETTERS. ' • 327 
 
 approbation of what -I have done is mucli slower in coming 
 than Ms suspicion of what I would do. As to Crampton, 
 my letter to him was 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 
 conviuce you, that it is not from any preference of others 
 for my confidential communications, that the circum- 
 stances should have reached you from anybody but 
 myself. 
 
 I am happy to teU 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. 
 TeU Stevenson this. I know he wiU be glad to hear that 
 my threatened abandonment of the black-strap is deferred 
 a little longer. 
 
 I mean to be in town about AprU or May to pass a 
 month. If you wiU let me know your movements in time, 
 I shaU 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 TpeuP 
 
 I don't see why you should not come and take me up 
 here in your way to London. Ever yours, 
 
 T. MOOEE. 
 
 T 4 
 
328 LETTERS. [iErAT 33. 
 
 [No. 215.] 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 ! to have any such apprehensions. 
 
 The Moiras set off for town yesterday; they called 
 here in passing, and Lady Loudon was very kiud, 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 m 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 Ms 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 
 expecting, 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 
 I 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 Barbara is growing very amusing. She 
 (what they call) started yesterday in walking ; that is, got 
 
330 LETTERS. [^TAT.Sa, 
 
 Tip 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 fright, 
 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 ! " The alter- 
 ation I wish in the latter is not of much consequence ; 
 indeed, though the other is the real and most characteristic 
 melody, I rather think the way it is wiU 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 
 the 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 exhibition, which 
 will do more service to the sale of the songs than a whole 
 year's advertising. 
 
 I ha>c a plan when I return to London for good (that 
 
1813.] LETTEBS. 331 
 
 isj for our grand project) wluch I hinted once to you, and 
 wliich 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. MOOEE. 
 
 [No. 218.] To Mr. Power. 
 
 Friday, 1813. 
 
 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 wliich 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 publish 
 them himself, but gets some one else.. I am much mistaken 
 if they do not make a Httle noise. What a pity it is that 
 such things do not come from our book-shop in the Strand, 
 
 * In the year 1813, Mr. Moore published the " Intercepted Letters, 
 or the Twopenny Post Bag." The dedication to " Stephen WooWche, 
 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. [^TAT. 33. 
 
 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 make, my dear sir, as going towards the 
 fund I am to throw into our establishment, and though I 
 shallj of course, deny the trifles I am now doing, yet, if 
 they are liked, I shaU. 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 Eebruary. 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. Power's 
 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." 
 
 WiU 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 Mooke. 
 
 [No. 219.J To his Mother, 
 
 Friday, 1813. 
 
 My dearest Mother, 
 
 I am sending a good many letters ofi" to-day, and have 
 only time to say God bless you. I got my darling father's 
 
1813.] LETTERS, 333 
 
 letter yesterday, and am delighted to find that you are 
 recovering your fatigue and anxiety. My poor uncle 
 Garret ! 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. 
 
 My dearest Mother, 
 
 I had a long letter yesterday from Eogers, 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 
 shyness and distance he kept with me) appears to Rogers, 
 and even now to myself, as the very natural result of his 
 inabihty. 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, 
 TVe 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 KUmainham Lodge, 
 and r would enter my protest against it, only that I think, 
 by getting into town, your spirits, my dearest mother, will 
 
334 LETTERS. [iETAT. 33. 
 
 have a mucli better chance of being kept alire. 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 yon. 1 
 forgot, in my two or three last letters, to ask of my father 
 what was the date of the biU 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 beheve, 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 Rokeby has given me a renewal of 
 courage for my poem, and once I get it brilliantly ofi" my 
 hands, we may do what we please in literature afterwards. 
 
1813.] LETTERS. 335 
 
 Eogers'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 Kokeby ? 
 Ever yoursj my dear sir, most truly, 
 
 Thomas Moore. 
 
 "The brilliant black eye 
 May, in triumph, let fly 
 Its darts without caring who feels 'em ; 
 But the soft eye of blue, 
 Tho' it scatter wounds too, 
 Is much better pleas'd 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 !' 
 Dear Jessy. 
 
 3. 
 
 " Oh ! tell me, then, why. 
 In that lovely blue eye, 
 No soft trace of its tint I discover ? 
 Oh ! why should you wear 
 The only blue pair 
 That ever said ' No' to a lover ? 
 Dear Jessy." 
 
 [No. 223. 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 
 
336 LETTEES. [^TAT. 33. 
 
 sent you the music of " The brilliant black eye " on Friday, 
 but I found I had put it in the wrong time, and have been 
 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 (1 8 14) for the commence- 
 ment of our book-concern ; as the poem (if it succeeds 
 well enough to encourage you to the undertaking) wiU be 
 the last thing I shall put out of my own hands. I should 
 like therefore, with your permission, to make the Dictionary 
 of Music mj object this year, for two reasons, first, be- 
 cause, being prose, it wiU 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 sUde us 
 quietly from your present business into the other. AU 
 this, however, we shall discuss more fully together in April, 
 and in the mean time I shall continue to make my notes 
 and preparations for the Dictionary. 
 
 Bessy stiU up. Ever yours, 
 
 T. MOOEE. 
 
 [No. 224.] To Mr. Power. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 I send you the " Eose Tree," which are the prettiest 
 words I've written for some time ; also the Finland air. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 T. MooEE. 
 
1813.] LETTERS. 337 
 
 [No. 225.] To Mr. Power. 
 
 Thijrsdaj, 1813. 
 
 Mj dear Sir, 
 
 I have only time to inclose a little duet, and to say 
 
 that I have been disappointed in not hearing from you for 
 
 so long a time. I told you a little ^5 about the Examiner, 
 
 and the reason was (as I had not seen 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 
 
 you ; that is, " Little Man and little Soul," the onli/ squib 
 
 I have sent Perry since I left town. The other thing 
 
 about Sir J. IMLurray is not mine ; and, bad as the former 
 
 one is, I am sorry still more he could impute such a didl 
 
 thing to me as this parody on Sir J. Murray's letter; there 
 
 is hardly one bit of fun throughout it. Ever yours, 
 
 T. MOOEE. 
 
 [No. 226.] To Miss Dally. 
 
 Tuesday, March 16. 1813. 
 My dear Mary, 
 
 About six o'clock this morning my Bessy produced a 
 little girl about the size of a twopenny wax doU.* Nothing 
 could be more favourable than the whole proceeding, and 
 the mamma is now eating buttered toast and drinking tea, 
 as if nothing had happened. Ever yours, 
 
 T. MoOEE. 
 
 I have been up all night, and am too fagged to write 
 more. 
 
 * Anastasia Mary, born at Kegworth, March 16. 1813. 
 
 VOL, L 
 
338 LETTERS. [^TAT. 33. 
 
 [No. 227.] To Ms Mother. 
 
 Tuesday, 1813. 
 
 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 
 your own, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 Do you get my two letters a-week regularly ? 
 
 [No. 228.] To his Mother. 
 
 Tuesday, 1813. 
 
 My dearest Mother, 
 
 As I gave you a long letter last time, I may the better 
 put you ofi" 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. 
 
 I do not know whether I told you that our worthy 
 
1813.] LETTEES. 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. 
 
 [STo. 229.] To Mr. Power. 
 
 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 Hking 
 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 kind of relationship between us, and 
 draw closer (if they require it) those ties which, I trust, 
 
 7. 2 
 
340 LETTEKS. [-Etat. 33. 
 
 will long keep us together. But I am obliged to confine 
 the request to Mrs. 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 con- 
 cern, 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 do. It is impossible 
 to make things good in the very httle 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 wiU 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, you 
 know, I mentioned once to you, and which I should Hke 
 very much to do. Your brother would be afraid to display 
 them in Dublin, I think ; but what say you ? More to- 
 morrow. Ever yours, 
 
 T. MOOKE. 
 
 [No. 230.] To Mr. Power. 
 
 Sunday, 1813. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 I received the. Melodies yesterday evening, and am very 
 well satisfied with the whole number, except (and it is 
 a dreadful exception) the air of " Oh ! doubt me not," 
 
1813.] LETTEES. 341 
 
 which is played the very deuce with by the omission of 
 Stevenson's flat B. As it stands now, it is quite disgrace- 
 M to him and all of us, and it is by no means my fault. I 
 asked 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 was Stevenson's devUish 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 ofi" to you by 
 the next morning's post. 
 
 We got the parcel too late last night for me to look 
 over the airs tiU 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. MOOEE. 
 z 3 
 
342 LETTERS. [^TAT. 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 Ms Mother. 
 
 Kegworth, Thursday 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 off. Only 
 think of my anonymous book : it goes into ih.Q 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 miad. Little Statia went 
 through her cliristening very well, and we had the rector, 
 curate, and Mary Dalby to dinner afterwards. You have. 
 
1813.] LETTERS. 343 
 
 of course, long perceived 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. Eeady (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 HaU (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 praise of it in a very, clever 
 paper of Sunday last, which, if it is not gone astray, I wUl 
 send you in the morning. Ever your own, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 [No. 233.] To Mr. Power. 
 
 Tuesday, 1813. 
 
 IVIy dear Sir, 
 I send the proofs; and, by the next time of my in- 
 closing, I shall have four IMelodies more for you. In order 
 to give you a little idea of the diflSculty I have in pleasing 
 myself, I have written down at the top of the proof as 
 
 z 4 
 
344 LETTERS. [^TAT. 33. 
 
 many of the rejected couplets as I could remember ; they 
 are not one third of those I have manufactured for the pur- 
 pose ; so that you see I do not write songs quite as easily 
 as our friend the Knight composes them. Tear off these 
 lines before you send them to the printer. 
 
 With respect now to my going to town, I must first 
 premise, that it is chiefly from my persuasion of your wish- 
 ing it very much that I am so anxious to eifect it ; because, 
 though of course there is nothing I should like myself 
 much better, yet, in the present state of my resources, I 
 should consider it proper (if only my own gratification 
 were concerned) to sacrifice my wishes to prudence ; and, 
 understand me, my dear sir, I say this, not from any vul- 
 gar idea of enhancing, or making a compliment of my 
 going; I hope you think me too sensible to have any 
 such silly notion ; but it is for the purpose of impressing 
 on your mind how much I begin to set business, and the 
 interests of our concern, above every other consideration, 
 either of pleasure or convenience. In this respect I hope 
 and feel that you will find me improve every year. 
 
 Now you know it has always been my intention to 
 give notice to my landlord this month, and Mrs. Ready 
 (Stevenson's friend) has given us so many and such 
 pressing invitations to pass the summer with her, that I 
 mean to take her at her word ; and indeed am quite happy 
 to have such a place to leave Bessy in while I am in town, 
 for she would not like staying at home (besides the saving 
 of house expense while she is out), and there are objec- 
 tions to every one of the places to which she has been in- 
 vited in this neighbourhood. So that the offer of such a 
 quiet, goody retreat as Ready's is every way convenient. 
 "What do you think of this ? Having arranged all this, you 
 will observe there will be left scarcely two months of my 
 
1813.] LETTERS. 345 
 
 remaining six, to occupy this house ; and my idea is, before 
 we start, to sell oif 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 consider 
 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 situation. Now turn these 
 things over in your mind for me. I am at my wits' ends 
 for the supplies, 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, has 
 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 biUs, 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 aU 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. MOOEE. 
 
346 LETTERS. [^TAT. 33. 
 
 [No. 234.] To his Mother. 
 
 Kegwortli, Wednesday, 1813. 
 
 My dearest Mother, 
 We are jnst 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 WeUesley 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 again that he let us 
 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 father 
 and NeU. Ever your own, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 [No. 235.] To his Mother. 
 
 Thursday night, 1813. 
 
 My dearest Mother, 
 
 We have had a very kind invitation from Honeybourne 
 (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 very 
 bad proceedings. 
 
 Mary Dalby has left us, and Barbara says, " Koopsch 
 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 Bessy is not very well these two or three days 
 past, but Barbara is quite stout. 
 
 Good night, my darling mother. Ever your own, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 [No. 236.] To Mr. Power. 
 
 1813. 
 
 IMy dear Sir, 
 
 I send you the four more Melodies. . You see I have 
 changed my mind about " Oh ! 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 
 will say) so pretty a poem, that I think it wiU grace our 
 pages more than the convivial one. Mind, when I praise 
 my own things in this way, it is only by comparison with 
 my own ; and in this way I have seldom done anything 
 I hke better than the words of " Oh ! had I," &c. 
 
 I am very glad you sent me " You remember Ellen ;" 
 as I have been in great perplexity between " One Bumper '' 
 and " The Valley lay smiling ;" but what you now have 
 are certain, and arranged as I wish. 
 
 Did I send you the names of " Ellen " and " The Minstrel 
 Boy?" I must look for them. Ever yours, 
 
 T. MOOKE. 
 
 [No. 237.] To Mr. Power. 
 
 Thursday, 1813. 
 
 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 LETTBES. [^TAT. 33. 
 
 popular for you ; and I think I have it. There is one Mr. 
 Tom Brown, whose name now would bring him (I weU 
 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 
 ' Twopenny Post Bag.' " Ever yours, 
 
 T. MOOEE. 
 
 [No. 238.] To Mr. Power. 
 
 Wednesday, 1813. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 With respect to the Spanish 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 
 Cadenas, a celebrated Spanish air," &c. As to the words, 
 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 
 your answer, I shall, be trying what I can do. Ever 
 yours, 
 
 Thomas Mooee. 
 
 Did I tell you that Murray has been offering me, through 
 Lord Byron, some hundreds (number not specified) a 
 year to become editor of a Keview hke the Edinburgh and 
 Quarterly? Jeffrey has fifteen! I have, of course, not 
 attended to it. 
 
1813.] LETTERS. 349 
 
 [No. 239.] To Mr. Power. 
 
 1813. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 I send you a second verse to " Yivir en Cadenas," and 
 
 I am glad that I have written it, for I think it is not bad. 
 
 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's green isle 
 
 Every hour a new passion can feel ; 
 And that soon, in the light of some lovelier smile, 
 
 You'll forget the poor Maid of Castile. 
 But they know not how brave in the battle you are. 
 
 Or they never could think you would rove ; 
 For 'tis always 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 generosity) 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, that 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 fairly set, and for this reason, because, antici- 
 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-blow aU the novelty 
 of my subject. On this account I am more anxious than 
 
350 LETTERS. [iETAT. 33. 
 
 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, 
 
 Thomas Mooke. 
 
 [No. 240.] 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 
 uncertain, 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 wiU 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 VaUey 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 " Savourna Deilish " back from your 
 brother every day, and then we shall be quite done. The 
 Lord send us safe out of Kegworth. Ever yours,- 
 
 T. M. 
 
1813.] LETTERS. 351 
 
 PlX THINK, or TOU WaKING AND Sx-EEPING. 
 
 " You love me, you say, for the light of my eyes. 
 
 And if eyes would for ever shine clearly. 
 You need not, perhaps, give a reason more wise. 
 
 For loving me ever so dearly. 
 But beauty is fleeting, and eyes, I'm afraid, 
 
 Are jewels that spoil in the keeping, 
 So love me for something less likely to fade. 
 
 And I'll think of you waking and sleeping : 
 Dear youth ! 
 
 I'll think of you waking and sleeping." 
 
 Here is a verse, my 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 Ms Mother. 
 
 1813. 
 
 My dearest Mother, 
 
 I am going to send this through my old channel. Lord 
 Glenbervie, because there is some music in it which I wish 
 to arrive at its destination as soon as possible. I had a 
 letter yesterday from Bessy ; they are all weU, except that 
 the parrot has bit one of little Bab's fingers. 
 
 I must contrive some way of sending you my Post 
 
352 LETTERS. [^TAT. 33. 
 
 Bag : It is now in the seventh edition ; but I am sorry 
 to find that Carpenter has not kept the secret of its being 
 mine as faithfully as he ought. 
 
 I have been busy ever since I came to town about the 
 Melodies, and have not appeared or visited any one yet. 
 
 I hope, my own dear mother, that you are all as well 
 and happy at home as my heart wishes you to be, though 
 this you can hardly be. However, take care of yourself and 
 keep up your spirits, my darling mother : I hope we may 
 yet all live together. I was sorry to find my father say- 
 ing that his hand begins to shake. Grod send him long 
 health to bless us all. Ever your own, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 [No. 242.] To his Mother. 
 
 Ashbourne, Sattirday night, 1813. 
 
 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 barouche, 
 and we have had a very pleasant journey of it. 
 
 Bessy bids me make a thousand apologies to dear Nell 
 for not writing, but she has been so bustled about she has 
 not had a moment. 
 
 You must direct to me now, Mayfield, Ashbourne, 
 Derbyshire. 
 
 Best love to all from your own, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 * Mayfield Cottage, near Ashbourne. 
 
1813.] LETTERS. 353 
 
 [No. 243.] To Mr. Power. 
 
 Mayfield, Ashbourne, Derbyshire, 
 Tuesday, July 1. 1813. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 I have gr«5at pleasure in telling you that I have got a 
 
 cottage very much to my liMng, 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. MOOKE. 
 
 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 evening, 
 July 17. 1813. 
 
 My dear Su', 
 
 I thought to have sent you a song by this post, but I 
 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. 
 EecoUect 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. L A A 
 
354 LETTERS. [^TAT. 34. 
 
 sitting-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 
 yoursj 
 
 T. MOOEE. 
 
 [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 give it, means to let it 
 lie in his desk, and I am to pay it off by instalments ,• he 
 did not demand this of me, and therefore, if you dislike it, 
 there is no necessity ; but I should feel more comfortable, 
 and less under obligation to him, if he had this in his 
 hands till I can gradually get out of his debt. We are 
 resolved to take our furniture with us, whenever we go to 
 London, as this buying and re-buying is a very losing 
 concern. You shall next week have the first symptoms of 
 my returning industry for the shop, and I must do some- 
 thing every week now, to make out my task for the year, 
 which is nearly at an end. Indeed, if I had no one but 
 yourself to deal with, I should not scruple now to ask for 
 three or four months total liberty from you ; as I am con- 
 vinced, with your spirit and our tmited views, you would 
 see how amply such time lost in one way would be made 
 up to us in another ; but I dread your brother, and while 
 
1813.] LETTERS. 355 
 
 I should not like to ask the favoiir of him, I feel that he 
 would not have the same prospective interest in granting 
 it, so that my best way is to do as much as I can, and then, 
 after the Book, I am " yours till death." Indeed I am not 
 quite sure that this Book (at least a great part of it) must 
 not be yours also. I am stiU 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 wiU set my shoulders to it, you 
 may be sure. I have had a letter from Lord Meath, 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 communicating to me my unanimous 
 election as honorary member. I had a letter from Corry, 
 dated the morning of the meeting, saying that great things 
 were expected from the glee, as Stevenson said he had 
 never been so lucky in anything : so I wish you joy of 
 the firstfruits of our co-operation. 
 
 Did you see the quotation of *' Oh ! had I a bright little 
 Isle," in the Chronicle, with the praise of " exquisitely 
 beautiful," before it. Best regards to IMfts. 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. MOOEE. 
 
 I dare say, from the explanation you give me, that the 
 A A 2 •• 
 
356 LETTERS. [^TAT. 34. 
 
 arrangement of " Oh, doubt me not ! " is quite correct ; but 
 it is the most discordant correct thing I ever heard in my 
 Hfe. 
 
 [No. 240.] To Mr. Power. 
 
 July 14. 1813. 
 My dear Sir, 
 I send you the words to the Finland song with the 
 second verse I have just finished ; and, before the end of 
 the week, you shall have something else of my promised 
 performances. "What you oiFer about the opera is very 
 tempting indeed ; particularly as I have (since I wrote to 
 you last) plucked up courage enough to look into the 
 dreadful little book you gave me at parting, and find, to 
 my infinite horror, that I have no more to draw this year, 
 but that, at the end of it, I shall be ten pounds in your 
 debt ! Though I felt that this must be the case, yet the 
 actual proofs of it staring before my face, in black and 
 white, quite staggered me for a day or two. I am now 
 however a httle recovered from the shock, and though this 
 state of our accounts makes your proposal doubly tempt- 
 ing, yet I fear I could not possibly undertake both my 
 poem and an opera this year, and do aU that justice to both 
 which it is your iitterest as well as mine that I should ; for, 
 beheve me, that I consider your interest very much in the 
 anxiety I feel about my poem ; so much, indeed, do I con- 
 sider my duty towards you to be paramount to all others 
 in the way of business, that, if I did not consider the suc- 
 cess of the poem a very material circmnstance in your 
 favour as well as my own, I should not feel justified in 
 giving a moment to it away from any task it is your wish 
 I should undertake ; and it is principally from my desire 
 
1813.] LETTERS, 357 
 
 to get the poem forward, that I have chosen a numher of 
 the Melodies as my musical work for this year ; because I 
 shall naturally feel less solicitude about such an old esta- 
 bhshed 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 or 
 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 wiU make 
 me sufier for the pains I took to get him connected with 
 us ; but I shall be very grateful, indeed, for your keeping 
 off as much of his annoyance from me as possible. .If 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 annoxmcement we agreed to put 
 forth in the advertisement. Pray tell me how soon you 
 think the numerous delays he is throwing in your way wiU 
 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 from Bessy and 
 from ever yours, 
 
 T. MOOEE. 
 
 Your poor dear little girl ! 
 
 AA 3 
 
358 LETTEES. iMriT. 34, 
 
 [No. 247.] To Ms Mother. 
 
 Mayfield, Thursday night, 1813. 
 
 My dearest Mother, 
 Dear Bessy and I are quite busy in preparing our little 
 cottage, which was in a most ruinous state, but which is 
 already beginning to assume looks of comfort. The expense 
 of remaining at the inn, while it is preparing, is the worst 
 part of the business. My darling mother, how you would 
 delight, I know, to see us when we are settled ! I have 
 taken such a fancy to the little place, and the rent is so 
 low, that I reaUy 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 stiU begs a 
 thousand pardons of EUen, but her bustle increases upon 
 her, and she must only atone by long, long letters when 
 she gets into the cottage. Mind, you must direct, " May- 
 field Cottage, Ashbourne, Derbyshire." Ever your own, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 [No. 248.] To his Mother. 
 
 Mayfield Cottage, Monday night, 1813. 
 
 My dearest Mother, 
 I got my dear father's letter yesterday, and I assure 
 you we both heartily sympathise in the impatience which 
 vou feel for our meeting : but, darling mother, it would be 
 (I am sure you are convinced) the height of imprudence 
 for me to go to such expense, and indulge in so much 
 idleness as a trip to Ireland would now entail on me. 
 Next spring it is almost certain that I shall be able to see 
 
1813.J LETTERS. 359 
 
 you all embracing one another. To-morrow we shall re- 
 move from the inn to the house of the farmer from whom 
 we have the cottage, and in a few days more I expect we 
 shall sleep under our own roof. To-day, while my dear 
 Bessy was presiding over the workmen, little Barbara and 
 I rolled about in the hay-field before our door, till I was 
 much more hot and tired than my little playfellow. The 
 farmer is doing a vast deal more for us in the way of 
 repairs, but still it will take a good 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 his Mother. 
 
 Mayfield, Friday night, Sept. 29. 1813. 
 My dearest Mother, 
 We arrived, as I anticipated in my last, between five 
 and six on Monday evening. It was a most lovely evening, 
 and the cottage and garden in their best smiles to receive 
 us. The very sight of them seemed new life to Bessy, 
 and, as her appetite is becoming somewhat better, I hope 
 quiet and care will bring her round again. I paid the 
 forty-second pound to the post-boy that left us at home ! 
 This is terrible phlebotomising. However, quiet and 
 economy wiU bring these matters round again also. If 
 any of you had come with us (and I wish to God you had) 
 you would have been amused to see how company and 
 racket meet me everywhere. A neighbour of ours (Ack- 
 royd) came breathless after our chaise, to say that he had 
 a musical party that night. Sir "W. Bagshaw, the Fitz- 
 
 A A 4 
 
360 LETTERS. [a:TAT. 34. 
 
 herberts, &c. &c., and we must positively come in our 
 travelling dresses. Bessy's going was out of the question, 
 and I assured him I feared it was equally so with me. 
 Notwithstanding this, Mr. Cooper was dispatched from the 
 party in Lady Fitzherbert's carriage, between eight and 
 nine o'clock, to bring me by persuasion or force, or any- 
 how. It would not do, however ; I sent him back alone, 
 and got quietly to my bed. The children are doing very 
 well, and I am, as usual, stout and hearty. God bless my 
 dearest mother. Ever your own, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 [No. 250.] To Miss Dalhy. 
 
 Mayfield Cottage, Ashbourne, 
 Thursday evening, 1813. 
 My dear Mary, 
 
 We had the courage to take possession on Tuesday 
 week last, after having served an ejectment on the ghosts, 
 who have been the only tenants here for some time past. 
 Isn't it odd that we should have the luck always to get 
 into haunted houses ? This lonely, secluded little spot is 
 not at all a bad residence for ghosts; but for our old 
 matter-of-fact barn at Kegworth to pretend to be haunted 
 was too much affectation. Within these few days the 
 place begins to look habitable about us ; my poets and 
 sages have raised their heads from the packing-cases, 
 and very creditable chairs, tables, &c., ai-e beginnitig to 
 take their places round the walls. 
 
 Bessy is highly delighted with her little cottage, and 
 whenever any new improvement is made, she says, " How 
 Mary Dalby wiU like this when she comes ! " We have 
 not yet found out the Matchetts, but there were two or 
 three stray ladies the other evening reconnoitring the 
 
1813.] LETTERS. 361 
 
 cottage when we were out, and making a sort of offer 
 at a visitj 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 Moore. 
 
 [No. 251.] To Ms 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. 
 
362 LETTERS. [^TAT. 34. 
 
 Best love to father and Nell from us both. Bessy 
 says she will not write till the house is settled. Ever 
 your own, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 [No. 252.] To Lady Donegal. 
 
 Ashbourne, Derbyshire, Saturday night, 1813. 
 
 I am settled at last, and I would not write till I could 
 teU you so. I have got a small rural cottage among the 
 fields, near the pretty town of Ashbourne; rent twenty 
 pounds a-year, and taxes about three more. I have not 
 time at this moment to say anythiag else, but that I have 
 every prospect of quiet and happiness. I have received a 
 very flattering letter from Whitbread, apologising for not 
 cultivating or courtiag my acquaiatance while I was in 
 town, and requesting me to undertake something for Drury 
 Lane. 
 
 Your little god-daughter is growing the sweetest and 
 most interesting little thing in the world. Bessy sends 
 best remembrances. More ia a day or two. Ever cor- 
 dially yours, 
 
 T. M. 
 
 [No. 253.] To his Mother. 
 
 1813. 
 
 M.J dearest Mother, 
 
 I sent you the Examiner the other day, with two thiags 
 in it which, you will see, he imputes to me : he is only 
 right in one of them, the only thing I have given to the 
 Morning Chronicle since I left town. 
 
 You cannot think how our cottage is admired ; and, if 
 
1813.] LETTERS. 363 
 
 ever I am able to purchase it, I shall make a beautiful 
 thing of it. Ever your own, 
 
 Tom. 
 Barbara is at this moment most busily engaged about a 
 pair of new top-boots, which I have on for the first time 
 since I came from London, and which she is handling and 
 viewing with great admiration. 
 
 [No. 254.] To his Mother, 
 
 Mayfield, Thursday evening, 1813. 
 
 My dearest Mother, 
 
 We are to dine out (for the first time) to-morrow : in- 
 deed the natives here are beginning to visit us much faster 
 than I wish. Mrs. Eain 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 wiU cost me, I dare say, 
 ten pounds, for the extent ia 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 Earas : 
 our neighbours, the Coopers, lend us their carriage. You 
 Bee we faU on our legs wherever we are thrown. 
 
364 LETTEES. [^TAT. 34. 
 
 I had a long letter from Lord Byron yesterday : his last 
 thing, the Giaour, is very much praised, and deservedly 
 so ; indeed, I think he wiU dethrone Walter Scott. Ever, 
 my darling mother, your ovra, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 [No. 256.] To Mr Power. 
 
 Castle Donington, Friday, 1813. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 I took the opportunity of a lift to come on here for a 
 last rummage of the library before the bad weather sets in, 
 and I have got more for my purpose out of it, by making 
 it a business in this way, than I shotild, in an idle, saunter- 
 ing way, if I were in its neighbourhood for twelve months. 
 I only write now to acknowledge your last letter, which 
 was forwarded to me hither. I shall give up the correction 
 in the letter-press, as it is so inconvenient, but I think I 
 shall avail myself of the new plate and the erratum : more 
 of this, however, next week. I shall also have a consulta- 
 tion with you about a point which I perceive your mind 
 is a good deal set upon, and that is, my living in or near 
 London. I certainly fear that embarrassments would 
 soon gather round me there, and my own wish is to stay 
 here at least tiU you and I fix upon some plan of co- 
 operation ; but in this, as on every other point, I am very 
 much inclined to listen to your counsel ; and therefore we 
 shall have some talk about it. At all events, I shall stay 
 here tiU I finish my poem ; but my reason for agitating 
 the question now is, that I had some idea of agreeing with 
 the landlord for a short term of years of this place; so 
 think over the matter now, and let me know your whole 
 
1813.] LETTERS. 365 
 
 mind and wishes. Next week you shall have another 
 song. Ever yours, 
 
 T. MOOEE. 
 
 [No. 257.] To his Mother. 
 
 Mayfield Cottage, Monday night, 1813. 
 
 IVIy dearest Mother, 
 It is very late, and I have been obliged to leave you 
 last of half a dozen letters, so that you wUl come oif 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. 
 My dear Sir, 
 Bessy and I have been on a visit to Derby for a week. 
 I was indeed glad to have an opportunity of taking her for 
 change of air, as she was very HI before we went. We 
 were on a visit at Mr, Joseph Strutt's, who sent his car- 
 riage and four for us and back again loith 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 fuU of presents, rings, fans, &c. &c. My sing- 
 
366 LETTERS. C^EtAT. 34. 
 
 ing produced some little sensation at Derby, and every one 
 to whom I told your intention of publishing my songs col- 
 lectively seemed delighted. 
 
 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 abundantly for it afterwards. This 
 poem has hitherto paralysed all my efforts for you, 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 I'U make it a 
 good one too, depend upon it. I suppose you have seen 
 the Monthly Review of June on the Melodies. I am 
 promised a sight of it. 
 
 It gave me much pain to hear of your vexations and 
 your illness. I feel more than a partner to you, and no- 
 thing can affect either your health or welfare without 
 touching me most deeply. As yet I have only added to 
 your incumbrances, but I trust my time for lightening the 
 load is not far distant. I only hope that this new en- 
 gagement with Stevenson may not involve you in too 
 much difficulty or imeasiness ; but (however you may smUe 
 at the oft-repeated and stUl-distant speculation) I am quite 
 sure it wUl be in my power, after the sale of my Book, to 
 withhold long enough from my share of the annuity to let 
 your resources take breath and refreshment, and by writing 
 the words of an oratorio for Stevenson I may perhaps do 
 something towards rendering Mm more valuable, or a set of 
 songs for him to compose. I shall be most happy to write, 
 leaving it to the merit they may possess and your discre- 
 tion in the use of my name, whether I shall acknowledge 
 
1813.] LETTERS. 367 
 
 them or not : indeed, this latter task I should rather like 
 than not, so command me ; only I wish, 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 night, 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 wiU 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, va. Dubhn. 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 all 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 explana- 
 
368 LETTERS. [^TAT. 34, 
 
 tion upon this subject, before I employ myself in any more 
 words for Sir John. 
 
 " Who says the Age of Song is o'er, 
 
 Or that the mantle, finely wrought. 
 Which hung around the Bard of yore. 
 
 Has fall'n to earth, and fall'n uncaught ? 
 It is not so : the harp, the strain, 
 
 And souls to feel them, still 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, steep'd in tears ; 
 The war-hymn of the brave and free, 
 
 Whose every note is victory ! 
 And oh ! that airy Harp of mirth, 
 
 Whose tales of love, and wine, and bliss, . 
 Make us forget the grovelling earth. 
 
 And all its care on nights like this ! " 
 
 I am very anxious Stevenson should set this well, for 
 his own sake as well as the sake of the words ; particularly 
 as I am told there is an Opposition Club forming against 
 this, under the auspices of Warren, and professedly io the 
 exclusion of Stevenson. I was very sorry to see by the 
 newspaper (the Morning Chronicle), that you have lost 
 your point against Walker in Chancery. Do you care 
 much about it ? I hope not most sincerely, as you have 
 so many other things to plague you. 
 
 I have got rather a pretty Irish air, which, with a 
 little of my manufactTU-ing, will do for our next number, 
 and you shall have it, with some other things, soon. 
 
 Best regards to Mrs. Power from Bessy, and yours 
 most affectionately, 
 
 Thomas Mooke. 
 
 I wish you would take the trouble of calling upon 
 Sheddon before eleven some morning with this letter, as I 
 
1813.] LETTEES, 369 
 
 have inclosed him 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 tiU he has done with it. 
 
 I have written to ask Croker's advice about my Ber» 
 muda place, and he has, in a long letter, repeated and 
 enforced what he said before, that my going out myself is 
 the only way of seeing myself done justice to there ; but 
 the remedy is worse than the disease. Unfortunately, I en- 
 tered into a negotiation with my deputy (through the 
 Sheddons) to sell him, for an immediate sum, the whole 
 profits of the oflS.ce 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. 
 
 ]VIy dear Sir, 
 I luckily received your last parcel yesterday morning, 
 time enough to inclose you back your letters with the 
 proofs. I hope you did not answer Dalton's letter yester- 
 day, for you have quite mistaken one part of it ; that which 
 relates to the arranging of my compositions. He by no 
 means intends to exclude the arranging of them; but taking 
 that task as a matter of course, says that, in addition to 
 those, he will arrange whatever of any kind or of anybody 
 else's you may publish, and adds that this he thinks must 
 be an object to you. If you have written, pray write 
 again imimediately to do away your misapprehension, as 
 
 VOL. I. B B 
 
370 LETTEES. [^TAT. 34. 
 
 whether you decline the proposal or not, I know you 
 
 would wish to do it on true grounds, and in this I have no 
 
 doutt you are quite mistaken, I will venture no opinion 
 
 upon Stevenson's proposal ; at least I ought not, perhaps, 
 
 as I have so much myself, to object to his having a good 
 
 deal too ; but I must own, I think, two hundred a-year, 
 
 exclusive of his great works, is a very fair offer, and as 
 
 much, perhaps, as you ought to give, though I should 
 
 regret exceedingly the dissolution of my alliance with 
 
 him. The following is the corrected passage which I wish 
 
 you to have engraved in the first verse of " Thro' Erin's 
 
 Isle:" 
 
 " Where'er they pass, 
 A triple grass 
 Shoots up, with dewdrops streaming. 
 As softly green 
 As emerald, seen 
 Through purest crystal gleaming." * 
 
 * This passage has been altered thus, since, the letterpress was 
 printed off, in order to get rid of an awkward double rhyme, which 
 savours a little of doggrel. 
 
 I wish the note engraved underneath, if it can be 
 
 done conveniently. 
 
 The preface, song, and duet you shall have in the coxirse 
 
 of this week. Ever yours, 
 
 T. Moore. 
 
 [No. 261.] To his Mother. 
 
 Mayfield Cottage, Saturday night. 
 My dearest Mother, 
 We returned from Derby the evening before yesterday, 
 just in time for me to appear in my dignified office of 
 steward at the Ashbourne Ball. It was a tolerably gay 
 ball, and they said I acquitted myself very pToperly. It 
 was, however, a very disagreeable office, as I was obliged 
 
1«1S,] LETTERS. 371 
 
 to consult rank more than beauty, and dance off tbe 
 two first sets with the two ugliest women in the room. 
 Mr. Strutt, while we were with him, made me a present of 
 a beautiful box for my letters, and gave Bessy a very fine 
 ring, a nice ivory fan, and a very pretty antique bronze 
 candlestick, so that we lost nothing by our visit. 
 
 We shall now shut up for the winter: this place is 
 much too gay to give ourselves up to. Bessy is quite 
 well, and little Barbara in great spirits. We are very 
 uneasy at not hearing of Anastasia. 
 
 Barbara csiUs me Tom, and^^I try in vain to break her of 
 it, because she hears her mother call me so. Ever your 
 own, 
 
 Tom. 
 
 [No. 262.] To his Mother, 
 
 Monday night, 1813. 
 
 My dearest Mother, 
 
 You cannot imagine what a sensation Bessy excited at 
 the Ball the other night ; she was very prettily dressed, and 
 certainly looked very beautiful. I never saw so much ad- 
 miration excited : she was very much frightened, but she 
 got through it very well. She wore a turban that night 
 to please me, and she looks better in it than 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 sufiers even more 
 than her body. I must try, however, and keep up her 
 spirits. 
 
 Little Baboo is quite well, and is, I think, improving in 
 her looks. 
 
 B B 2 
 
372 SETTEES. [^TAT. 34, 
 
 The fifth number of the Irish Melodies is out, "We 
 were so hard run for airsj that I fear it wiU not be so 
 popular as the others. Ever your own, 
 
 Tom, 
 
 [No. 263.] To his Mother, 
 
 Thursday night, 1813. 
 
 My dearest Mother, 
 
 I am just returned from the great and grand Public 
 Dinner at Ashbourne, where I assure you they did me 
 high honour, drank my health with three times three, 
 and, after the speech I made in acknowledgment, shouted 
 most vociferously. It is really very flattering to meet 
 with such respect in one's neighbourhood : a place was 
 reserved for me next to the president, the chief magistrate 
 of the place. 
 
 Barbara has been to all the festivities, and enjoyed them 
 very much. We have slept the two nights past at Mr. 
 Belcher's, the clergyman's, there. 
 
 There was a general dinner this evening of all the 
 
 young girls and lads of Ashbourne, in the principal street : 
 
 it was a very gay scene ; but I am quite tired : so good 
 
 night, dearest mother. Ever your own, 
 
 Tom, 
 
 END or THE FIRST VOLUME, 
 
 London : 
 
 Spottiswoodbs and Shaw, 
 
 New-street-S(^uare* 
 
39, Pateenosteb Eow : 
 Deoemler 1852. 
 
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 and acknowledged merit, in a form adapted for reading while 
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 Memoir of the Duke of 
 
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 Gleig's Battle of Leipsio ... 2 6 
 
 Holcroft's Memoirs 2 6 
 
 Swift and Richardson : Two 
 
 Essays by Lord Jeffrey... 1 
 Lord Bacon, by T. B. 
 
 Macaulay 1 
 
 Addison and Walpole, by 
 
 T. B. Macaulay 1 
 
 Eanke and Gladstone, by 
 
 T. B. Macaulay 1 
 
 The Earl of Chatham, by 
 
 T. B. Macaulay 1 
 
 LordCKve,byT.B. Macaulay 1 
 Warren Hastings, by T. B. 
 
 Macaulay .., 1 
 
 Jameson's Sketches in 
 
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 Hughes' Australian Colonies 2 6 
 Seaward's Narrative 2 6 
 
 A Peep at a Coal Mine and 
 the People in It.,.i» the press. 
 
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 Weme's African Wanderings 2 6 
 Laing'sResidenceinNorway 2 6 
 Jerrmann'a St. Petersburg . 2 6 
 Hue's Tartary, Thibet, and 
 
 China 2 6 
 
 Eothen 2 6 
 
 Pfeiffer's Lady's Voyage 
 
 round the World 2 6 
 
 Wilson's Electricity ; and 
 Chemistry of the Stars... 1 
 
 M'CuUoch's Loudon 1 
 
 Hope's Brittany and the 
 
 Bible 1 
 
 CarUsle's Lectures and Ad- 
 dresses 1 
 
 Sir Roger De Coverley 1 
 
 Eemp's Natural History of 
 Creation 1 
 
 Von Ranke's Eerdinaud and 
 Maximilian, translated for 
 the Traveller's Library by 
 Sir Alex, and Lady Duff 
 Gordon In the press. 
 
 Wilson and Ogilvy, 57, Skinner Street, Snowhill, London. 
 
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Ann. 
 
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