Chapter 3

"Now full in sight the Paphian gardens smile, And thence by many a green and summer isle, Whose ancient walls and temples seem to sleep, Enshadowed on the mirror of the deep, They coast along Cythera's happy ground, Gem of the sea, for love's delight renown'd."]

[Footnote 2: Bland had been acting as English Chaplain in Holland. Joost Van Vondel (1587-1679), born at Cologne of Anabaptist parents, became a Roman Catholic in 1641. Most of his thirty-two tragedies are on classical or religious subjects, and in the latter may be traced his gradual change of faith. 'Gysbrecht van Amstel'(1637) is a play, the action of which takes place on Christmas Day in the thirteenth century. The scene is laid at Amsterdam, which is captured by a ruse like that of the Greeks at Troy. The play appealed strongly to the patriotic instincts of the Dutch by its prophecy of the future greatness of Amsterdam. Vondel's 'Lucifer' (1654) has been often compared to 'Paradise Lost'. It also bears some affinities to 'Cain'. In it the Archangel Lucifer rebels against God on learning the Divine intention to take on Himself the nature, not of Angels, but of Man.]

[Footnote 3: 'Hints from Horace', lines 371-382.]

[Footnote 4: 'The Edinburgh Annual Register' (1808-26) was published by John Ballantyne and Co. The prospectus promised a general history of Europe; a collection of State papers; a chronicle of events; original essays on morality, literature, and science; and articles on biography, the useful arts, and meteorology. The Editor was Scott, and Southey was responsible for the historical department. The first two parts, giving the history of 1808, did not appear till July, 1810, and then with an editorial apology for the omission of the articles on biography, the useful arts, and meteorology; also with an explanation that the idea of original essays on morality, literature, and science had been abandoned. The venture, thus unfortunately launched, never succeeded. For Byron's attack, see 'Hints from Horace', line 657, and his 'note'.]

[Footnote 5: This is an obvious slip for "Mrs. Hardcastle," who, in 'She Stoops to Conquer' (act ii.), says,

"I'm never to be delighted with your agreeable wild notes, unfeeling monster!"]

[Footnote 6: Probably Demetrius, his Greek servant, whom he nicknames after Demetrius Poliorcetes, and Claridge, who had bored Byron during a long stay of three weeks.]

[Footnote 7: Barber, whom he had brought down to Newstead to paint his wolf and his bear.]

* * * * *

199.--To R. C. Dallas.

Oct. 14, 1811.

DEAR SIR,--Stanza 9th, for Canto 2nd, somewhat altered, to avoid recurrence in a former stanza.

STANZA 9.

There, thou! whose love and life together fled, Have left me here to love and live in vain:-- Twined with my heart, and can I deem thee dead, When busy Memory flashes o'er my brain? Well--I will dream that we may meet again, And woo the vision to my vacant breast; If aught of young Remembrance then remain, Be as it may Whate'er beside Futurity's behest;

or,--

Howe'er may be For me 'twere bliss enough to see thy spirit blest!

I think it proper to state to you, that this stanza alludes to an event which has taken place since my arrival here, and not to the death of any _male_ friend.

Yours,

B.

* * * * *

200.--To R. C. Dallas.

Newstead Abbey, Oct. 16, 1811.

I am on the wing for Cambridge. Thence, after a short stay, to London. Will you be good enough to keep an account of all the MSS. you receive, for fear of omission? Have you adopted the three altered stanzas of the latest proof? I can do nothing more with them. I am glad you like the new ones. Of the last, and of the _two_, I sent for a new edition, to-day a _fresh note_. The lines of the second sheet I fear must stand; I will give you reasons when we meet.

Believe me, yours ever,

BYRON.

* * * * *

201.--To R. C. Dallas.

Cambridge, Oct. 25, 1811.

DEAR SIR,--I send you a conclusion to the _whole_. In a stanza towards the end of Canto I. in the line,

Oh, known the earliest and _beloved_ the most,

I shall alter the epithet to "_esteemed_ the most." The present stanzas are for the end of Canto II. For the beginning of the week I shall be at No. 8, my old lodgings, in St. James' Street, where I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you.

Yours ever,

B.

* * * * *

202.--To Thomas Moore. [1]

Cambridge, October 27, 1811.

SIR,--Your letter followed me from Notts, to this place, which will account for the delay of my reply.

Your former letter I never had the honour to receive;--be assured in whatever part of the world it had found me, I should have deemed it my duty to return and answer it in person.

The advertisement you mention, I know nothing of.--At the time of your meeting with Mr. Jeffrey, I had recently entered College, and remember to have heard and read a number of squibs on the occasion; and from the recollection of these I derived all my knowledge on the subject, without the slightest idea of "giving the lie" to an address which I never beheld. When I put my name to the production, which has occasioned this correspondence, I became responsible to all whom it might concern,--to explain where it requires explanation, and, where insufficiently or too sufficiently explicit, at all events to satisfy. My situation leaves me no choice; it rests with the injured and the angry to obtain reparation in their own way.

With regard to the passage in question, _you_ were certainly _not_ the person towards whom I felt personally hostile. On the contrary, my whole thoughts were engrossed by one, whom I had reason to consider as my worst literary enemy, nor could I foresee that his former antagonist was about to become his champion. You do not specify what you would wish to have done: I can neither retract nor apologise for a charge of falsehood which I never advanced.

In the beginning of the week, I shall be at No. 8, St. James's Street.--Neither the letter nor the friend to whom you stated your intention ever made their appearance.

Your friend, Mr. Rogers, [2] or any other gentleman delegated by you, will find me most ready to adopt any conciliatory proposition which shall not compromise my own honour,--or, failing in that, to make the atonement you deem it necessary to require.

I have the honour to be, Sir,

Your most obedient, humble servant,

BYRON.

[Footnote 1: Thomas Moore (1779-1852), by his literary and social gifts, had made his name several years before 1811, when he first became personally acquainted with Byron. His precocity was as remarkable as his versatility. The son of a Dublin grocer, for whom his political interest secured the post of barrack-master, he went, like Sheridan, to Samuel Whyte's school, and was afterwards at Trinity College, Dublin. Before he was fifteen he had written verses, including lines to Whyte, himself a poet, the publication of which, in the 'Anthologia Hibernica' (October, 1793; February, March, and June, 1794), gained him a local reputation. Coming to London in 1799, he read law at the Middle Temple. His 'Odes' translated from Anacreon (1800), dedicated to the Prince of Wales, opened to him the houses of the Whig aristocracy; and his powers as a singer, an actor, a talker, and, later, as a satirist, made him a favourite in society. In 1801 appeared his 'Poems: by the late Thomas Little', amatory verses which Byron read, and imitated in some of the silliest of his youthful lines.

The review of Moore's 'Odes, Epistles, and Other Poems' (1806), which appeared in the 'Edinburgh Review' for July, 1806, provoked Moore to challenge Jeffrey. Their duel with "leadless pistols" led, not only to Moore's friendship with Jeffrey, but, indirectly, as is seen from the following letters, to Moore's acquaintance with Byron. Moore himself contributed to the 'Edinburgh', between the years 1814 and 1834, essays on multifarious subjects, from poetry to German Rationalism, from the Fathers to French official life. In 1807 the first of the 'Irish Melodies' was published; they continued to appear at irregular intervals till 1834, when 122 had been printed. A master of the art of versification, Moore sings, with graceful fancy, in a tone of mingled mirth and melancholy, his love of his country, of the wine of other countries, and the women of all countries. But, except in his patriotism, he shows little depth of feeling. The 'Melodies' are the work of a brilliantly clever man, endowed with an exquisite musical ear, and a temperament that is rather susceptible than intense. With them may be classed his 'National Airs' (1815) and 'Sacred Song' (1816).

Moore had already found one field in which he excelled; it was not long before he discovered another. His serious satires, 'Corruption' (1808), 'Intolerance' (1808), and 'The Sceptic' (1809), failed. His nature was neither deep enough nor strong enough for success in such themes. In the ephemeral strife of party politics he found his real province. Nothing can be better of their kind than the metrical lampoons collected in 'Intercepted Letters, or the Twopenny Post-bag, by Thomas Brown the Younger' (1813). In his hands the bow and arrows of Cupid become formidable weapons of party warfare; nor do their ornaments impede the movements of the archer. The shaft is gaily winged and brightly polished; the barb sharp and dipped in venom; and the missile hums music as it flies to its mark. Moore's satire is the satire of the Clubs at its best; but it is scarcely the satire of literature. 'The Twopenny Post-bag' was the parent of many similar productions, beginning with 'The Fudge Family in Paris' (1818), and ending with 'Fables for the Holy Alliance' (1823), which he dedicated to Byron.

As a serious poet, and the author of 'Lalla Rookh' (1817), 'The Loves of the Angels' (1823), and 'Alciphron' (1839), Moore was perhaps overrated by his contemporaries. In spite of their brightness of fancy, metrical skill, and brilliant cleverness, they lack the greater elements of the highest poetry.

Moore's prose work begins, apart from his contributions to periodical literature, with the 'Memoirs of Captain Rock' (1824), 'The Epicurean' (1827), 'The Travels of an Irish Gentleman in Search of a Religion' (1834), 'The History of Ireland' (1846); and a succession of biographies--the life of 'Sheridan' (1825), of 'Byron' (1830), and 'Lord Edward Fitzgerald' (1831)--complete the list. In the midst of his biographical work, Moore was advised by Lord Lansdowne to write nine lives at once, and print them together under the title of 'The Cat'.

In 1811 Moore married Miss Elizabeth Dyke (born 1793), an actress who fascinated him at the Kilkenny private theatricals in 1809. To the outer world, Mrs. Moore's bird, as she called him, was a sprightly little songster, who lived in a whirl of dinners, suppers, concerts, and theatricals. These, as well as his private anxieties and misfortunes, are recorded in the eight volumes of his 'Memoirs, Journals, and Correspondence', which were edited by Lord John Russell, in 1853. Moore was an excellent son, a good husband, an affectionate father, and to Byron a loyal friend, neither envious nor subservient. Clare, Hobhouse, and Moore were (Lady Blessington's 'Conversations', 2nd edition, 1850, pp. 393, 394) the only persons whose friendship Byron never disclaimed. He spoke of Moore ('ibid'., pp. 322, 323) as "a delightful companion, gay without being boisterous, witty without effort, comic without coarseness, and sentimental without being lachrymose. He reminds one of the fairy who, whenever she spoke, let diamonds fall from her lips. My 'tete-a-tete' suppers with Moore are among the most agreeable impressions I retain of the hours passed in London."

In July, 1806, in consequence of the article in the 'Edinburgh Review' on his recent volume of 'Poems', Moore sent, through his friend Hume, a challenge to Jeffrey, who was seconded by Francis Horner, and a meeting was arranged. Moore, who had only once in his life discharged a firearm of any kind, and then nearly blew his thumb off, borrowed a case of pistols from William Spencer, and bought in Bond Street enough powder and bullets for a score of duels. The parties met at Chalk Farm; the seconds loaded the pistols, placed the men at their posts, and were about to give the signal to fire, when the police officers, rushing upon them from behind a hedge, knocked Jeffrey's weapon from his hand, disarmed Moore, and conveyed the whole party to Bow Street. They were released on bail; but, on Moore returning to claim the borrowed pistols, the officer refused to give them up, because only Moore's pistol was loaded with ball. Horner, however, gave evidence that he had seen both pistols loaded; and there, but for the reports circulated in the newspapers, the affair would have ended. But the joke was too good to be allowed to drop, and, in spite of Moore's published letter, he was for months a target for the wits ('Memoirs, Journals, and Correspondence', vol. i. pp. 199-208).

In 'English Bards, etc.', lines 466, 467, and his 'note', Byron made merry over "Little's leadless pistol," with the result that, when the second edition oL the satire was published, with his name attached, Moore sent him the following letter:--

"Dublin, January 1, 1810.

"My Lord,--Having just seen the name of 'Lord Byron' prefixed to a work entitled 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers', in which, as it appears to me, 'the lie is given' to a public statement of mine, respecting an affair with Mr. Jeffrey some years since, I beg you will have the goodness to inform me whether I may consider your Lordship as the author of this publication.

"I shall not, I fear, be able to return to London for a week or two; but, in the mean time, I trust your Lordship will not deny me the satisfaction of knowing whether you avow the insult contained in the passages alluded to.

"It is needless to suggest to your Lordship the propriety of keeping our correspondence secret.

"I have the honour to be,

"Your Lordship's very humble servant,

"THOMAS MOORE.

"22, Molesworth Street."

Owing to Byron's absence abroad, the letter never reached him; it was, in fact, kept back by Hodgson. On his return to England, Moore, who in the interval had married, sent him a second letter, restating the nature of the insult he had received in 'English Bards'.

"'It is now useless,' I continued ('Life', p. 143), 'to speak of the steps with which it was my intention to follow up that letter. The time which has elapsed since then, though it has done away neither the injury nor the feeling of it, has, in many respects, materially altered my situation; and the only object which I have now in writing to your Lordship is to preserve some consistency with that former letter, and to prove to you that the injured feeling still exists, however circumstances may compel me to be deaf to its dictates, at present. When I say "injured feeling," let me assure your Lordship that there is not a single vindictive sentiment in my mind towards you. I mean but to express that uneasiness, under (what I consider to be) a charge of falsehood, which must haunt a man of any feeling to his grave, unless the insult be retracted or atoned for; and which, if I did 'not' feel, I should, indeed, deserve far worse than your Lordship's satire could inflict upon me.' In conclusion I added, that so far from being influenced by any angry or resentful feeling towards him, it would give me sincere pleasure if, by any satisfactory explanation, he would enable me to seek the honour of being henceforward ranked among his acquaintance."

Byron's letter of October 27, 1811. was written in reply to this second letter from Moore.]

[Footnote 2: For Samuel Rogers, see p. 67, note 1.]

* * * * *

203.--To R. C. Dallas.

8, St. James's Street, 29th October, 1811.

DEAR SIR,--I arrived in town last night, and shall be very glad to see you when convenient.

Yours very truly,

BYRON.

204.--To Thomas Moore. [1]

8, St. James's Street, October 29, 1811.

SIR,--Soon after my return to England, my friend, Mr. Hodgson, apprised me that a letter for me was in his possession; but a domestic event hurrying me from London immediately after, the letter (which may most probably be your own) is still _unopened in his keeping_. If, on examination of the address, the similarity of the handwriting should lead to such a conclusion, it shall be opened in your presence, for the satisfaction of all parties. Mr. H. is at present out of town;--on Friday I shall see him, and request him to forward it to my address.

With regard to the latter part of both your letters, until the principal point was discussed between us, I felt myself at a loss in what manner to reply. Was I to anticipate friendship from one, who conceived me to have charged him with falsehood? Were not _advances_, under such circumstances, to be misconstrued,--not, perhaps, by the person to whom they were addressed, but by others? In _my_ case such a step was impracticable. If you, who conceived yourself to be the offended person, are satisfied that you had no cause for offence, it will not be difficult to convince me of it. My situation, as I have before stated, leaves me no choice. I should have felt proud of your acquaintance, had it commenced under other circumstances; but it must rest with you to determine how far it may proceed after so _auspicious_ a beginning.

I have the honour to be, etc.

[Footnote 1: Moore had replied, accepting Byron's explanation, and adding,

"As your Lordship does not show any wish to proceed beyond the rigid formulary of explanation, it is not for me to make any further advances. We Irishmen, in businesses of this kind, seldom know any medium between decided hostility and decided friendship; but, as any approaches towards the latter alternative must now depend entirely on your Lordship, I have only to repeat that I am satisfied with your letter, and that I have the honour to be," etc., etc.]

* * * * *

205.--To Thomas Moore. [1]

8, St. James's Street, October 30, 1811.

SIR,--You must excuse my troubling you once more upon this very unpleasant subject. It would be a satisfaction to me, and I should think to yourself, that the unopened letter in Mr. Hodgson's possession (supposing it to prove your own) should be returned _in statu quo_ to the writer; particularly as you expressed yourself "not quite easy under the manner in which I had dwelt on its miscarriage."

A few words more, and I shall not trouble you further. I felt, and still feel, very much flattered by those parts of your correspondence, which held out the prospect of our becoming acquainted. If I did not meet them in the first instance as perhaps I ought, let the situation I was placed in be my defence. You have _now_ declared yourself _satisfied_, and on that point we are no longer at issue. If, therefore, you still retain any wish to do me the honour you hinted at, I shall be most happy to meet you, when, where, and how you please, and I presume you will not attribute my saying thus much to any unworthy motive.

I have the honour to remain, etc.

[Footnote 1:

"Piqued," says Moore ('Life', 144), "at the manner in which my efforts towards a more friendly understanding were received,"

he had briefly expressed his satisfaction at Byron's explanation, and added that the correspondence might close.]

* * * * *

206.--To R. C. Dallas.

8, St. James's Street, October 31, 1811.

DEAR SIR,--I have already taken up so much of your time that there needs no excuse on your part, but a great many on mine, for the present interruption. I have altered the passages according to your wish. With this note I send a few stanzas on a subject which has lately occupied much of my thoughts. They refer to the death of one to whose name you are a _stranger_, and, consequently, cannot be interested. I mean them to complete the present volume. They relate to the same person whom I have mentioned in Canto 2nd, and at the conclusion of the poem.

I by no means intend to identify myself with 'Harold', but to _deny_ all connection with him. If in parts I may be thought to have drawn from myself, believe me it is but in parts, and I shall not own even to that. As to the _Monastic dome_, etc., [1] I thought those circumstances would suit him as well as any other, and I could describe what I had seen better than I could invent. I would not be such a fellow as I have made my hero for all the world.

Yours ever,

B.

[Footnote 1: 'Childe Harold', Canto II. stanza xlviii.]

* * * * *

207.--To Thomas Moore.

8, St. James's Street, November 1, 1811.

Sir,--As I should be very sorry to interrupt your Sunday's engagement, if Monday, or any other day of the ensuing week, would be equally convenient to yourself and friend, I will then have the honour of accepting his invitation. [1]

Of the professions of esteem with which Mr. Rogers [2] has honoured me, I cannot but feel proud, though undeserving. I should be wanting to myself, if insensible to the praise of such a man; and, should my approaching interview with him and his friend lead to any degree of intimacy with both or either, I shall regard our past correspondence as one of the happiest events of my life. I have the honour to be,

Your very sincere and obedient servant,

BYRON.

[Footnote 1: Rogers has left an account of this dinner.

"Neither Moore nor myself had ever seen Byron when it was settled that he should dine at my house to meet Moore; nor was he known by sight to Campbell, who, happening to call upon me that morning, consented to join the party. I thought it best that I alone should be in the drawing-room when Byron entered it; and Moore and Campbell accordingly withdrew. Soon after his arrival, they returned; and I introduced them to him severally, naming them as Adam named the beasts. When we sat down to dinner, I asked Byron if he would take soup? 'No; he never took soup.' 'Would he take some fish?' 'No; he never took fish.' Presently I asked if he would eat some mutton? 'No; he never ate mutton.' I then asked if he would take a glass of wine? 'No; he never tasted wine.' It was now necessary to inquire what he 'did' eat and drink; and the answer was, 'Nothing but hard biscuits and soda-water.' Unfortunately, neither hard biscuits nor soda-water were at hand; and he dined upon potatoes bruised down on his plate and drenched with vinegar. My guests stayed very late, discussing the merits of Walter Scott and Joanna Baillie. Some days after, meeting Hobhouse, I said to him, 'How long will Lord Byron persevere in his present diet? 'He replied, 'Just as long as you continue to notice it.' I did not then know, what I now know to be a fact, that Byron, after leaving my house, had gone to a Club in St. James's Street and eaten a hearty meat-supper"

('Table-Talk of Samuel Rogers', pp. 231, 232). Moore's ('Life', p. 145) first impressions of Byron were

"the nobleness of his air, his beauty, the gentleness of his voice and manners, and--what was naturally not the least attraction--his marked kindness to myself. Being in mourning for his mother, the colour, as well of his dress, as of his glossy, curling, and picturesque hair, gave more effect to the pure, spiritual paleness of his features, in the expression of which, when he spoke, there was a perpetual play of lively thought, though melancholy was their habitual character when in repose."]

[Footnote 2: Samuel Rogers (1763-1855), the third son of a London banker, was born at Stoke Newington. Shortly after his father's death, in 1793, he withdrew from any active part in the management of the bank, and devoted himself for the rest of his long life to literature, art, and society. In 1803 he moved from chambers in the Temple to a house in St. James's Place, overlooking the Green Park. Here he lived till his death, in December, 1855, and here he gathered round him, at his celebrated breakfasts, the most distinguished men and women of his time. An excellent account of the "Town Mouse" entertaining the "Country Mouse" is given by Dean Stanley ('Life', vol. i. p. 298), who met Wordsworth at breakfast with Rogers, in 1841, and describes

"the town mouse a sleek, well-fed, sly, 'white' mouse, and the country mouse with its rough, weather-worn face and grey hairs; the town mouse displaying its delicate little rolls and pyramids of glistening strawberries, the country mouse exulting in its hollow tree, its crust of bread and liberty, and rallying its brother on his late hours and frequent dinners."

One of his earliest recollections was the sight of a rebel's head upon a pole at Temple Bar. He had talked with a Thames boatman who remembered Pope; had seen Garrick in 'The Suspicious Husband'; had heard Sir Joshua Reynolds deliver his last lecture as President of the Royal Academy; had seen John Wesley "lying in state" in the City Road; had gone to call on Dr. Johnson, but, when his hand was on the knocker, found his courage fled. He lived to be offered the laureateship in 1850, on the death of Wordsworth, and to decline it in favour of Tennyson.

"Time was," wrote Mathias ('Pursuits of Literature', note, p. 360, ed. 1808), "when bankers were as stupid as their guineas could make them; they were neither orators, nor painters, nor poets. But now. .. Mr. Rogers dreams on Parnassus; and, if I am rightly informed, there is a great demand among his brethren for the 'Pleasures of Memory'."

Rogers began to write poetry at an early age, and continued to write it all his life. His 'Ode to Superstition' was published in 1786; the 'Pleasures of Memory', in 1792; the 'Epistle to a Friend', in 1798; 'Columbus', in 1812; 'Jacqueline', in 1813; 'Human Life', in 1819; 'Italy', in 1822-34. His later years were occupied in revising, correcting, or amplifying his published poems, and in preparing the notes to 'Italy', which are admirable studies in compactness and precision of language. A disciple of Pope, an imitator of Goldsmith, Rogers was rather a skilful adapter than an original poet. His chief talent was his taste; if he could not originate, he could appreciate. The fastidious care which he lavished on his work has preserved it. In his commonplace-book he has entered the number of years which he spent in composing and revising his poems. His 'Pleasures of Memory' occupied seven years, 'Columbus' fourteen, and 'Italy' fifteen. An excellent judge of art, he employed Flaxman, Stothard, and Turner at a time when their powers were little appreciated by his fellow-countrymen. Of his taste Byron speaks enthusiastically in his Journal (see p. 331). But the following passage (hitherto unpublished) from his 'Detached Thoughts' (Ravenna, 1821) gives his later opinion of the man:

"When Sheridan was on his death-bed, Rogers aided him with purse and person. This was particularly kind of Rogers, who always spoke ill of Sheridan (to me, at least), but, indeed, he does that of everybody to anybody. Rogers is the reverse of the line:

'The _best good man_ with the _worst_ natured Muse,'

being:

'The _worst_ good man with the _best_ natured Muse.'

His Muse being all Sentiment and Sago and Sugar, while he himself is a venomous talker. I say 'worst good man' because he is (perhaps) a 'good' man; at least he does good now and then, as well he may, to purchase himself a shilling's worth of salvation for his slanders. They are so 'little', too--small talk--and old Womanny, and he is malignant too--and envious--and--he be damned!"

In a manuscript note to these passages Sir Walter Scott writes,

"I never heard Rogers say a single word against Byron, which is rather odd too. Byron wrote a bitter and undeserved satire on Rogers. This conduct must have been motived by something or other."

Speaking of Rogers and Sheridan, he says,

"He certainly took pennyworths out of his friend's character. I sat three hours for my picture to Sir Thomas Lawrence, during which the whole conversation was filled up by Rogers with stories of Sheridan, for the least of which, if true, he deserved the gallows. One respected his committing a rape on his sister-in-law on the day of her husband's funeral. Others were worse."

In politics Rogers was a Whig, in religion a Presbyterian. But he meddled little with either. In private life he was as kindly in action as he was caustic in speech. A sensitive man himself, he studied to be satirical to others. When Ward condemned 'Columbus' in the 'Quarterly Review', Rogers repaid his critic in the stinging epigram:

"Ward has no heart, they say; but I deny it; He has a heart, and gets his speeches by it."

Byron warmly admired Rogers's poetry. To him he dedicated 'The Giaour', in

"admiration for his genius, respect for his character, and gratitude for his friendship."

The 'Quarterly Review', in an article on 'The Corsair' and 'Lara', mentions

"the highly refined, but somewhat insipid, pastoral tale of 'Jacqueline'."

Byron, on reading the review, said to Lady Byron,

"The man's a fool. 'Jacqueline' is as superior to 'Lara' as Rogers is to me"

('Table-Talk of Samuel Rogers', p. 154, 'note').

"The 'Pleasures of Memory'," he said (Lady Blessington's 'Conversations', p. 153), "is a very beautiful poem, harmonious, finished, and chaste; it contains not a single meretricious ornament. If Rogers has not fixed himself in the higher fields of Parnassus, he has, at least, cultivated a very pretty flower-garden at its base." But he goes on to speak of the poem (p. 354) as "a 'hortus siccus' of pretty flowers," and an illustration of "the difference between inspiration and versification."

If Rogers ever saw Byron's 'Question and Answer' (1818), he was generous enough to forget the satire. In 'Italy' he paid a noble tribute to the genius of the dead poet:

"He is now at rest; And praise and blame fall on his ear alike, Now dull in death. Yes, Byron, thou art gone, Gone like a star that through the firmament Shot and was lost, in its eccentric course Dazzling, perplexing. Yet thy heart, methinks, Was generous, noble--noble in its scorn Of all things low or little; nothing there Sordid or servile. If imagined wrongs Pursued thee, urging thee sometimes to do Things long regretted, oft, as many know, None more than I, thy gratitude would build On slight foundations; and, if in thy life Not happy, in thy death thou surely wert, Thy wish accomplished; dying in the land Where thy young mind had caught ethereal fire, Dying in Greece, and in a cause so glorious! They in thy train--ah, little did they think, As round we went, that they so soon should sit Mourning beside thee, while a Nation mourned, Changing her festal for her funeral song; That they so soon should hear the minute-gun, As morning gleamed on what remained of thee, Roll o'er the sea, the mountains, numbering Thy years of joy and sorrow. Thou art gone; And he who would assail thee in thy grave, Oh, let him pause! For who among us all, Tried as thou wert--even from thy earliest years, When wandering, yet unspoilt, a Highland boy-- Tried as thou wert, and with thy soul of flame; Pleasure, while yet the down was on thy cheek, Uplifting, pressing, and to lips like thine, Her charmed cup--ah, who among us all Could say he had not erred as much, and more?"]

* * * * *

208.--To Francis Hodgson.

8, St. James's Street, November 17, 1811.

Dear Hodgson,--I have been waiting for the letter [1] which was to have been sent by you _immediately_, and must again jog your memory on the subject. I believe I wrote you a full and true account of poor--'s proceedings. Since his reunion to--, [2] I have heard nothing further from him. What a pity! a man of talent, past the heyday of life, and a clergyman, to fall into such imbecility. I have heard from Hobhouse, who has at last sent more copy to Cawthorn for his _Travels_. I franked an enormous cover for you yesterday, seemingly to convey at least twelve cantos on any given subject. I fear the I aspect of it was too _epic_ for the post. From this and other coincidences I augur a publication on your part, but what, or when, or how much, you must disclose immediately.

I don't know what to say about coming down to Cambridge at present, but live in hopes. I am so completely superannuated there, and besides feel it something brazen in me to wear my magisterial habit, after all my buffooneries, that I hardly think I shall venture again. And being now an [Greek: ariston men hydor] disciple I won't come within wine-shot of such determined topers as your collegiates. I have not yet subscribed to Bowen. I mean to cut Harrow "_enim unquam_" as somebody classically said for a farewell sentence. I am superannuated there too, and, in short, as old at twenty-three as many men at seventy.

Do write and send this letter that hath been so long in your custody. It is important that Moore should be certain that I never received it, if it be _his_. Are you drowned in a bottle of Port? or a Kilderkin of Ale? that I have never heard from you, or are you fallen into a fit of perplexity? Cawthorn has declined, and the MS. is returned to him. This is all at present from yours in the faith,

[Greek: Mpairon].

[Footnote 1: On November 17, 1811, Hodgson writes to Byron:

"I enclose you the long-delayed letter, which, from the similarity of hands alone, Davies and I will go shares in a bet of ten to one is the cartel in question."]

[Footnote 2: The names are carefully erased by Hodgson.]

* * * * *

209.--To Francis Hodgson.

8, St. James's Street, December 4, 1811.

MY DEAR HODGSON,--I have seen Miller, [1]

who will see Bland, [2] but I have no great hopes of his obtaining the translation from the crowd of candidates. Yesterday I wrote to Harness, who will probably tell you what I said on the subject. Hobhouse has sent me my Romaic MS., and I shall require your aid in correcting the press, as your Greek eye is more correct than mine. But these will not come to type this month, I dare say. I have put some soft lines on ye Scotch in the 'Curse of Minerva'; take them;

"Yet Caledonia claims some native worth," etc. [3]

If you are not content now, I must say with the Irish drummer to the deserter who called out,

"Flog high, flog low"

"The de'il burn ye, there's no pleasing you, flog where one will."

Have you given up wine, even British wine?

I have read Watson to Gibbon. [4] He proves nothing, so I am where I was, verging towards Spinoza; and yet it is a gloomy Creed, and I want a better, but there is something Pagan in me that I cannot shake off. In short, I deny nothing, but doubt everything. The post brings me to a conclusion. Bland has just been here. Yours ever,

BN.

[Footnote 1: See Letters', vol. i. p. 319, 'note' 2 [Footnote 1 of