"** read me part of a letter from you. By the foot of Pharaoh, I believe there was abuse, for he stopped short, so he did, after a fine saying about our correspondence, and looked-I wish I could revenge myself by attacking you, or by telling you that I have had to defend you an agreeable way which one's friends have of recommending themselves by saying-Ay, ay, I gave it Mr. Such-a-one for what he said about your being a plagiary, and a rake, and so on.' But do you know that you are one of the very few whom I never have the satisfaction of hearing abused, but the reverse; and do you suppose I will forgive that?

I have been in the country, and ran away from the Doncaster races. It is odd,I was a visitor in the same house which came to my sire as a residence with Lady Carmarthen, (with whom he adulterated before his majority by the by, remember she was not my mamma,) and they thrust me into an old room, with a nauseous picture over the chimney, which I should suppose my papa regarded with due respect, and which, inheriting the family taste, I looked upon with great satisfaction. I stayed a week with the family, and behaved very well-though the lady of the house is young, and religious, and pretty, and the master is my particular friend. I felt no wish for any thing but a poodle dog, which they kindly gave me. Now, for a man of my courses not even to have coveted, is a sign of great amendment. Pray pardon all this nonsense, and don't 'snub me when I'm in spirits.'

"Ever yours,

"BN.

"Here's an impromptu for you by a 'person of quality,' written last week, on being reproached for low spirits:

"When from the heart where Sorrow sits,
Her dusky shadow mounts too high,
And o'er the changing aspect flits,

And clouds the brow, or fills the eye:
Heed not that gloom, which soon shall sink;
My Thoughts their dungeon know too well-
Back to my breast the wanderers shrink,

And bleed within their silent cell." 1

LETTER 140. TO MR. MOORE.

"October 2. 1813. "You have not answered some six letters of mine. This, therefore, is my penultimate. I will write to you once more, but, after that - I swear by all the saints I am silent

1 Now printed in his Works. [See p. 557.]

2 The motto to The Giaour, which is taken from one of the Irish Melodies, had been quoted by him incorrectly

and supercilious. I have met Curran at Holland House-he beats every body; his imagination is beyond human, and his humour (it is difficult to define what is wit) perfect. Then he has fifty faces, and twice as many voices, when he mimics - I never met his equal. Now, were I a woman, and eke a virgin, that is the man I should make my Scamander. He is quite fascinating. Remember, I have met him but once; and you, who have known him long, may probably deduct from my panegyric. I almost fear to meet him again, lest the impression should be lowered. He talked a great deal about you a theme never tiresome to me, nor any body else that I know. What a variety of expression he conjures into that naturally not very fine countenance of his ! He absolutely changes it entirely. I have done for I can't describe him, and you know him. On Sunday I return to * where I shall not be far from you. Perhaps I shall hear from you in the mean time. Good night.

Saturday morn.— Your letter has cancelled all my anxieties. I did not suspect you in earnest. Modest again! Because I don't do a very shabby thing, it seems, I don't fear your competition." If it were reduced to an alternative of preference, I should dread you, as much as Satan does Michael. But is there not room enough in our respective regions? Go on-it will soon be my turn to forgive. To-day I dine with Mackintosh and Mrs. Stale-as John Bull may be pleased to denominate Corinne

whom I saw last night, at Covent Garden, yawning over the humour of Falstaff.

The reputation of 'gloom,' if one's friends service; as it saves one from a legion of are not included in the reputants, is of great impertinents, in the shape of common-place acquaintance. But thou know'st I can be a right merry and conceited fellow, and rarely 'larmoyant.' Murray shall reinstate your line forthwith. 2 I believe the blunder in the motto was mine ;- and yet I have, in general, a memory for you, and am sure it was rightly printed at first.

"I do 'blush' very often, if I may believe Ladies H. and M. ;· but luckily, at present, Adieu."

no one sees me.

make me forget you, but to prevent me from reminding you of one who, nevertheless, has often thought of you, and to whom your thoughts, in many a measure, have frequently been a consolation. We were once very near neighbours this autumn; and a good and bad neighbourhood it has proved to me. Suffice it to say, that your French quotation was confoundedly to the purpose, though very unexpectedly pertinent, as you may imagine by what I said before, and my silence since. However, Richard's himself again,' and except all night and some part of the morning, I don't think very much about the

matter.

"All convulsions end with me in rhyme; and to solace my midnights, I have scribbled another Turkish story 1- not a Fragment - which you will receive soon after this. It does not trench upon your kingdom in the least, and if it did, you would soon reduce me to my proper boundaries. You will think, and justly, that I run some risk of losing the little I have gained in fame, by this further experiment on public patience; but I have really ceased to care on that head. I have written this, and published it, for the sake of the employment, to wring my thoughts from reality, and take refuge in 'imaginings,' however 'horrible;' and, as to success! those who succeed will console me for a failure - excepting yourself and one or two more, whom luckily I love too well to wish one leaf of their laurels a tint yellower. This is the work of a week, and will be the reading of an hour to you, or even less, and so, let it go * *

"P.S.-Ward and I talk of going to Holland. I want to see how a Dutch canal

looks after the Bosphorus. Pray respond."

LETTER 142. TO MR. MOORE.

"December 8. 1813. "Your letter, like all the best, and even kindest things in this world, is both painful and pleasing. But, first, to what sits nearest. Do you know I was actually about to dedicate to you, not in a formal inscription, as to one's elders, but through a short prefatory letter, in which I boasted myself your intimate, and held forth the prospect of your poem; when, lo! the recollection of your strict injunctions of secrecy as to the said

i The Bride of Abydos.

Among the stories intended to be introduced into Lalla Rookh, which I had begun, but, from various causes, never finished, there was one which I had made some progress in, at the time of the appearance of “ The Bride," and which, on reading that poem, I found to contain such singular coincidences with it, not only in

poem, more than once repeated by word and letter, flashed upon me, and marred my intents. I could have no motive for repressing my own desire of alluding to you (and not a day passes that I do not think and talk of you), but an idea that you might, yourself, dislike it. You cannot doubt my sincere admiration, waving personal friendship for the present, which, by the by, is not less sincere and deep rooted. I have you by rote and by heart; of which 'ecce signum!' When I was at **, on my first visit, I have a habit, in passing my time a good deal alone, of-I won't call it singing, for that I never attempt except to myself— but of uttering, to what I think tunes, your Oh breathe not,' When the last glimpse,' and When he who adores thee,' with others of the same minstrel ;- they are my matins and vespers. I assuredly did not intend them to be overheard, but, one morning, in comies, not La Donna, but Il Marito, with a very grave face, saying, 'Byron, I must request you won't sing any more, at least of those songs.' I stared, and said, Certainly, but why?'-To tell you the truth,' quoth he, they make my wife cry, and so melancholy, that I wish her to hear no more of them.'

"Now, my dear M., the effect must have been from your words, and certainly not my music. I merely mention this foolish story to show you how much I am indebted to you for even your pastimes. A man may praise and praise, but no one recollects but that which pleases—at least, in composition. Though I think no one equal to you in that department, or in satire, and surely no one was ever so popular in both, I certainly am of opinion that you have not yet done all you can do, though more than enough for any one else. I want, and the world expects, a longer work from you; and I see in you what I never saw in poet before, a strange diffidence of your own powers, which I cannot account for, and which must be unaccountable, when a Cossac like me can appal a cuirassier. Your story I did not, could not, know, I thought only of a Peri. I wish you had confided in me, not for your sake, but mine, and to prevent the world from losing a much better poem than my own, but which, I yet hope, this clashing will not even now deprive them of. Mine is the work of a week, written, why I have

locality and costume, but in plot and characters, that I immediately gave up my story altogether, and began another on an entirely new subject, the Fire-worshippers. To this circumstance, which I immediately communicated to him, Lord Byron alludes in this letter. In my hero (to whom I had even given the name of "Zelim," and who was a descendant of Ali, outlawed, with all his

partly told you, and partly I cannot tell you by letter — some day I will.

"Go on- I shall really be very unhappy if I at all interfere with you. The success of mine is yet problematical; though the public will probably purchase a certain quantity, on the presumption of their own propensity for The Giaour' and such horrid

CHAP XVIII.

1813.

being on the spot; and that merely amounts to saving me the trouble of turning over books which I had better read again. If your chamber was furnished in the same way, you have no need to go there to describeI mean only as to accuracy - because I drew it from recollection.

66

-

This last thing of mine may have the same fate, and I assure you I have great doubts about it. But, even if not, its little day will be over before you are ready and willing. Come out - screw your courage to the sticking-place.' Except the Post Bag (and surely you cannot complain of a want of success there), you have not been regularly out for some years. No man stands higher, whatever you may think on a rainy day, in your provincial retreat. Aucun homme, dans aucune langue, n'a été, peutêtre, plus complètement le poëte du cœur et le poète des femmes. Les critiques lui reprochent de n'avoir représenté le monde ni tel qu'il est, ni tel qu'il doit être; mais les femmes répondent qu'il l'a représenté tel qu'elles le desirent' -I should have thought Sismondi had written this for you instead of Metastasio.

Write to me, and tell me of yourself. Do you remember what Rousseau said to some one - Have we quarrelled ? you have talked to me often, and never once mentioned yourself.

'P. S. — The last sentence is an indirect apology for my egotism, but I believe in letters it is allowed. I wish it was mutual. I have met with an odd reflection in Grimm; it shall not . at least the bad part - be applied to you or me, though one of us has certainly an indifferent name- but this it is-Many people have the reputation of being wicked, with whom we should be too happy to pass our lives.' I need not add it is a woman's saying-a Mademoiselle de Sommery's."

followers, by the reigning Caliph) it was my intention to shadow out, as I did afterwards in another form, the national cause of Ireland. To quote the words of my letter to Lord Byron on the subject:-" I chose this story because one writes best about what one feels most, and I thought the parallel with Ireland would enable me to infuse some vigour into my hero's character. But to

AT this time Lord Byron commenced a Journal, or Diary, from the pages of which I have already selected a few extracts, and of which I shall now lay as much more as is producible before the reader. Employed chiefly, -as such a record, from its nature, must be, about persons still living, and occurrences still recent, it would be impossible, of course, to submit it to the public eye, without the omission of some portion of its contents, and unluckily, too, of that very portion which, from its reference to the secret pursuits and feelings of the writer, would the most livelily pique and gratify the curiosity of the reader. Enough, all this necessary winnowing, to enlarge still however, will, I trust, still remain, even after further the view we have here opened into the interior of the poet's life and habits, and to indulge harmlessly that taste, as general as it is natural, which leads us to contemundress, and to rejoice in the discovery, so plate with pleasure a great mind in its consoling to human pride, that even the mightiest, in their moments of ease and weakness, resemble ourselves. 2